The Gale
#3 of One Shots
The Gale
(Don't read this if you're not allowed to or you think it may disturb you. This is a violent and sexually explicit story, and it is not, nor is it intended to be, appropriate for children. If you chose to continue to read after this, then I can't accept any responsibility for your actions.
Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are unintentional and purely coincidental.
No one is allowed to take credit for this work apart from me. If you want to use it somehow, I would appreciate it if you were to get in touch with me first.)
(Just to be crystal clear: this story is pure fiction, and people who may be tempted to do things like the main character does should remember that.
Thoughts and text messages are in italics.
To any Swedes reading this story: I may, and probably will, get some aspects of your nation's culture and geography wrong. For that, allow me to sincerely apologize.
Full disclosure: I have no stake in the firearms and gear "advertised" below.
I've used metric measurements to stay as true as possible to the setting of this story. So, to other Americans--you can convert meters back to feet and/or inches the same way I got to meters in the first place: use Google!
I've decided to suggest a few little somethings below that should enhance your reading experience.
Again--there is explicit sex and violence in this piece. So, if you're okay with that, read, enjoy, then comment and rate)
Suggested Music: In Flames: Square Nothing, Goliaths Disarm Their David, The Quiet Place; Passenger: In Reverse, Just the Same; Vikram: Khamoosh; L'Ame Immortelle: Tiefster Winter Zeromancer Remix, Love is Lost, Will You; Amon Amarth: Tattered Banners and Bloody Flags, Twilight of the Thunder God, Cry of the Black Birds; Jesper Kyd: Apocalypse, Hunter; Insomnium: In the Groves of Dath, The Gale
Suggested Drinks: Hard liquor, coffee with minimal cream or sugar, chai, masala Coca Cola
Suggested Snacks: Gravadlax, Triscuits, almonds
Suggested Smokes: Don't smoke! It's bad for you!
Things had changed since they'd arrived in Sweden all those years ago. He had grown--he was no longer a kitten; rather, at a reasonably tall height of 1.88 meters, he towered head and shoulders above his mother. For her part, she'd kept fit and trim; the years hadn't added centimeters to her waistline or wrinkles to her face.
It was fortunate that they'd selected a country with a somewhat functioning welfare system. Otherwise, the loss of the man of the family may have been fatal. It was only a few years after moving to the frigid, Scandinavian nation when a work-related accident had claimed his life, permanently removing a husband from his wife and a father from his son.
Constant income, though, coupled with a steady career had given his only living parent--the only one he could really remember, in fact--the ability to send him to Stockholm University for a degree in engineering. However, although a series of scholarships had subsidized the majority of his education, money was still tight.
Or it had been, until a few months ago. A sudden influx of cash had made life comfortable for her and her son--he'd been told that a promotion at work was responsible, and, to him, this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
After all--what else would his mother do but give him the truth, and the fruits of honest, ethical, morally upright labor?
Järfälla Municipality was still unfamiliar to him, and that was understandable. It had only been two months ago when they'd moved into the middle to upper-middle class suburb, away from the crowded immigrant neighborhoods to the north of Stockholm that had been his home for years.
The clean, wide streets, flanked by pines older than the homes they surrounded were certainly a sight to behold for the young, ethnically Dravidian tiger. For the longest time, he'd felt that life like this was off-limits to him--until, at least, he got a good, high paying job at some big manufacturing or defense firm in the heart of the city.
It was quite sunny outside, despite the single-digits temperature, but he didn't mind. Sweden had been his home for the entirety of his life; thus, he'd grown to love the incessantly unpredictable weather; the way snowstorms or days of rain could start and end without warning or precedent.
Today was a Friday, so, after a long week of study, he'd returned home--at least for a few hours. He had plans, later, with friends: plans involving bars and clubs and drinks and females.
As his mind drifted in that direction, he sighed, even as he walked up to a door that was still somewhat foreign to him. After fumbling with a key, for a moment, the young tiger unlocked the door, entering with a word of greeting--but the house was empty. Apparently, his mother was still at work.
Shrugging off his schoolbag, then his coat, the tiger paused, for a moment, in the lobby of his home. A smile lit his smooth Caucasian features, as his eyes danced, slowly, across the minimalist décor that had taken a great deal of care but little real effort to set up. Stained wood and sleek metal arranged into a loose interpretation of modern Scandinavian style comprised the majority of the house's amenities--there were limited references to the fact that his mother had lived the first twenty years of her life in Madras. A painting of a Hindu deity here, a packet of incense sticks there... besides that, the tigress had assimilated into the culture of her new country entirely, much like her son.
For the most part.
The young tiger padded his way into the basement, slowly stripping off his jacket, then shirt, as well. He entered the lowest level of the house, and, eyes glowing in the darkness until he turned on the lights, made his way to a series of machines in the back.
When viewed nude from the torso up, it was clear that he was a stranger to neither this small home gym, nor to its larger analogue at his school. He was slim, yes, but not quite as frail as was the accepted norm for northern Europeans, and with taught bunches of muscles unconcealed by a plush, soft coat of fur, the tiger wasn't exactly bad looking, either.
He sported subdued green eyes, which contrasted nicely with the dark orange hue of his fur. His underbelly again contrasted with the rest of his coat; it was creamy white and cotton-like in texture. Thick black stripes twisted up and down his frame like tribal-style tattoos that were so popular with some of his countrymen, making his ethnic background clear--if his extraordinarily thick, curly black hair didn't already.
As he stretched, cracking his neck several times, before working out the kinks in his sides, the tiger found his mind wandering. His mother wasn't exactly an orthodox, conservative believer, and he was as agnostic-leaning-atheist as any other Swede--yet, the manner in which he conducted himself didn't allow him to do many things that people his age all across Europe, and the world, for that matter, regularly did.
In his opinion, his values were not extreme. For example, he did occasionally enjoy alcohol, albeit in small amounts--never enough to get drunk. He wasn't necessarily opposed to having parties or interacting with females--even those who exposed themselves to a less than chaste degree. What morals he was not willing to budge on, however, included those that entailed his version of self-respect; of honor.
The tiger had once kissed a female--but that was the limit of his "sexual" experience, and that's how he intended to keep things for the foreseeable future. His friends, he knew, did much, much more than he ever would allow himself to, and with striking frequency--their argument was that they lived in the 21st century, and old morality didn't apply. His counter was that morality never changed.
Everyone had their oddities, and such rigid values were his. Still, he was able to lead a relatively normal, full life--he had plenty of friends, after all, and was a quite bright student in addition. As the tiger lay down on a bench, having loaded up a bar with eighty pounds on each side, he reflected that he had a great deal of hobbies as well. Apart from his love for keeping fit and strong, he was a surprisingly good cook, an avid practitioner of modernized kung fu, and a quite regular face at the local firearms range as well.
He saw no reason to change his views. For some reason, they'd settled into them at a young age--his mother, though understandably confused at how different her son had become in comparison to his friends, had always been supportive of his choices, and that little bit of acceptance was all he needed.
After working out for forty minutes or so, the tiger stood and glanced at a nearby clock--it was still quite early in the day. He had time to shower, put something together for a private dinner for himself and his mother, and then head out for a night of fun. Perfect.
Sweating, so that his fur clung to every muscle on his frame, he made his way to the house's second floor. The tiger paused in his room, for a moment, after collecting a towel and some essentials, and smiled at the only photo he had of his family--his whole family. His father and mother cradled him--so small that his eyes hadn't yet opened--beaming, covering him with kisses and licks--he was their only child. Though his father had long since passed, he was still around, as was his mother.
"And as long as we continue to be moral, upright, and virtuous," the tiger thought, as he made his way into the bathroom_, "we'll do his memory justice."_
His mother was at work alright, but not at the office building where she'd been employed for most of her life. No, instead, she was in one of the many places in the city where she knew--or she thought she knew--her son would never see her: her new workplace.
The tigress was a dancer, if the authorities asked. However, it was common knowledge that a reasonable amount of money would make the "dancers" in this club into something else...
It was still late afternoon, but she'd just entered in order to prepare for the night. After all, she needed to maintain the façade that she was a decent woman, not a prostitute. She'd left home in a business suit and coat, carrying a small briefcase with her, inside of which were her "work clothes"--a thong, a mask, and an incredibly scant bikini top.
As she walked through the presently unsolicited streets at the fringes of Stockholm's sprawling red light district, she found that the only regret she had about her new occupation was the fact that she couldn't be open about it with her son. If he found out what was bringing them so much money, he'd surely estrange her--and she loved him far too much to let that happen. After all, she was his mother.
Café 42 was one of the city's newer clubs. It had two sprawling floors for locals and visitors to dance until five in the morning, as well as several attached bars and restaurants. The establishment was madly profitable, and it would have been so even if it wasn't for the fact that the third floor was dominated entirely by a series of hallways and lockable doors.
The rooms where she and her colleagues would do what they were paid to do weren't very large; apart from a single, king-sized bed and a small set of drawers where costumes, toys, and other accessories were kept, there was little space. The customers didn't seem to mind, though--there was certainly enough room for the prostitutes to blow... their minds.
After changing in the room set aside for her use, she walked down the stairs to solicit.
Predictably, there were few people about at this hour. Small throngs of teenagers, here and there, chatted and drank to prepare pre-party buzzes, and a few loners or couples floated around, looking for larger groups to join. All of them, though, did doubletakes at her, when she walked by--the tigress was nothing if not strikingly beautiful.
She was a bit short at the height of only 1.62 meters, but males certainly didn't mind that; particularly when one took into account her hourglass figure, her long, silky black hair, as well as her quite acutely feminine curves. Her breasts were large, soft 34DDs; creamy white on one side from her underbelly, and orange and striped on the other from the rest of her coat.
The tigress's hips smoothly jutted out from a toned, slim waist, and her cute, striped rump was thick but tight. Her fur color was several shades lighter than the rich, prominent orange sported by her son, and her stripes were more orderly, albeit thicker and spaced farther apart than the younger feline's.
Overall, her appearance was exotic--it could be compared, perhaps, to the image a native, born-and-raised Swede held of an Indian princess, or even Goddess. Though the mask on her face, designed to protect her identity, hid a good cut of her beauty, it worked to increase the powerful, alluring feeling she gave off.
This is why it was only a few minutes until she was approached.
Her customer was, like her, not a native Swede. He was a somewhat short wolf, though he was rather taller than her at a height of about 1.72 meters. And though he spoke Swedish fluently, an underlying Slavic accent suggested that he was eastern European.
"He-hello..." the canine said, somewhat nervous; perhaps this was his first time buying so to speak. "I was, ah, wondering... do you work here?"
The real inquiry was whether or not she was a prostitute. A mistaken assumption, after all, could easily lead to an awkward moment, or a sharp slap to the muzzle... or a call to the police.
She turned to face him, looking him up and down, for a moment. He wasn't bad looking--stylish jeans and an untucked shirt hid what was probably a very defined build, judging from his knifelike features. His fur look coarse, but its dark, charcoal color would go with her bright coat quite nicely. All in all, this could be quite an enjoyable start to the night...
The tigress gave him a polite smile, and nodded. Tentatively, she drew closer, and set a paw on his hip. He shivered, a little, at that, but didn't step away, so she moved in, closer still, wrapping her arm around his waist. Brushing her breasts against his chest, she moved her snout so that it was centimeters from his cheek, and purred so that he could feel as well as hear it.
"I do," she murmured, before taking in a deep breath, smelling the canine's masculine scent, allowing her light green eyes to flit down, once, glancing at the growing bulge in the male's pants. "There's a flat fee... and then, you get charged for every quarter of an hour we spend together. If you have any special requests... that's extra," the tigress whispered, before taking the liberty of kissing at the union of the male's jaw with his neck.
"No, thanks..." the wolf murred, cautiously placing a paw on the female's hip, enjoying the feeling of her lips, slowly, softly pulsating against his fur. "Just the usual treatment..."
"Of course," the tigress said politely, before leaning back, away from the male, then taking his paw in hers, and leading him away from the dance floor. "I'll be happy to give you anything you want..."
The door opened without creaking once, and the wolf stepped inside, looking around, for a moment, mostly to get control of his nerves. The walls were padded, but paneled with stain mahogany, and the carpet was heated and soft. Apart from that, there was a window above the bed's headrest, which offered quite a stunning view of Stockholm's encroaching night life.
He adjusted his shirt, once, ear turning to listen to the sound of the tigress shutting, then locking the door behind him with a key. They wouldn't want to be disturbed, after all.
"Nice room," he said, shakily, and she took note of that--he was nervous, so she'd have to go slow with him; at least at first. That was fine; after all, the longer she took, the more she'd be paid.
"Thank you," she purred, before walking up behind the male, standing close enough behind him that he could feel her hot, warm breath against the back of his neck. Slowly, the tigress wrapped her arms around him, placing her paws at his belt, just below his abdomen, just above his crotch. As she did, she noticed, happily, that the male's physique wasn't just skin and bone--he had a reasonable deal of muscle on him, as well.
After hugging the canine from behind, for a moment, the tigress reached upwards, a little, skillfully undoing the buttons of his shirt. Once she was finished, her paws explored his furred, powerful chest, fingers travelling through the thick, long fur of his torso.
Purring quietly, emphasizing what enjoyment she obtained from the act, the tigress circled around to face her customer. Her paws gripped his hips as she looked at him with a sultry expression on her face, green eyes glimmering in the dim light of the room. She stepped forward and gently removed the wolf's shirt, leaving him nude from the waist up--for the moment.
The tigress then pulled off her mask with a single, deft motion, giving her hair a toss in the effort. For a moment, she simply smiled at the enamored expression on her customer's face--then, she nuzzled under his chin, kissing him, again, walking forward until the back of his shins hit the edge of the bed.
She didn't stop, though, and gently pressed him down so that he was laying on his back, looking up at her. His expression was still quite nervous, so the tigress smiled, in a motherly sort of fashion, and placed her paw on his cheek. She guided him, so that as she lowered herself down, resting against him, partially, the softness of her chest against his, their lips met.
Her free paw slipped around him, feeling the muscles of his back; all the while, the kiss continued, drawing all of the wolf's attentions to her. The tigress's sweet yet subtle scent, the softness of her breasts resting atop his chest, the warmth of her flesh against his, and the feel of her maw against his all filled his mind.
She felt his arms wrapping around her, and smiled into the kiss, eyes gently shut. This would be fun, indeed.
The kiss broke, for a moment, leaving the wolf panting for breath, and the tigress purring with delight. He didn't seem to know what to do next, so she sat back, not unintentionally resting her rump on his thigh. Rubbing his chest again, she ran her paws over his thick, muscular arms, a rather lewd expression on her face, before she took his paws into hers.
The wolf didn't resist as his large, furred appendages were set at the side of the tigress's neck. She unhanded him at that point, though, purring and shutting her eyes as she stroked her hair with both paws, holding it up and out of the way. His fingers brushed against the strings of her bikini top--the unspoken suggestion of what to do next was quite clear.
After taking a breath, the male gently ran his fingers over the tigress's shoulders, sliding them under the straps of her top. Then, as she reached behind her own back with one paw, undoing the knot there, he tugged them aside.
The cloth seemed to fall apart in his paws, and with a graceful roll of her shoulders, she shrugged out of the top entirely. On the border between her underbelly and the orange of her coat, two light touches of pink lay underneath, and, for a second, the wolf stared at them, as his paws fell to caress her slim, almost delicate belly.
For a moment, she allowed him to get an eyeful of her form. Involuntarily, the male held his breath at the sight of the tigress's gorgeous, perfect breasts--though quite large, and owned by a female fast approaching the end of her thirties, they didn't sag in the slightest.
He found his paws--his own two paws--gently massaging her chest, erect nipples rubbing against his palms. He let breath a sharp breath out, quickly, before sharply gasping, afterwards, murring deeply.
She sighed in a contented manner at the feeling of his paws stimulating her--this job would be so much harder if it wasn't for the occasional allotment of her own pleasures. Still, though, she had a job to do.
He shifted, a little, so that she could feel his arousal nudge her rump through his pants, and then murmured in a soft, still nervous tone, "May I please...tease me a little...?"
The tigress smiled at that, and, after nodding, leaned in to lick his nose with her soft yet scratchy tongue. Her hair cascaded down the side of her face, forming a protective curtain around the wolf's head, for a moment, until she leaned back.
Turning around, she gave him a long view of her striped, sleek back. Her spine was somewhat visible through her shiny, well-groomed coat, and by turning to face him over her shoulder, lifting her hair up in a deeply sexual manner, she was able to make the wolf murr once, in anticipatory pleasure. She drew her tail over his crotch, once, making him stifle a gasp, before, grinning happily, she got on her knees, on the floor, turning around again to face him.
Though the front of her body was dominated by the creamy white streak of fur that ran from her chin down over her stomach to down and between her legs, every part of her was beautiful in its own way. Together, her shape, her posture, and her scent added up to a woman who easily and habitually lit flames in the minds of the sternest men.
The wolf rested on his elbows to watch as the tigress gently spread his legs with her paws. He noticed, for a moment, the plushness of the carpet beneath him, before she held his attention totally once again.
Leaning in, she looked up at him, for a long moment, green eyes gauging his for every reaction he had to her motions; every twitch, every gasp, every murr. The tigress hadn't held her job for very long, but she was already so good at it--she was a natural.
Instead of immediately proceeding to unclothe him completely, she took her time to acquiesce to his request. The bulge in the canine's pants was in her paw after a moment, during which she simply purred, looking up at him with a wanting, needing look in her eye that was only somewhat fabricated.
The tigress gently, softly trailed her furred hand up and down, across the stiffness in her customer's pants. Then, massaging it slowly, testing its overall size, and smirking, she leaned towards the male's crotch, and, tauntingly, kissed the very tip of his concealed arousal.
The male's murr hit a critical level, and she realized this as the point where it would be best to stop teasing... and start doing.
Despite this revelation, however, she didn't hurry to unzip, then pull down his pants at all. Like her appearance, her motions were slow, exotic; and, due to the canine's palatable nervousness, still slow and gentle. She felt a degree of professional interest as his boxers followed the rest of his clothes to the floor, and smiled, purring, as she took hold of his sizable member, stroking it with her paw.
After holding eye contact with the canine for a moment, she purringly started to suckle on the very tip of his cock. The tigress moved her tongue in soft, slow circles, lubricating the male's rigid organ even as she aroused him further. As he looked down, giving off stifled moans of pleasure, she momentarily started to bob her head up and down on his member, alternatively looking up at him and closing her eyes in enjoyment of the task.
Though her teeth were sharp and built to kill, she was able to keep them well away from her partner's throbbing member by wrapping her lips over them, allowing her to apply just a little pressure around his cock as she sucked. Her warm maw enveloped the wolf's most private organ, wrapping it in a comforting, warm, wet enclosure that quickly coaxed him towards a climax.
The tigress, however, had a sixth sense of sorts, which she'd developed over the course of a few months on the job and hundreds of males to practice on. She felt his cock throb rhythmically, ready to fill her maw with thick, creamy strands of cum, but, with effort, gently worked him away from ejaculation. After all, her blowjob was just an appetizer for the main course...
Slowly letting his lubricated member slide out of her maw, kissing it in farewell, for the moment, the tigress erotically nuzzled her way up the wolf's abdomen, purring quietly. She purposefully brushed her bare breasts against his rigid cock, then trapped it against her belly as she wrapped her arms around the male for a moment, allowing his level of lust normalize after she'd brought it up so quickly with just a few moments of fellatio.
"Did you enjoy that?" the tigress purred, looking up at him as she kissed his chest. Rubbing his torso with her paws, she was attuned to every feeling the wolf experienced--he'd be ready to continue things soon.
"Oh, yes..." the canine murmured. After a moment, he reached down, running his fingers through her hair--gradually, he was starting to feel more confident about himself. She was doing her job well.
"Then, you'll love this..."
She slid upwards a little more, then, with a plush, padded paw, reached down and held his rigid member still. Then, the tigress slid back down, knowing that he'd appreciate the prolonged contact with her, and let out a soft "Hyan!" of pleasure as he entered her.
After adjusting her labia with a finger, she slowly arched back, sitting on the wolf's thighs. Purring audibly, the tigress licked her lips lasciviously, and watched with a note of pride as he took the initiative to take her breasts into his paws. Although his actions weren't quite skilled enough to give her much pleasure, she appreciated the gesture, as well as the fact that she was responsible for giving him the confidence needed to reach out and touch her.
Instead of immediately proceeding to ride the wolf--which was her intention--the tigress ground her hips downwards against him. Apart from making his mouth water in anticipation of what would come next, the exotic, dancing sort of motion aroused her, she was allowed a share of pleasure, as well.
Looking down at him with a questioning expression, asking permission to start--which was shortly given--the female started to rock her hips up and down. She was surprised, then, by how enjoyable this particular customer was--his thick member rubbed her inner walls nicely, and when his knot touched her outer folds, she was treated to a slight blast of ecstasy.
Quickly, he was moaning in pleasure, watching and feeling the beautiful tigress riding him enthusiastically. His paws fondled her chest needingly, stroking her soft, perfect curves, as he was driven, slowly, towards a climax.
She considered, for a moment, working him away from ejaculation again, but decided against it. Some of her more experienced customers would have enjoyed that, or, potentially, would simply go for a second round after one climax. She was doubtful, however, of this male's ability to do so... and if kept from ejaculation for too long, would simply grow frustrated... perhaps physically so. It was getting time to wrap things up, and she'd do it in the most exotic manner possible...
By then, he was sitting in the kitchen, tapping his foot impatiently. For what felt like the thousandth time, he looked at his watch, then back at the food he'd made--nothing special, just some roasted chicken and vegetables with a side of bread and gravadlax. His mother was very, very late, and he was starting to get worried.
He'd already tried calling and texting her several times with no success; her cellphone was off. Could it be... had some sort of accident befallen her...?
The tiger stood, for a moment, pacing. Anxiously, he bit his tongue, and ran a hand through the soft fur of his cheek--he had half a mind to go search for her.
Then, though, he snapped his fingers, and tapped a number into his phone. He couldn't contact his mother directly... but maybe if he called her office, someone would be able to point him in the right direction...
Although the main course of the evening, so to speak, was vaginal sex, things didn't necessarily need to finish that way and she knew it. Wriggling her hips towards against him, gently taking his paw into both of hers, so she could nuzzle and kiss his furred appendage, the female considered how to finish him.
A good way to check what he'd enjoy most without ruining the atmosphere with words was to teasingly, tantalizingly suckle on his finger, which is just what she did. Looking at him with half-lidded eyes, she gently lapped at his digit with her tongue, kissing it, massaging it with her lips.
It appeared that she'd be swallowing him, from the way he murred in pleasure, spare paw drifting to her hip to control the tigress's erotic dance.
As was her style, the tigress made her transition slowly. She kissed her way down his chest, now, smiling to herself as his paw took hold of the back of her head. Within moments, she was at his loins again, kissing lovingly at his throbbing, pulsating member. It wouldn't be long now before she made him climax...
"Hello? Yes, I'm trying to contact a Ms. Neha D'Costa; she works in your accounting department... yes... thank you."
He was standing, tapping impatiently at the slab of polished granite that made his kitchen table. Perhaps he was going to get some long overdue answers now.
It was only a moment before the secretary spoke again. But what she said to him was something wholly unexpected.
"Sir?... yes, according to my records, Ms. D'Costa ended her employment here almost four months ago."
"What--I'm sorry... ...could you please check that again?" the tiger asked, struggling to make sense of things, cuffed tail twitching in confusion and anxiety.
"Sir, I'm looking at the file right now. She hasn't been here in four months... ...Neha D'Costa... she's a tigress, right? A little on the shorter side, perhaps 1.65 meters... she has straight black hair, and pale fur, for, ahm, her ethnic group...?"
"Yes, yes, that's her," he replied intently. "Have you seen her? Can you tell me where she is?"
"I'm afraid not..."
She was pumping his member with her paw, stroking him rapidly, maw open in hopes of receiving his seed. The tigress had to give him credit--though he was moaning audibly in pleasure, he was lasting much, much longer than she'd expected.
With her tongue, Neha lapped at the tip of his member, occasionally sucking on it with her soft, sweet lips. Her free paw caressed his appropriately heavy balls, as she purred, looking up at him expectantly, submissively, almost beggingly.
He lasted a few seconds yet, then, groaning quite loudly, applied the teensiest bit of pressure to the back of her head. That was the only sign she needed.
The tigress descended over his member in a single, fluid motion, mashing her nose against his groin. The wolf was deepthroated, and the feeling of her warm, welcoming throat against the fat end of his member threw him over the edge.
Due to how far down she'd taken his cock, Neha didn't taste a drop of his cum. He merely exploded directly down her throat, filling her creamy, plush belly with several tablespoons of his savory, salty cum. Spasming in pleasure, the male groaned quietly, watching as she looked up at him, maw full of his now oversensitive, pulsating member.
After a moment, she drew away, slurping hard to suck down any remaining cum and saliva from his limp, reddened member. The wolf's flaccid appendage slowly lolled out of her mouth, leaving him panting and murring in satisfaction.
Of course, she didn't break things off immediately was how she made men come back day after day, night after night, to use her services... to use her. Purring softly, as if she was enjoying this--which, to a degree, she was--the tigress nuzzled his hip, and then proceeded to clean him up with her raspy yet gentle tongue.
In a stupor, he pressed the key that ended the call to his mother's workplace--or, apparently, what hadn't been her workplace for over a quarter of a year. He was lost--what he'd simply accepted as truth without question had turned out to be blatantly false.
Worst of all, he'd been lied to by his own mother... for God knew what reason. How was she getting money? Where was she? Why couldn't she just tell him that she'd been fired?
