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🦝 Ashveil x Kuchiba 🦝 Welcome to Furbo City

Planarcadia.

What an absolute shithole.

For a planet that was supposedly Aha’s domain, it looked so...glum. Unless, the joke was that he arrived expecting to be greeted by a paradise, and that Aeon was looking down at him laughing THEMSELVES to death. Regardless, La Mancha did not find the punchline to be funny.

The real joke here was the Interastral Peace Corporation. Back in the old days, this "Planarcadia" was known to La Mancha and the galaxy as Beizaitengoku. Tales spread far and wide of it being a most beautiful society, populated by finely crafted artisan works with a vibrant yet coherent color palette. Now, it was a dump. A complete, absolute dump. What could he expect from the same corporation that put the faces of his kids on wanted posters?

His shoes kicked aside the rubble as he walked upon the dilapidated sidewalk. To think that this place used to be a bustling and beautiful city full of joy and glee; now it was overrun by doom and gloom. The stagnant air was occasionally disturbed by the shifting of the stacks of rubble. Perhaps he and Narrator were not alone, but the two of them had yet to spot even the slightest clue of life in the vicinity.

Where was he to go? Street signs were of no help, as poles were bent over and pointing upwards towards roads that no longer existed. It was hard to believe that these so-called Phantasmoon Games were held on this very planet. Perhaps the rumors were wild or the travel brochures were outdated? Regardless of the reasoning, La Mancha had to stay on the low. This place could either be crawling with IPC cockroaches or desolate to the point where even the apex predators were struggling for survival.

Some "buildings" still stood, though they were merely serving as reminders as the past that once was. Narrator and La Mancha looked up at these toppled structures, unable to make piece together any useful info from the signs that still remained.

"Perhaps we should pick a direction and just head in it," La Mancha suggested.

"A brilliant idea. Especially since we have no idea where we are currently,” Narrator said.

La Mancha crossed his arms. "We’re sitting ducks on these streets. Prime targets for whatever still lives out here to track us down, IPC or otherwise." He pointed his finger in the direction of where the toppled buildings were the densest. "Seeking out the heart of the city and working from there will be our best bet."

"And walking right into the domain of the city’s biggest monsters as if we belong here. Impeccable thinking, as always."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Something that doesn’t involve us becoming bait, potentially."

"I... you...come on, let’s just get going," La Mancha said, walking forth.

Narrator sat behind for a few moments, watching the Ranger march onwards through the rubble. Realizing that it was a battle that he was not going to win, Narrator caught up, walking not too far behind.

La Mancha scanned his surroundings as he stepped over chunks of stone and pushed aside remnants of collapsed structures. It was most evidently a bustling society at one point in time. Cars were still lined up in a somewhat orderly fashion along the road, though they were no better than heaps of rust slowly being eroded to dust by the wind. Stores down the streets, though long since ransacked, were left with doors open as if they were still welcoming visitors. Ruins of conflict were something La Mancha was all too familiar with, and he knew it was futile to stick his head inside to gaze upon what remained. Out of an unfortunate habit, his eyes briefly locked onto the windows of the buildings, but he carried on as there was no use stopping for a closer look when he knew what he would see.

Just because he had held the bodies of the Rangers he had failed, doesn’t mean that he had interest in going out of his way to gaze upon bone dry corpses.

Along the way, a bus stop still stood. La Mancha stopped at it, though not expecting a ride to appear for him any time soon. Discerning his current location from the map that remained was impossible, as the majority of the illustration had been worn away. Not even the city name could be read at the top; all that was present were a few winding roads and what was presumable notable attractions marked with symbols. As for the map key to read the symbols in question? Now why would fortune favor him for that to remain legible too?

La Mancha pressed the tip of his finger on a building that was more distinct from the rest.

"There’s a police station, that much I can tell. If we want to figure out where and how to get out of here, that’s probably our best bet."

Narrator looked up at him. "And where is this police station in question?"

"I have no idea."

He looked around for anything that could even remotely resemble a police station or directions towards one. Nothing of use, unsurprisingly. Any text was almost completely unreadable, and any signs were bent out of shape. La Mancha kneeled down and extended out his arm to Narrator. The slumbernana monkey scampered up his arm and sat upon his head, scouting out the area around.

