Previously on Nerve City:
In order to hack into the computer of Mouse Mob co-conspirator, Madam Le Pew, Lucky had to literally get shit on by a brap house mouse. Real. Now, things are really heating up in the city of sleaze, where no one gets out without a weird stain on their work shirt; we return to…Nerve City.
7
“When is mommy coming home?”
I’m rubbing my eyes, the phone forming a sweatpocket to my ear. “I told ya, she said she was white water rafting with some old college friends, probably won’t be back for a month.”
“But that’s so long!” The kid sounds really upset.
“Yeah, I’m starting to think that maybe she ran off or something–been talking about ‘finding herself.’ Eat, pray, yiff and all that, probably feelin like motherhood’s a prison–hey, tell your aunt Wendy you gotta stay there another week, tell her I’ll pay her back for all the cereal you’re eating.”
He’s crying, but I think he’s buying the whole rafting story. Kids are stupid; sometimes that’s a good thing.
“Are you ready to get the bad guys? Teehee.” Shutterfly walks in, all decked out in her black ops gear. I’d be lying if I said I don’t wanna peel off her tight little tactical pants and give her a couple of good strokes bent over the desk.
“Okay, gotta go shoot some loads–er, bad guys. Be good and don’t break anything,” I shove the phone into the drawer.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“My son. I think he’s going gay or something.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet!”
“Yeah, real sweet. Let’s get the hell outta here, I need to get my mind off somethin.”
I crack the window. The noxious outside air makes me feel free. Plus I’m hard hittin the vape.
We’re rollin up on the Hamazon fulfillment Center, smack dab in the heart of the Fur City Central shipping district—a vast industrial sprawl. The place is an ideal location for an unsavory trade-off; the only people around are drones and slave bots. They got gun turrets guarding the shipments, but nothing is stopping a handful of thugs from making use of the seclusion.
Despite my pullin’ out a little early, something I’m not usually good at, we scraped quite a bit of intel from the stork’s laptop; seemed the brap house was operating at a loss, at least on paper. Off paper, it was just another mob laundromat, trading bad money for good.
That they’re up to no good surprises absolutely no one; what does surprise me is their terrible opsec. Digging through a top secret private messaging channel (their fucking Fmail account), we intercepted a useful conversation. They were tryin to play clever, using code words us cops’d cracked last year:
“Granny’s coming, have Roger pick her up at the deli. Have her flowers ready @ Sundown. Phone number 18321212097. Ding 1 for fun.”
Translation: “We’re making the drop at midnight; tell Roger to meet us at the Hamazon plant. Have the stash house ready for a cash deposit tonight.”
We pass a billboard about not shaking your babies and think about the boy, wonder if he’ll have any parents left by the end of the week. On the bright side, maybe one of these Mob mice will shoot me crippled, and I can spend the rest of my days hopped up on Amp and disability checks–that’s how the pros retire–and Jack can finally get that VR set all his friends have. A rabbit can dream, right?
Yeah, I’m riding passenger. I don’t mind Shutterfly taking the wheel; I like having my hands free. She drives ok, hits the turns real aggressive like Gruff used to. I see the Star of Mark hanging from the rearview, spinning like bad luck on a Saturday night. I wore the same Star around my neck after I’d married Snowball, made her religious family happy. Since then, I’d lost the little icon in a two bit hotel, or maybe a SmashBit parlor. Figure my badge carries plenty more authority than a fluffy star anyways.
“Whatcha doing for Emperor’s Day? Got any family coming over?” Shutter asks.
“Hope not.”
“I’m having all the ponies over for an apple bob! Then, I’m serving up some of my world famous peach cream pie! Wanna’ come?”
“Thanks, but I got a lotta shit to do, I think or something.” Pie does sound kinda good right now. “Ah, what the fuck!” I swat at the fuckin mantis roach on my pant leg.
“What?”
The blippy little bastard’s doing eights in front of my face.
“There’s a roach–roll down the windows!”
Shutter shrieks. It zips across her face.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!”
