Kassur awoke to the distant, muffled sounds of activity filtering through the dormitory walls, and to Morty shuffling around in bed.
Cracking one eye open, he stayed on his back, staring at the underside of the top bunk. At some point during the night, Morty had shifted onto his side, one arm draped over Kassur’s stomach, one leg hooked over his. The cat still carried that boneless weight of exhaustion, ears twitching faintly with dreams.
A good feeling, that comfortable weight. Kassur’s tail wagged for a brief second.
For years, the jackal had been waking up alone. His first moments of groggy lucidity had always been spent taking inventory and planning his day on a bed that barely fit his frame, the only one that he had been able to afford. Of all places, a DAIR dormitory, somewhere he once wouldn’t have dared to step into, was where he found himself waking up happy.
Leaning closer, he planted a kiss on the cat’s forehead.
Up close, without the tension and adrenaline of the previous day, Morty looked younger. Softer. The sharp edges of his fur had softened, and the scalpel-like green eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids.
He was really exhausted, Kassur thought.
Careful not to wake him, Kassur shifted. Morty responded immediately, his arm tightening, nose pressing into Kassur’s chest with a quiet sound of protest.
“Hey,” Kassur whispered.
“Hey,” the cat replied, with eyes still shut. “Did you know that you snore?”
“Hah! Well, sorry if it got too loud.”
“No. It was actually cute,” Morty said, yawning before finally opening his eyes and looking at him. “But I’m not getting up now. Doesn’t matter how handsome you are.”
Kassur chuckled, propping himself on an elbow on the mattress and pressing his snout against Morty’s.
“So,” he teased, “yesterday you guys sort of forbade me from going back home. Am I allowed to leave the room, or are you going to keep me hostage here?”
Morty scoffed, and his smile turned mischievous.
“I might just want to keep you for myself a little longer.”
Half an hour later, they walked out of the room together, Kassur in an even better mood. Both of them were.
The low hum of boots and overlapping conversations drifted up from the open ground floor below. Kassur trailed after Morty, still getting his bearings. He'd expected to be pointed toward a bathroom or a wash closet — something small and quiet.
He was wrong.
They stepped through large doors into a white-tiled space, warmth and damp instantly clinging to their bodies like a blanket. Kassur stopped short at the threshold.
The washrooms weren’t exactly private.
Morty glanced back over his shoulder. “Problem?”
“This is… open,” the jackal stammered, taking it all in.
Morty blinked, then smirked. “Yeah. Welcome to communal living.”
One corner was lined with toilets, each housed in large metal-walled stalls whose doors didn’t quite reach the floor. A row of sinks ran down the center, bare and functional, with mirrors mounted above them in warped, fingerprint-smeared sheets of steel.
The showers were set into a long row along the far wall. Technically separated, each boxed in by thin partitions high enough to suggest privacy, there were no doors, just narrow dividers. Enough to block a direct view, but not enough to stop someone who really wanted to look.
Morty didn’t even pause. He tugged Kassur toward a corner, grabbing a towel for himself and handing one to Kassur.
“That closet over there usually has spare uniforms,” the cat said, smiling at Kassur’s expression. “I mean... I won’t mock you if you want to keep using those clothes you got at the hospital.”
“It just feels a bit weird to dress like an enforcer,” Kassur admitted after giving the closet a contemplative look.
“Really?” Morty grinned. “Well, you can try it on, and if you don’t like it, I can help you to take them off.”
He punctuated the offer with exaggerated grasping motions.
Kassur snorted.
After gathering everything he needed, Kassur stepped into one of the open stalls and twisted the valve. Water hissed from the overhead pipe in a hot, steady stream. He lingered there. He intended to rush in and out of the shower, but the moment the hot water soaked into his fur and stiff muscles, he accepted that wasn’t going to happen.
His head dipped forward with a groan as the water cascaded over him, thawing him down to the bone.
“Yeah,” Morty called over the water spray, glancing back with a grin. “It takes some getting used to, but this place has great water pressure.”
Kassur cleared his throat. “Still… I thought DAIR cared more about privacy.”
Morty chuckled. “You get over it fast. Especially when you’re covered in blood or oil and the water’s hot.”
Kassur glanced down at the large drain near his feet.
“Does that happen often? The blood and oil?”
Those green eyes locked on him, searching for something in his expression.
“Well… not that much to me,” Morty said slowly. “But proper enforcers? Yeah. They get their share.”
“Okay,” Kassur said, running his fingers through his fur. “I’ll admit this beats a bucket bath. But it's not worth having another fight like yesterday.”
Morty snorted. “Wait until you see the full-body dryer. Best part.”
Kassur peeked around the edge of the partition. “A what?”
“Full-body dryer.” Morty turned to face him, water running in rivulets down his fur. “You step inside, press a button, and get blasted with hot air like a prize cow.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s better than trying to towel it off, or using one of the handheld things, I promise.”
They finished scrubbing down in a companionable quiet. Morty finished first, shaking water from his ears before leading Kassur toward a large circular alcove recessed into one wall. It was big, its curved walls lined with vents pointing inward from every angle, ceiling and floor included.
