Chapter Text

SWAT Kats Fanfiction - Expanded Draft

The acrid smell of smoke and burning metal filled the air as Razor rolled across the concrete, his body hitting the ground harder than he'd anticipated. The explosion had erupted mere feet behind him—too close, far too close. He could feel the heat wash over him like opening an oven door, and the fur on his left cheek felt crispy and singed. His throat burned as he gasped for air, smoke filling his lungs with each desperate breath.

The world seemed muffled and distant, as if he were underwater. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine that drowned out almost everything else, and he could feel his heart hammering against his ribs with dangerous intensity. The adrenaline coursing through his system made his hands shake, but somehow his chest felt tight—constricted, like invisible bands were wrapped around his ribs, making it nearly impossible to draw a full breath.

Dark Kat's cyclotron, he thought dimly, trying to piece together what had just happened. Should have seen that self-destruct coming. The massive weapon had been their target for tonight's mission, and they'd succeeded in stopping Dark Kat's latest scheme to level half of downtown Megakat City. But success had come at a price.

Through the ringing in his ears, he became aware of heavy footsteps pounding against concrete, getting closer. Then a voice, distorted and muffled but unmistakably furious, cut through the haze.

"What have you done now!" Commander Feral's voice boomed from somewhere above him, each word dripping with accusation and barely contained rage. The sound of his approach was like thunder—heavy boots stomping across debris-strewn pavement, getting closer with each passing second.

Razor tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled with the effort. Everything hurt—his chest, his head, his throat felt like he'd been gargling glass. But Feral's tone, that self-righteous anger, sparked something in him. Even injured and disoriented, the commander's automatic assumption that the SWAT Kats were somehow at fault made his blood boil.

"Uncle, he's hurt." Lieutenant Felina Feral's voice came from behind the commander, softer but no less concerned. Her tone cut through some of the harshness in the air.

At her words, something in Razor's chest seemed to unlock. His lungs, which had felt frozen and useless moments before, suddenly began working again. Air rushed in, painful and sharp, making him cough violently. But he could breathe. That had to count for something.

"I don't care," Feral snarled, his voice getting closer. "He could have gotten innocent cats killed with whatever reckless stunt he just pulled!"

The unfairness of it hit Razor like a physical blow. Innocent cats? They'd just saved half the city from Dark Kat's latest doomsday device, and this was the thanks they got? He blinked hard several times, trying to clear his vision and the persistent ringing in his ears. His throat felt raw, but he managed to rasp out, "We're just getting started."

The words came out rougher than he'd intended, his voice sounding like he'd been chain-smoking for decades. But there was defiance in them—a promise that no matter what Feral thought, no matter how beaten up he was right now, the SWAT Kats weren't done fighting the good fight.

"What does that mean?" Feral demanded, and Razor could see him now through his swimming vision—a large, imposing figure pointing a fierce claw down at him like some kind of judge passing sentence.

Razor struggled to get his feet under him, his body protesting every movement. His ribs screamed in protest, and his head felt like it might split open, but he wasn't about to have this conversation while lying on the ground like a defeated enemy. He pushed past Feral with what little strength he had left, though "pushed" was probably generous—it was more like he stumbled in the general direction of away from the commander.

"Don't walk away from me!" Feral's voice cracked like a whip.

"Uncle." Felina's warning tone was sharp enough to cut through her uncle's rage. Razor could hear her pulling the larger tom back, her voice firm but respectful. "Let him go. He's in no shape for this."

There was something in her voice—a professionalism that her uncle seemed to lack when it came to the SWAT Kats. Razor had always respected Lieutenant Feral. She was one of the few Enforcers who seemed to understand that the SWAT Kats were on the same side, even if they didn't always follow proper procedure.

"I should arrest him," Feral muttered, though his voice had dropped from its earlier bellow to something more like a growl under his breath.

"Let him go," Felina repeated firmly, and Razor could feel her eyes on him as he continued his unsteady progress toward the water tower that loomed nearby.

Razor paused long enough to look over his shoulder at the pair of Enforcers. "It means exactly what I said," he managed to rasp. His throat felt like sandpaper, but he needed them to understand. "This is what we do. We stop the bad guys. We save the city. And we'll keep doing it whether you like it or not."

He lifted his glovatrix toward the sky, the familiar weight of the device somehow comforting despite everything that hurt. "T-Bone, I need a pickup," he said into the communicator, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hurry."

Static crackled for a moment before T-Bone's voice came through, tense with worry despite his attempt to sound casual. "Cyclotron?"

"In the drink," Razor confirmed, already reaching for the first rung of the water tower ladder. The metal felt cold against his burned gloves, and he had to grip harder than usual to make sure he wouldn't fall. His whole body felt shaky and unreliable.

"What about you?"

Razor paused on the ladder, one foot on the bottom rung, and almost smiled despite everything. T-Bone knew him too well—could probably hear in his voice that he was hurt worse than he was letting on. "I've been worse," he lied smoothly, though the words felt bitter in his mouth.

Truth was, he'd never felt quite this beat up before. Every breath was an effort, his ribs felt like someone had used them for batting practice, and he was pretty sure the left side of his face was going to look like hamburger when he finally got a chance to see himself in a mirror. But T-Bone didn't need to know that. Not yet.

He started climbing, each rung a small victory against the pain and exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Halfway up, a coughing fit seized him, harsh and violent. He pressed his free paw to his muzzle, trying to muffle the sound, and when he pulled it away, dark spots of blood dotted his glove.

Great, he thought sarcastically. Internal bleeding. Just what this night needed.

He wiped his paw on his uniform and kept climbing. There would be time to worry about the blood later.

"On my way," T-Bone's voice came through his communicator, steady and reassuring. "I see you."

The sound of the Turbokat's engines grew louder as his partner approached, and Razor could see the sleek jet cutting through the night sky like a dark arrow. The sight of their aircraft—their home away from home, their weapon against injustice—gave him a surge of energy he didn't know he had left.

T-Bone was leaning over the edge of his canopy, and even from this distance, Razor could see the tension in his posture. His partner was trying to assess his condition, probably getting more worried by the second. The tether descended from the Turbokat like a lifeline, and Razor felt a wave of gratitude for his partner's skill and reliability.

On the water tower's narrow walkway, Razor moved as quickly as his injured body would allow. The metal grating beneath his feet felt solid and reassuring after the chaos below. He grabbed the rope with both hands, his fingers working automatically to twist it into a secure loop despite the pain in his ribs and the shakiness in his hands.

Stepping onto the rope, he felt a moment of vertigo as the ground fell away below him, but he pressed his glovatrix and managed to get out, "Pull me up." The coughing fit that followed nearly made him lose his grip, but he held on.

"Retracting tether," T-Bone responded, his voice carefully controlled but unable to hide the underlying concern.

As the rope began to lift him toward the safety of the Turbokat, Razor let his head lean against the tether. Exhaustion was hitting him in waves now, and he could feel his strength ebbing with each passing moment. Below, he could see Feral and his niece watching his rescue, their figures getting smaller as he rose higher.

Let them watch, he thought with grim satisfaction. Let them see that the SWAT Kats don't stay down.

The bomb bay of the Turbokat opened beneath him like welcoming arms, and it took him longer than usual to maneuver inside. His coordination was off, his movements clumsy and painful. Squeezing between the missiles that lined the bay required more effort than it should have, and by the time he finally made it to the hatch leading to the cockpit, he was breathing hard and dizzy.

"I hate him," he said as he dropped heavily into his seat, not caring that his voice was still rough with smoke and pain. There was no point in hiding his feelings from T-Bone.

"Feral?" T-Bone's chuckle was grim, and Razor could see his partner checking the small rearview mirror to get a look at him. The fisheye lens didn't give much detail, but it was enough to confirm he was seated and breathing. "Don't we all?"

"Yeah, but I'm extra hateful tonight," Razor admitted, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Even that simple movement sent spikes of pain through his ribs. "The city's safe, Dark Kat's weapon is destroyed, and his first response is to blame us for the collateral damage."

"Where did Dark Kat go?" T-Bone asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"Lost him in the explosion," Razor confirmed. "He had an escape route planned, as usual. Probably already back in his underground lair plotting his next scheme."

"I lost him too," T-Bone admitted, and there was shame in his voice that made Razor's chest tighten with something other than injury. "That explosion was big enough to make everyone look away—even me." His voice dropped lower. "I thought... Razor, I was afraid—"

"It's okay," Razor cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear his partner blame himself for something that wasn't his fault. The exhaustion was creeping up on him like a tide, making everything feel distant and fuzzy around the edges. "It's okay," he repeated, buckling his harness with fingers that felt thick and clumsy. He let his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes against the spinning sensation that was making his stomach churn. "Let's just go home."

"Roger that," T-Bone said quietly, and Razor could hear the relief in his voice at not having to discuss how close they'd come to disaster tonight.

The flight back to the salvage yard passed in blessed silence. Razor was dimly aware of the familiar sensation of flight—the subtle changes in engine pitch as T-Bone adjusted their course, the gentle banking turns as they navigated around the city's skyline—but it all seemed to happen at a great distance.

Sleep pulled at him like gravity, and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, he felt himself drifting in and out of awareness. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he probably had a concussion to go along with everything else, but the darkness was so appealing that he couldn't bring himself to fight it.

T-Bone's voice, speaking to the hangar's automated systems, was the last thing he heard before consciousness finally slipped away entirely.

When the Turbokat's engines finally wound down in the underground hangar beneath Megakat Salvage Yard, T-Bone sat in his pilot's seat for a long moment, just listening to the silence. Their home base felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the night—familiar, safe, and most importantly, private.

He pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, letting his ears move freely after being compressed for hours. The adrenaline from the mission was finally wearing off, leaving him feeling drained and worried about his partner.

"Cats alive," he muttered to himself, a phrase that felt more like a prayer than an exclamation tonight. They'd come too close to losing each other.

The canopy release mechanism hissed as it engaged, and T-Bone climbed out onto the wing with practiced ease. "Jake?" he called softly, moving toward the back seat. "Jake, buddy, we're home."

His partner was completely unconscious, slumped in his seat like a rag doll. In the hangar's overhead lights, T-Bone could finally see the full extent of the damage, and what he saw made his stomach clench with worry.

Jake's helmet was partially melted on the left side, the heat-resistant material warped and blackened. Underneath, his left ear was badly burned, the fur singed away to reveal angry red skin beneath. His face was sooty and marked with burns, and there were scorch marks on his uniform where flying debris had found its mark.

"Oh, buddy," T-Bone whispered, his heart clenching at the sight. "What did that maniac's weapon do to you?"

Chance—because that's who he was here in their private sanctuary, not T-Bone the daredevil pilot—carefully began unbuckling Jake's harness, trying not to jostle him too much. His partner's breathing was shallow and labored, and Chance could hear a slight wheeze that worried him.

"Jake," he said, a little louder this time. "I need you to wake up for me."

Jake's head lolled to one side as consciousness slowly returned, and he let out a soft groan that spoke of deep, comprehensive pain. "Ugh... Chance," he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Instinctively, Jake's hand started to move toward his injured ear, but Chance was faster, catching his wrist gently but firmly. "Nope. Don't touch it. That's a pretty bad burn, and touching it will only make it worse."

"How bad?" Jake asked, trying to turn his head to look at his friend. The movement made him hiss in pain and squeeze his eyes shut.

