The werefox woke up, panting as if he had been attacked while sleeping. But there wasn’t anyone else there. Only the sun shining its golden light onto his white feet-paws met him. His green eyes were wide and alert. He shook his head while rubbing his dirty blond hair.

The werefox got up and grabbed a pale blue shirt out of a dresser drawer. He buttoned it up. He grabbed a pair of dark blue pants and pulled them on, wrapped his belt around and buckled it. A leather and cotton vest sat on top of the drawer, next to a high-crowned wide-rimmed brown hat, and he went over and put both on, his white triangular ears poking out from the top of the hat. He reached behind the bed board and pulled out a large revolver, a Colt Peacemaker .45 LC with wolf grips on it, and put it on.

The werefox eyed the wall just above the bedboard and saw a katana hanging against the wall, still in its metal Saya. He tugged on it, unsheathing it a couple inches, and on its side reflected a human teen with green eyes and dirty blond hair. He stumbled back, his eyes widening while his ears folded back. Soon, he stepped forward and, looking at the blade’s reflection again he saw himself and relaxed, shoving it back in .

His pawpads patted against the wooden floor as he walked out of his bedroom and went to the other room, holding a small, wooden circular table and two wooden chairs. Next to a wall was a bookshelf, though it only had worn out copies of The Hobbit and The Silmarillion along with similar books written by the same author, and a broken hair clip. He walked by both and opened the front door, the vegetables sprouting out from the garden he molded months ago. Though the outback was a hot place with little water and poor soil to grow from, those simulations had taught him how to grow edible food even in poor conditions and the harvest should be able to sustain him .

The werefox saw a trail of smoke and dust coming his way. He observed the truck’s shape, even several miles away within the dusty smoke, and smiled to himself. He stepped down from the house, brushing against the tiny rocks while the truck came closer. Some fifteen minutes later, the vehicle parked near the farm, and a man with tired purple eyes, shaggy fair hair, and wearing an aged stained suit, stepped out from it. He went over to the werefox and shook hands.

“Mr. Tolle,” the werefox said. “You don’t have to come if you’re not well. I can handle a week without a visit.”

Mr. Tolle blinked and looked at his hand before he replied. “It’s no problem. After all, I must help you out as much as I can.”

The werefox shook his head. “So, what did you get for me this time?”

Mr. Tolle stepped over to the back of the truck. The werefox followed behind. “This time, it’s fruits that don’t grow well with the soil here. I doubt that even your skills can make it work, at least not without better soil, more rain, and even a period of snow.”

Mr. Tolle zipped open an insulated bag and he pulled out a plastic container filled with red fruits with seeds sticking from the skin. He opened it up, pulled out one of the smaller of such fruits, and ripped off the leaves from the top before offering it to the werefox. The werefox held it with his hand-paws, feeling its cool skin, and hesitated before he bit into it. His throat almost choked from the taste, filled with a mixture of sweet and sour that was overwhelming. He pounded on his chest, managing to swallow it while Mr. Tolle patted the werefox on the shoulder.

“What happened?” Mr. Tolle asked, worried. “Don’t like the taste?”

“N-no, it wasn’t that.” The werefox resisted the urge to throw the half-eaten fruit away even as his ears twitched. “I never tasted something as powerful as this, even during my ‘training.’ What is that?”

“It’s a strawberry,” Mr. Tolle answered, taking one for himself. “It’s a popular fruit and can be pretty expensive. I am deeply sorry. I didn’t realize just how powerful your sense of taste got due to your changes.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” the werefox said, eating the rest of his strawberry. “It’s something that I can get used to.”

Mr. Tolle looked at the werefox’s pained expression, raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Very well. Let’s head inside with the stuff. The day isn’t getting any cooler, after all.”

The werefox nodded and quickly grabbed most of the stuff from the truck, leaving Mr. Tolle with what little remained. The two stepped into the house, placing the stuff in some cupboards without removing the insulated bags. Soon enough, they sat on the chairs and sat down on opposite ends of the table. Mr. Tolle pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled them.

“Shall we play a game?”

The two played poker for an hour, with rocks taking the place of chips. Throughout the games, Mr. Tolle stared at the werefox’s face for any expression or tic, but the werefox’s face was as solid as a stone. It was after the third game, with another victory for the werefox and Mr. Tolle shuffling the cards again when the werefox leaned back.