The windows go down. I’m swatting at the air, and Shutter is losing her shit. We quickly pull over. There’s now a four point inspection underway. Those things are AIDS on wings, and their bites leave a lot to be desired.
After checking under the seats, the glove box, the cup rests, we find nothing.
“Goddamn it, this whole city’s a goddamn roach motel!” I say.
“Check my tail,” Shutterfly turns her ass in my direction. It ain’t bad, that’s for damn sure, even with the horse cock between her haunches.
“Nothing back here but a nice piece of tail.”
“Teehee, thanks.”
We slide back into the truck. My heart’s goin at it again, so I sneak another pill. How many was that now, fourteen? Damn, need to reup soon.
“Do they really lay eggs under your skin? I never had to deal with these things back at Cloppington.”
“Not counting the trash, crime, and general shitty attitude of everyone around you, that’s the one drawback to livin in the city, the fuckin bugs,” I say.
“Yeah, but besides all that, I think it’s swell!”
“Hey, take a right here, I know a faster way.”
“No can do, buckaroo, I’m on FurMaps.”
Oh for fucks sake.
“So? I know this city like the back of your ass. Trust me.”
“Sorry, if I don’t follow the FurMaps I get heart palpitations, I totes panic!”
Mark’s ass. Without apps, half the population couldn’t tie their fuckin shoes. I let it slide; we got serious shit to attend to. Thankfully, it isn’t just us the Mouse Mob would be dealing with; half the force was posted up, rifles dialed in, just waiting for the signal.
As we near the Hamazon fulfillment center, Shutterfly kills the lights. We creep through the night like a halfhard panther on a rape kick. The whir of the drones above adds a layer of protection, masking the hum of our truck. I paw the gun strapped to my chest, my trigger finger itching like a greasy hemorrhoid.
I radio, “We’re on location.”
She parks the truck, and I hop out. I climb up onto the massive dumpster in the alleyway. It’s a big one, the kind they throw expired furs in for processing. For all I knew, Gruff could be right below me. My paws are shaking bad. Might’ve been one too many Amps on the ride over. It’s a thin line with Amp; the equilibrium isn’t exactly a science, if you hadn’t figured that out already.
“Everything okay, Luck?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, struggling up the metal ladder. Something doesn’t feel right, like he’s here right now, trying to tell me somethin–Mark’s cunt.
At the top of the bin, I give my face a smack—Gotta focus. I get a shiver down my back–hearing things–seeing things–fuck–I flip the heat sensor on the binocs. Sure enough, I pick up some orange and red blobs by the Phallused Zebra statue outside the Hamazon building.
“I see em, over there by the statue. Ten of them, at least.”
“Ten-four, Luck.”
I crawl back down, not sure if I wanna mention the vision I just had up there, Gruff stuck in that container below me, pounding on the lid, barking at me to let him out…
We drive around the block, angling to sneak up from behind. I fumble with my gear. The amp’s got me feeling every bit of gravel beneath our tires, every fly buzzing outside around the processing containers; shit’s all off.
I pull up my sleeve. Marks ass, there’s no fucking fur on my arm–just pink, wrinkled flesh–It’s not real, Luck, it’s just nerves–I’m sweating through my balaclava. Shutterfly looks at me, horrified.
“What the fuck is going on?” I shout.
Shutter whispers, “Shut up, Luck, they’ll-”
BLAM.
Shots. Mark’s ass. Shutter ducks. The windshield shatters.
Screams.
Mark’s cunt.
I hear a loud sound, like a bomb, flings me out of my seat,
Glass.
White.
Sirens.
Fuck.
the apes are waking up, they’re screaming…makes the giant cylinders glow, glow so bright the lemurs have to cover their
cock-eyes, even with the goggles on, so loud too, humming, earsplitting, reverberating,
rows upon rows of clear, bubbling tanks filled with children, progeny, bloodlines,
the lemurs
strapped onto the table, knives coming down, slice slice slice into every inch of my body,
my body,
they’re pulling something out of me, a web, it’s hot, burning, I can feel…
my heart screaming, the worst…
feeling…
I’ve…
ever…