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Austin turned his back on his friend's jeep. Now wasn't the time for heartfelt goodbyes or last minute good-lucks. He stepped over the smashed gate of the impound lot and walked over to his car a few rows back. A DMC-12 responded with the button on his key-fab. This was his car, kind-of-sort-of stolen, but not really. He pulled open the gull-wing doors and sat down in the low leather seats. A pack of stale cookies and an old photograph were all that sat in there with him. Sirens sounded in the distance, he needed to go. After closing the door and staring the engine, he began to make his way out of the lot when he stopped for a moment. Nestled in the rows of cars was a vintage orange mustang. He looked at it for longer then he should have. The passenger side of the car was all crumpled up, rendering it almost unrecognizable as a vehicle. Why was he the one to walk away? He didn't feel lucky. It served only as a reminder of what he needed to do.

The sirens grew closer and he peeled out of the driveway. He was too late.

"Let's see if you can keep up with 8.4 liters of raw power." He grinned as he punched the accelerator down, refusing to ease up until he had reached his preferred cruising speed of 190.

It was well past midnight by the time he made it to his destination. The small bar sat in the middle of nowhere on a desert highway, bright neon signs illuminating the parking lot while patrons bustled in and out. For being so secluded, the place certainly made good business. It was the amount of people there that made him nervous. He ignored the brisling hairs on the back of his neck and pushed his way through the crowds before seating himself at the bar. He eyed a small notecard in the palm of his hand, "You're name is Austin, you suffered a severe concussion, you don't drink." It wasn't a memo he recalled writing himself, but none of the information on there could cause him any grief. He signaled the bartender and ordered a single glass of water, if he was at the right place, he wouldn't have to wait long.

A snow leopard sat down beside him, already his sense of personal space was feeling rather confined. Not one to he claustrophobic, he stifled his complaints and continued to sip his water; unable to shake the feeling that she was so familiar. Obviously she felt the same way, she kept turning and looking at him, and it was making him uncomfortable. Eventually he couldn't take it, and he turned to talk to her.

"Can I help you with something?"

"No," she said, "you just look familiar. What's your name?"

"Austin. What's yours?"

She took a moment to respond. "Austin! I thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I heard you drove yourself off a fucking cliff!" She raved.

"I did," he responded, sipping his water. "I still don't know who you are." He racked his brains trying to recall ever knowing such a drama queen.

"You're kidding me right? You son of a bitch."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, technically speaking, all male canines are sons of bitches."

"We used to date," she said. He choked on his water and stared at her, but she wasn't paying attention, "we had a good thing going, until I moved, we broke up, and you found her." She spoke of the other one with disgust. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued to talk. "I guess I knew we wouldn't get back together, but it still hurt to see you with someone else." He nodded absentmindedly.

"Are you drunk?" He asked.

"Very." He nodded at her, and she continued to talk. "So tell me how you two met. I'm in the mood for something romantic."

"If you've really known me so long, you should know."

"Oh, I know. I just wanna see if you still remember."

He nodded once more and blocked out the din of the bar struggling to remember the best night of his life. The water glass slipped from his hands as he flashed back, neurons connecting for the first time in a while.

SIX YEARS AGO

Austin's life sucked. At least that's how he felt driving alone that night. He pulled into an empty parking spot at the local pub where he and some friends used to hang out. His landlord had just evicted him that afternoon, and he had spent the last few hours cleaning out what little he owned. He called Atlas, asking if he could stay the night, yet for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to go. He walked in and sat down, drinking to his hearts content.

Austin remained consumed in his self pity until the feedback from a microphone jerked him back to reality. He turned to the small dimly lit stage and saw a stark white wolf setting up the microphone. Immediately entranced, he got up and walked closer.

"Hello everybody," she spoke into the microphone, "hope you're all having a nice evening, or morning." A few of the drunken patrons laughed. "Anyway, my name is Evelyn and I was going to be performing tonight but I can't find a guitarist." She scanned the crowd for a moment, "anyone out there play?" Austin glanced around, a few hands were in the air. Without thinking, he raised his as well. Just as his hand went up, she looked at him. He couldn't help but smile.

"You there, you got a guitar?"

He nodded.

"Good, go get it. And hurry up too."

Over and over in his head, he asked himself what he was doing. He grabbed his instrument from the car and stumbled back in. The two wolves stood at opposite ends of the stage, he felt uncomfortable in her presence, he couldn't deny the fact that he was infatuated with her. She walked over waving a sheet of paper, "take this." She handed it to him, eying his ramshackled excuse for a guitar. "I hope it works," she said before she walked away. Austin nodded softly, her scent still lingering in the air. He took a deep breath and glanced down at the paper, taking note of the simple chord progressions, and began to play.

"Hey you!"

He looked up.

"You got a name?" She asked.

"Yeah, Austin."

"Okay Austin, maybe you should try plugging in."

He blushed slightly at his blunder before bending down and picking up the cable. The amp buzzed as his fingers hovered over the strings, mind firm in the belief that he wouldn't make a fool of himself. And he played. She sang, and her voice pulled him in deeper then he thought he could ever go. And it was over, way too fast. He would have gone home, and nothing would have come of this had she not asked him if he could sing. He could, music had always been a hobby of his. He would have gone for a degree, had welding not offered better jobs. Austin stepped up to the microphone and looked out into the crowd. He didn't know what to sing, he had not prepared anything. Acting only on impulse was not what he usually made habit of doing. He turned around and looked back, she gave him an encouraging smile. Closing his eyes, he sang about her. He didn't know what he said, he didn't know what he played, he did know that he certainly felt like a fool somewhere in the middle. Somehow he just went through with it, whether or not it was the alcohol messing with his mind, or actual confidence was debatable.

He cautiously opened an eye and peaked at the audience. "Holy shit I fucked up didn't I," he muttered. The crowd erupted in applause and he began to laugh. Turning around his eyes met hers, teary and full of joy.

"Was that for me?" She asked.

"If you'll have it."

And for what felt like the rest of the night, they just stared at each other.

PRESENT

Austin sat up straight, trying to recall how he felt that night, but he just couldn't. "Yeah, it was pretty sappy." He turned to look for the leopard, but she had left. In her place sat an angry looking dude.

"Mr. Silver?"

"Uh...yeah?" He answered feebly.

"So you're the whose gonna steal something for me."

"Uh...yeah?"

"Good, I hope you're ready. We start now."

"Uh...yeah."

He leaned in, "is that all you say?"

"Uh...ye-uh, no." He shook his head.

"Good. If you don't have any brains, you don't have a chance." He stood up and offered his hand. Without thinking, Austin shook it.