Cigarette smoke was heavy in the dragon’s lungs, held for a moment before let loose into a crisp, wet nighttime breeze. That accursed city was still spread out on one side of him, and to the other was the vastness of unbroken ocean. The lighthouse provided a marvelous vantage point for a brooding genius to get outside and just think.<br/><br/>He’d been here for six months, give or take. Every computer he’d managed to get into had the exact same time on it no matter how often he tried to fix the damn things. That wasn’t the only apparently miniscule quirk of this city- not by an enormous margin, in fact. It was just one of a thousand minor mysteries buried under a mound of much more life threatening shit. Monsters, killers, and idiots had all been thrown at his feet since he’d gotten there. The dragon rubbed his side, the scales somewhat marred from the last time he’d actually gone out into the city- and brought home a roommate.<br/><br/>“Taka, it’s fairly quiet out. You may as well come enjoy the breeze.” He rumbled out with a hint of teasing affection. He’d wanted to get his claws all over the hawk’s body for weeks now, but the lithe bird was extremely shy, and also quite held up on a woman. A woman who had shot the dragon, no less… but mostly by accident.<br/><br/>The light<span style="font-style: italic">tap-tap-tap</span>of the avian’s talons was evident before the shorter male came up next to him, feathers ruffling some. “It’s cold.”<br/><br/>“Mhmm. And wet. We don’t get a sea breeze even out here unless something very special’s happening.” The dragon rumbled.<br/><br/>Taka looked up at the dragon curiously. “And that would be…”<br/><br/>The dragon looked down at the hawk with a predatory smirk, teeth sharp in the night. “Fresh meat. I suppose we ought to go out looking, otherwise your girlfriend’s going to have far too many guests.” The dragon added, starting back inside after flicking his cigarette over the railing. “I’ll fetch your rifle, you can cover me from above. Usually much safer up there.” He continued “Usually, anyway.”<br/><br/>The dragon slid aside some papers on the desk, mostly the hawk’s maps- he really was a fabulous cartographer- and picked up a few items. For himself, a sword. The jian had a simple wooden scabbard, and the hilt was tarnished bronze, but the thing felt absolutely familiar in his hands when he slid it free. He slid it into his belt and grabbed something else- a small sheet of paper, with two phrases embossed upon it like some sort of cryptic business card.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">BEWARE THE TICKING OF CLOCKS<br/>BLESSED ARE THE MEEK</span><br/><br/>The dragon had afforded Taka at least as much privacy as to not pry what his card had said. They all had one, after all- every one of the damned souls that woke up here had a card and some memento of a life outside the hazy fog in their heads. He’d had this sword, and his paper- and that was it. Taka hadn’t had much of his own either. Gods forbid he ask Roxxie what she had- the bitch had a bite. His strong, clawed hands wrapped around the stock of Taka’s rifle and leaned it against his shoulder. “Come along then, lovebird. We have people to save and supplies to fetch.”<br/><br/>------------------<br/><br/>It was cold. Or, rather, maybe he was cold. He felt like a microwave dinner- hot on the outside, frozen in the middle. Half-cooked. He wasn’t ready yet. What a peculiar thought, he mused, to feel unprepared. For what? It probably didn’t matter. He just wanted to sleep.<br/><br/>But then there was that noise.<span style="font-style: italic">Thump. Thump. Pause. Thump Thump. Pause.</span>It was incessant. It forced him into the land of the waking with the accompanying smell of something metallic. “Da, da. Udnu sekundu, da? Sooka.” He groaned out, hearing his voice echo back at him softly. He sat up and immediately regretted it- a sharp pain shooting through his head, and something was stinging his eyes. He ran a furry hand over them to get whatever it was off, blinking away a heavy fog in his head to see his fur stained with crimson.<br/><br/>“Hey, anyone in there? Fuckin’ bullshit electronic locks…” he heard. The voice was female, and from some distance away.<span style="font-style: italic">Thump. Thump. Pause. Thump Thump. Pause.