Disclaimer: Maggie Mink is mine! Same with Edwig and the homeless guy!
Author's Note: First off, I'd like to thank Kit Karamak for helping me out of my writer's block. You're always adding on to my vision, and I don't know where I'd be without you.
With that said it's certainly been a while since the deletion of the original Chapter 4. Though I've been discouraged for months without end, I finally managed to pull through. So really, I must thank the spiteful fangirls who reported my offensive story. Your stupidity and unyielding nature somehow improved my writing. Perhaps you do serve a purpose beyond pissing me off...
Now, anyone who remembers the old Chapter 4 knows that this is where everything falls apart... yet comes together, if that makes any sense at all. Changes are in the air, chaos is minutes away from breaking out and there's tension. Oh, and there's that subtle little plot twist that nobody knows about. See if you can find it.
One last thing, there's a good amount of gore sprinkled throughout this chapter. Yeah. Tread carefully and enjoy yourselves.
Chapter 4: Revolution 9
Carmelita's ApartmentParis, France, 10:09 pm
Inspector Scott stepped out of the shower, his dark hair and sleek pale body glistening with water droplets. He pulled a lavender colored towel from the top of the misty slider door and vigorously dried his form. Once thoroughly dried, he tossed the towel aside and stretched himself before switching off the light. He exited the bathroom and approached Carmelita, who was sitting comfortably underneath the sheets, enclosed in her night gown and shifting through what seemed to be an endless amount of papers from an old police file.
Scott crawled beside Carmelita and examined the folder. "Hector Malvin Galagos..." he read aloud. He dropped the uninteresting pasteboard and turned to his vulpine partner, asking; "All of this is on him?"
She nodded, keeping her eyes on the weathered paper. "From every murder he's commited, to the hospital he was born in; everything's in here. Though something strikes me as very peculiar..."
"Well, when Hector is out in the open and spreading his vile propaganda, no one has bothered to arrest him. According to this, all of the law-enforcement installations in the respective vicinities have been... ordered to stay put. And on top of all that, he's been involved with the CEO of Interpol; Gethsen Pheles. Not recently, but many years ago."
Scott blinked. "Weird. And I didn't even know we had a CEO. How come I've never heard of him?"
"He's a very secretive person." Carmelita explained while putting the vital paperwork back into the folder. "And he never visits any of the stations. Nor does he call -- it's always either Doctor Heep or Special Agent Torche who communicate with Interpol's 'lesser' staff members. Stranger still, there's been rumors of our higher-ups being imperative members of a Satanic secret society."
The human officer couldn't help but scoff at these ridiculous rumors. "A Satanic secret society? Sounds like some crazy bullshit to me."
"Bullshit or no, it was enough to warrant a covert investigation by Chief Kiss and several others. But so far, they've found nothing that suggests any relation to this society, let alone Satanism in general..." After dumping the thick folder onto the carpet she laid herself down, and her majestic unbraided hair smothered the pillow below. She yawned and remained quiet for good while, with the dust-covered lamp to her side growing dimmer and dimmer, until finally fading out.
"...Fucking lamp." Scott grumbled.
"We really need to move out of this dump." the vixen sighed while rubbing her tired eyes. "And find ourselves a real home."
"An isolated home. With a nice view of the ocean." added her partner.
She nodded, rolling over in the human's direction and pushing her cold, wet nose into his bare chest. "And a place to put the Lamborghini we've been saving up for..."
"Oh yes." The darkness of the night cloaked Inspector Scott's smile, the most rarest of occurances. However, it soon disappeared when he continued on a more somber note; "I just hope when Cooper and Galagos are expunged, we'll have the chance to live life... correctly."
"Correctly?" She looked up at the pale shadow, scowling. "Scott, despite the abrasive circumstances of the past, we've been living life like everyone else. There is no correct way to live, but there is a way to make the conditions of life more pleasant." Carmelita placed a hand on his face, and she switched to a more assuring tone. "I promise you, once those who impede our dreams are gone, things will get better. Everything we talk about will become a reality if we stay persistent and keep yearning. Got it?"
His answer was lighthearted, yet comprehensive. "Got it... ma'am."