"Wait," he said out loud, staring at a nearby table--at least it made sense, "'Your mother ended her employment here...' she wasn't fired... she quit. Why... ...and what job does she have now? It makes more money... maybe she's just trying to surprise me. Or perhaps it's because she's on a trial period or something, and hasn't signed a long-term contract yet... yes, that must be it..."
Despite his confident words, though, he knew that that probably wasn't so. His mother wasn't one to surprise her son like that--she hadn't even been able to keep his birthday presents secret, when he was younger. Concealing something of this scale and import for simply recreational reasons... was doubtlessly beyond her capacity. She had to be lying to him for some other reason.
What to do about it, though? Of course, his first objective was to find her--but how? The city was large... for that matter, the country was large, too. He had no way of knowing where she was... or if she was even coming back. Going out to look for her would be, simply, stupid--supposing she came back home?
The situation had been dumped onto his lap, and his, alone, without any warning or precedent, and it just wasn't damned fair. For more than a moment, the tiger was overwhelmed--what was he to do?
Slowly, though, the beginnings of an idea formed in his mind. Though she was competent with technology to the point that she could use a cellphone, text, send and receive emails, and browse the web efficiently, as well as accomplish all manner of other simple tasks, the more complicated aspects of 21st century life escaped her--understandable.
What it meant, though, was that her son was in charge of their phones, computers, and cameras. Specifically, it meant that he was the one that had jumped at the idea of having GPS-enabled phones.
Although they rarely used the navigational feature of their phones, Neha was unlikely to note, as her son did, that keeping the GPS on was a waste of power, and shut it off. Furthermore, as he had administration privileges on their account... he could pinpoint the location of his mother's phone--if it, and its GPS, was turned on.
She was alone, now; her client had left, leaving her with a cash payment and a somewhat bashful smile, indicating that he was likely to be back sometime soon. Satisfied with herself, the tigress took a moment to stretch out, relaxing on her bed. Soon, she'd go to take a shower in one of the communal bathrooms, and spend a few minutes drying herself off, before heading back downstairs.
It was then that Neha realized that today, her son was coming home for the weekend. And, judging by the amount of time she'd spent with her first client of the night, he'd been waiting for her for quite some time now.
"Oh, no..." the tigress groaned.
Instantly, she was on her feet, and searching through a drawer for her phone. As she found it, she winced--he had called, and several times. Biting her lip as she called him, Neha sighed. She'd have to take the night off... but it was alright. There was work, and then there was her son--and there was no question, in her mind, which was more important.
"Hello?"
"Oh, Kris, I'm so glad I got you... I'm so sorry, I forgot that you were coming home today. I was in a meeting, so my ringer was off..."
She could hear him tapping at a keyboard, and that brought a smile to her lips. Her son was so studious...
"I understand."
There was a flat, deadened tone in the tiger's voice--it was difficult to tell, exactly, what was causing it, as they were speaking through a phone, but Neha knew her son well. He sounded... suspicious?... no, that was impossible; he had no way of knowing where she was. It had to be sadness... and that was justified.
"I'm very sorry, Krishna... I'm finished work now; I'll be home very soon, alright?"
"I'm actually in the area," the tiger replied, intently, for some reason. "I can meet you out front, if you want. We can walk home together--it's been some time since we've done that."
"No, no," the tigress said, searching, rapidly, for an excuse. "It'll be... a quarter of an hour before I can leave. Treat yourself to a bus ride home, alright, Kris? I'm sorry."
There was silence, for a moment. He seemed to be searching for words, for a moment, until he found them.
"It's alright, Mom. I'll be at home waiting for you, alright?"
That was more like it. She could hear the respect and affection with which he always addressed her again, and it brought a smile to her lips.
"Alright, Kris. See you soon... I love you."
"Yes, Mom... I love you too."
The call ended, and the tiger was left staring at his monitor. The program he'd selected was Google Earth with a nifty little plugin that allowed him to plug the raw data he'd accessed from his mother's GPS and see exactly where she was. And it certainly wasn't work.
"Mom... what are you doing at a club?" he whispered to himself. "I help you do our tax forms... no bartender or waitress makes as much as you do. A manager or something, yes... but you haven't been working at this place for long; you don't have the credentials to enter a position like that so quickly. So that means..."
A cold shiver ran up and down Kris's spine. He'd just had an impossible thought...
But what else could explain things?
Struggling to piece together the ruined shambles of his mind, the tiger realized something. He and his friends would be going out, later that night, to the same area that his mother's phone's GPS indicated that she was. Café 42 was supposed to be a great place to have fun; he'd heard about it before, and the internet reviews of it he was getting raved over its every aspect.
Kris had been in clubs that tolerated, or actively encouraged, prostitution before. If Café 42 did... it wouldn't be at all hard to spot. And chatting it up with a bartender was a sure way to tell if... his mother worked the oldest job there.
If she did... he didn't know what he'd do, then...
The tiger ran a darkened, striped paw across himself, for a moment. His head hung, and his arms wrapped around his torso in a pathetic sort of self hug. He wasn't at all emotionally weak or unstable, but this... it was too much. He shook, slightly, as his body was racked with sobs, tears running down his white and orange cheek. His own mother... a whore...
She stepped up to the door, and fumbled in a pocket, for a moment, searching for her keys. The tigress didn't have to, though--before she could raise the instrument to the door, her son had thrown it open and stood, smiling down at her.
"Welcome home, Mother. Come inside, it's very cold out," he said, ushering her in. "You walked home, right? You should have taken a cab or bus, as I did. It's alright, though... I made dinner for us."
"Thank you, Kris," she smiled. Already, she was inside the foyer of the house, and set down her bag just in front of the stairs--she'd take her effects up to her study in a moment, when she went up to change. "I'm so sorry for being late..."
The tigress started to take off her coat, or started to, anyway--as always, her son stepped behind her, helping his mother shrug out of the heavy garment. She smiled at that, turning to watch Kris hang it up, before affectionately cheekrubbing his arm when he turned.
Neha then passed the male, picking up her bag, and took a few steps up the stairs. She paused, then, and turned, facing her son over her shoulder.
"I'm going to change, Kris... I'll be back down in a few moments."
"Alright, Mom. We won't have much time together today, I'm afraid," the tiger said. "My friends and I are going to go out for some time... but we'll be able to eat together, at least. And then, we have the rest of the weekend together, okay?"
Neha nodded, and then made her way upstairs. Her velvety ear twitched, focusing on the tiger--as she stepped into her room, she could hear him heading back to the kitchen. Good--he suspected nothing.
The tigress wasted no time in swapping her professional business attire for a simple pair of jeans and a long sleeved polo shirt. After taking another moment to wash her face and paws, then applying a powerful deodorant all over her fur, so that her son wouldn't get a whiff of what she'd been doing, she made her way downstairs.
The dining room was small, but that was alright. Ever since Kris had left home, she only ever ate alone or with him--the tigress didn't have many friends, and certainly none close enough to bring home. It was alright, though; she wasn't lonely. She had her son... even if it was for only a weekend or two out of the month.
He'd grown so big and strong; it was hard to see when and how he'd changed from the small, precious kitten that she'd brought into the world into a powerful, smart male that would, no doubt, someday soon make a mate of his own very, very happy. She was proud of him--inexpressibly so.
It was hard, of course, to say this, particularly when the most mundane of actions he did made her smile in adoration. Just then, Kris was setting the table, and watching him execute that simple task made Neha's mind drift back, years back. She was the one that had taught him to do that chore, of course. She was the one that had taught him... everything, really.
This was why although he was rather distant to even his closest friends, he shared an unbreakably close bond with his mother. Neha imagined that this was what life without a father did to a boy, but, in a way, she was glad for it. It meant, after all, that he didn't mind accepting hugs or even kisses from his mother, even when he was around company.
She drifted past him for now, though, making her way into the kitchen. Running a paw over the perfectly polished granite that made its countertops and islands, she started to carry the dishes her son had made for them to the table. Kris joined her, momentarily; thusly, it wasn't long before dinner was ready.
Chivalrously, he pulled out his mother's chair for her before taking his own seat. The two felines smiled at each another, for a moment, before starting to pile food onto their respective plates.
It was dark outside, and the cloudy, overcast Swedish evening made as good of a backdrop to their conversation as the dimly lit dining room and the minimally decorated but elegant living room, adjacent to the dining room. The lack of light brought out the reflective quality of the predators' eyes--Kris's, of course, didn't shine nearly as brightly as the somewhat pale orbs his mother sported.
"You have a good appetite today, Kris. What's the occasion?" Neha asked, stroking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I've decided that I'm going to try to gain weight," the tiger said, smiling at his mother once, before cutting into a large slab of smoked salmon. "Not fat, of course... I'm going to do a little bodybuilding for at least a few weeks."
"Why?" the female asked, canting her head, before smirking pleasantly. "Is there a female, perhaps, whose... what do you call it... whose world you want to shake up?"
"You could say that," he retorted cheekily.
For a moment, Neha was confused--her son's words were a bit odd, for him... and, for a second, she'd thought she'd seen... no, it was just a trick of the light. What else could it be? Certainly not the aggressive, malicious glare that she'd mistaken it for...
The tigress brushed the slight incongruity off, though, and laughed lightly, once. Her son needed his space and privacy--she understood.
"You know," Neha said, after a moment of companionable silence--for her--passed, "your father... he always put great value on both mental and physical fitness. He was so strong..." she smiled fondly. "His shoulders... you should have felt them. Broad and powerful... though I'm sure that with work, you'll surpass even him, Kris." Her smile grew sad.
"If he were around... he'd be as proud of you as I am. Or more."
The tiger's throat and maw went dry. They usually did when conversation drifted to the father he'd never known but had always loved. Almost instantly, Neha regretted her words, and reached out placing a paw on her son's.
"I'm sorry, Kris..."
He was silent, for a moment, before pulling his paw away, and going back to eating. He gave his mother a smile, showing that he wasn't hurt, and, for a moment, all was silent in the house, except for the soft clink of utensils against dishes.
All too soon, though, dinner came to an end. Both felines stood, putting their dishes away, and it did take some insistence on Neha's part to convince Kris to let her rinse them off. The tiger busied himself with putting the leftovers away, then sat down at the island, watching his mother do the simple chore, for a moment.
Face utterly emotionless, at odds with the light, content tone of his voice, he addressed her.
"I should go soon, Mom. We're supposed to meet outside of Anna's neighborhood in fifteen minutes... it'll take me almost that long to walk there."
"That's alright, Kris," the tigress smiled, turning to face her son before sitting across from him. "Where are you going, and when do you plan to be back?"
"I'll be back by two at the latest, but probably well before then," the tiger said. "As for where we'll be going, I'm not sure. Most likely, we'll bounce back and forth between a few of our favorite clubs. I don't feel very adventurous tonight."
He examined his mother closely, and, sure enough, detected her shoulders drooping in relief, just a little.
"Just the usual crowd, then? Are you bringing anyone new along this time?" Neha asked, stretching just a little bit, pretending to be tired from a long day's work.
"Not this time, no," Kris replied. "We've all been so busy with school, there hasn't been much time to make new friends..."
"Ah, well. It's nice to see that you're all keeping so busy with your studies."
The tiger made a murring sound of assent as he stood, making his way back to the foyer. He heard his mother's soft, padded paws following him, and, unknown to her, his eyes narrowed savagely.
As he put his shoes on, though, then his coat, his expression was normal. The tiger already had his phone, wallet, and everything else he might need for the night on him, so he was ready to go.
"I'll be here when you wake up, alright, Mom? Don't ruin your sleep for me," the young tiger said, turning to smile at his mother as he put on a pair of gloves, buttoning his coat up.
"We'll see what can be done about that," Neha retorted, gently batting her son's paws aside so she could finish the simple chore for him. "After all, you are my only cub. My only family at all," she added, looking up at the tiger.
"I suppose there's no point in asking the impossible, then. At least change into pajamas... and don't drink too much coffee, alright?" Kris smiled, holding his mother's paws in his own, for a moment, tenderly.
"Well... alright. But be back by two," the tigress said, trying to keep a serious, somewhat threatening tone as the male released her appendages from his grasp, then turned, making to leave.
Kris turned again, though, and, after opening the door, smiled, rolling his eyes.
"By two, Mom... good night..."
"Good night, son. I love you..."
"Love you too, Mom."
A moment later, Neha shut the door, chilled by the icy wind that made its way to her. Yet, she stood, for a moment, watching the tiger leave--as always, she felt somewhat sad seeing him go. No matter how old he was, or how big, to her, he was always Krisha, her own little kitten.
She sighed, though, and made her way back into the kitchen, meaning to make coffee. She remember her promise, though, and, instead, put some milk in a pot to heat, before heading back upstairs. By the time she was downstairs, in a set of sweatpants and with a blanket, the milk was nicely warmed--the perfect temperature for hot chocolate.
Three minutes later saw the tigress was sitting, cross-legged, on the couch, idly flipping channels. Her laptop lay next to her, forgotten, for the moment, as she found a nature program.
It was nice to have the occasional day off, she reflected, as she huddled up in the blanket, purring in contentment to herself. Although her work paid well, it sometimes took a lot out of her. Fortunately, though, her contract didn't include Friday and Saturday nights, when Kris's friends might potentially see her. Even if they did, though, she was known to be a bit of a recluse--none of them had gotten more than a brief glimpse of her in over two years or so.
All in all, things had turned out relatively well. She had an unexpected break, she'd gotten to have dinner with her son, and, best of all, she had the rest of the weekend with him. Although she expected that he'd spend much of it doing homework or studying, it was alright--things were always better when he was in the house.
All in all, there were six of them--four males, and two females. Among them, Kris was the only non-native Swede, but he'd known all of the individuals that he was with now, piled into a van, for several years--his race was a non-issue. There was Annika, Patrik, Hanna, Otto, and Klaus--all were, like the vast majority of native Swedes, snow leopard-wolf hybrids who generally identified with their canine halves more.
Still, Kris didn't feel out of place at all in the group. They accepted his imposing appearance and 15th Century code of ethics, and, for that, he accepted their occasional vices.
They were somewhat loud as they drove, like so many other Swedish youth, from residential parts of the city to the huge party district in the center of Stockholm. Otto was telling jokes--the blue-eyed, long-furred male was in the habit of poking fun at just about anything.
Kris played along without difficulty. It wasn't at all hard for him to forget about things, at least for the moment, and lose himself in the happy, somewhat brash mood that his friends found themselves in.
He was the designated driver as usual, and, thusly, had to limit himself to at most one drink for the entire night--but that was alright. The tiger wasn't much in the mood for drinking... he had to keep his eyes and ears open.
Within a half hour, they were searching for parking, itching to join the throngs of young adults in the many bars, clubs, and dance halls the area offered. Kris looked outside, for a moment, away from his friends, and, for a moment, his happy, smiling expression froze, hardening into a cold, harsh, analytical glare--there it was... Café 42.
"Oi, Klaus," he said loudly, speaking to the vehicle's driver, a friend he'd been close to since grade school, "instead of haunting our old favorites... why don't we try somewhere new tonight? That place looks interesting..."
The tiger pointed, sitting back so that the rest of the vehicle's occupants could see what he was gesturing to. And, indeed, it looked interested...
Café 42 was a two story behemoth, and certainly seemed to have its share of patrons--or more. A full parking lot suggested that, tonight at least, it could be the place to be.
For Kris, it certainly was.
"What's it called?" Klaus asked, pulling into a cramped backroad, making use of his intimate knowledge of Stockholm's streets to take a shortcut to the club.
"Some sort of café," Annika said, stroking her sleek, golden-blond hair, for a moment. "I didn't see the name properly."
"No problem. We'll find out everything we need to know about it in just one moment or so," the driver said, as he made his way back onto a major road. Crowds of youth were making their way towards their destination, and a few others astride it--it was slow going, but the excitement in the van was almost palatably growing as they drew nearer and nearer to the massive establishment.
"Yes," Kris thought to himself, expression colder than the frigid night air that struck his cheek when he exited the van, alongside his friends. "I'll find out everything I need to know in just one moment or so..."
If Café 42 was impressive from the outside, it was incredible on the inside. Hundreds of furs--mostly young; college students, like Kris and his friends--danced, drank, flirted, and, in general, had a good time.
Strobe and laser lights played Hell with the predators' naturally good vision; it was hard to keep track of any one person for more than a few seconds. The music was equally loud and obtrusive--trance, or techno of some sort, spiked with base powerful enough to feel as well as hear.
As was their custom, the group entered, stayed within eyesight of one another, for a few seconds, then, with a series of nods and mouthed plans; club goers' code, of sorts, they broke apart, dispersing into the pandemonium.
Kris did as his friends, quickly becoming just another face in the crowd. To be fair, he was relatively easier to pick out at a distance, due to his height, and the fact that he was one of the very, very few non-European furs in the establishment. Still, the tiger spent a few seconds enjoying himself, or pretending to, as he plotted out his next move.
He was a poor dancer, but then, so was probably ninety percent of the world's male population. The mosh pit that consumed the majority of the club, however, made this lack of still entirely irrelevant. By blending in, just another crazily gyrating figure in the tangle of limbs and bodies on the dancefloor, Kris was able to scope out things without attracting any unwanted attention.
One female seemed to take interest in him; perhaps she had a fetish for non-Swedes. Looking up at Kris, she took his arms in her paws, wrapping them around her waist as she danced against him in a rather sexual manner. The tiger smirked, outwardly--inwardly, though, he ignored her. He was busy, after all.
Café 42 either encouraged or tolerated prostitution, this was easy to see at a glance. Owing to the fact that Kris was nowhere near the insanity of the center of the dance floor, he was able to check out the darkened edges and corners of the establishment--they were certainly there, and in good numbers.
Kris's eyes narrowed, imperceptibly. His suspicions, then, were at least justifiable.
The green-eyed snow leopardess that had picked him up hadn't left him yet, Kris noted. The tiger shrugged, mentally, and danced with her for a few moments. Her miniskirt and strategically sliced-up shirt made it seem clear that she was, in fact, looking for something more than a dance--much, much more.
He wouldn't be able to oblige every desire she had. But he could give her more than a dance.
"Hey... let's get a drink," Kris said, looking down at her, for the first time.
She certainly was attractive, though it was difficult to say how old she was--she could have been sixteen or twenty-eight, or anything in between--sharp features, nearly groomed fur and conservatively-applied makeup made her a keeper.
But not for Kris. At least, not tonight.
Still, though, she nodded, smiling brightly, and walked, arm in arm with the tiger away from the dance floor. Kris caught the eye of one of his friends, who gave him a wink--what a fine catch for only being in the club for a few minutes.
Kris led the female to one of the smaller bars in the corner of the club. It was lit up by soft, white-blue light, and the lone bartender there was skillful enough to keep all of his patrons well tended to. The two felines sat up on a free pair of stools, and had to wait only seconds before the slight, somewhat skinny late-twenties-early-thirties male walked up to them.
"What can I get for you?" he asked, glancing at Kris inquisitively, asking the tiger if he was paying for them both--the answer, of course, was yes.
"I'd like a Kopparbergs Pear Cider, please..." the tiger said. He had no moral qualms with drinking, but, tonight, he needed all of his wits about him. Having placed his order, he glanced at the female astride him.
"An Absolut Tropical Martini for me," the female said in a smooth, somewhat sensual tone.
The bartender nodded, curtly, and, after Kris had handed over the payment, moved away, for a moment. Another moment later, and the two felines had their drinks.
A long sip of his subtly-flavored, somewhat sweet drink focused Kris's attention. He turned to the side, for a moment, looking past the snow leopardess at another couple, a male and female walking towards the massive stairway that led up to Café 42's second floor--a prostitute and a john.
"I wonder where they're going... there must be some rooms, or something on the second floor, or--"
"So, you like what you see?"
Kris blinked, then looked at the snow leopardess--head tilted in confusion, for a moment, until he realized what she was talking about. He'd been hunched over, and, judging from his position and the direction of his eyes, she'd assumed that he was oogling her chest.
"Oh, no, you've got it all wrong," the tiger said casually, sitting up straight to look down at the female, expression unreadable. "I wasn't paying attention to you at all, in fact."
She laughed, thinking that he was joking--Kris shrugged. Upon reflection, he didn't know what he was playing at by buying her a drink--he was not in the mood for bantering with females. Not tonight.
It was unfortunate, in a way. Though she certainly was "sexually liberated"--he'd always scoffed at the use of that term--something about her told Kris that there was more to her than met the eye. Too bad.
"What were you looking at, then? Whores?" she said, glancing over her shoulder, for a heartbeat, at the three or four free prostitutes either lingering around or talking it up with interested patrons. "That is to say... other whores?"
Kris's lip twitched. Though it was obvious that she wasn't serious in that statement, he never had and never would understand why some females that such self-degradation was cute. It really wasn't.
The music had changed, by then, from a fast-paced techno beat to a bass-heavy American hiphop song. Such music was starting to become quite popular in Sweden, though the tiger couldn't for the life of him figure out why--the incomprehensible gibberish was only somewhat tolerable to his ear.
She said something then that Kris never heard--or perhaps he did hear it, but simply didn't register it due to what she did. The snow leopardess traded her stool for the tiger's lap, sitting down on him.
He didn't take kindly to that, but bit back a dangerous burst of very real, very powerful, and very volatile anger.
She turned, trying to face him for a kiss, but her lips met the tiger's paw, instead. Gently but firmly--more of the latter than the former--he held her face in his furred appendage, and shoved. The snow leopardess hadn't been expecting that and stumbled back, before falling on her butt.
No further words were necessary. Kris stared down at her for a moment, baring his teeth, just a little. He jerked his head, sharply, his message quite clear: beat it.
And, a moment later, she did.
Now, without having to bother with any interests but his own, the tiger continued scoping things out. The prostitutes that worked here were of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities--almost all were European. Kris saw a Dane, two or three Norwegians, a Finn or two, several Brits, and a Slav, in addition to the numerous native Swedes that slunk along the darkened walls of the club. If his mother worked here, everyone that saw her would remember it.
It was clear to Kris that the owners of the establishment had an active stake in the prostitution that went on here; it was simply too brazen and open to simply be tolerated.
Now seemed to be the prime time for dancing; suddenly, Kris found himself all but alone at the bar. It was just as well, though--the bartender caught him peering, as if longingly, at whores, and strode over, cleaning a glass idly.
"Interested in purchasing?... I know most of our, ah, dancers, personally. If you'll tell me what you're looking for... I'd be glad to point you in the right direction."
Kris's eyes narrowed, but he plastered on a neutral, somewhat interested expression on his face as he turned to the bartender. The tiger's tail flicked from side to side, out of view of the slim snow leopard-wolf, until he came to a decision.
"I'm not looking for a certain... set of skills, so to speak. A friend told me of one 'dancer' in particular... she's a tigress, like me... with lighter fur and eyes. She's short, according to my friend. Obviously, he doesn't know her name... perhaps you know who I'm talking about?"
The bartender was already nodding by then, smiling widely. He saw that Kris had finished his drink, and, after giving the tiger a questioning glance, slid him another cider.
"I do, in fact. She's only been here for a few months, but looks like she might soon be our star attraction... I don't know her very well; she's not very talkative... but she is amazing--her breasts are large, my friend, and oh so soft; the largest in proportion to her size of any 'dancer' we have, I think. Her fur is perfect, as is her figure--this is to say nothing of her skills. I can't even begin to describe her... anal treatment," he murmured in a softer tone, leaning in to grin to Kris. "It's something that should only be experienced firsthand."
Kris nodded, a bit sharply--the bartender wondered if, somehow, he'd offended the tiger, but after taking a long sip of his drink, the Dravidian feline looked back at the staff member with a polite smile.
"That's what I was told, as well. Is she on duty tonight?"
"I can't be certain... a moment, I'll check the roster."
Hunched over the bar, for a moment, staring, somewhat blankly at the fine, polished, black wood under his bottle. The bar's pale blue lighting made his fur shine, gleaming in a strange, somewhat ethereal hue. Due to the powerful speakers of the establishment, his ears were pressed against his head--powerful spotlights on the dancefloor began to strobe as the music switched again, giving Kris a rather powerful out-of-body experience.
So. His mother was a whore; the bartender had confirmed this beyond any shadow of a doubt. Though he'd prepared to accept this earlier--or at least, he thought he had--the tiger was capable of only watching as his paw lifted the cider he'd purchased to his lips, attempting to ward off tears of rage and sorrow with sugar.
The bartender was occupied for a few moments with a group of six younger teenagers--probably barely of the legal drinking age--before he made his way back to Kris.
"Unfortunately, it seems that she's taken an unexpected break today," he admitted. "She works day hours from Wednesday through Friday, however--as well as Tuesday and Sunday nights. So, if you'd like to experience her..."
"Café 42 really is a brothel as much as it is a club, then," Kris said, taking a sudden, deep gulp of his drink so that he wouldn't have to plaster on a fake look of anticipatory interest over his face as much--he was finished with the bottle, though. Perhaps it was time to have something with a little more... bite in it.
"I'll have to give her a try, very soon," the tiger said with a confident nod. He almost wanted to scream at himself for that--he was referring to his mother as an object, something to be tried and accepted or cast aside as necessary. Though... by being a prostitute, what was she but a sexual object?
Now wasn't the time for moral soul-searching. Under the counter, out of the bartender's view, Kris extended his claws... and dug them right through his pant leg, into his quadriceps. The pain helped him focus, and he grinned.
"Very soon... ah, I'd like to have a cocktail..." He proceeded to describe the sweet, rather alcoholic beverage that had actually been one of his first drinks.
The bartender smiled, and spent a moment taking out the drink--as well as a half-shot of vodka for himself. Work got boring, at times, and hard liquor always brightened conversation, when he was lucky enough to find it.
