Rolland and his crew stumble down the cracked sidewalk, their raucous laughter echoing off the decrepit buildings. The neon sign of Stella's Sparkles soon comes into view, flickering and buzzing like a beacon in the grimy night.

"There it is, boys!" announces Rolland, pointing at the club with his half-empty bottle. "Our ticket to paradise awaits!"

They approach the weathered brick facade, music thumping from within. A burly, imposing badger wearing a dark suit and knuckle dusters stands guard at the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest while a smaller badger shoves away a pair of rabbits, who tried getting in with fake IDs.

"IDs and hundred bucks cover charge," says the burly guard, eyeing the drunken group with a mix of disdain and boredom.

Rolland fumbles in his pocket, fishing out a wad of crumpled bills. He peels off the required amount and shoves them at the bouncer, along with his ID. The others followed suit, Shae nearly dropping his ID with his clumsy, intoxicated fingers.

The bouncer looks over the IDs, then jerks his head toward the door while sliding the bills in a metal box attached to the wall.

"Go on in. No funny business, you hear?" says the guard.

"Wouldn't dream of it, my good man!" says Rolland.

Dacre and Cyrus snickers behind him, and the group pushes their way through the heavy door. They are immediately assaulted by a wall of sound and flashing lights. Dubstep pounds through the elevated speakers, the bass vibrating in their bones. Neon strobes and lasers sliced through the hazy air, illuminating the main stage where a lithe female badger spins and twirls around a gleaming pole in an enticing display of black, white, and gray with glittered clothing that barely covers her.

"Hot damn!" whoops Cyrus, his eyes glued to the dancer's gyrating form. “I want her number.”

Shae glances around nervously as they pass the stage. "Guys, I'm not sure about this. What if Claribel finds out?"

“Oh, for fudge's sake,” huffs Dacre.

“Shae, shut up. None of us give a shit if Claribel finds out,” says Rolland.

They continue weaving their way through the crowd, past rickety tables sticky with spilled drinks, dodging scantily clad waitresses balancing trays of drinks and greasy bar food. The air is thick with the mingled scents of sweat, perfume, cologne, and cheap beer.

Rolland leads them to a table near the stage, shoving aside a few empty chairs. Soon after, an overworked, frail badger waitress approaches their table.

"What'll it be, boys?" asks the waitress.

"Beer and nachos!" says Rolland. "And keep 'em coming!"

The waitress jots down their order and scurries away. Rolland leans back in his chair, a lewd grin spreading across his face as he watches the dancer on stage.

"I tell ya, boys, this is going to be fun. A whole different thing than what we’re used to,” says Rolland.

The badger on stage finishes her routine with a dramatic spin, her short tail flicking as she catches the pole. The lights dim, and the crowd hoots and hollers, a few crumpled bills fluttering onto the stage. She collects the bills, blows a kiss and waves, and saunters off.

After the badger leaves, the lights shut off, plunging the area in darkness. The audience quiets down, and the waitress gives Rolland’s group their microwaved nachos and beer. A few minutes later, the announcer's voice booms over the speakers.

"Gentlemen, hold onto your tails, because our next performer is about to blow you away. Put your hands together and get your wallets ready for the one, the only, the scorching hot Tempest Blaze!"

In the darkness is a silhouette of a lone, tall figure, one hand grasping the pole, the other thrown up in a dramatic pose.

The music swells, a pulsing, primal beat, and the silhouette starts to move. Slow at first, hips rolling, then faster, spinning, leaping, defying gravity. The light flashes on, illuminating a patchwork of white and brown fur, thick white neck fluff and white hair, all covering the tone body.

Rolland squints, leaning forward. "Is that...? No, it can't be..."

As the dancer twirls around the pole, her unique features become increasingly pronounced. A roguish, enticing smile plays at her lips. Her deep-set brown eyes smolder beneath lush lashes. Her thick white hair tumbles around her, the strands whipping and twirling in time with her movements, periodically veiling and revealing her face.

Muscles ripple beneath her patchwork of brown and white fur. They flex and coil with each movement she makes on the pole.

