A large yacht sailed down the English Channel. This was Sharon’s target. She compared it to her last infiltration, a passenger ship many times its size. Many guards patrolled the MS Prudent, their torches shining in and out from the three-tier ship’s edge. She inhaled, brushing back her black and gray hair with her hand-paws, her long ears twitching at the crashing sea. Letting her body do the work, she slid into the water.

Sharon’s long tail pushed her forward, with long black and pinkish fins poking out at the top and two smaller white ones down and below at the sides. It ended with a large fin of mottled white, black, and gray. Starlight gleamed on her rough skin and yellow eyes, but it faded away as she submerged and took an intercept course for the yacht. Her eyes remained open as she approached the ship on the starboard side. She spun in a circle and leapt up, grabbing onto a railing.

Her armorsuit, skintight with a gray suit on top and dark green pants below, dripped along with her black overcoat. She shook off as much excess water as possible before vaulting onto the deck, her digitigrade boots silent on the wooden floor. Crouching low, on toes and kneepads, she crept along the deck, not making a sound.

Sharon twitched at a beam of light coming ahead with some footsteps. She jumped up, quickly climbing onto the next tier. The guard below, dressed in a gray uniform, walked along and paused, flashing his light on the water-soaked deck. He trailed the drops back to the railing. His gaze focused on the English Channel for a moment, his torch shining forward, before pulling out his radio.

“I spotted a trail of water on the starboard side,” he said. Sharon gripped the railing tight.

“Think it might be an intruder?” The other side asked as the guard returned to where he found the water trail.

“Maybe,” the guard answered. “It’s hard to tell where it began or ended. It’s best to keep an eye out.”

“Understood.”

Sharon closed her eyes, the image of the MS Prudent and its blueprints appearing before her. The total number of guards, twenty-five, listed beside it. Two such rooms were highlighted, and she nodded after checking her overcoat’s pockets, finding the plastic-wrapped devices inside. After her clothes finished dripping, she slunk into the shadows. A minute later, she stopped in front of a door secured with a card reader. The blueprint appeared before her, the door leading to a hallway that held one of the two rooms required.

She reached into her pockets again, pulling out a device with a pair of rods, and inserted the rods into the reader. She turned it on and, after punching in a code 4357, it hummed until the door clicked. She opened the door and strode in after removing the rods and putting the door hacker device back in the bags.

Inside, the security camera buzzed its focus on one side of the hallway. Sharon pressed her back against the wall, sliding by until she got to her destination room. She checked the door and found it unlocked. She slipped in, the door closing without a squeak behind her, and flexed her fingers at the computers sitting there.

Sharon walked to one of the computers and turned it on, waiting a couple of minutes until the login screen popped up. At that point, she removed another device from her pocket, having a vague bug-like design with a green gem as its core and a USB cable attached to it. She unwrapped it from its plastic. She inserted the USB cable into the computer’s port, and the device hummed to life with her pressing a button on its back. It let out a buzz and, a minute later, it logged her into the computer, the background screen displaying a man with thick glasses on a motorcycle.

She pressed a couple of buttons on her hacking device and multiple windows opened all at once, with the device hacking into the ship’s network and copying any images, documents, and videos before downloading them. She turned back to the door, waiting, but no one came while her gadget copied away. Finally, Sharon turned the computer off before removing the device from the USB port, wrapping it in plastic, and pocketing it. After sneaking past the camera once more, she slipped out and stepped onto the deck. The door locked behind her.

Sharon checked out the first part of her mission, hacking into the system and downloading everything. Her memory of the blueprint flashed to the second room, on the third tier. She waited, a torch flashing above her with a guard walking by, until it disappeared. She leaped, grabbing the railings and climbing to the third tier. She skimmed all around before she trotted down the deck, soon reaching outside her second target. She crouched under a window, with light shining out through the glass.

She shifted all around before she extended one of her claws, colored pink, and wiggled it between the window and its side. It opened a millimeter and voices came from within, one electronic-toned. She pressed her back against the wall and listened while grimacing.

“How goes the investigation?” The electronic-toned voice asked.

