Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the shores of New Jersey, lay a city. From a distance, it looked like an achievement – towering skyscrapers housing multibillion-dollar companies, endless rows of factories producing billions of dollars’ worth of goods, and a bustling harbor to boot. Tying the city together was a weblike metro system, once hailed as the most efficient in North America.

But of course, looks could be deceiving. Half the factories lay abandoned or in disrepair. The city was smothered by an omnipresent smog that transformed all the colors to varying shades of grey and brown. The harbor traded as many drugs and contraband as it did actual cargo. The skyscrapers stood tall and proud, rising above the smog, serving as a bitter reminder of the luxury enjoyed by a select few, while the masses suffered.

Once you got closer, the façade of the bustling metropolis vanished, quickly replaced by the bleak reality. The city was a rotting, smog-ridden corpse of its former self. As if hell itself had burst out the ground and grown skywards, the jagged towers resembling the hands of damned souls reaching for the heavens.

This was Tolucaville, America’s third largest city – and its greatest tragedy.

By day, Tolucaville wasn’t safe, but if you sticked to the crowded areas or avoided walking alone you’d be mostly fine. Nighttime was a different story. The city showed its true colors once the sun set. The maze of old brick buildings seemed to grow more claustrophobic, the ugly gargoyles that sat perched on every corner seemed to leer more, and that stranger walking behind you didn’t seem quite as trustworthy.

The city’s former splendor could only barely be glimpsed through the layers of grime and smog – and for most of its three million residents, it seemed almost unbelievable that their city had once been one of the nation’s most promising. It was a time only a few now remembered. Most of the city’s residents knew only a troubled and ruined Tolucaville – where even walking down the street at night was considered a risky deed as those who had taken oaths to protect the city had long since abandoned their duties.

There was only one thing that kept Tolucaville alive, a faint glimmer of hope. A caped crusader, fighting a never-ending war against the crime and corruption that had nearly swallowed the city. His insignia – a golden carrot emblazoned on the chest of his black costume had become the symbol of hope for the people.

His name was the Haredevil.

[…]

“Timmy, put that blasted map away!”

“But dad- we’re going the wrong way! There’s a shortcut to the theater if we go-”

“I said put it away!” his father hissed as he shouldered his way through the crowded city center. “Do you want us to look like tourists?”

“Honey, maybe we should ask someone for directions,” the man’s wife said in a concerned voice.

“No need- taxi! TAXI!” the man shouted, raising his hand in the air. The taxi merely drove past them as if the driver hadn’t seen the man at all. The man muttered a curse under his breath.

“Well, guess we’ll just have to- Timmy get back here!”

“This is a shortcut dad!” the child yelled as he broke free of his mother’s grip and darted into a dark alley.

“GET BACK!” the man shouted, frustration boiling into anger, which quickly turned to fear. He may not be a local, but he knew the city’s reputation well. He ran after his son, his wife following behind him.

“TIMMYYY!” he called as he ran down the dark, damp alley.

“Over here dad- OW!”

The man’s fear only grew, and he quickened his pace. He turned right into another alley, following the boy’s voice. There was his son, lying on the ground. Towering over him were several shifty looking men and cats in long coats and hats. They were all holding guns, and a couple of them had big briefcases, and they were all looking at the family.

“Woah woah, listen,” the man said to the crooks. “We don’t want no trouble, my son here got lost… I’ll just get him and we’ll be out of your hair.”

One of the crooks, a black cat with yellow eyes stepped forward and spoke with a strong Brooklyn accent, “You’ve seen too much bub. Should’ve known better than to wander around these alleys so late.”

Butch pointed his gun at the man.

“No p-please… y-you don’t have to do this-”

“No? Well how about…”

Butch pointed the gun at Timmy’s head, who began sobbing uncontrollably.

“NO PLEASE, DON’T HURT HIM,” the man pleaded. “Please, take my wallet, take anything just let us go.”

The other crooks behind Butch exchanged uneasy looks. One of the cats, short and sharp-looking, stepped forward and said, “Butch, seriously he’s just a kid man, think about it- I say we take the guy’s wallet and let em go.”

“I say we take the broad as well!” spoke another cat with a lecherous grin.

“Zip it, both of you,” Butch snarled. “Don’t you morons get it? If we let em go, they’ll go blabbing to the cops. I say we finish em-”

*CLANG*

The sharp, metallic sound echoed throughout the alley as Butch’s gun was knocked out his hand by a small metal projectile shaped like a carrot. Butch’s eyes widened in fear.

“It’s the Devil, scram!” he shouted to the cats. Chaos erupted in the alley as the cats virtually ran over each other to escape. Some of the human gangsters tried to run but their apparent ringleader shouted, “Stay here you spineless cowards! I ain’t afraid of no freak in a costume!”

Just then, another projectile shattered the only light bulb in the alley, engulfing it in near-total darkness. The man grabbed his son and wife and huddled into a corner, trying to cover them as best as he could. For the next few seconds the only lights in the alley were orange flashes from guns being fired. Grunts, thuds and screams filled the air and then everything went quiet.

A few seconds of still silence passed, before a low rasping voice spoke, “You three should get home. Stick to the main streets. The alleys are no place to roam at night.”

With that, the family of three scurried off, returning to the main street. The Haredevil watched them go. Suddenly his head grew heavy and his vision blurred. The sound of a gunshot, a woman’s scream, and a child’s crying reverberated in his head – as if someone was playing the sounds, the memories, inside his very skull. He snapped out of it and regained his composure. There was work to be done, he mustn’t get distracted.

Time to tie up the crooks while they were still out cold.

[…]

(Elsewhere in Tolucaville)

The city was divided into six districts. The oldest, wealthiest and (relatively) safest district was Old Toluca, an island which was connected to the rest of the city via bridges. To the east of Old Toluca lay the vast Atlantic, and to the west lay the Toluc River, which separated Old from New Toluca. The city’s skyline stretched along the riverfront of the two districts.

In New Toluca, a few streets down from the Main Boulevard (which ran through the hearts of the two districts in a great loop) was a shabby four-story brick building. The ground floor was a sandwich shop, while the other three housed small two-bedroom apartments. To most, it was a regular, mundane brick building like hundreds of others in the city, but to those in need of justice – those whom the police department had failed to protect – it was the last hope. Apartment 4C, on the top floor of the building, was the office and residence of the Cat & Mouse Detectives, the city’s finest private investigators.

Right now, the ‘cat’, Tom, was sitting on his arm chair, feet kicked up on the table as he combed through casefiles, trying to make sense of it all. Third missing dog this week. Not talking dogs, not strays either. Domesticated pet dogs. There had to be a connection… he just couldn’t quite place his paws on it.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. As if in response, Thomas’s stomach gave an even louder growl. He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed – it was almost ten pm. Jerry was running late. Couldn’t even trust that mouse to get Chinese on time.

Tom put down the casefiles and rubbed his eyes. He lit a cigarette and put on his favorite jazz record. He needed to rest his mind a bit. Yet another long night of brainstorming and theorizing was ahead of him. This was the part of the job he hated the most. Jerry was the brainy one – Tom preferred to be out on the streets. Investigating leads, squeezing out information from punks, not cooped up in their apartment.

A flash of lightning illuminated the living room, and for a fraction of a second, the shadow of the Haredevil crouching on the windowsill emblazoned the room. Tom was perhaps the only person in the city who wouldn’t be terrified by a surprise visit from the Devil. Not only was Tom on the right side of the law (mostly), he had something of a partnership with the masked crimefighter.

The Haredevil was a vigilante – he targeted criminals and gangs and mobsters, but in his line of work investigation was sometimes necessary. While the Devil was a competent detective in his own right, sometimes there would be matters too tricky or too tedious for him to focus on. In such instances he would delegate to the Cat & Mouse Detectives, whom he trusted if not respected. In this city, trust was rare. Trust was valuable. The Cat & Mouse could also investigate without raising as many alarms among the criminal underworld as the Haredevil otherwise would.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Tom said, cigarette hanging out his mouth. “Come in. Want a drink?”

“No,” the Haredevil spoke in his low, rasping voice as he entered the apartment through the window. “Do you have carrots?”

“We’re out, sorry.”

Tom looked at the tall, slender figure of the Devil, clad in all black standing in his living room. His shoulders slumped in an almost comedic display of disappointment, before quickly straightening again. Haredevil cleared his throat, and said, “I ran into the Butcher earlier tonight, in an alley off 42^nd Street.”

