Scotch woke to a blurred pipe-laid ceiling. He was on his back, or so he thought. But he soon realized it was not the ceiling, but the wall he was looking at. Too far away to see clearly without his glasses. His shoulders ached, but his arms were above his head, bound. Ankles below him, bound. He twisted his body and heard the clink of metal. Sniffing the heavy air, a stench of urine and sour-scented Human sweat lingered.

He dry heaved and smacked his lips.

Holding, jail, whatchamacallit. His parched throat craved for water. The air was like a steamy sauna. From one wall, sunlight streamed in making dust sparkle in the air. On the other wall was trophy display. Whatever this place used to be they sure earned a heck of a load of medals for something. He counted twenty of them hanging from the wall, nailed to or dangling on a hook or spoke.

"Scotchie," came a whisper.

Scotch couldn't turn his head well as it was sandwiched tightly between his arms, but he could tell it was Mason somewhere next to him.

"Scotchie, I'm sorry." Mason let out a mewl. "I was dumb."

Scotch pursed his lips. He ran the roads of Syaraize for Mr. Impulsive Paws. Maybe back in Marmaglaid reckless things wouldn't cost their safety, but out here, the real world, this was where they ended up.

"Yeah," he grunted, "you were."

"I tagged Luka and took this chip thing he said he had to get back to Trinity. Saber stole it from HC. The real records on yer Pa, Scotchie. I had to get it. Then we—"

"So ya chase Luka, screamin' about Maya killin' citizens, steal a chip, get caught, and end up 'ere in the hands of Scuttle?" Scotch said and heard a dry laugh.

"Ya good at summin' it up, man." Mason's voice fell. "I just thought I had solved the case."

"You're a bastard."

"I know."

Scotch took a deep breath. "A fignuttin', noodle tail, lemon peel, banana furred, impulsive bastard who could be gettin' us killed now."

Mason winced. "Ouch, but I'll take it."

But Scotch couldn't be mad too long. At least he and Mason were together now. They were strongest when they were together. He tried and failed to see how high up the ceiling was. Besides, moving his head around made his ears brush a little too hard against his sleeves that it hurt.

"What do ya gather?"

"Ya forgive me?" Mason let out a trill. His chains clinked.

Scotch sighed. "Ya payin' me in scotch a whole week when we get back, noodle tail."

"Roger." Chains rattled. "Yer glasses are near ya, but ya can't reach 'em."

"How far?"

"About my tail's length."

Scotch imagined where they could be. Maybe it was the splotchy blur not too far ahead. Or the other one. In fact, it could be any of them. If he had been a bit taller or had longer legs or didn't even need glasses, he wouldn't have had to worry.

"Anythin' else?"

"The windows, there are five. The two farther from us are unhitched, but they've got screens on them."

"I heard your whistle. How could you see me?" Scotch, from what he could tell, couldn't see anywhere there could be a window to look out. He knew they had to be at Sniperhelm, the old station.

"There was a guard in 'ere with me then. Said, 'Looks like she brought him, the orange marmalade.'" Mason chuckled. "Good one, don't ya think?"

Scotch compared that to Christoph's nickname for him because that was where the cleverest ones came from these days. "Nah, I like bein' called Beverage—my Bolt!" he hissed and wiggled his hips. It was still there. They'd forgotten to remove it.

"Shite, Mason," he hissed, "I still have my Bolt."

"Fig!" Mason whispered back. "They took mine. Can ya somehow activate it?"

"How."

Mason laughed quietly. "That was a solid statement."

"It's in my figgin' pocket." How frustrating it was. The weight of the one thing connecting them to the outside world against his thigh, but not able to reach it whatsoever.

"The last thing I did was tell the gang to go to Umbrella Shop. But they wouldn't know we're out here." Scotch frowned. He had to figure out somehow to contact someone in the gang. If not the whole group maybe just one of them. Ginger or River or Christoph.

"Scotchie?"

"Hmm?"

"I gotta tell ya somethin'."

"What did ya do now?" Scotch put a scolding tone through his voice.

"Not me. Luk—"

Metal doors creaked and banged open. Scotch flinched. Voices tumbled into the room. Two blurry figures came towards them. One pushed a squeaky cart where metal things rattled against each other. They stopped in the middle of the room. Scotch's eyes hurt trying to see them clearly.

"So, you're awake!" It was Luka. "Good, good, oh," He bent forward and picked something up off the floor, "here you go, Scotch." Luka's figure came into focus as he neared. Close enough to see clearly, Scotch saw scratches on Luka's face, his upper lip was cut, and there were bruises all along his arms. A citrine hung from a golden chain around his neck. It seemed to glow, or that could have been a play of light.