“Why are you still helping me even when there’s no longer a need to help?” The werefox asked, staring at the wooden ceiling. “I have things covered here, there’s little chance of things changing in the future, and I’m very used to living alone. There’s no need to keep me company.”

Mr. Tolle’s hands stopped shuffling. He put the cards down and starws at his hands as if they had a nasty stain. “I’ve done horrible things to you in the name of my nation and research. I’ve taken your life, your humanity, even your name. Even after these last three years, I can still see the blood on my hands.”

“Even so, you’ve done more than enough to help me,” the werefox said. “I may not have a name, but only because we haven’t chosen one for me and I’m glad that you haven’t told me my old name since that part of me might as well be dead. My life goes on, which you helped happen and which I’ll always be grateful for. Besides, I can see that this is killing you and I don’t wish for that to happen.”

Mr. Tolle shook his head. “Regardless, I’m sure there’s one thing that I can do to help.”

The werefox lowered his head. “There might be one thing, something that I’ve been thinking about.”

“Oh?” Mr. Tolle perked up. “What is it?”

“This morning, I was having one of those dreams again.”

A cool wave flew through the room, even if the sun was cranking up its heat. Mr. Tolle tilted his head and nodded.

“I wondered if it had something to do with what Dr. Cygne said. Though your memories of your old life may be lost, effectively crushed all the way into the subconscious, they may have a chance of resurfacing in one way or another.”

“That’s what I was thinking too.” The werefox lifted his head and he stood up, facing the window and trying to ignore the reflection. “And I think that part of me is becoming restless, even if that side can only surface when I’m asleep.”

“Remember anything important?” Mr. Tolle asked, straightening up. “Your old friends, family, any of that?”

“Nothing like that,” the werefox answered, giving up against the reflection. The dark wooden ceiling doesn’t give him as much trouble anyways. “When I dream, I can see, but not enough to trigger any memory. I don’t hear voices or sense any emotions at all from myself, only from others. What I dream may just be shadows of memories of my old self. But those shadows are trying to rise up.”

“Don’t you wish to remember?” Mr. Tolle asked, brushing his fair hair with his hand, knocking out some dust.

“Even if I wanted to, what would be the point?” The werefox shrugged as his foot-paw tapped against the floor. “As far as myself and the rest of the world can say, the high school student who disappeared died and what has taken his place isn’t even human.

“However, all of that is connected to my request.”

Mr. Tolle raised one of his eyebrows. “And what is that?”

“You remember the home where my old life lived in?”

“Yes. I kept it etched into my mind for the last few years.”

“Good. Because I want to go there and see it.”

Silence, enough that the thinnest pin could be dropped into the room and could still be heard, swept through the room. Mr. Tolle’s face twisted into a mixture of shock and horror, with his hands balled into fists. Soon, he slammed them onto the table before he stood up, knocking his chair over.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?” Mr. Tolle said, his voice loud and his eyes wide. “You know just as well as I do what would happen if they managed to find you back in the US.”

“Strap me down, cut me open, drain all of my blood, and find any trace of those chemicals and perhaps some surviving virus in order to create another like me.” The werefox’s voice was calm as he turned back to Mr. Tolle. “I know what may happen if I go back.”

“And you think it’s because those dreams are pushing you to return to your old life’s home?” Mr. Tolle asked, his fist cracking.

The werefox hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “It’s not just those dreams that have been bugging me. When I woke up and unsheathed my sword, I didn’t see myself.”

“What?” Mr. Tolle sat down, bewildered.

“Yeah. Instead, I think I saw him.” The werefox slouched forward, his shoulders sagging. “The teen, I mean. He left my dreams and now haunts me when I’m awake.”

Mr. Tolle was silent for a few seconds, rubbing his chin. “But why?” He stood up and paced around the room, gripping onto his coat. Soon, he stamped his foot. “If only Dr. Cygne was still here. I’m sure she’ll be able to answer that for you.”

“I don’t think she’d know better than you do.” The werefox lowered his hat. “But I know that staying here will just make the dreams worse. My only hope for them to finally end and for him to leave me at peace is to find out what he wants, and my best guess is his home.” He lifted up his hat. “And I will go there, with or without you.”

