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I woke up with a glaring pain encompassing the entirety of my thought, the cold of what appeared to be bathroom tile providing steady relief for what was either the mother-of-all hangovers or a sound beating. Maybe both.

I tried to sit up, and found that my hands were firmly held behind my back by a pair of steel cuffs. I struggled against them for a moment before sagging back to the comforting ground. Either I found a date with some fine kinks and a great deal of interest in high-quality restraints, or I was in lock-up. Again. Still didn't answer the 'hangover or beating' question that I'd made into my own personal gameshow.

The sudden supernova that flooded the room sent another wave of agony through my eyes. Thinking back, I may have said some very unflattering things about wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum before my body acclimatized to the horrid fluorescence.

The sound of boots on hard tile rang out, growing louder in even increments until some dark form eclipsed a small degree of the excruciating light from my vision.

"Oh, thank you god," I muttered as the pain subsided, albeit marginally.

A familiar voice sighed, and a rough grip sealed itself around my arms, hoisting me to my feet against the feeble protests of my haggard limbs. I found myself thrust unceremoniously into an armless metal chair that was rather loosely bolted to the floor. My eyes adjusted enough to make out my cell.

The source of my pain was located behind metal grating on the ceiling in the centre of the room, the pure white light not doing any favours for the cell that could most certainly use some. The room was a perfect square, covered on all sides by the same off-white tile. The room surrounded a pair of chairs and a table, marking off every box in the cliché interrogation room checklist. In each corner was a small black box that no doubt housed a camera, giving my captors an unblocked view of the room.

The seat opposite me was filled by a woman in uniform, her expression somewhere between disappointed and exasperated, and believe me, it's an expression I know well.

She was fairly slim in build, a shade shorter than average, though if past experience was any indicator, she more than made up for her stature in skill and spirit. The wolf-woman sported a uniform that she filled out like a queen, her decently-muscled forearms crossing her chest as she leaned back in her chair.

Her fur shifted between various shades of grey to a deep red that comprised a majority of her body, and despite its thickness, the hair failed to hide a supple and athletic body. Her face was pretty. Not the variety that would land her a modelling contract perhaps, but one that made her look approachable and sweet. If she were cast in a movie, she'd be the nerdy girl in a sweater and glasses that everybody pretended was a looser until she got a makeover, except she had substituted the glasses for a handgun and the sweater for a bulletproof vest. Her eyes were a deep chocolaty brown, one of which was flanked by a series of metallic lines and nodes that poked through the skin, while the other was mostly covered by a punkish, choppy haircut that resulted in her right side at a decent length while the other was hardly longer than the fur covering the rest of her body.

"Lilith!" I said with as much enthusiasm as I could reasonably muster with my mind attempting to imitate a set of keys in a tumble-dryer, "We've gotta stop meeting like this; people might start talking."

I looked down to see someone had removed my coat and holsters to replace them with a gaudy orange jumpsuit, "Who took my trousers?"

Her response was to add the visual equivalent of "really?" to her expression, and to slap a tablet containing my case report on the table.

She turned the device on, a white screen with all the excitement and variety of government paperwork coming up at the press of a button. She dragged a hand through her hair to clear it from her eyes, and thumbed through the file for a long while in silence.

"Well?" she said after a while, the barest hint of a Scandinavian accent on her tongue, "would you like me to tell you, or do you remember?"

"I'm a bit fuzzy on the details," I said, scratching at my chin with my cuffed hands, "but if I were a betting man, I'd guess it was something along the lines of drunk and disorderly conduct."

"We have a winner," she said, her tone drenched in sarcasm, "with a bonus helping of assault and destruction of property."

"If I'm perfectly honest," I started, though she was quick to interrupt me.

"When are you not?"

"If I'm honest," I said again, "I remember punching the bouncer, but the destruction of property is drawing a total blank."

She looked through the report again, "It says here that when the police first arrived, you were standing on top of the bar, urinating on the serving droid."

"That doesn't sound like something I would do."

"We have security footage," she said, turning around the tablet so I could see what appeared to be a body-camera recording of someone entering a bar, with an astoundingly handsome and remarkably drunk Doberman standing on the bar, cheering as the robotic bartender asked if he would like to order a beverage.

"I stand corrected," I said, shrugging, "can't say I'm too proud of that."

"What are you proud of, exactly?" the officer asked, scepticism spilling through every syllable.

"My work."

"As what?" she asked, "A comedian? You're unemployed, Grey."

"I am the owner of a prestigious shipping company based out of this very station," I said indignantly, "you should show some respect for a small business owner, this isn't exactly the best financial market for that kind of thing, you know."

"You're a smuggler and a thief, Grey," she said, crossing her arms again, "and since your ship's been sitting in impound for the last two months, you're not even a good one."

"Allegedly," I pointed out, raising a finger to emphasize the word, "I've never been convicted of illegal trade."

"You've got nearly everything else covered, though," Lilith said, gesturing to the device on the table.

"Well," I said, smiling, "Seeing as I've sobered up, how's about I pay my fine and get on my merry way?"

She shook her head with a sigh, "That's not gonna happen this time, and you know it."

"It's not my fault," I said, "I'm a product of my upbringing."

"We went to the same school, Grey," the officer said, rubbing the space between her eyes in exasperated annoyance, "I lived in the same block, so don't give me that shit."

I shrugged, "It was worth a shot."

"No," she said, "No, it really wasn't."

"Fair enough," I admitted, "So what is going to happen to me?"

"You're going to be held in a permanent cell here until a there's an opening in the courts, then you'll be shipped out to a prison colony."

"Damn," I said rubbing my chin in thought, "I'm gonna be frank and say that sounds pretty shitty."

"You're not wrong," the wolf said, straightening the grey fabric of her lapel.

I leaned forward, pressing my hands into a pleading gesture.

"Listen," I said, "I'm not the sort to speak ill of my fellow man, honour among thieves and all that bollocks, but I have quite a few names that might do some good for you and yours."

She sighed, managing to find a greater source of annoyance than before, "Before you continue along the same tired speech you used last time, I'm going to let you know the chief had had enough of your bullshit, and nothing, I repeat, nothing you say is going to save your ass at this point."

"Well then," I said, sitting back and crossing my legs in a very dignified manner, "I want my phone call."

"Grey," she started, "who the hell do you really think is going to be able to help you out of this one? Corey?"

"I want my phone call," I repeated, tapping the table pointedly, "I am a citizen of the Federated Systems, and I have rights!"

She sighed again and reached into her pocket, depositing a slim metallic phone, the screen dark. She slid it across to me and stood, starting for the door.

"You have ten minutes," she said, holding a plastic fob up to the scanner beside the door as it unlocked with a click, shutting it firmly behind her, leaving me alone.

I picked up the phone and began typing in the number, freezing as I remembered the cameras. I inspected them again. There was no way in hell I could disable them, let alone find a blind spot, and so I did the respectable thing and hid from view under the table.

I tapped my finer against the back of the phone impatiently as the receiver beeped at me, finally connecting me with what sounded like an incredibly hungover Welshman.

"Hmm... what's it? He said, the sound of sheets rustling indicating that the man had gotten to bed this time, at least.

"Alright Corey, listen up, 'cause I haven't a lot of time and the waterfall at the end of shit creek is coming up fast," I said, peering up at the door from under the metal edges of the table.

"Who is this?" he said, and I imagined squeezing the life out of the bastard's throat.

I held the phone directly in front of my mouth and shouted, not caring if the cameras heard, "Wake up, you daft shit!"

I heard something glass break on the other end and a muted expletive.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered as he came back on the line, sounding slightly more lucid, "Fine, I'm up, now what are you on about?"

"Change of plans," I said, speaking as quickly as I could, "I need you to be outside the impound lot and ready to move within the hour."

"Is that where you are?" he asked, the sound of what I could only assume to be him getting dressed resounding in the background.

"I'll be there in an hour, two tops," I answered, "bring the equipment and expect heat."