"Now that I think of it... you look somewhat like the dancer we're speaking about. Perhaps you're related?"
"Not very likely," Kris scoffed, as he clenched his fist, just a little, so that hot jabs of pain shot through his leg. "I'm the only one in my family that lives in Stockholm... the rest of us are in Uppsala."
"Ah..." the bartender observed, handing the tiger his drink, after dusting it with cinnamon, not nutmeg. "I hope you'll forgive me for asking, but it's not every day that one meets... well, a non-Swede, a non-European, entirely, that speaks our language so... eloquently. You must have lived here your entire life; I can't detect any accent in your voice... but... from, ah, which part of the globe do you trace your ethnic origins?"
"Pakistan," Kris lied easily. "Karachi, in fact. And you? Lahore, perhaps?"
The jibe was a good way to change the subject. The bartender laughed, then glanced towards the dancefloor--a new wave of customers seemed to be approaching. It looked like the unpredictable yet cyclic drink/eat/dance/flirt pattern in which the club operated wouldn't favor creating a regular in Kris--at least, not immediately.
"Stockholm, born and raised. I sense that you're not a true drinker, my friend... so, as you will be finished by the time I have a second to spare--have fun tonight. Maybe you won't get to experience our future main attraction," he smirked, "but perhaps attention from two blondes might sate your tastes, eh? I'll see you soon."
Again, Kris was on his own--but not for long. The bar filled up, quickly, with a number of loud, talkative teenagers--he wasn't in the mood to be in the nexus of such a scene, so after finishing his drink as quickly as possible, the tiger stood, then left.
For a moment, he considered his next move. Of course, he could go find a friend, or perhaps another female to dance with, or simply have fun alone--perhaps, though, it was time to prepare...
Rather than staying on the first floor, Kris made his way not to the stairway that led up to the second floor--instead, he walked to one end of the dancefloor, where two massive elevators were located. They ran, constantly, so that one could get from the first floor to the second within a moment--they were large and powerful enough to transport perhaps fifty furs at once. They weren't at all closed off; rather, they were constructed out of plexiglass, it seemed, so Kris could watch as the several couples and groups current in limbo between what he assumed were Café 42's only two floors didn't stop dancing, not even for a moment.
The tiger slipped in to the next leaving elevator, sulking in one corner. A dozen or two others entered after him, but, wisely, didn't both him--his dark expression exuded an obvious don't-fuck-with-me atmosphere.
As the elevator passed the high, arching ceiling of the first floor, the assault on Kris's senses decreased, but didn't quite diminish entirely. The crowd on the second floor was decidedly less active than that on the second--here, the music was less loud, a bit slower, in pace; and people danced enough to result in less chaos than the pandemonium below.
Leaving the elevator, Kris glanced down at his leg. It was bleeding, a little, but the pinprick holes in his pants were all but invisible. Good--he could continue to scope things out without attracting attention.
The tiger inserted himself at the edge of the dancefloor, looking around innocuously. Overwhelmingly, the females here were taken, but that suited him just fine--he was free to take in and careful write away the various details of this part of Café 42 in the well-concealed folds of his mind.
Kris noted, quickly, that there was a third floor to the club--the tiger's eyes narrowed, though, as he guessed its purpose. The fact that the traffic using the darkened, smaller stairway that led up was overwhelmingly male, or male and prostitute made it clear that this was where the whores executed their services.
He pondered, for a moment--wondering, in the back of his mind, somewhere, how many men--and women--his mother had taken to the third floor. There was no way, really, to get a lay of the third floor without finding the building documents of the house... no way except for one.
It had been a relatively good night so far, already, with two regulars and three new faces using her, then paying her handsomely. The wolfess--Italian in heritage, but now, a four year resident of Stockholm looking to completing her studies within a year--was pleased, and promised herself that she'd give her next customer an extra good deal for his money.
She was wearing a miniskirt cut so short that it barely reached her thighs, provocatively exposing the thick, round curves of her rump. A simple string bikini top covered her breasts similarly--hardly at all--and meant that, as she looked over the crowd, hoping for another john to round out the night, making it one profitable enough to pay for her present semester of classes, she attracted second glances even from males with partners of their own.
One male, though, didn't look away when she met his eyes. He was actually quite good looking, though the stereotype that only guys that couldn't get any, so to speak, used prostitutes was not true at all. He was tall, dark, and handsome--at least 1.8 meters tall, with a slim, toned physique, green eyes, and an expression so fierce that she felt herself gasp, slightly--until she realized that he wasn't glaring at her. It was just a trick of the light...
She was pleased when the foreigner walked towards her. Though the males she'd had that night already hadn't been ugly, not at all, it would be a pleasure to offer her services, and herself, to such an attractive feline.
The wolfess--Maria was her name--half-expected him to address her in broken, simplistic iteration of the Nordic tongue; or perhaps a more widely understood language, such as English. She blinked in surprise, though, when he greeted her with flawless, natural-sounding Swedish.
"Hello, I was wondering... you are, a, ahm, 'dancer,' right? I wouldn't want any... unfortunate misunderstanding to come between either of us and a great night...
She hadn't seem him before--not once. That meant that she had no reason to believe, although instinct seemed to tell her so, that the smile he flashed her was as forced as it seemed.
"You have it right, sir," the wolfess said with a smile, tossing a lock of her long, curly, chocolate-brown hair over an ear with a stroke of her paw. "I am a 'dancer'... are you interested in buying? I promise that I'll satisfy your needs..."
She allowed a murr to creep into her voice as she leaned forward, baring her cleavage to him a bit more--the tiger smiled again, at that, and nodded. He seemed nervous, and Maria would keep that in mind--she could be slow, gentle, even maternal, if needed. After all, the customer was always right...
"What are you looking for tonight?" the wolfess asked, taking a slow, slight step towards the male, looking him up and down. He really was quite tall and attractive. She almost felt sad that he'd leave her tonight... though, to be fair, if she showed him a good time, odds were high that he would, at some point or another, come back.
"I'm..." he stopped, for a moment, as if thinking, or gathering his nerve, "I'm... not actually certain. Why don't... we make it up as we go along?" Another smile. "Yes... that seems like it could work..."
On the fly, eh? She could work with that... but she really would have to go easy on this guy. He was all but shivering in front of her--obviously he was nervous. Why would he be shaking in anger?
"On the fly then... mmm..."
A quick tease, in public, would quite probably scare the tiger into leaving her and she didn't want that. The way to make a man like him open up to her, she knew, was to be as affectionate, tender, and caring as possible--that was fine. She often enjoyed acting as if she loved her customers; she could get into a "role" like that very, very easily...
Slowly, as if nervous herself, she reached forward, taking his paw into hers. He was strong--his furred appendage seemed to have been carved out of iron, for all the give it had when she touched him. After a moment, though, he softened, and allowed for his fingers to intertwine with hers.
She smiled, looking up at him, and, after a moment, he nodded down at her in approval, smiling, just a little. He stiffened again, though--in all the wrong places--when she wrapped his arm over her shoulders, snuggling against him, and it took another moment of simply touching the tiger to get him to relax enough for her to start walking.
This was certainly his first time with a prostitute; nothing else could explain his tension. Perhaps his friends were watching?... or perhaps that was what he feared. Maria considered, even, that he was completely virginal, but that didn't seem likely. Unless he was some sort of paleoconservative from the American Midwest or South--which didn't seem at all likely, due to his mannerisms and complete fluency in Swedish--he was simply too attractive to have not ever been with a female yet.
He seemed tense, alert, as if attempting to make sure that no detail escaped his notice as she led him up the plush stairway to the complex of rooms and halls that comprised the third floor. This wasn't unusual--first-time buyers commonly employed coping techniques to overcome any lingering compunctions or nervousness they had.
Perhaps he was a cop, but that extremely unlikely. He was too young, and, after all, Café 42's owners spent a great deal of time, money, and effort on politicians and law enforcement alike to ensure that the brazen prostitution ring they controlled was never looked into.
Maria's room was, annoyingly, the farthest from the stairs. It hardly mattered, though; it just gave her tigerish customer more time to enjoy his surroundings... and her. She could feel him hold her, just a bit, as if testing to see what was and what was not allowed.
Café 42's third floor had four parallel hallways, each with a half dozen rooms on either side--making for a total of forty eight rooms. All but a few were currently in use--business was booming, and there was word among the prostitutes that the water might be tested for threesomes--two prostitutes to one room, for one customer.
There was one room at the end of the far hallway--a large one--that housed rudimentary security, as well as other essentials such as janitorial supplies and a vending machine. The middle-aged males that worked there were ubiquitously overweight and almost certainly incapable of fighting... well, anyone, really. Still, the authority of a loud voice, a paw in the air, and the display of a can of mace was more than enough to take care of the quite few troublemakers Café 42 had ever had.
"I'm actually thinking of getting a job here," the tiger said, out of the blue. "I'm not sure I could be a bartender... maybe there's a desk job open. Do you know of any...?" he asked Maria.
The wolfess nodded, somewhat pleased at the notion of being able to see the tall feline every day. Who knew--maybe they could be more than a prostitute and her regular customer.
"There may be... why don't you go down to the basement? That's where administration is. They may have an accounting position open, or perhaps some sort of warehousing occupation..."
The tiger nodded at that, and flashed her another smile. Maria pressed herself against his ribcage a little more, but stopped, pulling back, a bit, when she felt him tense up again. He was still nervous.
The wolfess led him to her room's door--paused, for a moment, brushing up against his chest, allowing her plumey tail to curl around his thigh as she withdrew a key from an unseen pocket.
Smiling to herself, the wolfess inserted the small, metal instrument, and turned it--she fumbled; it had gotten caught on something... there. The door was unlocked, and Maria pushed, gently, to open it.
"Well then... come alon--"
He'd been standing just behind her--she'd felt it. But, somehow, the tiger had vanished. Her tail grasped nothing, now, and for a moment, the wolfess wondered if, somehow, she'd been fooled by another trick of the light--but this didn't seem to be so. He'd left...
"Dammit..." Maria murmured to herself--she looked around once more, but of course, the tiger was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, he'd slipped away from her, just like that--and, somehow, the wolfess knew that she wouldn't be seeing him again.
Not only was this an economic annoyance, it was a slight to her self-esteem--and a little more. She was, after all, quite good looking... wasn't she? After all, she certainly did make a living, and then some, by selling a relatively small amount of sex...
Sighing, the wolfess reluctantly shut her door again. It seemed that she wouldn't be able to bed such an attractive male... at least, not just then. That thought brought a smile to Maria's face, and she made her way back to the second floor with a sense of anticipation.
The night was still young. Who knew what would happen?
Attention was something Kris could not afford. He'd already decided that he wouldn't return to Café 42 more than absolutely necessary--and, just now, it seemed that he would come back to the club/brothel... exactly once more in his life.
Instead of taking the elevator back to the first floor, Kris took the stairs--it would give him time to think.
Non-prostitute staff was dressed, invariably, in black slacks and similarly colored tucked-in shirts. This contrasted greatly with the dyed jeans, blue and white shirt, and silver chain necklace Kris sported--he'd never, ever be able to blend in with the staff.
Not dressed as he was, anyway.
The tiger experienced another slight out-of-body experience; he wondered, precisely, what he was doing. He was planning things on the fly, as he walked, monitoring his every motion--the slight, confident, relaxed swagger in his step, the satisfied smile on his face--he wouldn't get a second chance at this, and, if caught, things might get ugly.
Yet, there was little other choice--and, in fact, Kris noted, this might be the best time to pull something like this off. Staff would be busy, today, and there were dozens of hands around--they did menial tasks, like cleaning up bars, assisting bartenders, serving food at the club's attached restaurants, et cetera. There was no way that everyone knew everyone, and there was a high chance that no one knew everyone.
The tiger didn't really feel that bad about what he planned to do--after all, every person that worked at Café 42 had to know what was going on; that they implicitly supported prostitution by working at a brothel. Such actions implicitly carried risks with them.
Kris made his way to the corner of the dance floor, then proceeded to "dance", stepping from side to side in time with the beat. He looked around--there were plenty of bathrooms, here and there, most of them in the immediate vicinity of a bar or restaurant. Doubtlessly, there was some sort of external hall that looped around and connected to them all--a maintenance hall that allowed for supplies and goods to be transported efficiently, but out of sight.
It was quite easy to guess this, for the tiger--at least after a few long moments of observing things, using inductive reasoning to assist him. A few doors marked "Staff Only," most of them directly next to or inside Café 42's bars and restaurants, periodically opened, either to admit in workers pushing along carts of dirty dishes and glasses, or to output workers pushing along carts of more drinks, or ingredients, or whatever.
Slowly, the tiger made his way towards a restroom, before giving up the pretense of dancing entirely. He stalked into it, rapidly, taking no note of the subdued wooden walls, and glossy black floor--his attention was, entirely, on the male in front of him--a native Swede, approximately his height and weight...
The bathroom had no entrance door, and that was good--it minimized Kris's chances of being spotted. Silently, he stalked after the man in front of him, crouching, a little, even as he took note of several important facts--only one stall was occupied, by someone either passed out, vomiting, or answering nature's call. None of the urinals were in use--excellent.
The waiter or bartender, whatever he was, stood up in front of one urinal, reaching down to unzip his pants. The shiny, clean metallic pipes in front of him were the last thing he saw for several hours.
Kris didn't feel any significant amount of guilt as tensed his muscles, then struck--he drove his right elbow into the nexus of the snow leopard-hybrid's jawbone and neck, a classic knock-out point. Without even time to cry out, his target dropped, inaudibly crumpling, thanks to the heavy bass of the music played outside. The tiger bent down, once, face as hard and cold as the faux-obsidian tiles on the floor, and made sure that he hadn't gone too far--but the other male was alive. Good.
Quickly, in case he was interrupted, the tiger hauled the other male into a stall. Interestingly enough, it seemed that certain feral instincts hadn't been bred entirely out of existence, at least not in Kris's case--he almost felt like one of his primitive ancestors, dragging a kill to a more preferable location in order enjoy the fruits of his efforts without being disturbed.
Two minutes later, Kris left the restroom. Hopefully, his friends wouldn't see him--they were the only ones who might blow his cover.
Administration was surprisingly busy, and that was good for Kris--he made his way down to the basement with a group of workers, keeping to himself the entire way. There were two stairways that led to this level; both of which led to the outside, looping hallway that went unseen by the club's patrons.
Kris took in every detail of his surroundings as he made his way down, but there wasn't much to see. The basement was made entirely of simple, undecorated concrete--functionality was the purpose of this area, not aesthetics. As he made his way down, the tiger saw a directory, and made his way to it.
"Kitchens, Administration, Storage, Locker Room..." he murmured to himself.
A number of possible plans scrolled through the tiger's mind, but he stopped himself from moving too fast. Then, he focused on a single objective--he needed Café 42's full schematics.
Quickly memorizing the route to Administration, Kris started to walk. He was painfully aware of how much he stuck out, due to his height and the fact he was like the only non-European among the staff members. Still, the tiger avoided anything more than a questioning second look as he made his way down the brightly-lit, somewhat claustrophobia-inducing corridors.
Kris realized that by simply acting like he belonged there, and was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, he was able to avoid even a single question or challenge. Over the years, the tiger had come to realize that most native Swedes erred on the passive side of things, and weren't prone to get in anyone's way very quickly. He used this fact to his advantage, and walked right into the heart of the Administrative branch, immediately proceeding to search a promising-looking group of filing cabinets.
There was a middle-aged man sitting at a desk, not two meters from the tiger, and Kris could feel the other male's discomfort grow. It wouldn't be long before he was interrupted...
Suddenly, though, the tiger found what he was looking for: a folder marked "blueprints." He picked it up, stood, and, hardly bothering to shut the drawer, started to leave, quickly--
"Ah, excuse me, my boy..." the worker said, looking up, smiling, a bit nervously. "What are you taking...?"
Kris turned, forcing his tail not to betray his anxiety and real concern--this could put a premature end to any plans that he had. The tiger faced the other male, and smiled, holding up the folder briefly.
"Mr. Jensen just wanted to see that we've ordered enough domestic brews. I'm sorry, sir--I'll bring it back in just a moment." Kris turned to leave, but was stopped again.
"Jensen... doesn't sound familiar..." the man said, canting his head at Kris, for a moment. Suddenly, though, he smiled, and waved Kris off. "Then again, I haven't been here for very long. I'm sure I'll meet him soon."
"Yes, sir," the tiger replied, briefly smiling, before turning again, and wasting no time in vanishing from the other man's sight.
As he left Administration, Kris pondered his next move--then, though, something occurred to him, and he looked at his watch. He'd more or less ran out of time, and if he didn't want to look suspicious, he'd have to hurry to meet up with his friends.
Still, the tiger was filled with a cold sense of satisfaction as he made his way back to the bathroom, keeping to the shadows. He saw a familiar face glance his way--but ducked into the restroom before he could be tracked, disappearing from view, as silent and unseen as a ghost.
"So, how did everyone like Café 42?" Kris asked, smiling, widely, as he walked back to the van with his friends. He had his arms over Annika's and Hanna's shoulders--the females looked back up at him, rosy cheeked, and affirmed that they'd had a great deal of fun.
Klaus, Otto, and Patrik were all laughing about something or the other they'd done, and Kris was quite glad that he'd elected to keep his drinking that night to a minimum. It was just a few minutes past one forty--the tiger couldn't help but glance at his watch, nervously.
"Kris, you're too tense," Hanna said, smiling up at him, for a moment. "Why so worried?"
"It's just... I promised my mother that I'd be home by two. Don't laugh," the tiger said seriously, feeling the females press themselves against him, gently, as a gust of wind tossed their hair to one side, blowing away any heat that might have collected around their bodies in the air.
"I think it's cute," Annika said. As they approached the van, she looked back at Klaus, and held up her paw--a moment later, she caught the vehicle's key, and held it out to Kris, after unlocking the van's doors.
The tiger hopped into the driver's seat, and, a moment later, after his rather buzzed male friends managed to clamber in as well, they were off.
Otto was in the passenger seat, but, thankfully, didn't pay Kris much attention--the tiger was free to brood, one paw at the wheel, the other on his chin, the entire trip back.
His mother was a whore--therefore he was going to kill her. All that was left to be decided was when and how.
"I'm home..."
Kris kept his voice down, just in case his mother had done as she'd said and gone to bed at a reasonable time. The tiger shut the door behind him, and quietly took off his coat before feeling around for the light.
Once he'd turned it on, the tiger took off his shoes, careful to not get any snow or dirt on the sleek, wooden floor of the room. Then, he proceeded to search for his mother; where had she gone?
Of course, it didn't take him long to find her. The tigress had managed to turn off the TV before sleep took her, but she hadn't changed into pajamas or gone upstairs--she was curled up in the corner of the couch, having bundled herself up in the blanket. As Kris approached, his eyes narrowed, giving him a somewhat skewed view of his mother; of her sleek, black hair, of her comforting features, of the lightly shut green eyes that who knew how many other males had seen looking back at them with lust imminent.
The tiger was just a foot away from her, by then, and she hadn't stirred. His paws moved forward, veins bulging, slightly, as they made their way to her throat...
"Mother..." Kris murmured, quietly, brushing a lock of the tigress's hair behind her ear, so that she could hear him more easily. "I'm back... come on, you should go upstairs..."
Finally, Neha stretched, letting out a soft feline sound of pleasure as she did so. Eyes fluttering open, she smiled the instant she saw her son... then slowly looked at the clock on the TV.
"One fifty five... you cut it close, Kris..." she murmured, slowly sitting up.
"I'm sorry, Mom. But you didn't keep your promise at all," he smiled, sitting next to the tigress, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder. "You should be upstairs now. Sleeping."
"Mmm... carry me, Kris," the tigress said, sleepily, opening her eyes, once, before nuzzling her son's shoulder. "Let's see how strong you've become..."
She was joking, mostly. But, a moment later, she felt his arms wrap around her, then lift her up.
Kris rested his cheek against his mother's head as he carried her out of the room, then upstairs. He almost tripped on her blanket, but the tigress pulled it up, cuddling into his arms.
"You have been working out," Neha murmured, still half-asleep. "So strong..."
"No, Mother, you're just very light," Kris smiled.
The tiger opened the door in front of him, letting himself into her room. It had been some time since he'd been there, but he knew enough to guide himself to the platform bed in the middle of the bedroom without bumping into anything. A moment later, he'd let Neha down, and watched as she nestled herself under the covers, looking up at him.
"Thank you, Kris... that was very nice of you," the tigress said. "Why don't you stay for a few minutes? Tell me about your night..."
Kris hesitated, understandably, but relented, and stretched out next to his mother, albeit on top of the bed covers, rather than beneath them.
"Well, I met a female," the tiger said, "but I didn't really like her. You see..."
Neha was asleep again within minutes. But that didn't stop her son--he went on to describe everything he'd done that night, including the blueprints he'd stolen--he even went so far as to slide them out from under his shirt, starting to go over them before his sleeping mother.
Before he realized it, the tiger had finished describing his actions over the night. Now, he lay there, his dark, furred form spread out across the bed, not a foot from Neha, watching her rest. Even though he was her son, he could see that she really was beautiful. Reaching out, Kris brushed a few strands of hair that had gotten into the tigress's face behind her ear, before withdrawing his paw.
"I guess you're wondering why I've done all this, Mother," he said, in a perfectly cool voice. "It's because I'm going to kill you, Mother. I swear I will." That last sentence was spoken in a matter-of-factly tone.
It was silent, for a moment, as the tiger looked at a nearby clock--it was well after two thirty, and he was starting to get quite tired. Planning, everything else... it could wait for tomorrow.
Kris stood a moment later, face as hard and emotionless as a piece of slate. As far as he was concerned, Neha had had her warning. He looked down at her, for a moment, considering finishing things then and there... but then turned away, walking towards the room's door. He wouldn't do it now--his mother and the ones that worked with her deserved a taste of real terror.
"Good night, mother," the tiger said, a moment before leaving. "I hope you sleep well."
Neha woke up just a few minutes before ten AM that day. As she sat up, rubbing her eyes, yawning, the tigress wondered what had kept her up--she was relaxed and warm; her sleep had been flawless. What had made her customary eight hours take her to such a late hour?
Then, the tigress remembered. Kris had been out, the previous night, and in defiance of his requests, she'd remained downstairs, on the couch, until after one o'clock. She didn't recall going to her bedroom, but wasn't interesting in wondering how that had happened--where was her son?
"Kris?" Neha called, quietly, as she left her bedroom, looking around. There was no reply, though--the house seemed to be empty.
"Krishna..."
After knocking, the female entered her son's room... but he wasn't there. She felt a jolt of concern, for a moment, until she saw that while his bed was made, it wasn't as perfectly creased as she always kept it, just in case her son might surprise her with a visit. And, after looking around, for a moment, she could see that things had been moved, and a few extra clothes were in the hamper at his bedside.
Neha sighed, shaking her head. She'd wanted to spend the whole day with her boy...
He was probably at the library, though, or something like that. The tigress then recalled, suddenly, that Kris had indeed returned on time, just before two--and that's how she'd gotten to her room. He'd carried her.
That brought a smile to her face as she stretched, moving to get ready for the day. As the tigress made her way to the bathroom, she paused, once, checking her cell phone--she'd received a text message.
It read: "Mom--am at gun club. Have made breakfast 4 you. Will be back for lunch. Love, Kris."
"How sweet," Neha thought, smiling as she started to shower, initially shivering as the rapid stream of water washed over her form. "He always thinks of me."
She didn't know how true that was.
Allowance built up when you didn't spend it. Neha had never managed to get her son to accept more than a few kronor a week, but over the years, that money, coupled with a few fat paychecks from an on-and-off job at a local fast-casual restaurant had added up to enough to afford a motorcycle, new computer, a sizable investment into a savings account, or even a car.
Kris had scrapped every one of the dozen or so plans he'd had in mind without hesitation. He'd need to invest a little differently than most others tended to.
The tiger had been a participating member of his shooting club for over a year, and was more than qualified to cut through the extensive red tape to lawfully purchase and own a shotgun or rifle, or even a pistol. The problem with that, though, was that everything would be traceable. Swedish laws dictated that even the serial number of every firearm he owned would be carefully recorded and filed away--unacceptable, for what Kris had in mind.
For the moment, though, he didn't worry about actually buying iron. Right now, he was focused on learning what firearms to buy, and how to use them
At this hour, only himself, a single, seasoned employee, and two older males were in the expansive club. The other patrons were zeroing a pair of powerful, scoped rifles--Kris had gave them a polite nod and smile upon entering, before making his way to the barrel-chested, almost pure canine in charge of the place. He was interested in renting one of the new, modern rifles that had just been imported a few weeks ago.
After showing his membership card, Kris waited, for a moment, before several black, synthetic cases were placed on the table before him. The tiger wasn't a fanatic gun enthusiast by any standard; as the firearms were bared to him, he found that he was largely unfamiliar with them.
Fortunately, though, the clerk was more than willing to detail each of the pieces he'd just taken out.
Kris drifted towards the first rifle, looking down at it curiously. Its futuristic, black curves reminded him of a shark--and he'd seen it before, he realized, either on some military TV show or in a video game.
"This one..." the tiger said softly, his green eyes tracing the rifle's short body, along with his paw, "it's a Steyr AUG, right?"
"Close," the snow leopard replied, admiring the firearm along with Kris. "It's an MSAR E4--an American... improvement of the AUG. Cheaper, too, and easier for non-government entities to purchase. It's a semi-automatic bullpup, as you can see--the magazine is loaded into the stock. So, you get a smaller, more compact package."
To demonstrate, the male shouldered the rifle, facing a direction perpendicular to Kris's view, so the tiger could see his profile.