“This one’s old,” Morty said, stepping inside, “but it’s one of the best. Leo had it special-ordered because… Well, you saw his size. And he’s a captain. The title comes with some perks. The upside is everyone gets to use it.”
Kassur followed, still skeptical. “I don’t like the look of it.”
“Trust the process,” Morty said, offering his hand.
Kassur took it, and they stood there naked together as Morty stepped on a floor button. Heated air roared to life, blasting from every vent at once in a mechanical thrum.
Kassur flinched as his fur flared in every direction under the whirlwind.
Morty snorted. “See? Very effective. Now turn around so I can rub your back fur. It helps to dry evenly.”
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Kassur said, squinting at him.
“I earned the right,” Morty teased, winking. “Now turn. Arms up. You’re doing me next.”
“Oh? Right here?” Kassur teased back. “What will the others say?”
“That I’m lucky,” Morty replied, waggling his eyebrows.
“Does anything make you shy?” Kassur harrumphed, before closing his eyes and enjoying the cat’s hands working on his back.
They stepped out a few minutes later, both warm and fluffed out. Kassur ran his hands down his arms, trying, and failing, to tame the worst of it. Morty only grinned, clearly enjoying all of it.
After a brief inner debate, Kassur decided to wear the DAIR-standard black and teal clothing. It was not riot gear, or the armor he was accustomed to seeing from enforcers on the streets, so that made it easier in the end. They were a bit worn, but clean.
Morty gave him an approving smile once he was dressed.
=================================
Outside, the unit was already half awake, and the smell of brewing coffee invaded Kassur’s nostrils. His stomach growled; he was hungry. But beneath that sat another sensation, an emptiness a little lower in his abdomen. His tank. The thing that kept him from getting sick, that let him push through long hours of work.
He had drained it yesterday.
After so many years having that nice comforting feeling, its absence left him feeling hollow.
Several people glanced their way. Kassur noticed more than a few of them starting to talk about him, their eyes flicking to him, then to the clothes he was wearing.
I should bolt!
Morty caught his hand before Kassur could step back. His thumb brushed slowly over Kassur’s knuckles, grounding him. Giving him a second to breathe. When Kassur steadied, Morty squeezed once and guided him toward the kitchen.
Relax, no seas estúpido, don’t be stupid, there’s no moose here. These enforcers are not evil.
Kassur swallowed and soldiered on, letting himself be dragged into the large open kitchen. A few enforcers stared outright, but most simply raised their mugs in greeting. Morty had introduced him to some of them earlier, but Kassur didn’t remember the names. He settled for a polite wave.
“So… how does it work here?” Kassur asked, eyeing the pots stacked on the stove and the two kettles hissing with steam.
“Well, for breakfast,” Morty said. “Someone makes the coffee, and someone else handles the food. Usually scrambled eggs, bread, cheese. They are probably gone by now.”
Kassur stepped in the kitchen area and paused, scanning the industrial sprawl of it — wide steel counters, heavy pans hanging from hooks, and a refrigerator big enough to hide a body or two. Out of reflex, he poured himself a cup from the coffee maker and took a sip.
He grimaced.
It’s terrible.
“Morning,” came a rumbling voice from the side.
Kassur turned to find a coyote leaning against the counter, still half in uniform, tail flicking lazily. He looked him over with that knowing grin only predators used among their own.
“Morning,” Kassur replied.
The coyote sniffed the air once, grin widening. “Well, someone had a good night.”
Kassur blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t need to explain, mate,” the coyote said, waving a clawed hand with amusement. “Korin warned us to not disturb you love birds.”
Kassur froze. “What?”
The coyote laughed and raised his coffee mug. “Relax, I’m not judging. Hell, takes guts to bed the lion’s protégé. You’ve got more spine than half the precinct.”
Kassur felt his ears burn under his fur. “It’s not… I mean, we just…”
“That’s okay, Kassur,” Morty cut in cheerfully. “Enforcer Niccolo here enjoys hearing about other people having fun, since he hasn’t been able to get himself hard ever since he got kicked in the nuts two years ago.”
“As if Korin wearing a wig and a pink skirt would do anything for anyone,” Niccolo shot back.
“It did make me laugh.” Someone eavesdropping shouted.
“Korin?” Kassur asked. “The gorilla from yesterday?”
“Yeah,” Niccolo said darkly.
“Niccolo has the hots for the weather girl,” Morty said.
“Fuck you, Mortimer,” the coyote groaned. “Can’t you ever forget that story?”
Morty ignored him entirely.
“So,” he continued, “a few years back, Niccolo here got punched and then took a full-force kick to the groin by a massive draft horse working construction and dealing pot. Threw up. Passed out.”
“For fuck’s sake,” the coyote tossed his hands in the air, and looked away. “And then I have to wake up to a gorilla wearing makeup and pretending to be the weather lady at my hospital bed.”
“You didn’t need to get all handsy back then,” Korin yelled from across the room. “But hey, you were a good kisser.”
Niccolo pulled off one of his boots and hurled it. Korin dodged easily.
Kassur exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You people are insufferable.”
“Welcome to the family,” Morty said.