Then, all within the room became peaceful and soundless, save for the gentle ticking of the alarm clock. With the passing of an hour or so, both human and furre had drifted off into the inevitable deep slumber, while safely tucked away and absent from the waywardness of the exterior madhouse -- for tonight at least. With the curtain of uncertainties drawn, the succeeding day would signal a drastic change for the world. A change that would alter the destiny of many, including those who would commit such unrightful alterations.
Tommorow, the 'Christian disease' would kill again.
Sly Cooper slowly lifted his cane, his eyes following Inspector Scott as he dropped from his hiding spot. He was dressed in his usual black attire, blending in perfectly with this sinister battleground -- the kind you would see in the worst of nightmares. His unnatural crimson eyes pierced through the darkness, staring at the raccoon like fixed, egregious searchlights. He released a deranged screech, pulled his knife from its holster and charged at him.
Sly forsaw the predictable move and leapt over the corrupt enforcer. He landed on his feet and rotated to strike at his opponent. His hooked cane smashed into Scott's back, causing the human to snarl with fury. Sly twirled his weapon and struck again, this time hitting the officer's left leg. There was a loud snap, and the force of the strike was enough to bring the larger man to his knees.
"Too predictable!" Sly thought, "C'mon, do something new..."
In an unexpected move, Scott threw himself around and slashed at his enemy. The knife's tip ran along Sly's chest, and blood immediately poured forth, consuming the bright blue color of his outfit. The thief clenched his teeth as the stinging sensations clawed at his chest. He raised his cane, ready to break open the insane human's skull, but Scott suddenly rose to his feet and threw a fist into the furre's face, sending him tumbling backwards.
After sliding the knife back into its sheath, the inspector snatched his writhing arch enemy up from the ground, lifted him high into the air and then slammed him against the concrete. Scott stepped back, sneering when that wretched creature howled in agony.
Sly fought the unfathomable pain surging through his body, bringing himself back upright and trying quickly to recall past methods that led him to victory. With a weak smirk, he sped up time by simply thinking about it, and dropkicked Scott in the face, striking him like a living bolt of lightning. Blood erupted from Scott's nose and it splashed onto the ground as equally as fast -- but he simply wouldn't fall. Sly kept the handy Cooper-techinique in motion and zoomed between the deadly man's legs. He then pummeled the butt of his cane into Scott's back, sending him flying down a cavernous hole, which was almost invisible due to the sheer absence of light.
The thief ceased the trick and peered into the void, his ears falling flat. "Great." He sighed. "It just had to be the sewer-hole..."
Holding his breath, he reluctantly descended the malodorous vortex, using his toes to search for stepping stones as he neared the bottom. Before his feet even touched the slimy surface below, he was pried from the wall and thrown off. He landed in the vile, shallow underground river with a grunt, and he registered a look of disgust on his face -- though not because of the bacteria-ladened matter that covered him. Rather, it was mere sight of Inspector Scott standing before him once again. Sly eyed the madman's drawn knife, which glistened faintly in the overwhelming shadow.
As soundless as death, Scott leapt onto Sly and brought his weapon down. The knife pierced through the sludgy river, and just barely missed the raccoon's head.
Sly's heart raced, the hot breath of his ever-persistant stalker caressing his face. He managed wrap his legs around the inspector's neck, and with all his might he slung him aside. Cooper then regained his footing and pressed a minuscule button on his cane. The family heirloom became enveloped with a blazing orange glow, and the dark sewers were suddenly illuminated. He dashed towards the perplexed Inspector Scott and swung his cane, sloppily detaching the vengeful man's left arm at the elbow. Both his knife and arm fell to the ground, along with a downpour of crimson.
Scott roared wildly. Not from the immense pain, but from the frustration, and the possibility of yet another failure. With his only hand, he drew his Glock 26 and released the hammer, firing it point black at the Procyon's hip. The bullet plowed through flesh and bone, and burst out the other end with red liquid trailing behind it. The sound of it ricocheting off the sordid brick wall accompanied Cooper's yelp.
The hooked pole's brilliant glow ceased as Sly lurched back, but he impulsively reactivated it. He disregarded his injured hip and limped over to his opponent, who was still going utterly berserk. Sly growled, shoving his powered-up weapon into the man's gut. It tore straight through his belly; the hooked end appearing as a lump as it pressed against the back of Scott's jacket. Sly listened to the human's breathing, which was becoming more and more labored as the seconds flew. There was no question about it; the wound was quite fatal, and he would not live to see another day. Finally, this game was over.