“Down in Old T? What’s Butch doing there? The Alley Cats are up in Madd Mile…”

The Devil nodded. “More than that, 42^nd Street is the Calfone Family’s territory. Their men were there too.”

“Turf war?”

“No, more like a transaction. Alley Cats were buying from the looks of it. They were about to exchange when some civilians stumbled into the alley – so I had to intervene before things got messy. Butch and his cronies ran away, but not before snatching the goods. Fortunately, they dropped this.”

Haredevil opened a compartment on his utility belt and withdrew a small vial, filled with a translucent yellow liquid.

“Narcotic?” Tom asked, taking the vial and examining it.

“Most likely,” Haredevil said.

“Well, whatever it is, it must be pretty valuable, to get Butch to leave his den just to receive it.”

“Agreed. So will you look into it?”

“Well, I don’t know, my plates’ kinda full…” Tom said, doing a poor job of concealing his grin.

“I can make It worth your while.”

“Make it double the usual,” Tom said.

“…fine.”

“Gotta pay the bills, man. These are tough times.”

Another flash of lightning, and the Haredevil was gone. Tom hated it when he did that. He pocketed the vial and walked up to the open window. Cold, wet air blew on his face. The storm was drawing near. Tom’s gaze drifted to the skyline in the distance. Particularly BunnyCorp Tower, the tallest building in the city, visible from just about every corner of Tolucaville.

Tom pondered for a second, then shook his head. He frequently tried guessing the Haredevil’s identity. Mostly to keep the gears turning in his head – truthfully, he didn’t really care who was under the mask – it was just a good mental exercise. His latest suspect was none other than Bugs Bunny – as in, playboy billionaire Bugs Bunny, CEO of global conglomerate BunnyCorp. There were connections… but nothing conclusive. But right now, there were more important matters.

Tom waited a few minutes for Jerry, but the mouse didn’t show. Tom quickly scribbled a note for him and put it on the inside of the door. He opened the fridge and grabbed a pack of sardines, then put on his overcoat and hat and headed out.

Going out alone at night in Tolucaville was a notoriously risky endeavor – even in New Toluca which was still better than the other districts, but this didn’t bother Tom. He grew up on these very streets, he knew his way around them.

Tom could’ve gone through the main roads – it would have been safer – but he deliberately picked the back streets, hoping some punk would try to mug him. He did this often when he was bored, but alas no such thing happened tonight. Probably because the Haredevil had been spotted just now in this part of town, and all the scum were hiding. Dejectedly, Tom walked all the way to the liquor store on 76^th street, but he wasn’t interested in the booze. The alley behind the store was the haunt of one of his trusted informants, a part of his ‘homeless network’ – a web of individuals who saw and heard things without being seen or heard.

Tom found his informant at the end of the alley, rummaging through a dumpster. Tom cleared his throat, and Sylvester poked his head out.

“Beat it buster,” the black-and-white cat said. “I’m busy.”

“Dumpster diving?”

“Foraging for food, thank you very much.”

Tom sighed and took out the sardines. He tossed one to Sylvester, who immediately devoured it.

“More!”

“You’ll do what I want first,” Tom said.

“Ugh, fine, what do you want?”

“Seen this before?” Tom withdrew the vial from his pocket.

Sylvester tried reaching out for the vial but Tom held it out of his reach.

“Not so fast,” Tom said.

Sylvester looked at the vial for a few moments then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Irritably, Tom tossed him another sardine.

“Thanks,” Sly said as he caught it with his mouth. “But I really don’t know what it is.”

“Find out, then. Make it discreet. Make sure you don’t raise any alarms.” Tom tossed him the rest of the sardines and left the alley. Raindrops were starting to fall now, and Tom had forgotten to bring an umbrella. Not wanting to get his clothes wet, he flagged down a taxi and ten minutes later he was in front of his apartment building. He’d barely gotten out of the car when he heard a familiar voice call his name. “Tom! TOM!” He looked around to see Jerry running across the street towards him.

“Where the hell were you?” Tom asked perplexedly. “You went to get takeout ages ago.”

“I went there- but- I saw one of the missing dogs,” Jerry panted. “The one from this morning.”

“What, where?”

“I’ll show you, get in the cab.”

Tom picked up Jerry and quickly got in the cab before it drove off.

“The Purple Dragon,” Jerry said to the driver, who immediately set off. The Purple Dragon was a Chinese restaurant by the riverfront that the duo were fond of. Jerry led Tom past the restaurant to the riverfront and began walking downstream.

“Well… where is it?” Tom asked after a few minutes of walking.

“I don’t understand… it was right here.” Jerry said, rubbing his head.

“Here?”

“Yeah… it was sitting here. It didn’t have a collar or anything but I recognized it.”

Tom peered over the metal railing to the river bank below and let out a soft gasp. “Jerry, look at this,” he said, picking up the small mouse. On the rocks below, just on the edge of the river, lay the corpse of a black dog. The rocks around it were stained with blood.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” Jerry said. “Is that it’s…”

“Stomach,” Tom said grimly. “Cut open.”

The rain was getting heavier, and the water in the river started rising. The dog’s corpse – which had already been half submerged in the water – was swept away in the river.

[…]

(Meanwhile, outside Tolucaville)

Beyond the north-western outskirts of the city lay a sprawling estate atop a hill, at the peak of which was a grand manor, built in the Gothic Revival style. This was Bunny Manor, the residence of the Bunny Family for over 6 generations, and presently inhabited by Bugs Bunny.

Currently speeding towards the estate was a vehicle unlike any other – black, sleek and equipped with a military grade arsenal of weapons and gadgets. Instead of entering through the main gates of the estate, it drove into a cave about a mile away. It sped through the dark tunnels for some time, before arriving in a vast cavern bathed in a greenish-blue glow. The cavern was full of various interlinked platforms with computers, gadgets and other equipment. This was the Haredevil’s lair, his base of operations, right underneath Bunny Manor.

The Devil of Tolucaville parked the Bunnymobile and stepped out. He went up to the Terminal – a massive supercomputer with dozens of screens, constantly monitoring the city and processing information. He took off his mask and collapsed in the chair, the night’s events ringing in his head. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

“Master ub-b-Bugs?” came the voice of his butler, caretaker, and closest friend, Porky Pig. “You’re back early, is everything okay?”

Bugs Bunny sighed, and said, “I’m tired, Porky…”

“W-w-w-well I don’t d-doubt it,” Porky said, walking up to the table holding a tray and newspaper. “You barely sleep, or eat. H-here I made your favorite – carrot pie with a side of carrots.”

“I’m not hungry, Porky,” Bugs said, but he grabbed a carrot and began nibbling on it nonetheless. “A weary body can be dealt with, but a weary mind… a weary spirit…”

Bugs opened the newspaper, and was greeted with the following headline emblazoned on the front page:

‘ELMER FUDD CONVICTION OVERTURNED BY CITY COURT’

Bugs snarled in frustration and threw the paper aside, then sunk back into his chair, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washing over him.

“Porky old pal… sometimes I wonder if I’m even doing any good out there.”

“B-b-b-bu-how can you doubt it?!” Porky stuttered incredulously. “All the lives you’ve saved! The maniacs you’ve locked away!”

“I’ve won a few battles here and there, yes… but the war goes on,” Bugs grabbed his head. “On and on and on… and nothing ever changes. Do you know what happened earlier tonight?”

“Tell me,” Porky said.

“A family nearly got shot in an alleyway… in Old Toluca, just a couple streets down from Foghorn Theater. Just like what happened twenty years ago. The same thing, the same neighborhood. In twenty blasted years, nothing’s changed.”

Porky knelt beside the chair.

“Did anyone get hurt, Bugs?”

“No…” Bugs said. “I stopped that from happening.”

“Exactly!” Porky said. “How can you say that n-n-nothing’s changed then?”

“Porky…”

“Twenty years ago, your parents died in that alleyway because they had no one to protect them. A family was d-d-d-destroyed, and a ch-ch-child left to grieve, because no one was there to save the day. But tonight? No family was destroyed. No child was left to grieve alone. Because you were there. You saved the day. The innocent aren’t helpless anymore. They have hope now, because of you. That’s what’s changed, and don’t you ever think otherwise.”