"Christ on a fuckin' bike, Grey," the man muttered on the other end, "You're in jail again, aren't you? Just how are you getting out without us getting blown all to hell?"

"I'll handle it," I said, trying to piece together exactly how that was going to play out, "just be ready to fly the goddamned ship."

I heard motion behind the door, and quickly hung up, moving to get out from under the table as Lilith returned, her expression managing new levels of exasperation that pushed even the boundaries I knew.

"You know we can find out who you called from the data in the phone, right?" the policewoman asked.

I stared at her in my half crouched state under the table, then looked down at the phone in my hand, "Ah."

With all the force my handcuffed limbs could manage, I slammed the phone against the tile floor, cracking the screen and sending the battery spiralling upwards, hitting my chin mid-arc. A quick bout of stomping and a hasty series of tactical snapping then proceeded until Lilith took my shoulder in a vice-like grip, hauling me upright with yet another sigh.

"We can still get data from the fragments," she said, dragging me towards the door with one hand while preparing the fob to unlock to cell with the other.

"I know," I responded, "I just wanted to make it harder on you."

"You're consistent, if nothing else," she groaned, leading me through a series of identical-looking hallways.

The Horizon's police station was more of a formality than anything, simply there for the Federation to claim responsibility for the place. In truth, private security maintained discrete control of the station, and because of such, the station was more of an office than a security compound.

The wing went from a security checkpoint to a dead end, lining twenty or so cells along the wall within easy view of the checkpoint. A bored-looking rabbit glanced upwards as we passed, buzzing Lilith and I into the block.

Even so, the cell wing of the station was nothing to scoff at. Cells were divided between the communal holding cell, of which I had a familiar relationship, and individual bunks. Each cell was surrounded by dura-glass walls reinforced at the joints by flagship-grade steel, accessible only by the same style of magnetic lock my interrogation room had sported. The cells were furnished with a simple bunk, complete with a lidless toilet and single-ply toilet paper in the corner.

Lilith deposited me in the cell, quickly undoing the restraints on my wrists before locking the door behind her, storming off towards the offices.

I looked around my new accommodations for a moment, reaffirming the notion that they were completely against my stylistic sensibilities, and began planning my escape.

"Ok," I muttered to myself, crouching to get a look at the lock.

It was a fairly simple model, only a step or two above home security. The magnetic reader was inaccessible from this side of the cell, but that was ultimately irrelevant for what I had planned.

I reached down to my shoe, retrieving the phone battery from where I had stashed it. I read the warning and disposal labels on the back, smiling. It was exactly what I needed.

In similar fashion to the lock, it seemed, the station's finest hadn't quite caught up with the latest technologies, and I was left in possession of a Daedalus-brand micro-fusion cell.

The cell had been rushed out of development, and because of such, they were prone to instability, oftentimes catching fire when stressed, requiring at least a dozen recalls before they were deemed safe enough for public use. This particular one was most certainly one of the post-recall ones, judging by the serial number, but despite numerous improvements, the batteries still had a fatal flaw that could be exploited.

I dropped it to the ground and stomped, checking underfoot at every strike until a narrow stream of cracks had sprouted in the surface of the little black square. I picked it up again, feeling a noticeable rise in temperature that was getting higher and higher by the second, and dropped the thing in the cell's toilet.

I looked past the rim to where the battery sat, watching as bubbles formed along the cracks. Slowly, the cell began to expand, bulging at the centre of each side until it looked more like an oddly shaped balloon than a battery.

Carefully, I reached into the toilet, wincing as the heat of the battery had warmed the water to far from comfortable conditions, and griped one corner of the thing lightly, drawing it out into the air.

Contact with the cool station atmosphere caused the ball to expand ever more vigorously until the casing was struggling to hold back the forces inside the device. I juggled it back and forth between my hands, hissing as the heat singed my fur and skin beneath it.

Mustering up my strength, I griped the thing in both hands and took a few steps away from the door until I was pressed against the back wall of the cell, and set the battery flying toward the lock as hard as I could.

The battery struck just below the intended target, but the result was nevertheless what I had intended. My jury-rigged bomb detonated on contact with the dura-glass plate, generating temperatures equal to that of a low-mass star for a brief moment as the containment cell around the micro-fusion plant failed. The blast took me off my feet, and the accompanying flash of light burned an image of the cell's floor into my retinas, and it took a good deal of time for me to notice I couldn't hear anything.

Even for all the power packed in that little bomb, there was little to show for it in the door itself, with only minor scorch marks and a slight buckling indicating anything had happened at all. The heat generated by the explosion, however, had been enough to fry the circuitry of the magnetic lock and trigger the emergency fire protocols, simultaneously turning on every alarm in the station and opening the door.

I forced myself to my feet and was out the door without a second thought, and found myself facing down a single surprised guard at one end of the hall, cup of coffee spilled directly onto his shirt. I quickly recognized him as the rabbit from the checkpoint, and started down the hallway towards him.

He stood up quickly, knocking over his chair in the process, and drew his sidearm, levelling the weapon at me.

"Down on the ground!" he shouted, a voice crack shattering what little illusion of power there was.

"What?" I shouted, pointing to my ears and shrugging, "I can't hear you."

He moved to come around his desk, standing directly between me and the door, never taking his pistol sights off me. His ears twitched out of fear in a way that was far, far more adorable than intimidating, and shouted again. His golden-brown eyes darted between me and the door, shifting his grip on the gun.

I continued moving forward despite his protests, until I was little more than an arm's length from him, "I'm sorry, that explosion was really fucking loud, I can't hear anything."

The guard lowered his left hand to his belt, fingers locking around his cuffs, only to be interrupted as I lunged forward, driving a fist into his gut while I simultaneously forced his gun away from me, towards the ceiling.

There was a flash and snap as the weapon fired impotently into the roof. I ignored it and slammed my fist into the cop's gut once more. There was a soft crack as the ribs gave way to the blow, and the man kneeled over at the waist, gasping for air.

I focused on the arm holding the gun, keeping the barrel aimed away from me while I twisted it within his grip until finally his hold failed. I turned my new weapon over in my hand, flicking on the safety before pistol-whipping the staggered cop into unconsciousness.

He dropped like a burlap sack of dead birds, slamming his face against the tiles of the floor with an audible thud. I cringed as he fell, then turned him over, peeling back his eyelids to look in his eyes. They reacted quickly to the light, pupils turning to pinpricks in seconds. Already he was starting to recover, shifting slightly with a dazed expression.

"Okay," I said, turning him over onto his left side to make sure his airways were clear, "You just got, as us medical experts say, knocked the fuck out, and likely have a major concussion."

His confused expression became slightly more so.

"Additionally, I may have broken a couple ribs, two if I had to guess, so you may not want to move until help arrives."

I looked down the hallway, thanking my lucky stars it was still vacant, then turned to scour the man's desk, grabbing a stylus, his tablet, and his security fob. I wrote quickly and dropped the tablet next to him.

"So, yeah," I said, backing up towards the door, "general stuff: don't fall asleep, don't operate heavy machinery, yada yada. Now I really gotta get going, but I'm super sorry about this whole mess."

I pointed to the tablet I'd dropped as I started running down the hall, "I left my number so, you know, option's open when you're, you know, less concussed."

I took a last look backwards before turning the corner on the hallway, the man's expression reaching maximum confusion while he inspected my phone number written on the tablet.

I sprinted without pause through the police station, managing to avoid the cops that moved towards the cell block by hiding in offices and closets whenever I heard their approach. It seemed they were only aware of the fire, not the escaped half-deaf Doberman.

I followed the signs and my memory to the station's evidence room, and sighed with relief as the fob opened the door with a barely audible click. I ducked inside, closing the door shut behind be.

There were about four separate cages, separated by type of materials, with rows of shelves sporting everything from confiscated weapons and drugs to incriminating hard drives and files. What I was seeking however, was much easier to find, placed in the centre of the room on a sorting table, next to an open box mid-documentation.