"Bad enough that I'm going to be playing nurse for the next few days," Chance said, trying to keep his tone light despite his worry. "Come on, let's get you downstairs. Can you stand?"

With Chance's help, Jake managed to get his feet under him, though he swayed alarmingly once he was upright. "Maybe a cracked rib or two," he admitted through gritted teeth, one arm wrapped protectively around his midsection.

"Maybe more than maybe," Chance muttered, noting how carefully Jake was breathing. "Alright, nice and slow. Lean on me."

The trip from the hangar to Jake's bedroom felt like it took forever. Every step was carefully measured, and Chance found himself holding most of his partner's weight by the time they reached the stairs. Jake's face was pale beneath the soot and burns, and sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort of staying upright.

Once they reached Jake's room, Chance helped him onto the bed and immediately went to work. Years of partnership had taught him basic field medicine—when you chose to operate outside the law, you couldn't always rely on hospitals and doctors who might ask inconvenient questions.

"Let's get this helmet off first," Chance said, working carefully around the melted sections. The damaged parts had fused to some of Jake's fur, and removing it required patience and gentle persistence. Each tug made Jake wince, but he bore it stoically.

With the helmet finally removed, the full extent of the burn on Jake's left ear was visible, and Chance had to bite back a curse. The skin was red and blistered, and the fur was completely gone in some places. It was definitely a second-degree burn, possibly worse in some spots.

"This is going to need constant care," Chance said, more to himself than to Jake. "Antibiotics, burn cream, regular cleaning... and it's going to hurt like hell for a while."

He helped Jake out of the top half of his uniform, careful not to jar his ribs. Dark bruises were already forming across Jake's right side, and Chance could feel at least two places where the ribs gave slightly under gentle pressure—definitely cracked, possibly broken.

"I'm going to set up an IV," Chance explained as he worked. "Fluids, antibiotics, and some good painkillers. You're not going to be doing anything but sleeping for the next few days."

Jake nodded weakly, already looking like he was fighting to stay conscious. "Thanks, Chance," he whispered.

"That's what partners are for," Chance replied, and meant it completely.

Several hours later, with Jake finally settled and medicated, Chance made his way downstairs to prepare for another day of maintaining their cover identities. The morning sun was already streaming through the windows of Megakat Salvage Yard, and soon they'd have customers expecting their vehicles to be serviced.

Just another day at the office, he thought sarcastically, putting on his red ball cap and trying to summon the energy to play the role of Chance Furlong, simple mechanic.

"Good morning," a familiar female voice called from the office area.

Chance looked up to see Deputy Mayor Callie Briggs sitting on their old bench seat, looking as professional and put-together as always. For a moment, he felt disoriented—the contrast between the violence and chaos of a few hours ago and this normal, mundane interaction was almost jarring.

"Oh, Miss Briggs," he said, quickly adjusting his expression to something more appropriately civilian. "Tune-up?"

"That's right." She stood and extended her car keys, which he took and hung on their small key rack.

"You're pretty early," Chance observed, glancing at the clock. Most of their customers didn't arrive until at least an hour from now.

"I have a meeting downtown this morning, and I wanted to make sure I got the car here before I ran out of time," she explained with a slight smile. "You know how much I hate paying that late fee."

Chance nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, Callie, but you know the rules. Commander Feral set up our work schedule, and if we don't stick to it..." He let the implication hang in the air. They both knew what would happen if they gave Feral any excuse to make their lives more difficult.

"I know," she said, and there was something almost apologetic in her tone. "Where's Jake this morning?"

The lie came easily after years of practice. "Sick today. Bad tuna fish," he said, focusing on his clipboard to avoid meeting her eyes directly. Face-to-face deception had never been his strength, and Callie was perceptive. "Told him to take it easy and get some rest."

"That's too bad. I hope he feels better soon."

"Yeah, me too." Chance glanced at his schedule, grateful for the distraction. "I've only got three vehicles today—your car, the Kat's Eye News van, and Lieutenant Feral's motorcycle."

"Felina's bike?" Callie raised an eyebrow with interest.

"We started offering motorcycle maintenance services recently," Chance explained, trying to sound casual about the expansion of their business. "Opens up opportunities to serve more customers. Diversification, you know?"

It was actually true—they had started taking on motorcycle work, though their motives weren't entirely financial. Having access to Enforcer vehicles, even peripherally, sometimes provided valuable intelligence about ongoing investigations that might intersect with the SWAT Kats' business.

"Want some milk?" he offered, gesturing toward their small refrigerator.

"No, thank you, Chance. My ride should be here any minute."

"Who's picking you up?" Though he suspected he already knew the answer, and wasn't looking forward to it.

"Commander Feral. We both have meetings at City Hall this morning."

Chance felt his jaw tighten involuntarily. After last night's encounter, the thought of facing Feral again—even as Chance Furlong rather than T-Bone—was not appealing. But he forced himself to nod casually and moved to Jake's desk, pulling out a large manila envelope from the bottom drawer.

"Perfect timing then," he said, though his tone suggested it was anything but perfect. "Better give him this month's paperwork while he's here."

Callie studied his expression for a moment. "You don't like him, do you?"

The question caught him off guard with its directness, and for a moment, Chance considered giving her a diplomatic non-answer. But something in her tone suggested she genuinely wanted to know, and after the night he'd had, he didn't have the energy for elaborate pretense.

"You don't know the whole story, Callie," he said finally, meeting her eyes. "I just—"

The rumble of a car engine outside cut off whatever he'd been about to say, and Chance felt his shoulders tense automatically. Through the open garage door, he could see Commander Feral's official vehicle pulling up to the entrance.

"Miss Briggs," Feral's voice rang out from the doorway, authoritative and slightly impatient. "I'm ready if you are."

"Commander," Chance said, stepping forward and extending the manila folder with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. "The monthly yard summary."

Feral took the envelope with a curt nod, but his eyes remained fixed on Chance with an expression that was hard to read. "Thank you," he said. Then, after a pause that lasted just a beat too long, he added, "At this rate, you'll only be ninety years old when you're finally free of this place."

The comment stung, but Chance recognized it for what it was—protective theater. With Callie present, Feral had to maintain his public disdain for them, even in their civilian identities. It was one thing to endure the commander's necessary hostility when he was wearing the T-Bone mask, but having to take it as Chance Furlong, with Callie watching, felt particularly grating. Still, he understood the game they were all playing.

Callie stood up quickly, placing a gentle but firm hand on Chance's arm—a gesture that was clearly meant to be both comforting and restraining. Without a word, she followed Feral toward the door, but Chance could see the tension in her posture.

As they walked toward Feral's car, Chance found himself moving closer to the open garage door, ostensibly to check on some equipment but actually to see what happened next. He told himself it was just curiosity, but the truth was that Callie's touch on his arm had surprised him, and he was interested to see if she would actually follow through on what her body language had seemed to promise.

Feral opened the passenger door for Callie with the kind of courtly gesture that would have been charming in other circumstances. Still, given his behavior moments before, it felt more like a performance than genuine respect. As she settled into her seat, Chance could see her saying something to Feral, though he couldn't make out the words from this distance.

Feral walked around to the driver's side, and Chance noticed the commander's shoulders were tense—the same kind of tension he'd shown last night when Felina had called him out for his treatment of Razor. It was the posture of someone who knew they'd stepped over a line but wasn't quite ready to acknowledge it.

Once both car doors were closed, Chance found himself straining to hear their conversation. The angle was wrong for lip reading, and the distance was too great for routine eavesdropping, but something made him reluctant to go back inside just yet.

Then Feral's voice rose slightly, and a few words drifted across the morning air: "...those two..." and "...building came down..."

Chance paused in his work, recognizing they were talking about him and Jake. But as he listened more carefully, he began to understand what was really happening.

"...were killed..." Feral's voice carried clearly now. "...lucky they didn't get prison or the death penalty..."

Chance almost smiled grimly. The commander was laying it on thick for Callie's benefit, maintaining his public stance against the SWAT Kats. It was a necessary theater, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable to hear.

"...tribunal..." The word drifted over, and Chance shook his head slightly. Feral was really selling it.

Callie's voice was harder to hear, but her posture through the car's rear window suggested she was pushing back against Feral's harsh assessment—precisely what the commander would want, to maintain her image as someone who advocated for mercy.

Then Feral's voice rose again: "...I was involved in the investigation. I wasn't allowed on the tribunal, but if I had been, you can be sure I would have pushed for harsher penalties."

Really laying it on thick, Chance thought, though he had to admit it sounded convincing. Feral was maintaining perfect plausible deniability, ensuring that if anyone ever questioned his relationship with them, Callie would be able to testify to his consistently harsh attitude toward both their civilian and vigilante identities.

It was smart, but it still stung to hear those words, even knowing they were performance.

The conversation in the car continued, but Chance found he couldn't focus on the words anymore. His heart was pounding, and he felt the same kind of dizzy disorientation he'd experienced after explosions during their missions. The idea that someone in an official position had actively worked against them, had wanted them to suffer the ultimate penalty for their mistakes, was almost too much to process.

Through the car's windows, he could see Callie's posture change again—a subtle shift that suggested she was ending the conversation rather than continuing it. A moment later, the car's engine started, and Feral began backing out of the salvage yard's driveway.

Chance stood frozen by the workbench until the sound of the engine faded into the distance, leaving him alone with the echo of words he wished he'd never heard.

Prison or the death penalty. The phrase kept repeating in his mind like a broken record—harsher penalties.

He'd known their situation was serious—known that their current arrangement was probably better than what they might have faced otherwise. But somehow he'd never quite grasped how close they'd come to losing everything, including their lives.

And now, every night when they went out as the SWAT Kats, they were putting themselves at the mercy of a tom who had wanted them executed.

Chance made his way back inside the garage on unsteady legs and collapsed into the chair behind Jake's desk, his hands shaking slightly as the full implications of what he'd overheard began to sink in.

Above him, Jake was sleeping off his injuries, and Chance knew that soon they'd need to make that call to Feral. Jake's condition was getting worse, and their agreement with the commander covered exactly this kind of situation.

As he sat there in the morning sunlight, Chance reflected on the delicate balance they all maintained. The harsh words, the public hostility, the careful theater—it was all part of keeping them safe and keeping their secret. Even if it sometimes stung to be on the receiving end of Feral's necessary performance.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Contractual Obligations - Expanded Draft

Three days had passed since the explosion, and Jake's condition wasn't improving. If anything, it was getting worse.

Chance stood beside his partner's bed, studying the injured cat with growing concern. The burn on Jake's left ear had taken on an angry, inflamed appearance that spoke of infection, and the damaged ear now drooped listlessly against the side of his head. What worried Chance most, though, was the fever that had been climbing steadily since yesterday morning.

"Look, it's getting worse," Chance said finally, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. He gestured toward Jake's injured ear with a frustrated sigh. "I need to make the call."

"No, you don't." Jake's response was immediate but weak, his voice lacking its usual conviction. He started to lift his hand in protest, the movement slow and unsteady. "Chance, don't do that."

Chance moved quickly to intercept Jake's hand, guiding it gently back down to his lap before sitting on the edge of the bed. The simple gesture revealed how serious things had become—Jake was normally too stubborn and independent to let anyone manage him like this.

"Jake, come on! You're never this obstinate," Chance said, though his attempt at lightness was undermined by genuine concern.