Bugs was silent for a while. Then, in spite of himself, smiled.

“Thank you, Porky,” he said, and he meant it truly.

“I’m w-w-w-with you every step of the way, Bugs.”

Just then, one of the screens on the terminal started blinking red.

“A shoot-out,” Bugs said, sitting up straight. Then his eyes widened when he saw the location. He leapt out of the chair, put his mask back on and jumped back into the Bunnymobile.

“I’ll eat the pie when I get back!” he shouted before speeding off towards the city.

[…]

When Tom and Jerry returned to their apartment/office, it was nearing midnight. After their startling discovery by the river, they had gone to the Purple Dragon to finally eat. A mutilated dog may have been one of the more disturbing things they’d seen in their line of work, but it wasn’t enough to kill their appetites. They had spent the time discussing theories in the restaurant, but unfortunately lacked conclusive proof to back them up. There had been no security cameras in that particular area, nor had anyone suspicious been spotted there, according to the restaurant’s manager.

Tom had also brought Jerry up to speed on Haredevil’s visit, and the suspicious yellow drug. Jerry hadn’t been happy about Tom accepting yet another demanding case, especially when they had so much on their plate already, but was intrigued nonetheless.

As they got back to their flat, Tom lit up a cigarette, which earned him a disapproving ‘tsk’ from Jerry.

“What?” the blue-grey cat said.

“You smoke too much.”

“Oh please, mom, you smoke too.”

“I smoke three cigarettes a day, this is your third of the hour.”

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up!”

“No I mean- shut up! The door’s unlocked.”

 The door to their flat was, indeed unlocked and slightly ajar. Alarmed, Tom gestured Jerry to go inside and quietly check. The mouse went in through the open space and came back a few moments later.

“Its all clear, just Sly,” he said. Tom stepped inside and found the red-nosed cat rummaging through the fridge. It also didn’t improve the situation that Sylvester was soaking wet from the rain, and dragging mud on the carpet.

“I don’t recall giving you a key,” Tom said, irritably, as he hung his coat.

“I don’t recall needing one, buster,” Sylvester retorted, head still inside the fridge.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Enough chatter. What have you got for me?”

“Well,” Sylvester said, turning to face the two detectives. “It’s a drug, brand new, called Taxi, because-”

“-it’s yellow and it takes you where you wanna go?” Tom and Jerry said in unison.

“Ditto,” Sylvester said. “Anyway, it’s some real S-tier stuff, a cut above everything else on the street. Probably cooked up in some super-lab. There’s a very, very limited supply available at the moment. Where it comes from, I couldn’t find out, sorry.”

Tom stroked his chin in thought.

“That’s all?”

“For the moment yeah,” Sly said. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, if I find out more I’ll let you know.”

“Alright, thanks,” Tom said. “Now scram.”

“I think you’re forgetting something, buster.”

“I already gave you a whole pack of sardines, Sly.”

“That was advance payment. C’mon now, don’t get cheap on me, Tom.”

Tom groaned and pulled out his wallet.

“Take it, and get lost,” he said as he thrust twenty bucks into Sylvester’s palm.

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” the black cat said slyly, before leaving.

Jerry closed the door behind him. “So… what now?”

“We’ll have to try and find out where this thing is coming from. Any ideas how?”

“I got one yeah…” Jerry said thoughtfully. “We’ll have to pay my old college professor a visit.”

Tom nodded, and walked over to the window, and looked down on the street below, which was empty save for a parked black car down the road. Tom watched Sylvester leave the building, when all of a sudden the parked car at the end of the road began to move towards Sylvester – headlights still turned off. A man came up out of the sunroof and another man in the passenger seat both began firing at Sylvester as they drove past.

Tom was briefly taken aback, but quickly regained his wits. He leapt away from the window and ran over to retrieve his revolver from his coat. He dashed back to the window and took aim, trying to shoot the car’s tires out, but it had sped off into the night by that time. Tom cursed under his breath. He couldn’t see Sylvester.

“Call an ambulance!” he said to Jerry, and quickly ran downstairs. Outside, he found Sylvester lying on the sidewalk. His white belly stained red as blood gushed out of half a dozen bullet wounds, steaming in the cold night air. There had been nothing for him to take cover behind.

Someone clearly didn’t want them to find out about Taxi, and whoever they were, they were willing to kill for it.

There was no going back now, this game of cat and mouse was just getting started.

Chapter Text

“So why’d ya kill him?!” the detective roared as he slammed his fist on the table.

Tom looked at him with irritation, but said nothing. He was familiar with Detective Yosemite, who, despite his short stature, was hard to miss owing to his gigantic fiery red mustache and equally sized hat – more of a cowboy hat than your typical bowler hat. His tendency to shout normal sentences at the top of his lungs made him difficult to ignore too. The fact that a trigger-happy, two-bit crook of a manlet like him had been made detective at the Tolucaville Police Department was just depressing.

“Dammit, I asked you a darn question!” he spat at Tom.

Tom, again, said nothing. The whole thing was quite frankly absurd. Tom could understand the police asking some questions after someone got shot on his doorstep – especially if that someone was a former Alley Cat – but being questioned as a suspect was what ticked him off.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Yosemite said with a sly look.

Tom snorted. “Is that the best you could come up with? Pretty pathetic attempt at getting under my skin. Looks like the Butcher isn’t paying you enough to buy some brains – or are you on the Calfones’ payroll now? Hard to keep track…”

“Why you little-” Yosemite began climbing onto the table when the door of the interrogation room opened and he suddenly backed off.

“Don’t say another word, Tom,” a small, high-pitched voice said dramatically.

“Gopher, took you long enough,” Tom said, as he watched the small rodent, clad in a sharp two-piece suit, climb up onto the table.

“Sorry, had to get Jerry out first,” he said.

“Out?!” Yosemite barked. “Now you listen to me you little rat, ain’t no one getting outta here without my-”

“Actually, detective Yosemite,” Gopher said, with that carefully crafted, smooth-with-a-hint-of-smug tone that Tom could only assume they taught at law school. “I’ve already spoken with the lieutenant, and he agreed with me there is no further reason for my clients to be held here. So if there’s nothing else for you to say, I’ll take my client and leave now.”  

Yosemite Sam’s face turned as red as his hair and he fumed – quite literally, steam was coming out of his ears, yet despite darkly murmuring curses under his breath he offered no resistance to Tom and his attorney as they left the room. Jerry was sitting waiting in the corridor outside by the water cooler.

“So Gopher, I can’t help but notice a bit of favoritism here,” Tom said.

“Pardon?”

“How come you went to get Jerry out first?” Tom said in a tone of mock-affront. “Especially since my room was closest to the entrance.”

“Oh, it’s nothing personal,” he chuckled. “It’s just Jerry tends to behave more, so I figured it would be easier to get him out first.”

“Right, right… and the fact you two are cousins has nothing to do with it, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What’d you tell em, anyway?” Tom asked. “You got us out pretty quick.”

“Oh, that’s just the Gopher & Gopher magic,” he said with a wink. “CCTV footage from the street showed the whole incident, cleared you of suspicion. They did ask what he was doing at your flat, but Jerry told them he was borrowing some money. At the end of the day, he’s a shady fellow, not to mention a former Alley Cat. There could be a thousand reasons why what happened, happened. Alley Cats have killed former members before.”

“Did they…?” Jerry asked quietly.

“Kill him? No. He’s a tough cookie, but he’s in critical condition.”

Silence fell for a few moments. Jerry and Tom both felt a pang of guilt.

“C’mon Tom, let’s blow this joint,” Jerry said to break the silence. “We have work.”

“Try not to get arrested again kindly,” Gopher said. “I know you two are practically nocturnal creatures at this point, but I like a good night’s sleep.”

[…]

Tolucaville Police Station, located at the corner of Main & 17^th street in Old Toluca, was an odd-looking building; one might call it two different buildings stacked on top of each other. In some ways this was indeed true. The first ‘building’ was a handsome, four-story brownstone building from the city’s golden era of the 1930s. The second ‘building’, on top of the first, was three levels of steel and glass, built much later as part of the police department’s expansion to cope with increasing crime. The upper levels also came with a large courtyard, known as the Docking Bay, which accommodated up to 6 airships which patrolled the city at night.

