Chapter Four - Cat +1

It took us a while to get to Central. Part of that was Sharp's fault. The girl was... not in ideal shape. She frequently had us stop to sit on one of those flipper-benches (those benches that flipped up and over and had an auto-clean feature built into them so that they were never dirty. They also had a timer preventing anyone from sitting on them for more than a couple of hours without paying in the app.) because her heart rate grew too elevated from walking and talking.

Or maybe that was the excitement? I was under the impression that this girl had been poised, at least mentally, for something to happen for a long time. She lacked her own initiative to do anything, and would wallow in her own self-pity and fail to do anything to improve her situation, but now that she had a path, she was all for it.

The other thing slowing us down was me.

"Uh, I saw... five this time?" she tried.

"Wrong again," I said. "But closer. Which five did you see?"

"Big guy in the tacticool outfit had a few guns on him. There were three Rivetters. I didn't see their guns, but like, they're the sort to be packing. And there was a man that looked like a bodyguard next to a woman with a stroller? I saw a gun under his coat!"

She was quite proud of herself, and she had every right to be. "Very well done," I praised, and Sharp's dimply, pimple-covered cheeks, flushed. "You missed that the baby in the stroller was a Mitsubang M12 autoshotgun. The lady with the stroller was also a bodyguard."

"She was?"

"For the person walking two steps ahead. They had two more plainsclothes guards. It's why I told you to step to the side."

"I didn't notice. So I missed, like, four people?"

"People that didn't want to be noticed, but yes." There were more. Just because she was improving didn't mean she was anywhere near good. That would take some time, still. But improving was improving, so I wasn't going to discourage her.

I wasn't sure what approach to use with Sharp yet, but gentle encouragement seemed to work for now, and it was easy enough. That was fortunate, because some people needed tough encouragement and that would be hard to pull off as a kitten.

We eventually made it to Central Boston Two. The streets here widened considerably and the buildings only grew taller. More mega buildings with enough housing for tens of thousands, more skyscrapers with all the conveniences one might expect.

Central was a true mixing pot district. Partly because it was in the very middle of Boston Two, and partly because it had somehow become the de-facto space for immigrants into the city. Most ethnic groups that didn't want to merge into the wider Boston community tended to form small enclaves, taking over a mega building, or a few blocks in the suburbs, but that required that they reach a certain critical mass.

Central was where they started to gain that mass.

Hawkers lined the streets. A Uyghur was selling noodles next to a Georgian woman in a mix of techware and traditional dress manning a fryer selling Khinkali. A few pop-up stands were selling things as well. Balochi jewellery next to a Māori street tattooist imprinting some glow-ink into the back of a teen while his friends watched and jeered.

"Urgh, this street makes me so hungry," Sharp complained.

I felt that too. I hadn't realized it, or rather, I'd been ignoring it, but my stomach was definitely rumbling. I'd raised a few kittens before. I knew they could eat their weight in soft foods if no one stopped them.

Crap, was I going to be stunting my growth? "Do you have any money for street food?" I asked.

"No?"

"Then there's no point in lingering."

Sharp nodded, and we made decent time across Central. The roads of central were all raised off the ground and suspended above, with off-ramps usually leading directly into underground parking spaces. That left the ground level shrouded in constant shadow that was beaten back by a thousand neon ads and spotlights.

Leaving Central for Fenway proved a little tricky. Fenway was far more walkable, with all of its parking on the outer edges of the district, but that created a sort of barrier where the only ways in were via car, and those access points were all blocked by toll-booths.

Fenway was one of the few districts run by a single gang. The Jocks. They were part street gang, part union, and part private security force. Generally only armed with bats and maybe a hockey stick and some padded armour, they didn't really stand out from the jersey-wearing locals much. Still, we had to travel a quarter the way around the district before finding a walkway in, and even then we were eyed the entire time.

I think if Sharp didn't look so inoffensive we might have been pointed away, but she managed to squeak by.

"Okay! Now where?" she asked.

"Find someone who knows where the Bloody Bat is. I think it'll be in the southern end of the district."

Nodding, Sharp did just that, boldly walking up to some Jocks and asking them for directions. Being that she wasn't here to cause trouble, they pointed us more or less in the right direction, and we took off in search of the bar.

It was another hour before we found it.

The Bloody Bat was a block and a half away from one of the Punch-a-Domes dedicated to bloodsports. It wasn't a standalone bar, but instead occupied a good chunk of a floor on a nearby megabuilding.

The entrance was only accessible from the inside, from a sort of concourse with a few elevators and a useless fountain. Two men stood by the entrance, flanking it while the constant thrum of hazy vaporwave pour out of the door between them. They carried bats, the ends painted blood red.

"Okay," Sharp said as she lingered close to the fountain. "Now what?"

That was a good question. "Go up to the door. If you can't get in, tell them you're here to deliver something to Mister King Kortez. Once inside, you'll want to head straight to the bar at the back and towards a door to the right of it. There's a kitchen there. Go past the door, and knock on the office to the right."