Despite everything, Jake managed a weak smile. "When'd you start using ten-dollar words like that?" He tried to laugh at his own joke but failed, the sound turning into a groan of pain.

Chance wasn't amused. "Look, it's bad, buddy. We're almost out of antibiotics, your fever is just off the charts, and if you get a serious infection..." He shook his head, unable to finish the thought. "I have to make the call. I cannot lose you."

The weight in those words was unmistakable—consequence, desperation, and years of partnership distilled into a simple statement. Jake could feel the gravity of what his partner was saying, could hear the barely controlled fear beneath the practical concerns.

Their arrangement with Commander Feral had been established for exactly this kind of situation. When they'd agreed to their current terms of service—working at the salvage yard while secretly continuing as the SWAT Kats—medical emergencies had been one of the contingencies they'd planned for. Feral had access to military medical resources, no-questions-asked treatment, and the authority to create believable cover stories for injuries sustained during their vigilante activities.

But using that lifeline meant admitting they couldn't handle this on their own. It meant bringing Feral deeper into their operation and creating documentation that could potentially expose them later. Most of all, it meant Jake's injuries were serious enough to warrant risking their carefully maintained secret.

Jake studied his partner's face for a long moment, seeing the exhaustion and worry that Chance was trying to hide. Finally, he sighed and waved a weak hand in surrender. "Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Call him." He shook his head slightly, immediately regretting the movement as it sent spikes of pain through his skull. "Just don't like it."

Chance gave him a firm nod, relief evident despite his attempt to maintain a calm exterior. "I know, pal." He sighed deeply, already mentally preparing for the conversation he'd have to have. "I know. If I don't call, you'll lose that ear." He reached over and patted Jake's shoulder gently, careful not to jar his injuries. "No choice. This completely qualifies under the rules that were set down. You know that, and so do I."

Jake could only nod slowly, conserving his energy. The fever was making everything feel distant and hazy, but he trusted Chance to make the right call. Their partnership had always been built on that kind of mutual trust—the absolute certainty that each would do whatever it took to keep the other safe.

"Chance?" Jake's voice was softer now, fatigue weighing down each word.

"Yeah, pal?" Chance turned back from where he'd been heading toward the door.

"Thanks."

The simple word carried years of friendship, partnership, and gratitude for countless moments just like this one. Chance squeezed Jake's shoulder once more, feeling the heat radiating from his partner's fevered body.

"Always," he said quietly, and meant it completely.

Several miles across Megakat City, in the comfortable bedroom of a downtown apartment, Deputy Mayor Callie Briggs smiled as Commander Ulysses Feral emerged from the ensuite bathroom. Freshly showered and wearing comfortable civilian clothes, he looked more relaxed than he had when he'd arrived home from Enforcer Headquarters.

"Long day?" she asked, setting aside the papers she'd been reviewing. Her hands returned to the keyboard of the laptop balanced on her knees.

"Normal, actually, for once," Feral replied, settling into bed beside her. "No one was murdered today. No megalomaniacal schemes uncovered. No giant robots attacking downtown." He leaned toward her, pressing his head against hers affectionately, and she could feel the rumble of his purr. "What's so urgent that you have to work on it in bed?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the simple intimacy of the gesture, and let out a soft giggle. "Financials for the Enforcers' charity ball," she explained, tilting her laptop screen so he could see the spreadsheet she'd been working on. "Got to make sure my favorite tom gets all the funding he needs."

"Oh, that." Feral's tone suggested the charity ball was something he'd rather forget about entirely. The annual event was a political necessity—good for public relations and department funding—but he found the whole affair tedious. "Wasn't that report due this morning?"

Callie nodded, looking slightly sheepish. "It was, but I know the cat it's going to, and apparently, he didn't notice he hadn't been emailed." She gave him a pointed look, one eyebrow raised in mock accusation.

"I suppose he didn't," Feral conceded with a small smile, reaching over to cup her jaw gently with one large paw. "I do need it by Friday, though."

She purred softly at his touch and gave a slow nod. "Of course."

The laptop was forgotten as Ulysses leaned in for a kiss, soft and sweet at first but with the promise of something deeper. Callie blindly pushed the computer off her knees and onto the bed, turning toward him as the kiss intensified.

"Callico," he breathed against her lips, using the pet name that never failed to make her heart flutter.

"Yes?" She bit her lip gently, her voice soft with anticipation. The mood in the room shifted, becoming charged with the kind of intimate tension that made the outside world fade away.

Then the harsh beeping of Feral's emergency phone shattered the moment like glass.

Feral growled low in his throat—a sound of pure frustration—and gave Callie one more quick, almost apologetic kiss before rolling away to answer the insistent device. He grabbed the phone from his nightstand, his expression shifting from romantic to professional as he checked the caller ID.

His eyes darted around the room as he slid his thumb across the screen, a subtle tension entering his posture. "I need to take this," he said quietly to Callie, then put the phone to his ear. "This is Feral."

He listened for a moment, his free hand coming up to cover the mouthpiece as he looked back at Callie. "I told you not to call me at this number," he said into the phone as he stood and walked around the bed toward the door.

Callie settled back against her pillows and retrieved her laptop, though she found it difficult to concentrate on spreadsheets after the interruption. She couldn't help but notice the tension in Ulysses' shoulders as he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him, and something about his tone suggested this wasn't a routine Enforcer emergency.

From the hallway, his voice was muffled but still audible: "You should have called me sooner if this was the case."

There was a long pause as he listened to whoever was on the other end, and Callie found herself straining to hear more. It wasn't like her to eavesdrop, but something about the situation felt different. Important.

"I understand," Feral's voice continued, clearer now. "Don't go anywhere. I'm on my way. Make sure you're both ready to leave."

The call ended with a soft beep, and Callie quickly moved to the bathroom, grabbing her hairbrush as cover for her curiosity. She was running it through her hair when Ulysses returned, looking considerably more stressed than when he'd left.

"Everything alright?" she asked, keeping her tone casual despite her concern. Her ears flattened slightly against her head—an involuntary response to the worry she was trying to hide.

"I have to go," he said quietly, already moving toward the closet to retrieve his uniform. The transformation from relaxed lover to Commander Feral was happening before her eyes. "I'm needed at Enforcer HQ."

"Is everything alright?" she repeated, unable to keep the worry from her voice entirely.

Feral emerged from the closet, fully dressed and looking every inch the military commander. He leaned down to kiss her softly, but she could feel the distraction in the gesture. "It's nothing I can't handle. I shouldn't be too long." He was already moving toward the door. "Go on to bed. I'm sure it'll be late when I get back."

He paused at the doorway, looking back at her with an expression that was hard to read. "I love you," he called out, loud enough to carry as he headed for the living room.

Callie heard the front door close with a decisive click, leaving her alone with her thoughts and a growing sense that something significant was happening. She folded her arms over her chest, looking around the suddenly empty bedroom.

He had left in such a hurry, clearly responding to some kind of emergency. But the phone call hadn't sounded like typical Enforcer business. Someone had called him on his private number—someone who wasn't supposed to use that line. And whoever it was, they needed to be "ready to leave," which suggested some kind of planned operation rather than a spontaneous crisis response.

She moved to her purse and pulled out the small, triangular communicator that connected her directly to the SWAT Kats. She'd never used it casually before—it was meant for genuine emergencies or city-threatening situations. But something about tonight felt different, and her instincts were telling her that whatever had pulled Ulysses away was connected to something larger.

After a moment's hesitation, she pressed the button and waited as the line connected, hoping her intuition was wrong but needing to know for sure.

Back at the salvage yard, Chance was pacing around Jake's bed like a caged animal, checking and rechecking the IV line and monitoring his partner's condition. The call to Feral had been made, and now they were waiting for the commander to arrive and assess the situation.

"I know, but Feral's headed here," he said, adjusting Jake's blankets for the third time in as many minutes. He looked at the IV bag, calculating how much antibiotic was left, then turned his attention back to Jake's injured ear. "Cats alive, it looks awful."

The infection was clearly taking hold despite their best efforts. The skin around the burn was hot and inflamed, with a sickly sheen that suggested the beginning stages of serious complications.

"It's fine, Chance," Jake protested weakly, though his voice lacked conviction. "Just don't look at it."

Chance shook his head, moving to Jake's uninjured ear to check his temperature the old-fashioned way. He pinched the ear gently between his fingers, feeling for the telltale heat that would indicate how high the fever had climbed. "Not the burn, Jake," he said with a frustrated sigh. "The fever. I can't break it."

Even through his exhaustion and fever-induced haze, Jake tried to maintain his usual optimism. "I don't feel that bad," he mumbled, though the words slurred slightly. "I could rewire a glovatrix, no problem."

"Yeah, well, you are that bad, Jake," Chance replied, though his tone was gentle. Years of partnership had taught him when Jake was putting up a brave front, and this was definitely one of those times.

The radio in Chance's pocket chose that moment to crackle to life, its familiar beep cutting through the tension in the room. He pulled it out, glancing at Jake with a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Crud, it's Callie," he muttered.

"Take it," Jake said calmly, though keeping his eyes closed. "Feral can find me if you need to go."

Chance nodded and pressed the button to accept the incoming call. "Yes, Miss Briggs?"

"T-Bone?" Her voice came through clearly, though there was an underlying note of uncertainty that caught his attention.

Something about her tone immediately put him on alert. Callie didn't usually call them directly unless there was a genuine emergency, and she certainly didn't call at this hour unless something was seriously wrong.

"Something wrong, Miss Briggs?" he asked, automatically shifting into his T-Bone persona even though he was standing in civilian clothes in their underground quarters.

"Well, no, I'm sorry I called," she began, sounding almost embarrassed. "Nothing's the matter, per se. I was just... worried about someone."

"Someone we know, ma'am?" T-Bone prompted gently, though he was beginning to suspect where this conversation was heading.

"Commander Feral left in a hurry," she explained, her voice carrying the kind of concern that suggested she was more emotionally invested in the commander's wellbeing than most people knew. "I'm not sure where he was headed, but his phone conversation didn't sound good."

Chance's eyes widened, and he looked at Jake, who managed a weak shrug despite his condition. The timing was suspicious, to say the least. Feral had just gotten a call about Jake's medical emergency, and now Callie was worried about the commander's sudden departure.

"You want me to check on him, ma'am?" Chance offered, reaching up to pull off his red ball cap as he settled on the edge of Jake's bed.

"If you could," she said softly, genuine gratitude evident in her voice. "I'd really appreciate it."

"He say where he was going?" Chance asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Enforcer Headquarters," she replied. "Though I'm not so sure. He mentioned picking some people up."

That detail made Chance's pulse quicken. Feral had said he was coming to the salvage yard to assess Jake's condition and potentially arrange for covert medical treatment. If Callie had overheard that part of the conversation, it could complicate their carefully maintained secrets.

"We'll fly over that way and make sure everything's okay," he assured her, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. "Not a problem."

"Thank you," she said, relief evident in her tone. "Let me know what you find."

"Yes, ma'am. T-Bone out." He cut the radio connection and looked at Jake with a mixture of confusion and concern.

"More complications," Jake observed quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I think they're together," Chance said, studying the radio as if it might provide more answers. "Romantically, I mean."

"Miss Briggs and the Commander?" Jake's eyebrows rose slightly, though even that small expression seemed to cost him energy. "Huh."