"The barrel is a full 508 millimeters," the employee said, "but, the rifle itself is the size of a submachinegun. There are many ergonomic features... the bolt holds back when the last round is fired, you can mount your own optics on the top rail, or on a raised mount... it's easy to attack a suppressor, of course. Sling mounts, and everything else you'd expect to find on a combat rifle... it's all here. It comes in 5.56m, 7.62x39mm, 5.45x39mm, and a new caliber called 6.8mm SPC. Very versatile."
Kris nodded, analyzing the weapon. It seemed ideally built for the kind of work he needed it to do, but the tiger had to see the others before he could make a decision.
"Now, this next one is a JLD PTR-91," the snow leopard said. "It's another American rifle, another improvement. It's based off of--"
"The HK G3," Kris said, flashing the older man a grin so as to not appear impolite. "It's a battle or long-range rifle, yes? Chambered in 7.62mm NATO?"
"Very good," the employee nodded. "This rifle is one of my favorites, actually. Fairly accurate, very reliable. I was on a hunting trip with my son last summer--he has a PTR of his own, and took down a moose at just over 150 meters without a problem. It went down like that." He snapped his fingers.
"That's impressive," the tiger said honestly. "But I'm not looking for something like this. This rifle is too bulky--I need something more manageable."
"But not to your fancy? That's all right. We still have three more new rifles, plus all of the older ones. This one," the gray furred feline said, holding up a smaller weapon with wooden furniture and a folding stock, "is from Latvia. It's a Kalashnikov, as I assume you know, but see the design. What's it called? Can you guess?"
"A Krinkov, yes? That's what cut-down AKs are called."
"You know your weapons, buddy," the older male confirmed with a smile. "Yes, a Krinkov. It operates the same way any Kalashnikov does; no bells and whistles, except for the top-mounted rail. The barrel is 292 millimeters--very short, as you can see. But, the powder in the rounds it fires is slow-burning. So, when you shoot it, you get a nice, big fireball--lots of fun. Of course, this means that it wouldn't be smart to use a suppressor, not without special ammunition... which we happen to keep in stock..."
"For a special price," Kris added, mentally, even as he nodded. The Krinkov was a good bet; at close range, the fat spitzer bullets would chop up anything in their path, and reliability would be a non-issue. Still, though, the weapon was so... unsophisticated. For some reason, the tiger felt that he needed something with a little more finesse, a little more... style.
"No? Then, I'm pleased to show our first full-auto rifle," the man said proudly, looking down at the fourth firearm. "The Heckler and Koch G36C. It's the shortest variant of the G36 that there is, and that rifle is the German army's main issue weapon. This one is used by German special forces, and others, all around the world. It's an excellent weapon; ideal for close-quarters battle, in my opinion."
"Is that so?" Kris said, ears perking up, a little. "Better than the Krinkov and E4, even?"
"Certainly better than the Krinkov." He waved his paw dismissively. "The E4 is a bit more debatable, but since that rifle is designed for all uses, and this is more purpose-built, I think that the G36C is better in tight quarters. Now, the bullpup design is functional... but difficult to handle for many. The G36C has a traditional design--but it's perfectly balanced; easy to control, even on fully-automatic fire. I've tried it.
"HK sights are excellent for aiming quickly; though if you have or want to buy a reflex sight, this is less of an issue. It's very easy to handle--it's a good bashing weapon, as well, and I'm not sure that the E4 could be."
Kris was leaning heavily towards the G36, by then. This was a weapon favored by special forces operators all over the world, he recalled--it would serve his purposes well. But there was still one rifle remaining...
"You're a picky one," the older male laughed, seeing the tiger's focus shift to the final gun. "I'm sure you'll find everything you're looking for in this one."
"Yes..." Kris's green eyes met the other man's, just a moment later. "It's an M16... a shortened M16, so it's called an M4. Right?"
"You are good, my boy--not quite. But you are very good. This is a gas-piston AR-15... it was converted to select-fire operation by a small manufacturer that I'm supposed to keep secret. It's incredible, it really is--lightweight, very comfortable in the paws. You have a quad-rail forend, a foregrip, and a full-length top rail with a collapsible butt-stock, and flip-up sights.
"As you observed, it's essentially a cut-down M16. The barrel is shortened, but I don't believe that this is much of a problem at short to medium ranges, which is what this rifle is built for. It's a bit more versatile than the G36C in that manner--the gas-piston keeps it reliable, but still very accurate; the barrel is free-floated. I assumed you've handled an AR-15-pattern gun, as every shooter should."
Kris nodded in affirmation, feeling himself drawn towards this final rifle. He liked what he was hearing, so far... and he could see that it wasn't chambered in 5.56mm NATO. What was its caliber?
"This one is also chambered in 6.8mm. Now, that round has not been tested in war or other combat before as far as I am aware, but my own experience with it says that it will have no trouble proving itself, if the time comes. This class of weapon is ideal for urban fighting, in my opinion--it's powerful enough to reach out and touch someone, but ergonomic and pointable enough to work in extremely tight quarters. It's actually our most popular gun for the sim-room, by far."
The sim-room was used by local police as well as shooters--primarily younger ones--to put their skills to the test. It was a series of faux buildings and streets, with targets that popped up as one progressed through the course. Kris had used it once, while renting a 1911 handgun--it had been a lot of fun. But now, the tiger saw the practicality in running that course at least a few times, to practice...
"I think I'll take the AR with two magazines of ammunition," Kris said. He was handed the carbine, and shouldered it, for a moment--it felt right in a manner that he couldn't readily explain. "And the sim-room... for just one run."
After handing over the appropriate amount of cash, Kris loaded the rifle, and slipped the sling around his head and shoulder. The extra magazine went into his pocket--and then, the tiger made the short walk to the sim-room, entering after being buzzed in.
Like the rest of the range, the floor here was simply somewhat dusty cement. Kris thumbed the safety of his AR off, hearing the metallic snap of the door's lock engage behind him. All around him were building façades; before the tiger was a faked mall--the toughest point of the course. Lighting was dim, provided by a series of halogen bulbs meters above.
He turned to manipulate the control panel next to the door with his left paw, keeping his strong paw on the rifle's grip. Normally, he would have just allowed the firearm to hang, out of the way, and used both paws to select how many targets he wanted, how long they ought to stay up, what sort of hits it would take to put them down. This time, however, the tiger was practicing for something a little darker than an innocent run through a shooting gallery--he needed to do things now like how he planned to do them when the time came to really do some shooting: professionally, efficiently, quickly, with minimal risks and no margin for error.
Kris gripped the rifle by the handle and foregrip for a moment, furred digits rolling against its rubberized surfaces. He faced away from the door--he'd just given himself a time-down counter. In five seconds, the first target would show itself... four... three... two... one...
Twenty meters away, in the third-floor window of a building façade, a silhouette popped into view. Imagining its body and face as those of his mother, Kris shouldered his rifle, even as he started to move, and opened fire.
"You work too hard, Kris. Why don't you just take it easy this weekend?"
"I have a lot of homework, Mother. I'm sorry--did you have something planned for us to do?" he asked, looking up from the intimidating pile of papers and books that dominated the dining table. The tiger was halfway through a ridiculously complicated set of calculus problems, and after that, he had history, writing, and thermodynamics to look forward to.
"Not in particular, no," Neha admitted with a sigh, sitting down next to her son.
She attempted to make sense of the litany of numbers of variables on the page Kris was working on, but quickly gave up, and simply placed a mug of lemon-honey tea in front of him. The tiger didn't notice, for a minute, but when he did, he took the time to smile at his mother in thanks.
"At school, I... really do miss you, Mom," he said after a few moments. She hadn't left his side; this weekend was dedicated to her son, after all, even if he had to spend it wading through homework. "I spend a lot of time thinking about what you're doing, if you're happy... how hard you work..."
"Not as hard as you, I promise," the tigress said, sitting crosslegged on the chair as she took out a book on European politics. "I don't think I'd last very long like that."
Kris just smiled. If his mother had looked at him, just then, she might have seen how horribly forced and false that smile was.
The tiger had resolved to kill Neha, and there was almost nothing she could do now to stop him from doing what had to be done. If she voluntarily quit, and came clean with him... then he'd consider changing his mind. But remorse was the last thing on her mind; she was as shameless and immoral as... a whore, really.
But she was still his mother.
"You know... if I work hard, I should be finished all my homework by later tonight. If you're willing to make dinner by yourself... then maybe we could do something tomorrow."
There was a very strange expression in the tiger's eyes as he looked down at his mother. She couldn't quite understand what she was looking at--it chilled her, in a way that she would never be able to explain. It made her afraid.
"If that's what you want, Kris, of course... is something... wrong...?"
Neha reached up, gingerly setting her paw on his cheek, hoping that he'd accept it. Though the tiger's expression was unreadable, for a moment, he shyly cheekrubbed her appendage, briefly, before turning back to his work.
"Of course not, Mother," he replied, softly. He flinched, then--he'd broken the lead of his pencil. "Everything is okay."
One of the advantages in living in a Nordic country so far from the trouble and business and action of the world was that real wilderness was never more than two hours away.
4AM that Sunday morning saw Kris and his mother in their car, a mid-range Honda that was more than adequate in filling their needs. The previous night, Neha had packed away gravlax, bread, soup, bottled water, and some nutrition bars into two backpacks. Owing to the fact that Sweden was their home country, they didn't need to purchase special clothes to safely carry out their plans for the day.
Neha drove, setting the radio to a local traffic and weather station, mostly to stay awake--sometimes, coffee simply wasn't enough. Loyally, her son tried to stay awake with her, reading an American book about gunfighting at close range, of all things. The tigress was confused by that choice--but she just sighed, and didn't say anything. After all, boys would be boys.
Though she was able to keep her eyes more than peeled, thirty minutes after they'd started to drive, the tigress glanced at her son by chance--then, she quietly laughed. He'd nodded off, but somehow remained sitting bolt upright. Neha's soft laughter woke him up, though, and, acting as if he'd never been sleeping, the tiger flipped to the next page of his book, staring down at the page with wide open, bloodshot eyes.
"How far are we, Mother? Are we almost there? You must be falling asleep. Shall I take over?" he asked, somehow stifling a yawn with speech, as he subtly stretched under the thick nylon folds of his coat.
"No, I think I'll be fine, Kris." She smiled. "We still have some time to go--perhaps less than we thought, if traffic stays like this. Look: there's not a car on the road."
The tiger looked up, then outside at the rapidly passing trees, branches heavy with freshly fallen snow. The two-lane highway that they traveling across, at nearly 140 km/h, was indeed clear. That wasn't surprising, at such an early hour on a Sunday, but Kris found himself somewhat enraptured by the scene outside.
While they slept, the previous night, it had snowed about ten centimeters, though the clouds had now mostly passed, leaving the skies relatively clear. Kris was glad for the high-quality, designer sunglasses he wore--they were a birthday gift from his mother, two years ago.
Life was going to be hard without her, the tiger thought, as he leaned back to look through the sunroof at the clear, blue, Nordic sky. It was going to be hard, and lonely. That's why Kris was going to enjoy what time with his mother he had left... because there wasn't much.
Walking was one of the ways the D'Costas kept fit and slim, as was the case with most other Swedes. In addition, of course, Kris lifted weights; sometimes Neha did as well. More occasionally, though, they took trips to hike in the fantastically untouched and equally dangerous countryside of their nation.
Their current location was somewhere in one of the lesser-known, privately owned and operated parks to the north of Stockholm. For some parts of the year, it was used for hunting--but now, it was available to the general public, for a small fee.
Getting lost wasn't much of a concern, thanks to the map they'd looked over the previous night--the same map now carefully tucked away in Kris's pocket. Another level of safety was their cell-phones; the park had service at its highest points at the very least, either to call for help or to check their position using their GPS feature.
It was frigidly cold, at below 0°C, but the two felines simply didn't notice it thanks to their clothing and their conditioning. The fact that they were adapted for far, far warmer weather was irrelevant; over the years, they'd grown accustomed to the cold.
As far as Kris could tell, he and his mother were all alone in the park. Although time had passed--it was now eleven in the morning--it seemed unlikely that they'd see even a single other fur the entire day. He stopped, for a minute, at the edge of a cast, snow-covered plain, allowing his mother to catch up.
A flurry cast the sheerest white veil on his mother's hair and snout--she didn't like to wear hoods, for some reason, and instead preferred a half-face mask that covered her from neck to nose. Kris smiled, slightly, under a thick, paw-knitted scarf--courtesy of her, of course--and reached out, with a gloved paw, and lightly dusted his mother off.
"Stop that, stop that," Neha playfully protested, softly batting away his paw with her own. She then gave her hair a slight toss, exfoliating any flakes that remained, and stood next to her son. She was still far shorter than him, despite the fact that she was on a stump and he was on level ground.
The two felines enjoyed the moment where they were, looking across the perfectly level, white surface before them. There wasn't an animal in sight--it almost felt like the area was trapped in time; that's how still it was. At the far end of the plain, Kris could see that the forest became densely-packed, impassibly so. He let out a slow, soft breath that billowed before him, for a second, before dispersing into nothingness.
"Mother," the tiger said quietly, so as to not disrupt the moment, "why... did you and Father pick Sweden, instead of America, or the UK? This country is so... out of the way."
"That's just the reason," Neha replied. She brushed a few strands of hair out of her face, before explaining. "You see... I don't... get along with my relatives, and remember, your father was disowned by his family for not studying medicine like your grandfather wanted, and going directly into the workforce. This country was our way to escape all that."
Kris realized--there was so much he didn't know about his parents, both of them. Neha was alive, and had been for his entire life, but he'd never really asked her about herself. And, very soon, he wouldn't have the opportunity to do so. Soon, his life would be as lonely and empty as the frozen meadow before him.
"Has your family... your siblings, parents... have they ever called, or visited? I don't remember..."
"No," Neha said curtly, "they haven't."
She sighed, then reached out and gently set a paw on her son's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Kris. I don't think about it, normally... but now that you've brought it up... it's hard. They don't care if I'm alive or dead... but they're still family. That should mean something."
Kris felt his mother tug on his coat, a bit, and drew closer to his mother. Soon, she'd wrapped her light, daintily built arm around his shoulders, and was giving him a one-armed hug that didn't shortly end.
"I still miss Nikhil so much. He was my entire life--my entire family--and I was the same to him. We loved one another so much, and when you were born, I was sure that everything was perfect. But then... you know."
"You know... I miss Father too," Kris said. "I don't remember him much, but sometimes... it's hard to explain. I know that something isn't there."
"I'm sorry, Krishna," the female said softly, speaking through his protests at the apology. "I did my best. I tried to play games with you--I was the one to teach you basketball, did you know that? Even though you were already taller than me when you were twelve." She managed to end on a light note.
"I remember," Kris affirmed, smiling at his mother--he knew that she returned it, despite the mask she wore. "You've done an excellent job raising me, Mother. I have no complaints... it must have been hard to do it all alone."
"You made it easy," the tigress replied. "You're a perfect son--I'm sorry..."
He'd driven her to tears, or nearly so, and it was a moment before Neha could speak without a quaver in her tone.
"You know I love you, Mother... right? I miss you when I'm at school, I really do. When I'm finished--" his throat went dry. "You'll be long dead by then."
"You'll... come and live with me again? I'd like that," Neha said quietly.
Now, it was Kris's turn to take a minute to pause, breathing deeply to compose himself.
"...Yes, Mother. We'll be together again."
They'd stopped to eat a brief but filling lunch several moments before, and now, were on the move again. It was getting dark already, and the snow had only gotten stronger as the day had progressed, but Kris and his mother were veterans at hiking through the parks of their country. They didn't move too fast, and stopped, periodically, to insure that they warm and healthy.
In line with Kris's earlier presumption, they hadn't seen a single other person throughout the entire day. And now, with the Sun working on completing its final few degrees in the sky, it seemed certain that the whole day would be theirs and theirs alone.
As he'd told his mother, his first class the next day didn't start until 9AM. So he could sleep in a little after taking a late bus to campus, or perhaps he could stay at home for the night and take an early bus to school. Predictably, Neha had tried to nudge him towards the latter option.
Kris was starting to get a bit tired, though, after hours of almost constant walking in the thick, deep snow. He knew that his mother must be quite exhausted--though she hadn't complained once. She always kept his needs before hers.
Luckily enough, though, they'd found a trail that led through a valley, alongside a stream--noting their position, and the fact that it would take them to a marked point of interest, Kris started down it, after slowing down. His mother always remembered him--he'd return the favor.
Neha walked at his side, although the trail was very narrow. She gently rubbed her masked cheek and snout against the tiger's arm, for a moment, before shivering very subtly.
"We'll stop soon, Mother," Kris said. "We should be coming to something soon... after that, we'll go back to the car."
"Oh, no, Kris, there's so much of the park we haven't seen..."
"Mother, you're cold."
"Then, why don't we split up? I'll go back to the car, and keep it warm until you're finished."
"If you're really that cold, let's just leave now," Kris said, coming to a halt and turning, facing the tigress head on. "Come on, Mother. We came here to make memories together. I'm not going to leave you."
"Stubborn boy," the tigress said, a glint in her light green eyes, before she sighed, smiling beneath her mask. "Alright, Kris... just this last point of interest, then we'll see how cold it is."
Kris nodded, and pulled his scarf up, a little bit, so it covered his snout as well as his neck. He didn't know how his mother was able to take the cold without a full head covering.
They continued down the path, turning, once, passed an impenetrably dense group of trees. Then, they collectively froze. Neha gasped.
They'd come to a lake, its surface frozen solid. It was a vast body of water; Kris couldn't immediately recall seeing a bigger one. Snowfall increased, just then, so that large, light flakes danced down through the still, silent air, gently resting on the thick sheet of ice that kept the lake's surface motionless.
Kris was the first to move. He stepped off the trail, cautiously moving down towards the lake. Doing this was only marginally dangerous--it had been well below freezing for weeks.
The tiger set a booted foot on the lake, testing, seeing if it could take his weight. A moment later, he carefully set both feet on it, ready to move at a second's notice, ears perked, listening for the sound of cracking ice...
A slight impact made Kris jump, looking around, until his eyes settled on his mother. She was giggling, quietly, several meters farther than him.
"So cautious, son. Come on--it's safe," Neha said in a tone so confident that Kris felt all worry leave him.
He ran, briefly, intending to catch up with his mother, but the tigress laughed, and ran away, bending over, for a minute, to scoop something into her paw. A moment later, Kris's chest was impacted by another lightly packed and gently thrown snowball.
"Mother, this is silly," the tiger said, standing still as Neha continued to move, tail lashing around, rapidly, as she prepared another wintery projectile. "I'm twenty years old... I don't have snowball fights anymore."
"You are now," the tigress pointed out. Her laugh was like a thousand delicate bells being rung--they distracted Kris as her snowball grazed the side of his head, making him duck to the side reflexively. "Come on, Kris... have some fun with your old mother. Just this once?" She paused, then continued in a softer, somewhat regretful tone. "You're... getting a little old for this, Kris. Please... let's do this one last time."
"One last time."
Kris closed his eyes, for a moment, feeling the chilling meaning of those words, just as a knifelike gust of wind cut at his cheek. He stood, facing Neha, whose ears had flattened. She started to drop the snowball in her paw...
He smiled. And, a moment later, a snowball impacted lightly against the tigress's chest. She jumped, a bit, mrowling in surprise and confusion, before she saw her son, her Kris, running away, already preparing another snowball.
"Alright, Mother," the tiger called, amusement blatant in his voice as he looked back, watching Neha dust herself off. "One last time."
"You! Come back here!" the tigress laughed, giving chase to her son. She would never be able to catch him normally, of course, but Kris slowed down a little--just enough to give her a chance.
Mother and son played, as the Sun continued to set, as the snow continued to build, on that frozen lake, in that frozen country, so far from everything that it seemed that the world had stopped, just for them. One last time.
"So, Patrik, after you've finished your work, shall we hit the gym? I want to get in some cardio, and perhaps a few bench presses, squats..."
"Not a chance! I'm still sore from yesterday--I don't see how you're still standing, Kris, with all the things that you did. Maybe you should relax, just a little bit, before you hurt yourself."
"Bah. That will never happen."
"What's gotten into you? You never used to work out nearly this much."
Patrik and Kris were in their dorm, having just arrived after grabbing a quick dinner. It was Wednesday, so, at least, they had most of the week behind them. Still, Thursday was their longest day by far.
The snow leopard-wolf collapsed onto his bed, kneading at his temples. Kris set his backpack down next to his desk, and, after pulling out his agenda book, started to look over his assignments for the night.
"I'm exhausted," the hybrid complained. "I may just nap right now and finish my work later. Yes, maybe I'll do that... Kris, you will wake me up at, say, 10pm, if I oversleep, right?"
"Of course, of course," the tiger said absently, before pausing--then turning back to face his friend. "I'll be going out, however... to the gym. So, if you wake up and I'm not here, don't get worried. And don't come to look for me."
Patrik's reply wasn't readily comprehensible. He moaned something, and waved his paw angrily--Kris got the message, and fell silent.
He shut off the light, and, soundlessly, pulled on a coat. There wasn't much room in his dorm--certainly, there wasn't much space to hide illegal goods, much less automatic firearms. But Kris would have to make do, somehow.
The tiger stood, hefting his backpack. He emptied its contents, and then opened it up, peering into it. The space inside... it would be large enough to fit a disassembled AR carbine, pistol, ammunition, and some important accessories. Kris tapped at his wallet through his pocket; it was fatter than usual. He was ready to go.
He left, silently, locking the door behind him. His destination was not the gym--but it would prepare him for the fast-approaching day that his entire life thus far had been leading to.
The bus ride to the southeast of Stockholm was long, but Kris occupied himself with a book. The paw-sized publication also served the purpose of allowing him to avoid attention, though he was hardly engaging in anything suspicious at the moment.
Glancing outside as the bus slowed, nearing its stop, Kris sighed. It was snowing, but more significantly, it was windy--the tiger pulled his scarf up over his snout after standing, sliding his book into a pocket. He said a word of thanks to the driver as he disembarked from the vehicle.
Seconds later, Kris was seemingly all alone before a dock that was seemingly lifeless. By then, it was quite dark; if it wasn't for a nearby streetlight the tiger's surroundings would be pitch black. As it was, he could hardly see outside of the illuminated cone that the lamp provided--the contrast was simply too great.
Kris knew what he was to do, though, and stood still. He knew better than to hide his paws in his pockets to warm them--that would be taken as a threat, rendering his trip pointless. His dark green eyes flickered, slowly, from the dark hulks before him--motionless freighters and crates of cargo. Anything could hide a criminal gunman, or, just as bad, a law enforcement squad preparing for a major bust.
Luck was on the tiger's side, though, at least that night. After starting to wonder if he'd been had, Kris heard a distant, quiet whistle--and, out of the darkness, two men approached.
They were Russian; Kris inferred that from their accents as they told him to stay still and put his paws in the air. The tiger complied, and one of the Siberian huskies stayed back, a gloved paw in his pocket, no doubt gripping the handle of an automatic--the other canine moved forward, slowly, and patted him down for weapons.
A moment later, he looked down at Kris, before glancing at his partner, and nodding.
"All right, you're good. Come," the other husky said.
The tiger decided that it would be best not to reply, and allowed himself to be escorted up the gangway of a ship. He almost glanced to see its name, but decided that doing something like that was likely to get him shot in the head and pitched overboard into the freezing water, darker still than the painted steel of the vessel he was boarding.
Kris spent a second concentrating, forcing his breathing and heartbeat to calm. He needed to be able to speak without fear, in a moment--even then, the tiger was being led below deck, ostensibly to meet the ship's captain or a mate. The tall, muscular husky behind him was never more than a few centimeters away, and Kris knew the purpose of the giant fur's presence--it was a warning.
The scent of burning tobacco made the tiger's nose wrinkle, slightly; he'd always found smoking a repulsive habit. He made no comment, though, and halted several meters from a door. The husky that had led him down said something in Russian, presumably announcing the tiger's entrance--a moment later, a reply allowed Kris to go ahead and enter.
Careful not to look around, or do anything else that might look too attentive, the tiger entered the small, wooden cabin. Before him was a desk, and a stool--the tall husky behind him shoved him, causing Kris to momentarily stumble before taking the seat, finally looking at the man who seemed to be in charge of things.
The apparent leader was another Russian, a human. His boots, black and steel-toed, were resting on the desk as he took a few drags from a cigarette, looking Kris over. A moment later, someone behind the tiger closed the door, and the wind's howls quieted--Kris didn't dare speak, though. He just looked back at the dark eyed, blonde man before him, forcing himself not to show fear or apprehension.
"So... how did you hear about us?" the Russian said, in accented, but understandable Swedish.
"I asked Oliver Karlsson where I might obtain weapons... without going through the legal process. He pointed me in your direction... so, here I am."
"So it's guns you want."
"Yes. But not a hunting rifle, nor a shotgun--I want automatic weapons."
The Russian was silent, for a moment, looking directly at Kris.
"Why?"
"Don't worry. No one will know how I got them."
The husky behind Kris growled, but the human before him held up a hand--the signal was to be calm, for the moment. Kris's eyes didn't shift from the Russian... and, after a moment, the human spoke again.
"Something big, eh."
The tiger didn't answer. And the next few moments were the longest of his life.
"All right," the Russian finally said, leaning forward, sliding his feet off the desk. "You know what specifically you want?"
Kris nodded. "Here... it's all written down." The tiger slowly slid a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it to the Russian.
"6.8mm select-fire AR-15, short barrel, gas piston, foregrip, suppressor, standard iron sights... GLOCK 18, suppressor... magazines, subsonic ammunition, combat vest, sling, holster... this is expensive gear. You have money?"