Her outfit is comprised of two triangular fabrics linked by chain that barely cover her ample breasts, and her pelvis is similarly covered. The lack of covering shows off her brown thighs, flat white stomach flanked by brown fur on her ribs, and toned limbs, and allows for maximum movement as she spins and twirls around the pole.

Shae's jaw drops as he watches Lexia dance on the pole. "Holy shit, that's the Bazooka Bunny! She shoots rockets at us!”

The rest of the group is also gaping in disbelief as Lexia works the pole with speed and grace. Her strong body contorts into impossible positions, muscles rippling under her fur. She's a whirlwind of motion, all magnetic and seductive energy.

Her patchwork fur seems to shimmer under the pulsing lights, white and brown blurring together as her spins slow to a stop, facing Rolland’s group.

Lexia locks eyes with Rolland, her gaze smoldering, and slowly licks her lips. She winks at him as she flips upside down, her powerful thighs gripping the pole. The crowd goes wild, howling and stamping their feet with some bills being tossed on stage.

Cyrus clutches his chest. "I think I'm in love."

Dacre nods dumbly, his eyes glued to Lexia's rotating form. "Me too, man. Me too."

Rolland’s train of thought has completely derailed in the face of Lexia's raw sensuality. He dumbly opens up his wallet, and without taking his eyes off her, he tosses his money on the stage.

The others follow suit.

Lexia's body twists like a serpent, each movement perfectly timed to the pulsing beat. She grasps the pole with both hands, pulling herself up effortlessly until she's suspended horizontally, toned legs extended in a perfect split. The audience gasps in awe at her flexibility and strength.

She spins around the pole rapidly, white hair fanning out behind her like a halo. Then she slows, sliding down into a sensual crouch, back arched, head thrown back. Her hands roam over her own body, tracing the curves of her body, drawing every eye in the room.

Rising fluidly to her feet, Lexia stalks to the edge of the stage, hips swaying hypnotically. She drops to all fours, crawling towards Rolland with a predatory gleam in her eyes. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips as she holds his gaze.

Rolland swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He feels pinned by the intensity of Lexia's stare, unable to look away even if he wanted to. Which he definitely doesn't.

Shae leans over to Dacre, shouting to be heard over the music. "Dude, is this really happening right now? The freaking Bazooka Bunny is putting on a show just for us!"

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Dacre can only nod, rendered speechless by the scene unfolding before them. Cyrus is already fishing more bills out of his wallet, ready to make it rain.

Lexia rolls to her feet and saunters back to the pole. She leaps up and catches the pole high above her head. She flips herself upside down, thighs squeezing tight as she spirals down slowly, back arched, hair brushing the stage. The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, money raining down around her.

As the final beats of the song fade out, Lexia makes one last rotation around the pole before dismounting with a flourish. She takes a bow, blowing kisses to her adoring fans. Her gaze locks with Rolland's once more, and she smirks, one ear twitching coyly.

Then with a seductive wink, she turns, collects her tips, and struts offstage, her hips swaying hypnotically, fluffy tail bouncing with each step.

Rolland sits stunned, his beer forgotten, nachos growing cold in front of him. His mind struggles to reconcile the seductive siren he just witnessed with the fierce vigilante he's clashed with on the streets.

He turns to his equally dumbfounded companions. "Did...did that really just happen?"

Shae nods slowly, mouth still agape. "I think it did. That was definitely the Bazooka Bunny up there shaking her tail."

Cyrus takes a large gulp of his drink, slamming the empty mug down. "I don't care who she is, I just know I need more of that in my life. Like, right now."

Emboldened by the alcohol coursing through his veins and the lingering intoxication of Lexia's performance, Rolland makes a snap decision. He pushes himself up from the table, swaying slightly on his feet.

"I'm going to see if I can get a private dance from her," he announces, words slurring slightly. "Gotta find out if she's as fiery up close as she is on stage."

Dacre lets out a low whistle. "Good luck. I’d rather get a dance from someone who hasn’t tried killing us, but you do you."

Rolland waves off the warning, his eyes gleaming with drunken determination. "I can handle a little heat. Besides, what's life without a little risk? Also, did you see the way she looked at me? She’s totally into me."

