She could hear the click-clack of Nick’s boots as he tore through the warehouse in her direction. As soon as she gave the all clear, he rounded the corner, skidding to a stop, panting. A look of relief washed over his face as he saw her sitting on the cold stone floor in a pool of sweat. Breathing slightly heavy, she smiled, seeing worry replaced by relief as he stood there panting, his palms on his knees catching his breath. When he looked up at Tiffany, she gave him a weak smile and a thumbs-up as she rested her head on the metal wall of the warehouse.

  "Just... give me a minute," she said, holding up her index finger. Nick, still hunched over, gave her a thumbs-up in agreement.

  "So... phew, so now what?" he asked, rocking upright to wander over to one of the coffin-sized boxes on the shelf.

  He looked at the green-screened panel on the side, with numbers and glyphs he didn’t understand blinking and flashing in a slow, steady pulse.

  "Hey, Tiff? What are these?"

  She motioned for him to come over. As he stood in front of her, she lazily held her hands out straight. He reached down, gently hefting her up to her feet.

  "Wow, you're amazingly light when you're this size..." Nick commented as he helped her up. Tiffany managed a small chuckle at this.

  "That's why I call it fun-size," she replied, walking over to the rows of coffins.

  "What were you doing with the computer? You look like you ran a marathon full sprint." She offered him a weak smile at this.

  "Ever beat yourself up in a conversation in your head?"

  He paused, looking at her, considering what she said, and gave a slow nod.

  "Sometimes when I go through a lot of emotional issues, I feel like I'm fighting a war against myself. You know, the usual. Depression, anxiety, being alone and feeling worthless. The usual assholes that won't leave me alone that live in my head."

  She just looked up at him, her face blank, slowly processing what he said. She closed her eyes as she reached over, giving him a snug hug. Nick froze for a moment, surprised—but not uncomfortable. In a way, he was somewhat relieved. He reached down and gently ran his hand through her mess of wet red hair.

  "It's Okay. As long as I'm here, you won't have to worry about being alone," she told him in a calm, soothing voice. "I'll be here, as long as you want me to be."

  She released him and quickshifted—*foomp*! Then she picked him up, as a person would pick up a cat and dangle it from under the arms, a hand under each armpit as she held him up, looking him in the eyes. His eyes narrowed in silent protest, but he didn't fight her.

  "And I assure you, you are NOT useless. You may not understand what I was going through, but your voice guided me when you called out—even if it was just you feeling helpless and worried."

  She set him down, then ruffled his head as she went over the screen readout with him.

  "Just don’t tell my shrink what I told you," he poked back.

  She looked at him and smiled.

  "You have my word—as long as you don’t tell him about me..."

  Nick looked at her with a deadpan stare.

  "Yes, I'm going to tell him I'm working with aliens and my new partner is an eight-and-a-half-foot-tall red wolf."

  She returned the expression, holding her index finger up in a matter-of-fact manner.

  "One: I'm a Lupas, not wolf. Two: no one would believe you," she said, squatting down and looking at him eye-level with a toothy grin.

  He squinted at her, mimicking her usual glare. Her snarkiness faded into curiosity and confusion as she looked down at the end of her muzzle—eyes tracking Nick’s index finger pressing lightly against the tip of her wet, black nose like a doorbell.

  "Boop. There, now we're even," he said with every unenthusiastic fiber he could muster.

  Her eyes went wide at this, almost looking comically cross-eyed as she tracked the tip of his finger. Before she could react, he turned to look at the box and some of the surrounding items.

  Her ears perked up and swiveled forward as her tail lifted, slowly swishing. She stood up to her full height and walked over, looking at the screen on the box that Nick was inspecting.

  "This one is empty," she replied after tapping the screen readout. "It would flash red if they were occupied—plus this would say *occupied*," she said, tapping a claw on the glyphs that looked like sandscript to him, for all he knew.

  "What do they use these for?" he asked.

  "They're to store living specimens for sale at a later date," she said, tapping a protruding fang with a claw in thought. "A stasis chamber... you can freeze a living being and thaw them out at your convenience and they will be just like how they where when first froze, the coffin style are for transport, or if you'd prefer, mobile models."

  Nick looked a little rattled at this for a moment, piecing the other bits of what was involved together easily as he nodded his understanding.

  They split up, proceeding to check the area. Nick was on coffin duty, checking for any possible red or occupied boxes, while Tiffany continued checking crates. Not much of importance—mainly just some old military surplus left behind: low-budget personnel shield generators, small armaments. Nothing that’d break the bank if left.

  Her claws clicked on the stone floor as she walked—clack-clack-clack—tink...?

  She paused, lifting one of her digipads, purposely clicking a claw against a certain spot.

  tink-tink-tink

  "That's odd..." she muttered to herself. "Hey Nick..."