I ditched the gaudy orange jumpsuit for my trousers and shirt, quickly strapping my custom-made holster onto my hip. I tossed the rabbit's gun aside and grabbed my own pistol, reengaging the thermal core as I slid it into the holster. I finished off the look with a wool trench coat, leaving it unbuttoned so I could easily reach the weapon at my hip.

I turned back toward the hallway, and had barely gotten the door half a foot open before a trio of rounds slammed into it from the left, tearing the metal from my hands as it opened.

"You are so predictable it's painful," came a voice from the same direction, the disdain and annoyance still present, although it was now accompanied by a stern ferocity.

"Hello again Lilith," I answered, drawing my weapon and flicking off the safety, keeping my finger on the side of the trigger, ready to be moved into firing position at a moment's notice, "Say what you will about my plans, they almost always work."

"Step out of that doorway and I'll help you dispel that notion," she replied coldly.

"I've still got scars from prom," I called, looking around for an out, "I'd rather not collect any more."

"If I recall," she said, voice distinctly closer this time, "You were the one that started shooting that time too."

"I haven't even fired a single shot yet," I said, stepping out of cover to fire a burst of four rounds, each one landing less than an inch from the advancing cop, forcing her to backpedal down the hall to cover.

"I may have punched one person... twice... then pistol-whipped them..." I admitted, "but I'd rather not shoot anyone today."

"I swear to god, Grey..." I heard her hiss.

"Speaking of which," I said, peeking around the corner, "You know that cute rabbit working at the security checkpoint?"

"He's not your type Grey," she answered, "and I doubt he'll be visiting you on the prison ship."

"You're the last person that should be dolling out relationship advice," I shouted, "and I was thinking more something along the lines of coffee or a couple drinks. I left him my number, do you think he'll call?"

"I..." she staggered, breaking at the ridiculous nature of conversation the standoff had devolved into, "What the hell is wrong with you, Grey? You can't even keep it in your pants for the length of a prison escape?"

"Hey, a man's gotta find some way to keep things interesting."

"That's one word for it."

"Look, Lilith," I said, ducking back into cover as another round hit mere inches from my chest, "we both know that if we duke it out here, one of us is going to get shot, right?"

"I'm the best shot on the station, Grey," she said, "You're not going to win this."

I scoffed, "That's odd, I don't remember leaving the station just yet; did I jump forward a couple hours in time?"

"Keep talking," she snarled, "and we can put that to the test."

Before she had finished her sentence, I turned, lowering myself into a crouched firing position. I loosed five rounds, controlling my breaths and relaxing my arms to keep the rounds in a tight cluster.

They landed one after the other within a hair's breadth of one another, piercing the corridor's wall at the corner where the wolf was hidden, blasting through the material just a foot above the ground.

"Fuck!"

Lilith dropped out of cover into the centre of the hallway, her free hand clasping over a stream of blood that had erupted on her right calf. Her expression was pained, and the shock of the bullet wound left her inactive for the few seconds it took for me to cross the gap between us.

I lashed out a foot, kicking the gun out of her hand, keeping my own firearm levelled at her while I kneeled to retrieve it.

It was a custom model of the standard issue police weapon, featuring a smooth-action trigger and more compact heat sink than that of her compatriots, with the initials "L. T." on the grip.

"Very nice," I said, ejecting the ammunition block before setting it on the ground next to her, careful not to drop it.

"You sneaky, underhanded little shit," she hissed, her eyes burning with pain and anger.

"Oh, don't be an ass," I said, holstering my weapon, "if I hadn't done it, we would've killed each other, and neither dying nor killing is on my to-do list today."

"You set off every alarm on the station," she snarled, "And even Corey can't outfly the automated defences"

"He'll be so hurt you said so," I said, starting down the hall she had come from, "but I doubt he'll need to."

I departed the scene as a flood of threats and obscenities followed me. Lilith wasn't lying about being the best shot on the force, and I doubted there were more than a couple officers that even came close to her level of intuition and intelligence. Even so, I maintained a steady pace as I jogged through the station's corridors, thankful for whatever bureaucrat had insisted every hallway display the way to the exit.

That closest exit happened to be the one leading to the second floor of the police station's parking garage. The ramp was filled with police, most of them dressed in street clothes or comported for office work. Very few of the assembled mass carried their weapons, and fewer still seemed to have a firm grasp on what exactly was happening.

One officer, an oxen sergeant, going by the insignia on his shoulder, noticed me in the doorway and stepped forward, extending one hand firmly against my chest while wrapping his hand around the grip of his pistol.

"Hold on there," he said, and I judged by his voice he was unaware of who I was, "The station is under lockdown, and comms doesn't have a clue what's going on."

I put on my most convincing 'clueless dolt' expression and pointed back the way I came, "I'm just here to pay a speeding ticket, there was some loud noise, and I think I saw flames."

The ox squinted at me, then turned to look back at the crowd of officers behind him. I moved the moment his gaze left me, sliding away from his outstretched hand into the surrounding crowd.

I moved quickly, putting a few bodies between myself and the large officer, then slowed my pace so as not to appear panicked. He used his considerable height to his advantage, sweeping his eyes over the crowd before snorting, apparently dismissing the search.

The moment I was free from the crowd, I started jogging again, keeping my head low and moving to let columns and cars block sight of me. The parking garage was three stories, containing the personal vehicles of the officers as well as their patrol cars. The level I found myself on seemed to be split between the two, with all the closest cars being civilian sector.

I spotted a relatively new-looking car, and stepped up beside it, kneeling so that I was completely hidden. I pressed a finger against the base of my neck, squirming as I felt something hard there give in. A moment later, I pressed it again, and felt a small jolt of electricity jump down my spine.

I had disabled the implants before even stepping foot on the station. Despite the foolish antics of my drunken self, I did have the state of mind in my moments of sobriety to hide the fact I was the proud bearer of a vast number of illicit implants. In their deactivated state, the station's scans would be come up blank, the result of another highly illegal signal jamming implant, but in their active state even the simplest of tests would show something was amiss.

"Alpha initiate," I said, keeping my voice as quite as I could without the words going unheard by my dormant implants, "Administrative authorization key: Bravo, Uniform, Tango, Tango, Zulu."

My guts twisted almost instantly, the inactive modifications that lay nestled between my organs activating for the first time in months. A pinprick of pain appeared not long after, spreading from its epicentre just behind my eyes until my entire head felt like it was being bashed in with a brick.

The pain subsided in an instant, and when I opened my eyes, my vision was lined with data collected by the suite of computers imbedded in my bones and organs.

"Back to one-hundred percent," I said to myself, "now to get the hell off this dump."

I held my left arm up to the door, waiting as my virtual intelligence unit began working on brute-forcing its way through the lock. The lock was much simpler than the one that had held me in my cell, and it was less than a minute before my retinal display indicated success, and the door popped open.

I climbed in the car, quickly discovered the owner wasn't too keen on cleaning, and hit the start button.

The car turned on silently, fusion cores bringing the auto to life. A holographic display appeared seconds after I climbed in, and I immediately set my implants into overriding the safety and tracking protocols.

Of course, that required separation from the other cars on the network, and thus, I would be required to drive the thing myself.

I gripped the control wheel firmly, and shifted the car into drive.

It rose from the ground slowly, and I led the thing through the tangled labyrinth that was the parking garage, keeping my eyes down to avoid being spotted. I turned away from the crowd, avoiding the shorter route to the bottom to instead opt for the rooftop level. The moment I hit an area where the skyline was unblocked, I pulled back on the sticks, taking the auto over the rows of cars and barricades into the station's airspace.

I had been unlucky enough to call Horizon Station my home from a very young age, and the rings of buildings and massive size of the structure had only faded in my mind since then.

The whole station was a cylindrical shape, hollow in the middle, with facilities and homes arranged around the rim of the station. The centre was relatively clear of buildings, being mostly reserved for larger space-traffic and the auto-lanes. The rings of the station were bright against the darkness of space, with neon lights of every hue dotting the station. The whole thing housed roughly five-hundred thousand people full-time, and catered mainly to the mining vessels on their way back to places of significance.