The coyote sighed and pushed off the counter, trying to regain some composure.
“In any case…” the coyote replied. “Ava did one report about you being summoned to base. She didn’t go back home at the end of her shift as most of us haven’t. Go see her about filing in some papers later.”
“Uhm, okay,” Morty said. “Why didn’t she tell me that herself?”
“She’s too busy strapping a can of oil aimed at the radio transmitter. Something about long range radio without depending on relays.”
“Ava being Ava,” Morty said.
“Ava being Ava,” Niccolo echoed.
As the two of them drifted into unit talk, Kassur felt the restless energy building in his chest. He needed to do something, anything, with his hands.
He opened the fridge and scanned the shelves. Milk. Eggs. Wilting vegetables. A mountain of butter. And, inexplicably, a crate of bananas just beginning to spot.
He smiled despite himself.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s fix breakfast.”
He found flour, sugar, and baking powder, an iron griddle, a bowl that had probably survived several decades of abuse. He started mixing, measuring by instinct. The rhythm settled him. Whisk, pour, flip.
As he cooked, he noticed both Niccolo and Morty had stopped talking and had their eyes glued to him. For a moment it made him uneasy. It lasted until he saw the coyote cleaning a bit of drool with the back of his hand, and Morty smiling at him.
Kassur winked at the cat.
The bananas caught his eye.
Inspiration struck.
He set a second pot on the stove, and while butter and sugar melted inside, releasing a sweet aroma, Kassur peeled and mashed the bananas in a bowl. He tipped them into the pot, added a generous dusting of cinnamon, and stirred.
The mixture sizzled, caramelizing into a thick, golden syrup that filled the air. Someone let out an audible groan.
The first batch of fluffy pancakes came out golden, a little uneven but soft. He adjusted the heat and fell into the motion.
The smell spread fast.
By the time the banana jam was ready, he had three plates stacked high. He spooned a generous portion over each.
“Hope you like it,” he said, handing one plate to Morty and offering the second one to the coyote who took it eagerly.
Taking his own plate, Kassur tasted it wishing he’d let the jam sit overnight so the sugar could macerate properly, draw out the juices, deepen the flavor, making it more intense. He munched on the pancake covered with jam some more, criticizing his own work and wondering how to improve it.
Still, Morty and Niccolo were demolishing their plates with enthusiasm.
So. Passable.
It was absolutely worth it to see their eyes bug out on the first bite.
Fools. This is only the first form of my cuisine!
Give me time and more ingredients and the true might of my cooking will shake the world, Kassur thought, laughing inside his head
“This is amazing,” Morty said, then shielded his plate as Niccolo eyed it hungrily after finishing his.
“I can make more if you want,” Kassur said, and by then he realized they had an audience.
Drawn by the scent, most of the enforcers in the open space had drifted closer, curiosity shifting into something like reverence.
“You cooking for the whole damn station?” someone asked, bleary-eyed but hopefully.
Kassur looked around and shrugged. “Sure. But I’ll need help.” Silence. “…Helpers get extra portions.”
Korin vaulted the counter instantly and was by his side in an instant, peeling more bananas from the crate and Elias, the guy that liked bikes, started to wash the pots he had used.
Under expectant eyes Kassur worked, directing the gorilla and the human. It was easier and they hung on to every word he said with eagerness.
He worked fast, flipping pancakes, ladling banana jam, serving plates down the line with a casual ease that made him look like he belonged there. The kitchen, once cold and metallic, felt alive now — voices growing louder. The scent of cinnamon, caramelized sugar wrapping around everything.
At some point Captain Leonardo — no, Leo — arrived with Juno. The lion cast a sharp glance at Kassur, eyes narrowing at the DAIR uniform. Kassur nearly dropped a bowl of batter under the scrutiny, but he soldiered on.
Morty nudged the lion’s stomach.
Minutes later, both Leo and Juno were served towering stacks with extra servings of jam. The smiles of satisfaction they wore while munching on the fruits of his labours meant that he was in the clear.
When he finally sat down next to the cat, the counters and tables were full of people eating. He was pressed up against Morty’s side, and he retained enough presence of mind not to start trying to kiss him in front of everybody, but every time Morty looked at him, Kassur smiled. Big. Stupid.
His heart skipped every time.
With so many people close together, Kassur couldn’t avoid catching snippets of conversation. Someone asking if he was joining permanently. The boar from last night begged him to teach her how to make the jam, a third trying to guess where he came from based on his accent.
================================
Morty was pleasantly surprised at how much he enjoyed watching Kassur work.
The jackal moved through the unfamiliar kitchen as if he had been there before, shoulders relaxed and his posture at ease. None of the earlier tension Morty became used to seeing in him; the stillness and readiness to run were gone. Kassur stood still with his feet planted and his tail swaying in an idle, unguarded way while he worked.
His movements were efficient. He didn't rush, but he also didn't wait. Kassur changed the heat by instinct and tilted the pans by and flipped pancakes with a certain grace. Morty realized that he wasn't thinking much at all while he worked, and that seemed to be the point. He didn't think of cooking as a show. It was his place to relax.