  "Yeah, go ahead," Nick replied on the headset.

  "I think I found something—come over here," she said, as she got on her hands and knees, checking the part of the floor that sounded odd with her claws. Then she punched it.

  "OK, where are you—?"

  *THOOM!*

  Nick dropped what he was doing and tore off through the warehouse, following all the noise.

  The part she hit wasn’t stone at all—it was more like a steel door that crumpled, leaving a fist-shaped indentation as she struck it. She punched it again and again, continuing until the door folded inward.

  *Thoom—thoom—thoom—screeeeeee!*

  She stopped mid-swing, feeling something tap her on the shoulder.

  "Hey, mind keeping the noise down a tad? Some of us are trying to work over here."

  She just huffed at him, rearing back for another swing, when Nick walked over and noticed a device stuck to the front of a shelf. He detached it, inspecting it.

  *Hmm, looks like a garage door opener,* he thought, rolling it over in his hands. He touched the green glyph—and heard screeching metal and a yelp from Tiff as, mid-punch, the door in the floor began to lift open.

  "Well look at that—you didn't have to kick the door in after all. You... wouldn't happen to have a can of WD-40 in that fancy jumpsuit, would you?"

  When the door opened outward from the floor, she turned around, glaring at Nick, then rolled her eyes and gave him a middle-clawed salute.

  "Wow, those indentations are going to be a dead giveaway we were here..."

  Tiffany just ignored the criticism from her partner. Standing in front of the door, she spread her hands wide and, in a swift motion—*BAM—BAM—BAM*—brought her hands together on the door, flattening the indentations she’d left in it. Then she pulled the corners of the door as straight as she could.

  *Skreeeech!*

  She eyeballed her work, trying to reverse as much of the damage as possible.

  "Clear," Nick called, pushing the button again to close it. The noise was minimal at best, but far better than the crumpled mess she’d made of the door earlier. He hit the button again, opening it back up with only a small squeak.

  "You know, that's pretty good. I'm sure if my ears weren't bleeding from all the noise you were making, it would've probably sounded worse," he poked at her sarcastically while inspecting the job.

  "Huh, nice job. You do bodywork also?" He asked with a smug grin.

  She glared at him, giving Nick the less-than-subtle hint that he’d gone a tad too far, as she pounded her fist into an open palm with a quick *whap*—then slowly closed her open palm around her fist, cracking one knuckle at a time.

  "As a matter of fact, I do. I also do *house* calls..." she growled in an intimidating manner.

  Instead of shrinking back like she expected, he stood up to her with a cocked eyebrow, egging her on.

  "Sounds like a date, then. You can't threaten me with a good time," he said with a grin. She just stared at him, dumbfounded; happy, but dumbfounded.

  "Come on, let's see what's behind door number three."

  He slow-walked to the top of the stairs and down, leaving Tiffany with that wide-eyed, shocked expression that Nick had grown to love.

  *Well—that wasn’t the reaction I expected...

  *sigh* Well played Mr. Dixon, well played...* she thought happily.

  She quickly got over her moment of pleasant shock and bounded happily after him down the stairs to check the rest of the facility.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were met with a set of double sliding steel doors and another green panel beside it. Nick inspected the panel, then pulled out the remote and pressed another button... nothing.

  "Well, it was worth a shot. I guess you're up, Super Floof," Nick commented as he stepped aside, slightly disappointed it didn’t work.

  A grinning Tiffany stepped forward, cracking her knuckles as she ejected her claws, walking past Nick toward the double doors.

  "Okay, my turn. Step aside, Inspector Clouseau..." she said, nudging him with her hip as she passed.

  "Be my guest, mademoiselle," he replied in a mock bow, presenting the door in front of them.

  She jabbed both index claws into the seam between the door halves and twisted.

  squeeee—clunk!

  The two doors separated slightly. She slid her clawed fingers between them and began forcing them open, the metal squealing in protest against her strength as she pried them apart.

  She poked her head in and looked around, waving at Nick behind her to wait. He did—somewhat reluctantly, but patiently—with weapon in hand.

  She caught a whiff of the room, wrinkling her nose as she tapped her collar and ejected her helmet to better scan the dark space and dampen the stench. Already, she wasn’t liking what she saw or—smelled. One wall was lined with cryo tubes, their bases blinking in a steady rhythm. Each tube had a glowing keypad—some pulsing red, others a soft green. The blue chambers cast out an eerie light, painting ghostly shadows through the room.

  As she stepped inside, a light above blinked on with a low hum. Each step forward triggered another light, humming awake and guiding her deeper into the gloom.

  She glanced over her shoulder and motioned for Nick to follow close. He did, Cicada in hand, held low and at the ready. When he followed her in, the only sound was the queit hum of the crio tubes and the click-clacking of Tiffany’s claws on what looked like sloped tile flooring, with a drain grate in the center, chunks and pieces of debris clusted around it. The deeper they moved, the more he noticed the floor wasn’t just white—it was streaked and blotched with rusty brown.