On the roof of the top floor, stood Lieutenant Spike, a large, grey bulldog. He was looking down at the street below, cigar in mouth. He saw the Cat & Mouse detectives leave the station and get into a cab. Police and private eyes generally didn’t get along very well, but Spike couldn’t help but hold a modicum of respect for those two.

The rain had stopped now, but it was still windy with the occasional flash of lightning. Spike sensed another presence on the rooftop – one that he was fairly certain hadn’t been there a few moments ago. Only one person could have snuck onto the rooftop so quietly.

“I figured I’d be meeting you soon,” he said gruffly, then turned around to face the Haredevil. Even through the latter’s mask, Spike could tell he was impressed that the aging lieutenant had caught him sneaking on him. Spike may not be as young as he once was, but he was sharper than ever. As a lone honest cop in this city, he had to be.

He sized up the vigilante standing before him, before saying, “You’re skinnier than I thought. Name’s Spike.”

“I know who you are,” the Haredevil said quietly.

“Of course you do,” Spike said.

“Everyone does,” Haredevil said. “You’re the only cop in this city people trust.”

“Spare me the sweet-talk,” Spike said. “Why are you here?”

“I need an ally in the police force,” Haredevil said.

“I see…” Spike said. “You realize I’m short-listed for a task force meant to catch you, right?”

“Who better to have as an ally than the commander of the enemy?”

“So the police is your enemy now, huh?”

“Half of them work for the enemy,” the Devil said. “Even you’re aware of this.”

Spike scratched his chin. He was right, of course, much of the department were on the payrolls of the many gangs and crime families infesting Tolucaville. All the layers of corruption and bribery had crippled the police department’s ability to actually do their job.

“What’s in it for me?” Spike asked.

“You get an ally on the streets,” Haredevil replied. “Someone who’s not bound by protocols and regulations, who can tackle crime efficiently. And I get someone in the police who can help me do exactly that with more precision than I ever could on my own.”

Spike contemplated the offer. It was risky, yes. A high ranking officer teaming up with a vigilante would be a great scandal if word got out, but Haredevil didn’t seem like the type who’d babble and Spike could count on himself to not leave any clues behind. The benefits on the other hand, were undeniable. If bending the rules slightly meant Spike could create a safer city for Tike to grow up in, then it was worth it. For his family, he'd do anything. And if he was helping get scum off the streets, he was still doing his duty, even if it wasn't the 'honorable' way, so to speak.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Spike said.

It may have been a trick of the light, but Spike saw, or thought he saw, the Haredevil smile.

“Now,” the masked vigilante said. “There’s a few things you need to know.”

[…]

(Meanwhile, at the Cat & Mouse Detectives)

Tom and Jerry returned to their apartment, this time with no unexpected visitors inside. The police had wrapped up their investigation outside and the street was quiet again, though all the blinds were drawn and windows shut. There was a tenseness to the silence.

“Alright, so what’s the plan now,” Tom said as they entered the flat.

Jerry stroked his chin. “Well at the moment we have no leads on the missing dogs… we swept the riverfront and found nothing.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Forget the dogs, there’s more important matters at hand.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jerry said irritably. “We gotta find out where this Taxi stuff is coming from. I think I know someone who might be able to help us get a better idea.”

“Who?”

“Old college professor of mine, he’s a genius,” Jerry said.

“Your old college professor can track down where Taxi is coming from…?”

Jerry rolled his eyes. “Don’t get cute with me, Gray. I’ll get the vial and we head out.”

Tom nodded and went to his room, reloaded his handgun, and sharpened his claws quickly, while Jerry went to his hole in the wall and retrieved the vial of yellow fluid, which they had hidden there when the police had arrived.

Jerry returned to the living room and dialed the professor’s number on the telephone, praying the old man would be awake at this late hour.

“Hello?"

“Dr. Frankenbeans, hi it’s me, Jerry Mouse?” he said. “Your old student?”

“Ah, yes, Jerry! Of course, I remember… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Uh listen, doc, I needed your help with something… are you free?”

“Why, certainly. You can come visit now, if you want.”

“Alright, great,” Jerry said. “Thanks a lot, doc.”

“Any time.”

[…]

At half past one the cab pulled up at the East Ferry Pier, on the eastern shores of Old Toluca. On the pier they saw a well-dressed man with a sleepy expression holding a sign that read ‘Jerry Mouse’.

“There’s our welcoming party,” Tom said quietly.

They boarded the ferry and the man led them to a small island a few miles from the shores of the city. On the island was a steep hill, on top of which sat Frankenbeans Castle. The castle was one of the city’s most recognizable landmarks, with a tall jagged tower that could be seen from the main city. The lights were always on in the castle no matter how late the hour, and occasionally glowed green. During storms lightning frequently struck the metal pole at the top of the main tower. The castle was the ancestral home of the Frankenbeans – one of Tolucaville’s founding families – that now consisted solely of the brilliant scientist Dr. Marvin Frankenbeans.

The boat docked at the island’s small pier, and Tom and Jerry followed their guide, who had introduced himself as Wilbur, up a long series of steps to the castle’s great big oak doors. The entrance hall was cold and dimly lit, with armor-stands lining the grey stone walls as well as sneering portraits of the house’s oldest residents.

“Master Frankenbeans is waiting for you in the Great Hall,” said Wilbur in his monotone, disinterested voice. Tom and Jerry approached the doors of the Great Hall, which turned out to be more of a laboratory than anything else. Half a dozen tables littered with notes and science equipment. Several large machines scattered around the room, their functions unbeknownst to anyone but the good doctor himself, along with flasks of steaming or bubbling liquids of various colors and smells. The only indication that the room may have been used for a different purpose once were a handful of sofas, an old coffee table (that too, covered in notebooks and papers now) and the crackling fireplace. The room, much like the entrance hall outside, was also dimly lit, which struck Tom as odd – the castle’s windows had always been bright from the outside.

Doctor Frankenbeans was a short, bald old man with heavy eyebrows. He was sitting on a stool at one of the tables, scribbling something on his notepad, but he looked up immediately when Tom and Jerry arrived.

“Jerry, good to see you!” he said good-naturedly, crouching down and shaking hands with the little mouse, before turning to Tom. “Ah, and you must be Thomas.”

“One and only,” Tom said, shaking the old man’s hand. “Jerry never told me you were his college professor.”

“Ah, well,” the doctor chuckled. “He was one of my top students, for the brief period I taught at the University of Tolucaville,” suddenly his expression darkened. “Before they sacked me…”

“Oh, how come?”

“Some of my ideas weren’t popular with the buffoons in charge,” he said bitterly, before having an almost cartoonish change of mood and brightening up. “So, what brings you two here?”

“Well, we needed help with a case…” Jerry said. He gestured to Tom, who took out the vial of Taxi from his coat. “We were hoping you could tell us a bit about this.”

Dr. Frankenbeans took the small bottle and examined it. “I’ll run a few tests on it and let you know.”

He went to one of the machines and inserted the vial into an opening. He then typed something in the keypad and the machine began whirring and beeping.

“While we wait, can I get you gentlemen anything?” Frankenbeans asked. “Tea? Coffee? Anything to eat? Wilbur is a delightful cook.”

“Oh no, thanks doc, we’re all set,” Jerry said.

“Right… well, erm… Tom,” the doctor said. Tom looked a bit startled at being addressed by the professor. “I don’t remember seeing you at the university when I was there…? Where did you go to college?”

“I didn’t, since you ask,” Tom said stiffly.

“Oh, I see…”

An awkward silence fell, broken only by the sounds of the machine.

“So uh… how long will this take, doc?” Jerry said.

“A full analysis will be available in about 6 or 7 hours.”

“Oh… well, we should probably go then…” Jerry said. Tom took out one of their business cards and handed it to the doctor. “Call us when its done yeah?”

Frankenbeans nodded and pocketed the card.

“Thanks again, doc,” Jerry said as they departed.

“Glad to help.”

Tom and Jerry picked up their coats and hats and left the laboratory. In the entrance hall, they reunited with Wilbur, who was as glum as he had been when they last saw him. As they were about to leave, Tom noticed a door to the side which was slightly ajar. Out of the dark, Tom could have sworn he saw a pair of yellow eyes, but when he blinked, they were gone.

“What’s the matter?” Jerry asked when he noticed Tom had stopped.