A banded stack of cash was set on the table before the Russian. Kris kept his paw over it, though, intently looking into the human's eyes.
"Twenty thousand kronor, in various bills, all non-sequential. It'll be enough... yes?"
"Mm. Perhaps..." the Russian said delicately, and, sensing success, Kris slowly pulled his paw off the money, sitting upright again. "I want some information, however." The man smiled thinly.
"You seem like active young man. How old are you?"
Kris didn't answer; this wasn't the information the Russian really wanted. So, after a moment, the human continued.
"I was wondering... I'll be in town for a few days. By any chance... you know where I can find good, ah, prostitutes? Exotic ones. Perhaps... of your... I don't know Swedish for it." He paused, thinking--then snapped his bony, pale fingers. "Race." He smiled. "I always liked Asiatic felines." He smiled a bit more widely, perhaps maliciously, perhaps as a challenge. "Your women... they can't be beat."
The tiger was motionless for a moment. Then, he replied in a voice as cold and heartless as the dark storm outside.
"No. I don't know where to do anything like that."
The human mused over things, for several seconds. Then, suddenly, he stood, and spoke rapidfire Russian to the shorter of the two huskies. The canine was handed the paper, and left, wordlessly, chilling the room's occupants when he opened the door.
As Kris watched, the Russian pulled out a bottle, and two shot glasses. Before the tiger could protest, they were filled, and the human had lifted one, and was looking pointedly at him--reluctantly, Kris conceded, and tapped his glass against the other man's. He then unflinchingly downed the drink. It occurred to him that it might be poisoned, but if the tiger refused, he was just as likely to get himself killed.
It seemed, though, that death was not in the tiger's cards--not that day, at least. He ignored the alcohol's slight effects and simply sat, waiting, paws neatly folded before him. The Russian began to count the money, ignoring Kris--but the feline didn't mind. In fact, he rather preferred it that way.
The tiger didn't have a watch, so he couldn't be sure how long it was before the husky returned with a duffel bag. Kris leaned forward as it was opened; its contents displayed.
Everything was brand new, and, he was pleased to note, exactly what he'd requested. The tiger took the time to break down each weapon, making sure he wasn't being passed inoperable junk or otherwise shorthanded. Kris was satisfied--wordlessly, he slid the weapons away, into his backpack, and looked up.
"Thank you," he said simply, before standing, and turning to leave.
He was blocked, though, by the tall, muscular husky, and, after a moment, turned back to face the Russian.
The human stared at him, for a minute, and then sighed.
"You really won't tell me what you're doing?"
Kris slowly, firmly shook his head. He wasn't sure how else to safely answer.
"All right," the Russian said, glancing up at the husky behind Kris. A short word in the Slavic tongue moved him out of the way, and the tiger was free to go, chased by the man's final words. "I'll keep an eye on Swedish news, then. I can tell that you're up to something big..."
Kris couldn't give his gear a test run that day; it was already too late and he had classes the next day. All that was left to do during the bus ride back to campus was to sit and think and brood, while his weapons burned a hole in the backpack just between his knees. He could imagine police rushing through the bus's door or windows, either shooting him dead on the spot or, even worse, arresting him.
He controlled his anxiety, though, with difficulty. After all, this was the first time Kris had ever done anything truly illegal.
The darkness outside the slowly moving vehicle, compared with the interior's bright, white lights made Kris feel like the world outside the frigid, recently-cleaned windows simply didn't exist. He ignored his fears and worries by focusing on the little things--the lean muscle accumulating on his forearms, the dingy, somewhat outdated fabric of the bus's seats, the dust and shed fur on the floor...
Once calm, the tiger allowed his mind to drift into the future. After brief, vague flashes of gunfire, screaming, and destruction flickered through his mind, Kris focused on the details of what he was doing. Now that he'd had had a chance to look over Café 42's blueprints, he could actually create a plan of attack--literally.
Homework consumed much of his time, though; in fact, since Monday, the tiger had only had a few spare minutes here and there when he was both unoccupied and Patrik was out of the room. Now, though, he had all the time he wanted.
Kris's tail twitched, slightly, as he concentrated. If he entered Café 42, guns blazing, there was a high chance that he'd be tracked down somehow, when everything was said and done. The tiger needed to smuggle his weapons into the club or nearby, then enter the area, then retrieve them, then do his business, then leave--without leaving a trace. This almost certainly meant destroying the guns, and that annoyed Kris--supposing he needed them in the future.
The tiger's lips visibly twitched; when that thought crossed his mind, he knew immediately that he had to destroy his weapons. If he didn't, he might someday be tempted into doing more--he couldn't let that happen; he didn't want his existence to be centered around a secret vigilante life. When he was finished his work, and dozens lay dead in Café 42, that would be the end of his present life--and, after that, Kris's life would begin again. He would be more alone than ever, but he would have a clear conscience.
And, the tiger reflected as he looked up, seeing that the bus was already near campus--that was what was really important.
Friday afternoon saw Kris disembark another bus, but he was near neither his home nor university. In fact, he didn't plan to take a bus home--the tiger needed a good cardio workout, and a long run from his present location back to Järfälla would do nicely.
In many ways, Sweden was the middle of nowhere, so the case that Kris was in the middle of the middle of nowhere could easily be made. The bus driver looked at him oddly a moment before driving away, leaving the tiger at the roadside. There was no sign of civilization nearby, but this was perfect for Kris's purposes.
He started to stride in a direction perpendicular to the road. In moments, the tiger had made his way over a brief hill, and looked over the area before him. It was a forest, so, ostensibly, there was some animal life present--but no people. And that's all he was concerned about.
Odds that he'd be interrupted were low, but if the worst happened, Kris was in deep trouble. With that in mind, the tiger worked quickly--he took off his backpack, setting it down before him, and unzipped it.
He'd practiced well, the day before--Patrik had had to attend a remedial session of calculus. As a result, Kris could and did assemble and suppress his AR in seconds, but loaded it slowly, tasting somewhat grim pleasure in doing so.
Sighting into the wilderness before him, he started to open fire. Loud _snap-hiss_es accompanied by the expulsion of smoking brass cases told Kris that his rifle was working just fine--if the neat grouping of holes drilled into the tree he was aiming at didn't already.
Satisfied, the tiger wasted no time in taking down his rifle, and snapping his sidearm onto target. It was a bit harder to control the vicious handgun, but Kris managed--and he knew that if it had to come out in Café 42, it would be used to engage a target close enough that aiming wouldn't be needed.
Now that he'd ascertained that his weapons functioned perfectly, Kris packed up and started to jog. Now, he was no longer hurried by the fear of being caught--now, he was just a boy running home to see his mother.
Kris saw no contradiction in what he was doing. Just because he was going to kill his mother didn't require for him to hate her, or to fail to make the most of the time they had left together. After all, she was his mother and he did love her.
After a shower, Kris made a pot of tea, insisting that Neha sit down to watch her favorite show--a BBC environmental program. Shortly, he joined her, and the felines spent the better part of two hours side by side, drinking, scarcely sharing a word between them.
Once the show was finished, Neha rested her cheek against her son's shoulder for a brief moment. Then, she stood up smoothly, athletically, and made her way--Kris assumed--to the kitchen. The tigress reappeared suddenly, though, handing him a box.
"I know that you're busy at school a lot," Neha said, as she stood by, smiling, encouraging her son to open the container, "but you must get bored periodically."
Star Wars and Lord of the Rings were the two most recognizable series of books he'd been handed, but Kris could see several novels that he didn't recognize in the slightest. They were all centered around topics that the tiger found interesting, at least in fiction--his mother must have taken a lot of trouble to select and buy them.
He smiled, and, after going through the box's contents, set it down beside him, and gave his mother a long, unabashed hug. After releasing her, he knew that he didn't have to add a verbal thanks--she'd gotten the message, and sat down next to him.
"We have a big day tomorrow," the tigress said. Before Kris could look again, she'd produce a blanket, and wrapped it over herself and her son. "Taking a nap before dinner will be good, yes?"
The tiger made a purring sound of assent, in his throat, and sat on the couch, cross-legged, so his feet wouldn't be cold. Neha imitated him, and shut her eyes, after giving her son a satisfied, but tired look. Kris simply smiled back, and picked up the first of the dozen or so books she'd bought him.
Fifteen minutes later, when he could tell that his mother was sleeping, from the slow, rhythmic cadence of her breathing, Kris turned another page, and, without lifting his head from the book, spoke quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
"I am going to kill you, Mother... Now, sleep well; as you said, we have a big day tomorrow. I love you..."
They left at 4AM again, but didn't plan to arrive at their destination until early in the afternoon. This time, Kris took a turn at driving, but Neha barely slept after her son took over--the nap the previous evening had greatly helped.
She was kept awake by worry, for some time, but the tiger was handling the car perfectly. This was a surprise--she remembered the first time she'd driven one of Sweden's more treacherous mountain roads; it had been two hours of complete stress and near disaster.
Kris, though, was confident and gifted with steady paws. Neha almost forgot that they were hundreds of meters above the ground; that the slightest error could plunge them both to early graves.
Their destination was quite far from Stockholm, and few would have considered such a long trip for just one weekend of fun worthwhile. Neha had pointed this out, earlier in the week, but Kris had insisted--after all, he knew, unlike her, that their time together was severely limited.
It was snowing heavily, but such was to be accepted so high up in the mountains. At one point, Kris pulled off the road, into a shoulder lane and lookout point, turning off the windshield wipers and then the engine. Neha was about to ask why, but quickly she understood.
"I have the camera," the tigress said, as she pulled her mask up, while Kris pocketed the keys. "Let's not take too many pictures, though. The resort will have plenty of good look out points."
The tiger smiled at his mother, for a moment, before leaving the car. A moment later, Neha did as well, and almost gasped when she did so--it was cold outside, even compared to what she'd grown used to. She tempered herself quickly, though, and grudgingly pulled on a beanie emblazoned with Kris's school's logo. He was thoughtful to have bought it for her.
"Hey--careful, son. Come away from the edge; what if you fall?"
"I won't," Kris protested, even as he took one, then two steps away from the steel barrier. "Wow... come here, Mom. You have to see the view..."
The tigress carefully made her way next to her son, and, for a moment, it looked like the subzero temperature had managed to literally freeze her to the spot. Soon, though, it became clear that the tigress was only kept motionless by her own awe--this was understandable.
Their altitude allowed them to see for dozens of miles in any direction--and everything they saw was snow-covered and pristine. The tigers breathed slowly, for a moment, as if being too loud would shatter the delicate reality before them. The successive layers of snow, fog, trees, and landscape made for a scene that couldn't possibly be done justice in a photo or series of photos.
That didn't stop Neha from trying, though. However, before she noticed it, she was taking pictures of her son--he looked back at her, and quickly smiled. The tigress took one final picture, then lowered her camera.
"One more..." Kris said. He appropriated the camera from his mother, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, fumbling with the small device. Then, the tiger managed to take a picture of them both, the background rather hidden by their masked but obviously smiling faces.
Neha smiled for a moment after Kris had handed her the camera, making his way back to the car's driver seat. It didn't occur to her that her son was being too sweet--in her view, it was simply in his character to love her so. After all, she was his only parent.
Hours later, Kris and Neha were not side by side. They were hardly within twenty meters of another, and neither dared get closer--at over forty miles per hour, when their only protection from extreme injury was two admittedly flimsy pieces of metal and two poles it simply wasn't safe to be too close.
They were skiing--with great skill, in fact. Such recreation was a rare pastime, but well spent when taken--the trail that mother and son were currently cutting across would have netted a double black diamond by American standards, though its owners had never sought to give it a formal rating. Their establishment was only frequented by people who knew what they were doing.
Northwestern Sweden's climate was invariably cold and snowy--this made it the perfect place to build a ski resort. The region's terrain would have made it the world capital of all downhill snow sports if it wasn't for the fact that Sweden was so out of the way--few people were willing to travel across countries and continents simply to risk their lives on the mountainside.
The tigers spent almost the entirety of the weekend together. That didn't change Kris's plans in the slightest, of course.
He came to a decision careening down a treacherous part of one mountain, dodging patches of rocks and black ice slicks. His mother's life would end within a month--if at all practical. Kris hopped over a sudden mogul, but didn't slow down. Now, he couldn't afford to slow down for anything. His attack would be brief and decisive and, for many, fatal.
And it was coming soon.
Having built up enough muscle to deal with whatever opposition might come his way within a few weeks, Kris devoted most of his time to cardio and mental exercise. He alternated between jogging and explosive bursts of sprinting, forcing himself to stay silent and avoid bobbing--so as to shoot on the move more accurately if he had to.
Life, for him, had become so repetitive and predictable that long bouts in the tiger's memory simply vanished of their own accord. From Monday through Friday, he studied, ate, exercised, sometimes went to the range or snuck out of town to practice shooting his guns. He spent Saturday and Sunday with his mother--there wasn't a moment to spare for time with friends.
Kris felt bad about that, but knew that they would forgive him. After all, when he had time to spend with them again... his mother would be dead.
The preparations that still had to be made weren't many, but were all vitally important. He wasn't sure how he was going to get into Café 42 without attracting attention, and that's what put him on the second floor of a restaurant one block away from the club on a late Friday afternoon.
Eating as slowly as he possibly could, he took notes on a pad of paper. The food was rather good Chinese, but Kris paid it little attention. He was too focused on what was going on at Café 42.
The expensive, finely-polished table; the stained wooden chair, and the orange ambient lighting created an exotic environment that was rather lost on the tiger. He'd have to come back, someday, to enjoy it properly. Maybe he'd go with his friends, or maybe just one of them-Anna really had gotten quite pretty in recent months...
In preparation for the rush of the evening and following day, Café 42 was taking in truckloads of goods--food, alcohol, and cleaning supplies. Furthermore, now was when employees were starting to really pour in as well. Within all the activity on the ground, there was surely some weakness; some way for Kris to sneak into the club. He was careful to make note of this--
Something in Kris's pocket vibrated: his cellphone. He'd received a text message from his mother.
"When r u coming?" the message said.
He thought, for a moment, then replied, after catching the eye of a passing waiter--he was ready to pay.
"Have finished classes," the tiger said. He looked up, jotted down the name of the theater across the road from the restaurant, then put his paper and pen away. "Will be home soon. Love, Kris."
The next Wednesday evening saw Kris in a busy, outdoor plaza located conveniently close to campus. Normally, if he needed to buy clothes, he'd have brought one of his female friends along--he didn't have much of an eye for fashion.
His demands that night weren't narrow, however. All Kris needed were black slacks, a black shirt, boots, gloves, and one more thing. It barely mattered what they looked like--when he was finished wearing them for the first and the last and the time, they'd be destroyed.
The first store he came to was a relatively small, family-owned place. Its wares weren't top quality by far, but Kris didn't care--the prices were right. He picked up almost everything he needed there, and walked out five minutes after entering with a bag in paw.
The clothes and boots he'd purchased were all black--ideal for the environment he'd do his killing him. Outside, Kris zipped the coat he was wearing up a few centimeters more, green eyes flickering across the wide array of stores nearby. One of them had to carry what he was looking for.
A ski store seemed like a good bet, and moments later, Kris had what he needed. Before leaving the plaza, though, the tiger mentally checked what he had versus what he needed that day--everything, it seemed, was taken care of.
Walking back to campus gave the tiger time to consider his next move. Almost everything was ready--he'd gotten together his skills, gear, and had enough information to commence the assault. Now, it was only a matter of time, and setting the final preparations. When he started, he'd have to finish everything in one fell swoop. There would be no second chances.
Thank God for technology.
It was almost startlingly easy for Kris to find several things--Café 42's phone number, and a relatively simple program that would allow him to make calls via Internet and leave behind no information that might conceivably lead to his identification.
He took a sip of water, sitting upright a little. His head turned, slightly, deep green eyes peering outside--good, Patrik's class hadn't ended yet. Kris then began to dial in the number he'd found... and, a few seconds later, a phone began to ring.
"Hello, you've reached Café 42; this is Kurt speaking; who's calling?"
"Hello, this is Oliver Pedersen of Pedersen Wholesale." The business Kris referred to was emblazoned on a truck he'd seen delivering goods to Café 42--some quick research online had given all the other information he needed. "We've had some difficulties receiving delivery dates for the next three weeks. Could you tell them to me, please? Along with their times?"
"One moment..."
Kris felt a cold sense of satisfaction--his ploy had worked flawlessly. He waited for a few seconds, clicking some graphite to bear from his pencil, then listened, occasionally making monosyllabic sounds of affirmation as he jotted down the information relayed to him. This was almost too easy.
Kris's bed was not particularly large; it was barely big enough to accept his frame. It was, however, comfortable and sturdy--perfect for the tiger's purposes.
He'd never been particularly spiritual or religious at all, but there was doubtless utility in what he was doing. Having barely moved a muscle for over an hour, the tiger was as reflective and introverted as he'd ever been--and, through such introspection, he made his final preparations.
"My mother will die. My mother will die. My mother will die. My mother will die. My mother will die. My mother will die."
Mentally, he repeated that to himself more times than he could count. Violent videogames and movies, it seemed, hadn't sufficiently desensitized him--if he acted immediately, things wouldn't go well.
"I will kill my mother. I will kill my mother. I will kill my mother. I will kill my mother. I will kill my mother. I will kill my mother"
It took time for the meaning of that phrase to sink in. He was going to kill his mother--the one that had brought him into the world, the first one to hold him, and the one that had protected and provided for him over the years so loyally.
She'd loved him only as a mother could. And he was going to kill her.
The idea in itself made Kris feel physically sick, but he knew that there was no choice. He'd struggled with himself before--but every other potential solution had made the tiger feel even worse. The only acceptable outcomes were centered around Neha's death.
Shirtless, Kris looked very serene, sitting on his bed with his back straight and his shoulders relaxed. He was motionless--but then, his nose twitched. He was sniffling.
A moment later, he really did cry, although very quietly, and not for long. Neha was in the next room over--how would she feel if her twenty year old, big, strong, independent son was crying?
Everything was ready.
It had taken over a month of work, but now, everything was ready.
The alley was flanked on either side by two large apartment buildings. Just blocks from Café 42, and the rest of the Stockholm's clubs, the area was populated almost entirely by younger furs, which meant that then, on an early Tuesday afternoon, Kris was alone. To make doubly sure, though, the tiger had looked at the street--then up and all around. Everything was motionless.
A transient flurry hadn't distracted him as he'd hefted open the lid of a dumpster. Ignoring the foul scent emanating from inside, Kris had held the lid in place, then reached down. Now, the tiger was looking around one last time, ensuring that no one had seen what he'd deposited inside.
Casually, the tiger left--or, rather, watched himself leave. He was still simply an observer of his body as it took a bus back to campus, but Kris knew better than to struggle to take control of himself again.
The past weeks had been an almost constant out of body experience, and Kris knew it. He knew what it meant--he was not cut out for this sort of thing. As a means of self-preservation, he was simply preparing to forget everything about this chunk of his life. In the future, he was certain, he'd remember nothing between the fateful day when he'd found out about his mother... and the day when what had to be done was done.
Kris had many regrets, and he knew that he'd only have more in the coming months. He also knew that there was no turning back, though. He had to go through with what he'd planned to do.
He looked up--this was the campus stop. The tiger exited the vehicle in a daze, pulling out his cellphone. He'd been a poor friend for some time now. It was time to make amends.
Wednesday. The day his mother started her full-day shifts.
Neha's schedule hadn't changed for weeks, and Kris watched as the dot marking his mother's position began to move across the screen of his cellphone--she'd left home. She was going to work. It was time.
Kris stood, looking into the mirror set next to the door that led to and from his and Patrik's dorm. The furred, orange and white face that looked back at him was one of a stranger's--he'd changed so much so quickly. Looking down at his paws, slowly turning them around, Kris saw veins and taught bunches of muscle that hadn't been there a month ago.
He was dressed simply, in a pair of jeans and a longsleeved shirt. He wore no jacket, as it wasn't particularly cold that day--but for another reason, as well.
For some reason, the tiger found himself fussing over his appearance, licking his paws and then straightening his hair and fur and clothes. He checked his pockets--cell phone, wallet, student ID card, it was all there. He'd pick up everything else en route to Café 42.
This was going to happen. The realization that what he'd been preparing for was so close made Kris's heart race--he almost fainted, and spent a moment composing himself, staring back into the hateful green eyes before him. He couldn't lose his concentration for a second, not until after everything was finished.
He swallowed, clenching his fists so hard that his claws almost tore his palms to shreds. A heartbeat before the door opened, Kris had prevented himself from succumbing to pressure and giving up--or giving himself away.
"Kris, there you are--what are you doing? It's almost time to go," Patrik said, entering, with a somewhat confused look on his face. It had been some time since the tiger had really shown interest in anything but the gym; as his roommate and good friend, the snow leopard-wolf was somewhat concerned.
"Are you sure you want to do this? Something's been wrong with you for a long time... ever since we went out to that club, or so." He must have put his finger on it. The second he mentioned Café 42, albeit not by name, he could see a visible change in his friend--Kris's ears perked up, and his tail started to twitch, betraying anxiety.
Or perhaps it was simply because he was prying. Patrik realized that this was a possibility, and because of it, turned away. "If there's something I can do... let me know," he said, in a somewhat casual tone, as if the statement was an afterthought.
He spent a few distracted seconds putting away his books, getting out his wallet. Then, though, Patrik was distracted by a familiar, orange and black striped paw, gently set on his shoulder. The hybrid's hazel eyes met Kris's unmistakable green orbs, before the tiger spoke.
"Don't worry. After today, everything will be better. I've..." His voice trailed off, but he continued to stare at Patrik. It occurred to him that without his mother, he'd have no one to confide in anymore--he'd have no one, no one at all but his friends.
Kris tried, for a moment, to think of something to say. But he couldn't... there were no words that could give Patrik comfort, that he could say with a straight face, that wouldn't give him away. So, the feline eventually gave up--he simply smiled, and patted the other male's shoulder. This was the only sort of physical affection that would be his from now on... it wasn't very satisfying. But he'd have to get used to it.
"Come on," the tiger said, in a praiseworthy imitation of playfulness. "Everyone will be waiting, and the seats for this movie will fill up fast."
Patrik looked at his friend for a moment, almost suspicious. He'd known Kris for a very, very long time, and he was almost certain that, at least to some degree, the tiger was keeping something from him.
What could it be, though? This was Kris--it wasn't a female, and it wasn't some secret drug addiction. There was nothing that Patrik could think of that could explain the tiger's behavior.
Perhaps Kris was simply struggling in classes. Or perhaps he'd grown insecure about the way he looked--that explained his sudden obsession with the gym. Maybe Annika or Hanna had said something to upset him?... he'd have to ask.
For now, though, Patrik could only smile, and follow Kris out the door. Undoubtedly, the tiger had realized that he'd been a poor friend for a few weeks--maybe treating them all to a movie was his way of making up for it.
Kris enjoyed the drive to the theater, he really did. Otto and Klaus had the front seats; he was in the middle alongside Annika, while Hanna and Patrik were in the back. Friendly banter occupied the brief drive; mostly, he and Otto exchanged jibes and creative insults, batting it back and forth between the two of them.
Laughter helped to numb the tiger, helped him to avoid thinking about what he knew he was doing. He was getting in a van to go and kill his mother, but he couldn't dwell on that. He had to focus on the positive.
After a humorous rant about the increased difficult of a physics class he was taking, Kris glanced outside just as Café 42 passed them by. He felt his pupils dilate, and faked a cough, before turning to Annika.
"What about you, Anna? How have your classes been; it's been some time since we've spoken," he said--smiling. Friendly. Normal.
"The same as always. I can't understand a thing my macroeconomics teacher says to me; I don't understand how he got a teaching position with an accent like that. My grades are still good, however. Perhaps I'll make the honor roll again this semester."
"Congratulations," Kris replied, making the motion of tipping his hat to the female--she giggled pleasantly at that.
He would have said something more, but they were at the theater by then. The tiger turned forward, employing conscious effort to stop himself from shaking. This was going to happen, and he needed to get over that fact now.
Kris glanced at his watch; they'd arrived more than a few minutes late--perfect. Better yet, it took Klaus a moment to find a parking spot; by the time the engine had been shut off and the young furs were out into the cold again, the movie--or the advertisements preceding it, rather--had been running for ten minutes.
No one mentioned anything, of course; Kris apologized as they made their way towards the cinema's entrance, lying through his teeth about how he'd misunderstood the timing. He felt ashamed of that. Unlike his mother, he felt guilty about lying to people important to him.
The theater was simplistic in design and execution--Kris stepped up to the desk set immediately at the entrance, and purchased their tickets. Taking the six stubs of paper into his paw, he led his friends forward, striding purposefully across the recently vacuumed tile floor.
"Snacks, anyone? Drinks?" the tiger asked, glancing at concessions stand. "I'm buying; please don't be shy."
Kris glanced at a clock set above the nearby restrooms, and relaxed. His friends weren't interested in refreshments--but that was alright. His timing was perfect.
"Ah, son of a... I'm very sorry about this," Kris murmured, as they entered the darkened auditorium. "I didn't think the place would be so crowded..."
That was another lie, but he didn't expect anyone to call him out on it. The theater's website had a useful little feature that the tiger had found quite useful--he checked the number of tickets that had been pre-bought, and extrapolating from that data and how incredibly popular their movie was he had successfully guessed that the room would be as it was: crowded.
At most, pairs of seats were available, but the vast majority of open seats were singles. They'd have to split up.
The advertisements were about to end, so Kris's harried speech wasn't at all out of place. If they wasted any more time, they'd miss the beginning of the film.