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  He crouched down, inspecting one of the darker patches. Scratching at it with a fingernail, the rusty crust crumbled into chalk-like dust. He rubbed his fingers together, frowning.

  "What the hell—blood...?" he muttered. "Hey Tiff, this place looks kinda sketchy, thats probably stating the obvious though..." muttering again as he stood up hurrying after Tiffany—almost tripping over what looked like a mostly decomposed human foot.

  "The fuc—!" Nick blurted in surprise.

  "This is probably a culling chamber, by the smell of it. And they did a half-hearted job cleaning, too," she replied, stepping over a half-eaten, decomposed hand. "It almost looks abandoned. Or at least this part hasn’t been used in a while."

  Once they reached the cryo chambers, she began checking the ones with red panels.

  "Looks like they abandoned some of your people here..." she mumbled, ticking a claw against the glass of one occupied chamber. She moved along the row, reading each stasis report.

  "A culling chamber? For what?" Nick asked as he examined the panel on one of the empty tubes.

  "Well, the whole reason they do this is to capture and sell creatures as slaves—or food. When they catch someone promising, they bring them back for inspection..."

  "Wait—what? What the hell for?!" Nick was at a loss, staring at the figures suspended in blue fluid, locked in their coma-like deep sleep.

  Tiffany paused in front of a man missing a leg. It had clearly been chopped off, the wound seared—cauterized to keep the meat fresh.

  "And like the name implies," she said quietly, "any defective merchandise gets culled. Sellers get blacklisted if they knowingly move damaged goods. If the subject has a disease or condition that can’t be cheaply fixed for resale, they’re useless. Such as this one, hmmm...this one has nephropathy... hmm,failing kidneys," she said, reading the description chart of the person on the red panel.

  She turned slowly, voice colder now. "If it’s a non-contagious problem... they’re simply eaten. Like a delicacy."

  Tiffany studied Nick’s face, trying to read whether it was shock, disgust—or both. He nodded slowly, part of him beginning to grasp the brutal reality, while the rest lagged behind, still struggling to process. A different thought crept in and settled.

  “You’re... really calm about this,” he said carefully. It wasn’t accusatory—just curious, trying to understand.

  He heard a huff, followed by a burst of air through her helmet’s vent. Her shoulders sank, head tipping toward the floor before turning to him.

  “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have... it feels like an eternity. Sure, you kill bad guys, arrest scumbags, save lives—but if you don’t learn how to compartmentalize, it eats you alive. You stop caring... or worse, you grow numb in the wrong way. That slow crawl leads straight into something worse. I’ve taken out hits on living legends—beings who served for centuries until they snapped. I'm nowhere near where they were in their prime, but when they cracked... they turned feral. Not even ghosts of their former selves—just mindless killing. They couldn’t handle it anymore.”

  “One of the few who managed to avoid that fate was my grandfather. When I asked him about his past, he didn’t share much. Just said that Mrs. Dorris... and me... we kept him anchored. Gave him a reason to live long.”

  She glanced back toward the cryo tubes, voice flatter now.

  “Next thing you know, you’ve become the very thing you used to fight. And you won’t even notice the change until it’s too late.”

  Nick just looked at her shielded face covered by her helmet, part of him regretting bringing it up, the other partially relieved she'd talk to him about these things. He was no better at letting things go, not talking about his problems, sometimes—on an unhealthy level.

  "I'm sorry, Tiff. This... probably wasn't the best time for this conversation..." he said in a gruff, tight voice, looking over at the occupied tubes. He reached over, wiping the thin layer of condensation and grime to see the face of one of the kidnapped humans—a younger man in his late teens or early twenties. He wasn't sure, but it looked like one of the first kids who’d disappeared months ago, someone he’d sometimes see working the register or stocking shelves at the local grocery store.

  Nick started repeating the process, checking to see if he recognized anyone. He came to the last one, recognizing a young girl. His eyes grew wide at the sight of her slender beauty, her blue-and-black highlighted hair floating in the fluid-filled tube.

  "Hey Tiff! Do you still have that flyer on you?"

  She paused for a moment, checking the readouts. She padded over to Nick, claws click-clacking over the tile floor.

  "Yes? Did you find something?" she asked in her usual curious, nonchalant manner. Her tone shifted slightly, becoming perkier when it finally dawned on her what he was asking for. Her hands flew to her large, curvy backside, patting herself down for the flyer. She fished it out upon finding it and rushed over to Nick while unfolding it.