Sharp swallowed, then moved up to the guards. I could feel her trembling a little, especially as the bigger of the two eyed her suspiciously. His eyes were both replaced by a pair of dark, puck-like cybernetics.

"Hi!" she squeaked. "Can I go in?"

I would have palmed my face if I could.

"No," puck-face said.

"I... uh, I need to see a Mister... Kortez King?"

"King Kortez."

"King Kortez. I have a package!"

The guard continued to stare... maybe. It was hard to tell. Then he nodded her in. "Make it quick," he said gruffly. Then he stopped her. "Lemme search you first."

Sharp cringed back, but didn't fight as he carefully pushed her towards a wall that had pads on it for her to rest her hands against. He was professional about the pat-down. Sharp lost her pocket knife, the thing tossed into a box for later retrieval. He checked her bag, but there was nothing in there. For that matter, there was no package for King Kortez either, but that didn't faze him.

He did eye me for a moment as I clung to her shoulder, but he didn't try anything.

"Go on in," he said.

Sharp ducked in after shouldering her backpack again.

The bar was empty. Or nearly empty. The main floor was shaped like a large U, with the centre taken up by a bar. There were pool tables, then booths on the outside and a small dance space. Only a few of the booths were filled, and mostly by quieter customers at the moment.

A second bar lined the very back of the room, next to a stairwell leading up to the second floor where a balcony ringed the main space allowing those above to see below.

The entrance to the kitchens doubled as access to the washrooms, so it wasn't too strange for Sharp to push her way in. It was a lot stranger for her to stop by the door into the office. Licking her lips, she raised a hand to knock.

"Who are you?"

Sharp froze, then turned to the woman walking out of the kitchens while wiping her hands with a towel. "Uh," she said eloquently.

"That's Paris Batter," I said. "The name's fake. The woman isn't. Tell her you need a job."

"Hi! I need a job."

"Go look elsewhere," the woman said, though it wasn't entirely unkind.

"Oh, okay, thanks for your time!" Sharp said.

"No. Tell her you're here for a job, and you need a job."

"That doesn't make sense," Sharp hissed.

I deployed my tiny claws of encouragement into her shoulder, and she squeaked. "Ah! No, I'm here for a job for a job," she said.

Paris was staring at her now. "Uh-huh?"

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Good, now tell her that Echo Four will owe her a favour."

"E-echo Four will owe you a favour?"

Now that got Paris to stand up taller. "How do you know that name?"

"Say this: 'I work for Christie, she needs me here for a bit. I'll work for room and board and tips.'"

I could hear Sharp swallowing. "I, uh, work for Christie? S-she needs me here for a bit. I'll work for room and board and tips?"

"Huh," Paris said. "Well, alright then. I'm sure we can figure something out. You ever work as a waitress before? What's your sizes? You'll need to fit into one of the spare uniforms. And as for room and board, you'd be better off at a rent-a-night, but if you insist on staying here, we've got some spare rooms. It'll be the drunk tank rooms, but there's a shower at least. You'll have to deal with leftovers for food though."

"Really?" Sharp asked. "I got a job!"

***

"Put this on, I think the size is about right," Paris said as she shoved some clothes at Sharp.

Sharp juggled them for a moment, then raised a shirt up in both hands while holding the rest in the crook of her arm. It was a beige hyper-vintage-style baseball shirt, with fine red lines running across it and the Bloody Bat's logo in a shield over one breast. "Cute!" Sharp decided.

"Follow," Paris said next and she led us out of her office and to the very back, past a security door and into a long corridor lined with doors. "That door there, with the five, is your room. This one with the shower logo on it is the showers. They're open showers, so behave."

"Uh, okay," Sharp replied. "Should I... take one now?"

"You should. I don't care what kind of job you're on, or what kind of favour I'll be owed. I won't have someone being dirty in my bar," Paris said. "Put your stuff in your room, take a shower, then meet me in my office in twenty minutes."

And with that, she walked back off, leaving Sharp frozen there for a whole couple of seconds. "Well, get moving!" I said.

"Oh, right!" Sharp jumped. She ran into the shower room. It was an all-tiled room with a toilet to one side, a sink on the other, and a tiny shower at the back. "Uh." She spun around and back out, then hurried to the room with the five on the door.

It wasn't much to show for. Paris had called it a drunk tank, and I believed her. There was a cheap self-assembled cabinet to one side and a narrow bed shoved at the back of the room. A light hung from the ceiling, casting harsh white neon across old sheets that were just barely clean and a thin mess of a pillow.

"Whoa! All this for me?" Sharp asked.

It was worse than some prisons, and yet she was happy about it.

"Looks like it. Now, set me down on the bed, I need to give you some instructions."

"OKay," she said, and then grabbed me off of her shoulder to set me on the mattress. "What's up?"