Before the others can reply, Rolland weaves his way through the crowded club, the pulsing music and flashing lights disorienting in his inebriated state. He approaches a bored-looking male badger at the edge of the stage sporting a 'Security' shirt.

"I want a private dance from Tempest Blaze," Rolland says, trying his best to sound smooth and in control. "Name your price."

The badger looks Rolland. “That’ll be two hundred bucks and only if Tempest Blaze wants it.”

Rolland digs into his wallet, pulling out a wad of crumpled bills. He counts out two hundred, then pauses, adding an extra fifty for good measure. Slapping the cash into the badger's outstretched paw, he grins wolfishly.

"There. That should cover it. Now drag her out here, will ya? Tell her Rolland Longstaff wants a show," says Rolland.

The badger grunts, pocketing the fifty while depositing the money in a metal box bolted to the wall. He lumbers off, disappearing behind a beaded curtain. Rolland rocks back on his heels, heart pounding in anticipation and hands wringing together.

Minutes tick by, feeling like an eternity. The club pulses around him, bodies gyrating, music thumping, but all Rolland can focus on is the curtain, willing it to part and reveal Lexia.

Just as he's starting to think he's been played, the beads rattle and sway. A brown paw hand parts them, followed by Lexia’s Amazonian body slipping through the curtains, a coy smile playing at her lips. She's changed into a red robe that leaves little to the imagination, her curves pressing against the semi-transparent fabric.

“Oh, you look familiar. Not enough customers for your drugs today?” says Lexia.

“I figured I’d change the pace a little bit. If I had known you were dancing here, I wouldn’t have been so rough on you. And let me guess, the Hobo is a busboy?”

“Nope.” Lexia slinks up to Rolland, trailing a finger down his chest, holding her smirk. "But lucky for you, I'm in a generous mood tonight and will forgive those times you shot at me. So, about that private time. Do you want a dance? Or a dance?"

Rolland swallows hard, heart racing and sweat beading on his forehead.

“I like the way you said the second dance,” says Rolland.

“Well, then. Follow me, and you can brag to all your friends you got to have some real fun with the famous Bazooka Bunny.”

Lexia takes Rolland’s hand, guiding him past the curtain into a dimly lit hallway. Red bulbs cast a seductive glow; the walls lined with doors leading to private rooms. She leads him to the far end, pushing open a door marked 'VIP- 03'.

Inside, the room is awash in deep crimson and black. Plush velvet couches line the walls, surrounding a gleaming pole in the center of the room. The air is thick with the heady scent of incense and something distinctly feminine.

Lexia pushes Rolland down onto a couch, straddling his lap. She grinds against him slowly, leaning in close. Her breath is hot against his ear as she whispers, "You ready for the ride of your life, big boy?"

Rolland can only groan in response, his hands coming up to grip her hips. Lexia chuckles, nipping at his ear before pulling back. The music turns on, thumping against the walls, and Lexia’s hand glides up to Rolland’s neck while her hips grind harder on his lap. Her hand squeezes around his throat, and she speaks in his ear.

“I’ll give you a real treat if you tell me some secrets,” says Lexia.

Rolland’s ears twitch and he tightens his grip on Lexia's toned hips.

“The more you tell, the more I give,” continues Lexia.

“Alright ya tease, what do you want to know?” says Rolland.

Lexia smirks.

*****

In the back alley behind Stella's Sparkles, Jayson leans against the grime-coated brick wall, one ear twitching irritably and his wooden weapon pressed against the ground between his legs, serving as a cane. The stench of rotting garbage from the overflowing dumpster mingles with the nose burning stench of urine and vomit, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. The only light besides the ones from the neon signs are from the moon and cracked sky.

Jayson has been waiting out here for what felt like an eternity, waiting for Lexia to come out with the information. The pounding music from within reverberated through the bricks at his back, which adds to his agitation.

His hands clenched around the grip of his cosmic weapon, and right as Jayson starts contemplating barging into the club and dragging Lexia out by her oversized ears, the back door burst open. Lexia stumbles out into the alley, wrapped in a silky red robe that leaves little to the imagination, her patchwork fur glistening with a sheen of sweat and the stench of awful cologne on her.