"Do you see anything?" La Mancha asked. "Community center, police station, anything?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps that building in the distance very faintly marked 'Police Department' is what you’re looking for."

"W-where?"

Narrator bent over, appearing upside down in La Mancha’s vision. He pointed forth into the rubble, not exactly the easiest terrain to navigate, but La Mancha had faith in his guidance as he followed where he pointed. He pushed aside rubble and wiped dust out of his eyes as the hellscape before him felt as if it had infinite generation. After climbing over one pile and pushing through the next, finally before him stood the remains of what was once a grand police department. The sign that was once above the building had mostly weathered away leaving the words "Police Department" legible, but not a single clue as to the identity of the city remained.

The front gate was shut, but most of the metal bars were pried apart or otherwise completely broken off. An emblem initialed F.P.D. held the gate shut with a most futile seal.

La Mancha looked down at Narrator. "I do not believe it is wise for us to enter,” he whispered. “Whoever was here before us either wanted to keep something in, or they wanted to keep us out."

"Whatever it was, it’s probably long gone anyways by the looks of things," Narrator said. "Not to mention, these gates don’t look very effective at keeping anything from crossing."

With an uncertain and almost indifferent shrug, La Mancha stuck his hand through a gap in the bars and unhooked it from the other side. It took a bit of working through the rust, but eventually, he was able to undo the latch and push the gate open. The weathered metal screeched as it opened, and Narrator pulled his ears down in response. With the gates apart welcoming them in, the building looked awfully intimidating for something that was, in theory, abandoned.

"Shall we?" La Mancha said.

Narrator shook off his headache. "After you."

The front courtyard had been reduced to tumbleweed, and the formerly neatly inlaid stone had become cracked and shattered. What caught the attention of La Mancha, however, were massive claw marks up the stairs and around the door.

Whatever made these marks could’ve easily been well over two to three times his size.

The doors were most heavy, requiring La Mancha to use the entirety of his body weight to force them to open along their worn hinges. The two of them were greeted with the sight of a ransacked lobby. It appeared to have been a work of art in itself, once upon a time. All sense of color was drained leaving muddied traces of its former vibrancy. Elaborate tapestries were shredded or otherwise disintegrated to where the needlework was unrecognizable. Up a flight of stairs, the statue of a woman would have been looking over all who walk through, innocent or guilty, but she had no head to look with as it had been broken clean off.

Ahead of them, the reception desk appeared to be left in fairly good shape, relative to their surroundings. La Mancha and Narrator looked at each other and nodded their heads, silently agreeing to make checking through it their first order of business. The papers both on and in the desk that La Mancha shifted through were proving to be of minimal help. Visitor logs and idle scribbles were all that remained legible. The ink had otherwise faded, and it was reasonable to conclude that anything that could have been of use either blew away or was stolen.

"Dammit, how hard can it be to find out where you are?" La Mancha complained.

"It is usually not that difficult, provided that the cell phone bill is paid on time," Narrator said, his paws tapping away at a typewriter.

"Argh..."

Before La Mancha could utter a retribution, his attention was piqued by the sound of creaking wood from somewhere deeper within the station. The two of them went silent, down to their breaths becoming hardly audible. One who didn’t know better may presume that they were dead.

"...What was that?" La Mancha whispered.

A few long moments of silence passed.

"I am sure that it is simply the old structure faltering," Narrator said.

"If you say so."

It was not an unreasonable conjecture to make. The building was struggling to hold up, even with the stone supports that remained. The structure was bound to crumble and shift from the weight over time, and perhaps the opening of the doors had set off a chain reaction disturbing something somewhere. The only reason they would have to worry is if the creeks were consistently moving...which they weren’t.

"Well then," La Mancha said, tightening his fist around a useless sheet of paper, "we won’t be making any progress here, so shall we be off now?"

"To where?" Narrator asked, paw still on the typewriter.