"We'll have to split up," he whispered. "Klaus, Annika, you take those two seats to the right... Patrik, Otto, Hanna, there are a few seats in the center towards the front that are free. I'll... be right over here." He jerked his head at a nearby opening at the back left of the theater. "I'm so sorry for all this. I should have planned it out better..."
"No, no, it's all right," Hanna murmured. "When the movie's finished, we'll all meet at the van, okay?"
After a collective nod, the six began to dissipate into the gathering of furs, quickly finding their seats and sitting down. Kris did as well, just as the last advertisement came to its conclusion.
He could feel his dark green eyes adjust to the lack of light in the theater, and remained seated. The movie was supposed to start off with a bang, gripping its viewers from the onset.
Before the movie started, though, a brief message was played on screen, requesting that the audience please turn off or silence their cell phones. Kris reached into his pocket, taking out the slim, metallic device--he looked at it in his paws, for a moment, considering what to do.
After all, he'd tracked his mother using her cell phone. As far as he was concerned, his was a liability. But going so far as to remove the battery--the only surefire way of taking it off the grid--was suspicious.
Kris casually slid his phone back towards his pocket, but quite intentionally dropped it. It hit the floor with a soft clatter, but the tiger made no move to pick it up--rather, he focused on the screen. It was completely black, signaling that the film was about to start.
The furs around him didn't seem particularly attentive; one was an old man, the other was a female with her boyfriend. They, too, were staring at the blank screen before them, waiting for the much-anticipated movie to begin.
When it did, it literally did so with a bang. Somewhat fittingly, it was a gunshot, but Kris wouldn't find that out for over a month. Because by the time the recorded explosion had died down, he was gone.
Using the restroom was a pre-movie ritual for much of the male population of the world, so Kris didn't attract so much as a second glance as he made his way into the males' room.
As he made his way to the row of urinals inside, he glanced to the side--the janitor's closet was open, but occupied. The employee inside was swapping a mop for some other cleaning supplies, and didn't glance at Kris as the tiger passed.
Kris didn't particularly have to use the bathroom, but he realized that he might as well get the bodily function out of the way--it would be at least one less thing to worry about. Unzipping his pants, the tiger stared forward, idly wondering how much his friends were enjoying the movie.
A moment later, the tiger heard the janitor leave the bathroom. And a moment after that, he carefully made his way, not back into the theater--but into the closet.
Fortunately, it wasn't locked. Kris slipped in, shutting the door behind him. He pawed around for a light switch, found it, then nodded to himself. An unmarked door lay just before him--and, predictably, it was locked.
This was a problem that didn't keep Kris for more than a few seconds, though. On the door itself was a hook, and around that hook was a key.
Kris was outside before he could completely realize it. He tucked the key deep into his pocket as he quickly made his way away from the theater, before relaxing, and slowing down. There was nothing particularly suspicious about what he was doing.
Things had gone off without a real hitch so far, but the tiger's mind was already buzzing with activity. He plotted out his plans several steps in advance, preparing to deal with almost any last-minute obstacles that might come up--at the same time, he remembered to look both ways before crossing the street, just like his mother had always said.
There were just a few centimeters of snow on the ground, but it wasn't particularly cold--that was one reason Kris hadn't bothered with a jacket. But even if it was far below zero, he would have toughed it. He couldn't afford the bulk of a large coat.
Café 42 was right in front of him, and getting closer with each step he took. Of course, Kris didn't approach it immediately--first, he had to retrieve his gear from where he'd stored it.
The streets were deserted, and Kris was glad for that. From a distance, he was sure that he looked perfectly normal--but proximity might foil the shields he'd carefully propped up around himself. He could hardly walk without shaking.
"That's odd. Trash day is tomorrow..." Kris glanced at a passing garbage truck, wondering what it was doing. He didn't recognize the logo emblazoned on its front door, and, he noted, it didn't have a government license plate.
Something clicked in the tiger's head. The garbage truck was private--that meant that its trash day was whenever its owners and their customers wanted it to be. It could even make its rounds on, for instance, Wednesdays.
Kris froze as he thought that. He visually tracked the truck--and realized that it was heading into the same alleyway that he had entered the day before.
The tiger almost panicked, but managed to stop himself from shouting--he gasped, but that was all. Then, Kris began to run.
His job title was "sanitation technician." It was newspeak for "trash collector," and he knew it.
Still, it was good money, and the hours were minimal. At the very least, it was a springboard for a better position, in which real money could be made. For the time being, though, the rather obese, blond-haired Swede was stuck where he was.
Leaving the engine on, he exited the truck's cabin, hobbling towards the alley's single dumpster. He wore a company jacket that had to be left unzipped to accommodate his paunch, but the fat of his torso kept him warmer than a single layer of cloth ever could.
The snow leopard-wolf was about to open the dumpster--but then he turned on the ball of his foot, almost falling in the process. He stared down the alley, towards the street--he'd heard something, he was certain, but nothing was visible.
Maybe he was just getting old. After all, any mugger would have jumped into the truck and driven away, or robbed him before he could react. So, the fat male turned back to his work, albeit with his ears perked up, just in case.
He barely noticed that there was a duffel bag in the dumpster in addition to the black plastic trashbags ubiquitous worldwide. It was all the same to him; he tossed them into the truck without a second thought. Then, getting back into the vehicle's driver seat, he backed out of the alley, and started to drive away.
Kris was astounded that he hadn't been heard, but had been prepared to knock the truck driver out cold if the fat male had seen him. He'd had less than two seconds to dive into the mass of garbage bags and hide himself, all in complete silence--but he'd succeeded.
The tiger remained motionless until he felt the truck start to move forward. Then, he stood, quickly, shoving the bags on top of him out of the way--where was his gear? He cursed himself for using a black duffel bag as the truck started to pick up speed...
There--he'd found it. Kris grabbed at the handle, fumbled, then snagged the entire pouch in a bear-hug, before jumping out of the truck without a second thought.
He hit the street on his feet, stumbled, but managed to stay upright. A car passed, and Kris felt his ears grow hot as he hastily made his way to the sidewalk--despite everything, he felt embarrassed.
Somewhat disoriented, he looked around, for a moment--then he realized that the truck had practically delivered him to Café 42. Kris stared at the building for a moment, the strap of his duffel bag now resting on his shoulder. The massive gray monolith blocked out a good portion of the sky; it looked like any other Swedish club.
But this club was the one that his mother sold herself in.
That thought brought Kris both anger and pain, and he didn't hold back his feelings--snarling, visibly, his mind's eye threw up several images involving himself, a rapidly emptying magazine of ammunition, and his mother.
An eighteen wheeler was making its way to Café 42's second entrance--that was Kris's ticket in. So, eyes piercing and mind focused, so that nothing, not even what few shreds of sanity remained in him could stop him now. The only thing that could prevent the tiger from doing what he'd set out to do was force--and plenty of it.
Kris wasn't quite sure where Café 42's security cameras could and couldn't see, so he approached the club as casually as possible--he acted like he belonged, in the same manner that he had the first night he'd been there.
As he got closer to the back of the club, where the ground sloped downwards--allowing for goods to be delivered directly to the building's basement--he started to employ more caution. A hundred meters away, the truck was still parked, and still being unloaded... which meant that there were people around.
The tiger pressed himself against the wall, and, quietly, began to walk forward. He considered arming himself, but decided against it--at this stage, firing a shot, even a suppressed shot, would be fatal.
As he got closer to the huge vehicle, and the steel shutter door set against the plain, concrete wall that supported Café 42, Kris slowed down. Then, twenty or so meters away from the opening, he stopped. Wind ran across his fur, making his ruff sway, a bit. Kris didn't shiver, though. He was too busy listening.
The activity that seemed to be going on inside was, as far as he could tell, not directly at the door. This meant that now was as good a time as any to try to slip in.
Coincidentally, the truck was owned by Pedersen Wholesale--Kris realized this as he prepared to move, stacked against the unyielding cement wall. The tiger held his breath, for a moment, if for no reason apart from to psyche himself up.
Then, he moved.
Kris ran out from behind the wall, intending to enter Café 42's underground loading area. The second he left cover, though, he saw a fur, an employee--twenty meters from him, and approaching.
The tiger froze, but quickly realized that the other male was distracted by something to the side of his field of vision. Kris had to get out of view soon, though, and his inertia prevented him from turning back and hiding himself outside quietly enough.
His only option was to dive and roll under the truck, which he did. The maneuver was a bit painful, but, thankfully, it was also silent. Still, Kris felt quite naked--the gap between the floor and the bottom of the truck was large, and he could see a few furs moving around at the opposite end of the loading area. True, he was shadowed, and that gave him a degree of stealth. But all it would take for him to be found was the briefest of glances below the truck's bumper.
Worse, Kris couldn't leave his hiding space. The worker that had been coming towards him continued walking on a linear path, and, in moments, the tiger was staring at the man's boots. The snow leopard-wolf wasn't employed by Café 42, it seemed... but by Pedersen Wholesale.
Fortunately, he passed the tiger without noticing it, and entered the truck's cabin. A second later, Kris realized what was about to happen.
The engine started, and it took a great deal of self-control for the antsy feline to not jump up and run away. The driveshaft started to spin, just above his head, at some ridiculous speed--heart racing, Kris considered rolling out from under the truck and hiding.
But the truck's multiple wheels budged, slightly, then began to move, sending the truck rolling out of Café 42. Kris hugged the floor, lining himself up in the center of the gap between the truck and the ground and its wheels. He intended to let it pass harmlessly over him, then take cover after it left.
A moment later, however, the tiger realized that someone inside the loading area was looking, directly, at the truck. The moment the vehicle left, Kris would be exposed.
The tiger started to think, then realized that he didn't have the time to do so.
Kris threw his duffel bag aside, into a gap between Café 42's outer wall and a group of boxes. A second later, he rolled as fast as he could--his head avoided a gory, messy fate by centimeters, at best, as the truck left the club.
The tiger crouched above his bag, next to the boxes, listening hard. The truck's engine had made his ears ring, but it had also provided cover for his activity. After a moment, the tiger peeked over the boxes--just in time to see the last Café 42 employee in the loading area leave, pausing only to shut the terminal's garage door on his way out.
Dim lighting remained after the other male left, leaving Kris presumably alone in the terminal. The tiger remained hidden, though, just in case. Rapidly, he took out his GLOCK 18--he suppressed it, then loaded it, holding the slide in place and punching the pistol forward. A round slipped into the chamber; its sleek brass casing shining for the brief second it was visible.
Kris didn't slip the pistol into his waistband, though. Not yet--it was too soon. Instead, he put it back into the duffel bag and carefully made his way towards the loading area's exit. The tiger picked his way through the various crates littered across the hard, sleek floor, and paused, listening at the door after climbing a brief series of steps.
He'd studied the map of Café 42 well, as well as the working habits of its employees. But, of course, his plans weren't perfect. There was always some risk involved.
But the tiger didn't hear anything; so, a moment later, he entered the dull, gray hallway that Café 42's extensive staff used to get around in the non-administrative part of the basement. Glancing behind him, once, Kris made his way forward, green eyes flickering up once to ensure that he was on the right track. The sign above him read: Locker Room.
Excellent.
The walk was brief, but Kris found himself tense, ready to explode--like a tightly coiled spring--the entire time. He was doing what he'd been planning to do for weeks: he was walking through the subterranean halls of Café 42, minutes from wreaking permanent havoc on it and its employees.
He focused, again, when he came to the male locker room's door. Listening, for a moment, the tiger shrugged his shoulder; his heavy, packed duffel bag barely shifted. Again, luck was on his side--he was apparently alone.
Still, Kris took no chances when he entered. He opened the door and slipped in, as quickly and quietly as possible, and only lowered his guard in the slightest when a thorough check of the room and its attached restroom returned no signs of life.
Things were going relatively well, so far, the tiger reflected, as he rapidly started to take his clothes off. Once he'd stripped to the boxers, rust orange fur and stripes bare, he opened his duffel bag again, and pulled a new set of clothes out--the ones he'd bought for just this purpose.
The pants Kris had purchased were a rather good pair of slacks, designed to remain neatly creased even if used roughly. Kris had purchased them in a size larger than he normally might have; he couldn't let even the slightest band of his telltale orange fur show--his tail was concealed by the pants' left leg.
Black socks and a pair of boots that could pass as dress shoes, from a distance, finished covering him from the waist down. After tucking in an undershirt--the one article of clothing he intended to wear in Café 42 that wasn't black--Kris put his belt on, and buckled it into place.
His head snapped up a second later, ears angled forward and powerful feline nose twitching. His flesh crawled under his fur; he had no time to hide his gear and person.
The door opened, admitting in a skinny human about his height and age. Kris stared at the male for a few seconds before sharply turning away. Mind working at light speed, he considered his next move.
He looked over his shoulder at the human. The Café 42 employee had pulled off his shirt, revealing a scrawny physique; Kris could see the unmistakable outline of ribs under his pale skin. His dyed red hair was neatly cut to about six centimeters long, and, as he'd entered, Kris had noted that his eyes were ice blue. This was no native Swede, Kris believed--he was probably looking at a Brit or Scot; probably a student studying abroad at his own school and working part-time at Café 42.
Regardless of his race and occupation, his fate had been sealed the second he'd seen Kris's face.
The human fumbled with the zip of his pants, flinching in pain as his finger became trapped in between its teeth. It occurred to him--he'd never actually seen the other male in the locker room before. Maybe the tiger was a new employee? Beings of his race--whatever it was--were quite rare in Sweden. If he'd seen the feline before, he was sure that he'd remember it.
With that thought in mind, the human turned, intending to greet the unfamiliar male. But before he was halfway around, Kris lashed out with all the force of a thunderbolt.
The tiger formed his right paw into a vicious sort of scythe, striking the side of the male's neck with the flesh alongside his second metacarpal bone. If the human reacted in any significant manner to that, Kris didn't notice it--his attack continued.
He twisted his hips, throwing the entire weight of his body into the next strike. His fisted left paw dug into the human's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him--he was probably unconscious by that point, but Kris wasn't taking any chances.
Kris's left palm braced itself against one side of the human's jaw. He reached around with his right paw to grab the human's head--and, a moment later, the tiger viciously pulled with his right paw, pushing with his left. A sickly, wet snap signaled that he'd broken the teenager's neck.
The tiger realized and accepted that he'd taken his first life within seconds and without a trace of remorse. He released the body from his arms just long enough to retrieve his pistol from the duffel bag and slide it into his waistband.
A moment later, Kris was emotionlessly hauling the cold, lifeless human towards the several stalls attached to the locker room. Entering one, the tiger took advantage of the muscle he'd packed onto his frame in recent weeks, and hefted the corpse onto the toilet's tank.
The body drooped, but didn't slide off. Kris nudged it several times, but it didn't budge--satisfied, the tiger turned, and latched the stall's door shut so that it couldn't be opened from the outside.
Then, the tiger slid out from underneath the door, a maneuver made somewhat less speedy and fluid by the automatic handgun at his waist. He looked around, briefly, mostly for signs of what he'd just done and other furs--but he was still alone. And there wasn't a drop of blood on the floor.
Kris was relieved to see that the human had placed all of his possessions into his locker before he'd been killed. All the tiger had to do to completely cover his tracks was shut the painted metal door with his elbow.
His paws weren't shaking in the slightest, he observed, as he resumed dressing. A black shirt soon covered the tiger's chest; he didn't tuck it in. After packing up his other set of clothes, the tiger didn't bother with gloves or the remaining article of clothing in his duffel bag, either. Knowledge and the pistol in his waistband would see him to his next objective.
The first staircase Kris ascended led him to Café 42's ground floor--he entered the outer hallway, looked right, then left, then made his way toward the second staircase. This one would bring him up to the second floor, and, from there, it was just one more staircase to Café 42's third floor.
With his left paw, Kris held his duffel bag against his hip as he moved, knowing that the less sound he made the better off he was. He kept his right paw at his waist, just in case he had to draw and fire his GLOCK in short order.
As the tiger jogged up the stairs, his mind worked rapidly, eyes darting back and forth so that he could constantly evaluate and re-evaluate his plans with a constant influx of new data. He tried not to dwell on the fact that things hadn't quite gone off without a hitch--he'd killed someone that he hadn't planned to. That was sloppy.
It occurred to Kris that any reasonable psychiatrist would have immediately categorized him as a bona fide psychopath if they knew that the only negative emotions he'd garnered from killing another living, breathing, thinking being for the first time were due to the fact that the killing in question was a wrench in his schemes.
It also occurred to Kris that he didn't care. Because he didn't plan on undergoing a psychiatric evaluation anytime soon.
The tiger had read a number of books on the grim task of killing, and knew how to cope with whatever emotions might arise in him next. He expected a mix of horror, sickness, and guilt--but felt nothing. That was disturbing. But for the moment, it was also very functional.
He'd arrived at the third floor unnoticed, it seemed, and that was good. Kris paused before a door, leaning up against it--he didn't want to come up on anyone suddenly. Killing in an open hallway was a risk he certainly didn't want to take.
His keen ears indicated that the coast was clear, and the tiger planned his next move down to the step. He spent a second drawing his pistol, then shut his eyes, psyching himself up. He'd have to be dynamic, swift, silent--like a tiger. He could do this.
Kris opened the door rapidly and looked down the hallway to his right--none of the dozens of doors that lined it were open. So, not wasting a second, he turned to his left and moved forward.
There was another door in front of him; it was cracked open so that anyone inside wasn't completely isolated from Café 42's brothel floor, as Kris had come to think of it. Somewhat brighter lighting than the dull, intimate orange haze outside that prevented furs not gifted with good night vision from tripping over themselves leaked through the transient gap. The room was occupied.
Hiding his pistol behind his thigh, Kris opened the door perhaps thirty degrees, and looked in. He only saw the somewhat built, middle-aged snow leopard-wolf seated at a desk for a second before raising his pistol and firing a single shot.
The tiger heard a soft snap-hiss, saw a spray of blood--and before his spent casing had hit the ground, he was inside and had shut the door behind him.
Kris's breathing and heart rate were somewhat elevated, but his mind was clear. He had enough of his wits about him to dive forward and roll so that he came up behind the desk with his pistol raised--only to see that his first bullet of the night had entered the older male via his forehead.
Satisfied, Kris stood and made his way back to the door. He locked it--and allowed himself to release a tense breath. Things had gone as planned.
The blueprints he'd appropriated so long ago were now very much destroyed, but they'd served their purpose. Kris knew exactly where he was; he'd known the security room's layout before he'd entered it. And he also knew what he'd find in it.
The digital security system was modern but simple. It accepted video feed from Café 42's cameras--they kept a watch over the club's perimeter as well as the entrances and exits. It was quite likely that Kris had been captured entering the area, but that wouldn't be a problem for much longer.
The tiger was quite tech-savvy, so it didn't take him longer than a minute to figure out that the machine was DVD based. He rewound one camera's recorded video far back enough to see that by destroying the DVDs currently behind written, he'd be more than safe.
Kris ejected the narrow disc, held it in his paws, for a minute, marveling at how damning a piece of evidence it could be if ever found. A moment later, the tiger had shut off all of Café 42's cameras and unplugged the security machine itself.
But he knew better than to get cocky, and after depositing the DVD into his duffel bag, Kris looked at his watch. He nodded--he was doing quite well on time. Maybe he'd even be able to catch more of the movie that he'd expected.
Now, though, was the longest and most difficult part of his task. Kris pulled out his gloves, rifle, vest, and holster--then, he checked all of his gear; everything needed to be working exactly right in order for things to continue to go well. Hefting his AR-15 with his left paw, Kris worked the charging handle several times--the gleaming black metal parts slid past one another again and again until the tiger decided that they wouldn't fail him.
Slowly, with the precise malice of an executioner, Kris began to dress. First, he put on his holster--the drop-thigh carrying rig would keep his GLOCK at paw's reach for the next half-hour. He placed the pistol into it, and slipped the retention catch on. It fit perfectly.
Next, the tiger put on his vest. It had already been prepared; five of its pockets were full of magazines loaded with subsonic ammunition, though Kris didn't anticipate using nearly that many rounds. Still, it paid to be prepared.
His rifle went on next; it clung neatly to his torso thanks to the three-point sling he'd purchased from his Russian connection. Kris practiced raising and lowering it several times, transitioning to his weak paw and his sidearm--then, he released the carbine, and put on his gloves.
They fit his paws perfectly, and, after he buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves over their gauntlets, not a centimeter of his exotic, orange fur showed.
Except for his face. But for that, Kris was prepared.
He felt through his duffel bag, for a moment--then pulled out a black wool ski mask. The tiger's vision briefly went dark as he pulled it over his head, tugging at it a few times until no creases in its cloth remained. His distinct Dravidian features were concealed--only his deep green eyes were visible.
Kris paused--then tilted his head. His gaze was focused on something that the man he'd just killed had had his paw on before the tiger's bullet had separated him from life--it was a chain of keys. A rather large chain of keys.
The tiger couldn't believe his luck. Every one of the little instruments were labeled; each correlated with one room on Café 42's highest floor. He now would have unhindered access to every single one of them.
But Kris didn't smile. His expression was still cold, even as he clipped the keychain to a carabiner attached to his combat vest and strapped them under an elastic band so they didn't jingle as he moved. There were no mirrors nearby, but the tiger could imagine how he looked, black from head to toe, armed with an automatic rifle and pistol--he looked like a mass murderer.
In just a few minutes, he would do his appearance justice.
Kris's height was rather disguised by the way he moved. He crouched, partially, rifle at his shoulder, and took large, rolling steps to change his position. This routine was a bit difficult to get used to--but the tiger had practiced and now found it as natural as walking normally.
His heart was beating just a little faster than it might at resting rate, but that was alright. As long as the tiger didn't panic, he'd be fine.
His almost froze up, though, when he reached forward with his left paw to open the first door. Kris swallowed, and struggled to calm down--this was nothing. He was going to shoot two unarmed targets at close range while they were distracted--if anyone was in the room at all. And since Café 42 was far from operating at full capacity, it was quite likely that most of the rooms on the third floor would have no one in them.
Kris didn't take any chances, though. He shut his left eye, sighting down the forend of his rifle, holding the weapon against his shoulder. A single scream was all it might take to spoil his plans--and his life.
It still took the tiger a moment of staring at the stained wooden surface before him before he finally felt ready to move. Slowly, Kris began to apply a bit of pressure to the knob in his paw... and then he opened the door.
He held his rifle with both paws before the door had fully swung aside to admit him--he looked left, right, up, down, but the room was empty. The bed was made, and there were no personal effects in plain view--so Kris shut the door, quietly, and moved on.
Just as carefully as before, the tiger opened the next door he came to carefully, slowly. But just as before, the room was empty; there were no signs of life.
This anticlimactic routine was repeated thrice--but Kris didn't grow frustrated and his form did not falter. He was still careful and quiet, finger hovering above the trigger of his rifle every second.
The tiger was about to open the next door when he paused--there was activity inside, he was sure of it. Although every room on the third floor had been soundproofed, not much could escape his keen ears. Kris leaned forward, resting his cheek against the sleek wooden surface before him. Soon, his eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than deep green, malevolent slits.
Kris stood, and tested the door's knob--it was locked, of course. So, with his left paw, the tiger began to go through the keys he'd found, one by one, eyes flitting between the chain of instruments and the door--just in case the furs behind it were finished.
Soon, the tiger held up a key that matched the number inscribed at the side of the door. It was a bit difficult for him to slide the key into its slot; despite how well he was doing, he was still shaking. He'd never killed before that day, after all.
Finally, though, the key entered and when Kris turned it, he felt the lock open with a soft clack. Carefully, gaze not wavering from the door for a second, the tiger secured the keychain again, then held his AR's foregrip with his left paw.
Kris opened the door. The two whores and the male that had rented them would never know who had killed them.
Thanks to the fact that they were laying in bed, side by side by side, it was cub's play for Kris to fire three shots--the two whores' heads caved in from the power of the subsonic 6.8mm bullet the tiger had fired. His last shot was a bit off: it struck the male's throat.
Kris considered firing another round into the man's head, but decided against it. Awed, Kris lowered his rifle to watch as the male began to suffocate on his own blood. He listened to the soft, gurgling, rasping sounds of confusing, gory death for a minute before shutting the door.
The tiger's mind briefly stayed fixed on the growing but already massive bloodstain on the bed. He'd never seen so much blood before, he realized. ...It was a moment before he could check the next door.
Very quickly, Kris found himself falling into the routine he'd planned for himself--test door; if open, check; if closed, unlock, enter, clear. At first, he tried to snap himself out of it--then he realized that if he actually concentrated on what he was doing, he would be unable to complete his task.
The first hallway was finished. Kris had gone through each of its twenty-four rooms, and, he realized, Café 42 was so empty that he'd only been able to kill ten people so far in total. The grisliness of his offhand manner of counting the deaths he'd caused didn't occur to him--he jogged back to the security room, having no desire to be around the main stairwell at the end of the first corridor any longer than was absolutely necessary.
The tiger then made his way to the second hallway. The first eight rooms were clear, but the ninth knob Kris attempted to turn was locked--he took out the corresponding key, released the mechanic catch, and prepared to move.
After listening for a moment, the tiger's brow was furrowed. He couldn't hear any activity inside, and it seemed extremely unlikely that the whore inside and her user were sleeping together--cost aside, that was just unprofessional. He'd have to be extra, extra careful on this one.
The lack of bright light in the hallway, though, meant that Kris's dark clothing helped him blend in quite well. That was some comfort, but more comforting was the powerful rifle in his paws. Glancing down, the tiger checked how full his magazine was--he still had at least fifteen rounds, by his count, and that would be more than enough for one room, regardless of how silent it was.