“I thought I saw-” Tom began, but noticed Wilbur looking at them suspiciously. “-nothing… just tired, is all.”

Jerry understood, and gave a brief knowing look before saying, “Well, come on then, let’s get back to the flat. I could use some sleep too.”

They descended the steps down to the pier in complete silence. Wilbur ferried them back to the city, then left without so much as a ‘goodbye’. When he was gone, Jerry turned to Tom and said, “What was it?”

“I thought I saw a pair of eyes behind that door back there…” Tom said. “Big, angry, yellow eyes. Not like any animal I’ve seen…”

Jerry shrugged. “Eh, probably nothing.”

“You seem unbothered by the fact that your old teacher might have a monster up there in that castle of his.”

“Nothing he can’t handle if he’s keeping it in house. And none of our business, man, don’t get nosy.”

“Being nosy is our job, Jerry.”

“Tom, we’ve already got enough on our plate as it is without worrying about doc’s science experiments.”

Tom sighed. Jerry had a point, they had other things to worry about besides some freaky science experiment.

“Yeah whatever,” Tom said. “There’s a cab- TAXI!”

The taxi pulled up next to them and they got in. As they drove away, Tom’s gaze fell on the castle in the distance. The castle’s windows, in spite of the dim interior, were glowing bright yellow in the night, reminding Tom eerily of the eyes he had seen.

Tom’s mind told him he was just overthinking it, but his gut told him something strange was afoot on that castle. And if there was one thing that he’d learnt prowling the streets of Tolucaville, it was to trust his gut.

[…]

(The following morning, Bunny Manor)

Bugs Bunny was awoken by the sharp sound of curtains being opened, followed by daylight hitting his eyes.

“What is it, Porky?” he said groggily, rubbing his eyes and looking at the clock. “Porky, it’s not even 10 am, I was up all night for Christ’s sake.”

“Yes, well,” Porky said. “You have a ble-bu-business meeting with EnormiCorp at 11 today, so you have to get up.”

Bugs groaned and rolled on his side. Listen to Foghorn Leghorn babble for an hour was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment, but he had to be Bugs Bunny as well as the Haredevil. It was necessary too. Reluctantly, Bugs got up and began eating breakfast from the tray Porky had brought. Then he got out of bed to get ready.

Heading into the city, and indeed even all the way to the meeting room in BunnyCorp Tower, Bug’s mind was occupied with the previous night’s events. From the discovery of the drug, to Sylvester’s shooting in front of the Cat & Mouse detectives, to his newly established partnership with Lieutenant Spike. It had been a busy night.

The meeting was, as Bugs had anticipated, woefully boring. Talking with Foghorn Leghorn was a pain, as the old rooster tended to get sidetracked with anecdotes and whatnots, and for the little time he did spend taking about business, Bug’s right hand man Lucius Wolf was the one paying attention. All Bugs had to do was occasionally nod along and pretend he was listening. Wolf was the one who ran the company on his behalf at this point, Bugs just popped in every now and then as a formality. Wolf was one of his closest allies, and the only person besides Porky who knew his secret.

After what seemed like an eternity, Foghorn finally left. Bugs wasn’t entirely sure what had been discussed or agreed upon in the meeting, but he didn’t particularly care either. He trusted Lucius to handle the matter effectively. Lucius poured a glass of water and put it in front of Bugs.

“Another long night, Mr. Bunny?” he asked.

“As always,” Bugs said as he sipped the cool water.

Bugs left the tower and got back in the limo.

“Back to the manor,” he told Porky. “I wanna catch up on some sleep.”

Porky nodded and began driving back out of the city.

“Say, Porky…” Bugs said. “Has Daffy called? He’s been gone a week now… any idea when he’s coming back?”

“No, I haven’t heard from him,” he said.

“Weird…” Bugs thought. Daffy had been crashing with Bugs for a couple months. True, he was constantly on his own side-adventures and tended to frequently disappear, only to randomly turn up a day or two later, but a week was too long. He may be in trouble… he always had a knack for getting in trouble. Another worry.

Bugs sighed and laid back in his seat, and closed his eyes. He ended up falling asleep in the car, and when he returned to the manor he no longer felt as tired, so instead he went down to the Lair to check on things, while Porky prepared lunch.

He switched on the terminal and began combing through news reports and police alerts. At the moment nothing serious was going on, as was usually the case during the day. The most significant news was the recently launched space station veering out of orbit, and a rescue mission being prepared to bring those on board back. Interesting, but irrelevant to Bugs.

Porky brought him lunch, but as he was eating an incoming voice call popped up on the Terminal. It was from the Cat & Mouse Detectives – Bugs had given them a special device that provided quick, secure communication to the Lair. Bugs accepted the call and spoke in the Haredevil’s growl, “Speak.”

“We got some good leads for you,” came Jerry’s voice. “So this Taxi stuff, it’s got Happyamine in it. Now that’s a pretty rare chemical. In fact it’s only used in some experimental medication, and there’s only three plants worldwide that process it. I’m sending you their locations right now.”

A new message popped up; it was a list of the addresses of the three plants. One was in New York state, the other near Toronto, and the third in China. Each owned by three different pharmaceutical companies.

Bugs twirled his whiskers. “Alright, you two can check out the one in New York, I’ll look at the other two. Maybe we can find some kind of connection…”

“Got it,” Jerry said, and the line hung up.

“Porky,” Bugs said. “Get the jet ready.”

Chapter Text

(On the outskirts of New York City)

Tom sat atop a hill, hidden among bushes, and overlooking one of the three plants that processed Happyamine – owned by Atlantic Chemicals & Material Engineering. The facility was large and an ominous green light came from its windows, giving it a distinctly evil look. The surrounding plant life was withered and dead, further adding to the effect.

“Jer, talk to me, I’m getting bored out here,” Tom spoke into his walkie-talkie.

“I’m in the vents right now, give me a minute,” came Jerry’s reply. “Over.”

“Alright, let me know when you find anything,” Tom said.

“Obviously,” Jerry said. “Over.”

“You don’t have to keep saying over,” Tom said.

“Yes, I do, it’s important. Over.”

“No it’s not, only cops do that.”

“They do it for a reason, dingus,” Jerry said irritably. “Over.”

“What reason?”

“So that the other person knows you’ve finished speaking let go of the button,” Jerry said.

“Oh,” Tom said. “You forgot to say ‘over,’ by the way. Over.”

“Shut up and let me focus!”

“You forgot-”

“Over!”

Tired, Tom fell onto his back and gazed up at the night sky, that endless inky mass of dark blue, with swirling silver clouds and a smattering of golden dots. The omnipresent beauty of the night sky always struck Tom as odd. Logically, the stars shouldn’t even be visible in the cities, what with their lit streets and polluted air – and yet, they still shone down from the heavens, even in smoggy Tolucaville. Growing up on the streets, Tom would frequently look up at the sky at night, the stars being a sort of refuge – proof that something pure and beautiful really did exist, that not even the grime and corruption of Tolucaville could block out.

Tom had never had much to do with the church growing up, but moments like these made him wonder if this was what it felt like to believe – to have faith in something that, despite all the evil of the world, was unassailably good.

It defied logic, it flew in the face of everything Tom had learnt as a stray in the alleys of New Toluca, and that was just fine by him.

A small green flash in the sky snapped him out of his trance. The green flash lingered for several minutes, brighter than a star but not bright enough to dominate the view, yet peculiar nonetheless. Tom watched the green light gradually fade away, both from the sky and from his attention, as Jerry’s voice came through the walkie-talkie.

“Tom, come in!”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here, over,” Tom said, sitting upright.

“I found the production line,” Jerry said.

“Good, get pictures,” Tom said. “See if you can find where the line goes.”

“On it.”

Tom waited a few minutes in anticipation. Then he heard the sound of metallic rumbling. He grabbed his binoculars and looked closer at the factory. The garage doors opened, and out came a single white truck.

“Jer, there’s a truck leaving the place,” Tom said. “I’m gonna tail it. If it goes to Tolucaville we got a definite connection.”

“Alright, I’ll snoop around some more and see what I can find here. Over.”

“Got it. Over.”

Tom hurried over to the roadside and crouched in the bushes, waiting for the truck to pass. He leapt onto it as it passed by, pulling himself up from the side to the roof. Tom watched the factory and the New York skyline grow smaller and smaller as the truck turned began approaching the highway that would eventually lead south to Tolucaville. Instead of turning onto the highway however, the truck took a different turn and drove for a few more minutes before turning onto a different route, going north. This took Tom by surprise, it was supposed to go south, not north.