“Not going as well as I hope,” the second voice answered, with footsteps coming from within. “MFS covered their tracks well. I have some stray evidence, but it’s circumstantial at best.”

“Harris,” the electronic-tone voice said. “Don’t push yourself too hard. They learned a lot from REA’s downfall, and they may be too much for us.”

“I know, Kenton,” Harris said. “But you remember what happened last month with the EU’s bureaucrats, right?”

“I do. Strangest thing I ever saw,” Kenton answered, as he sighed. “Listen, be careful. You’re a skilled lawyer, and we don’t want to lose—”

“Hey!”

Sharon flinched, a flash from a torch shining at her, and she clenched her fists. The guard paused, dumbfounded by her, an anthropomorphic shark. She took advantage of his shock to charge. He recovered. But, with her body acting on its own, she slammed her fist against his neck. He choaked and dropped his torch. Sharon punched his head again and he fell on the deck.

The door slammed open behind her and a man with thick glasses and a blue suit stepped out. He paused, flummoxed, and Sharon frowned as options appeared before her on what to do. Escape, she decided, and hopped down to the next tier, her boots landing with a crash before she sprinted toward the stern. The man, Harris, stepped to the guard and reached for his radio after checking his pulse.

Harris pressed the radio’s button and spoke into it. “We have an intruder on the starboard side, running to the stern! She looks like some kind of shark lady with a black overcoat! Don’t let her escape!”

A response came from the radio, but Sharon ignored it, sprinting faster. Every light on the ship turned on, her frown deepened, her overcoat fluttering from the motion. A couple of guards ran in her direction, all three stopping a few meters from each other. The left guard, who held a gun on his holster, blinked in bafflement as Sharon clenched her hand-paws into fists.

“I thought Harris was seeing things, but there really is a shark lady,” he said, pulling out his pistol. “What are you?”

The right guard ran forward, swinging his fist, but Sharon leaned to the side, with the fist centimeters away from her head. She slammed her left knee on the lower right side of his ribcage. He gasped before collapsing onto the ground. The left guard aimed his pistol, but Sharon charged forward, swinging her foot-paw against his hand, kicking the gun out of the way. It crashed onto the lower tier, where it discharged, and Sharon’s ears were deafened for the moment even as she smashed her fists against the guard’s stomach and nose.

The guard wheezed, falling on his back. Sharon leaped down to the next tier, making a thudding noise. A couple more guards came up, each one pointing their guns at her from the opposite direction, each five meters away. Sharon shifted her eyes, with a few suggested battle plans popping up. She lunged at the right one. That guard, startled, fired a couple of shots which slammed against her chest. Sharon ignored the damage it could cause. Instead, she leapt over and landed behind him, wrapping one arm across his chest. With the other, she grabbed the pistol hand, aiming that at the other guard.

The other guard hesitated and Sharon took advantage of it by crushing her hostage’s hand, with bones snapping, until he dropped his gun. She kicked him at the other guard before kicking the pistol off the deck. The second guard lowered his weapon as the first guard crashed against him, and they fell down. Sharon charged at them. They both recovered, getting up with the second guard taking aim, but she got close and kicked the pistol away, knocking it into the ocean.

Sharon narrowed her eyes before swinging her fist at the first guard. He grabbed her fist only to get pushed back, with it slamming against his stomach anyways. He fell, but the second guard went behind her, holding her around the waist and neck. He leaned back, though she remained firm in place, and Sharon slammed her elbow at his waist, forcing him to stumble back.

“You’re hefty as well!” The second guard blinked in disbelief. “How much do you eat anyways, you bitch!?”

A glint came from Sharon’s eyes, and she moved forward, going for the brutal takedown. She slammed her fists below his chest, with him coughing and stepping back from the sheer power before kneeing him in the crotch. He gasped, his eyes almost bulging out, and Sharon stepped back, rubbing her boot against the ground. Exposing her teeth, she swung her foot-paw, slamming it against his face.

A crack came from the guard, and he fell back as though the strings attached to him were cut. Sharon widened her eyes in horror, kneeling to him as the first guard stumbled up, checking his neck. But no pulse came, and she opened her mouth in dismay, his eyes staring out into the distance. She reached and closed his eyes, shaking her head, and the first guard got up.