Horizon was in orbit of the system's star in only the barest of technicalities, and was for the most part drifting at the edge of a backwater system, fighting to retain what little relevance it had when it was still a boom colony.

I took the car below the lanes of civilian traffic, keeping them between myself and the frigates that patrolled the station's airspace, weaving my way towards the industrial sector of the station.

I touched my jawline just below the ear, feeling the give of the implanted button under my fur. I heard a ringing for a couple seconds before Corey's voice answered me.

"Hello?" he said, still sounding tired.

"Corey, are you in position?"

"I'm across the street," he said, "is it safe to assume the alarms and three squad cars that just pulled up are your doing?"

I smiled, "You know me so well."

As we talked, I turned off into the portion of the station dedicated to the hydrogen refineries and ore processing plants. It was the most densely portioned part of the station, with row after row of factory packed tight enough for only a single lane of vehicles to pass between them.

Out of the left side of my windshield, I spotted my target. There where exactly two places where the infrastructure of Horizon's power supply could not be interrupted without taking all but the most vital systems offline. The first was the fusion plant itself, though it would take a small army to get to it. The second lay before me.

The power draw for the industrial quarter was so great that the entirety of the power grid had been designed around coping with its requirements, and with so much infrastructure devoted to that region alone, the engineers had gotten sloppy with redundancies. Aside from the backups, all power in the station passed through the industrial zone, and it did so at one point: the alpha relay.

The facility was small and non-descript, completely unguarded save a fence and security cameras. And given my rather well-known reputation amongst station officials, I wasn't too concerned about showing my face.

"Look Grey," he said, "I can do a lot of amazing things, but you're asking for a lot here."

"I'll handle it," I responded.

"Bravado isn't going to win you any favours here," he shot back, sarcastically.

"Really?" I said, "Give me five minutes."

I kicked in the door to the relay station, thus ending the planned portion of this expedition, and proceeded to start waving my gun in the faces of the two employees in the station.

Remember kids, improvisation is key.

"On the ground!" I shouted, forcing the feline woman and her reptilian partner onto the floor of the station, "I've already shot one person today and my schedule's too tight for two more."

I kept the pair in the corner of my vison as I surveyed the room. The facility was small, with only a single observation desk to monitor the electrical load being diverted to the rest of the station. As it was, it looked like the process was mostly automated, and the two employees were merely there to make sure nothing went wrong, and to help the Station's government fulfil its quarterly pointlessness quota.

"Now let's see here..." I muttered under my breath as I surveyed my options. I hadn't quite expected a giant red button that would cause the entire relay to self-destruct, but I had hoped. Instead, the control console was covered in small and obtusely labelled buttons, none of which seemed to elicit the large and dramatic explosion I was hoping for.

I turned to face my captives, "You there, cat."

The woman screamed, loud enough to make my already ringing ears flinch.

"Don't... don't do that again, please," I said, straining to keep my voice level, "I'm having a very bad day, and it's not even noon yet, so I would appreciate some assistance."

"What do you want from me?" She asked, flinching back as far as she was willing while I still held her at gunpoint.

"How do I make this... whole deal," I said, gesturing in the vague direction of the relay controls, "Stop?"

"Umm..." The woman answered after a moment's hesitation, "You could disable the virtual intelligence monitoring system, which would cause an automatic thermal shutdown if the temperatures in the relay got too high."

"How long would that take?"

She looked to her partner, who shrugged, "about three hours before the temperature got high enough."

I gestured for the two of them to get up, and led them out the door into the streets surrounding the relay.

"I've got a better plan."

I drove away from the burning relay station in a new car, having left the old one rammed into the station. The two employees sat on the curb outside the building watching as their post went up in flames. I circled the building a few times from above, watching as the fire spread from the car to the wiring behind the station. A few moments of silence passed by, then darkness erupted through the station.

The dim red of the emergency lights kicked in after a few seconds, and combined with the headlights of the car, it was just barely enough light to drive by. I gave a wave out the window to the two slack-jawed relay workers, then sped my way towards the impound lot.

My phone began to buzz at my hip, so I tapped my jaw just beneath the ear, putting me through to Corey.

"What the hell did you just do?" he demanded, "everything on the station went dark! Even the internet at this coffee place!"

"Yeah," I responded, "That was kinda the point. No power, no automated turrets. No power, no long-range communication to get a Federation fleet out here to hunt us down."

"You realize this essentially makes you a terrorist, yeah? And me an accessory to one?"

"Corey," I said as I turned toward the outermost rings, where most of the station's hangers and shuttles lay, "I am the best damn thief in the galaxy, and you're one of the best pilots..."

He scoffed in protest, "one of?"

"The point is," I said before he could launch a tirade about his piloting skills, "If they couldn't catch us while we were grounded and my implants were disabled, what chance do they have without their fancy tech and backup, against us at one-hundred percent?"

"I don't know, probably lower than whatever chance they had, BEFORE YOU COMITTED AN ACT OF FUCKING TERROR," he said, his shouts becoming practically deafening as they were relayed directly to my skull.

"Fuckin' hell Corey," I said, mentally noting that I was even starting to swear like the Welsh bastard, "I've already had a bomb go off next to my head, I don't need you compounding on my tinnitus."

"I swear to fuckin' Christ Grey," he muttered on the far end of the line, "you've just single-handedly called upon a shit-storm unlike any we're like to see again."

"Don't dramatize things," I replied, leaning closer to the window as I passed through a particularly large intersection, though the loss of system power had also disabled the automatic direction of the cars in the station, and most sat idle in their lanes.

"I was in the Federation Navy, Grey," he said, "They don't fuck around with this kinda thing. They will deploy battle-fleets, carrier groups, fucking spec-ops if they need to. They will stop at nothing to see our asses wiped off the face of the galaxy."

"Well," I said as I turned the corner to the lane housing the long-range police vessels and the impound hanger, "While they are in pursuit of my ass, they are free to kiss it at their discretion."

The impound lot was split into two sections, the first holding cars and other personal transportation vehicles that were restricted to the station, and the other, far larger and more sparsely populated starship hangers.

Corey hadn't lied, three squad cars of Horizon police stood at the gate to the lot, surveying the area with the lights of their cars and personal flashlights. They moved about, confused as they talked into their radios, likely trying to identify where I was or what had happened to the power.

I turned onto a side rode before I entered the officers' line of sight, and set down in an alleyway between a chain coffee-shop and a bail-bonds office. I killed the car and stepped out into the dark, flipping my coat over the holster at my hip.

I opened the door to the coffee shop, and was greeted by a spunky young leopard standing behind the counter. The place was small but cosy, and despite the power outage, a number of candles gave the place an almost serene appearance. It was mostly empty, with only two customers sitting in the dark.

"Hello sir," the leopard said, tone too cheerful for so early in the morning, "I'm afraid all of our machines are down, but we do have some plain black coffee available if you'd like."

I smiled at the kid, "That's fine, I only drink the black stuff. I'll take the darkest roast you've got."

The kid moved like a bolt, filling a cup with the efficiency of practice and handed it across the counter to me.

I sealed the lid with one hand then looked around the café. Corey sat at the back of the café, his eyes locked on the cops outside with an untouched cup of coffee in front of him.

He looked halfway between shit and death, his hands placed on either side of his head as he massaged his temples. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked as if he'd gotten maybe an hour of sleep at best.

He was a ram, a shade taller than myself but not quite so broad. Long, curved horns draped behind him to tap gently against the wall he sat against. His fur was stark white, streaked in russet hues where he'd dyed it, though the colour of his styling had started to fade. He was lithely muscled, maintaining an athletic body without any apparent effort despite what I knew to be a fierce love of junk food. His face was a mix of sharp angles and soft edges, each corner and crevice complementing the whole. A soft beard hung under his chin, already long despite his efforts to keep it trimmed. His hazel eyes glowed softly in the candle-lit café, backlit by the golden colour of his ocular implants. His hair, despite being dishevelled, looked good, dyed the same russet as the streaks in his fur; he had cut it into a flat-lying Mohawk that ran between his horns, and strands were flicked this way and that by the twitches of his ears as they rotated in place.