La Mancha walked over to one of the side passages which had been locked down tightly by shutters. Electricity had long been gone from the building, so flipping the switch upwards and instantaneously opening the path forward was out of the question. Nonetheless, he flipped the switch and hardly spared a reaction when nothing happened. La Mancha stood there and stared at the door for a few moments, crossing his arms in thought. Narrator hopped down from the top of the desk and sat down near him to join in taking in the sights of the shutters.

"Staring at it isn’t going to get it to magically open," Narrator pointed out.

"But of course, which is why I have a little friend up my arm."

La Mancha slid one of the nails out of his wrist. Manifesting from his arm was a long tentacle-like shadow with a gaping maw at its end. A sight that was most terrifying...if Narrator was not already accustomed to it. The shadow of the Voracity slipped itself beneath the shutters, protruding its jaws from the ground. Its teeth snapped shut on the shutters tightly, then forced itself upwards. The metal was bent as it was forced upwards, and a large chunk was swallowed by the shadow. Almost like a proud dog, the fanged tentacle turned towards La Mancha and presented the path it had opened for the two of them.

"...After you," Narrator said.

The shadow was quickly withdrawn to La Mancha’s arm, having served its purpose for the time being. He quickly redid the nails to reseal the beast, then patted his wrist. He peered his head around the corner and noticed that the side hallway before him was rather dark, though beams of sunlight slipped through from where the building had been decimated. Message boards were on the wall, with remnants of missing persons and old newspaper clippings pinned into them. La Mancha stopped in front of one for a moment, kicking aside some of the rubble so that he could stabilize his footing.

The news clippings were illegible, with only faint headlines and photographs discernible. The lost persons posters were faded, and only the word "MISSING" printed in bold stood the test of time. La Mancha solemnly looked at these posters, though not even bothering to squint at their details through what tiny amount of light filtered through.

"...I wonder if they were ever found," La Mancha thought aloud.

"Most likely not. If they didn’t die from the passage of time, then whatever tragedy that befell this city would’ve."

"You’re right," La Mancha said, forcing himself to turn away and continue through the hallway without another word.

Though he was supposed to be sniffing out clues to anything regarding his current location, La Mancha found himself lamenting the state of the place more than actually looking. In all fairness, there wasn’t much present for him to look at. Anything of use was gone, and what remained hardly functioned if at all. Torn seals flimsily held a door shut, all peeled off with ease to lead into a domain where computers no longer powered on and sunlight weaseled in through cracks between the boards on the windows. All that accompanied them in the building were lockers pried open waving at them with their doors and cracks in the floor to give the tip of La Mancha’s shoes a little hug.

And the distant sounds of the ruins shifting from movement within.

Narrator pressed his paws upon one of the keyboards, the key coughing up dust in between clicks. La Mancha shifted through what was left, but all he found were a few pots without plants and some office supplies that have been neglected by pillagers. Not even paperwork with a trace of a clue — apparently even back then, mundane government documents proved to be more valuable than the necessities.

La Mancha picked up a hat and shook off the accumulated debris. He held the hat up closer to his face and squinted, reading the insignia embellished with "F.P.D." They didn’t even bother spelling out the entire damn name. The consequences of minimalism striking even on a post-apocalyptic planet...La Mancha could not figure out where he was, and also it looked horribly cheap and lazy.

He put the hat back on the wall hook, swatting away the dust that it kicked up. "I don’t think we're going to find anything here."

The hook fell off, taking pieces of the wall with it.

"There’s really nothing to find," Narrator said, still pawing away at the keyboard as if he were expecting it to do something.

"There’s still an entire half of the building remaining, not to mention what we have yet to cover on this side," La Mancha said, walking over to the door and putting his hand on the handle. "I’ll be damned if all we get out of this is the F out of the F.P.D."

Narrator hopped down to sit beside La Mancha. "You’re awfully confident as every 'lead' you’ve found only baited you."

La Mancha turned the knob and pushed the door open. "Logically speaking, there has to b-"

Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a massive creature staring him down with two yellow eyes. It resembled a cat scaled up numerous times in size, except that it had two massive tails flickering behind it instead of one. He and Narrator both stared at the massive cat for a few moments, before La Mancha closed the door back as if pressing rewind on his actions.

Almost immediately after the door was shut in its face, it started clawing away at the wood, and La Mancha pressed his back against it in an attempt to hold it off. Narrator ran up his leg and sought out safety perched upon his shoulder.