  She scanned the flyer with her visor, then scanned the girl in the tank. She started reading the display out loud as it scrolled across her screen to Nick:

  *Please wait---scanning. Bio-organism facial scan comparison... 99.9% authentication confirmation with 1% error... Positive match: Jessica Taylor.*

  Nick could hear her voice sniffle, crackle, and break up through the helmet as her tough-girl fa?ade shattered like a thin pan of glass on rocky ground. Everything she seemed to have bottled up until now just burst forth, bubbling over. Nick was heartbroken hearing Tiffany fall to pieces like that. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he reached over, patting her on the small of her back. The mixture of the thick spandex-like suit packed with fur and muscle felt... different... under his hand, while he tried to comfort her.

  "It's okay. We found her. She's safe... You did a good job. Now all these people get to go home after they get thawed and patched up," he told her as soothingly as he could, rubbing her back in small circles gently with his hand. In a swift motion, she retracted her headgear and scooped Nick up in a tight embrace, bear-hugging him as gently as she could in her state.

  "Waaaaaah!—We found her!" she cried, a hint of whimper in her voice. "I was beginning to feel like I'd never find any of the humans, much less Mrs. Hopper's friend's daughter!" She was a bundle of emotional mess beyond words and was at a loss how to vent except to squeeze Nick like a stress relief ball in the form of a hug.

  Nick just tried to go along with it, hugging her in return until crreeeaaaak—pop!

  "Ow! Easy, girl, easy!"

  The sound of his back crackling like a bag of potato chips quickly snapped her out of her emotional fit. Still holding Nick, they just stared at each other for a moment. Nick tried his hardest to keep a straight face as her own paled, blushing at her outburst.

  "I... I'm very sorry. Are you OK? I didn't break you, did I?"

  She seemed lost for words beyond that. Her face said the rest of what she couldn't put into speech—sorrow, relief, happiness, a feeling of accomplishment she never expected to receive, and again, sorrow for getting carried away with the moment and her partner.

  "I'm fine... You can put me down now, if you want... If not, that’s fine also," he replied, trying to help any way he could, which didn’t feel like much.

  "Nick?" she asked, still snugly hugging him.

  "Yes, ma’am?" he asked, just going with the flow of the moment, trying to emotionally support her.

  "A... am—sniff... am I a good girl?"

  She asked, trying to get ahold of herself, her eyes squinched closed, her cheeks stained with tears. She loosened her grip as Nick's arms tried to wiggle free, thinking he was trying to get down. But instead, to her surprise, he freed both of his arms to reach up and wipe her tear-stained fur, then gently caressed the sides of her face.

  "Yes... Yes, you are. You are the absolute best girl."

  He reached up even higher and rubbed her head between her ears, making both of her long, fluffy ears twitch in what he could guess was a happy thank-you.

  "I would be stuck at a desk with a cold case if it wasn’t for you. You found these people—the boy from the grocery store, Mrs. Hopper's friend. All of them get to go home safe and sound thanks to you... You're such a good girl..."

  He pulled her face into his chest, gently stroking the mane of her hair. A small smile crept across his lips as her tail curved upward, slowly beginning to sweep back and forth. His grin widened when she started to emit a low, gentle rumble like an idling car, quiet, soothing. He continued stroking her mane as they embraced, waiting patiently and holding her close until her heart rate—felt through her suit and his chest—began to slow.

  "Are you okay now?" he asked in a soothing voice, still giving her head pats. Her body relaxed at the question, and she lifted her face from the warmth of his embrace, nudging and rubbing the side of her face against his as a gesture of gratitude.

  "Um... I'll take that as a yes... maybe?" he asked, unsure what the gesture meant. She took a deep breath, stood up straight, and set him down before starting to dry her face.

  "Nick?"

  "Yes, ma’am?"

  She sighed at the formality, but didn’t have the energy to correct him. She just stood there, quietly.

  “Please… don’t tell anyone about this. I… have enough going through my head without people thinking I’m unstable. And we have a job to do. Unless… you want to part ways. If you do, I understand…” she said, rubbing the side of her arm nervously.

  He stepped up to her, looked into her eyes, and motioned for her to come down.

  She nodded and took a knee in front of him, her curiosity returning as her tail drooped. He placed a hand on her cheek, caressing it gently. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, nudging his hand softly.

  “Why would I tell anyone *your* business? We both have our own mental demons to deal with, and I don’t think that’s anyone else’s concern.” He returned her nudge with a firmer touch, his hand steady on her cheek. “And as deep into this as we are… why would I leave? Like you said, we’ve still got a job to do, and people to find. Besides, these past few days—I’ve felt closer to you than I ever did with any human I’ve had a relationship with, friend or otherwise. So, let’s stop this spiral. Let’s finish this. Find the rest of the kidnapped. And we’ll go from there. Deal?”

  Instead of answering, she nudged his hand again, shaking her head in a relieved *yes*.

  “Okay,” he smiled, “dry it up now. Let’s get these people home. We could both use a good shower to get this nasty funk out of our hair.”