He pulled his cane out, and both Scott and his guts fell to the ground. The new stench that filled the air was tremendous, and it was enough to make Sly retch. Turning away from the corpse, he started to limp away -- but suddenly, a gunshot deafened the tunnels, and Sly felt something penetrate the back of his head. A soupy combination of blood and liquid brain matter seeped out of the entry wound, and the subterranean battlefield soon dissolved into a plane of nothingness; possessing neither shape or sound...
"Don't always be so egotistical." Bentley said after lifting the VR training goggles from Sly's face. "You turned your back after winning and he got the final shot! This is the third time-- no, the fourth time this has happened! Get it together, Sly!"
Cooper Gang's HideoutParis, France, 4:37 pm
Sly frowned. "Sorry. I thought for sure he was dead..."
"Well, we're gonna have to correct the problem with more training!" exclaimed the tortoise as he set the goggles aside. He paused for a moment, and then quietly added; "I don't want you dying out there. In real life..."
"I know, I know!" the raccoon snapped, turning away from Bentley. "But you don't understand what it's like to break someone to pieces, or listen to them as they stuggle to breathe. It really messes you up. And after all these horrible virtual fights, I can't help feeling remorse for him now." His ears lowered, and his voice became harsher. "I just wish it wasn't like this."
"Sly, you can't change the way things are." Bentley explained, "That's why the simulator is the way it is. Inspector Scott is a cold, mindless killing machine, and he'll never show you the remorse that you feel."
"He's not mindless. There's more to it than that..."
"Perhaps there is. However, I must ask what we would gain from piecing the puzzle together...?" Bentley threw his stumpy arms into the air and answered his own question; "Nothing! He's always going to stalk you, and his desire to murder you is never, ever going to fade! It's best to simply forget about pity and... well, fight to survive!"
"...You're right." Sly said, looking somewhat more cheerful than before. "Thanks Bent. You've always been a real pal."
"Eh, don't mention it..."
Once this was said, Sly and Bentley withdrew from the drab, spacious cubicle dedicated solely to VR training, and entered the living room, where they found Murray dancing to an obnoxious rap music video on T.V. His huge gut was swinging back and forth, and cheese puffs were pouring out of the shimmering bag in his hand. He finally noticed his stunned friends, waved at them, and then turned the volume down. "What's up my niggers?" he said, unexpectedly.
"Step away from the idiot box, Murray." Sly chuckled. "It's news time."
"Awww!" The 'pink burden' threw himself onto the sofa and nearly tipped it backwards, "But Maggie Mink is so boring!"
"Boring? She's informative and quite beautiful, if I do say so myself!" Bentley declared with a ridiculous grin. "Now, I do wonder where the remote control could be...?" He gave Murray a stern gaze, and the hippo eventually surrendered the remote control to him. After he and Sly had seated themselves, he began flipping through the channels until he reached DIFE 22 -- his news station of choice.
"...And this just in; Rouen Zoo has just reported that one of their silverback gorillas has gone missing." mumbled DIFE's top reporter, Maggie Mink, in a rather nonchalent manner. She swept her fluffy brown hair back with a slender hand and continued; "The evidence found by Interpol suggests that it was stolen overnight. Security officers are being questioned as to why they did not see the thieves. Investigators believe they were drinking... or something..."
"A gorilla?" snickered Cooper. "Why would somebody want to steal one of those?"
"For money, my friend." Bentley replied.
"More breaking news," Maggie said, still sounding uninterested. "Reverend Hector Malvin Galagos, the leader of the anti-furre revolution, has been spotted in the same city; Rouen. Coincidence?"
Bentley's mouth dropped the moment he heard this. "Incredulous! Galagos? In France? Oh gawd, we're all gonna die!"
"Dude, wasn't he always in France?" Sly asked while scratching his head.
"Of course not, Sly!" The tortoise bleated, typically puzzled by his mammalian companion's dimness. "His most recent broadcast was from Newport, Oregon. In the United States."
"Yes! And the strange thing is, no one even had the notion to arrest him! I mean, he is wanted for countless execrable murders, if memory serves me right. Which it always does..."
"I'm out of cheese puffs!" Murray cried.