"I don’t think this place is as abandoned as we thought," La Mancha said from in between his fangs.

"Then what do you suppose we do now, great detective?"

The beast’s claws pierced through the door, just barely missing La Mancha’s neck.

"Run. We run."

Run to where? The office space was practically a dead end. With his face on wanted posters that were scattered across rural walls and IPC message boards alike, the infamous leader of the Galaxy Rangers was no stranger to making a swift escape. He ran to the back of the office, freeing the door from resistance and allowing the creature to break through, taking some of the wall with it. In the center of the room were a few cubicles, and La Mancha stood his ground near the back waiting to see what side it was going to approach from. It went left, so he bolted in the opposite direction to slip behind the beast and out the door down the hallway. La Mancha kept running straight down the hall, kicking up and tripping over rocks and rubble as Narrator was securely perched atop him.

The shutters that had previously cut off that section of the building no longer served a practical purpose, as the Voracity had bitten through a significant chunk of them. Not to mention, they were severely bended and folded as a result of being forced upwards. The logical decision would have been to bolt out the front door in the time he still had to spare, but with half of the building left unexplored, La Mancha went straight for the shutters on the opposite side.

"Can’t you just consume the beast itself?" Narrator asked.

"Do you want me to eat the whole damn place?" La Mancha snarled as he worked the nails off of his wrist.

As the shadow worked the shutters up, the massive feline beast stepped into the light from the hallway opposite. It charged across, and La Mancha ducked his head under the shutters as they were halfway lifted and dashed down the opposing hallway. Off to his side, he noticed a door, and praying that it was left unlocked, he forced his body through it. Of course, it just had to be one of the less securely shut doors, and so he toppled onto the ground, and dropped his cane a fair distance away, Narrator leaped off of his shoulder and closed the door in his steed. He retrieved La Mancha’s cane and handed it back to him, and the two of them watched as the feline trotted past the window.

Exhausted, La Mancha slid himself towards the wall and leaned against it, sighing heavily. Narrator sat in front of him, giving him his usual googily-eyed stare.

"What the hell is a nekomata doing in a place like this?" La Mancha huffed in between breaths.

"I think the question that we should be asking is, what the hell are we doing in a place like this," Narrator said.

"Y-you pointed us in the direction of the police station! How was I supposed to know there was a giant cat on the prowl!?" La Mancha sighed and slumped further back against the wall. "Doesn’t matter now, anyways. We still don’t have a clue as to where we’re at, other than it being some kind of city."

"That much is obvious to anyone with working eyes."

Narrator untangled a ribbon that had gotten tangled in his leg from him sitting atop it. From what little light still shone through, La Mancha could tell that it was of a faded blue color, though it had mostly turned to sand and dust. Looking up, he saw that the office was adorned with remnants of streamers. A huge banner acted as the centerpiece, though one side had fallen and become tangled amongst the central desks. Welcome...he couldn’t read the name.

"Whoever they were, seems like they had a hell of a first day," La Mancha remarked.

"And that first day was most certainly their last."

La Mancha didn’t want to think about it. His mind was already plagued enough by the thoughts of those he could not save. Though the destruction of this city had to have happened many years ago, it mattered not to him if he were five minutes too late or five years. A deep regret still filled him looking at the state of the place around. Whoever was here before him seemed to have passed on that welcome to him.

He would’ve settled for a welcome without the giant nekomata staring at him through the door window, though.

...The what?

Their heads turned up immediately. Though they were sitting against the wall below, it did not take long for the beast to circle back around and peer into the windows. La Mancha and Narrator froze, though it was far too late as it had very much noticed them. The three of them stared each other down, locked in a stalemate awaiting the other’s course of action. Just as quickly as La Mancha propelled himself onto his legs with his cane, the nekomata busted the door off of the hingers with a quick swipe of the paws. He ducked beneath its paw, just barely missing it as strands of his hair were sliced off of the top of his head. Grabbing onto Narrator’s arm and swiping him onto his back, he made for the door located on the opposite end of the office.