"Makes sense, actually," Chance continued, working through the implications aloud. "They're both high-level political figures. If Callie ever runs for mayor, having Feral's support would make them practically unstoppable."

"Quite a power couple," Jake agreed, reaching over to his nightstand to grab his water glass. The simple movement required obvious effort, and his hand shook slightly as he lifted it to his lips.

"Yeah, are you going to be okay?" Chance asked, noting his partner's increasing weakness. "Need help getting to the bathroom before I go?"

"I'm okay," Jake assured him, patting Chance's arm with what little strength he had left. "Go on."

Chance squeezed Jake's hand briefly, a gesture of reassurance and affection. "Tell Feral I'm cleaning up his mess," he said, standing and heading toward the door.

As if summoned by his words, the main entrance of the salvage yard clanged open at the opposite end of the hallway. Heavy footsteps echoed through their underground facility as Commander Feral made his way inside.

"What mess?" Feral's voice called out as he closed and locked the door behind him, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed. He moved toward Chance with the kind of purposeful stride that suggested he was already assessing the situation.

"Callie called," Chance explained, holding up the radio. "She was worried about you, asked us to make sure you were fine."

Feral sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "Alright, go do a flyover," he instructed. "Then you're going to call her back and say I was responding to an accident here at the salvage yard."

"Here?" Chance looked confused. "But you just—"

"Yes, here," Feral interrupted, already removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. "We're going to stage an explosion. We have to make it look like Jake sustained his injuries in an industrial accident rather than during a SWAT Kats mission."

The plan was beginning to make sense to Chance, though the implications were daunting. Creating a believable accident scene that would explain Jake's specific injuries would require careful planning and attention to detail.

Feral walked past Chance and into Jake's room, stopping short when he saw the extent of his injuries. "Clawson," he said, his voice softening with genuine concern.

"Hey, sir," Jake managed, looking up despite the obvious effort it required. His injured ear drooped listlessly while his good ear perked up slightly in acknowledgment.

Feral moved forward immediately, his military medical training taking over as he examined Jake's condition. He gently took Jake's uninjured ear between his fingers, feeling for fever, then checked his pulse at the wrist.

"Go do the flyover," he instructed Chance without looking away from his patient. "I'll take care of things here." He released Jake's ear, his expression grim. "High fever," he observed.

"Sir," Chance acknowledged with a nod, understanding that time was of the essence. He headed down the hallway at a run, already planning his route and the story he'd need to tell Callie.

As Chance's footsteps faded, Feral turned his full attention to Jake's condition. "You were a medic?" Jake asked weakly, noting the commander's practiced efficiency as he assessed his injuries.

"For a long time," Feral confirmed, continuing his examination. Years before he'd become an administrator and politician, he'd served as a field medic in several military conflicts. The skills had proven useful in his current arrangement with the SWAT Kats. "You need a hospital. You've got a serious infection brewing. How long have you had the fever?"

"Two days," Jake admitted, reaching for his water glass again with trembling hands. "What kind of explosion are you going to stage?" Despite his condition, he was still thinking tactically about their cover story.

"We're going to detonate some old ordnance," Feral explained, helping Jake steady his water glass. "Make it look like this aircraft"—he gestured toward the hangar areas—"hadn't been properly stripped of all explosive materials."

Jake managed a weak laugh, though it quickly turned into a grimace of pain. "You're going to blame Burke and Murray for this?"

"I'm going to fire them," Feral said with a slight smirk. "They've had it coming for months. I just needed a good excuse." His expression grew more serious as he continued his assessment. "Good as any."

The plan was starting to take shape, but it would require careful coordination and attention to detail. "I'm going to need access to your hangar," Feral said, thinking through the logistics. "And a handheld torch. Plus some old ordnance that will make the right kind of explosion."

"I have some downstairs," Jake offered, though his voice was getting weaker. Above them, they could hear the distinctive sound of the Turbokat's engines starting up as Chance began his reconnaissance mission. "Grab something that hasn't been painted or modified. It has to look military standard."

"It has to be a believable scenario," Feral agreed, stroking his chin as they worked through the details. "Here's the problem—jet fuel has a higher flash point than most people realize. You can't just light it with a torch. You could drop a lit match into a bucket of jet fuel and it wouldn't ignite."

Jake nodded slowly, his tactical mind still functioning despite the fever. "It'll have to be old napalm to create the right kind of burn pattern. Something that's been sitting around long enough that it's become unstable."

"You have napalm canisters down there?" Feral asked, though he didn't sound surprised. The SWAT Kats' arsenal was impressively comprehensive.

"Yeah, but they're in the ordnance locker," Jake confirmed, reaching for his keys on the nightstand with obvious effort. "Red casings along the back wall. Be careful removing them from storage—people can't know they're SWAT Kats ordnance."

"Understood," Feral said, taking the keys. His expression softened slightly as he looked at Jake's fevered condition. "I was worried when I saw you climbing that water tower the other night. I'm surprised you both didn't call sooner."

"I know," Jake sighed, the exhaustion evident in every line of his body. "Thank you."

"We'll get you taken care of, son," Feral assured him, his tone carrying the authority of someone accustomed to handling emergencies. "Let me get this scene staged, and then we need to get you outside where the EMTs can find you."

Jake could only nod as Feral headed for the door, pausing to orient himself in the unfamiliar layout of their underground facility before turning left down the hallway toward the ordnance storage areas.

As Feral's footsteps faded, Jake closed his eyes and tried to conserve what little energy he had left. Soon, this would all be over, and he could focus on healing. But first, they had to sell the performance of their lives.

An hour later, Lieutenant Felina Feral pulled her motorcycle into the salvage yard, immediately noticing the small fires scattered around what appeared to be aircraft wreckage. She set her helmet on the bike's seat and jogged toward the scene, taking in the controlled chaos with a practiced eye.

"Cats alive!" she exclaimed, her training automatically cataloguing the damage pattern and assessing potential hazards.

She could see Chance—though she knew him only as one of the salvage yard mechanics—spraying small fires with a handheld extinguisher. Her uncle was kneeling beside a brown cat who was clearly in distress, moaning in pain as the commander tried to examine his injuries.

Reaching for her shoulder radio, Felina called in the situation. "This is Lieutenant Feral. I need an ambulance for EVAC at the Megakat Military Salvage and Garage."

"The EVAC unit was already summoned by Commander Feral," came the response. "What's the status of the patient so I can have the EMTs ready?"

"Burns to his head and neck," she reported, moving closer to get a better look at the injured cat. "Possible smoke inhalation, but I can't confirm from here."

"Uncle?" she called out as she approached.

"Felina, help him," Feral instructed, pointing toward Chance without looking away from his patient. "That's napalm residue. Get the fires completely out before it spreads."

She nodded and grabbed a second extinguisher, moving to assist Chance in containing the remaining flames. "Napalm?" she asked him as they worked.

"Old ordnance," Chance explained, his voice tight with what appeared to be genuine worry for his friend. "We had no idea it was still in the aircraft frame. We were just stripping it for scrap metal." He kept glancing back at Jake, playing his role perfectly. "It just exploded when the frame shifted. Went everywhere."

Felina moved methodically around the wreckage, ensuring all the burning material was completely extinguished. "I think that's everything," she announced, emerging from under the aircraft frame.

Chance nodded gratefully, though his attention remained focused on Jake and her uncle. "Your uncle was a medic, right? Jake's going to be okay?"

"He'll keep him stable until the EVAC arrives," she assured him, though she was also studying the scene with professional curiosity. "What were you two doing working on something like this at nine PM? That seems pretty late for this kind of heavy work."

The question caught Chance slightly off-guard, but he recovered quickly. "We have to make time somehow," he said, his voice carrying genuine frustration. "We'll never pay back your uncle if we just work normal hours." He sighed heavily. "We work sunrise to sundown with no days off as it is."

That much, at least, was completely true. Their debt to the Enforcers was structured in such a way that they'd be working it off for decades under normal circumstances.

"I understand the financial pressure," Felina said sympathetically, "but using torches and heavy equipment at this hour seems dangerous. Don't you normally sweep aircraft for unexploded ordnance before beginning salvage work?"

"These frames are supposed to come to us completely stripped," Chance replied, letting some real anger enter his voice. "We don't have the facilities here to handle live ordnance. Look, it's not our fault." He gestured at the damaged aircraft. "This thing was supposed to be clean when we got it. We're just supposed to do the final breakdown for scrap metal."

"FURLONG!" Feral's voice cut across the salvage yard as the distinctive sound of a medical helicopter filled the air.

Chance ran forward and slid to a stop beside Jake and the commander, with Felina close behind. "Sir?"

"I'm taking him to Megakat Memorial," Feral announced, his tone carrying both authority and barely suppressed concern. "Felina, take his statement and keep him here until I get back."

"I want to go with Jake," Chance said, genuine worry evident in his voice. "Sir, please let me go with him."

"You're not family," Feral replied, though his tone was gentler than his words suggested. "As his employer, it falls to me to make medical decisions until we can contact a family member."

As the EMTs began preparing Jake for transport, Chance caught his partner's eye. Despite the oxygen mask covering his face and the exhaustion evident in every line of his body, Jake managed to give him a subtle thumbs-up—a signal that he was still coherent and ready to play his part.

Once the medical team had loaded Jake into the helicopter and departed, Chance dropped the fire extinguisher he'd been holding. "Damn," he muttered, genuine emotion mixing with his performance.

Felina nudged his arm gently with her elbow. "He'll be fine. My uncle will call his family."

"Yeah, about that," Chance said, turning to face her with a heavy sigh. "There's no family to call." He kicked a piece of debris with his boot, a gesture of frustration that was only partially acting.

Felina's expression softened with genuine sympathy. "I didn't know. I'll tell my uncle."

Chance nodded, then looked around at the staged wreckage with what appeared to be bewildered shock. Part of it was genuine—Feral had done an impressive job creating a believable accident scene in a short amount of time.

"You want to tell me exactly what happened?" Felina asked, pulling out a small notepad.

"We were dismantling this aircraft frame," Chance began, pointing to the wreckage. "Pulling bolts, removing small panel components." He gestured toward a rolling cart filled with sorted parts that had been artfully scorched around the edges. "Jake decided to climb up into the frame to access some of the upper connections."

Felina followed his explanation, noting the positioning of evidence and trying to visualize the accident as he described it.

"I was working down here, pulling this piece of structural metal," Chance continued, indicating a section of the frame that appeared to have shifted. "When I got it free, the whole frame moved slightly to the left."

"What happened next?" she prompted.

"I heard Jake yell, then a loud bang—metal hitting metal. After that..." Chance's voice trailed off, and he shook his head as if trying to dispel a terrible memory. "He screamed. The ordnance must have fallen from a compartment in the upper section of the frame. Being so old and unstable, it wouldn't have taken much impact to set it off."

Felina examined the frame more closely, noting the burn patterns and the way the metal had been bent by the explosion. It all looked consistent with Chance's story, which was impressive given that it had all been staged.

"What else?" she asked.

"Nothing else after that. I called the Enforcer emergency line and got forwarded to your uncle since we're still under his jurisdiction." Chance pulled off his red ball cap and ran a hand through his hair in apparent frustration. "He showed up first and said he was calling for backup. I guess he wanted to contain the situation before it hit the news—after what happened with the building collapse, this would just be fuel for the fire."