“Oh, lord. You murderer!” The first guard reached out and grabbed her by the neck. “You killed Blake!”

“What’s going on?”

More footsteps came, and Sharon lifted her head up, yanking the first guard off of her before tossing him back. She got up before charging out toward the railing, with multiple guards coming from numerous directions. She leapt and dove, smashing into the sea. All torches shone on her and at the sea where she went. When she didn’t surface, they turned to their dead coworker.

Blondie stood within a long room. His muzzle, white like much of his fur, pointed toward a wooden wall around five hundred feet away. A brown wide-rimmed hat sat on his head, with his triangular ears poking out from the top and his dirty blond hair hanging down. He flung his brown poncho back. His revolver, a Colt Peacemaker .45 LC with wolf grips, exposed along with his holster. The sleeves of his blue button-up shirt were pulled up, a brown leather vest over it, and his green eyes stared ahead, multiple wooden targets lying on the ground.

Six of those targets, each with a paper target on them, popped forward all at once, and Blondie grabbed his revolver, unholstering it and pointing it forward. His stance ready with his large digitigrade feet-paws on the ground at a thirty-degree angle, he pressed the side of his hand-paw on the hammer and pulled it back. He pulled the trigger and fired, keeping the trigger pulled as he fanned the hammer, firing all six shots within a second. Smoke came from the muzzle, and he holstered the revolver.

“Range is clear,” Blondie said, his voice soft.

Mr. Tolle, who wore a loose black shirt, stepped into the firing range, his fair hair shaggy despite some efforts at keeping it straight. His black boots clicked on the concrete floor, his expression curious as he yanked out the six paper targets on them. Afterward, he gathered the sheets together and turned to Blondie, somewhat pale. He raised the sheets, his purple eye slightly seen through the holes, before scratching his protective electronic earmuffs.

“Anything wrong?” Blondie asked as Mr. Tolle stepped to his side.

“No matter how many times you show me this trick, I can’t believe it,” Mr. Tolle answered, setting the papers next to multiple ammo boxes on the table. “What you did there should’ve been impossible!”

“You said the same thing back in Australia,” Blondie said, shrugging even as Mr. Tolle stepped beside him. “Yet, I did it both times.”

“I know,” Mr. Tolle said, shaking his head even as Blondie grabbed a spent cartridge and set it in the hole, the papers somewhat ripping from the force. “But this is something only seen in movies, like with your namesake!”

But Blondie, emitting a sigh, picked up his revolver with a finger and a thumb before setting it on the table. After making sure it was pointing forward, he half-cocked the hammer and opened the revolver’s gate. Pushing the ejector rod back, he popped the empty cartridge out one at a time until all six chambers were empty. Finally, he put bullets in each chamber and, after closing the gate, held on to the hammer and pulled the trigger. He lowered the hammer until it snapped in place.

Mr. Tolle took a step back, pulling out a remote, as Blondie said, “Range is hot.”

Blondie pointed his revolver forward toward the ground as Mr. Tolle pressed on the remote, a timer counting down. Soon, the seventh target flipped forward, fifteen feet away from him, and he gripped the revolver with both hands, pulling the hammer with his thumb. One by one, he fired shots, each bullet piercing through the target until he fired all six within a few seconds. He holstered the revolver, inhaling, as Mr. Tolle blinked.

“Range is clear,” Blondie said, and Mr. Tolle trotted down the range. “Perhaps you should practice shooting with me sometime.”

“I doubt I’ll compete with your skills,” Mr. Tolle said, pulling the targeting paper off and blinking at it. “Yup. One sizable bullet hole. I doubt there's anyone who can surpass your shooting skills.”

“That’s not true,” Blondie said, shrugging even as Mr. Tolle set the targeting paper on the table, with the cartridge going through its hole. “I’ve seen the Trickster Brigade practice, and Thunder Jackal is far better at it than I am. If you don’t believe me, let me show you what he uses as targets.”