True to the nature of a cat, the beast managed to slip its large body through the opening. With both routes left and right blocked by its massive body, La Mancha’s only hope was that the door didn’t lead into a dead end. He burst through: hallway to his left, hallway to his right. Good enough for him. He turned his head left, right, left, before shooting forth. With just barely missing running into the wall, he made a sharp turn, and before he knew it, he circled around and was stopped by a big shadow in front of him. La Mancha leaned back as the two tails just barely missed his face as they idly flickered.

The nekomata kept walking forward away from the duo, so he figured that if he were quick and snappy about it, he could slip out unharmed. Regrettably, La Mancha forgot about two things. One, nekomata had above average hearing. Two, as demonstrated previously, the nekomata had the ability to squeeze though tight spaces. Both of these traits were on prime display as its ears angled back and it turned around in the tight hallway to face La Mancha and Narrator.

"Aaaaaaawooooo!??"

The snap of its jaws just barely missing him, La Mancha turned around himself and took off running. The pursuit circled around the entire half of the building at least once more before they ran back into the lobby. Running through the doors and making his exit from the place had become an appealing idea in theory but the doors were too old and heavy, and he would be stopped in his place.

He ran through to the other hallway where the nekomata and La Mancha exchanged their first greetings. There was no point in taking shelter in the room as it had already been broken down before. Rather than loop around once again, he turned down the hallway in the direction of the back of the building, which was mostly open to the sky. He climbed up the rubble, Narrator hanging on for dear life La Mancha fumbled through the crumbling stone guided by his cane. Once he reached the top of the mountain, quickly he scouted out the outdoors around him, taking note of a staircase that appeared to lead deeper underground. From where he could tell alone, it was most certainly narrow enough that the nekomata would be unable to follow him, so he leaped off of the side of the building and made for the staircase. Down he ran, practically sliding down from his quick footsteps, until he landed at an underground parking garage.

The parking garage was littered with cars. They had long since rusted out, so they would have been no good for trying to drive off even if he could find a key. At the very least, the garage wasn’t sealed shut, and the road ahead lead towards the open sky. With the exception of dust particles floating around his ears, it was dead quiet around. Seeing that freedom was well within reach, La Mancha and Narrator leaned up against the wall, taking a few moments to catch their breath.

"At least there won’t be any giant cats down here to chase us," La Mancha said.

"Don’t jinx it," Narrator said.

"Oh come on, what’s it going to do, follow us through the walls? Besides, there’s nothing but foundation making up these walls. I’m sure they’ll hold up for at least one more afternoon.”

Giving La Mancha an "are you sure about that" look, Narrator turned his head away.

"To think after all of that, we still never found out what this place was called," La Mancha said. “The fact that figuring out one’s location had become a difficult task is most curious."

He looked around while his primate companion stood idly by. Somehow, it was as if time stood still, yet all too many years had passed all the same. Cars had collided with each other and doors were left wide open, likely a result of panicked escape attempts. Anything of use, ranging from fire extinguishers to personal toolkits kept in cars, had long since been swiped.

Though it was quiet and safer than the building above, it was a most eerie setting. Ruins of not just of a past society, but also of a great struggle were prominent. File down a few layers of rust, and La Mancha would’ve felt as if he was living in a freeze frame of the action itself. The image plagued his every thought. He did not want to stick around any longer than he had to.

"Let’s go," La Mancha said.

Narrator was a tad bit perplexed at his command, wondering what happened to the initial idea of taking a breather. Nonetheless, he was in no position to contest. The old wolf had a clear exhausted limp to his step as he pushed himself forth with his cane, but he paid no mind to his condition as his eyes were fixated on the daylight ahead. He was focused so much so, that his guard was completely let down.

It was the perfect opportunity for one to break through the walls of the garage and strike its unsuspecting victim.

"Watch out!"

By the time La Macha turned around, the nekomata's claws were a mere breath away from clasping around his face.

In between her fingers, she held many white seals inscribed with red ink. Right ahead, a giant black nekomata was leaping for a gentleman that somehow must have gotten lost within the city. With a skillful throw, the seals flew across the underground lot and stuck to the fur of the beast. For being little scraps of paper, they knocked the nekomata back with such force that it crashed through the wall into the room on the other side. The wolf and the little monkey looked over to see that the once fearsome creature that pursued them was being held down with little stickers before its existence faded amongst the rubble.