Le Police Department, I.E.E #35Paris, France, 4:57 pm
Inspector Fox and her partner stood before Chief Kiss, both wearing dumbfounded expressions. They had encountered some strange happenings in the past, such as the horrifying 'New Mexican dog event' three years ago, or when their own Chief participated in a 'rap duel' against a disgruntled reptilian oddity, or when Scott had to dress up as a prostitute. But to Carmelita, even these events paled in comparison to this one. "Someone took a gorilla?" She asked again, wondering if she heard right the first time.
Kiss, who was taking the situation critically, nodded and gave her a straightforward answer; "Yes. A gowilla."
Scott looked quite the opposite of his superior, as an amused grin was pasted onto his face. Kiss lifted a fuzzy brow, and Scott's grin instantly disappeared, and after clearing his throat, he said with all due seriousness; "And you want us to go looking for it, right?"
"What do you think this shit is? What can brown do for you today?" said Kiss with a suddenly-white nasual voice, mocking the way Scott speaks. "Naw, dawg. Dis ain't U.P.S., it's what can yo' do for brown today. I want th' two of ya' ta get th' four-one-one on Nazi-boy Galagos, straight up. He's patrollin' Rouen and I can't be havin' nobody ridin' dirty on my watch. Dat bitch is straight-trippin' and ya know what dat means? Yeah, no lie; it means trouble fo' all da in, un and-otherwise non competent types livin' all up in dat joint. Ya dig? Yo' two feelin' me on dis?"
Carmelita saluted. "Yes Chief!"
"And if yo' two find dat biotch... dat'd be dope; as in, dat's yo' orders. Yo, curb-stomp his shiny bald head... maybe ya crackers should put some cuffs on him!" Kiss said, pulling off some Larvell Jones style karate chops, having just watched Police Academy not too long ago. "We definitely want dis punk-ass whitie alive; I'm down fo' interrogation, playa'. He knows what's up, and ya know what? I wanna know what's up, too. Now, get dat hoopde ride out of ma muddafuckin' lot and find him! Go on, bounce, son! Yo' blockin' ma Suburban." Kiss turned to Carmelita and made a back-handed sweeping motion of dismissal. "Yo' two, Pancake-ass. I want results this time, shawty. Do yoselves a favor, don't holla until yo' balla."
Wasting no time, the two elite flatfoots raced out of Kiss' office, zig-zagged through the nearly unoccupied hallways and descended the Le Police Station's longwinded staircases. All the trim windows, the brilliant light that shone through them, and the building's own miscellaneous furnishings disappeared completely once they reached the lower levels. Eventually, they found themselves in the underground parking area, and were surprised to see their silver Alfa Romeo Brera covered in disparaging slur, such as bitch, Satan's spic and all furres will go to hell! .
"Not the Brera!" The vixen shrieked.
"My my, Carm." said Scott with a titter. "Someone obviously doesn't like you..."
Carmelita shot a vicious look at her human cohort, and then returned her attention to the car and its miserable state. "We can't go in this..."
That amused grin found its way onto Scott's face again. "Why not?"
"Scott, just look at it. It looks--"
"Colorful, I know. Get in the car and stop your bitching."
Rouen CathedralRouen, France, 8:05 pm
Edwig Smart, a white tail stag in his mid twenties, stood across the street from the Rouen Cathedral. The facade reminded him of a 13th century castle. The stone was sculpted to look as though it were arched with pointed columns. Massive doors of black metal were custom cut in the same arch as the stone. Solid pewter handles adorned each door, contrasting sharply with the blackness of each.
On each door hung one ever-watching gargoyle with its wings folded back against its body in ominous form. Jeweled red eyes gleamed from their place deep within the creatures' head, and seemed to beckon anyone that looked their way. Edwig's eyes roamed upward and took in the sign at a glance. Garnet colored and lit, it seemed as jewel-like as the gargoyles' eyes. Edwig noticed a second level. Stained glass windows were strategically placed within the "A's" and the "O" of the lettering, scrawling the venue's name upon the wall. They too gleamed brightly, beckoning the unwary with a seductive, yet ancient air.
The building was free standing, hinting strangely at a feudal estate. A tower was perched upon its top, and it was completed with an archaic bell. He had to wonder if it tolled the midnight hour, then surmised it was absolutely for effect and theme. The structure enticed its patrons to enter these dark doors, which is just what he did. The deer had to see if the inside was as pleasing to the eye as the outside.