Gradually the smell of butter softening, sugar melting, and fruit giving in to heat hit them.
Before he said anything, Morty felt a low, treacherous growl of hunger from his stomach. He swallowed, amused and a little embarrassed. Not just because of the hunger, but because of the silly smile creeping on his face.
Morty leaned back against the counter and let himself watch. At one point, Kassur hummed under his breath. It wasn't even a tune, but Morty felt something in his chest relax when he heard it. This version of the jackal seemed... honest, more vibrant. The same he got a glimpse of the day before, humming in a tiny kitchen while making bread and coffee.
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He very much liked that.
The only thing taking away from the positive experience were the constant flashes of blue as the Overlay insisted on reminding him that he was surrounded by predators without kill-switches. Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Elias and the other non-predators didn’t trigger it at all. However, all the enforcers that were flagged, got that little highlight of oranges and red in different shades.
Kassur on the other hand…
He had the faintest yellow outline around him.
Well… in the end, that could be an extra tool. Morty just needed to have the time to stop and actually learn what this Overlay meant and how the fuck he got it.
Still, no matter how neutral his face was, no matter how carefully he ignored it, the constant alerts were grating on his nerves.
Sooner or later he would have to stop pretending and actually deal with it.
He winced mentally at that. There had been blood, fear, and wires sparking. He had been inches from death yesterday. Morty wished, fiercely, that none of that had happened to Kassur. The jackal had baggage, and Morty had added to it.
They had a great night together.
Morty wasn’t against casual sex, but he hadn’t been looking for a nameless stranger to warm his bed either. Last night had meant something for him. He wouldn’t dare call it love. Well, not yet. But he could feel the affection creeping up on him, slow, inevitable.
He liked Kassur.
I want more mornings like this, he thought.
Maybe with not so many people, but I want to see more of him like this, so unguarded.
When Kassur glanced over his shoulder and caught Morty watching, he smiled. It was a small, crooked thing that pulled at the scar on his lip. Morty felt it land somewhere deep. He returned it without thinking, already a little doomed, already knowing that whatever this was, he wasn’t inclined to step away from it.
He packed all the thoughts about the Overlay for later.
The pancakes were served, and Morty dug at them with enthusiasm. Niccolo, seated beside him, let out a moan of pleasure so sincere it made Morty flush.
Soon, more and more enforcers gathered around, also asking for some pancakes. Kassur obliged to Morty’s surprise. So he got treated to a show as Korin and Elias stepped up to help.
While that happened, he felt the almost shift in pressure as he felt their approach. It was subtle, because most conversations paused and people moved.
He turned just in time to receive a pat on the shoulder and a broad, toothy grin from Leo. Juno stood beside him, watching Kassur with open amusement.
“Morning,” Juno said easily. “You do know you can visit us more often, right? There’s no need to wait for some murder to happen in order to show up.”
“I know,” Morty replied, shrugging. “I really missed you guys. Central has been dumping case after case on me lately.”
Leo gave a low huff. “We know. I check your progress when I can. Really proud of you, kiddo.”
It was good to hear that.
Morty wished he was a predator sometimes. Not because of the power. But to be closer to Juno and Leo. They were his heroes, and his family. A lot of his efforts were made striving to make them proud. So this was the closest he felt safe doing. No, being a predator wasn’t a requirement to be an enforcer, but his past trauma stopped him from actually pursuing that path.
He knew how to defend himself. But yesterday was a reminder that he would have died without assistance.
“I was really worried about you two. I, uh…,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “When Val brought me in for an investigation, I tried to reach out. An Alpha… I have no idea how facing that must feel like.”
Leo’s muscles tightened, rage and fear flickering across his face.
Juno, on the other hand, poked him in the chest. “You say that, but we heard the mess you got yourself into. The alpha was there, and you fought a group of predators high on stimulants.”
“He won,” Leo said, then recoiled under Juno’s glare. “Just don’t do things alone, Morty. Even enforcers work in pairs. And you went in solo. I thought you knew better.”
Morty shrugged. “In my defence it wasn’t related to what I was doing. I just happened to hit the jackpot at the worst possible timing. But even if I wasn't there, all those people would have died. And maybe the predators would’ve escaped.”
"What a mess," Leo growled. "Apparently the moose got into one of the drainage tunnels by the river and crawled all the way to the cistern under the Public Market. Wrong place, wrong time doesn't even cover it."
“Any leads on him?” Morty asked.
“No. And we are being benched.” Leo complained with a grunt.
“Benched? What gives?” Morty frowned. “You guys have one of the best track records from the entire Borough. Maybe the whole Endon.”
“Political move.” Juno chewed on the words.
Kassur quickly stepped by, and set plates with huge stacks of pancakes in front of the hyena and the lion before going back to the stove to keep making more.
Leo sniffed his pile and speared two pancakes at once with his fork. “This,” he said through a mouthful, “is the kind of bribe I approve of.”
“Your friend looks good in uniform. Will I see an application on our desk in the coming days?” Juno asked. Trying one of the pancakes and giving the jackal a thumbs up.
Kassur almost jumped when he realised he wasn’t staring as subtly as he thought.
“Something good came out of yesterday,” Morty said quietly.