Mr. Tolle tilted his head. “What do you—”

At that moment, the door swung open with a crash, and Blondie twisted around. His finger rubbing his revolver’s grips. He blinked as a red-haired man stepped in, his deep blue eyes shining even as he let out a small smile. He held a coyote plush under one of his arms. A white lab coat hung over his gray, skintight, armorsuit even as he held a clipboard between a couple of his fingers. Mr. Tolle stepped a couple of steps away, blinking even as the man flashed a grin at him.

“Hello, Wild Coyote,” Blondie said, his right ear folded to the side. “Anything wrong?”

“Hello, Blondie,” Wild Coyote said, lifting up his clipboard, a couple of thick electrical bracelets wiggling around his wrists. “I figured you were practicing with your revolver again, even without a couple of Grays pointing me in your direction.”

Blondie nodded, and he asked again, “Anything wrong?”

The grin on Coyote’s face faded. “That isn’t important. The FOXWOOD commander wants to speak with everyone available in the Trickster Brigade.”

Blondie frowned. “If you insist.” Coyote squeezed on the coyote toy tighter. “Still, a mission?”

“Yes,” Coyote nodded as he handed the clipboard to Blondie. “I think you’ll be interested in this mission.” Blondie raised an eyebrow as Coyote grabbed his plush from under his arm and patted it on the head. “The commander will have more information.”

Blondie rolled his eyes before turning to the clipboard with a few pictures of an anthropomorphic shark on them. One photo had a scant look of her sneaking through a hallway, while another had her kneeling over a body. Familiarity with her suit came to Blondie even as he glanced at the lone paragraph on the sheet.

Famous lawyer Harris Jackson of W&J underwent an espionage attack while on his private yacht. The intruder, dubbed shark lady, was spotted outside his room before fleeing. In the process of escaping, the intruder killed Blake Ashley, a guard.

“Curious,” Blondie said, handing the clipboard back. “I don’t recognize her. Do you? She is wearing FOXWOOD’s armorsuit, after all.”

“We have never seen her before,” Coyote answered, tapping the clipboard. “And we don’t sell them, despite my attempts to patent it and several of my other inventions. The commander wouldn’t hear of it.” He turned to Mr. Tolle. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put for now.”

“I understand,” Mr. Tolle said, nodding. “It’s a privilege to be here, despite not working for FOXWOOD.”

“You can thank Blondie for that,” Coyote said, turning away while squeezing the coyote plush. “If you want to chat with Mr. T a bit longer, you can do so. I’ll be waiting outside.”

Coyote stepped through the door, shutting it behind him, even as Blondie scratched the back of his head. Mr. Tolle rolled his eyes, spinning his finger in his hair. He curled it around his finger before pulling it back, turning to Blondie. Blondie stepped to the table, opened his revolver’s gate and, after half-cocking it, pushed out each empty cartridge with the ejector rod. He made sure the gun was pointing down range as he unloaded it.

“Never can get used to him calling me ‘Mr. T.’” Mr. Tolle sighed as Blondie pulled the trigger while holding onto the hammer, setting it back in place while taking care. He holstered his revolver without adding more rounds to it. Instead of moving away to follow Coyote, though, he remained standing there, rubbing his chin. “Something bothering you?”

“Wild Coyote,” Blondie answered, taking off his hat. “It’s the first time since we met that he came to me as a human instead as an anthro coyote, especially in this FOXWOOD base. And he kept squeezing that plush as though he needed to relieve stress. Something is troubling him.”

“If that attacker is using FOXWOOD gear, despite it being difficult to obtain,” Mr. Tolle said, tapping his shoes. “I would be stressed out, too, considering that’s usually because of a data leak.”

But Blondie shook his head and put his hat back on. “I don’t think it’s that.” He shrugged before turning to Mr. Tolle. “You take care.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Tolle responded, nodding and waving as Blondie stepped to the door. He opened it and slid into the hallway.

Stark white covered the walls and ceiling, Blondie felt the cool polished floor beneath his large feet-paws. The hallway, much like the vast majority of FOXWOOD base, had cool shining bright light above with no shadow. Blondie turned from side to side until he spotted Coyote leaning against one of the glass doors and showing a strained grin. Soon, he pushed himself off and the two walked down the hallway side by side.