It was all that he had expected it to be, with the archaic theme carried out upon the inside. His senses were assualted by darkness and mystery, at times smothering in its intensity. When Edwig stopped, he felt curiously as though he were a peasant come to call upon the Grand Manor of old. The carpet in the entrance was red and soft under his boots. Crimson velvet curtains hung, dividing the entrance and club itself. They were pulled back and fastened with ornate gargoyles, their bulky arms holding the drapery in a tight-fisted strangle. He was overcome by the feeling of walking through some mighty Monarch's ghostly castle, to be sure. The floors were a deep dark wood, and the walls were blocks of stone. Basalt it appeared to be, of the most absymal black. Here and there it was shot through with an odd vein of white. At times it look much like bolts of lightning arcing across the sky.
Rouen Cathedral's bar was to the left. Constructed of pewter, mahogany, smoked glass and basalt; it seemed to stretch for miles. The sconces with candles in them only added to the ambience, and hung in countless numbers along the walls. Traditional lightning consisted of recessed lights that were barely visible, along with sinister chandeliers. Tables and booths surrounded the large dance floor in the center of the room.
In addition to the sconces, there were pictures. Most depicted a type of Gothic battle scene, though posters of classic horror movies ranging from Werewolves to Vampires, as well as Witches and Warlocks. Other grim objects were placed in various places: cauldrons, skeletons and even a few broomsticks. Axes hung here and there, along with a number of other medieval devices used for torture, such as chains, collars and swords of numerous sizes. Edwig gave pause before heading towards a table, not able to blend well, but simply trying to be left alone by avoiding everyone.
His eyes lifted towards a stage on the other side of the dance floor. An iron wrought podium stood in the center, and a human-esque gentleman seemed to appear from thin air, approaching from the shadows of back stage. Upon making his presence made, the establishment underwent a noticable change: the pounding ambient club music became silent, replaced by a cacophony of aggressive cheering. Shouting and whistling filled Edwig's ears.
"Galagos!" A man beside him shouted, adding a cheerful Aryan salute.
Galagos was an omnipotent-looking being, with a nasual voice and an elegant posture. He wore a viridian robe that was covered in swirling patterns of powder blue, and his skin was almost completely white. He stood behind the podium, his demonic smile and hateful eyes cutting through the dim illumination. Orange and scarlet lighting began to glow, incandescing softly from above.
"Yes, yes. It is I!" Galagos announced, making those ever-mesmerizing hand movements. "The Harbinger and the Blade of God! Reverend Galagos!" The hybrid then blinked in confusion when he caught sight of something aberrant, and very contemptable. "Oh ho, and what do have we here ?!"
Edwig's ears lowered. The uncomfortable furre seemed to shrink back into his chair as Galagos pointed a finger across the establishment, singling the deer out. The mob turned about, facing him with a hateful glare. Edwig found himself frozen as his animalistic instincts kicked in. His heart was now pounding, and his body felt numb. The group approached slowly, flanking him from all sides. Sweat dampened his brow as panic set in, and deep within, he wished he was still at home; safe and sound. Silently, he cursed the curiousity that brought him here.
A pair of strong arms came about him, locking tight against his throat. Peering down over the side of his snout, the deer could see flesh colored arms that held him there. Another human kicked his table aside; the furniture disappeared into the masses, swallowed by the sea of flesh-beings. Edwig struggled but felt subdued by the raw strength of the powerful arms around him. His eyes lifted again, seeing the crowd part for Galagos' approach.
"Oh, you poor bumbling creature." laughed the hybrid human, baring his jagged teeth. He held what appeared to be a ceremonial knife in his left hand. The crowd seemed to grow excited with anticipation. They shifted their weight and peered over one another's shoulders to see. Galagos placed the tip of the blade against Edwig's torso, a sparkle of mirth in his almost-iridescent color hues. The sound of excited whispering caused Edwig's ears to flicker atop his softly furred head.
Galagos leered at the Cervidae; a broad grin growing at the sound of hushed chanting. "Do it, do it." The crowd begged. Edwig's toes curled and his white tail fluffed. His eyes widened, yet his dilated pupils seemed to shrink to meer pinholes. His lower jaw quivered in trepidation.