"Paris believes that you're here as part of a job for me. This is only true in the loosest of definitions. Follow her instructions, be a diligent worker. Do not steal. Don't insult anyone. Don't flirt. Just keep your head down."

"Wow, okay, yeah, I can do all of that. Heck, I don't even know how to flirt."

"Let's keep it that way," I said. That was a route that could only lead to trouble. "Oh, and I have a second job for you."

"I'm all ears."

"That's right. You should listen while you work. People have loose tongues after a few drinks. The Bloody Bat is a place where mercenaries come to relax since Fenway is relatively safe. There will be people from various gangs here talking to each other and their peers. Don't make it obvious, but keep an ear open when they're talking."

Ideally I'd discover that the system we both had would allow for improvements via simple training. Being here would give me the opportunity to bully Sharp into training. There was a lot in common between working as a waitress and being an assassin.

If the system didn't work that way, then... that would be trouble of another sort, but I'd still rather sleep indoors, and Sharp could earn some money for future projects.

If we were lucky, Sharp would pick up some rumours about some things we could work on. As long as there were two people on this Earth, there would be someone willing to pay to have someone else killed. We'd have to pick easy jobs, and that meant low-pay, but it would be something.

I had to start somewhere too, Sharp could do the same.

"Okay, okay, I need to shower. I'll come back in a bit!"

Sharp tossed her bag to the corner, then ran out, leaving me alone.

I looked around the room. There really wasn't much to do. I'd had to do nothing for hours at a time before, but...

Well, I could sleep. I'd been a kitten for what had to be six hours and I hadn't slept a wink. Kittens sleep for more than half the day, and I was exhausted.

But no, I couldn't allow myself to sleep just yet. All of my stats being at zero bothered me, and there was at least one I could train.

I ran over to one end of the bed, stumbling and tripping over the blanket the entire time. This arena was small, but so was I. It was also soft, which made it a perfect place to practice moving my new limbs.

I walked from one end to the other of the bed, only tripping a few times as I mistimed my steps. Then I tried running back, and found myself eating dirt as I crashed and rolled.

Shaking my head, I tried to clear it, only to hear some giggling coming from the side. I glanced that way, and discovered Sharp with a hand pressed over her mouth to hold back laughter. "What?" I asked.

"You did a flip!" she said.

"I did no such thing."

"Half a flip? I guess it doesn't count if you land on your face. I thought cats had to land on their feet?"

"I thought you'd be working," I said to avoid addressing my bruised pride. I looked Sharp up and down. The Bloody Bat uniform was composed of the aforementioned baseball shirt, along with some running shorts. Those couldn't possibly have pockets. There were very tall socks as well, with red trim and the bar's logo on their sides.

"Do I look good?" she asked as she did a spin.

She looked like the kind of thin that only came from not eating nearly enough, and I could pick out areas where she lacked musculature. Some of it was because she was a gangly teenager, but I imagined malnutrition was a factor too. "You look fine," I said. "Now, go listen to what Paris says."

She nodded, then darted back out of the room.

I got back to work running across the bed. It was only a few dozen trips around the circumference of the bed, but by the end I was panting and tired, but I'd also tripped far less. I was getting a hang of it.

Taking a few minutes to rest gave me back some of that energy I'd spent.

I had to say, being young again was nice. I hadn't noticed it because of the lack of pain, but my joints felt fantastic.

I set my attention on the cabinet next to the bed. It was all of a foot away. That was a gap only a bit longer than I was... maybe twice as long as I was from nose tip to tail? I could jump that, right?

Cats were good at jumping, that was one of the most basic things about them.

I wasn't just going to try it blind, though. That would be stupid. Instead I practised leaping across the bed. I guestimated the distance between the bed and the cabinet, then hopped across it.

Jumping was no running or walking. It required a very different set of motions. Humans leapt with one foot pushing back and the other bending forward to land with. Cats did more of a... spring?

Once I had it down, I moved to the edge of the bed and eyed the distance. It felt surprisingly intimidating from there. I shook my rear, made sure I had a good grip on the bed's surface, then leapt.

My face rammed into the side of the cabinet with a dull thwack.

I crashed to the floor, dragging some of the blankets down with me. There was none of that reflexive twisting to land on my feet either, I just smashed into the ground.

"Ow."

Cat Has Levelled Up!

Cat 0 > 1

I blinked as I processed that. How had missing a jump levelled a stat up? And why Cat and not Body? Or Reflex? Those were the skills I wanted to improve, not Cat. Cat felt like an entirely useless stat to increase.

Grumbling to myself, I stood up, shook off the pain from the fall, then eyed the side of the bed.

Dammit, how was I supposed to get up there now? Unless... how good were kittens at climbing? I vividly recalled having a few use my legs as ladders with their sharp little claws.

It took a few minutes, but after much swearing--in meows--I made it up and onto the bed. And then I collapsed onto Sharp's pillow.

More exercise could wait, I was exhausted.

***