He wore his usual outfit: a jumpsuit that served both to serve a practical purpose in maintaining blood flow as he flew, and also accentuated the rugged curves of his body. The sleeves where rolled up to his elbows, and from there moved unbroken to mid-calf, where they ended just before the bow in his hooved legs. He had the suit zipped completely, and the collar hugged his neck tightly.

"About damn time you got here," he said, running the back of one hand across his eyes, "a couple more minutes and I'd have gone back to bed."

I ran my free hand through his hair as I pulled out a chair to sit.

"Aww," I said jokingly, "you're so cute when you try to sound tough."

He pulled away from my touch, running his own hands through his hair in an effort to undo my rustling, "I take it you saw the cops?"

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"This is serious Grey," he said, "I can't get the ship prepped and flying if I'm being shot at."

"Oh, ye of little faith," I chided, "when have I ever let you down?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with a curt gesture.

"Don't answer that," I said, "finish your coffee."

I took my own advice and emptied the cup, tossing it into a nearby trash can, then waited for Corey to do the same. He gave a disgusted look as he swallowed the cold liquid, but the sleep in his eyes withdrew slightly.

I led the way to the café's exit, giving a polite wave to the cashier as I did, and together we stepped out onto the red-tinged streets.

Corey and I stopped behind the café's alcove, out of sight from the searching police across the way.

"Seriously Grey," Corey asked, "how are we going to get in there?"

I raised my right hand, "Like this."

The blue light of my holographic implant shone on the face of the ram. I tapped the button that hung in the air so temptingly, and filled the darkened sky with the howl of alarms.

Every car in the impound lot suddenly burst to life, burglar alarms of various tone and volume echoing through the vacant streets like an old-timey air raid siren.

` The police wheeled towards the sound, looking back at the chaos that had erupted so suddenly. They drew their weapons almost in unison and moved toward the gate. After a few questioning looks between the officers, four of the six cops present moved through the gate, leaving only two in the street, wincing at every flare of the nearby alarms.

I set across the street in a slow jog, shoving my hands into my pockets as I moved towards the fenced area leading to the ship.

The officer on the right of the fence noticed me first, a massive brute of a horse. He raised his flashlight in my direction, and shouted for me to freeze. The cop looked to be a full foot taller than myself, and nearly the same degree broader about the shoulders, his fur a deep bay colour interwoven with white. He had the physique of a body-builder, and his uniform strained to conceal the bulges across the whole of his body.

I held up my hands calmly, "Woah, officer," I said, straining to have my voice carry over the sirens, "I was just coming to ask if you know what's going on with the power."

I saw a look of confusion cross the equine's face, and his stance became less aggressive. While I had no doubt they had been given my mugshot, the cops of Horizon weren't quite used to the bustle a good criminal like myself could bring to the table, nor would they anticipate the sort of guile required to walk directly up to a gun-toting officer after escaping from jail. His companion, a rat, dismissed me almost immediately, turning back to watch Corey cross the street after me.

"Nothing to worry about sir," the man said, lowering his gun to his side, "you should get back inside."

I turned my gaze to the area just behind the man, shifting my expression to one of surprise and disgust. He turned to look in the direction of my vision, and I took full advantage of his distraction.

I rammed my foot into the side of his bowed leg, forcing the knee forward and to the side as the bone let loose an unhealthy snap at the blow. He let out a cry of pain, dropping to the ground, his arms too preoccupied with keeping his head from hitting the ground to use the gun in his hand.

I felt Corey's hand slide along my side, slipping past my coat to pull my pistol from its holster. He whipped around, levelling the gun at the rat before the man had so much as turned his body to face us.

Without skipping a beat, I drew back my fist to bring about a punch to the surprised horse's face. It was like hitting a marble sculpture of a bag of bricks, and I pulled back my hand hissing. The horse looked at me, his expression confused for a moment until rage set in. He swung his gun arm towards me, stopped by a hasty block with my left forearm.

Ignoring the pain in my hand, I rammed my fist into the horse's ribs, crouching down so that my blow would land against his kidneys. He retaliated with a head-butt, his forehead smashing against my nose and bringing tears to my eyes. I took advantage of the weapon I'd deprived him of: his legs. I thrust my knee upwards, catching him in the chin.

I used the surprise of the blow to make a grab for the gun in his hand, only to find it locked in a vice-like grip. I slipped a finger between the trigger and its firing position, then proceeded to launch a rapid series of jabs into the man's face, continuing the battery until I felt my fist land on something soft.

With a cry of pain, the man released his hold on the weapon, reaching up to his eye, already red with the irritation of my strike.

I turned the weapon over in my hands until I could get a firm hold on it, though the movement in my right arm was sluggish at best. I pointed the gun at the horse, who'd recovered enough to sit upright, and was looking between me and his broken leg.

I looked to my left to see Corey cuffing the rat's hands behind his back, his movements efficient and quick. The second officer was unharmed, though his expression was marred with fear. Corey had disarmed him, and held the cop's pistol along with my own.

"Thanks for your help," I called to Corey sarcastically, "I didn't need the gun."

"I'm not the one who got arrested, then blew up the power grid," the ram responded, trading me my pistol for the horse's. I kept the weapon out and ready, while Corey transferred the second weapon to his off-hand.

Had anyone else done the same, I'd have laughed and written them off as a cocky asshat who'd leaned everything they knew about firearms from vids. Corey, on the other hand, didn't have those shiny ocular implants for nothing, and had the cognitive and reflexive boosters to match. All were military grade, and not only did they increase his already considerable piloting skill tenfold, they made him capable of dexterity far beyond normal.

Even I, with my extensive suite of upgrades, couldn't manage the feats he did with his relative few. Granted, his were far more niche than mine, and my implants mainly concerned breaking and entering high security facilities, not flying.

I pulled the cuffs off the horse's belt and locked them around his wrists, having to use the largest setting to get them to fit. Then, seeing an opportunity to be a cheeky bastard, I took the short-range radio from his vest pocket and clipped it onto the lapel of my coat.

After a couple seconds, the alarms that blared through the impound lot began to dim in volume as they began shutting off. Eventually, there were only a few alarms scattered amongst the dozens of vehicles, and it was only a matter of time before they too deactivated.

I pressed in the button as Corey and I walked into the maze of parked cars and shuttles, slowly moving in the direction of the ship.

"I would like to offer terms of surrender to the officers currently patrolling the impound lot."

A gruff voice answered not long after, "Who is this? This is a restricted channel."

"I'm the bloke you lot are looking for," I answered, keeping low enough that anyone looking couldn't spot me over the cars, "And considering I just took out a combination of Mr. Ed and the Frankenstein monster, I think you should listen to what I have to say."

From over the top of the car I hid behind, I heard another voice, to light and raspy to be the one from the radio, "Does he mean Corporal Fayn?"

"Who the hell else could it be?" came a second voice, female.

I remained crouched, signalling for Corey to wait behind me. I circled the car slowly, keeping my footsteps light and silent. As I came around the trunk of the car, I spotted the two officers. They were the next row over, peering over the cars around them.

They looked as green as spring grass, neither of them showing the bars or attitude of senior officers, and generally moved like they had no idea if what they were doing was what they were supposed to be doing. The woman, a gazelle, had a great deal of height, and used it to look over several rows of cars at once, though her vision never lingered too long on Corey or me. The other officer was a reptile of some sort, short and thin, seemingly sickly so. The shotgun in his hands was comically oversized, and his handling of the thing left much to be desired.

"Easy enough," I said under my breath, and took off in a sprint towards them.

The gazelle turned to face me as the sound of my footsteps alerted her. I crossed the distance between us faster than she could react, however, and I swept her legs out from under her with a low kick as I ran past. Her head hit the side of a car as she fell, leaving an indentation in the vehicle before continuing her fall to the ground. I continued, my momentum only slightly hampered for the first officer, and I was upon the reptile before he had even taken the safety off the shotgun.