</span>The sound was coming from a door- someone was trying to get in with little luck. He staggered to his feet and looked around.<br/><br/>From what he could see around him, he was in some sort of arena. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the word for the sport… basketball. That’s right. American game. He had the oddest sensation that he could hear the power running through the building- he could certainly hear the low whooshing of the building’s air conditioners, but nearly every light was off. High-up windows only let in a few slivers of moonlight onto the stands and court below.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Thump. Thump. Pause. Thump Thump. Pause.</span>“Don’t worry, I’ll get in there in a minute. Just sit tight.”<br/><br/>“Angliyskiy. Of course.” He muttered. “Ah, da? I speak it too? Good.” He almost chimed, straightening up some before wincing, a string of Russian curses pouring from his mouth. He ran a hand over the source of the pain- the crown of his head- and recoiled. He had some nasty wound up there, for sure.<span style="font-style: italic">Thump. Thump. Pause. Thump Thump. Pause.</span><br/><br/>He took a step back and heard a light crumpling sound, which prompted him to lift his foot. Underneath was a small piece of paper- no bigger than a business card.<br/><br/>“PROTECT YOURSELF<br/>TOGETHER, YOU CAN SAVE THEM”<br/><br/>“Chto za huy?” he remarked, turning it over and feeling intensely unsatisfied by the black reverse side of the card. Something caught the edge of his vision, and he turned… and turned… and turned- a tail.<span style="font-style: italic">His</span>tail. Ringed and plump with furr. “Raccoon? Da, I guess that’s me. Where am I?” he wondered aloud.<span style="font-style: italic">Thump. Thump. Pause. Thump Thump. Clang.</span><br/><br/>The door seemed to finally give way, busting open to reveal a bright light- a flashlight, probably. The raccoon covered his eyes and groaned. “Ohooiet! Too bright!” he hissed out, the light clicking off.<br/><br/>“Hey hey, sorry alright- Jesus shit, kid, is this all *your* blood?” the voice remarked. He blinked away the fog to see the faintest outline of a fox- a vixen, coming close. He recognized another shape, too- a gun. H&K MP5. She was armed. Why did he know that?<br/><br/>“Stop, da? No guns.” He pleaded. “I’m hurt, da? No need for guns.” He kept up.<br/><br/>“It ain’t for you, kid. It’s for what might’ve done this to you, you fluffy ruskie bastard. What’s your name?” she asked. Her fur was too dark for the dim lighting- he could only catch a few flashes of pink.<br/><br/>But that was a great question. What<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>his name? “I don’t know, da?” he responded curtly. “I only find this paper here. I just woke up.” He continued, blinking away the spots as best he can.<br/><br/>“Well you’ve got a nametag on that shirt you’re wearing, alright? Saw it when I flashed you with the light. Let’s get you outside and take a look.” The vixen retorted, stepping out of the dim light from the door. The raccoon could see a whole city before him, glowing with light. “I’m Roxxie. C’mon, I’ve got a first-aid kit back at the Fort.” She continued. The raccoon saw her pause and lean down to pick something up, but he couldn’t see what it was. She shoved it into a bag on her shoulder. “Come on then, ruskie.” She goaded. He complied.<br/><br/>The city was beautiful. Glass and light and steel created canyons between immense structures that reflected the light from the streets and the moon above. It was cool and crisp and altogether lovely- and empty.<br/><br/>Roxxie and the raccoon were the only souls on the street. He felt Roxxie tug up on the chest of his shirt- and sure enough, there were some words embroidered there.<br/><br/>“Buyou, Head Combat Instructor. Well ain’t that some shit.” Roxxie mused. “You seem a bit young, but we’ve got no reason to believe that’s not your name. Buyou it is, then. I prefer ruskie, though.”<br/><br/>Buyou. That sounded right enough, he supposed. It wasn’t Russian, but it sounded familiar. “Da. What now? Where are we?”<br/><br/>“This, fuzz-for-brains, is Ivy-City. The prettiest hellscape you’ll ever see. I guess- I don’t remember seeing anywhere else.” Roxxie responded. “And if you’re here, it means that there are others, too. We gotta find ‘em before someone else does that won’t be half as nice or good looking.”