"Are you alright?"

A woman dressed in all black approached the duo from across the garage. La Mancha looked at her up and down. At first glance, she possessed a stunning beauty to her soft gray hair and her green and orange eyes, and he couldn’t help but be instantly captivated by her appearance. Though she was clearly concerned for his well-being, she possessed a fierce glare in her eyes that made it most evident that she was not a woman to be toyed with.

It was at that moment that this wolf was grateful to not have a tail. As smitten as La Mancha was with his savior, it all felt a little too suspicious. The only trace of human life in the vicinity…no, she couldn’t be. There was no way that a human being just happened to be in the ruins at the same time as him.

A sense of logic and reasoning finally returning to his mind, La Mancha took a step back and raised his cane.

"...Vixen!" he shouted.

The woman tilted her head and looked at him confused, suspiciously like that of a fox.

"Vixen?" she asked. "Did some of the rubble hit your head?"

La Mancha took an offensive stance. "Your concern is cute, but this old wolf’s nose cannot be fooled by the likes of you.”

The woman sighed and reached for his arm. "Listen, we can figure out what’s happening later. Right now, you need to get out of here, and fast.”

La Mancha pulled himself back immediately. “Silence! I am not falling for the dastardly sweet invitation of a kitsune!”

"A…kitsune?"

"It’s the only possible explanation as to why a woman of your bewitching beauty can be found all the way out here in these ruins. And it is awfully suspicious that you just happened to be there to save me right as my neck was on the line, no?”

"You truly think of me to be an imaginae? Ha, I’m almost flattered," she said, twirling handcuffs around her fingers. She pointed towards the pile of rubble where the nekomata had crashed into, though only paper and remnants of wall remained. "Do you really think that if I were an imaginae, I would’ve been able to throw those seals with my own fingers?"

Seeing as how quickly the nekomata was knocked aside, it really felt like a no-brainer once La Mancha had put a little more thought into it. Not to mention, the beast had quickly dissipated, and the woman likely would have herself upon contact with those seals. So maybe his deduction had missed the mark by a long shot. This time, it was for the better (or worse) as his spiritual tail began wagging once more.

"I... suppose not," La Mancha said, scratching the back of his head.

"With all talk of imaginae hopefully behind us now, do tell me. Why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Well you see miss, I am..."

Quick, he had to think of some kind of excuse. Something less embarrassing than, “I just got here and I am completely lost.”

"...a detective."

She hardly seemed convinced as she looked at him up and down.

"A detective? I don’t recognize you around these parts," she said, reaching out to flick the dog on the forehead. "And where’s your hat too?"

"I lost it while running from the nekomata."

"Never thought I’d see a detective clumsy enough to lose his most treasured hat."

"Likewise, my lady, I never thought I would see a kitsune forgo her fluffy tail."

“A real charmer you are,” she said with a hint of a giggle to her voice. “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”

Looking at her, handcuffs and all, she was very clearly a cop. It was a miracle that she did not recognize the face of a man who was plastered all over the galaxy. Or maybe the news hadn’t made it to Planarcadia yet, which was highly unlikely given the tight grip the IPC held over the planet. Giving her his real name would be most unwise, so in the split second he had before things became too awkward, he had to come up with something new and something unrecognizable.

Through the veil of ash that settled around them, the gaze of the woman pierced his soul. She was expecting a response in the next few milliseconds before she became suspicious, so-

"Ashveil."

For the briefest of moments, her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him. Whatever questions were raised in her mind, she did not speak them. She merely extended out her hand.

"Kuchiba," she said.

"Ashveil" accepted her handshake, though it didn’t last long before she pulled away.

"We’ve wasted enough time with idle chatter," Kuchiba said, turning to walk deeper into the parking garage. "It’s not safe here, nekomata or not."

Kuchiba’s heels echoed throughout the underground as she approached a group of cars parked in the back. Apparently, Ashveil’s initial impression of the garage being nothing more than a graveyard of rust was incorrect. He caught up to Kuchiba, who lead him to a car parked as neatly amongst the ruins as she could possibly manage. It was no weathered machinery either; it was about as well taken care of as a car driven through crime scenes could possibly me. She opened up the driver’s side and looked over at Ashveil before sliding in.