Now this complicated matters. Tom jumped off the truck and landed gracefully in the bushes, watching the truck drive off into the night, past a sign that pointed to Boston.

“Jerry… come in,” Tom said. “I got news.”

[…]

(A few hours later, back in Tolucaville)

“Alright, I’ll get in touch with the Devil,” Tom said as he unlocked the door to their apartment. “We’ll fill him in on what we found, then I’m gonna crash, I’m exhausted.”

Tom went over to the antique globe in the corner and opened it, revealing a single red button. He pushed it, and a section of the bookshelf flipped to reveal a computer screen.

“Hey, he’s left a message,” Tom said as he checked the computer.

“What’s it say?”

“’Meet me at midnight, point echo, urgent.’”

Jerry checked the time. “We’re five minutes late.”

Tom let out a loud groan. “You gotta be kidding me…”

Point Echo was the closest of their several mutually agreed-upon rendezvous spots throughout the city. It was located on a rooftop falling roughly halfway between their apartment and the TCPD HQ, near the North Boulevard Bridge, one of two bridges that connected Old and New Toluca (the other being South Boulevard Bridge). One cab ride followed by an elevator brought them to the meeting spot. Haredevil was standing on the edge of the rooftop, gazing off into the distance, but he wasn’t alone.

“What’s he doing here?” Tom leered at Lieutenant Spike.

“Easy, Tom,” Jerry said from his shoulder.

“We’ll be working alongside him, Tom,” Haredevil said.

“Fat chance,” Tom said. “Cats and dogs don’t exactly mingle.”

“Neither do cats and mice, for that matter,” Haredevil said.

“Listen, puss, I-” Spike said.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right, listen, Thomas,” Spike said.

Tom’s eye twitched at being called by his full name, but he allowed it nonetheless.

“Something big is going down in the city,” Spike continued. “All the scum, or at least a big chunk of em are in on it. The Alley Cats and the Calfones are in cahoots, we know that for sure. You realize how big that is? If they’re working together then it’s likely the other gangs might follow suit. Chinatown, the Russians… We’ll need to work together as well.”

Tom sighed in resignation. He knew Spike was a good cop. He knew he was right, and he was pragmatic enough to know there was no point in letting a petty grudge get in the way of important work, so he merely just nodded.

Haredevil spoke, “I know you two haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I’m not asking you to be friends. Just put aside your differences for the sake of the city. Can you do that, Tom?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a kid,” Tom said. “I can work with him. Better Spike than the other knuckleheads and crooks in the police.”

“Alright, good,” Haredevil said. “Now to business. Where are you two with your investigation?”

“We checked out the New York site, but we couldn’t find anything worthwhile,” Tom said. “They sent out a truck, probably had Happyamine, but it were headed up to Boston, not Tolucaville”

“Hmm,” Haredevil said. “What about you, Lieutenant?”

“Well we got some new intel that links the Alley Cats to the dogs that have been going missing lately. And the Alley Cats are involved in the Taxi business too. These might possibly be connected. Worth checking out, at least.”

“Alley Cats are behind the missing dogs?” Jerry said.

“We have reason to believe that, yes.”

“Tom and I will check that out, then,” Jerry said. “We’re already investigating the dogs as well, so two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Alright, I’ll send one of my guys who’s working the case with you. He’s trustworthy, don’t worry.”

“I’d escort you as well, but I have business in Busterburg district,” Haredevil said. “Wile E. Coyote was sighted there earlier.”

“The Coyote’s back in town?” Spike said, an eye raised.

“So it seems.”

“I know guys in the precinct over there,” Spike said. “I’ll let him know as well. Best of luck gentlemen.”

[…]

“Alright man what’s the plan then?” Jerry asked as they exited the building.

“The plan is to go home and get some sleep,” Tom said, yawning.

“What about the Alley Cats?”

“They’re not going anywhere man, we can go to Madd Mile tomorrow,” Tom said. “Or if you wanna go now, I ain’t stopping ya.”

“I think I’ll do that actually. Could burn some midnight oil.”

“Oh,” Tom said. He had only been teasing Jerry. “Really?”

“Yeah, you get some rest pal.”

Tom watched the mouse walk off down the street.

“You sure you don’t want me to come along?” he called after him.

“Nah, it’ll be easier for me to sneak around by myself.”

“Alright then,” Tom said, then flagged down a cab to take him back to the apartment. For the second time in less than forty minutes, he found himself fishing in his pockets for the keys to the front door, but that proved unnecessary as the door was already unlocked. This shook Tom out of his drowsiness, and he readied his pistol and creeped inside to find the office empty. He moved on to the kitchen, then the bedrooms as he methodically checked every corner of the apartment. There was no sign of any intruder. It didn’t sit well with him, but perhaps he’d just forgotten to lock the door while leaving. His drowsiness, plus the urgency with which they’d left made it probable even for someone as attentive as him. Before he could contemplate on this matter anymore though, the phone rang.

“Cat & Mouse Detectives,” he mumbled as he answered the call.

“JERRY- JERRY MY BOY I-”

“Woah, woah, Professor Frankenbeans, calm down. What’s wrong?”

“Thomas, is that you? Where’s Jerry??”

“Jerry’s not available at the moment. What’s the matter?”

“I’ve made…a horrible, horrible mistake,” Professor Frankenbeans said with a trembling voice. “Please, get over here as quickly as you can!”

And without another word, he hung up the phone.

[…]

(Elsewhere in the city)

Maddison Mile, more commonly known as Madd Mile, was Tolucaville’s smallest and most dangerous district. Located on a peninsula in the far north of the city, and connected to Old Toluca and Busterburg district by bridges, it was once a bustling industrial and harbor district. Just like the rest of the city, it had seen better days, having since devolved into a den of crime and villainy. Madd Mile was quite possibly the worst that Tolucaville had to offer courtesy of the gang that ruled the district – the Alley Cats, led by the most brutal of their bunch.

Butch, commonly known as the Butcher, was the city’s most wanted individual, alongside Marcine Calfone, Don of the Calfone crime family. Unlike the Calfones however, who preferred to operate silently and away from the public eye, Butch made his actions known. The police had been all but expelled from Madd Mile, with two of the borough’s precincts no longer operational and the remaining three steeped in corruption and bribery.

It was through these dangerous streets that Jerry was being led by detective Tweety, an officer that Spike had personally vouched for. Being that they were both small animals, including one being capable of flight, they had a good chance of avoiding trouble. For their current mission, stealth was key.

The Alley Cats’ supposed hideout was an abandoned warehouse in a row of abandoned warehouses, some distance from the harbor. Sneaking past the guards was easy enough; Tweety grabbed Jerry and flew over them, and landed on one of the factory’s open windows. From the window sill they gazed down, where it seemed something of a meeting was in session. The only light on inside the warehouse was illuminating a long wooden table around which sat eight cats, with one chair at the head still vacant. The smell of cigarettes was clear even from the distance. They were bickering but Jerry couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“I’m gonna try and get closer,” Jerry muttered quietly to Tweety. “If things go south, be ready to swoop in for me.”

Tweety nodded and Jerry began climbing down the wall, then crawling across the dirty, dusty floor as quietly as possible and trying to maintain a safe distance all the while. He crawled onto a pile of empty crates about twenty feet away from the table and began listening.

“This whole deal is garbage!” a short, fat orange cat in an overcoat said. “Why do we have to split the dough with the Calfones? We’re the ones smuggling in the goods and responsible for half the distribution. The way I see it we should be getting a bigger slice of the pie than we are!”

A couple of the other cats mumbled in agreement.

A slender grey cat spoke, “The Calfones guarantee protection, that’s why, you moron. Half the police department is in their pocket. The boss explained this before, so either you weren’t listening…” the grey cat’s mouth twisted into a cruel, cunning smirk. “…or you think the boss is wrong.”

The sound of tires screeching to a halt, followed by the opening and closing of car doors came from outside. A few moments later, the door of the warehouse swung open and the table fell silent. The Butcher himself, coal-furred and yellow-eyed, slowly walked towards them, hands wrapped behind his back and a cigar hanging from his mouth.