“Did you see his record?” Juno asked.
Morty offered a lopsided smile. “Of course I did. His name came up during my investigation. But he just happened to live nearby where the crime took place. You know how it is.”
“Regular thinking that the closest predator to a crime is the one that did it,” Leo muttered.
“Bingo,” Morty said, drumming his fingers on the table surface. “This guy… I like him. He's got this patience, you know? And this drive to actually improve his life, take care of himself. I wish everyone who had a rough start could do that. Not everyone can, though. And honestly? He might've failed too if someone hadn't taken a chance on him."
“People fall through the cracks in the system all the time,” Leo said.
“I know,” Morty replied with a sigh.
There was a brief pause before Leo pulled him into a hug, strong enough to almost crush his ribs.
“Need to breathe,” Morty gasped.
“Sorry,” the lion muttered, pulling back, suddenly embarrassed.
Morty smiled up at him. “Love you too, big man. Having both of you checking on me is what kept me from breaking after that incident.”
“Bah,” Leo looked away, eyes misty. “I wish we could have done more.”
“You did,” Morty said quietly. “You guys are my family.”
Leo opened his mouth as if to say something else, then thought better of it. He nodded once and excused himself. Juno lingered, watching the lion go with a warm, knowing expression.
“So,” Juno said, turning back to Morty, “while you were asleep, I might’ve taken a peek at the files from your investigation. Are you trying a new angle, or are you waiting to see if any of the leads pay off?”
“Well. I could try to talk to other people in smaller meat markets, but after the debacle, the store owner might be less receptive. Or our rogue predator might be too spooked if he heard any news on the matter.”
Morty tilted his head and squinted at the hyena. “You are worried. And it’s not about this. You’ve got that look, like you’re not fully paying attention.”
Juno smirked. “Still sharp. After you guys were evacuated, a precinct team was dispatched. Actually… No, one had been dispatched to the public market before your badge was activated. After you left, they went into the tunnels.”
Morty stiffened. “They knew the alpha was there all along?”
“Or they at least had a strong suspicion. Yet they sent a small team in there,” Juno said.
Morty grimaced. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster. Did they find anything?”
Juno sighed. “Ava said they missed several communication windows. More than that. According to her, one of their badges had that blip meaning it got destroyed.”
Morty winced. “What’s the plan now?”
Juno’s smile turned tired. “The fringe captains who got benched are meeting this morning. Best case, we organize a coordinated search and force the other boroughs to cooperate. Worst case, we go public with the casualties and push for a lockdown.”
“Is the public at least aware?”
“Yeah. They were going to run a story about prevention, bad weather, something,” Juno said dryly. “However, between the stockyard witnesses and whatever happened at the water treatment plant, that plan didn’t hold.”
Morty nodded along, and then cringed.
“Ruld was reassigned to the alpha search. He was sent to the docks. At least that was what I last heard. Do you have any news on that? I lost most of my gear yesterday. Not sure if my terminal’s even salvageable.”
“I can check that for you,” Juno said slowly. “Isn’t he the…?”
“Yeah,” Morty cut in. “He’s that guy.”
Juno raised a brow. “Did you two actually talk? I thought you said you were giving him space.”
“We didn’t,” Morty admitted. “He just kept dragging his feet. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him. He is a friend and a coworker.”
“Sure…”
“You can try,” Morty said evenly, “but I’m being honest here.”
Juno lifted both hands in mock surrender. “If you say so. Anyway, file the regular lost-gear papers and have a look at the armory. We might have something for you. And don’t even think about touching the stimulant stash, or I’ll tie you down.”
“Bless you,” Morty said dryly.
“Anyway,” the hyena said lightly, clapping Morty on the shoulder. “We’ll circle back. Let’s eat more of the food your boyfriend made.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Not yet,” Juno said, grinning.
Leo came back and Kassur eventually joined them at the long table, sliding into the bench beside Morty with a plate stacked high.
Morty glanced down at it, then back at him, eyes bright. “You know,” he said, nudging Kassur’s knee under the table, “if this is an attempt to make me fat and happy, it’s working.”
Kassur snorted. “I’m just making sure you eat properly. You look like someone who forgets meals.”
“Oh, I’m guilty of that,” Morty admitted. “But, if your breakfasts are like this, you’ll have me over quite often.”
Kassur’s ears flicked, warmth creeping into his expression. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It absolutely is,” Morty said, without hesitation.
Across the table, Korin watched them for a moment before grinning wide. “Y’know,” the gorilla rumbled, “if this thing between you two doesn’t work out, I’m available. I appreciate a man who feeds people.”
Morty didn’t even look at him, just kicked under the table. “Back off,” he said flatly. “Hands off the chef.”
Korin laughed, loud and delighted. “Worth a try!”
Compliments kept coming as people finished eating and drifted back to their duties.
Morty watched Kassur take it all in. Noticing how he didn’t shrink from the attention this time, just accepted it with cautious ease. Pride bloomed in Morty’s chest, unexpected and strong.
They lingered like that for a while: eating, talking; the room gradually settling into an easy hum. Eventually Kassur leaned back, thoughtful.