Kris hyperventilated as quietly as he could, attempting to flood his lungs with oxygen. He felt his blood flowing through his veins, the complex, interconnected systems that formed his body working at optimal capacity--then, he opened the door.
Only one fur was on the bed, and a second after putting a bullet through his head, Kris realized that it was a male. But the whore was nowhere in sight--and that was bad.
The tiger entered the room, rapidly peering around, searching for the female--but the one part of the room he couldn't see was the area right next to the door, the area hidden when it opened. This was where the room's chest of drawers were--and perusing through it, looking for a maid's costume was the whore.
She screamed so loudly that Kris jumped a clear meter into the air, accidentally snapping off five rounds uselessly into the bed's headrest. Scrambling to turn, he thought to kick the door shut, but his rifle's muzzle collided with the drawers; he couldn't angle it around to shoot the whore.
She was still screaming, and Kris's face twisted into a vicious sneer as he dropped his carbine and went for his pistol. He snapped it up and fired twenty or so shots into the whore's head and upper chest--before he realized that she'd finally stopped screaming.
The tiger's heart was racing, and he fumbled to reload his pistol--he dropped the spent magazine, and pawed around on the floor for a minute to recover it. After struggling to holster the automatic, Kris lifted his rifle--he thought saw motion, and, before he realized what he was doing, he'd fired another three shots into the male's head.
Jumpy couldn't begin to describe the tiger, just then, as he reloaded his carbine as slowly as possible, trying to keep his paws from shaking too much. He checked himself over for blood, then realized that it didn't matter. When he was finished, he reminded himself, his current set of clothes would be destroyed.
Kris realized that he hadn't shut the door completely, and quickly proceeded to do so. Still breathing quite hard, he leaned up against the hard wooden surface with his rifle in paw--it was simply too much to hope that the screaming had gone entirely unnoticed.
The tiger utterly wasted the next three minutes waiting for the alarm to be raised--but nothing happened. Hardly believing his good luck, Kris slowly peeked into the hallway. No one was there--certainly there was no crowded mass rushing for the nearest exit, screaming the whole while.
Coolly, the tiger slipped past the door, shutting it behind him. He felt no remorse, so far, and that was good--it meant that he was less likely to hesitate when it came time to kill his mother... though he still didn't quite want to think about that.
But he kept focused. The blackened silhouette of his form was hardly visible from either end of the hallway as he glided back and forth with the malicious precision of a phantom or angel of death--and for the ten whores and ten customers he brought down without feeling an ounce of regret, he may as well have been.
Kris looked at his watch again. He nodded to himself. His timing was very good so far, but that didn't mean that he ought to get cocky. Though he was nearly halfway done, anything could happen. The tiger adjusted his mask, sensing that a patch of the orange and white fur of his neck was visible-yes, anything could happen.
He was about to lean against the door that he was due to enter next when he froze, staring forward at the all too close opening of the hallway. Voices were coming--voices, and footsteps. A whore and her john, in all likelihood.
Kris scrambled to take his key out, nearly dropping it as he jammed it into the hole, turning it rapidly. Fortunately, the room's occupants were sitting on the bed when he entered, sharing a French-style kiss--the tiger managed to bring them both down with one bullet that neatly cut through the male's cerebellum, passing through to smash through the whore's left eye.
The tiger didn't pay attention to the somewhat dissonant sound of his rifle's report, for once, and simply shut the door behind him--quietly. For good measure, he locked it, as well and then listened closely, placing his gloved finger outside of his rifle's trigger-guard.
The couple that was making its way to a nearby room, it seemed, was one that had existed for quite some time... in a manner of speaking. The whore was Dutch--Kris could tell from her accent. Her buyer sounded like any middle-aged man might, and that made Kris bare his teeth. In all likelihood, he was listening to a husband betray his wife.
He continued to pay attention to their overtly sexual talk, hearing not the words but where they were coming from. Once he heard another door shut, the tiger glanced back, behind him, as if to ensure that the two furs he'd just shot through the head really were down for the count.
Then, he was back in the hallway. The tiger used his nose to follow the lingering scent track left by the vixen; she smelled decidedly different from the snow leopard-wolves native to Sweden. So did Kris, for that matter, but, like most furs, he used several powerful deodorants. The vixen probably felt that her scent was just another way to advertise herself.
And, every day other than that, it might have been wise.
Somewhat annoyingly, Kris had to backtrack a bit to get to the room that the two were using. Listening at the door for a moment to ensure that he had the right room, Kris carefully unlocked the door--by then, the motion was familiar enough that he could do it while looking down either side of the hallway in case he was bothered again.
Kris tensed himself up before preparing to enter--the two furs on the other side of the door might be slightly more aware about the world around them than the others he'd encountered that day. And even the slightest slip-up could put a very abrupt end to the tiger's mission, so to speak--or his life. He'd had too many close calls for the day to be in the mood to play around anymore.
The tiger wrenched the door open in a single deft move, and pushed, throwing his entire weight forward. He intended to be in the room and open fire within a second--but he wasn't as prepared as he'd thought.
Though Kris was now somewhat built and therefore significantly heavier than most males in the world--including his target--he almost fell back when the door jammed against something after opening perhaps ten degrees.
The john, it seemed, hadn't yet gotten his shoes off. The thick, heavy rubber of their soles had firmly stopped the door dead--the male hadn't even been moved; his shoes' carefully designed material had absorbed most of the shock of the collision.
Kris was left with no alternative but to take a step back from the door and snap up his rifle. Standing in a powerful, forward-oriented stance, the tiger opened fir. He emptied a third of his magazine into the door, blasting splinters out to rest in the hallway along with the still smoking brass ejected from his gun. His ears folded back from the racket, but Kris waited only a second after he'd stopped firing before getting against the door and planting his feet.
Although the tiger's activities were met with resistance again, this time his opposition wasn't insurmountable. As Kris muscled the door open just wide enough to squeeze through, he looked down and saw the unmistakable stain of blood streaked along the same arc that the door had just traversed.
For a moment, the tiger looked down the sights of his AR-15 to insure that both of his targets were down. After staring at each of their cold, lifeless faces, Kris decided that his wild shots had managed to score fatal hits.
Kris was back in the hallway after that, but he'd left the door open. He bent down to scoop up the ejected casings from his fusillade and tossed them into the room, always keeping a paw on his rifle and always glancing up and around when he could-- being seen wasn't something Kris could afford.
However, a moment later, the tiger had completed his task without event. After shutting the door from the outside, he noted that one would only notice the series of bullet holes that covered it if they got very close or were very observant. Thanks to the lighting of Café 42's highest floor and the reasons people frequented it, they were likely to go unnoticed... at least, until the entire neighborhood was locked down and the SSG was called in.
Grimly, the tiger kept at his task. And fifteen minutes later, he was almost finished.
For some reason, Kris remembered an event that had occurred years ago, when he was a cub--only twelve years old or so. This was a time when skateboarding had suddenly and inexplicably become the most popular thing with young, Swedish males. With Klaus and Patrik, he'd gone to a popular local skatepark.
His mother had dropped them off, Kris recalled. And that had been one of the few times he was so excited that he didn't turn to her and give her either a kiss or hug goodbye.
Perhaps, then, karma was what had happened to him that day--not just simple bad luck.
Kris had dislocated his shoulder that day. He didn't remember precisely how it had happened, as he checked the magazine of his rifle, then replaced it with a fresh, fully loaded one. All the tiger remembered was taking a jump rather above his skill level and leaving his skateboard in midair.
The impact when he'd landed was so intense that Kris recalled blacking out, for a moment. And then, when he'd come to, he remembered looking down at his arm, and wondering how on Earth it could be in such a strange position, and why Patrik and Klaus were running toward him, yelling something...
The tiger shook his head, rapidly. There were only a few rooms left; he was on his last hall. And he hadn't found his mother yet. But he couldn't let himself get distracted or complacent--anything could happen, no matter how much he wanted to let go of himself, and allow the cruel machine within him that pulled the trigger over and over and over again to take over completely.
Perhaps Neha had taken the day off, for some reason. If that was so... Kris shook his head again. If that was so, he'd handle it later.
The next room was clear. The one after that had a lone whore, texting on her bed, either recovering from a long bout of intercourse or just being lazy. Kris shot her between the eyes and left without a second glance.
The tiger looked at his watch and shortly nodded to himself. He was still running ahead of schedule. But he couldn't spare a few minutes to stop and collect himself. The only thing allowing him to keep doing what he was doing was the fact that he specifically was not allowing himself to appreciate the gravity of his actions.
Kris made his way to the next door. It was the same as the rest on the third floor; wooden and thick and nondescript. After checking the knob, the tiger took out his keys, and prepared to kill again.
After the lock had been undone, he rested his keen ear against the door for a moment--yes, the room was occupied. Kris could hear the flapping thuds and loud moans of raunchy coitus, and audibly, angrily hissed, for a moment, before preparing to enter.
Roughly, Kris shoved the door open with his left arm. Before it had swung completely open, he had his paw back on his foregrip and was looking down the familiar iron sights of the rifle into the room.
Everything was the same, at first. The bed, the carpet, the window, the walls... but the door was still opening. And as Kris stepped in, he saw the mating couple for the first time.
The male's legs were covered by a blanket, as was his union with the female along with at least part of her rump. The couple preferred a cowgirl position, it seemed--one that put the whore in charge, sitting on top of her customer. The lighting made Kris pause, for a second, to get his aim perfectly right--and that was what saved his mother's life.
By the time the tiger saw the telltale, symmetrical stripes running down the female's slim, orange frame, his finger was already making its short journey down the trigger. His eyes widened, and, with a burst of effort, he managed to adjust his aim--
He could feel his mother's pain and confusion as three bullets punched through a fist-sized region above her right hip. They exploded out of her fur with a spray of blood, drilling a messy three dot line into the male's upper chest, severing his pulmonary artery. Before the snow leopard-wolf could realize that the fluid filling his chest was his own blood, Kris had killed him with a coup de grâce.
The tiger entered the room, fully, shutting the door behind him a moment before his mother started to scream in agony and terror. He'd never heard such a terrible sound before, he realized, and only how numb he'd been for the past half hour kept him from losing his mind then and there.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother turn, through her pain, to face her attacker. She kicked against the bedsheets to get as far away from him as possible, and Kris knew that he had no right to be hurt by that. After all, he'd just shot his own mother.
Searching through the drawers, common to all the rooms on this floor, Kris found only lingerie, condoms, and toys, many of which were so devious in nature that he shuddered to touch them much less imagine his own mother using them. He could hear her hyperventilating behind him and winced, horribly. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. He didn't know what made him think he had the conviction to do it in the first place.
She said something, then, that Kris never heard. He'd found what he was looking for.
Everything had started with Neha's cell phone, he thought as he took the small, sleek device into his paw, weighing it for a moment. And it seemed that everything would end with it as well.
Kris tossed the somewhat heavy unit into the air, snapping his rifle up and aiming for just a second before causing a sparking explosion of digital parts to litter the room. Neha screamed again, and Kris stared at her, for a minute, with such intensity that she froze.
Swedes, as a relatively homogenous group, almost universally had brown or blue eyes. Only one or two that Kris had ever seen had hazel or gray eyes, and none had green eyes. Certainly, none had eyes as dark and green and intense as his. That's why a second after his mother's jaw began to drop, Kris realized that she wasn't staring back into his eyes--she was staring back at his eyes.
Turning away, using a paw to conceal those distinctive green orbs, the tiger stiffly walked back into the hallway. He could feel his mother's guarded hope following him, but as he shut the door behind him, barely inserting the key into its hole with shaky, disoriented paws, turning it halfway and then breaking its handle of with a powerful but well-aimed kick so that it couldn't be removed, he made it clear that the gale had not yet passed.
Neha knew almost nothing about how to treat a gunshot wound, and hers was grievous. Weakly, after covering herself, she'd attempted to use her blankets to stop the bleeding, pressing on the three or so holes in her lower torso. But the motion was of little use.
The tigress felt helpless--useless--as she sat, legs crossed, on the bed in her room. When not filled with lust and activity, the dark, thick walls seemed to press in against her. She felt cold and alone, horribly so--she wanted her son, her husband, anybody.
One tear spilled from her eye. Then another. She made no attempt to stop them; she simply couldn't have mustered the energy to do so if she'd wanted to.
Regardless, Neha's mind was still working. Surely, there must have been some trick of the light--perhaps it was due to the flowery explosion burned into her vision by the killer's gunshot. Whatever it was, it had caused her to mistake his eyes for the unmistakable, deep green orbs that had been only her son's for his entire life.
Several moments later, she heard something move outside. By then, blood loss had weakened her to the point that movement and thought was difficult. She was going to die, unless she managed to induce a jolt of adrenaline to run through her veins and receive medical care--soon.
Neha looked at the door. And, for a moment, nothing happened.
Then, it was hit with such force that despite the deadbolt half-locked into position, it was smashed open with a brutal, loud crunch. Neha didn't scream, not even as she watched the figure outside re-enter the room, movements precise, malicious, cold.
He leveled his rifle at her for a moment. Neha merely looked back. Her expression wasn't one of sadness, nor of anger--she'd accepted her fate. Talking wouldn't do any good, nor would screaming nor would fighting back. All that was left for the tigress to do was to die in a dignified manner... or, as dignified of a manner one could manage while in a whore's uniform in a brothel.
The killer was tall, she noted. Tall and broad-shouldered and dressed in black from head to toe. She couldn't smell him, not really--he apparently used deodorant similar to the one that Kris did. It was an American brand, she recalled, and very popular among young Swedish males.
"You should do whatever it is that you want to do quickly," the tigress rasped, as the killer stepped forward, lowering his rifle. "I'll die soon."
He stopped moving perhaps one meter from the edge of the bed. It was almost like he was battling with himself, though Neha couldn't see the pupils of his eyes dilate and flicker back and forth--the room's lighting didn't allow for it. Not from her position.
"Why did you do this?" Neha asked, a moment later, when the killer still had neither spoken nor moved a centimeter. "You killed... so many people. Why?" the tigress asked. Her voice changed with the last word, not drastically so, but the slight inflection carried with it an unmistakable measure of desperation and confusion. "So much death... for what? Money? And why haven't you finished me--to make me suffer? I don't even know you! What could I have done to deserve this?"
The killer didn't move, not for a few moments. He just kept staring at Neha, so continuously that despite everything, the tigress felt her tail lash about, sluggishly. She looked away and winced in pain, once, but saw that somehow... she wasn't bleeding as much anymore. Could it be... could she survive? Could she live to see Kris again, to hold him and cradle him, feeling the strength in his shoulders and chest again? Could she look into those deep green eyes, that beautiful, angular, orange and white and red furred face that was only her son's? The face so, so similar to the one now bared before her, as the killer took off a black knit ski-mask?...
Neha stared at him for a moment. She literally could not believe her eyes, not even after blinking and rubbing her eyes quite roughly, then staring at him again. There was no way--she was confused. That wasn't Kris...
"Mother."
That smooth, deep voice, speaking Swedish with no accent yet with a tone and inflection that was only its own. That curly mass of black hair, perhaps eight centimeters long if pulled taut, otherwise, three loopy centimeters long on average. That cleanly shaven, dark orange and white ruff, laced with thick stripes so perfect in design they may as well have been etched into his fur by an artist. Those deep, dark, green eyes...
"Yes, Kris?"
Was that her soft, tired, exhausted, beaten voice speaking? Surely, it was. There was no one else in the room but for her and her son... there was no one else that could have been responsible for this.
She looked away from him after he started to slowly, noiselessly glide towards her. She tried to get up--but only got as far as swinging her legs over the side of the bed before she reached the limits of her energy, only barely remaining upright.
He was next to her, looking down at her. That deadly, menacing rifle--he wasn't holding it, but his paw was resting on its handle. Was it a threat? Or was he simply controlling the weapon, preventing it from aiming itself and pulling its own trigger to put a bullet into her brain? That must be it--and now, Kris was going to explain to her how everything was a giant misunderstanding. He, certainly, had not been on a killing spree. Not him, not her Kris. Not for any reason in the world.
She felt him sit down next to her. The bed depressed, but the tigress turned away from the source of the slight shift. Idly, she stroked her hair with one paw, almost as if he was just a little cub again that had eaten a cookie before dinner--she was punishing him by ignoring him, because she couldn't bring herself to verbally castigate him.
"Mother..."
Neha's ear twitched, once. Then, slowly, she turned to her son. She never could ignore him for long, not even when he'd done wrong, when he spoke to her in such a desperate, needing tone, as if he wouldn't be able to go on with life if she wouldn't look at him and speak to him again.
The tigress looked into Kris's eyes. She'd raised a very good-looking son, she realized--his prominent jaw, his sleek but fluffy fur, his perfectly colored and marked coat, and, of course, those eyes, just a few shades darker than her own--everything blended together, perfectly. He was her own perfect little cub, and he always would be. No matter if he'd shot her.
She reached out with a trembling paw, intending to run her fingers through Kris's ruff for just one last time. Her strength failed, though, and her paw fell, though not far. Kris caught it in, and, guessing what his mother wanted, pressed it into his own cheek.
For a long, long time, mother and son simply sat next to one another on the bed. Gradually, Neha began to lean against Kris until the majority of the tigress's slight body weight was resting against the tiger's powerful shoulder. He'd wrapped his arm around her, holding her, gently, and her paw hadn't left his cheek since he'd set it there.
At one point, Kris started to purr, softly, but deeply. It wasn't constant, but Neha knew that when her entire body was vibrated at a low, reverberating frequency, it was because her son was happy. That made her smile.
"Kris..." The tigress's voice was a whisper. It was as loud as she could manage to speak, but she couldn't make her tone light and gentle as much as she'd wanted to. "Kris..." she said, "how did you find out about... all this?"
She knew why he'd done it, and she'd already forgiven him for it. She had nothing to say in her defense, and she didn't want to leave the world scolding her son. He'd made his decision, just like she'd made hers--all that was left for Neha to do was to try to make his life after this as easy as possible, because no matter what, it would be as cold and lonely as the nation she'd lived in for the past twenty three years.
"It wasn't easy," Kris said softly. His cheek, the one in which his mother's paw wasn't buried, was resting against the soft, sleek sea of hair on top of her head. She had marvelous hair, thick and sleek--almost like his, though Kris had inherited his hair's curliness from his father.
"I had to do a lot of detective work... a lot of snooping around. To get the firearms, I had to see a very dangerous man," the tiger murmured. "I'm glad it's all over."
"Mmm..." Neha agreed, even more quietly. "Don't... ever do something like this again, alright, Kris? I don't want you to be hurt."
Even in the end, she loved him, and that's what tore Kris's soul apart. He'd shot his mother because she was a whore, but her only concern, even then, as she lay in his arms, minutes from death, was his safety and wellbeing.
"Yes," the tiger rasped. He shut his eyes tightly, for a moment, but that didn't make it any easier for him to finally ask the only real question on his mind for the past several weeks.
"Mother," Kris said, "why?... why did you do this? You knew I would find out... I called your office. You quit... was it because of the money? You know that I wouldn't hesitate to get a part-time job to help you out, Mother. You should have told me. I would do anything for you, Mother. You know that..."
"I know." Neha's voice was proud, and warm, despite how frail and weak it sounded. She sighed--pausing abruptly, halfway through, before absently rubbing at her son's big, strong chest. "Don't think for a second that it was for your college, Kris--this wasn't about you. It was about me..."
She grimaced, coughing, pathetically--but, for her son, she kept speaking. She had to be quick, because she didn't have much time left.
"I've been without Nikhil for so long," the tigress said softly. "I... have never have stopped loving him, Kris. Every day when I wake up, I pray to a picture of him--yes, Kris, your mother is a superstitious old woman." She tried to laugh, but simply coughed again.
"It's so... horribly lonely," Neha whispered. "Kris, when your father died, I mourned for weeks... but after that, I could see that I was neglecting you... his beautiful, perfect son... my beautiful, perfect little Kris." She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder so softly, so affectionately--but Kris didn't react. He had to hear more.
"I became your mother, and nothing more. When you went to school... I didn't know what to do. I was... so, so lonely," Neha said. "Work seemed pointless... everything seemed pointless. I have no friends. No husband... and I only could see you once a week. It wasn't enough--no, Kris, it's not your fault. You have to be everything you can in life, because you're my only cub--you're your father's only cub. Don't let this old lady hold you back, son... but try to understand me, and forgive me, if you can. I needed... to believe that someone needed me. More than one person... Selling myself... it's not some horrible thing, like they show on TV, Kris." Neha shook her head slowly. "I don't take drugs, and no one owns me but me. I did this for myself, Kris, and for no other reason. I'm sorry that it hurt you so badly... but there's nothing I or you can do about who we are. Right? All we can do is forgive one another and love one another..."
She smiled, eyes shut, lightly, but finally. Already, the light behind those bright, light green orbs had faded and was in the process of being extinguished entirely.
"Kris, I'm not upset with you. What you've done... well, I hope the world is better because of it," she sighed, in a businesslike tone, as if her life was something to be dismissed, to be thrown away so easily. Feeling around for his paw, it was a moment before he moved, for the first time in minutes, caressing her small, furred appendage in his own.
They held one another like that for some time. For a very long time, in fact. Kris wasn't sure if his mother was living or dead, but he didn't want to let go of that small, soft, orange and black form--she was the only constant in his world. His mother had been there for him, always, and always would be... until he let her go.
"Kris..." Neha said, in an impossibly quiet tone--was it real? Or was Kris imagining it?
"Yes, Mother?" The tiger decided that it didn't matter. He wanted to speak to his mother.
"Kris, I love you, son. I always have, and I always will... just like your father."
"Yes," Kris rasped, again, before swallowing. He hugged his mother, tightly, for a moment, burying his face into her hair. For the first time that day, tears leaked from his eyes. "Mom, I love you too. I'm sorry..." He sobbed, dryly, shoulders shaking.
"Sh, sh, sh, Kris..." the tigress mumbled, words almost slurring together. "Kris, you have to be strong, alright? You have to keep living. Don't worry about me... don't cry, Kris. Why are you crying? I love you."
Slowly, the tiger managed to control himself. But he didn't stop hugging his mother.
Kris knew that in traumatic situations, the mind could intentionally create hallucinations as part of a self-preservations scheme. He waited-half-expecting his mother or even his father to help him--but nothing happened. Even in his mind, Kris was alone.
Numbly, he looked at his watch. He was still ahead of schedule, but only just. There wasn't much time to waste. Still, there were a few tasks that Kris had to do that couldn't be hurried.
His mother had slumped over on the bed--that was intolerable. Kris lifted her into his arms, biting his tongue so that he wouldn't break down again, and gently, respectfully, laid her out in a more natural position, next to her dead customer.
He noted, as he stepped back, checking the magazine of his rifle, that she still had a pulse. She was still breathing, though very shallowly and weakly. If he took her to a hospital, right then, she could have been saved.
Kris raised his rifle to his shoulder, centering its reticle on his mother's forehead. He was shaking, and couldn't hold his aim--so, after a moment, he gave up and walked back to the tigress.
She really was breathtaking, he realized, and he'd be very lucky if any daughters of his own, if he ever had them, were half as beautiful as she was. Fortunately enough, Kris had inherited most of her looks; her perfect fur, her facial structure... aside from the male/female dichotomy, he looked almost exactly like his mother. The only physical features he'd inherited from his father were his hair and height--besides those two traits, and the eyes that were his and his alone, he was only his mother's son.
He planted a kiss on her forehead--briefly, gently; a loving, final farewell. Then, Kris stepped back again.
And then, when he raised his rifle, he did not fail to pull the trigger.
"Back to the basement. Back to the locker room. Clean up. Leave."
How he managed to run back to the employee's stairway near the security room on the third floor, then down to the second, then first, then basement all without being spotted was a miracle in itself. The world spun around him, and, if he didn't know better, Kris would have said that he was drunk, drugged, or both.
Of course, it wasn't a substance that had thrown the tiger off so much. It was his own actions.
He made it to the basement in a daze, and looked around, blearily, for a moment, before remembering where to go. He staggered his way into a light jog, barely able to stand, much less engage a threat. Luck alone took him through the basement, back into the locker room.
Fortunately, by then, Kris was starting to regain some of his mind. He entered the white tiled room dynamically, prepared to take down anyone inside, but he was alone. After ascertaining this by entering the bathroom, and checking through the stalls, Kris forced himself to take a few deep breaths.
His heart was racing, much more than it would be if he was simply running--Kris struggled to get himself under control. This was getting to be the most risky part of the entire operation; if he messed it up, he was done.
First, Kris disarmed, taking off his rifle, pistol, vest, and holster. The weapons were left on the bench behind him, just in case he was disturbed. But no one entered the locker room while the tiger tended to his next task.
He changed his clothes, rapidly, switching the anonymous black mask, shirt, pants, and boots for his original clothing. He couldn't recall going back to the security room to retrieve his duffel bag, but he must have, because he found himself stuffing the black clothing back inside, paw colliding, painfully, with the DVD player stuffed into its bulky folds.
The next thing Kris did was shove in his vest and holster, as well. He'd reloaded his rifle--he confirmed this with a quick check--and that was vital to his plot for escaping without being noticed. By his reckoning, the next shift of employees was due in minutes; he hadn't managed to leave himself much of a margin for error.
The tiger unsuppressed his rifle, tossing the black can into the duffel bag along with his sidearm. After slinging the automatic carbine over a shoulder, he rummaged through the depths of the container for a moment before he found what he was looking for.
The untrained layman would have called the taped, wired mass that the tiger picked up, somewhat gingerly, a bomb. It was a fair assessment; after all, the wrapped package the wires were attached to did seem to hold sort of malicious substance--but it couldn't be a bomb. After all, Kris was just another kid in college--there was no way he could get the material and know-how to make a dangerous explosive.