“Vix and Thunder Jackal should be at the commander’s room now,” Coyote said, avoiding a worker walking the opposite way.

Blondie raised an eyebrow, letting the poncho fall in front of him. “Decided to stop calling him ‘Jack?’”

Coyote shrugged. “Yeah. Normally, he would shrug it off or give an empty threat, but” he rubbed his throat for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Blondie hummed for a few seconds, his instincts reacting even as the area became colder. He kept silent despite everything feeling off, avoiding a couple from the Lycan Brigade in the meantime. The blond-haired one turned back in surprise, but Blondie didn’t turn back, his thoughts darkening.

The two stepped into the commander’s office, and Blondie felt his instincts ringing in his head. The commander stood behind a desk, facing a screen, with the desk having a similar-sized device above. Silver Vixen stood up, her blonde hair shimmering along with bright blue eyes, wearing a dark-blue armorsuit and white lab coat. Thunder Jackal leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, his steely sky-blue eyes closed and his black hair flopped against his forehead. He was wearing a dark green armorsuit and a black overcoat. Despite the silence, Blondie felt the fur on his back stand up, since Vixen and Jackal were human instead of their anthro forms.

“Sit,” the commander said, with Vixen and Coyote taking a seat, though both Blondie and Jackal remained standing. He turned around, his hair turning white and having a long scar near his left eye and over his cheek. “I’m sure Wild Coyote gave you the basic information about this mission.”

Blondie nodded. “That an anthropomorphic shark wore one of FOXWOOD’s armorsuits and intruded on a lawyer’s ship.”

“That’s only one part of the details that bothered me.” The commander sat down, his multiple medals jingling. He pressed a button on his desk, turning the holographic system on and the device above shining down a light. Images and videos appeared above the table, much of them involving this anthro shark. “Here’s footage from their computer room’s hidden camera.”

He reached with his right hand, which wore a glove, and expanded a video of the anthro shark by a computer. Coyote leaned forward, flinching at the hacking device she held. The commander displayed a still image. It showcased the anthro shark sneaking into a hallway, pocketing another device.

“If I am not mistaken, she has some of my prototype hacking machines.” Coyote reached into his pocket and pulled out a similar bug-like design, though sleeker with green skin and a ruby interior.

“Even as a prototype, it and another has proven to be quite useful to her,” the commander said as Coyote pocketed the Grün Bug. “Initial investigations suggested that we haven’t suffered a data leak, so how she ended up with them is unknown. Any suggestions?”

Coyote rubbed the back of his head. “The only time I remember showcasing such prototypes was fishing for investors for FOXWOOD, if only to showcase our R&D sections, but that was early on.”

The commander nodded. “We should consider investigating those investors as well, just in case.” Coyote nodded, and the commander dismissed the image and video before expanding another video. “For now, let us observe this intruder in action.”

Blondie tilted his head, the anthro shark jumping down before getting ambushed by a pair of guards, each aiming a gun at her. Within brutal seconds, the battle ended with one with a broken arm and the other dead, and he leaned forward. Vixen gasped at the sudden twist of the neck, with Coyote scratching his chin before shaking his head.

Jackal opened his eyes, stepping forward. “Sso, that iss thiss Blake Asshley?”

Blondie blinked, shifting his eyes at him as the room became colder, his instincts screaming at him. Jackal stared back, the two focused on each other as though their wills slipped through their bodies and fought each other. But Jackal’s will remained solid, and Blondie turned away, disgruntled.

“The one she kicked, yes,” the commander said even as the video continued playing, showing one of the guards trying to choke her from behind while kneeling down against Blake. “Because of her proven prowess, I’m assigning this mission to the Trickster Brigade.”

Blondie nodded as Vixen leaned forward, reversing the video to where the anthro shark knelt beside Blake. “What is she doing there?”

“None of the witnesses, even the one who tried to choke her, can say,” the commander responded, rubbing his silver fox’s metal on the right collar before shaking his head.

