Art by the lovely
With bonus story by



It was the last mission of his career. One more hit before he could finally escape. His desire to flee the country and start a new life, a better life. It was five years ago that a more than sultry stranger in his favorite club lured him into this life. One set up and thirtteen thousand miles later, he had blood on his paws that would never wash clean.
He couldn't recount every crooked cop, every overstuffed mobster, every vicious thug he had been sent to kill in the name of "servitude" to that one time benefactor who held his life in her twisted claws. Now, with one last night at work, he could pay off his debt, rake in one last score for that belialing she witch, and Varrycould finally return home.
Slipping through the window as usual, he silently slides down the wall, turning to take in his surroundings only to be met by a horrid sight. Lasers... everwhere. Dropping the smoke pellet first was always just part of the routine, never before had he ever encountered someone...waiting for him. Nevertheless he was prepared, if not annoyed.
The panther's ears perked through the tight hood wrapping his face from recognition (just in case) hearing the hum of the various machines in the other room... Apparently this scumbag had the books on everyone in eastern Paris and was so close to death, no one would question if he suddenly kicked it. All it would take then is to snag that ledger and make off without a word. No one would miss the old fucker. So onward he crept, his eyes glowing in their dim amber humm as the lasers trimmed and narrowly missed the edges of his figure slipping seamlessly through the criss cross of certain death. As he contorted, writhing every toned muscle through the bright red maze, he could see the death machines in the corner. No cameras for this sicko, only machine guns rigged to the
alarm system would work...
"fffffFFck"
Mutter's the feline beneath his rhythmic breath.
With every step working closer and closer to the old man's room, he dwelled on happier times, living by the beach with his brother, working the club scene, dancing with pretty girls... Oh the times were so good... and they will be again.. just a few...more...feeeeeet!
...
...
WHEW!...Finally his crouched form reached the door, poised to leap in any direction to avoid a firefight. For a crash course assassin, He was quite proud of his skills, but he hated the close quarters combat. He preferred the old snap and run. Tonight's mission would make thirteen.
He sighs.
Thirteen people, dead by his paws tonight. True, they could hardly be called people. Sickening wastes of flesh and fur that were ridden by great expense to the downtrodden. Served their ultimate punishment by the beneficiaries that once cowered in fear of them
and their deaths delivered by the monster that was Varry this night, leashed down by that unnamed witch, lurking in bars with promises of passion and intoxication that no man of his weak constitution could simply ignore. But tonight he was free, tonight was the night that he would throw that final bounty into the coyote's face and get his ride home. After all, a deals a deal. Even if she didn't keep up her end of the bargain.
With slow steps, the panther rolls into the room, his back pressed to the door and silently shutting himself in, already casing the room for his way out. Machines, hoses everywhere. It was a hospital in this hellhole. Life support, feeding tube, heart monitor. It was disgusting...and sad really. To cling to life so tightly only to waste away even more painfully. It was almost pity that crept through him at this point; a small tinge of glee in the fact that he would be ending the suffering this time instead of causing it.
This was going to be simple and painless. Reaching into the capsule at his waist he pulls off a small tube, snapping the top open to reveal a rat that eagerly hops free. His other paw brings out a small spray bottle and spritzes a small spot on the cord of the old boar's life support. He turned around and pocketed the spray cheese and capsule and let nature take it's course. In the morning the sickley old pig would be found dead in his bed, a rat would be seen fried to a crisp and credited with haphazardly chewing through the only thing keeping old man Deubonet alive. After all, he was hired to kill the man, not torture him. Now for the ledger, the one piece of evidence that anyone had any reason to kill him, that anyone owed him a cent, but looking at these portraits, the children, the wife... Those happy smiles and the dozens of lovelorn "get well soon daddy" cards strewn about the floor...Protecting the old shit's family from the horror of an ousted gangster.
Darting back out of the door, he sees his exit and keeps it in his periphery as he makes for the ledger. He weaves in and out of those bright beams of certain death until the sizable blind spot in the center gives him relief. Like an oasis in the desert, he strips off his shroud and relaxes for just a moment. Crouching into the shadows of the couch and corner table, he catches his breath, having held it almost all of this time. In the distance, his freshly loosened ears pick up the soft sound of a zapped cable, signifying his initial plan had worked and as the humming of one machine died down, many others joined it and finally the soft tone of a flatline hung in the air. It was lucky for him there was no nurse on scene...but even so, he needed to escape quickly... If only he could find
that....
"You're kidding me!"
He whispers to himself, catching out of the corner of his eye that which he sought so begrudgingly. There, flipped open and coastering a mug half full of stale coffee, was the little black book, bleeding ink from the coffee stains and swollen with red ink.