Kris checked the strange device, briefly--it seemed to be in good order. Everything that needed to be connected was, and everything else wasn't. Perfect.
As he coolly, quietly jogged to the locker room's entrance, the tiger glanced at his watch again. Good--he was right on schedule, which meant that he wouldn't have as much time to second-guess, to unnecessarily double-check, to doubt himself. This part of his plans would have no second chances.
Kris opened the locker room door, but didn't enter the hallway--not quite. He went prone, transitioning his weapon to his weak paw, and lifted it to his left shoulder, before sighting down the bleak, dimly lit concrete passage before him. Café 42's basement was largely unfinished; the grungy, somewhat unattractive surroundings were reminiscent of an urban jungle level in some video game Kris had once played.
Ironically, this time around, the attackers that he would have to methodically mow down wouldn't be foreign terrorists or hardened criminals--they would be unarmed, peaceful cubs.
Just like Kris once was.
There were about ten of them, aged sixteen to twenty five. Most were males, but Kris saw three or four females--snow leopard-wolf hybrids with long, wavy light brown hair and blue or brown eyes. Most were probably students; a few might be between jobs or simply gaining experience for a real career. Perhaps a few had long-term plans involving Café 42, but Kris was going to cut all of their plans short.
He refused to feel guilt for what he was doing--immediately, anyway. These weren't just random pedestrians--these were individuals that tolerated prostitution so much that they accepted it and took employment at brothels. Ethically speaking, in Kris's mind, they were no different from the whores themselves.
They were still cubs, though. Children.
That made Kris hesitate for perhaps half a second--before his trigger finger twitched. This brief pause gave one of them--a secondary school student, it seemed--a second to wonder what on Earth someone was doing laying on the ground near the locker room, holding a--
Kris had already folded his ears back, but that didn't help much. The unsuppressed gunshots were loud, deafeningly so--when the tiger finally released the trigger, for the last time, he could only hear a dull ringing for a moment. It didn't stop him in the slightest, however, from getting to his feet, calmly reloading, for the last time, and marching his way to the freshly slaughtered bodies before him.
Blood was pooling everywhere, and, as Kris's hearing returned, it was clear that the killings hadn't gone unnoticed. He could hear shouting, mostly obscenities and fearful questions, echoing through the uninsulated basement--good, he'd been heard. This was all part of Kris's plan.
Still, he had to spend a few seconds checking the bodies now below him for any signs of life. Looming expressionlessly over the dead club employees, Kris again saw the grisly work his rifle had done on them--every single young adult had at least one messy, bloody hole in his or her skull. Never again would they rise.
That meant that it was time to move.
And Kris did so, though not with the cautious control he'd applied to all other activities that day--his sprint was unabashedly panicked.
In a second, the tiger was back in the locker room, diving towards his duffel bag. He ripped the rifle from his shoulders and shoved it into the bulky container, all the while imagining the police being called. Even then, a patrolling officer could be approaching from his post just at the edges of the red light district--as close to actual wrongdoing as the collective bribes of local entrepreneurs would allow.
Kris pulled out the strange, electronic-type device he'd completed only days before, and took a deep breath. Then, he quickly but carefully twisted one set of wires together and attached them to the power supply. A red LED light came on--the device was armed.
The tiger should have dropped it back into the bag, then, and left. That's what he'd intended to do for the longest time, but he couldn't--no, no, this was no time to change plans; he couldn't have any evidence of anything on him, ever, in case he was questioned or searched--
And yet with a sickening sense of defeat spreading through his form, Kris watched as his paw reached back into the bag, pulled out his GLOCK--still suppressed and loaded--and slid it into his waistband along with its extra magazines.
He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel, just then, as he left Café 42's locker room for the last time.
Well, of course, he knew that he was supposed to feel heat, and lots of it--his expectations were met, easily, as the several pounds of thermite and gunpowder he'd stolen in while creating the gale ignited: permanently, totally, irreversibly destroying everything within several feet of the duffel bag. Now, everything simply a loose collection of indefinable molecules.
Kris didn't turn. His only reaction to the violent explosion was mundane, really--he blinked, for a long moment, as the world behind him was consumed in the white-hot firestorm. The temperature in the basement was kicked up by several degrees, but by the time Kris would have heard any employees that hadn't yet cleared out shout again in terror and confusion, he was gone.
Moving in an odd, jerky fashion would have made Kris stand out, slightly, in a normal crowd of somewhat observant furs. Enraptured moviegoers, though, were another affair.
The tiger had planned things out perfectly; by the time he re-entered the cinema, the movie was hitting yet another climax, another seemingly last-second twist that caught everyone by surprise. Kris recognized the scene, in fact, as he quietly vaulted over the back row of seats into his own folding chair--he'd read a somewhat in-depth summary of the movie's plot several days before. That male, that one with the brown hair--that was the main character, and he was currently being betrayed by a former ally and friend.
As Kris reached down to the floor, robotically, his mind raced, searching for any incongruities, any little details that he may have forgotten--even the slightest slip-up, after all, could end his life as a free man. There was nothing, though; nothing that the tiger could think of, anyway, as his fingers tapped against his cell-phone. After picking the small device up and sliding it back into his pocket, Kris's paw brushed over the hard, rectangular shape in his waistband--there was the GLOCK, he reminded himself. But that was all.
The movie wore on, and, somewhat frighteningly, Kris found himself quite bored. He'd seen shows--American series, news segments--the most vilified of murderers and rapists were those that felt no guilt for their actions. These were the sociopaths: brutal males and females that could and on occasion did wipe out entire families for personal benefit.
Kris was different--at least in his opinion. His goal wasn't to achieve fame or fortune, or to bring about some political system--no, his goal was... ...was...
He had a goal. It just... wasn't quite the best time to think about it, or, in fact, anything else related to what he'd just done. The tiger glanced down--his paws were shaking; he did feel guilt and sadness and pain. He was just hiding them--even from himself--so that later, when he officially found out that his mother was dead, he could let everything out at once without worry.
All Kris had to do was to make it through the movie, he mentally repeated to himself, over and over and over again. The movie, then the ride home--then, he and Patrik, and every other person in Scandinavia, would turn on the news to find out that a horrible massacre had just been carried out not five minutes from where they had just been.
Patrik would call his parents. Kris would call his mother, or try to. He'd hang up, and, slowly, tell Patrik that he had no idea where the tigress was. And then, together, he and his friend would all but panic, irrationally assuming the worst, even before going through any amount of trouble to try to track down Neha. Perhaps they'd call what had once been her office building--Kris wasn't worried about the call he'd already made there, so long ago. Swedish privacy laws were on his side; his phone records had been wiped clean.
He was going to get away with this, he realized. His GLOCK--it was the one, slight incongruity that might prove... troublesome for him. But not very. Kris could hide it forever with a second of thought. Maybe in his mattress, for example--after all, it wasn't a self-defense weapon. He'd only use it after a great deal of forethought and planning, just like he'd used his rifle and his mask and his ammunition and his bomb.
"Dear God," the tiger thought to himself, watching, blankly, as an explosion rocked the movie screen in front of him. "Café 42... could be only the beginning."
The suspense-thriller ended perhaps twenty minutes later. Kris spent every one of them white-knuckled, despite his failure to quite understand what was going on.
"It was an excellent movie; perhaps the best I've seen in some months. Incredible. I still don't understand everything that went on entirely--I'll have to read a plot summary or something; I'm completely blown away. ...Kris, thanks for treating us to this--we all owe you."
There was a murmur of general assent, despite Otto's tendency to be just a little overdramatic at times. It was clear that Kris had really missed out by skipping the movie... ah, if only he'd decided to watch it, trashing his plans at Café 42. Then, he'd have seen a good flick, and he wouldn't be missing out on several more decades with his dear, loving, dead mother.
"No, no, don't mention it. It's my treat, yes?" the tiger said, after perhaps a second of hesitation, covered up by the fact that he was navigating around a female before him that had stopped in her tracks, deciding to answer a phone call. "It's my way of saying sorry... I've been so busy over the past few weeks. I know I haven't seen any of you much, so, this is my way of making up for it." He smiled at his friends, even going so far as to wrap an arm around Annika's shoulders and lightly snuggle against her, briefly rubbing the corner of his cheek and ruff against her head.
For some reason, as they began to exit the theater itself, people began to speak very loudly--Annika's ears flattened, and if she and her friends had anything to say in response to the tiger's brief monologue, he didn't hear it. There seemed to be a shared topic of conversation, she noted--perhaps it had to do with the dozens of police cars converging on a building at the fringes of the nearby party district in Stockholm. What was that massive, three story club? It didn't look familiar with its lights and music off, but with no less than fifty police officers already present, it had to be important... what was it, what was it...
"Hey," said Klaus as they walked on the tips of their toes, trying to peer over the sea of heads gathering at the edge of a hastily constructed police line. "We've been there before--that's Café 42," the hybrid said.
Like everyone else, Kris was staring, walking along slowly with his head tilted--until his eyes widened as he saw the first of many stretchers being carried out of the building.
"Oh my God," the tiger said quietly, "what's going on?"
It proceeded almost exactly like Kris had imagined that it would. He let go of himself so that the next several hours passed in a blur, only occasionally entering his being when chances were high that he'd make a slip-up and reveal himself.
The unthinkable didn't happen, though. Finally, after a harried night that ended late-- very late--he and Patrik resolved to rest. They'd get in contact with his mother in the morning... somehow.
Kris remembered laying awake in his bed for a long time that night. It wasn't that he couldn't go to sleep--he wanted to be unable to go to sleep. What kind of a man could go to sleep after killing his mother?
It was after breakfast that he officially found out that his mother was dead.
Kris and Patrik went to the cafeteria early, very early. The tiger had lost himself to sleep, although not very pleasant sleep--at least, that's what he would claim to himsef in the future. As he recalled, his sleep was pleasant, dreamless. One might call it the sleep of a guiltless, just man.
Hardly keeping track of what he was doing, Kris found himself sitting down with Annika and Patrik--Hannah, Klaus, and Otto lived on the other side of campus and usually ate at a private, off-campus mess hall at which they had membership. Everyone was awake early that day, and the tiger wasn't surprised--it was the age of communication, after all. Everyone in Europe had heard about the mass killing at Café 42.
The students and staff that could bring themselves to speak were in the minority, most everyone was silent out of shock or fear--those that did talk expressed a dreadful sense of awe at the fact that such a catastrophe had occurred in their own city, at a place many of them frequented.
For his part, Kris kept quiet. He wasn't the most social of people to begin with and in the aftermath of such a tragedy, no one was expected to say much. He shared a few words of sullen, somewhat shocked greeting with Anna before sitting down to eat a rather large bowl of oatmeal. It was bland, predictable, lukewarm--like he hoped the rest of his life would be.
Annika and Patrik sat side by side, leaving Kris at the opposite end of the four-person table they occupied. The tiger barely took notice of it, or, at least, that's what he thought. Such a little thing--it was a meaningless coincidence. It was no grim warning or prelude to a bitterly lonely life--that was impossible. Neha might have retained some religious superstitions through the years, but Kris did not.
Stockholm University was a very homogenous school--apart from the occasional Finn, Norwegian, or German, there were only Swedes in the cafeteria. There were a very few furs of Moslem Middle Eastern descent, here and there--but, as far as he knew, Kris was the only South Asian in the school. He was the only tiger by far--in fact, he'd never see another living tiger in Sweden again--never again.
Annika said something then--Kris didn't hear it, and it seemed that Patrik didn't either. The snow leopard-wolfess's attempt to lighten the mood of breakfast failed. Even as word was passed around that classes for the day had been cancelled, Kris didn't see anyone stand up or do anything at all, with any sense of cheer--much less smile.
He had caused all of this--he had. The amount of fear and sadness and stagnation that were the direct result of his actions made him sick to his stomach, but Kris felt a slight distinction in his mind: somehow, he felt no guilt. He felt sad, and sorry, and lonely, and cold, and a thousand other things, but he felt no remorse over what he had done.
Kris looked down. Unconsciously, it seemed, he'd stirred his oatmeal thrice clockwise, once counter-clockwise. His mother had always insisted on doing that in his cubhood--there was a reason, he knew there was, but he couldn't remember what it was. He doubted that it was religious--it was something more personal than that. Perhaps it had to do with his father, or perhaps there was some other reason why his mother thought it would being him good luck or something.
Thanks to what he'd done, he would never know.
Imperceptibly, Kris's ears flattened. There was an incalculably high number of things he would have learned from his mother if given the time and opportunity to do so--and the knowledge that she would be prematurely taken away from him. What made the hole in his heart mind-numbingly painful was the fact that she hadn't been taken from him--not really. He had taken her from him. He had taken her life. He had killed her.
Kris found himself wondering when, if ever, he'd truly accept that his mother was dead. Perhaps it was best to think about that later, or never--after all, it was Thursday. He had to pack his bags to prepare to go home tomorrow--
Ah, wait... no, he didn't. He didn't have to go home because there was no one to go home to.
He was holding his breath--he realized it, and forced himself to calmly, coolly rejuvenate his mind with a blast of oxygen. It didn't help.
Something made Kris look up. Perhaps it was a grim sense of facing his fate, or perhaps it was just him reacting to movement--after all, he was a predator deep in his heart, if his actions the night before made any more convincing necessary. Whatever it was made the tiger raise his head, slowly--and then freeze.
"Oi. Anna. Patrik." That was his voice, somewhat low, somewhat gravelly, although more raspy and curt than it normally was--it made the two snow leopard-wolves look up, wondering what had made their friend's deep green gaze fix itself on something directly behind them.
"That's the President of the school... and..."
Kris tilted his head, feigning confusion. By then, Anna and Patrik had turned around to watch as the blond-haired man--widely regarded around campus as an able but shy recluse--approached, flanked by two men in uniforms... uniforms that were decidedly not those of city police.
"SSG?" Patrik said. "Kris, those are SSG agents. But why are they here...?"
Anna turned to look at the tiger, but Kris didn't answer. All he could think of was the events of the night before--his mind raced; what clue could he have left behind? And, more importantly, what could he do now to save his free life? Everything was hidden; he couldn't even remember where he'd stashed his GLOCK the previous night.
Kris felt his heart start to race as the three men drew closer. He tried not to look into their eyes--he might lose what little control he had left and run. But if he did that, he'd surely be shot...
Forcing himself to ignore the approaching trio--they were approaching him, certainly; the tiger swore he saw them pause and share words when they saw him--Kris looked down at his oatmeal. It had gone cold, and no amount of stirring or prodding would bring life back into it.
Eventually, Anna and Patrik turned back around as well. There was no point in staring at the President and his decidedly odd company. They were probably... well, actually, neither of the two hybrids could think of any reason why SSG and the President of their school might have any reason to associate with one another--particularly in such a place, at such a time. A massacre had just occurred; surely SSG ought to be doing something about that instead of wandering around Stockholm University.
Regardless of what they thought, or what they told themselves they thought, their ears remained aimed behind them. That meant that when the three powerful figures got to within twenty feet of their table, making students glide out of the way and turn around to look at them from all over, Anna could ignore things no more.
She turned, slowly, a question on her lips. She opened her mouth but was kept quiet by a brief--not a glare, but a look, from one of the SSG operatives. Both of them were armed, she noticed, with large, blocky pistols holstered at their thighs. Anna wasn't afraid of weapons, not normally--her father was a casual hunter--but carrying arms in a school, after such a tragic event... what was going on? And why were they approaching her table...
Patrik turned around as well, but unlike Anna, he was unintimidated by the SSG agent's unspoken command. He looked the hazel-eyed male right back--with apprehension, yes, and confusion--but no fear. What was going on?
"Krishna D'Costa?" the President finally spoke. His voice was soft, yet Patrik knew that everyone in the cafeteria heard him. A few students had even taken out their cellphones to videotape whatever was going on.
"That's me, sir," the tiger said. His tail lashed around, behind him--and, unsure of what else to do, he stood. "Are you... am I... ...I... what's...?"
In response to Kris's half-questions, the President simply shook his head. He walked forward, stepping past Patrik, and set a paw on the tiger's far shoulder. He leaned forward, then, but Patrik and Anna--and hopefully no one else--heard him quietly ask the dark-haired male to come with him.
Apparently starting to feel somewhat frightened, Kris nodded. He meekly made to follow the President, smilin, in a somewhat pathetic manner at the two SSG agents--his friendliness was not reciprocated. Anna and Patrik both tried to catch his eye, but before they could even fully stand he was several yards away, ushered along by the President and the intelligence officers.
"Wait, just a moment," Patrik said in a purposefully loud but peaceful tone. This, he knew, was probably an SSG's worst nightmare--an assertive but calm, unarmed student, one that was unintimidated by a hard look--and one that was being filmed from at least two dozen different angles at once.
"Kris is our friend. If he's not in trouble... then we'd like to go with him, no matter what the problem is." Patrik found that his throat was dry. He swallowed, but that changed nothing, so he looked away from the SSG agents to the President. "Does this have anything to do with Kris's mother? We haven't been able to contact her since last night, do you know...?"
The SSG men didn't react in the slightest. The President, however... his face changed palatably, blatant remorse and pain shading his features. Patrik's eyes widened, though not by much--there was no way... but had something happened...?
"Yes, you two had better come along--no, they should come along," the President said, ignoring the "look" the SSG agents fixed on him when he said that. "Anna, and... I'm sorry, I don't know your name. Come along, come along. Quickly, please."
Patrik looked around, and understood the need for haste. He frowned, almost snarling--yes, cellphones had been used to expose crooks and corrupt officials for the better part of the 21st Century, but surely people could be less overt and rude. In disgust, he shook his head and glanced down at Anna.
"Come on," he said, and that was all it took. The snow leopard-wolfess was on her feet, following the males, barely, at a brisk walk--what was going on?
He took it well.
Well, at least, he seemed to, because neither Anna nor Patrik had ever been around any other twenty-year-old that had just been told that his mother was dead. Not only dead--killed, purposefully, taken from her son and the world by some crazy gunman--a sociopath that was still at large.
Patrik remembered freezing in his seat when the SSG men said those fateful four words: "Your mother is dead." For a full five seconds, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe--then, he looked at his friend. Kris had never had a father, but now, no mother, either?
The hybrid recalled that Kris had remained still in his seat for a long, long time. Or, at least, that's what it seemed like. He seemed to have died a little--his tail, usually writhing and twitching about with a life of its own fell still. It scarcely swayed, and Patrik had never, ever seen the tiger look so... so sad.
"You're... you're sure of this?" the tiger had asked, but before he was finished speaking, the SSG men had curtly nodded. Slowly, Kris nodded back, and then took an audible gasp of air. He looked down, for no apparent reason, and slouched in his seat.
The President's office was small, functional; it had the feeling of a room that almost never had six people in it at once. There were no seats for the SSG operatives, and the President had mentioned that he could fetch them if needed--but, silently, both men had shaken their heads, standing somewhat behind his desk with their paws clasped before them, watching as the three younger furs entered. Then, after being bidden to by the President, Anna, Kris, and Patrik had taken the three seats in front of the desk.
Now, the tiger spoke again, in a quiet, rasp of a voice. He didn't look up--he tried to, but failed, and resorted to speaking to his paws, his voice hardly audible to even his friends.
"How... when... did it happen?"
Then, the SSG men told him, in complete, graphic, detail. His mother had been killed at her work, they'd said, by the same murderous rampage at Café 42 that had left many other employees dead. They were professional to the core--the body count had not yet been officially released, though, by then, there had been plenty of time to confirm and reconfirm the pulses of the cold, blood-splattered bodies that had been strewn all about Café 42.
Kris, then, had actually looked up--he stood up, as well, confusion and tentative happiness making its way across his face. Almost panting, he spoke, looking, rapidly, from the President to the SSG members to his friends.
"The Café 42 Massacre?" he said, referring to the dreadful event that had already been named by Sweden's media and general populace. "Then, you've made a mistake. My mother doesn't work at Café 42. My mother never worked at Café 42. She's an accountant in SFB--she never went to Café 42."
But the SSG agents were already shaking their heads, slowly, looking at Kris without any trace of emotion. Patrik stood as well, head tilted, making his way to his friend's side--why were they so sure of themselves? There were no tigers in Stockholm; it was natural for them to confuse one with another...
"No. There is no mistake," one of the SSG agents said. Patrik couldn't tell who it was--suddenly, he felt claustrophobic, and sick. He almost but didn't quite sway on his feet, feeling a vice clamp shut around his forearm: Kris's paw.
Anna was up as well, crying, silently, tears rolling down her gray, dappled cheeks. She had the tiger's other paw, and was softly holding and rubbing it, as if that might comfort him. Nothing, though, could soften the blow that was about to tear Kris's life apart.
"Your mother is a dead whore."
Neha had no will.
Apart from a document filed with the National Road Administration, there wasn't even any documentation indicating what she had wanted to be done with... with her body... when she no longer had a need for it.
Kris saw to it that his mother's wishes were carried out. Every component of her that was useful--eyes, heart, lungs, kidneys--was donated. The rest would be cremated.
The tiger would perform that final ceremony only with his friends--he wouldn't have anyone else around. It was carried out in a secret location, far from the city. Although he was technically breaking several laws by doing it, the morgue, the hospital, and the police all left him be--after all, he'd just lost his mother. The few people he came in contact with to get what had to be done done either stayed out of his way or quietly supported him.
Media had the kindness to not make life Hell for Kris, a fact for which he was most grateful. Scandinavia was one of the few places in the world where the right to dignity trumped the freedom of expression--the tiger was sure that if he was in America he'd be behind bars for strangling some nosey reporter to death.
Kris could not believe that he was about to set his own mother's lifeless body on fire. Literally, he couldn't. He'd only ever planned up to the point of escaping Café 42--from here on out, out to the end of his life, he'd have to take things as they came, without his mother there for him in case he ever failed. He was alone.
Not completely, though. Not quite. Because, as Kris stepped forward, slowly, shakily, carrying his mother's cold, stiff body to a bed of logs and paper and oil, he felt a brief motion and looked to his side. Annika was there, head bowed--she'd tugged the somewhat coarse white sheet that covered Neha's body to conceal the top of her forehead. And then, beside her, was Patrik--and to his other side, Klaus, Otto, and Hanna. Like him, there were all dressed simply, modestly, in clothes he'd ordered from an Internet site based in the UK--traditional, monotone robes, of the sort that his Indian ancestors ostensibly wore. And yet, despite the temperature and the wind and their lack of reasonable dress, none of them shivered.
Someone shut the SUV door behind him; as an afterthought, Kris nodded in thanks. Before he'd realized it, he was in front of his mother's funeral pyre... and he was setting her body down on top of it.
His heart was in his mouth and he moved in an odd, jerky fashion, as he returned to the SUV to retrieve a longish piece of wood. After fumbling with a lighter for a moment, the tiger had a lit torch in hand. And he was approaching his mother with the intention of touching it to her chest.
Kris almost broke down, just then, as the hot, flaming tip of the stick got to within inches of his mother. He held it outstretched in his right paw, supporting his elbow with his left appendage. He was almost panting with exertion, almost losing the struggle to not light the pyre and then throw himself into it as well.
How he composed himself, he wasn't sure. All the tiger knew was that the next moment in which he was aware of the world he saw that all of his friends had taken his arm. And that yellow and orange flames were starting to dance across the heap of wood and flesh before him.
In moments, the tiger had to take a step back. His fur was almost singed, due to the heat, but in the end, that wasn't what pulled him away from his mother. It was Anna--she'd taken his paw and tugged, gently. At first, Kris had resisted... but then, he'd given in. His mother was dead, and he had killed her--but there was no use in getting a severe burn at her funeral. Nothing would ever change what he'd done.
At first, Kris watched passively as the fire began to consume his mother. In the flames, he saw many things--himself, weeks old, being paraded down the street by Neha and his father. He couldn't have been tall enough to reach either of the fully grown tigers' knees--but he was already standing, looking around with wide eyes, wondering who these two people next to him were and why they loved him so.
And then he saw his mother after her husband had died. That event had occurred years ago--Kris had never before remembered it. Perhaps he'd unconsciously prevented himself from doing so: it was too painful to recall.
She'd cried for days--almost starving in the process, either intentionally or simply due to overwhelming grief. Yet, somehow, she managed to care for her son the entire time, putting her needs at a distant second whenever the tiger cub needed anything.
This devastating ordeal had continued for almost two weeks. It only ended when the tigress looked up, having slouched to rest on a table, when something tapped her on the leg and gave an inquisitive mrowl.
It was him, it seemed. He, Kris, too young to speak, too young to do much of anything by himself, had brought his mother a glass of water. She stared down at him, for a long, long moment--and in his eyes, she saw the spark of care, of love, of intuition--she saw her husband's cub.
She took the glass. Set it aside. Then, she picked her son up and hugged him tightly. At first, the wary cub struggled --then he relaxed, and wrapped his arms around his mother in return. He didn't know what was going on--not in the slightest. But that was the precise moment Kris had realized who his mother was, and when he determined that it was his place in life to return her love and to replace whatever she'd lost.
And now he was here, burning her dead body.
Smoke rose into the air, slowly. The fire was burning hot, so much so that Kris realized that they'd taken several steps back without him noticing it. He looked into the fire and he could not see his mother's body--where was it? Had she left? Had he lost her?
The tiger shut his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, looking at the charred mesh of wood before him, he had finally accepted what had happened. His mother was dead; her body was now simply a loose collection of particles in the air. Kris looked skyward, and he no longer felt loss. He felt... nothing. Nothing but a cool, distant feeling of determination to rebuild, to move on.
The gale had passed.
(No sequel is planned. Drop me a comment, please.)