"That makes sense," Felina agreed, though something in her expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "Mr...?" She paused, realizing she needed clarification. "I'm sorry, I know both your names, but I don't know which one of you is which."

"Furlong," Chance supplied. "Chance Furlong."

"So your friend is Clawson?" she confirmed.

"Yeah, Jake." Chance's voice carried genuine emotion as he spoke his partner's name. "We've been friends since flight school."

Felina continued studying him with professional interest. Despite the heat of the evening—it was nearly eighty degrees—this mechanic was wearing long sleeves. That seemed odd, especially for someone who'd just been fighting fires.

"So you were the pilot?" she asked, trying to piece together their history.

Chance nodded. "Jake was my weapons systems officer. Gunnery chief." His expression darkened. "You were there for the aftermath."

"In a way," she acknowledged. "I was still in basic training when it happened, but I saw the reports. My uncle briefed the family on the situation." Her tone was carefully neutral. "That was about six years ago?"

"Something like that," Chance agreed, his voice flat. The weight of their shared history hung in the air between them.

Suddenly, Chance's composure seemed to crack. "I can't just stand here like this," he said, starting to head toward the garage. "I need to get to the hospital."

"Wait, Mr. Furlong," Felina called after him. "I still need your complete statement."

"I just gave it to you," he snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. "I don't have time for more paperwork, Lieutenant. I need to get to Jake."

The way he said it—the defiant stance, the ears flattened against his head when he raised his voice—triggered something in Felina's memory. She froze, studying his posture and mannerisms with new eyes.

"I'm going," Chance said more quietly, regaining some of his composure. "I'm sorry I snapped, but I need to see my friend."

"Wait," Felina said, reaching out to grab his arm. "Please, just talk to me for a minute."

"Let me go," Chance said, his voice dangerously quiet. She could feel the tension in his arm, the barely controlled strength that suggested this "simple mechanic" was far more than he appeared.

Looking into his eyes, Felina felt a flash of recognition—something about the set of his jaw, the way he held himself when challenged, the particular shade of his fur. It was like seeing a puzzle piece finally click into place.

In one swift motion that caught Chance completely off-guard, she grabbed his sleeve and yanked it up his arm, exposing the distinctive tiger stripes that marked his forearm.

Just as quickly, Chance jerked his arm away and pulled the sleeve back down, but it was too late. Felina had seen what she needed to see.

"I KNEW IT!" she said, her voice carrying a mixture of triumph and disbelief. "I knew it." She pointed at him, her tail bristling with excitement. "I saw Razor's burn pattern that night. Your friend has the exact same injury. I'm probably the only other cat besides my uncle who got a close look at it."

Chance said nothing, but his entire posture had shifted into something more dangerous, more controlled. His tail moved with predatory precision—no longer the nervous twitching of an anxious mechanic, but the calculated movements of someone accustomed to combat.

"You're the SWAT Kats," Felina continued, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "You're T-Bone. Those tiger stripes are too uncommon to be coincidental. You're the right height, the right build, the right age." Her eyes widened as the full implications hit her. "And my uncle has known the entire time."

The realization seemed to hit her like a physical blow, and she faltered slightly. "He lied to me," she whispered, hurt evident in her voice.

Chance made a decision. There was no point in denial—she'd put together too many pieces, and her evidence was solid. Instead, he let his civilian facade fall away, allowing his natural T-Bone confidence to surface.

"He was protecting you," Chance said quietly, his voice carrying a different quality now—calmer, more authoritative. "This isn't easy for any of us."

The sound of a car pulling up outside interrupted their conversation, and both cats froze as they heard a door slam.

"Chance?" Callie's familiar voice called from the entrance.

Their eyes met in mutual panic. "In the office!" Chance called back, quickly motioning for Felina to step back and give them some space.

Callie appeared in the garage entrance, concern written across her features. "I just heard about Jake from the radio traffic. Commander Feral made you stay behind?"

"Not family," Chance explained, slipping back into his civilian persona with practiced ease. "Can't go in the medical helicopter. Also, I'm not allowed in aircraft anymore."

"He can be insufferable sometimes," Callie said with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry this happened."

She turned to acknowledge Felina with a polite nod. "I'm going to drive him to the hospital if you're finished with your report."

"Yes, I'm done with Mr. Furlong," Felina replied, though her eyes remained fixed on Chance. "My uncle did order him to stay here, though. Good luck with that."

"He can sleep on the couch if he doesn't like it," Callie said with a slight smile, taking Chance's hand. "Do you want to change? I can wait while you clean up."

Chance looked down at his coveralls, noting the scorch marks on his sleeves and the bloodstains from helping Jake over the past few days. "Yeah, I should probably clean up," he agreed.

As he headed toward the stairs, he caught Felina's eye and saw understanding pass between them. Their conversation was far from over, but for now, they had to maintain the facade.

"How bad was Jake's condition?" Callie asked Felina while they waited.

"Third-degree burns, possibly worse," Felina replied, her tone professional despite the emotional turmoil underneath. "His ear and neck took the worst of it. There's a real possibility he could lose the ear entirely."

"Cats alive," Callie gasped, instinctively reaching up to touch her own ear. "Poor Jake. Chance must be beside himself."

"You've known them a long time?" Felina asked, genuinely curious about the relationships between all these cats.

"Since high school," Callie confirmed. "I went to school with Jake, and the boys have been inseparable for as long as I can remember. They've been through everything together."

"They work as mechanics too?" Felina asked, fishing for more information.

"Your uncle pays them just enough to survive," Callie explained, a note of criticism entering her voice. "They had to start the automotive repair business just to have money for food and basic necessities. Jake mentioned once that it would take them thirty years to work off their debt at the current rate."

"That explains working so late," Felina murmured, the pieces of their cover story falling into place. "They really did upset my uncle with that building collapse."

"The Mayor too," Callie agreed. "It was a tragedy all around."

Upstairs, Chance was making quick work of changing his clothes while listening to the conversation below. Their soundproofing was good, but not perfect, and he could make out most of what was being said.

He grabbed a small jar from his nightstand—a fur-colored concealer that Jake had developed for precisely this purpose—and quickly applied it over the distinctive stripes on his arms. The transformation was remarkable; without his natural markings, he looked like a completely different cat, no tiger stripes at all. 

When he rejoined the women downstairs, wearing a clean t-shirt and shorts, Callie immediately noticed the change. "You look like a different person without the coveralls," she observed.

"Feels different too," Chance replied, and it was the truth in more ways than one.

He handed Felina a business card with their contact information. "If you need another statement, my cell number is on there. Just text me."

She took the card and glanced at it, then looked back at his now-concealed arms. Without the tiger stripes, he really did seem like an ordinary cat—the kind who could disappear into any crowd without a second glance.

"Thank you, Mr. Furlong," she said formally, though her eyes conveyed a different message entirely.

As Callie and Chance prepared to leave for the hospital, Felina walked back to her motorcycle, processing everything she'd learned. She pulled on her helmet and started the engine, but before driving away, she turned the business card over in her hands.

On the back, written in small, neat letters, was a short message: "We'll talk. Midnight tomorrow night. Megakat Park at Crow's Nest."

She smiled grimly and slipped the card into her uniform pocket. "It's a date," she said to herself, then pulled out of the salvage yard, leaving the investigation team to finish documenting their carefully staged accident scene.

As she drove through the night streets of Megakat City, her mind raced with questions and implications. The SWAT Kats were Chance Furlong and Jake Clawson. Her uncle had been protecting their identities. And somehow, she was now part of a secret that could change everything.

Tomorrow night couldn't come fast enough.

Chapter Text

The Cyclotron's engine purred quietly as T-Bone guided the sleek motorcycle through the empty streets of Megakat City. The advanced bike was one of their newer designs—smaller and more maneuverable than the Turbokat, but equipped with enough firepower and defensive systems to handle most ground-based threats. Tonight, however, it was simply transportation, carrying him through the shadows toward a conversation that could change everything.

Megakat Park at midnight was a different world from its daytime incarnation. Gone were the families with picnic baskets, the joggers on the winding paths, and the kittens playing on the elaborate playground equipment. In their place was a peaceful stillness, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

The Crow's Nest—a wooden observation platform built high in an ancient oak tree—was a popular spot during the day, offering panoramic views of the city skyline. At night, it provided something more valuable: privacy. T-Bone had chosen it specifically because it would allow them to see anyone approaching long before they could be overheard.

He parked the Cyclotron in a small grove of trees, engaging the bike's stealth mode to render it nearly invisible to casual observation. The advanced camouflage system was one of his partner's innovations, and thinking about it brought a fresh wave of worry about the cat's condition.

The hospital visit earlier that evening had been both reassuring and concerning. His partner was stable, and the doctors—briefed by Commander Feral on the "industrial accident"—were optimistic about his recovery. The burns were severe but treatable, and there was no permanent damage to his hearing. But the infection had been worse than they'd initially realized, and recovery would take weeks, possibly months.

T-Bone made his way through the park's winding paths, his enhanced night vision allowing him to navigate easily in the darkness. The playground came into view ahead—swings, slides, and climbing structures designed for kittens but sturdy enough to support adult cats in a pinch.

Lieutenant Felina Feral was already there, sitting on one of the swings with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She'd traded her Enforcer uniform for civilian clothes—dark jeans and a fitted t-shirt that allowed for better movement. Her posture was alert but not tense, suggesting she was comfortable with the meeting despite its unusual circumstances.

"You came," T-Bone said as he approached, his voice carrying easily across the quiet playground.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" she replied, turning to face him. "After what I learned Yesterday, I think I'm entitled to some answers."

T-Bone nodded and settled onto the swing beside her, his larger frame making the child-sized seat seem almost comically small. But instead of feeling awkward, he found the simple motion of swinging somehow grounding—a reminder of simpler times when the biggest worry was whether you could pump your legs hard enough to reach the clouds.

"This is nice," he said, pushing off gently with his feet and beginning a slow, easy rhythm. "Been a long time since I've done this."

Felina watched him with curious eyes. "Most vigilantes don't strike me as the swinging type."

"Most vigilantes didn't grow up in Megakat City," T-Bone replied, his voice taking on a more relaxed quality. "Used to come here as a kitten. Same swings, actually—they built these things to last."

The revelation seemed to surprise her. "You're local?"

"Born and raised," he confirmed, continuing his gentle swinging motion. "My partner, too. This city isn't just something we protect—it's home. Every street, every building, every cat living here... it all matters to us."

They swung in comfortable silence for a moment, the rhythmic creaking of the chains providing a soothing soundtrack to their conversation. Above them, the lights of the city spread out like a glittering carpet, beautiful and peaceful in the darkness.

"How is he?" Felina asked finally, her voice softer than it had been earlier. "Your partner. I saw how bad those burns were."

T-Bone's swinging slowed slightly as he considered his answer. "He'll keep the ear," he said eventually. "Doctors say there's no permanent hearing damage, and the burns should heal clean. But..." He paused, wrestling with how much to reveal. "The fur may never grow back properly. Could leave permanent scarring."

"I'm sorry," she said, and he could hear genuine sympathy in her voice. "That must be difficult for someone in your line of work."

"It's more than just the cosmetic issues," T-Bone explained, his tone becoming more serious. "Our identities depend on not being recognizable. A distinctive scar like that could compromise everything we've worked for. He'll probably have to wear a full-face helmet from now on, even after he heals."