A lesser man would have made a "blood of his victims " metaphor by now, but this panther was quite above it. He stared, puzzled and frustrated as he watched the ledger simply sit on the table. A million things would rush through his mind as he gawked. He
knew that simply taking the ledger would leave a clue to the appointed investigators, as there would be no ring on the table from the mug. Looking around, he couldn't for the life of him find an actual coaster, and any book he would use would involve the similar problem of looking like it was placed there. Every single idea seemed to dead end and as the minutes pass and he can only stare in horror, the situation begins to seem hopeless; after all, if he job had any hint that anyone else was there, the entire death would come into question and his whole mission would be compromised.
Hours seem to pass in his mind as he stands there, crouched in shadows and glaring at this stupid mug. This STUPID mug, something so small and insignificant, but completely unignorable. It was all he could do to not scream, but doing so would set off the alarm, not to mention it could send the old man's cat bolting into the lasers...
"what in the fu-"
He'd been staring into the glinting eyes of another feline alright. A rather large tabby cat perched on the table beside the mug had been checking him out for at least the last 5 minutes and he hadn't even noticed. The one thing that bothered him most about this was that Pierre Deubonet didn't have a cat. This thought alone seemed to irk the feral feline because it immediately swiped at his face, scratching his nose. Naturally the panther was still a cat of pride and he chomped for the
insignificant little morsel that dared attack him. It wasn't his proudest moment, but could be chalked up to pure instinct.
"Yeah...instinct!"
Immediately the cat reared back and flailed off of the table, whipping his legs back and kicking the book and the mug to the floor as it bolted across the room. "No DONT!," came a frightened whisper as the cat flew into the lasers. This for sure wasn't the boars cat. He couldn't watch, he couldn't do anything but hug his ears and hide his eyes as the gunfire assured him that he was once more the only cat in the room. It was a horrifying thought, but a stroke of brilliant luck for him. With a certainly fatal alarm system in the middle of the hilltops, no one would check this alert until tomorrow morning. His little friend's sacrifice would ensure that hundreds of abused victims would finally have their lives back. He reaches for the ledger and with gloved paws, picks up: The New King James Doubleday II leatherbound New Testament.
"Oh goddammit what is it this time!"
A stressful growl came from his throat and he immediately dropped the small bible into the coffee, assuring the scene looked undisturbed. That's when he finally heard it. From the darkest corner of the room came the most pitying of giggles. Mocking him, teasing him. He was definitely not alone anymore and as he springs into his stance he prepares to take on the boar's counterassassin. His claws were at the ready, his eyes narrowed and piercing through the almost pitch darkness, his face...completely uncovered from the ordeal.
"Fuck!"
After another snicker emanates from a completely different corner of the room, his paws work almost in a circle to re-wrap his shrouded face and leap from the safe spot back into the maze of death that was the tripwire web. He leaps through and flaunts the dexterity that only a cat of his caliber could perform as he worked toward the sounds of laughter and right as he prepares to strike, claws outstretched and aiming for the pitched blackness that was certainly his would-be counter killer, his elbow is hooked by another and his deadly paw is slowed and stopped just before running through a hidden beam. He could see the tinge of red glowing off of the shine of his claws. His eyes are wider than plates at this point, not only was he almost certainly killed, but he was saved, and by his would be assassination deterrent. He whips his arm around at the shrouded figure and as his lightning-quick counter took Varry's arm down and pinned it to the mystery man's hip, they found themselves tangled in the tripwire web. It was a sight.
While The counter attacker had Varry's arms under wraps, his leg hung high behind him, holding his grip to the wall and taking the counter killer's grapple as stance to keep him out of harm's way.
"Alright bud... I may not know what your angle is, but I think we're getting a bit too personal here huh? I'm open minded and all, but i kinda only swing...This way!"
His banter, while not as snappy as spider-man's, fit the situation well, for as his foot let off of the wall, he clutched the shrouded killer's creepily luscious hips and swung behind him, darting through the lasers and pulling the boar's henchman down with him. While it put the panther in the upper hand, the darkened figure had the foresight to lean back enough to dodge the laser and as its bright glow illuminated his killer's form, it became obvious he was being matched; no, outmatched by a girl...scratch that, a woman. The two land in another tangled embrace, sprawled around eight or nine deadly beams and supporting each other out of the way. While one of the panther's legs got to rest his weight onto the actual ground, the other was lifted to support the counter-killer, nestled right between what he can see now as beautifully exposed thighs, leading up to a set of hips that could only be described as "round."
To say the utility belt was fastened was inaccurate, as her deadly, almost intimidating tools lay hanging, simply hanging on the bodacious curvature of her hips. Needless to say he was quite happy to support it. As for his arms, one held up his torso, propped up against the back arm of a chair and gripping the leg as there was a beam crossing right beneath his paw. The other paw was gripping the back of the female's head to keep her from rearing back into another deadly shot. At this point the curiosity was killing him. His fingers gripped the back of her hood and yanked, exposing her face and disencasing her silky hair. The locks fell like rain in front of her face and he reasoned that if this was the day he was going to die, this would be the way to go. Her grin turned toothy. As for her paws, well, they had it easy. She could support herself on both sides of his chest, both paws reaching down beneath his arms and planted flat on the ground while her legs had it not so easy. One leg stretched over his shoulder, her calf right by his head while the other arched over a cross of lasers, planted into the ground. He catches a glimpse of her foot arched in stilettos, it made the close quarters a little
uncomfortable, and the danger didn't help his situation...kinky fucker.
