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The Bruiser

The humans had done a marvellous job of scorching the planet, and ridding the Earth of their own existence. The various doomsday weapons they had used, each one designed to exterminate mass amounts of people in increasingly creative ways, tore holes in the fabric of reality, allowing bizarre and unknown forces to leak into the world. Some mystic, others demonic. Now with humans out of the way, many of the animals dusted off their paws, donned their hats, and came together to make the world a better place. But it turned out that animals could be just as greedy, callous, spiteful and conniving as their hairless forerunners. They had inherited a dark and dangerous world, ravaged by hate and greed, scorched by brilliance. But an animal still has to make a living, whatever their stripes or spots may be.

* * *

In what may have once been London, under the thick, dark, ever-present clouds, a ship swayed gently against a dank breeze. An iron steamer pulled playfully at the ropes that tethered it to one of the many hundreds of inconspicuous docks that dotted the river Tenebriffe. Inside the ship, several animal men bustled as quietly as their bulky bodies allowed within the cramped confines of the cargo hold. A boar loudly whispered orders to the other four animals, directing them to move several crates onto a trolley.

"Move it boys. The watchman's only been paid enough to rest his eyes for an hour," said the boar, hissing through his snout. The thieves huffed and sweated as the small crates were stacked hastily on top of each other. One of the men, a tall and muscular wolf, wiped the sweat off his left palm and grease off his right. His mechanical right arm whirred and jittered in strained whistles, like an old and neglected engine, when he heaved another crate onto the trolley. He paused only to catch his breath and remove his grey cap for just a second, but something caught his eye. A flash, or a glint, or a vibration in the air. A small metal chest was sitting in the corner of the hold. To say it had been hidden would be a lie, as it sat quite alone on the floor with nothing surrounding it. In fact the rest of the cargo seemed to be giving the tiny box a decent birth, but that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? But the chest appeared to be hidden, for lack of a better word, in its own darkness. As if shadows wanted to hide it from sight. The wolf stared at it.

"Oi, Boss. What's in that chest there?" He pointed directly at it. The boar glanced around as if trying to pick out a distant tree from among a whole forest.

"What you playing at, what chest?" But then reality seemed to fall into focus and he saw what the wolf was pointing at. "Huh. Could have sworn..." he mumbled. "Wassit matter what's in that there? We've been paid to move these boxes. So get moving!"

The wolf, despite being a good two heads taller than the overweight boar, nodded and obeyed, moving to the next crate. After all, the boar was the one in charge, and Rufus Stringer was just the hired muscle. He clutched at the wooden box but something pulled at his mind. His gaze was drawn back to the small chest. It was very pretty. With several intricate patterns that swirled around the surface that Rufus swore were not there the first time he noticed it. And was it silver the chest was made from? It must be worth a fortune.

Rufus stared at the chest, not moving. The frantic movement of the other men, along with the rest of the cargo and not to mention the entire ship, faded from his thoughts. He stood there, trancelike, the little chest sitting in the centre of his vision, gleaming, beautiful, important, whispering to him. What incredible treasure would be contained within such a magnificent chest?

Find out, Rufus thought. At least, he thought he thought that thought. Open the chest. Take whatever lies inside. Rufus slowly let go of the wooden crate. Take it. Make it yours. Release me.

A horrible crash made Rufus turn his head. He swayed in place for a second, feeling as if he had woken from a deep sleep. One of the other men had dropped a crate, and now its contents were rolling loudly across the metal floor of the ship. A horse dove down to stop the noise, but recoiled and jumped away in shock when he got a good look at the cargo they had been lifting. Several glass jars with wax sealed lids tumbled slowly around. Thick, murky green smoke floated around in each of the jars, moving like fire and water at once. In one of the jars, the soupy haze formed a solid object for less than a second before bursting back into a swirling fog. A face. It had formed a silent, screaming face. The muzzle shape was vague enough to belong to one of several animals. But there was no mistaking what was in those jars.

"Souls," the horse said quietly. He turned and stomped up to the boar. "You've got us moving souls? We aren't nickin' from blimmin Demons, are we?" he demanded.

"I- I didn't know," the boar squealed. "I was just told the time and place, I swear!"

A whistle pierced through the air, followed by shouting from outside of the ship. Heavy footsteps followed soon after.

"Run!" shouted the horse. But two policecats were already stepping into the cargo hold, nightsticks drawn and blue capes billowing out behind them.

"Nobody move!" said one of the cats, hissing. "You're all under arrest." Everyone froze. And then the horse punched the cat in the face. The policecat sprawled across the metal floor with a screech, and his partner leapt forward and beat the horse with his nightstick. Three more policecats rushed in, alerted by their fallen comrade, and the cargo hold exploded into a melee of fists, clubs, and spare metal pipes.

Rufus dodged a nimble swing from one of the felines and brought his metal right fist hard up into the cat's jaw with a crack. He had to run, get out of there. If he could make it through the brawl and out the door, then he could easily jump ship to safety.

No.

First take the chest. Grab it and run. Protect the chest.

Rufus shook his head as he felt his focus becoming foggy and conflicted. He sprinted to the back of the cargo hold, dodged a set of cat claws and stumbled into the far wall. The policecat hissed at him and twirled his baton in dexterous paws. Rufus put up his dukes and weaved under the cat's weapon, then popped the feline in the face two times with his left. The cat staggered back clutching his jaw. Rufus took the opening, drew back his right arm and punched forward with a whizz and hiss of machinery. The cat struggled on the floor for a few seconds, but then decided it best to just stay down.