Mr. Tolle paled and tugged his tie. “You’re asking for a lot. Just leaving this house will increase the chances of you getting found out. But,” Mr. Tolle said as he sat down, calming himself, “I’ll do my best to help, even if it ends with our deaths.”

The werefox blinked, surprised at how quickly he managed to convince the man, before he nodded. “Thank you. Do you think you can pull another favor from your captain friend?”

“Yes, I believe so. I’ll talk to him and, if he agrees and if things go well, we’ll be back in the States.”

Sparks flew from hundreds of computers as a red-haired man went from one to the next, typing something on one computer’s keyboard before moving on to the next. His white lab coat was burned through by those sparks, some even managing to burn through his dark grey skintight armorsuit, exposing his skin burnt by the flames. The man had a mad grin on his face, his deep blue eyes gleaming even as his hands burned in several spots when another computer exploded from behind. He laughed, leaping out of the way and falling to the ground, avoiding sparks and shards incoming while the room shook.

When he got up, the room was suddenly still. Nothing exploded, nothing shook, nothing fell down, just nothing. It was as if a tornado had come and gone, only leaving its disaster trail. The man smiled as he pulled out a tablet, still in working condition despite a corner of it getting melted a bit, and woke it, displaying numbers and graphs on the screen. He gave out a laugh as he pulled out a smartphone and, just as the screen turned on, the phone rang, displaying a name and number he recognized.

The man grinned as he pressed the green display button and said, “Hello, Jack.”

“I told you, don’t call me Jack,” a cold voice on the other side said. “You can call me Jackal, Thunder, Lightning, or even freaking TJ, but don’t call me Jack.”

“Sure, sure, whatever,” the red-haired man said carelessly, rubbing his hand across his thick hair. “Anyways, is our friend Star Fox finally in stable condition?”

“Yes, he is- wait. How did you guess accurately?” Jackal asked, his voice not betraying any hint of shock.

“It’s that half of that power we managed to extract from him,” the red-haired man replied. “It finally calmed down after two days of acting erratically. It’s not because my computers and accumulators were able to contain it, even if they can take a quarter of the world’s power without going into the danger zone. It’s because Star Fox managed to recover from having Hope split in half.”

“Ah,” Jackal said. “Do you wish to see Fox? He’s still weak, but he’s awake.”

“I will when I have the time,” Coyote answered, putting his tablet back into his pocket. “Right now, I have another friend who needs help and I don’t want to leave him and his apprentice hanging. Have a good day, Jack.”

Coyote hung up, laughing when he heard Jackal’s angry growl cut off, before he walked past several computers, some intact and some broken. Hundreds of computers and accumulators stretched out through this room for half a mile, with most of them burned from overcharge. He soon went to the door, slid it open and walked through.

Down the hallway he turned left into a room, one that contained closets of clothing for him and his three companions, and he walked over to where his were placed. He removed his smartphone, tablet, coffee pills, and a pen-sized device with a light on one end and placed them on a table before he stripped off his white lab coat and the top half of his bodysuit, grey with black gloves and layered with silk, Kevlar, carbon fiber, and graphene. He unbuckled his knee-pads and holster, which held a long-barrel S&M 44 Magnum Model 629, before removing his armored boots and dark green pants, just as padded and with a tunic-like design around the waist that reached to the thighs. He picked up an ointment that Vix had made and rubbed it onto where his skin was burned, which showed signs of rapid healing . A massive scar covered his chest, as if some kind of monster had ripped it open down to the muscles and bones. He threw the ruined suit and coat into a vent which had a reddish glow emitting from it.

“I hope the new designs I came up with are superior than the ones we have now,” Coyote said to himself as he put on, with some minor difficulty, a spare skintight armorsuit, tied his boots, attached the knee-pads, and holster, followed by putting on a new white lab coat. “And hopefully Star Fox wouldn’t need to replace them as often, considering how much he gets stabbed and shot.”

He chuckled, putting the slightly damaged tablet on a tray and placing it on a conveyor belt for repairs. He pocketed the rest of the objects before he exited back into the hallway. His footsteps echoed from a steel floor polished to the point of reflection, walls and ceiling stark white and brightly lit. A couple of minutes passed before he exited out of the hallway, blinking over the lack of traffic. He closed the door behind him, glancing at the writing on the door.