“So I suppose you're NOT...here to kill me then...” Chimes the panther, trying his best to break the awkward silence. So what's your name?
“Tartii”
“Kay? You...wanna tell me why you're messing up my mission? If you aren't here to kill me?”
“Nope.”
“You're a chatty one aren't you”
The room stays silent for what feels like hours, the two stuck in this same position, but one thing never changed, and that was Tartii's smile. It drove Varry insane. He couldn't read this girl! She wouldn't talk! He had a feeling it was just the situation, there was no way he was THIS rusty with girls. Right?
“She sent me, you know.”
“Wha.?”
“We both knew you couldn't do this alone. You were staring at the damn thing for 45 minutes” The tanned feline taunted him, giggling under her breath. It was cute, if not demeaning.
“I had it under control!”
“Mhmm until I sent lil' Kiv to help you out huh?”
“THAT WAS YOURS?! ...how could you do that to your own cat...you ARE a cat... that seems..”
Varry's whines were silenced with a loud yowl that made him jump slightly, almost binging his head into the beam beneath him. A quick scuttle backwards, keeping the curvacious figure atop his hips and reworking his legs finally let him sit in a blind spot and now the two were comfortable, with Tartii straddling our hero's hips and her head still close to his to keep the back of her skull from becoming a target. It was all he could do to look for the source of the noise and he spies two things of interest.. That damned calico on the windowsill, leaping off, leaping through the grid and darting out of the open back door, and a shadowed corpse in a riddled part of the floor. It was then it occurred to him that the boar didn't have a cat at all, but he did own a pet. He had...
“Pigs, cutie...Pierre Deubonet kept pigs. I think I speak for feline's everywhere when I say we're insulted.”
Her smile never wavered.
“Fine, you're crafty. I'll give you that...cmmm fmm.”
“What was that?”
“Cute...too”
“We'll now, that's what I've been waiting for.”
The next few minutes happened all at once, collapsing time around them as she lowered her body even further, slipping them out beneath the grid and pushing the arch of that magnificent figure down upon his body. Varry had never been so confused in his entire life, but he wouldn't argue with this moment. As this impeccable feline straddled and spread herself across his body, he would lean back, as she must have known he would, and keep her rising rear from passing through a particularly well placed beam. Her lips catch him by surprise, but he's still ready and as the two kiss on the dead boar's Parisian rug, as their paws explore the shrouded clothes and limber forms beneath them, they finally converse.
“So how will they explain the door?” He asks.
“Mmf, Pierre's Maid is a plant. She's been working here for 2 years for the sole purpose of forgetting to shut the door on her way out tonight, letting a particular cat and mouse into the building.”
“Well she's Mnng ...Fired.”
The two break the seal on their lips and smirk into each other's eyes, from a distance all anyone else would be able to see were floating sapphires above gleaming ambers and neither moved for so long.
“Why did she send you?”
“She told me you'd ask. And I'm to say one thing.”
“What's that?”
Tartii flattened her body, pressing her hips right where Varry didn't need them to be right at the moment and whispered in his ear.
“A deal's a deal”
At the moment the panther realized what was going on, he spotted something between the sultry assassin's cleavage, not ...that he was looking or anything like that. The ledger was safely tucked away and at this moment, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to snatch it because he needed it, or he envied it. In either case, before he can make his move, her hand had grabbed his wrist and pulled it around her back to rest just on the small of her back, and she was moving it lower.
“Do you REALLY think now is the time for..”
“Shhhhh....do you feel that?”
“Yes...”
“Push it”
As his fingers trace over Tartii's body, he can feel exactly what she means and his fingers dig in and pop the switch. He doesn't see the dummy fuse she had replaced in the control room, but he does see it's effect and without a ounce of latency, the bright red web of death vanished around them. All at once the female whipped her leg from over his hips and she slipped out the window. Rather anticlimactic is the only way Varry could describe the moment...Though he wouldn't say it, his mouth was full. Sitting between his lips, other than a goofy smirk, was the ledger. While that seductress could outfight him, it was a boost for his ego to know he could out maneuver her. It didn't hurt that he got to slip his mouth in there either. He pocket's the ledger and slides out of his exit as well, leaving no trace of the feline's presence despite the ordeal and escaping into the hilltops. As he reaches safety he pulls out the ledger, flipping through to ensure it's the right one this time. Names, dates, numbers, allowances and debts...and there's the coffee stained center. This was it, after an entire night of confusing, arousing hell, he'd finally free'd himself. As he drops into a sit and props his back against a tree with a relieved sigh, he spots the note fall from the ledgers cover. It read...
“Turn this in already and meet me at Hôtel Ritz in one hour
I won't wait long handsome.
-Tartii~”
What's another five years?