The implications hung in the air between them. The SWAT Kats' effectiveness relied heavily on their ability to move freely through both their civilian and vigilante lives. Any permanent mark that could connect the two identities was a severe liability.

"How long will he be out of commission?" Felina asked.

"Weeks, at minimum. Maybe longer depending on complications." T-Bone's swinging had stopped entirely now, his feet planted firmly on the ground. "Which means if Megakat City needs the SWAT Kats during that time, it's just going to be me."

The weight of that responsibility was evident in his voice. The SWAT Kats had continuously operated as a team—pilot and weapons officer, each covering the other's weaknesses and amplifying their strengths. The thought of operating alone, even temporarily, was daunting.

"Dark Kat is still out there," he continued, voicing one of his primary concerns. "His cyclotron weapon may be destroyed, but he's never been the type to give up after one setback. And there are other threats—Dr. Viper, the Metallikats, whoever decides Megakat City looks like an easy target."

Felina nodded slowly. "My uncle mentioned that Dark Kat escaped in the confusion after the explosion."

"He always has an exit strategy," T-Bone said grimly. "That's what makes him so dangerous. He's patient, methodical, and he learns from his mistakes. The next time we face him, he'll be prepared for our tactics."

The conversation was taking on a heavier tone, and T-Bone found himself missing the simple peace of just swinging. But there were important matters to discuss, and they couldn't avoid them indefinitely.

"We need to talk about what happens next," he said, turning to face her directly. "Now that you know who we are."

Felina met his gaze steadily. "I've been thinking about that too."

"Your uncle has been protecting our identities for years," T-Bone explained. "It's a delicate balance, and adding another cat to the secret... it changes things. Makes it more complicated."

"Does he know that I know?"

"Not yet, not that I'm aware of," T-Bone replied. "But he needs to. The question is whether you want to tell him yourself, or if you'd prefer that I handle it."

Felina was quiet for a long moment, considering the implications. "If I don't tell him soon, will you?"

"I have to," T-Bone said, his tone apologetic but firm. "I can't risk this getting out of hand. Our arrangement with the Commander depends on trust and complete transparency. If he finds out we kept this from him, it could jeopardize everything."

"I understand," she said finally. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. It should come from me."

T-Bone nodded, relief evident in his posture. "Thank you. I know this puts you in a difficult position."

"He lied to me," she said quietly, hurt still evident in her voice. "For years, he's been lying about not knowing who you are. Every time he complained about the SWAT Kats in public, every press conference where he demanded you be arrested... he knew the truth."

"It wasn't really lying," T-Bone said gently. "It was protecting. Your uncle is walking a tightrope every day—publicly condemning us while privately working with us. If anyone suspected the truth, it could destroy his career and put all of us in danger."

"Including me," Felina realized.

"Especially you," T-Bone confirmed. "You're an Enforcer. If it came out that you knew our identities and didn't arrest us, you'd face charges. Court-martial, prison, the end of your career. Your uncle has been keeping you out of that situation."

The full scope of the conspiracy was beginning to dawn on her. "How many others know?"

"Very few," T-Bone replied. "Deputy Mayor Briggs has a communicator to contact us, but she doesn't know our civilian identities. A handful of others have figured out pieces of the puzzle over the years, but they've all chosen to keep quiet."

Speaking of Deputy Mayor Briggs reminded him of something else they needed to discuss. The personal relationships between all the players in this complex game were becoming increasingly important.

"Can I ask you something personal?" he said, his tone becoming more casual.

"I suppose that's only fair, given everything."

"Your uncle and Deputy Mayor Briggs," T-Bone began carefully. "How long have they been... involved?"

Felina's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You know about that?"

"I suspected, based on some things I observed yesterday. But I wasn't sure."

"They've been together about five or six months now," she said, seeming relieved to have someone to talk to about it. "It started professionally—working together on city initiatives, Enforcer budget discussions, that sort of thing. But it developed into something more."

T-Bone nodded, filing away the information. The timeline was interesting—their relationship had begun around the same time that some of the more complex SWAT Kats cases had started involving both the Enforcers and City Hall more closely.

"They've moved in together," Felina continued. "Uncle Ulysses sold his apartment and moved into Callie's condo downtown. It's been good for him, actually. He seems happier, more relaxed."

That revelation did surprise T-Bone enough that his swinging came to a complete stop. "They're living together?"

"For about two months now," she confirmed. "Why? Is that a problem?"

T-Bone was quiet for a moment, processing the implications. If Feral and Callie were living together, it meant the deputy mayor was now directly connected to someone who knew the SWAT Kats' identities. It also meant that any late-night emergencies or mysterious phone calls would be much more complex to hide from her.

"Not necessarily a problem," he said slowly. "But it does complicate things. Deputy Mayor Briggs is very observant, and she's already suspicious about some of your uncle's activities."

"She called you yesterday, didn't she?" Felina realized. "When Uncle Ulysses left suddenly."

"She was worried about him," T-Bone confirmed. "Asked us to do a flyover and make sure he was safe. She's more emotionally invested in his well-being than I initially realized. I was doing that flyover while your uncle was seeing to Razor."

The web of relationships was becoming increasingly complex. Callie's connection to both the SWAT Kats and to Commander Feral created potential complications that none of them had fully anticipated.

Reaching into his jacket, T-Bone pulled out a small, triangular device about the size of his palm. "Speaking of Deputy Mayor Briggs," he said, offering the device to Felina. "She has one of these. It's a direct line to us—faster than going through normal channels."

Felina took the communicator, examining its sleek design and the simplicity of its interface, which consisted of a single button. "What is it exactly?"

"Emergency communicator," T-Bone explained. "If there's a crisis in the city and you need to reach us immediately, just press the button and speak. We'll get the message wherever we are. It also works in reverse—we can contact you if we need Enforcer cooperation or information."

"This seems like a big step," she observed, understanding the significance of the gesture.

"It is," T-Bone agreed. "But after tonight, you're part of this whether we planned for it or not. Might as well make sure you can reach us if necessary."

Felina slipped the communicator into her jacket pocket. "I still have your cell number from the card."

"Texting works fine if you just want to talk to Chance," he confirmed. "But we can't discuss SWAT Kats' business over a cellular channel—too risky. If Dark Kat launches another attack, or if some other threat emerges, that"—he gestured toward her pocket—"that will get our attention faster."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both processing the night's revelations and their implications. The city spread out below them, peaceful and unaware of the complex web of secrets and alliances that helped keep it safe.

"This is a lot to take in," Felina said finally.

"I know," T-Bone replied. "And I'm sorry you got dragged into it. But for what it's worth, I think you'll handle it well. You've got good instincts, and you care about doing the right thing. That matters more than you might think."

"What happens now?" she asked.

T-Bone stood up from the swing, stretching muscles that had grown stiff during their conversation. His tail swung behind him gently. "Now you go home and figure out how to tell your uncle what you've learned. I go back to the hospital to check on my partner in the morning, and we all try to keep Megakat City in one piece while he recovers."

"And if there's trouble?"

"Then we deal with it," he said. "Same as always. Just... with one more person in on the secret."

Felina rose from her swing as well, and for a moment they stood facing each other in the quiet playground. The weight of shared secrets and new alliances hung between them, along with the understanding that their lives had all become more complicated tonight.

"Thank you," she said. "For trusting me with this. I know it wasn't an easy decision."

"Thank you for not immediately trying to arrest me," T-Bone replied with a slight smile. "That made the conversation go much more smoothly." he chuckled.

She laughed softly. "The night's still young." 

"True," he acknowledged. "But I'm hoping we're past that particular concern."

"We are," she assured him. "Whatever else happens, you have my word that your secret is safe."

T-Bone nodded, relief evident in his posture. "That means more than you know."

With their business concluded, they headed toward the parking area where their motorcycles waited. The night air was crisp and clear, perfect for riding, and T-Bone found himself appreciating the simple pleasure of having time to think before heading home.

"Racing bike?" Felina asked, noting the sleek lines of the Cyclotron as T-Bone pulled it from its concealment.

"Something like that," he replied with a grin, settling onto the advanced machine. "Your ride looks pretty impressive, too."

Felina's Enforcer motorcycle was a high-performance model, built for pursuit and patrol work. While not as advanced as the Cyclotron, it was still a formidable machine in the right hands.

"Care to see which one's faster?" she asked, pulling on her helmet.

T-Bone's grin widened. "You sure about that, Lieutenant?"

"I've never lost a race yet," she replied confidently.

"There's a first time for everything," T-Bone said, engaging his helmet's systems. "Straight shot to Main Street?"

"You're on."

The two bikes pulled out of the park entrance side by side, engines purring quietly in the late-night air. For a moment, they rode in formation, matching speeds and enjoying the simple pleasure of night riding through empty streets.

Then Felina twisted her throttle, and the race was on.

The Enforcer bike leaped forward with impressive acceleration, its rider leaning into the speed with practiced ease. For several blocks, they were neck and neck, weaving through the urban landscape with the skill of experienced riders.

T-Bone held back at first, enjoying the competition and respecting her abilities. But as they approached Main Street, he twisted the Cyclotron's advanced throttle system and felt the bike's full power engage.

The SWAT Kats' motorcycle surged ahead with mechanical precision, its enhanced engines and aerodynamic design quickly opening a gap that widened with each passing second. By the time they reached the intersection, T-Bone was already pulling away into the shadows. He ran a red light, weaving between cars, which broke hard but didn't cause an accident. 

Felina watched as the Cyclotron's taillights disappeared into the darkness, leaving her alone on the empty street. She pulled over to the curb and removed her helmet, shaking her head with grudging admiration.

"Show-off," she muttered to herself, but she was smiling.

T-Bone guided the Cyclotron through the quiet streets toward home, taking the long way to ensure he wasn't followed. The race had been a nice way to end the evening—a reminder that despite all the secrets and complications, there could still be moments of straightforward enjoyment.

The salvage yard was dark and quiet when he arrived, and he carefully secured the Cyclotron in its hidden bay before making his way upstairs. Tomorrow would bring a visit to the hospital during proper visiting hours, where he could check on his partner's progress as Chance Furlong rather than T-Bone.

But tonight, he could rest knowing that their secret was in good hands, and that Megakat City had gained another protector, even if she didn't know it yet.

Chapter Text

The antiseptic smell of Megakat Memorial Hospital hit Chance as soon as he stepped through the automatic doors of the main entrance. Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long rectangles of brightness across the polished floors and making the whole place feel less ominous than it had during his brief visit the night before.

He'd managed to get a few hours of sleep after returning from his midnight meeting with Felina, but his mind had been too active to really rest. Too many new variables, too many complications to their carefully managed double life. Still, he felt optimistic as he made his way through the familiar hospital corridors—Jake was alive, healing, and their secret remained safe.

Room 314 was in the recovery wing, a semi-private space that Feral had somehow managed to secure for them. Through the partially open door, Chance could see Jake propped up in the hospital bed, looking significantly better than he had the night before. The oxygen mask was gone, replaced by a simple nasal cannula, and some of the fevered flush had left his cheeks.

"Hey, buddy," Chance said softly, pushing the door open wider and stepping inside. "How are you feeling?"

Jake looked up from the clipboard he'd been studying, his good ear perking up with obvious relief at seeing his partner. "Like I got hit by a cyclotron blast," he said with a weak smile. "But better than yesterday. They've got the infection under control."

