Rain falls on the muted colors of Bliss Town. Growing streams carry trash into the sewers, and cars create trails of waves as they travel through the roads. The traffic lights lazily flash their yellow lights, refusing to show any other color as they sway in the downpour’s wind.

Nearby Samantha’s Spa, rain patters against the dirty windows that belong to a building long abandoned. Jayson stares outside, holding his cosmic wood sword tight against his chest as he studies the Spa. Lexia is nearby, wearing her armor, and checking her rocket launcher, minigun, rifle, pistol, knife.

They haven’t said a word to each other for a while, but when Rolland’s van arrives with two other vans, Jayson’s ears perk. He leans against the window and squints his eyes, watching as Rolland’s gang and other thugs file out of the vans, each of them armed and fanning out. He also sees Claribel holding Dixie, and after she and Rolland exchange some words, she shoves Dixie to him, and he drags her inside the Spa.

"Three vans pulled up. All of them have heavily armed thugs, and your mom is there,” says Jayson.

"Good. That means they're ready to die,” says Lexia. She slams a fresh magazine into her pistol, slides it into her holster, and looks at Jayson. “You sure you don’t want a vest?”

Jayson waves dismissively. “I don’t need one. I do need Derrick to hurry up, though.”

*****

The metal door to Hideout Two screeches and groans, and Derrick stands in the doorway, his figure like a shadow as the heavy gray rain falls behind him. Trafford slides past him and shakes the water off his umbrella as he strolls inside the bunker, and Derrick follows him in, closing the door behind him.

The pair approach Mortimer, who is still strapped to the chair, bloody and wet. But the fox smiles and wiggles his bound hand as a wave.

"Hey guys, how’s it going? Are you ready to cut me loose?” says Mortimer.

Derrick stops next to Mortimer and stares down at him.

"Your girlfriend has given us an ultimatum. Return you or she'll kill Lexia's mom,” says Derrick.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I warned you Claribel wouldn’t be nice about this.”

"Here’s what's going to happen. You're going to tell me where Ramsey Prosper is-”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Uh. No.”

"Or I make you watch as I put a popper bullet through your snake’s head. It'll be a closed casket funeral.”

Mortimer’s smile falters. “You’re bluffing.”

Derrick digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a waxed box of bullets, opens it, and holds up a large red tipped bullet.

“They used these popper bullets during the Toxic War,” says Derrick. “They have three grams of explosive material inside them. I’ve driven this bullet through thirty-four skulls, fifty-six chests, nineteen limbs. I have seen these things blow apart meat and bone through the scope of the rifle. Seeing jagged bone and dangling shreds of meat and bloody puddles is ingrained in my brain, with me in every waking and sleeping moment.”

Derrick grabs Mortimer’s head and yanks it up, making the fox grunt. The two glare at each other, with Mortimer’s dark nostrils flaring from his heavy breathing and his eyes shifting from the bullet by his eye to Derrick’s pupils.

“And you know what the sick thing is? I enjoyed shooting these things,” says Derrick, his hot, coffee and tobacco-stained breath flooding Mortimer’s nose. “I enjoyed watching people explode with them. And I want a reason to use them again. Are you going to give me that reason at the expense of your girlfriend? Or do you value Mama Bear more than Claribel’s life?”

Mortimer's eyes darted between the bullet and Derrick's steely gaze. Beads of sweat trickled down his scarred face, mixing with damp blood. He swallowed hard; his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper.

"Okay, okay," he croaks. "I'll tell you where Ramsey is. Just... don't hurt Claribel. Please."

Derrick withdrew the bullet slowly from Mortimer’s face, his expression unchanged. "I'm listening."

Mortimer takes a shaky breath. "Okay, you didn’t hear it from me. You heard it from… um… some guy named Jack.”

Derrick holds up the bullet.

“Okay, chill!” yells Mortimer, frantically snapping his hands in the binds and shaking the chair in the process. “Just chill for a second…. Okay… Ramsey is holed up in an old house on the outskirts of town. Thirteen-Thirteen Miss Erie Lane. It’s got a lot of razor wire and looks like it shouldn’t be standing, but the foundation is surprisingly good. Mama Bear's got him guarded day and night, though. You’re not getting in without an army."

Trafford steps forward, eyeing Mortimer curiously as he unwraps a protein bar. "How do we know you aren’t pulling a fast one? After all, you were holding out really good until we threatened your girl."

“When you love someone, you’ll be willing to risk everything to make sure she’s safe.”

Trafford slows his chewing down to a complete stop, his easygoing attitude hardening. Meanwhile, Derrick returns the bullet to its box and pockets it.

“If you're lying, I'll make sure Claribel suffers before she dies. Understand?" says Derrick.

Mortimer nods vigorously, his eyes wide with fear.

"Good. Trafford, watch him. I need to run some errands," says Derrick.

Derrick opens the bunker door, allowing rain to spray inside and howling wind to swirl around them. Derrick goes into the storm and seals the door shut, leaving Mortimer alone with Trafford. The two are silent for a few seconds before Trafford takes another bite out of his protein bar and looks at Mortimer.

“For the record, love stinks,” says Trafford.