His eyes grew almost comically large as I approached, and he flinched back as I raised my hand. I ignored the officer, instead knocking the barrel of the weapon away from me. The force of the blow, combined with the fear and surprise from the rookie officer sent the weapon flying from his grasp. I continued the momentum of the blow into a kick, my paw landing firmly on the lizard's chest.

I watched him fall, priding myself on what was surely a new record, then stepped over him as he sat on the ground, wheezing. I looked over my shoulder to see Corey handcuffing the unconscious gazelle just as her eyes began to stir, and I moved to do the same to the reptile.

I knelt next to the cop, realizing he was likely just out of the academy given his youth.

"Look kid," I said, keeping my tone tense while wearing a smile, "I'd really like to get going, and I'd prefer not to kill ya, so how about you keep your mouth shut for say, ten minutes, then you can call for your buddies to come pick you up?"

He didn't answer vocally, though whether that was from fear or the lack of air in his lungs was anyone's guess. He did, however, begin nodding fiercely.

"Good on ya," I said, patting him on the back before rolling him over so he'd be clear of the aisle.

"How many cops do you have in here Chief?" I asked into the radio again, "can I call you Chief? I'm going to call you Chief."

"You can call me whatever you like, asshole," came the gruff officer's reply moments later, "It's not going to matter once I've got my boot so far up your ass you can taste the shoe polish."

"Pure poetry, Chief," I said, opting to double down on the smugness, "Do you mind if I steal that line?"

My plan worked, and I heard a shout between the last two cops from the far corner of the impound lot, near the exit to the hangers.

"...I don't give a damn," he shouted, "Find that son of a bitch, NOW!"

"Hey," I said, indignantly, "Just because it's true doesn't mean it doesn't hurt my feelings."

I heard his voice again, but quieter, "he's nearby, cover the exits."

Another voice, somehow even gruffer than the man on the radio, "Got it, sarge."

"Now," he said into the radio, menace like something straight out of a dramatic crime vid in his voice, "If you've harmed one hair on the heads of my officers, I'll use your guts for floss."

"Ooh!" I responded, "That's a goodie, can I use that one too?"

Angry silence was all I received in response.

"I do find your concern touching, though," I said, "all your cops are alive, and with the exception of the colossal horse, unbroken."

I moved closer, peering through the rows upon rows of cars until I spotted the final two cops. The sergeant was a German Shepard, not particularly tall or well-muscled, but he had an immense density to him, and was likely as tough as the brick wall he resembled.

His assistant was a bull, easily as tall as the horse I'd fought, though he lacked the muscular definition of his compatriot. The sergeant was armed only with a sidearm and his radio, while the bull he was with carried a semi-automatic rifle, my knowledge of the particular weapon telling me that it could put a hole clear through a certain Doberman even after passing through a car.

Fair to say, not something I'd like to happen.

"So what's say you and Beef Tips over there put down the guns and handcuff yourselves before I have to put you out of commission too?"

Another bout of silence, finally broken by a confused tone, "Beef Tips?"

I moved before the bull had finished the question, darting out of cover to the next row over. I dived as I approached the cars, tucking my legs in below me as I turned the motion into a roll.

No sooner had I gotten behind cover did the metal beside me shudder. Both the car I hid behind and the one behind it sprouted holes in their surfaces, plasmatic smoke trailing from the exits. I heard frantic shouting from the two officers, though the words were mixed by the panic my arrival had instilled.

I kept moving, keeping my pace as quick as I could manage without letting my head break the window-line. I reached the end of the car, then dashed across the lanes again, coming yet another row closer.

Again, the car was hit as I pressed against it, each round coming far, far closer than I would have liked. Unlike the first burst, however, the bull continued to fire even as I moved along the cover.

A sudden burst of noise and pain blurred my head, and I dropped to the ground. I reached up to my neck and felt something warm and wet.

Never a good sign. Well, at least in regards to gunfights.

The fur on my fingers was coated in blood when I pulled them in front of my face, the dark red liquid already coagulating in the short black hairs. A number of thoughts ran through my mind simultaneously, 'shit' and 'fuck' being the most common of them.

Luckily, I still had control of all of my faculties from what I could tell, and so decided to rely on the adrenaline to get me through this.

I carried forward, diving across yet another lane of cars to the last row between myself and the officers. Unlike the last two jumps, I continued the momentum immediately, and turned my roll into a slide across the hood of the final car, and set off towards the bull at a full sprint.

The steer pivoted to face me, the gun in his hand sweeping in my direction like a fifty-calibre sword of Damocles.

I saw the tendons in his arms flex as the weapon evened off at head level, and I dropped to the ground. My hearing felt muted, but the air vibrated with the intensity of the shot from so close a distance.

The moment I touched the ground, I turned, flipping myself onto my back so that I was looking directly up at the bull's downward-cast gaze.

I placed both hands on either side of my head and drew up my legs, unfolding myself head-over-heals in a jack-knife motion. My paws landed directly under the bull's breastbone, and the force on his diaphragm expelling all the air from his lungs.

Despite my intentions however, the bull remained standing, and the gun never faltered from his grip, though it's tracking motion on my head was abated, if but briefly. I let my legs fall back to the ground, and placed more strength in the motion so my legs would bring me upright with them.

I came up on my feet with the bull standing between myself and Chief, so if nothing else I wouldn't have to deal with the smaller calibre weapon and its wielder.

That didn't change, however, that I was currently dealing with seven feet of angry beef and a fifty-cal. rifle.

I spun, knocking the rifle's barrel to the side easily, already too close for the weapon to be of much use anyways. The bull let it go, allowing the momentum of my strike to carry the weapon to his waist where it hung from a simple nylon strap.

He dropped his right hand to the pistol at his hip, just managing to undo the strap and get his fingers around the grip before my hand stopped him. Rather than pull his arm away from the gun, however, I pushed his arm, along with the weapon down into the holster, refusing to let the weapon come free of its sheath.

I was soon required to move my free hand to the holster as well, as the bulls layers of flab did little to detract from the strength that came from his sheer size. Without my hands, I set upon him with kicks and knees, going for the groin.

The bull crossed his legs, providing protection for his... tender bits, but the attacks surely bruised his shins and stung. While he didn't show any signs of pain, his expression grew more and more vicious by the second, building until he was practically frothing with rage.

His hoof landed in my chest without warning, and I quickly found myself in a familiar position, lying on my back with my lungs depleted. Before I could so much as sit up, Beef Tips had me by the throat, lifting me from the metal plating that made up the hanger's flooring, until I was raised nearly a foot above my massive opponent.

I had a brief space of time to admire the view, spotting Corey interlocked in a fight of his own with the sergeant, the two of them fighting with what appeared to be a wrench and a loose parking metre.

My sightseeing excursion was abruptly ended by a fast and painful fall, fuelled by the downward projection of my bovine competitor.

"Ow..." I managed to mutter, seconds before a massive hoof was laid on my sternum, the officer giving the limb just enough weight to assure me it was well within his capabilities to crush my ribcage entirely.

"Oh, bollocks to it," I muttered as the bull looked up to see how his senior officer fared.

I drew my pistol quickly, the weapon coming free with minimal effort. The safety came off in the same motion with a casual flick of the thumb, and by the time the bull had even turned his head I'd fired five shots.

A casual shove pushed the hoof away from my breastbone, and the bull fell to the side of me, noticeably shaking the ground beneath him as he did. He had a round in each leg, just above the knee, and a third round passing through his right hand, ensuring that if he intended to draw his sidearm, he'd need to use his off-hand.

To my left, Chief had also fallen to the ground, and Corey already moved to retrieve the guns he'd lost in the fight. The ram had a cut along the temple above his right eye, a bruise already beginning to swell there. My pilot also walked with a limp, though if there were a serious injury there, it didn't show through the flight-suit.

The leader of the officers had taken a round through each shoulder, right at the collarbone. Not a lethal shot if he were to get medical attention soon, but certainly a painful and debilitating wound that would require numerous surgeries and implants to fully heal.