Chance settled into the visitor's chair beside the bed, noting the IV line still running into Jake's arm and the large bandage covering most of his left ear. "You look better. Color's back in your face."

"Yeah, the fever broke around four this morning," Jake confirmed, setting the clipboard aside. "Doctors say I should be able to go home in a few days if everything keeps improving."

"That's great news," Chance said, genuine relief evident in his voice. "What were you reading?"

Jake gestured toward the clipboard with obvious frustration. "Work orders. I had them bring my copy of this week's schedule from the garage." He shook his head. "Chance, we're getting buried. Three tune-ups backed up, two brake jobs, and Callie's car is supposed to get a full service this afternoon."

"Jake—"

"And that's not even counting the salvage work," Jake continued, his voice taking on the rapid-fire quality it got when he was stressed about logistics. "The Enforcer shipment from Tuesday is still sitting in the yard, and we're supposed to have another delivery tomorrow. If we don't stay on schedule—"

"Jake," Chance interrupted more firmly. "Slow down. You just survived an explosion and a serious infection. The work will wait."

"Will it?" Jake asked, fixing his partner with a look that was both worried and frustrated. "You know what Feral said about staying behind on payments. We can't afford to lose customers, and we definitely can't afford to give him an excuse to extend our contract."

It was typical Jake—always thinking about the practical details, always worried about keeping their cover life running smoothly even when he was flat on his back in a hospital bed. Chance had to admire his partner's dedication, even as it frustrated him.

"I can handle the automotive work," Chance assured him. "It's not rocket science. And the salvage stuff can wait a day or two."

"You hate working on cars," Jake pointed out. "And you're terrible at paperwork."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Chance said dryly. "I'll muddle through somehow."

Jake was quiet for a moment, studying his partner's face. "You're not telling me something," he observed. "You've got that look you get when you're trying to figure out how to break news to me."

Before Chance could respond, there was a sharp knock on the door frame. Commander Feral appeared in the doorway, wearing his full dress uniform and carrying himself with the rigid posture of someone making an official visit.

"Mr. Clawson," he said formally, his voice carrying clearly into the hallway. "I trust you're recovering satisfactorily from your industrial accident."

"Yes, sir, Commander," Jake replied, automatically straightening up despite his injuries. "Thank you for asking."

"Mr. Furlong," Feral acknowledged with a curt nod. "I hope you're prepared to return to work immediately. We can't have operations at the salvage yard falling behind schedule."

"Of course, sir," Chance replied, playing his part in their public performance. "I understand the importance of meeting our obligations."

Feral stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with a decisive click. The moment the latch engaged, his entire demeanor changed—shoulders relaxing, expression softening, voice dropping to a much quieter level.

"How are you really feeling, son?" he asked Jake, moving closer to the bed with genuine concern.

"Better," Jake assured him. "The doctors say the infection is responding well to treatment. Should be back on my feet in a week or so."

"Good," Feral said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "But I want you to take the time you need to heal properly. Don't try to rush back to active duty."

He turned to Chance, his expression becoming more serious. "I spoke with Felina this morning," he said quietly. "She filled me in on your conversation last night."

The simple statement carried layers of meaning. Chance felt a wave of relief wash over him—Felina had kept her promise to tell her uncle about discovering their identities. The fact that Feral was mentioning it so casually suggested the conversation had gone well.

"I see," Chance replied carefully. "Any complications?"

"None that can't be managed," Feral assured him. "She's proven herself to be... understanding of the complexities of the situation."

Jake looked back and forth between them, clearly picking up on the subtext but not quite understanding what they were discussing. Chance made a mental note to fill him in once they were alone.

"In the meantime," Feral continued, "I want you"—he looked at Chance—"to focus on maintaining your cover responsibilities. The garage needs to stay operational, and we can't afford any gaps in your civilian identities."

"Understood, sir," Chance replied.

Feral moved toward the door, then paused and looked back at Jake. "Rest up, son. That's an order." His tone was gentle but firm. "Your partner can handle things for a few days."

"What about the Enforcer shipments?" Jake asked, unable to let go of his logistical concerns.

"Will be delayed until you're back on your feet," Feral said definitively. "I'd rather have the work done properly than have it done quickly."

With that, he opened the door and immediately shifted back into his official persona. "I trust you'll both continue to meet the terms of your agreement," he said formally, his voice once again carrying into the hallway.

"Yes, sir," both cats replied in unison.

Feral departed with the same rigid formality he'd arrived with, leaving Chance and Jake alone in the sudden quiet of the hospital room.

"What was that about?" Jake asked immediately. "Something about Felina and a conversation?"

Chance sighed and pulled off his red ball cap, running a hand through his hair. "She figured it out," he said. "Yesterday, at the accident scene. Put together too many pieces."

Jake's eyes widened. "She knows?"

"Everything," Chance confirmed. "Our identities, the arrangement with Feral, all of it."

"How?"

"She recognized the burn pattern on your ear from when she saw you—saw Razor—at the explosion site. Plus, she noticed my stripes when she grabbed my sleeve." Chance shook his head. "She's smart, Jake. Really smart. Once she started connecting dots, there was no stopping her."

Jake was quiet for a moment, processing this information. "So what happened? Did you try to deny it?"

"No point," Chance replied. "She had solid evidence. So I met with her last night to talk it through."

"And?"

"And she's going to keep our secret. Actually gave her one of our communicators."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "You trust her that much already?"

"Feral does," Chance pointed out. "And she proved herself last night. Could have turned us in, could have made a big scene. Instead, she handled it professionally."

There was something in Chance's tone when he talked about Felina—a warmth, an admiration—that Jake had never heard before when his partner discussed other cats. It was subtle, but Jake had known Chance long enough to pick up on these things.

"She sounds impressive," Jake observed, observing his partner's reaction.

"She is," Chance agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Smart, professional, good instincts. She'll be a valuable ally."

"Uh-huh," Jake said, his tone suggesting he was hearing something beyond the words. "What else?"

"What do you mean, what else?"

"I mean, you're talking about her differently than you talk about other Enforcers," Jake pressed. "Usually, when you mention Lieutenant Feral, it's all business. This sounds... warmer."

Chance shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," Jake said with a knowing smile. "So what exactly happened during this meeting? Just a professional discussion about operational security?"

"We talked about the implications of her knowing our identities," Chance replied carefully. "Discussed how to handle it with her uncle. Went over communication protocols."

"Where?"

"Megakat Park."

"At midnight."

"It had to be private."

"And?"

Chance was quiet for a long moment, and Jake could tell his partner was debating how much to reveal. Finally, Chance sighed and put his ball cap back on.

"Street race," he said simply.

"Street race?" Jake's eyebrows shot up. "You raced her?"

"She challenged me," Chance said defensively. "Her bike against the Cyclotron. It seemed like a good way to end the evening."

"And let me guess—you won."

"Of course I won."

"Nothing else?" Jake asked, his tone suggesting he suspected there was more to the story.

"Nothing else," Chance confirmed firmly.

"Uh-huh," Jake said again, clearly not buying it. "You like her."

Chance didn't answer, instead focusing intently on adjusting the brim of his ball cap.

"You do," Jake continued, his smile growing wider. "I can tell. You get that same look you used to get when we were in flight school and you were trying not to stare at Sarah Catson in the commissary."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chance repeated, but his ears were starting to turn slightly red.

"Does she like you?" Jake asked, clearly enjoying his partner's discomfort.

Chance shrugged, trying to appear casual. "What's not to like?" He stood up abruptly and moved toward the door. "Eat your jello."

"That's not an answer!" Jake called after him, though his tone was more frustrated than dramatic.

"It's the only answer you're getting," Chance replied, already heading for the hallway. "I'll be back tomorrow. Try not to reorganize the entire garage schedule while I'm gone."

Jake settled back against his pillows with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. In all their years of friendship, he'd rarely seen Chance react that way to anyone. Lieutenant Felina Feral had clearly made quite an impression, and Jake found himself looking forward to meeting her properly once he was back on his feet.

The red jello cup on his bedside table caught his eye, and he picked it up with a wry smile—Trust Chance to deflect a serious conversation with hospital food. But Jake had gotten his answer anyway—sometimes what people didn't say was as revealing as what they did.

He opened the jello and took a spoonful, still shaking his head at his partner's transparent attempt at deflection. Chance was smitten, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And from the sound of it, the feeling might be mutual.

Chapter Text

The emergency communicator's shrill beep cut through the quiet evening air at the salvage yard, jolting Chance from his paperwork. He'd been struggling with Jake's meticulous filing system for the better part of two hours, trying to make sense of work orders and invoices while his partner recovered in the hospital.

"T-Bone here," he said, pressing the device's activation button.

"T-Bone, this is Deputy Mayor Briggs," Callie's voice came through, tight with urgency. "We have a break-in at Megakat Biochemical Labs on the north side. The Enforcers are responding, but I have a bad feeling about this one."

Chance felt his pulse quicken. This would be his first solo mission since Jake's injury, and the thought of operating without his partner's tactical expertise was daunting. But Megakat City couldn't wait for Razor to recover.

"What's the situation, Miss Briggs?" he asked, already moving toward the hidden entrance to their underground hangar.

"Unknown intruder breached the secure storage facility about fifteen minutes ago. The building's been evacuated, but the Enforcers are setting up a perimeter, but sometimes they can't just rush in."

"Roger that. Inbound," he cut communications.

Chance quickly changed into his flight suit and made his way to the vehicle bay. The Turbokat sat silent in its berth, looking somehow lonely without its weapons officer. But parked beside it, the Cyclotron waited like a predator ready to strike—sleek, responsive, and perfect for urban operations. He straddled the bike and fired up its virtually silent electric motor. The heads-up display in his helmet came alive with tactical information as the garage's hidden exit opened to reveal the night sky above.

The ride through Megakat City's streets was exhilarating in a way that flying couldn't match. The Cyclotron responded to his every movement with precision, weaving through traffic and taking shortcuts that only someone intimately familiar with the city could navigate.

As he approached the biochemical laboratory complex, Chance could see Enforcer vehicles surrounding the main building, their emergency lights painting the surrounding area in shifting patterns of red and blue. The facility itself was a modern structure of glass and steel, with the kind of high-security features that suggested whatever was stored inside was extremely valuable—or extremely dangerous.

T-Bone parked the Cyclotron several blocks away and approached on foot, using the shadows and alleyways to avoid the Enforcer perimeter. Through his helmet's enhanced optics, he could see Commander Feral and his team setting up a command post, clearly preparing for a long standoff.

The building's sophisticated security system had been bypassed with surgical precision—the work of someone with serious technical skills. Through the large windows, T-Bone could see a faint green glow emanating from somewhere deep inside the structure.

"Dr. Viper," he muttered to himself, recognizing the telltale signs.

Using his grappling hook, T-Bone scaled the building's rear wall and found an access point through a maintenance window. The interior was eerily quiet, with only the hum of ventilation systems and the distant sound of chemical storage equipment.

Following the green glow deeper into the facility, T-Bone made his way toward the secure storage area in the building's sub-levels. The chemical smell grew stronger as he descended, and soon he could hear the sound of someone moving around in the restricted area. There was a reptilian smell, and what looked like scales shed on the floor. 

Dr. Viper was there, just as he'd suspected, methodically filling vials with clear liquid from a large storage tank. The reptilian scientist's movements were precise and efficient—this wasn't random theft, but a carefully planned operation.