"Why do you tremble? I'm here to liberate you, child." Galagos spoke no further words. His chin lifted, glaring down his nose at the furre. "Didn't you hear? God made man in hisimage. Not you. You're an abomination, and you'll burn far from the sight of the Almighty. Does that bother you? If you have a soul to speak of, you'll be lucky to see the planes of purgatory!"
Edwig clenched his teeth together at the sensation of pain. An icy chill entered his body; the frigid metal eased between his ribs and pierced his pounding heart. The spasming muscle thrashed violently against the blade, which suddenly protruded from the back of his shirt. Galagos continued to push until the tip of the blade found the backrest of the chair. He twisted the serrated weapon with but a simple rotation of his wrist. "There is a fine line between murder and extermination, but I do neither for the human race. I merely wish to preserve our heritage. It's not business or even pleasure -- it's manifest destiny, my boy!"
Edwig's head lulled forward, weak from a sudden lack of motor coordination. His glazed eyes reflected the handle of the fancy knife. The glassy orbs struggled to hold focus on the subject. His intestines spilled from his belly. The freshly gutted stag squirmed lightly in protest to the image of his organs being drawn from his abdomen. "J-Jesus! W... w-why?"
"It doesn't matter whether or not you believe I'm on a crusade." said Galagos in an almost endearing voice. "It only matters that I'm purifying the soil of our home." The hybrid threw his arms outwards. Those who had a hand in getting the furre stepped back to give their leader leeway. "You will be another symbol. Have you ever heard of Vlad Tepes Draculea? He put his enemies on public display, the way the Romans did to their enemies. You'll have the pleasure of becoming a sign. Never in your insignificant life has anyone bestowed such a gracious gift upon you. You'll actually have meaning now, little furre..." Galagos watched the labored beast sink further into the depths of personal darkness. He lifted the furre's head with his palm, locking his gaze with the creature. "Take this being's eyes out! I wish to bronze them, and offer them as a gift to Ariel Kahn! Quickly now, before he draws his last breath! Haha!"
The reverend darted back to his podium, while two of his rugged henchmen appeared from back stage to carry out their vicious task. Several more henchmen came forth, bringing down large crates as Edwig's eyes were brutally removed from their sockets, and as if on cue, red carpets bearing 'crosstikas' unfurled from higher levels. The mob cheered and whistled again, but silenced themselves after Galagos roared into his microphone.
"Are there any paranoids in the audience tonight?" He spat with curled lip, "Is there anyone here who worries about things?"
"Oh, I do!" replied a homeless man, who was waving about a champagne bottle. The rest of the group simply guffawed.
Galagos shook his head. "...Pathetic. This is for all the weak people in the audience. Is there anyone here who's weak? This is for you, it's called run like hell."
Suddenly, all the containers were ripped open by Galagos' subservient underlings. Automated firearms, explosives and melee weapons were pulled from the crates and randomly passed around, while the so-called Blade of God continued his ranting; "Let's all have a clap!" Those who were devoid of weaponary did so without second thought, and the hybrid couldn't help but smile at their sheep-mentality. "C'mon, I can't hear you! Get your hands together, have a good time! Enjoy yourselves! That's better!"
After Galagos released a primal scream, the Cathedral's doors swung open, generating a thunderous clap as they did. The wicked group swarmed outside, and like mindless insects they gathered up all the furres they could find. Their prey was mostly just chopped to pieces, while others were mowed down by machinegun fire. But the rest had the privilege of taking part in an ancient sort of execution. Their reason for being spared soon became apparent when hundreds and hundreds of wooden crosses were tugged out of the once-religious building. Those who were specifically-chosen were nailed down and then disemboweled once the crosses had been brought upright. Blood, guts and severed limbs littered Rouen's streets, and the smell of death reigned over the city like a noxious cloud...
When Inspector Scott and Carmelita arrived three hours later, they were greeted with a mordid sight. The streets had been totally stained with crimson, and rows upon rows of crosses stood like dark gravestones. Some were even placed on the tops of nearby buildings. A far off screech made them jump, and then a loud explosion came from the same direction. Their car rattled as the ground shook, and a few of the huge Christian symbols tipped over.
Scott flipped open his communicator, and spoke quietly as his vulpine companion buried her face into her hands; "Kiss, we're gonna need some back up..."