Luka strapped the glasses around Scotch's head and adjusted them. "There. So, you can see what we'll be using to make you crack."

Scotch glared at the twisted raisin. "Scoundrel."

"You're welcome." Luka smiled and stood back. He noticed Scotch looking at the citrine. "Oh, this? This is the stone of justice. Helps me serve justice. But that's not important," He slipped the stone inside his shirt, "You're going to tell us what you know about us, about Scuttle, about Trinity, and about Bran Borrecki."

Mason gave a loud sigh. "I told ya already, we don't know any more than you do! The only new thing's that we know is that Maya's responsible for the bomb at the hotel."

Maya bristled. "And I told you it wasn't me!" she shouted. "I didn't put it there or even make it! Why, my only role just—"

"Good citizens were killed so the school could be deserted for longer, right?" Mason growled. "That's evil!"

"It had to be done!"

"You're maniacs!"

"And you're a stupid banana!"

Mason hissed. "And you're—"

"Shut up!" Luka barked. "Shut the fignuttin' up! Both of you, shite. Maya, we're not here to argue against the dimwits. We're here to crack them, darling," he sneered at her. He turned to the cart. Scotch could now clearly tell it was a cart full of torture toys. Hammers, nails, needles, rope, chains, and sinister spikey things to put on knuckles and knock out a few teeth in one punch. Luka rattled through the stuff and took out a whip.

Damn it. We're mangy slaves about to be whipped to tell the truth. Scotch shuddered.

"Which one of you is first?" Luka cracked a smile.

Maya had a device in her hands. "This one." On the press of a button, whatever Scotch was hanging from moved forward on some kind of zipline. His feet dragged against the ground until he was just where his glasses had been. Now he could move his head back and saw Mason.

Shite, Mason. Scotch widened his eyes in horror at his friend. From tone, he hadn't been able to tell. Mason sounded like he was okay, but his left eye was bruised shut. Blood caked to his lip and had dribbled down the fur scruff of his neck and on his bare, pale skin. His Human skin chest was covered in whip slashes. He was in his underwear and had no shoes on either. His tail curled between his legs and partially wrapped around his body.

"Mas—"

Mason gave a wobbly smile and tears reddened his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

A whip cracked through the air. Mason bristled and his tail bushed. Eyes widened in fear and his ears lay flat against his head. Scotch swallowed and turned to see not Luka, but Maya with the whip grinning as if she had been looking forward to this moment.

"Tell me what you know about Trinity."

Scotch kept a brave face. "I know nothing more than what was made clear the hotel."

"Tell me in your words." She walked up to him and whipped out a dagger. She placed the blade against his chest. "Go on."

The glistening blade traveled up to his collar. "Special Student Task Force is made up of," he swallowed when the blade touched his neck, "students like you, following Trinity and willin' to blue code with her, knowin' what she done ten years ago."

"And what did she do?" Maya's mouth quirked into a smile. "Hmm?"

"Speculation." His heart thudded feeling as if she could kill him with one wrong word.

"Go on."

"Had my father killed because he was trying to expose her for somethin'."

"Yeah?"

He winced at her sharp tone. "It's just a speculation. I don't know anythin' else."

It was so fast. The dagger sliced his shirt down the middle revealing his chest, furred, but bare to him. Maya clicked her tongue, probably disappointed he had more anthro body than she had anticipated. Only his arms were Human skin after all. She stepped back and nodded to Luka who made a hefty fist and lunged it into his stomach.

With a grunt, pain shot through his abdomen. He lurched forward. Chains rattled. His body swayed. Another punch to the gut had him feeling like he had to pee.

He didn't know how many times he was punched, kicked, and as his head reeled, cold water doused him, waking him up for more pain. A fist in the gut, a knee in the crotch, whipping against the back.

"You know what your father was after! You know it!" Luka shouted in his ear. "You're just a pathetic bastard! You're too short to be a policeman. You're an embarrassment. Tell me, you little shite! Tell me what you know!"

Scotch trembled and blacked out, giving into the comforting darkness.

He yowled awake, pulled from the dark where he would rather be. Ice was shoved into his mouth, freezing his tongue and nearly choking him. He coughed and spluttered. He could hear more voice, arguing, shouting. Mason hissing calling someone a mange pelt and a traitor. Another fist came to Scotch's stomach and made him pee. Laughter in his ear and voices that berated him.