Coyote turned to the side and paused, his face turning pale. A man walked down the hallway, wearing many metals on his chest while semi-rubbing one of them. His greying hair gleamed in the light, even as shadows covered his face with a long scar near his left eye and over his cheek. He wore a grey uniform, with gold buttons tight against his chest, and a silver fox metal on the right collar. His other hand, gloved, went behind his back while his dull green eyes looked over Coyote.

“Wild Coyote,” the man said, stopping in front of him, his face stone-cold. “I have a need for you. Come with me to my room.”

“Yes sir, commander,” Coyote said with a strained smile and they walked side by side.

“You are annoyed, I see,” the commander said, gripping onto Coyote’s right shoulder. “You have off duty things you want to do .”

“I admit that is true, commander,” Coyote said, flinching at the gloved hand. “Just before extracting half of Hope, we were contacted by Mr. Medicus and his assistant who need help. Said that they’re under attack by-”

“Silver Vixen told me the details, which are very curious. However, I suggest that you send Brave Fox to help them out,” the commander said, no hint of emotion in his voice. “We got a new mission, one that requires someone from the Trickster Brigade and you’re the only one available.”

“With all due respect,” Coyote asked, his heavy boots echoing in the empty hallway, “why not send a couple from the Lycan Brigade? After two years of training from us, I’m sure they can succeed.”

“I have seen the progress you and the others have made with the Lycan Brigade, which is impressive. Still, this is beyond their abilities.” The commander gripped on Coyote’s shoulder tighter. “This mission I’m assigning to you involves capturing a supersoldier for blood extraction.”

“So, this mission is a mercenary one?”

“Indeed.”

Coyote cracked his knuckles before he shook his head. “You wanted Solid Fox to be on this mission, but it’ll take him at least a week for him to recover, so you went to me instead. Still, I’m not convinced that a couple of agents from the Lycan Brigade won’t be able to handle this supersoldier, especially since they’re not ordinary themselves.”

The commander stared at Coyote’s face, as if trying to pierce through his soul before he stepped towards the door to his office, which opened by itself. “Then let me show you .”

They stepped in. The room stayed dark for a couple of seconds before lights turned on. At the center of the room was a large table, with a ridge around the edge, and a device hanging on the ceiling with the same surface area. The commander stepped forward at the table and, with a button push on the ridge, the table surface turned on along with the device above. Soon, holographic images and videos appeared before them, most of them corrupted , and the commander turned to Coyote.

Coyote’s head tilted as he reached with a hand and, grabbing on one of the images displayed there, he pulled it closer and expanded it, showcasing a nude human within a pale-yellow tube. This human had his feet lengthened and expanded, fur patches on his arms and legs, and his ears were midway up his head and becoming triangular. A tube extended into the male’s mouth, which was getting longer and his teeth sharpening up, and an electric wire implanted into the back of his head. There was also a tail forming on his rear, furless at that point.

“Fascinating,” Coyote said with a hint of disgust in his voice, letting the image return to its default states. “So, this soldier was once a human, then? But why an arctic fox?”

“They haven’t explained why,” the commander said, hands pressing on the table. “However, and this is the most curious part. I confess that I almost rejected this mission myself when I learned of this detail and I’m sure you’ll feel very disgusted about it.”

Coyote straightened up; his fingers tensed.

“They told me that this ‘soldier’ was actually some high school student they picked off from the street.”

A cold chill flowed through the room, though the cooler wasn’t activated.

“So, what you’re telling me,” Coyote said in a strained, controlled voice, “is that this supersoldier that I’m being ordered to capture is actually some kidnapped victim for some kind of experiment and not some volunteer?”

“They haven’t said that they kidnapped him, but that is very likely,” the commander said, ignoring the glare from his subordinate. “The reason why I chose to accept this mission, even without the substantial amount they offered me, is that they told me that all they wanted was his blood and, once that’s done, he’s free to go wherever he likes. Plus, I admit that, after they showed me this video, I want to make sure that he hasn’t gone on some kind of killing spree.”

“What do you—” Coyote paused when the commander grabbed one of the videos and enlarged it. It was glitchy and skipped a number of times, not to mentioned how it was in green and black for night vision, but he saw one anthro arctic fox, this ‘werefox,’ standing with only a katana on hand surrounded by ten other people each one wielding some kind of weapon like a pair of axes. He fought them all and sliced them all into various chunks of flesh and blood. Coyote winced at the sight before the commander let go of the video and it shrunk down. “OK. He’s pretty tough, especially since he didn’t lose a single strand of fur there. Now I see why you feel that the Lycan Brigade may not be enough.”