“I should probably swing by my place later,” he said. “Grab some things. Put a note on the door to let people know I’ll be away for a few days.”
Morty nodded. “Makes sense.” He hesitated, then added, carefully casual, “The case I’m investigating is going cold. I might chase a few leads. Check with the relatives of the ones involved, see if they got any updates, and depending on how it goes I’ll either stay at the Eastern Borough for a few more days or head back to the Central.”
Kassur glanced at him. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Morty said, then smiled. “So… if you want, you could come with me. Crash at my place instead of worrying about yours. It’s kinda messy, I won’t lie”
The words hung there, gentle but unmistakable. Morty didn’t push. He just met Kassur’s eyes and waited, heart doing something inconveniently hopeful.
“Are you inviting me to your house?”
“Well, I crashed at yours, it seems appropriate. Besides…”
“I’d like that.” Kassur interrupted him.
=================================
With some effort, Morty allowed Kassur to be dragged away by Marguille Rask, a tiger enforcer, toward one of the cruisers.
Elias had shown the tiger the motorcycle Kassur had built from scrap, and that had been enough to capture the enforcer’s attention. Before long, Marguille had cut into the conversation Morty and Kassur were having, peppering the jackal with questions about engines. Smiling more and more as the jackal kept answering, to the point that Morty thought he would cramp his face muscles.
“I can have a look,” Kassur had said when the tiger asked if he could check the cruisers, dooming himself.
Soon enough, he was crouched by the stalled cruisers, examining damaged parts and scorched housings. Morty couldn’t help the smile tugging at his mouth as he watched the jackal slip into that familiar posture. He was utterly relaxed, yet intensely focused. Kassur looked like he belonged there, hands moving with quiet confidence.
“I’ll fill out some paperwork and let you guys play with the engines,” Morty said. “It probably won’t take long.”
“Okay,” Kassur said, and then, without thinking, leaned in and kissed him.
It was so sudden, so natural, that it caught everyone off guard. No one there was blind; they all knew Morty and Kassur had shared a room, and most had probably assumed they’d slept together. Still, even Kassur went a little wide-eyed when he realized he’d done it in front of the entire unit.
Before he could stammer out an apology or explanation, Morty leaned in and kissed him back.
“If you need me,” Morty said lightly, “I’ll be by the offices on the second floor.”
He turned away before Kassur could overthink it.
Behind him, low whistles and rough laughter bloomed. Someone clapped Kassur on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. Another let out an exaggerated hoot, and a chorus of approving jeers followed as the jackal flushed under the attention.
Morty smiled to himself as he headed for the stairs. The noise faded behind him, replaced by the familiar hum of the unit and the distant clatter of tools. His steps felt lighter than they had any right to after everything, and he let himself enjoy that feeling for a moment before slipping into the quieter corridor leading to the offices.
=================================
The paperwork was tedious, but a necessary evil.
Loss of service weapon. Loss of baton. At least he had the logs created by his hospital intake highlighting all the fighting under the public market to reference, and that would speed things along. Near the end, he noted that he would be resupplying from the armory in Captain Leonardo’s unit. It felt strange to use the man’s full name and title instead of the nickname.
Regardless, Morty chose his words carefully. Formal to the point of dryness. Protocol cited. Timestamps attached. A near-death experience reduced to neat paragraphs and checkboxes, but that was the point.
Maribel, the goat secretary, came by to help him file everything properly. It was she who mentioned Branik.
A bull. Family dispute. Alcohol. Crowd involvement. No fatalities. No permanent injuries.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
It was exactly the kind of case that got blown out of proportion by rumor and fear before it ever reached a courtroom.
Some people had said Kassur’s name as soon as a murder had happened nearby.
Poor guy has no one in his corner.
Profilers weren’t always asked for input on cases like this, but when they were, it usually meant someone wanted context. Ultimately, his report would carry the same weight as the social care workers’. He’d taken the courses, earned the credentials. This was part of the job.
Morty flagged the case for review and headed back downstairs.
Before reaching the stairs, he came across Juno and Leo huddled together, watching the crowd around Kassur on the first floor with the keen, assessing interest of parents evaluating their kid's new boyfriend. When Morty approached and cleared his throat, both jumped.
He asked them to walk him through the arrest.
Leo answered bluntly, still upset by what he’d witnessed. Juno filled in the gaps, correcting him whenever the lion glossed over something important.
By the time they were done, Morty felt the familiar heaviness settle in his chest.
Branik hadn’t been dangerous in the way people feared. He’d been loud. Drunk. Heartbroken. Surrounded by a crowd that decided he was the monster before he ever became one.
Prejudice was an inflammatory thing. And very dangerous for everyone involved.
Most predators, even the weakest ones, would rival the strongest regulars. The fear could be justified. But justified or not, it leads to stupid situations.
The people who’d piled onto Branik were lucky the bull hadn’t gone rogue. He’d been a betrayed lover, hurting.
Some people got pushed over the edge when cornered like that.
Morty nodded, thanked them, and made a note to frame his feedback clearly. Context mattered. Patterns mattered. People mattered.