"Pathetic marmalade. This is the Sniperhelm Torture Chamber. You can't escape."

"Useless shorty."

"Stop digging through the past like Bran Borrecki. Stop it."

"What was unfinished ten years ago will finish now, with you."

"I'll find out what happened for Papa. He deserves justice," Scotch whispered, feeling his throat burn. Someone slapped him hard across the face.

"You're going to tell us what you know. Because we know you know. We know you know because we saw your notebook, but it's in damned code, nerd."

Who was that? It sounded familiar. He tried to focus on the face before him, but there was no light in the room. It was just dark and quiet except for that voice. His vision was blurred, but he still felt his glasses on his head.

Damned code? Scotch gave a dry laugh, feeling his chest rattle. He had always been careful about this notebook of evidence on his father's case. Some, he wrote in Universal, others, he came up with a code and wrote it in that. Especially the important things. But they were wrong. He didn't know what his father had found out about Trinity.

At least now I know there was something about Trinity Papa was tryin' to expose. But why don't they know? Or do they? Scotch waited for the voice to continue, but it didn't come. The floorboards creaked under a stomping weight. The door opened with a bang and slammed shut. Hushed quiet. Where was Mason? He could hear anything from his feline friend.

"Mason?"

The floor creaked. Someone else was still in the room. Scotch blinked, trying to focus his vision. A thin Human body came sauntering over, pulled up a chair and sat down. When the figure spoke, Scotch recognized Saber Scuttle.

"Scotch Borrecki, the son of Bran. Son of a bastard. Reckon, you ain't knowin' what you got yerself into when ya started sniffin' 'round, eh? Yeah, you ain't knowin'. Trinity pays good dough. Real good. Ten years ago, yeah, she heard wind of me. D'cided to try out her luck for hidin' what she done, 'cause I'm good at it. Accident, intentional, whatever, I was willin' for the dough. It's 'bout the dough."

The chair creaked. "Yer sniffin' means Trinity's scared, yeah. Yeah real scared. Knows that with the Borrecki name, HC might just listen to ya and put a stop to her."

"HC?" Scotch's vision began to focus on the sickly-looking Human that sat on the chair backwards.

"Yeah, hell, good news for ya, huh?" Saber laughed. "Good news. Too bad ya ain't gonna live to tell 'em."

Scotch winced as the pain from all the torture spasmed through his body. "But I don't even know anythin'. I just know that the court case was weak. They convicted the wrong one. That's all. I didn't even know Trinity might have done somethin' to Papa and have him killed. It was speculation until Luka said."

"Well, guess I need to kill him, too," came Saber's calm voice. Scotch shuddered and his heart raced. That someone could say 'kill him, too' so casually like they were talking about the weather or something was chilling.

"What you know or not doesn't really matter now. I'm paid for snuffin' 'em all out. Every single nosey candle."

Silence stretched on after. Scotch was beginning to realize that there was such a thing as evil without reason except money. He couldn't wrap his mind around someone as cruel as Saber. He couldn't understand why Trinity would want to cover her tracks so much that she would resort to murder, the very thing she swore to protect citizens from.

She's a fraud. Scotch gritted his teeth, trembling from cold and anger. She and Maya and Luka. And all Special Student Task Force members. All frauds.

Tears touched his eyes as he thought of all the citizens, the ones who had good hearts who might have been critically injured or even died in the cold-hearted explosion at Rickitine Hotel.

Suddenly, Saber was behind him and a needle sunk into his neck. "Sleep little fox, sleep."

Not again. Scotch struggled against the drugs. "Where's Mason? Tyler? Ya took—"

"Night, night, marmalade," Saber said and stuck another needle into Scotch's neck. Scotch slipped into unconsciousness with Saber's cackle as a sinister lullaby in his ears.

In and out he went, despite the drugs. Sometimes, he thought he heard Mason. Other times, he knew he was alone. The dark room sometimes had a white-blue light seeping in—the moon through the windows. Scotch shivered in his wet clothes from water and urine. He even woke up once from a warmth between his legs.

Shite. Haven't wet in my sleep since I was three, probably. He thought in his drowsy state. Whatever muscles that held in the pee were loosened. He guessed from the drugs. He could feel another teasing sensation and just let it go. There was no one to ask to let him go for a bathroom break. They wouldn't have let him go anyway.

Maybe it was two hours later or three hours later, he couldn't tell. Finally, the drugs began to kick in, touching his head with suggestions of sleep, seducing his body into utter relaxation.

"Mason, Ty," he whispered, hoping they were okay.