"You could have ordered out, Viper." T-Bone called out, stepping into the storage room.

Dr. Viper spun around, his reptilian features contorting with fury and recognition. He hissed. "Where isss your annoying partner?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," T-Bone replied grimly. "But I'm more than enough to handle one overgrown lizard."

Dr. Viper grabbed the metal briefcase containing his stolen chemicals and dashed for the emergency exit. T-Bone pursued, but the scientist's altered physiology gave him surprising speed and agility in the building's narrow corridors.

The chase led them through the facility's maze-like interior, past laboratories and storage areas filled with expensive equipment. Dr. Viper was heading for the building's rear exit—the same direction T-Bone had entered from. The viper's tail slid over tables, smashing glass all over, and T-Bone Barefoot had to make the best of it. 

In the final corridor, T-Bone managed to get ahead of the fleeing scientist and blocked his path. "End of the line, Viper. Drop the case." He held up his glove-atrix and didn't move. 

Instead of surrendering, Dr. Viper hurled the briefcase at T-Bone and attempted to leap over him. T-Bone dodged the projectile, but the case struck the wall behind him with a sharp crack, spilling its contents across the floor.

Several glass vials filled with clear liquid shattered on impact, their contents spreading in widening puddles. But one vial remained intact, rolling to a stop near T-Bone's feet.

Dr. Viper landed awkwardly from his leap and quickly slithered toward the exit. "Thisss isss not over, SWAT Kat!" he called back as he disappeared into the night.

T-Bone carefully picked up the intact vial, noting the warning labels and technical specifications that made his stomach clench: "BENZENE - C6H6 - RESTRICTED SUBSTANCE." He backed up from the other containers and put a hand over his mouth to keep from breathing in the benzene. 

The implications were immediately evident. Benzene was a key component in military-grade napalm—precisely the kind of chemical weapon that Dark Kat had used in their previous encounter. And it was deadly if inhaled or swallowed.

T-Bone made his way back through the building and exited the way he'd entered, carefully avoiding the Enforcer perimeter. Once he was clear of the immediate area, he activated his communicator.

"T-Bone to Enforcer Command," he said, using the emergency frequency.

"This is Commander Feral," came the immediate response.

"Building is clear. The suspect has fled, but dropped some of his stolen materials in the sub-level storage area. You'll want to handle those chemicals very carefully—they're restricted substances, Benzene."

"Roger that. Any casualties?"

"Negative. But Commander... you should know this has to be connected to something bigger. Benzene is strong stuff; it's everywhere you need a chemical cleaning crew to handle it."

There was a pause before Feral responded. "Understood. We'll handle the scene from here."

T-Bone left the intact vial in a secure location where the Enforcers would find it during their sweep, then retrieved the Cyclotron and headed back toward the salvage yard. As he rode through the empty streets, his mind raced with the implications of what he'd discovered.

Later that evening, Chance was back in civilian clothes, trying once again to make sense of Jake's paperwork when a soft knock echoed through the garage. He glanced at the clock—nearly ten PM, well past normal business hours.

"We're closed," he called out, not looking up from the invoice he'd been struggling to decipher.

"It's Felina," came the reply through the door. "I wanted to talk about what happened tonight."

Chance felt his pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with security concerns. He set down his pen and moved to unlock the main entrance, revealing Lieutenant Feral in civilian clothes—jeans and a casual sweater that made her look younger and less intimidating than her Enforcer uniform suggested.

"Lieutenant," he said, stepping aside to let her enter. "Is everything alright?"

"That depends," she replied, looking around the garage with obvious curiosity. "Mind if I come in? I have some questions about the benzene situation."

Chance nodded and locked the door behind her. "Want some coffee? I was about to make a pot anyway."

"That would be nice," she said, still taking in their operation with professional interest. "This place is bigger than it looks from the outside."

"Jake's good with spatial planning," Chance replied, moving toward their small break area. "He redesigned the whole layout when we first got here."

As the coffee maker gurgled to life, Felina wandered around the garage, noting the sophisticated equipment and the obvious care that had gone into organizing their workspace.

"You know," she said casually, "I'm starting to understand why my uncle has such respect for you two. This isn't just a salvage operation—it's a legitimate mechanical business."

"We try to do good work," Chance replied, though he was observing her. There was something in her tone that suggested she was leading up to something more significant.

"I've been thinking about the benzene," she said, turning to face him directly. "My uncle sent samples to the lab for analysis—we should have results back in a day or two. But he already has a theory about what Dr. Viper was planning."

Chance handed her a mug of coffee, their fingers brushing briefly during the exchange. "What kind of theory?"

"He thinks Dr. Viper might be supplying Dark Kat with chemical components for weapons," she continued, settling onto one of their work stools. "The benzene is exactly the grade used in military napalm production."

"The thing is," Felina continued, settling onto one of their work stools, "benzene isn't something you can buy off the shelf. The security at that lab was designed specifically to prevent theft of restricted materials."

"But Dr. Viper got through it like it was nothing," Chance observed. "No alarms went off."

"Exactly. Which suggests he had help—someone with serious technical expertise in security systems," she paused, her expression growing more troubled. "My uncle thinks it might be the Metallikats. They've got the technical knowledge to crack those kinds of systems. The Enforcers wouldn't have known anything unless that security guard hadn't hit the silent alarm." Chance filed that information back. 

Chance felt a chill run down his spine. "You think it's a three-way alliance? Dr. Viper, Dark Kat, and the Metallikats?"

"It would explain a lot," Felina said grimly. "The Metallikats handle security breaches and technical support, Dr. Viper provides chemical weapons expertise, and Dark Kat coordinates the overall strategy."

Chance sipped his coffee, thinking through the implications. "You think he's working with someone."

"I think he's working with Dark Kat," Felina said bluntly. "The napalm connection is too strong to ignore."

Chance shook his head immediately. "No way. Those three hate each other. Dr. Viper and Dark Kat have been rivals for years, and the Metallikats work for whoever pays them the most. They'd never coordinate long enough to pull off something like this."

"Maybe," Felina conceded. "But what if they hate something else more than they hate each other?"

"Like what?"

"Like this city," she replied quietly. "Like my uncle. Like the SWAT Kats. Think about it—individually, they've all been consistently defeated by the same combination of factors. But if they could pool their resources..."

"They'd complement each other's strengths," Chance realized, his expression growing troubled. "The Metallikats' technical expertise, Dr. Viper's chemical weapons, Dark Kat's strategic planning and resources."

"You really think they'd put aside their differences?" he asked.

"Stranger alliances have been formed," Felina pointed out. "And think about it from their perspective—they've both been consistently defeated by the same combination of factors. The Enforcers, the SWAT Kats, and the city's defensive capabilities. If they could eliminate or neutralize those threats..."

"They'd have free rein," Chance finished, his expression grim. "Open doors for anyone else, Pastmaster, Turmoil." That name felt sour on his tongue.

They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, both considering the implications of what they were discussing. The coffee had grown slightly cold, but neither seemed to notice.

"Want to see something?" Chance asked suddenly, making a decision that he knew Jake would probably object to. He stood up and moved, abandoning his coffee.

"See what?" She stood up and followed him, leaving her coffee mug beside his. 

Instead of answering directly, Chance led her toward what appeared to be a solid wall at the back of the garage. He pressed a concealed switch, and a section of the wall slid aside to reveal a ramp leading down into darkness.

"The real operation," he said.

Felina's eyes widened as they descended into the underground facility. The SWAT Kats' actual headquarters was revealed in all its sophisticated glory—the Turbokat in its maintenance bay, weapon systems, computer terminals, and communication equipment that rivaled anything the Enforcers possessed.

"This is incredible," she breathed, taking in the scope of their operation. "How long did it take to build all this?"

"Years," Chance replied, observing her reaction. "Jake designed most of it. The guy's a genius when it comes to engineering."

"I can see that," she said, approaching the Turbokat with evident admiration. "The level of sophistication here... It's military grade."

"We prefer to think of it as 'adequate,'" Chance said with a slight smile. "But the landing strip, the underground base, it was already here. The only one who knew about this old place was your uncle. I guess it had been some Enforcer test range, but he thought if we cleaned it up, maybe took care of some things he couldn't, well, the enforcers couldn't-" He drifted off, the gist was clear. 

Felina turned to face him, her expression serious. "Chance, if Dr. Viper and Dark Kat are really working together, you're going to need every advantage you can get. Operating solo isn't sustainable against that kind of coordinated threat."

"I know," he admitted. "But Jake needs time to heal, and the city can't wait. I have to do what I can with just me."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be just you," she suggested quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe it's time to expand the team," she said, her voice steady despite the magnitude of what she was suggesting. "At least temporarily." Her ears flicked, and he could see the determination in her eyes. 

Chance looked at her for a long moment, seeing not just Lieutenant Feral the Enforcer, but Felina—someone who genuinely cared about protecting the city and was willing to take personal risks to do it.

"Jake would kill me," he said finally. "And female Swat Kat?" He was already going through all the frustration that might cause. 

"Only if he finds out before you can explain the strategic advantages," she replied with a small smile.

"You've thought about this." 

"I've thought about little else since last night," she admitted. "This city means everything to me, Chance. If there's a way I can help protect it, I want to try." She pointed out. "And you're down a Kat." 

Chance was quiet for a long moment, weighing the risks and benefits of what she was proposing. Adding Felina to their operation, even temporarily, would change everything. But given the potential threat they were facing, it might also be exactly what they needed.

"Let me talk to Jake," he said finally. "When he's recovered enough to handle the shock." He knew if he didn't, Jake would NEVER forgive him. 

"Fair enough," she agreed. "But in the meantime, if you need backup..."

"I'll call," he promised aloud, but maybe could not promise in reality.

As they made their way back upstairs, both cats were aware that their relationship had shifted into new territory. The professional respect had deepened into something more personal, and the shared secret of the SWAT Kats' operation had created a bond that would be difficult to break.

"Thank you," Felina said as they reached the main garage level. "For trusting me with this."

"Thank you for being trustworthy," Chance replied. 

She paused at the door, looking back at him with an expression that was hard to read. "Be careful out there, Chance. If I'm right about this alliance, things are about to get a lot more dangerous."

"They usually do," he said with a slight grin. "But that's what makes life interesting."

Instead of leaving, Felina walked back toward him, her expression thoughtful. Before Chance could ask what she was thinking, she stepped close and kissed him—soft and warm, with just enough pressure to make his heart race.

For a moment, Chance found himself responding, his eyes closing as he began to lean into the kiss. But just as he started to relax into the moment, Felina stepped back, leaving him blinking in surprise and completely off-balance.

She studied his face for a moment, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Hmmm," she said, as if she'd just confirmed something important.

Then she turned and walked toward the door, leaving Chance standing there in complete shock.

"Felina!" he called after her, but she was already outside, the sound of her motorcycle starting up echoing through the night air.

By the time he reached the door, her taillights were already disappearing down the street, leaving him alone in the garage with the lingering scent of her perfume and the bewildering realization that everything between them had just changed.

Chance stood there for several long minutes, one hand unconsciously touching his lips, trying to process what had just happened. Tomorrow, he would visit Jake in the hospital and try to explain how their simple secret had grown into something much more complex. But tonight, he allowed himself to feel cautiously optimistic about the future—whatever challenges lay ahead, they wouldn't be facing them alone.