"Finally," sighs Lexia.

She reaches into her robe pocket and pulls out a small bottles of water and pills. The movement leads to her robe’s neckline dropping, exposing the white of her chest.

Lexia pops the pills, chugs the water and tightens her robe as she leans against the wall, staring off into space. Gradually Jayson's annoyance dissolves as he sees her distant eyes and her hands rubbing to hide the trembles.

“Are you okay?” asks Jayson.

“I just gave Rolland a lap dance for information,” says Lexia.

Jayson rubs his neck. “I mean… that was your idea, wasn't it?”

“It sounded way better in my head, and I didn't get much anyway. He was wasted, and all he could tell me was that Ramsey dropped his car off at Chopper’s Car Shop and will be by tomorrow to pick it up.”

“Well, that's something.”

“Yep.”

The two fall silent, and Lexia pulls out a strip of jerky from her pocket and chews on it.

“So, are you on break now or…?” asks Jayson, his voice trailing.

Lexia nods. “It's just fifteen. Then it’s back to work. Do a few more dances. Do a few more private shows… Stuff like that.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Lexia sighs theatrically, slides next to Jayson and drapes a heavy arm over his shoulder. He tenses, and Lexia leans in close, her breath hot against his ear.

“Look, if you want a private show you have to pay just like everyone else,” says Lexia.

“I don't want a private show,” says Jayson.

Lexia laughs, the sound echoing off the alley walls. She pulls back, giving Jayson a playful shove.

"I'm just messing with you, Hobo. I know you couldn't afford me anyway."

Jayson frowns and Lexia's demeanor dips with a heavy sigh, eyes downcast and her fingers fidgeting with her jerky.

“But to answer your question... it's a job. It pays the bills and sometimes it's even fun. But it's not exactly my dream career," says Lexia.

“What is?” asks Jayson.

“Singer. You?”

“Real estate.”

Lexia scoffs and sips her water. “Boring.”

“Maybe for you. But for me, it was great when I had it. That's a dead dream now.”

“What killed it?”

“Mama Bear.”

Lexia stiffens. “Oh… And your wife?”

Jayson looks down, mouth covered and throat tight. “Mama Bear.”

Lexia shifts her weight, fighting between looking at Jayson and somewhere else, other than his slouched body. She takes another bite of her jerky and the pair remain silent, the muffled thump of music and occasional raucous laughter from inside the club filling the night air.

After a few moments, Jayson pushes off the wall, gripping his cosmic weapon tight while rubbing the tears off his eyes.

“Well, I better let you get back to work. You have a paycheck to make,” says Jayson.

“Yeah,” says Lexia quietly.

Jayson walks away from Lexia, keeping his head down. He stops at the corner and turns around, but Lexia is already gone. He exhales heavily and continues walking, passing empty cars and flickering lights. The music’s thumping fades with distance, and the distance between the streetlights grow.

“Why do you lie?”

The sudden voice jolts Jayson, but his moment of shock is replaced with annoyance when he sees Lexanne lurking in the darkness behind the streets lights. Her black mass is slightly darker than the night and her white void eyes and mouth glow as she keeps her steps with Jayson.

“I didn't lie,” says Jayson.

“Half truths are lies,” says Lexanne.

“There are no half truths. Mama Bear killed the real Lexanne, and she'll pay, one way or the other.”

Lexanne giggles and slides in front of Jayson, briefly covering his sight in darkness. “Oh, you are right. She will pay for her sins.”

Lexanne moves behind Jayson and grabs his shoulders, sending a cold, wet sensation through his arms and spine. Her voice in his ear makes his dirty white fur stand and his heart race.

“But so will you,” continues Lexanne. “And I'll be waiting ever so patiently. I am eternal, and you are not. Tick. Tock. Jayson.”

Lexanne fades, leaving Jayson standing alone just outside the light of a lamppost. The moon and cracked in the sky are shrouded by dark purple clouds, and Jayson shudders and continues walking.