Rufus took the small silver chest and hugged it close. He crouched down behind a crate and glanced around the room, breathing hard. The police and the smugglers were still beating each other senseless. The horse was down, the boar covered his ears and squealed. They were outnumbered, and in a few seconds the other two smugglers would be beaten into submission. But no one was paying attention to the wolf hiding in the corner. His leg muscles tensed as he prepared to make a sprint for the door. He could push his way past the Bobbies, and...

No.

Stay still. Hide.

The words entered his brain like smoke, a puff of an idea that was not his own. But he obeyed.

A new figure walked into the hold and the cold metal of the ship seemed to grow just a trifle hotter. Rufus peered from between two crates, keeping his ears as low as possible. The new figure's face was soft, flat, and hairless, except for a mane of thick brown fur on the top his head. An expensive trilby hat covered most of his mane, but sat just above two small horns that protruded from his forehead. His suit was equally as expensive, and somehow repelled the dust and soot that swirled around the filthy ship.

Stay still.

Rufus shook his head at the whisper behind his eyes, but did not move.

"Gentlemen," the Devil said in a voice as bright as a promise. "Let us all just calm down and talk."

One of the cats threw the boar at the Devil's feet.

"This one seems to be in charge, Sir."

"Are you hurt?" The Devil knelt and placed a gentle hand on the boar's shoulder. The boar shook his head. "Let me help you up." He took the boar's paw and carefully helped him to his wobbly feet. "Now, I need you to tell me something. I need to know who told you to come here. Who paid you?"

"I didn't know we was lifting from Demons, I swear! We wouldn't've taken the job if we'd known!"

The devil smiled and hushed. "That's not what I asked you. Who gave you the job? I would very much like to know who it was."

The boar looked into the Devil's red eyes and shook his head. "We didn't get his name. Not too strange, Sir. Some blokes don't want to be known."

The Devil stared at the boar. His friendly smile never faltering or fading. "Well. That is rather a shame, isn't it?" He sighed and patted the boar on the shoulder. "Constable, arrest these men," he ordered without breaking his gaze from the shivering boar. "Except for this one. He stays with me."

The cats pulled small shackled from under their cloaks and went about securing the other three thieves. Rufus felt panic rising. They were going to find him soon.

Stay.

"And find the Vessel," the Devil added. "It's hiding here somewhere."

Run! Now!

A burst of energy propelled him over the crates and straight at the exit. The policecats, arms full of prisoners, were taken completely by surprise.

"Stop him, please!" the Devil shouted, but Rufus was already out of the hold. He scrambled up the iron steps of the ship, the chest tucked tightly under his left arm. Footsteps ran after him. The wolf burst onto the deck and sprinted across the gangplank to the firm ground of the stone dock. The Devil emerged from the bowels of the ship and pointed a very long and elegant pistol. He cocked it with a slender thumb and a green light whirred to life and illuminated the back of the fleeing wolf.

Turn right!

The Devil pulled the trigger just as Rufus turned suddenly. There was a bang, a crunch, and a howl. Rufus stumbled but kept running, disappearing from the Devil's view behind a warehouse.

"After him, please, before he gets to the streets. He has the Vessel."

The policecats blew their whistles and gave chase, following the escapee into the shadow of the warehouse.

Rufus ran, pushed his way past two drunken sailors, and barged into a tavern. His metal right arm hung awkwardly at his side. The sleepy occupants looked up at the wolf, then back at their drinks, and continued their existence. Rufus ran through the small building, searching for another way out.

"Buy something or piss off," the otter bartender called out to him. Rufus ignored him, pushed open a window with his left arm, and struggled to force himself through. He fell outside as the front door of the tavern burst open again and three policecats stomped in.

"Buy something or piss off," said the bartender.

Rufus could hear the shouts coming from the pub, and the eventual smash of glass and something much more solid. He kept low, creeping through the alleyway. He reached a dark corner and sat, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. His right arm sparked and dripped. The bullet had taken a decent chunk out of it. He could barely move his fingers, just twitch them uselessly. A repair was the first thing on his mind.

No.

A repair was the second thing on his mind. The chest. That was more important. Somehow. He picked up the chest and placed it on his lap. There was no latch, or lock, just a hinged lid. Rufus slowly opened the lid of the box he had just risked his life for. Inside was a single piece of paper, smaller than a box of matches. Gingerly he picked up the paper. On it were several tiny symbols. Anger and frustration started to bubble up inside of him. Was this it? A bit of bloody paper that he couldn't even read? He stared at it more closely, hoping some secret message would appear. Nothing did. Except pain. For less than a second, he was in agony. For less than a second his whole world exploded behind his eyes in red hot pins and a deafening buzz crushed his ears. And then it was gone. He didn't even have time to scream, or raise his hand. Nothing lingered, he was fine. Rufus looked again at the slip of paper. But now it was blank. He checked the chest. The dull, plain, mundane, metal chest.

He looked around the alleyway, confused and pissed off. Rufus dropped the paper and the chest into the moist dirt. Then he stood up, clutched his broken arm, and walked away.

A repair was the first thing on his mind.