“Exactly,” the commander said, walking to the side of the table. “And with the way he gained his skills, I want to make sure that he won’t commit such an act.”

“The way he gained his skills? What do you—” Coyote turned back at the picture he selected from before and the gears in his head spun. “It’s that wire that was plugged into his head. It fed him combat data.”

“For six months I’m told.” The commander leaned forward and picked up a plastic box from his side as Coyote blinked. He set it upon the table and slid it over to Coyote. “This, the client said, is multiple hard drives that held encrypted data regarding the project. From what he told me, they were found in Mr. Consilium’s home and held preserved copies of all of their research. But I’m confident that your programs will be able to hack into these hard drives and discover the missing data.”

“Seems rather strange that they’re asking for the werefox instead of asking for us to unlock all the data needed to proceed with their project,” Coyote said before he paused. “You never did tell them that we could do that, did you?”

“I thought it best that they think all we can do is extract blood, which will take them years to uncover its secrets, instead of revealing that we can extract all of the data they want from the hard drives.” The commander gave out a small smile. “After all, I’m not obliged to reveal everything we can do for them.”

Coyote relaxed a bit, grabbing the box by its handle. “OK. This is more acceptable now. I will accept this mission as long as it’s a bit of his blood that they’re after. Any more and I’ll bail out of it.”

“That is acceptable,” the commander said with a nod. “In fact, I would expect nothing less from you, Wild Coyote. And I’m sure Solid Fox would do the same thing as you.”

“Thank you,” Coyote said, lifting it up. “Though I do have two questions. One is, who is this client who wants the werefox’s blood so much?”

The commander frowned, rubbing the side of his cheek. “The name that he gave is Zwerg Pardalis, which I pointed out is an obvious pseudonym. He’s a high-ranking member of the US government. He’s so unwilling to share it that his offer for the successful capture and extraction of his blood is 200 million.”

Coyote gave out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money."

“He seems to believe that it’s worth it and more,” the commander answered with a shrug. “He also told me that the project head, Mr. Consilium, disappeared when he was in Australia two and a half years ago, half mad and armed. He believed that this is a clue to the fox’s whereabouts and that you should start there.”

“I see,” Coyote said. “And for my second question, what is this werefox’s name?” Pause. “Did he give you his name?”

The commander gave Coyote a hard stare for a few seconds before answering, “They don’t know his name. If they kept records of his name, it’ll be in the hard drives. Good luck.”

Coyote nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat before walking out with the hard drives. Even with these reassurances, Coyote couldn’t help but feel regret for this werefox, a victim of forces beyond his ability to fight.

Coyote sat in his lab, neat and clean with various electronics and devices, such as an extendible staff he had been working on for Jack and a prototype plasma gun, along with research papers in marked boxes of various sizes on a shelf. He removed his pen-sized device and placed it in one such bin, marked with the letter A which held his most ambitious prototypes that he’d been working on with Star Fox and Vix. That device burnt out during the last two days, which disappointed him since he thought he had managed to replicate it, but it seemed that he needed more understanding of their technology.

Several plastic cases of various sizes sat on the shelves, each one labeled ‘Nanobots Shield’ (research on nanomachines that can form an armor shell around someone), ‘Launch Loop’ (a more practical version of a space elevator), or ‘Zero-Point Energy’ (something to replace the base’s nuclear reactor). He stopped when he read out ‘Only use if L returns,’ on one of them. It was a small box, the smallest of them all since it only held a USB drive. And yet, he shivered as if the winter breeze breached through a mile and a half of ground and into the base. Right above that box was another, labled ‘Grün Bug’, and he picked it up.

He gave out a small grin as he reached up to the plastic box and, opening the small box, with a few small green devices in it. He pulled one of them out before putting away the box, turning around to a monitor with its computer connected to one of the hard drives. He plugged in the device and a window opened up, asking for data.

It was his personal design, the Grün Bug. It had a ruby gem interior with a memory containing every encryption cracking, backdoor finding, and password hack known, enough to fill up half of its 100 TB memory. It had a minor AI, designed to determine the best method to crack open an encrypted device.