"If we were just going to shoot them," Corey panted, out of breath, "we could've done that at the beginning and saved ourselves the trouble."

"You know me," I said, pulling the bull's pistol out of its holster to toss it aside, "I like to keep it clean as far as I can."

Corey, not as gracious in victory as I, stepped back, then kicked the commander in the ribs before handcuffing him.

"My head's like a fuckin' rock in a blender, you blasted shite."

I knelt next to the bull, cocking my weapon as I set the barrel against the base of his skull, gently but pointedly pushing his face towards the ground.

"I would like to apologize for Mr. Rhys' comportment," I said to him in my suave, gentlemanly manner, "and I assure you, it was not my intention that you or your colleges become injured."

The man grunted, then spit, the liquid off in colour due to the blood that mixed with the saliva.

"If you would be so kind as to inform me what station dispatch is currently using for its emergency channel, I will inform your superiors of your... predicament here."

"Fuck 'em," Corey interjected, spitting his own glob of blood-spattered bile across the floor, "Let the bastards bleed out and starve for all I care."

I moved over to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. I pulled him closer to me, playfully tugging at his horns.

"Relax Corey," I said, keeping my tone low enough for the conversation to remain private, "you always get this way when you're hungover. A couple backwater cops who don't know a gun from their ass isn't worth it."

"I get this way," he said, pulling my arm off him, "because every time I go out with you, shit like this happens. The hangover just compounds on it."

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation, "We'll talk about it on the ship, alright?"

He didn't look happy with it, but controlled his anger. He holstered his weapons and moved through the door into the hangars, disappearing as the inner airlock sealed behind him.

"So then..." I said, turning back to face the two prone officers, "who wants to have a medical team sent to them rather than wait until some metre maid stumbles upon them?"

The Chief remained still in a sulky silence, but his compatriot began nodding feverously.

"Channel thirty-seven," he said, his voice thick with agony, "emergency protocol is to use channel thirty-seven."

"Appreciated," I said with a nod, and tuned my radio appropriately.

I turned my back on the lot and stepped into the airlock for the hangars. The room was small and devoid of decoration. Unlike the commerce hangars, the Horizon authorities had little reason to make the airlock anything more than utilitarian, and the result was a small metal tube with big, heavy doors on either side.

The hangars, under standard emergency protocols in line with the Federation's standards, had fallen back on the auxiliary generators, and as such the airlocks were one of less than a dozen or so systems that retained full functionality.

The inner airlock displayed the different atmospheres and pressures of the differing sections, as well as the variable pressure of the airlock itself. The lock was still in a period of transition from Corey's departure, and the number began climbing at the press of a button.

While the number rose, I moved back towards the wounded officers, walking past them as they traded confused looks. I knelt beside the nearest car and leaned against the bullet-ridden frame.

I waited, keeping the status of the airlock's pressurization in the corner of my eye as I did so. From the area past the car, I heard the heavy footfalls of a booted step, though the cadence betrayed a limp in the pursuer's gait.

I smiled to myself and drew my pistol, simultaneously sending an unspoken message to the implants in my left hand.

Lilith broke past the line of cars in a limping sprint, her expression worn and weary as she glanced over the two fallen officers. She had hastily bandaged the wound in her leg with a torn fragment of her shirt, and her pants had been pulled back to allow for the injection of painkiller and healing stims. Still, blood had coursed through the makeshift bandage to matte in her fur, darkening the ruddy tone of the hairs.

I moved quickly, keeping my steps light as I moved into position behind her. The wolf moved her hand to the radio at her shoulder, calling in a message to HQ.

"We've got two more officers down at impound," she said, "Repeat, two officers down with gunshot wounds, four with blunt force trauma."

Chief followed my motions with his eyes silently, and it was only a matter of seconds before Lilith noted it too. She turned to look over her shoulder, but I was already upon her.

I pressed my left hand against the base of her skull, willing the implants in my arm into action. An electric shock, in the rage of incapacitating without being lethal, shook the lieutenant, and the canine officer dropped to the ground with a spasm.

I dropped to one knee, removing the officer's weapon once more and handcuffing her to the bull beside her.

"You are so predictable it's painful," I said, mimicking her tone from earlier that day.

"Fuck yourself Grey," came her response. Proficient if unoriginal.

I pressed the button on my own radio, "Make that seven officers down, as Ms. Thane decided to pay me a surprise visit at the impound lot."

Without waiting for a response, I turned off the radio and dumped it on the ground before smashing it underfoot.

"Well, Lilith," I said, dropping to one knee, just out of reach of her vicious jaws and swinging limbs, "I've really got to get going before Corey takes off without me. You know him, he'd lose his ass if it weren't attached to him."

"You've gone too far Grey," she hissed, "You could've done your time, and been back here in a couple years. Now? You'll be hunted by every lawman in Federation space, and you'll be lucky if they don't shoot you on sight."

I stopped, turning on my heel to return to her level.

"Too far?" I said, "I party a little too much, and your response is to send me off to a prison camp to work as slave labour? No, I think my response was just about adequate for that."

"Cut the crap, Grey," she said, "We both know you're a scoundrel and a thief."

"Wrong, sweetheart," I smiled, pinching her cheek in a manner especially calculated to piss her off as much as possible, "I am not a thief. I am the best damn thief there is, and if the Federation wants me, they can give it their best shot."

I stood and started walking towards the airlock just as it finished its cycling protocol. Upon reaching the lock, I turned back, shouting over the sound of approaching sirens.

"Oh, and give the Federation a message, if you're so intent on helping them catch me," I said with the biggest shit-eating grin I could manage, "Good luck, fuckers!"

I passed through the airlock, tapping my toes against the cool metal as I waited for the outer lock to open. The port opened into a traffic control centre, though the lockdown had left only the automated systems to maintain traffic on the station, and even that had been halted by the emergency protocols. Fortunately, none of those protocols included preventing ships from leaving.

I stepped into the hanger proper and set my hands on my hips, marvelling at the treasure that had so long been held from me.

The Sleipnir was a Daedalus Pacer, custom model, based on the series four freighter. It wasn't the largest ship the company produced, barely over two-hundred metres long and less than a third of that wide, but the Pacer could outmatch any vessel in the galaxy for its size. She had a quad-engine drive at her aft, with another four, smaller engines positioned further up the hull along the wings. The slip drive took less than an hour between jumps and could cross a distance of ten-thousand light-years in a day. The series was notorious for being finicky behind the controls, and required an expert pilot to take full advantage of the power the thing wielded, but when it was, she was unstoppable.

The weapons on the ship were fitted to my specifications, and more than a few of them had been attached under my hand. The wings held the mounted anti-fighter lasers, as well as ports for the ship's torpedoes. The main guns were located at the top and bottom of the ship, and ran along the entirety of the ship's length. Each was capable of putting a small if effective hole in capital-class armour from a hundred kilometres away. Each could fire one round every minute, with heat sinks large enough to boil an ocean. The secondary guns weren't nearly so powerful, but could fire a torrent of smaller calibre rounds with such intensity to tear apart armour in close quarters. Combined with a state-of-the-art targeting computer that simultaneously managed the cyber-warfare suites and navigation systems, the ship was a compact killing machine.

The best part, however, was that you had all that with style to match. The Sleipnir was slim and sleek, it's armour taking inspiration from the newest modern styles, and moved from a peak at the nose of the vessel to widen out into the wings in a seamless transition, curving back to meet the main engines in a clear line. The colour scheme was dark, with metallic greys offset with pitch black trimming and accents, finally finishing off with the name emblazoned in fiery silver font.

As I watched, the engines fired up and the stabilizers began firing off in priming sequence, acting under Corey's practiced guidance.

"Ahh..." I said to myself, "I think I just came with happiness."

The ship's loudspeaker crackled to life, emanating from the open boarding ramp, "stop starring and get on the bloody ship."

I obeyed sheepishly, wondering just how long I'd stood there staring at the Sleipnir. I climbed the steep ramp into the darkened cargo ramp sealing the door behind me. The interior of the ship was dark, lit only by the status lights of the numerous systems and displays that inhabited its corridors.

