A bright light flashes on, and the black bag is pulled of Mortimer's head. The fox blinks and looks around, finding himself in a dim, damp room with a single light above his head and his limbs strapped down on a chair. His vest, equipment, and bloody shirt is lying on the floor and his torso is wrapped by bandages. And sitting in front of him is Derrick, aiming a shotgun at his chest.

“You're going to tell me where Ramsey Prosper is,” says Derrick.

“Oh, Derrick, you dumb bird, you royally messed up,” says Mortimer.

“Where's Ramsey Prosper? And what is his relations with Trafford Augustine?”

“I don't know for both questions. I would tell you to just kill me now, but I think it would be best for both of us if you just dropped me off somewhere in town. It could be anywhere you'd like, but I would prefer Taco King.”

“You're lying.”

“No, I legitimately like Taco King.”

Derrick cocks his shotgun, and Mortimer scoffs.

“If you’re trying to scare me it’s not working,” says Mortimer.

“I want to know about Ramsey Prosper's location,” says Derrick.

“And his relations to Trafford Augustine,” adds Mortimer with a small wave of his trapped hands. “Yes, yes, I know. But the thing is, is that I'm not going to tell you the truth about anything. Aside from me saying you kidnapping me was a huge mistake, and that I like Taco King. Hand to God about that stuff.”

“You’re on the fast track to meeting God right now.”

“So are you.”

Derrick grunts. “If you think Mama Bear is coming to save you, I have bad news for you. She ain’t. You’re expendable to her.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Mortimer barks out a laugh. “Oh, please. I know that. You have nothing to fear from her, though. She’s just some old hag who has lots of money and paranoia. But you should be more worried about Claribel.”

“I ain't worried about her, either.”

“But you should be. For your sake, let me go, or you will see what an angry snake can do. She will find me. And she will kill you and your bunnies.”

Derrick slowly stands up and approaches Mortimer, his heavy eyes reflecting in the weak light.

“If you lived what I have lived through, done what I have done, you would understand what I mean when I tell you I ain't worried,” says Derrick.

Mortimer shrugs. “Alright. Your funeral.”

“Where is Ramsey Prosper?”

“Somewhere on this planet.”

Derrick walks behind Mortimer and turns a crank. The chair leans back so Mortimer's head is under a thin pipe. Then Derrick turns a nozzle on the pipe and a tiny droplet of water falls out and lands on Mortimer's head. Then a few seconds later, another water droplet hits Mortimer's head. And another. And another. And another. And on the irregular pattern goes.

“I'm just going to leave you there for a bit until you decide to talk.,” says Derrick.

“Cool. I can take it! Little water droplets mean nothing to me!” says Mortimer.

Derrick leaves the hideout and steps out into a forest. He closes the metal door and locks, and waiting for him outside is Trafford Augustine, eating a large protein bar.

“I'm glad you got someone to help us find Ramsey Prosper,” says Trafford.

“Right... But I'm curious about something,” says Derrick.

“Oh, what curiosity is that?”

“I saw you die in the mall. And then I found your body in the forest. Shattered ribs caused fatal internal bleeding.”

Trafford nods. “Yeah, not gonna lie, that one was uncomfortable.”

“Would you mind if I shot you in the head?”

Trafford grins. “Go for it.”

In a flash, Derrick pulls out his pistol and shoots Trafford in the head. Blood splatters on the tree behind him, and Trafford's corpse slides to the ground. Derrick stares at the body, watching the blood trickle over the mulch and trace the ridges of the bark. Then he stiffens when he hears slow clapping and footsteps. He turns around and his eyes widen at the sight of Trafford Augustine approaching him.

“We all have that itch we need to scratch from time to time. But don't worry, I won't hold this against you. You wouldn't believe how many times I killed myself just to see what would happen,” says Trafford.

Derrick steps back and his wings flutter. “What the hell are you?”

Trafford’s hand snaps out, grabbing Derrick’s collar and wrist, sharply twisting the gun down and bringing him snout to beak. Their eyes lock and Trafford smirks.

“Not what, but who. And you know who I am. I am Trafford Augustine. And now my question for you is this. How soon can you get me Ramsey Prosper?”