Coyote opened up another window and, after some searching, managed to locate Mr. Consilium on various US government pages. This was classified information, but FOXWOOD was able to access it due to his status. The screen displayed hundreds of data about the missing project head, from his government connections to his home life, finding any friends he had and any pets he owned. After all, anything could be vital in hacking the drives. He added the data into the Grün Bug, created a personal profile for the AI and started the device to hack into the hard drives.

As it went to work, he paced around the room, quiet as a funeral with the only sounds coming from his boots. He picked up a stuffed coyote plush, cartoonish in design, and he give it a quick squeeze as he sat next to the hologram table. The steel ceiling, holding back against the earth above, stayed firm even as his stomach twisted. He rubbed the coyote’s ears for a bit before he relaxed.

Coyote paused at a beep within the room. He walked over to the monitor and saw several terabytes worth of files, images, and videos show up. He grabbed the mouse, shifting over to hover over file names. Project LONGE displayed itself near the top of the list, with various lines connecting to it. He clicked it opened, seeing a screenshot of a censored report, and his blood run cold when he saw one sentence sticking out to him:

Project LONGE was created by a government affiliated company, REA, backed by the CIA and several levels of the military, in order to reliably create supersoldiers equal to former soldier and CIA agent ##### ######.

Coyote stared at the sentence, or rather the censored name. He felt his heart pounding against his chest as he typed into the computer, trying to find more information about this person. Several minutes of searching passed until he found a profile report of this person, which was heavily censored.

Agent’s name: ##### ######
Agent’s age: ###
Agent’s gender: ####
Agent’s hair: Dirty blond ### ## ###### ### #### ## ###
Agent’s skin: Caucasian ### ## ###### ### #### ### ### ### ####### ## ####
Agent’s eye color: Sea blue

Coyote couldn’t help but pause from reading the report. From his age in the triple-digits, to censored details giving out hair and skin color, to his eye color. As far as he knew, there was only one person that fit this description. But they couldn’t be talking about him, could they? He shook his head and forced himself to continue reading.

Agent’s career: Before ###### joined the CIA, ###### fought in ##### ### # (under ### #######), ##### ### ## (from now on, as a ###### ## ### ## ##### under various generals), ###### ###, and ####### ###. Joined the CIA in ####, and worked in many classified missions, albeit hard to control due to personal honor and threatened to leave. Eventually did leave the CIA and ####. CIA still ####### ### #### #### ### ########
Agent’s abilities: Unparalleled skills with swords. Remarkable marksmanship with firearms. Inhuman ability to survive damage, no matter how severe. ####### #######. Might be #### ## ### ###### ########### ### ## ### #### #### Very intelligent.
Agent’s last known location: In Canada, in ####### ####. Believed to help form multinational agency FOXWOOD under codename Solid Fox.

“Oh, Star Fox.” Coyote whispered to himself, his face white. “I know you never meant for this to be, and yet it seemed you unwittingly inspired the wrong people.”

Coyote opened more reports, skimming through them and learning about this project. This 16-year-old test subject was kidnapped by the agent known as Tristian Tolle. They had used various types of chemicals and viruses in order to ‘perfect’ him as an anthro arctic fox supersoldier. He flinched, reading that the Wiedzy, the name of that machine they used to transmit and play simulations, was powerful enough that the subject’s original memories got lost into the subconscious. It concluded with the displayed video he saw earlier, of how the werefox slaughtered ten other people, but in full uncorrupted detail and how this was labeled as the final test.

Coyote clicked on the mouse, opening another file which granted basic details about the Wiedzy, showcasing a bit of its blueprints and programming (which even he admitted to himself was rather advanced for them). The various viruses and chemicals they used on the test subject caused his stomach to twisted and turned, wishing that he never saw any of these horrific details. He spotted a file, promising details about the subject himself, and he clicked on it.

The file revealed only the werefox’s capabilities, from arms at least able to lift 2000 lbs. to his marks and swordsmanship which showcased high levels of accuracy and skill. Where his name should be was only a number: 0001.

Coyote shook his head, feeling trapped between an obsidian wall and a charging truck. His fingers gripped the desk tight until he heard a pop. He looked down at a piece of squashed metal in his hand. He placed the metal down and stood up. Even as he locked the door behind him, Coyote couldn't help but wonder if he would feel clean ever again after that.