I looked over the empty cargo hold, tutting silently before starting towards the cockpit. The interior of the ship was, or at least, at one point had been, done in the style of the exterior: all pretty lines and smooth contours that gave more thought to design than practicality. However, while the aerodynamics of a spaceship don't count for crap in a vacuum, the systems of said ship sure as shit do.

The central room of the ship was a combination meeting room and entertainment centre, with a holographic projector serving both those needs. To one corner was the galley, little more than a fridge and an oven tucked behind a low bar. And while the refrigerator and cupboards were nearly empty, the bar was very well stocked. The central console was surrounded by three couches, each of varying levels of wear. Corey's favoured seat was covered in books and magazines, as well as the dishes and plates he refused to wash. My own chair had fewer magazines, and more books, though their nature was rarely of the academic variety, and mostly focused on fantasy thrillers and cliché-ridden noir. The third couch had at some point been dubbed the laundry centre of the ship, and carried a sizable stack of dirty clothes on its cushions.

From the main room, the ship had only two corridors, one leading back to the storage bay, the other to the living quarters and cockpit. I took the latter and found myself at the crossroads that divided the ship.

To the right, there was the bathroom and crew's bunks. The Sleipnir was large enough, and had initially been designed to be crewed and operated by a staff of six, and had accommodations to match. My own modifications and the specification to which it had been built, however, meant that a single person could manage most of the operations and repairs with minimal effort, and as such only Corey maintained a bunk, though it was seldom used.

To the port side of the ship was the bulk of the mechanics for the ship, including the slip drive and life support functions. The doors to these were all sealed under vacuum and magnetic lock, under constant supervision and maintenance by the ship's virtual intelligence. Further down was the captain's quarters, though they were at present the only quarters being used.

I continued toward the cockpit, stepping up to stand behind Corey and he took control of the vessel. The bridge was split into three chairs, each with their own suite of specialized systems controls, though all could be commanded through the captain's chair.

Corey worked with the speed of a shadow, his fingers doing in seconds what my eyes failed to comprehend in minutes. In the space of time it normally took me to prime the engines, he had done so, plotted a course, set drive vectors, set slip logs, and brewed himself a pot of coffee. He drank from the cup with one hand while he continued his preparations with the other, his face bathed in the blue light of the holographic displays.

"Alright Cap," he said, turning to face me, "where to?"

I raised an eyebrow, "We're on the run from the galactic government with a price on our heads that could buy a star system, and you need to ask where we're going?"

He smiled, shrugging, "I have a guess."

"Commander Rhys," I said, affecting a militaristic pomp as well as I was able, "We are destined for the most foul haven of crime and villainy in this galaxy, a destitute pit of slime and vermin from which saints are turned to Satan."

"Sounds like fun," he smiled, bringing the ship airborne as he brought it about to face the cold, star-scattered sky of the Milky Way.

"Set course for Earth's moon, Commander, full ahead," I gestured grandly out the window, "And burn sky till you see neon."

The ship accelerated suddenly, the momentum dampeners present throughout the whole of the ship making it barely perceptible, and the Sleipnir was out of the hangar in a second. Within a minute, the Horizon was but another dot in the void behind us.

"Engaging slip drive," Corey said, "turning it over to auto-pilot."

As he finished speaking, the darkness around the cone of the ship began to... morph, for lack of a better word, as time and space were bent to accommodate faster than light travel. The stars began vibrating in their positions, all matter of perspective slowly slipping away under the influence of the slip drive.

Then, in a matter of small seconds, the ship was in a different location altogether. It was still in space, the all-encompassing black was indication enough of that, but the arms of the great spiral galaxy were dimmer, their light far less intense than they had been the moment previous. The specific satellites and stars too were out of place, and altogether unfamiliar.

The system we were dumped in was close to a large, dying star, and the cockpit was filled with the dim ruddy hue of the failing ball of plasma and fusion. There were no surviving terrestrial planets left in the system, and only one gas giant could be seen on the scanners, too far away to even feel what little warmth remained in the star.

"Well," Corey said, sitting back in his chair with a hand under his chin, "We've got eight hours to kill until we're in Sol."

"Are you still upset I shot those guys?" I asked, leaning across the back of the pilot's chair to look at him from above.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "I'm more upset you took out the automated defences. It makes for a much less-exciting departure."

I moved to circle the chair, lowering my voice and bringing my face closer to his, "Next time, I promise."

"Hmm..." he murmured, returning my advances with overly coquettish movements, batting his eyelashes and giggling.

I leaned in further, burying my muzzle under his chin against his throat, nipping playfully. His joking façade faded abruptly, and he bit back a sigh of surprised pleasure.

"Now then," I whispered into his ear, my voice as sultry as I could manage, "how can I begin to make today up to you?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something..."

"We've got eight hours," I said, nipping again at his ear, "I can think of a lot to do in eight hours..."

"I'm up for whatever you have in mind...," he started, trailing off abruptly, "You're bleeding on my fuckin' flight suit!"

I looked down, immediately noticing the numerous brown-red drops that had trailed along the path I'd taken around his body. My gaze then turned to myself, and I noticed for the first time the blood that soaked my right shoulder, trailing along my neck and upper arm.

"Aw shit," I said, momentarily breaking through the hold adrenaline had taken on my body. For the first time since its occurrence, I remembered the blood that had splattered near my head from the gunfight. I ran my left arm along my shoulder and neck, looking for the wound shock and energy hid from my nerves.

"I can't find the fuckin' wound!"

Corey stood, giving me a once over before a sly smile broke on his lips, "Check a fuckin' mirror, you dolt."

I continued searching for the wound as I moved at a jog down the ship's corridor, turning left into the bathroom were a wall-spanning mirror stood.

The dark fur along the back of my neck made spotting the blood difficult, but the wetness there was evident enough. I continued searching along the back of my arm and shoulder for a moment, then froze as I finally spotted the wound.

"Oh, you gotta' be fuckin' kidding me," I said, leaning in closer to get a look at my ear. I'd had them cropped at a young age, but the bullet had shortened the right even further, carving out a semi-circle in the outer edge.

The wound was still bleeding, and despite the volume of liquid that fell from my ear, the injury was almost entirely superficial.

I turned at the sound of Corey's laughter, and I fixed him with a glare, "It's not funny!"

He raised a hand as he stepped into the bathroom behind me, showing off the first-aid kit he carried, "let me get a look at it."

I sighed but complied, kneeling and turning my head so the ram could get a better look at my ear.

"You're lucky it didn't go a couple inches lower," he said, opening the kit to grab a rag and antiseptic, "it might've ruined your pretty looks, then where would you be?"

"Ha fucking ha," I said dryly, trying not to flinch as he ran an alcohol soaked rag over the torn flesh, "don't ask me to clean your damn suit."

He pinched my cheek, seeming to channel everything I'd taught him over the past couple years, "oh yes, you're so tough, I'm in awe of your stout masculinity."

I sat back and let him work, and soon enough he had applied a thin bandage and gauze to my ear, the weight of it pulling the flap of flesh down against my skull. I stood to inspect the damage in the mirror.

My right ear was plastered against my head, comically out of place against the stiff-standing left. My hair too, was mixed with half-dry blood and dishevelled, though it was within the realm of possibility that that had occurred even before the gunfight.

"Just bloody wonderful," I hissed under my breath, "I spend twenty years waiting to grow into the giant fuckers only for one of them to get blown off by some budget rent-a-cop."

Corey stepped up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist to settle in more... intimate areas.

"Believe me," he whispered in my ear, his voice soft and smoky, "it'll look cute when it's healed."

I turned to face him, wrapping my own arms around the ram, "that so? I guess I can suffer it for you then."

He took my arm in one hand while he began undoing the zipper on his flight-suit with the other, showing off his pecs and milk-white fur beneath it.

"Now," he said, "I was promised eight hours of fun, and we've only got seven to go."

"I'll make them count."