Coyote dragged forward and expanded several images, all involving the deceased Blake’s body, and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she was checking on him.”

The commander set both elbows on the desk, crossing both sets of fingers against each other, one gloved and the other ungloved. “Explain.”

Coyote stood up, rewinding footage while expanding other images, with Vixen grabbing a couple and raising her eyebrow at them. “Perhaps she attempted to incapacitate rather than kill but underestimated her kick’s power. Cause if she really wanted to kill him or both,” he played the video, with the anthro shark unloading and tossing away a pistol, “she would’ve just shot them, especially with one still having a gun. Instead, she kicked it off.”

“So,” the commander leaned forward, “you’re suggesting that the killing might be an accident?”

“It’s possible,” Vixen answered, with the commander shifting to her as she expanded Blake’s body as discovered. “A cervical fracture of such severity would’ve killed him instantly. But look.” She pointed at Blake’s closed eyes, with the commander nodding. “See what I mean?”

“That this anthro shark closed his eyes instead of leaving them open?” The commander asked, with Vixen nodding. “I thought the same thing and followed it up with the witnesses. They confirmed that none of them closed his eyes before taking those pictures.

“Regardless,” the commander added, his voice cold, “none of you should underestimate her because of this. Understood?” Both Coyote and Vixen nodded and they sat down. “Now, we have a base near the south of England. You are to take one of our jets and land at the base. You are to approach the lawyer, Harris Jackson, and question him on why would someone, especially an anthro shark, would intrude on his ship and hack his computers. After that, I’ll leave further courses of action to you within limits.”

“Any questions?”

Blondie turned from side to side, with Jackal glaring at him, before he nodded. “I do have one question. If you can answer.”

The commander leaned up and gave a dry chuckle. “I can guess what you’re wondering about.” Blondie waited, his stomach tightening. “You are right to feel confused about our missing member, Solid Fox. Silver Vixen?”

Vixen nodded, standing up with her hands behind her back. “I have relieved Solid Fox of duty for a week for health reasons.” Her voice hollowed, with Blondie flicking an ear. “He's experienced unusual stress from the last few months, and fears that he will eventually lash out. Though,” her voice cracked a bit, “I fear that even a week off wouldn’t be enough.”

Blondie twitched his fingers, the room freezing despite being the one wearing fur. He turned to Jackal, who kept glaring at him and glared back, their wills fighting again. However, despite nothing feeling right, he had nothing to grasp on. He closed his eyes, sighing.

“That is the core question I was thinking about,” Blondie said, with the commander nodding.

“Good. Any more questions?” The commander waited a few seconds before turning off the holographic desk and standing up, turning his back toward them. “Dismissed.”

Blondie opened his eyes, stepping out of the room, though it felt no warmer outside than in. So, he turned back and waited. Vixen stepped out, followed by Jackal, and finally Coyote. He gave a strained grin at Blondie while squeezing his coyote plush. But Blondie shook his head and approached, slamming his hand-paw on Coyote’s shoulder and squeezing it.

“Now, care to help fill in the empty holes?” Blondie asked, with Coyote blinking.

“What do—”

“You know what.” Blondie squeezed Coyote’s shoulder harder. “You appear as human? Odd, especially in this base, but harmless. Silver Vixen and Thunder Jackal doing the same? Suspicious, especially on his part. Him outright speaking, despite having a light lisp as a human, which he hates? Something’s wrong. And to hear that Solid Fox was sent on medical leave? I’m more confused as to why Silver Vixen isn’t with him, especially if it is bad. I may not know any of you as well, but I know enough to know that none of you are acting like yourselves.” Coyote shifted his eyes, his grin straining. “Now, explain what is going on?”

Sweat formed on Coyote’s head, but he sighed and opened his mouth, but Blondie felt a jolt on his hand-paw, and he let go of Coyote, shaking it. Jackal stepped up from the side, a half-head shorter than Coyote and he grabbed Coyote’s arm and dragged him away. Blondie glared at Jackal, who glared back even as Coyote shrugged and gave an apologetic grin, with workers avoiding the two’s path. Blondie stood there, clenching his teeth, before storming away, his tail still.