“Well, well, well…” he said as he circled the table, each cat tensing up as he passed behind them. “I come down here from the warmth and comfort of my bed, in the middle of the night, just to see my enforcers fighting like a buncha toddlers? And what’s this I overheard about me being wrong, Clutch?”

He turned to face the tall grey cat, who immediately said, “I didn’t say nothing like that boss, it was just Fudge over here second-guessing you.”

“Really?” Butch turned on the fat orange cat, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. “Is that true, Fudge? You disagree with something I said?”

“N-no, Butch, of- of course not,” Fudge stammered.

“Really? So Clutch is lying?”

Fudge nodded nervously.

“Interesting…”

Butch turned to the other cats. “Well? Is Clutch lying?”

The enforcers exchanged nervous glances among themselves, and from Butch to Clutch and then to Fudge, but no one gave an answer.

Butch returned his focus to the fat cat before him. “No one seems to be agreeing with you, Fudgy, so unless you think every single one of these cats is lying…”

“No, boss, you gotta understand-”

“I gotta understand? So you think I’m stupid, huh?” Butch spat. Fudge could produce no coherent response, having been reduced to a stammering mess. “Now you understand this, Fudge. I’m the boss. What I say, goes, without question. Got it? You’ve been a good enforcer the past six years, so I’ll let you off the hook easy this time.”

Fudge looked stunned. Before he could even open his mouth to say ‘thank you’, Butch took out his gun and shot him in the foot. Fudge fell to the ground yowling in pain, blood now staining the floor.

“Consider this a warning,” Butch said. “Next one will be between your eyes.” Then he turned to the others, who were watching their comrade writhe on the ground, horrified. “Anyone else feel like voicing their opinions? No? Good. Clutch, Dutch, get him outta here.”

Clutch and another cat picked up Fudge and helped him out of the warehouse, then returned a minute later whereupon the meeting began.

“Now we can get down to business… How’re we looking with the mutts?”

“Got a dozen more ready to be sent out tonight, boss,” a brown cat said proudly. “My guys are bringin’ em all over later.”

Jerry leaned forward, listening to every word said and burning it into his brain.

“Better not be any pets again,” Butch growled. “Missing pets get reported, strays don’t.”

“No pets, I made sure,” the brown cat said, though a slight tremble in his voice indicated this statement may not have been entirely true. Nonetheless Butch continued.

“I’m gonna head down to the harbor, the Boston shipment’s gonna be arriving soon. Clutch, you’re coming with me.”

Clutch nodded and smirked triumphantly, getting envious looks from the others at this apparent favoritism.

“Get ready, we leave in five,” Butch said. “Dutch, get me another cigar.”

Dutch got up from his chair and made his way over to a corner table, but as he passed the pile of crates behind which Jerry was hidden, he suddenly stopped, sniffing the air.

“What’s the matter?” Butch asked, suddenly alert again.

“I smell… a mouse,” Dutch said, revealing a European accent that Jerry couldn’t quite place at the moment.

“There’s rats everywhere here,” Clutch retorted.

“No this one’s different…” he said. “This one ain’t a stray…”

Jerry’s heart was thumping. He had to think fast. If he tried running, he might get caught… he scanned his surroundings frantically, and found a round hole in the crate next to him and hid inside. Dutch came closer to the crates, sniffing

“Ah quit wasting time and get me a joint already, ya moron, it’s just a damn mouse!” Butch said irritably.

Dutch sighed and walked away from the crates hesitantly. It was only when conversation resumed at the table that Jerry dared come out his hiding spot again.

“Now, how’s our… excommunicated friend doing?” Butch asked.

“Er… word is that he might… pull through,” Clutch said.

“What?!” Butch roared, slamming his fist on the table. “Goddammit Clutch I gave you one job! You couldn’t kill that son of a bitch Sly even after pumping him full of lead from five feet away?”

“Boss, I-”

“Fix this damn mess, right now!” Butch yelled angrily. “Dutch, you’re coming with me to the dock instead.”

Dutch beamed, Clutch shot him a sour look, yet wisely said nothing. Butch got up to leave, Dutch following him. One by one the cats all got up to leave, leaving Jerry and Tweety, who flew down to speak with him.

“Let me think, I need to process all this…” Jerry said. The Alley Cats were behind all the missing dogs after all, that much was confirmed now. But where one question was answered, another arose – why? Why were the Alley Cats kidnapping all these dogs, strays and pets alike? Some sort of mass-extermination? Like the mutilated dog Jerry and Tom had found the other night? Cats and dogs rarely got along, but even so, there had to be some other reason. The way they had spoken made it seem like the dogs were being taken for a purpose... Could it be related in some way to Taxi like Spike had hypothesized?

And the Boston shipment… hadn’t the truck Tom had followed out of Atlantic Chemicals been headed for Boston? Could this shipment from Boston be carrying the same contents as the truck, and the truck’s detour be some kind of cover? And Sylvester… the Alley Cats had shot him, probably because he’d been snooping around about Taxi. And now they were looking to finish the job…

“Okay, Tweety, listen to me,” Jerry said. “I need you to fly me back to my apartment. Then you’re gonna go to Spike and tell him to put extra guys on Sylvester’s hospital room, and to get some guys down at the dock. Tell him to alert our mutual friend as well. He’ll understand. Got it?”

Tweety nodded. “Grab on,” he said, and took off. They flew across Madd Mile, over the river and back into New Toluca, returning to the Cat & Mouse Detectives building just in time to see Tom outside flagging down a cab. Tweety dropped Jerry down next to him, then flew off into the night.

“Tom!” Jerry said. “Thank goodness you’re awake, there’s so much I have to tell you-”

“Yeah, well you can tell me on the way,” Tom said.

“Where are we going?” Jerry asked, perplexed.

“Frankenbeans called, he was losin’ it,” Tom explained. “Said he’d made some… horrible mistake and then hung up.”

“Christ, alright, let’s go then,” Jerry said and hurriedly climbed into the car. The cab sped across the sleepy, empty streets and turned onto the Main Boulevard, towards the bustling, beating heart of the city. They crossed South Boulevard Bridge and entered the island of Old Toluca. In spite of the late hour, there was still plenty of activity on the streets, although the typical evening and early-night rush was gone, meaning they reached the East Ferry Pier in good time. The butler, Wilbur, was already waiting for them and quickly ferried them to Frankenbeans’ castle.

They climbed up the long stony staircase to the castle’s entrance, but the great big oak doors were no longer there. Fragments of wood lay on the ground in front of the doorway.

“What the hell happened here…” Jerry said in quiet horror.

Wilbur muttered something inaudible, though the words ‘unnatural’, and ‘terrible’ could be made out. Tom and Jerry gulped, and the entered the castle. They found the professor in the laboratory, sitting on the ground and holding his head. His glasses were askew, his lab coat lay on the floor besides him, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He was muttering to himself incoherently. The lab itself was in a worse state than it had been during the duo’s last visit. Instruments were scattered or toppled over, some of the furniture was flipped over, or indeed even broken.

“Professor, are you okay?” Jerry asked, rushing over to the old man’s side. “What the hell happened here?”

“Jerry? Jerry m’boy…” the professor stuttered. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call. I’ve made a terrible mistake… they were right, they were all right…”

“Doc, what’re you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”

“The university… they said I was mad… I didn’t listen, but they were right, and now it’s out,” Frankenbeans said.

“Out? What’s out?” Tom said sharply.

“My greatest mistake,” Frankenbeans said. “I couldn’t control it. Now it’s on the loose. Gossamer is on the loose!”

“Who’s Gossamer?” Tom said.

The words had barely left his mouth when a loud, bone-rattling roar sounded from somewhere on the small island.

“That, my dear Thomas,” the professor said, his face bearing a grim, hopeless expression, “was Gossamer.”

Jerry gulped.

“We have to get off this island right now,” the mouse said.

“We can’t- we can’t just abandon it here! We have to get it under control. What if it escapes the island?”

“Doc, you heard that thing,” Tom said. “You’ve probably seen it too, and it tore down the front door, you can’t be serious. We need to get the hell off this rock!”

“With all due respect Professor, how on earth are we gonna stand a chance against it?” Jerry said.

“I could… try concocting some sort of powerful sedative… and we could lure him out somehow.”

“Shouldn’t we be trying for a more, uh… permanent solution?” Tom said.