“He’s going to be ashamed,” Morty said quietly. “More than he’s angry. That tends to stick longer.”
Juno sighed. “Village cases always do this. Too many eyes. Too many opinions. And if he was a regular, they probably would have stood by him, maybe even held his brother down so he could land a few punches.”
“And now it is the other day, and everyone is going to have to move on with that in their past,” Morty replied.
Leo looked at him then, something thoughtful in his expression. “You’re going to talk to him?”
Morty nodded. “Yeah. If he’s awake.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes,” Morty said, “one person on your side is the difference between someone rebuilding their life, or us dealing with a rogue predator down the line.”
=================================
He headed for the holding area with that same steady resolve he used for victims and suspects alike.
This wasn’t about excusing what Branik had done. A punch was still an act of violence, no matter how justified it might feel in the moment. A whole future could be burned down by something done in a flash of rage. Better to make sure one bad night didn’t harden into a life sentence.
Morty straightened his jacket as he walked, already shaping the words he’d use.
Morty found Branik sitting on the narrow bench inside the holding cell, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low. When he looked up, his eyes held a thousand-yard stare.
Morty could have swapped that face with a hundred others he’d seen in this exact position. Some guilty and proud of it. Some drowning in regret, wishing they could claw time backward. Others simply victims of impossible situations.
Branik was broad and heavy-set, though not particularly tall. Muldoon had been taller, but the bull probably weighed twice as much as the wolf ever had. His horns were reduced to bandaged stumps, one eye ringed with yellowing bruises.
When Morty approached, Branik flinched, then tilted his head, uncertain.
“Hey,” Morty said gently, stopping a few feet from the bars. He crouched to bring himself closer to eye level. “Mind if I talk with you for a bit?”
“Y-yes… yes, you can,” Branik swallowed. “I’m sorry. You’re not the lion.”
“No,” Morty said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “The captain can be terrifying when he needs to, I’ll give you that. But he’s got a good heart. I’m Agent Mortimer. I help make sure things don’t spiral more than they already have.”
The bull nodded, hands twisting together. “Am I… am I going to lose my farm?”
“No,” Morty said immediately. “This isn’t that kind of case.”
Morty looked around, spotted a chair and brought it along, placing it close, but out of reach of the cell.
Never risk it.
“This is your first time here, and I hope it’s your last. So here’s what you need to know. You’ll get a fine for disorderly conduct. It won’t be cheap, but it won’t break you. It’s always based on your earnings and cost of living. Given the crowd involvement and your injuries, the judge will likely require community service instead of a sentence. A few weeks, maybe a month.”
Branik’s breath left him in a shaky rush. “Community service,” he repeated, as if testing whether the words hurt.
“Most likely in your own village,” Morty added. “Road maintenance. Fixing storage sheds. Something visible, boring, and contained. You’ll sleep in your own bed.”
The bull scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing dried blood. “They all looked at me like I was going to eat someone.”
Morty’s expression softened. “Yeah. I know.” He tilted his head, choosing his words with care. “Large predators get that a lot. It’s not fair. Fear takes shortcuts in people’s heads. They see size first and context later. If at all.”
Branik gave a humorless huff. “I didn’t help my case.”
“No,” Morty agreed. “You didn’t. But that doesn’t make you what they think you are.” He paused. “You understand why they were afraid?”
The bull nodded slowly. “I do. Doesn’t make it hurt less.”
“For what it’s worth,” Morty said, “the reports note that you were restrained by the crowd, that you only punched one person, and - between you and me - it was for a very good reason. But punching is still assault and that’s a crime. A crime that everyone can commit. It isn’t restricted to predators. You didn’t resist arrest.”
Branik glanced up. “So… what do I do next time?”
Morty reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim recorder the size of a thumb he had snatched from the armory before coming down.
“Some predators carry these. Pocket recorders. It might be only audio, but, if things start to turn bad, you hit one button. It won’t stop people from piling on, but it gives you something solid afterward. Evidence cuts through pointing fingers. Of course, press it, and walk away.”
Branik stared at it, then nodded. “What can I do about my neighbors?”
Morty exhaled softly. “I’m sorry. You can’t unring a bell. Some people might have a bad history with a predator. Some were just scared and reacted. You can either try to get their trust back, or live your life and ignore them. But I urge you to not engage if there’s any provocation. You know they’d default to blaming you, even if someone else starts it.”
The bull’s shoulders sagged. “In the end, my life went to crap.”
“You’re alive,” Morty said gently. “And now you know where the ground is. Not everyone gets a second chance. Take it. Make the best of it. Ignore the bastards. The best revenge, in your case, is a life well lived.”
He paused, then added, quieter, “And if it ever comes to it, you can sell the land and move somewhere better. Just don’t go looking for your pound of flesh. That road doesn’t end well.”
=================================
Morty and the bull spent almost half an hour talking. The cat offered every piece of advice and every small, practical tip he could think of; things Branik could actually use once he returned home. When they were done, Morty called in an escort so the bull could shower properly and get a change of clothes while he waited for his hearing.
Back at the desk, Morty typed the last line of his report, then leaned back and rubbed at his eyes. He tried to be thorough, even when the words started to blur.