"Hop in. And take your pet with you."

He looked down at Narrator. The two of them blinked at each other, unable to come to a silent conclusion on whether or not they should accept her invitation. Ashveil put his hand on the handle of the back door, but he did not pull it open quite yet.

"To think that just moments ago, you claimed this woman to be a kitsune and were insistent on not falling for her tricks," Narrator said, "but clearly, it doesn’t take nine tails for a lady to convince you to follow her orders.”

"I-you-come on! Do you have any better ideas of getting around?"

"One that preferably doesn’t involve getting into the car of a cop we just ‘happened to run into.’"

Against better judgement, Ashveil pulled open the back door and slid into the seat. Kuchiba glanced upwards and met his gaze through the rear-view mirror.

"Come up front," she said. "Your pet can stay in the back."

"...Pet?" Narrator said.

"Pet?" Ashveil said as he sat back down. "That is not a pet. He’s my assistant...Mister N."

The only time he had been brought into this conversation, all to be called a pet. Was it really worth it sitting through the back and forth between an old wolf on the run from the law and a fox just waiting for the right moment to ensnare him in cuffs? Probably not. But he had nowhere else to go. Not to mention, La Ma-Ashveil still owed him quite a few bananas.

Skillfully, Kuchiba maneuvered through the remnants of the garage and exited the ramp into the sunlight. Though most of the road lay in ruins, she drove through the city like she owned the place, not stopping even for a moment to rethink the direction in which she was taking them. Ashveil watched as the ruins passed by outside his window, but Kuchiba kept her eyes on the road as if she were merely driving through her second home.

"Here I was convinced that there was no life here outside of those imaginae," Ashveil said. "What could a place like this possibly have that interests you?”

"Despite its appearance, the ruins of the city are most significant topic amongst the Department of Aberration Defense. A cult once called this city their home, and we’ve been investigating its birthplace for clues left behind as to who, or what, its mastermind may have been."

A cult, Ashveil thought. They did all of this?

“Which in turn,” Kuchiba continued, “makes me wonder why you’re here yourself.”

"You see, I uh...took a wrong turn and ended up here."

"So much for being a detective,” she snickered. “Don’t you have a GPS on your phone?"

Truly, it was the worst possible moment for the leader of the Galaxy Rangers to be a broke bum.

"Yeah well...I have no money to pay the phone bill."

Mr. N could physically feel his tiny furry body writhe from the embarrassment.

"In any case, regardless of how you ended up here, you picked a most awful place to find yourself in. Compared to the rest of Planarcadia, it’s been more akin to the planet’s slums ever since the Herald of Death incident years ago.”

"The what?" Ashveil whipped his head around to look at Kuchiba.

"The Herald of Death murders are a big deal, even to this day. It is an insanely sensitive topic amongst citizens and law enforcement alike, and I still find myself cleaning up traces of him. I can tell you must be new here, considering you have never heard of him."

Ashveil pouted, his cheeks turning a light pink as he huffed and turned away. Rather than pull the wolf’s tail for his ignorance, Kuchiba smiled as she kept her hand on the wheel and eyes on the road.

"In any case,” Kuchiba continued, “life is still abundant on Planarcadia. Almost too abundant at times, I must confess. I’ll catch you up on things once we arrive at the station, detective."

Detective. It seemed as if that was going to be the identity of La Mancha for the time being. As they drove further away from the city, the roads became less rugged, and the sight of the ruins of grand skyscrapers were replaced with abandoned civilian homes on the outskirts. Many burning questions still remained, but only one was important to him for the time being.

"So, where are you taking me exactly?" Ashveil inquired.

"To Duomension City. The station is located there, and you’ll find that Planarcadia is not as dead as you initially thought.”

They drove past a large sign. Ashveil turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of what it read before it faded into the horizon behind.

Welcome to Furbo City

Ho▮e of ▮he R▮▮se▮rch ▮o▮iet▮ ▮f Ha▮▮▮S▮ile▮

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