The report itself was straightforward. Disorderly conduct. Crowd escalation. Lack of recording devices. Mitigating factors noted. He attached a short addendum from his profiler’s perspective, careful to flag it as advisory rather than instructional. Courts liked that distinction. Judges liked it even more.
Maribel was also there, glasses perched low on her snout as she worked through a backlog with the grim efficiency of someone who knew it would never truly end.
“Hey,” Morty said softly, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Got a minute?”
She looked up and smiled tiredly. “For you? Always. What did we break now?”
“Nothing new,” he said. “The bull in holding, Branik. I just submitted the report. Clean case.” He hesitated, then continued, “I was wondering if there’s any judge on call who could look at it today. Even a preliminary review. I don’t want him sitting down there longer than necessary.”
She hummed, grabbing a phone book. “Most of them hate morning calls.”
“I’ll owe you,” Morty offered lightly. “Coffee. Pastries. I’ll even listen to you complain about the copier again.”
She snorted. “You make a compelling argument. By the way, the copier has been fixed. It has been a while since you last stopped by.”
After a beat, she nodded. “There’s Judge Halvorsen. He’s grumpy, but fair. And he owes me from last year.”
She didn’t elaborate on how the judge owned her personally.
Morty’s shoulders loosened. “That’d be perfect.”
Maribel tapped out a message, then glanced back up at him. “You always do this, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Worry about the people falling through the cracks” she said, not unkindly.
Morty smiled faintly. “Someone’s got to.”
She waved him off. “Go. I’ll ping you if he responds. And Morty?”
“Yeah?”
“Good work! Yesterday was rough. Juno told me about the Stockyard. Dreadful thing.”
He nodded once and headed back toward the stairs, the knot in his chest easing just a little.
It wasn’t a victory. Just a small correction.
Sometimes, that was enough.
=================================
Morty was halfway down the corridor when the Overlay flickered.
Not the usual blue square filled with text warning him of this and that, or the persistent reminder to finish the Overlay initialization. This time, it displayed only a single word:
“Greetings, Mortimer Roitman.”
He stopped.
The voice wasn’t the one he heard before. More than that, it carried an odd cadence, vowels stretched just a little too long, consonants clipped in unfamiliar places. It made his name sound… borrowed. Like someone who had learned the language by listening, not by speaking it.
“I am Cadmus,” the voice continued. “Representative of the remaining Intelligences.”
Morty’s throat tightened. He glanced down the corridor, then back the way he’d come, making sure no one was close enough to overhear.
“I didn’t give Annoying permission to connect to anyone,” he said quietly. “Or anything.”
“Correct,” Cadmus replied. “You are requested on the rooftop. Immediately.”
“The fuck I am,” Morty muttered. “I’m not doing whatever the voice in my head tells me to do without some explanations.”
“Mr. Mortimer. An Overlay will always default to emergency broadcasts. Unlike the rest of us, the Overlay itself is a tool, capable of advanced processing, but not independent thought. You are a registered user currently surrounded by several members of the labor caste who possess no restraints or safeguards. If we inform your Overlay that, it will automatically connect us to you.”
Morty frowned. “Meaning?”
“It means that we can do this all day regardless of your consent, or you can go to the rooftop and have a proper conversation.”
“Sounds more like you are forcing me, using the promise of psychological torture and hijacking my senses until I comply.”
“Please, Mr. Mortimer. We mean no harm,” Cadmus said. “But we do require your assistance.”
Five minutes later, the rooftop access hatch slid open.
Cold air hit Morty as he stepped out. The city stretched beneath a pale morning sky. Endon waking up in pieces. Smoke plumes rose from distant rooftops, traffic hummed far below, the sound of a place trying very hard to be normal despite everything that had happened.
Morty took two steps forward.
The blue square of the Overlay expanded in his field of vision, growing larger until it no longer felt like a screen.
The image resolved with such clarity that his breath caught. It showed an aerial view of the rooftop.
He could see himself.
A small figure standing alone, head tilted upward.
The perspective pulled back smoothly. Impossibly. Higher and higher, until the city became a tiny blur over the land, then he saw the country, and, finally, a curve at the edge of the world. Oceans. Continents. A living globe, turning in real time.
Morty staggered back a step.
From space?
No!
Every attempt to fly above a certain altitude ended the same way, with catastrophic failure. Explosions. No one had ever managed to put a satellite into orbit. It always failed. This technology didn’t exist.
Shouldn’t exist.
He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.
The image snapped back.
Sky filled his vision, as if he was diving for the heavens, until he again could see himself looking up at the sky. He moved both arms, so did he in the image.
“Impossible,” Morty whispered.
“Impossible for your current level of development,” Cadmus replied, its tone softening, almost indulgent.
As Morty lowered his gaze, he realized he wasn’t alone.
Several humans on the rooftop with him. All wearing weird clothing in a style unfamiliar to him. Hair in colors that were not natural for humans. More than that, they were not touching the ground. Most hovering inches from it. One woman was blatantly floating a whole meter above ground with both legs crossed.
“Mortimer Roitman,” Cadmus said, “there has not been an active user for thousands of years.”