The professor looked aghast. “No, absolutely not! I should never have created Gossamer… but I refuse to kill him. It’s still a living creature.”

Tom groaned in frustration. “This is insane, we’re stuck on this tiny island with a monster on the loose. We can’t kill it, and even if we manage to put it to sleep, what then? It’ll wake up eventually and wreak havoc again. Haredevil has his hands tied with the Alley Cats down at the docks, and it’s not like we can just report this to the authorities.”

“We will,” Frankenbeans said. “Once we tranquilize Gossamer, we’ll alert the authorities.”

“But… professor,” Jerry said. “You’ll get in trouble.”

Tom scoffed, earning a steely look from Jerry.

“I deserve it, Jerry,” Frankenbeans said solemnly. “I should have learned my lesson all those years ago when they sacked me from the university…”

“Okay, but can we just hurry already?” Tom said. “That thing could barge in here any time.”

“Right… yes, Jerry, with me please,” Frankenbeans said, hurrying over to one of the tables. In the meanwhile, Tom peered out the windows, trying to spot the monster. He didn’t know what it looked like, but he figured he’d know once he saw it. The island’s rocky shores were bathed in moonlight, providing some visibility in the darkness, not that he particularly needed it. Try as he might though, he could find no glimpse of the monster.

He gave a sigh and sat down on a nearby chair. Jerry and Frankenbeans were hurrying about the lab, mixing chemicals and whatnot.

“You guys need any uh… any help?” Tom asked.

“Yes, please,” Frankenbeans said. “Would you get me a glass of water? The jug’s over there in the corner.”

“Right…” Tom got up and trudged over to the opposite corner of the hall, where a jug of water atop a small side table. As Tom poured a glass, he happened to gaze out the window, which overlooked the pier. A small boat was approaching the island.

“Uh doc?” Tom said. “You weren’t expecting any other visitors, were you?”

Frankenbeans walked up to him and looked at where Tom was pointing.

“No… who is that?”

They watched the boat dock on the pier and a short, portly man climb out of it, holding something long and thin, glinting in the moonlight. The visitor climbed the steps, steadily approaching the castle, and the trio got a better look at him.

“Dear god is that…” Frankenbeans said.

“Yep.” Jerry said weakly.

“Elmer Fudd…” Tom said.

“What on earth is that madman doing here?” the professor said.

“You don’t think he’s…?” Jerry suggested.

“After us?” Tom said. “Yes… oh crap!”

“What is it?”

“When I went back to the apartment the door was unlocked, I knew I didn’t forget to lock it! He must’ve broken in looking for us!”

Jerry’s eyes widened in horror. “Tom… what if he took our case files?”

Tom bit his lip. “Well… we haven’t got time to worry about that right now. Professor, help me barricade the door, and get a weapon if you have one. Jerry, see if you can get in touch with the Devil or the police.”

Tom and Professor Frankenbeans locked the doors of the hall and pushed a sofa and table in front of it, then took cover behind overturned furniture within the room, guns at the ready. The room fell deathly silent in uneasy anticipation, with only the distant sound of ocean waves puncturing the quietness. Then, gradually, came a new sound. The slow, deliberate thud of Elmer Fudd’s footsteps on the cold stone floor as he entered the castle. The sound of footsteps came to a halt outside the door of the hall in which the trio were currently taking refuge.

Silence fell again, followed by the sound of a match being lit, a faint hiss that lasted a few seconds, and then a deafening explosion as the doors were blasted off their hinges and the furniture reinforcing them was obliterated.

Tom peeked up from behind the sofa and fired two shots towards the door, but the smoke had not yet cleared so neither shot hit the intruder. A small black ball came rolling and a burst of light blinded Tom.

“Flash grenade, argh-!” Tom said amidst a tidal wave of cursing.

“Shhh,” Fudd said, stepping into the room properly now. “Be very… very quiet now, I’m hunting cats.”

“Get out of my home, you fiend!” the professor said, emerging from his cover and firing his revolver at the hitman. Fudd ducked behind an overturned table, though a bullet managed to graze his arm.

“You miserable little-” he snarled. With frightening speed and precision, he got up again, took aim, and fired at the professor, who was already in the motion of taking cover. The old man let out a blood-curdling scream of pain as he fell back against the wall, blood bursting out his thigh and forming a red pool on the floor. Even in his wounded state he tried reaching for his gun but it was just out of reach.

Fudd got out from his spot and began walking towards the professor.

“I’m gonna finish you off first, you miserable old prick!” he snarled. He slammed the butt of his gun against Tom’s head, who had just started regaining his vision after the flash, knocking him out. Jerry leapt from a cupboard and landed on Fudd’s hat, pulling it down over his eyes and biting his ear. Fudd flailed around cursing and trying to grab Jerry off his face. He finally managed to get a hold of the mouse and thew him aside. Jerry hit the wall and fell to the ground, unconscious. Fudd stormed up to the professor and pressed the cold metal barrel of his shotgun against his forehead.

“Any last words, pops?”

The professor was cowering and whimpering, but then his eyes went wide. Wider than they were already. A look of pure, utter terror filled his face; more than just a fear for his life. Something huge was behind Fudd, casting its shadow over him. Even Fudd felt its hot, smelly breath against the back of his neck and froze. Slowly, he turned around to face the monster, a towering dark silhouette covered in red hair, with bright, yellow eyes.

Elmer let out a scream of pure terror, in response to which the monster roared and grabbed him, his massive hand wrapping around the assassin’s entire body with ease, and slamming him into the floor, leaving an Elmer-shaped crater in the stone tiles. Gossamer let out another triumphant roar, shaking the whole hall with its intensity, and then, with one last look at the professor, ran out the castle. Without hesitation, Gossamer jumped right off the cliff, diving a hundred feet into the water and swam off into the night, away from the city, leaving behind an unconscious assassin, a bleeding, cackling professor, and two detectives slowly regaining consciousness.

[…]

Half an hour later, the island was swarming with police and emergency workers. Tom found Jerry sitting on a rock down by the island’s pier, watching the city’s skyscrapers, dark but studded with golden lights. Were it not for the chaos that had just unfolded, it would have been a serene sight, Tom thought to himself.

“Some view, huh?” he said, lighting up a cigarette. “Imagine seeing that every night as you’re going to bed.”

“Seems so peaceful from here…” Jerry said quietly, still staring off into the distance.

“Have a smoke, you’ll feel better,” Tom suggested. Jerry sighed and took out a cigarette from his pocket. He watched Professor Frankenbeans being escorted by two officers down the steps to the pier, and onto the police boat. He was still cackling, an unhinged look in his eyes. Jerry closed his eyes, and kept them shut till the boat had departed.

“I’m sorry Jer,” Tom said sympathetically. “I know you looked up to him a lot.”

Jerry sighed and hung his head. “What he did was… wrong. I get that. He was a man playing god, but it still hurts to see him that way, Tom. A great mind like that, broken, lost… they’re probably gonna chuck him in Looney Asylum with all the other freaks.”

Tom said nothing. The pair of them smoked in silence for a few minutes, before an officer came up to them.

“Lieutenant Spike has a message for you two.”

“What’s he saying?”

“To meet him at the station as soon as possible,” the officer said. “We’ve arranged your transport back to the city.”

[…]

(TCPD Headquarters, Old Toluca district)

Spike sat in his office on the sixth floor of the station, door closed, feet on the table and watching the news on the small tv in the corner of the room. Coverage of action at the docks, over a dozen Alley Cats, including the enforcer Dutch arrested after a gunfight. No casualties for the police, who had been personally led by Spike himself, though a few Cats were injured. More importantly a large shipment of narcotics, including Taxi, was intercepted.

“Well done, lieutenant,” a voice said from behind.

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that,” Spike said, turning in his chair to face the Haredevil, standing by the window. Spike noticed the masked hero’s outfit looked damaged, and torn in places. “Jesus, you okay?”

“Fine,” Haredevil said. “The Coyote was armed to the teeth.”

“Did you get him?”

“Of course. He’s in the back of a police truck as we speak.”

“Good.”

There was a knock on the door. The Devil quickly withdrew into the shadows, but when the newcomers turned out to be Tom and Jerry, he reemerged from the corner.

Tom glanced at the news, then at Spike. “Looks like we’ve all been busy, huh?”

“Well, I was involved in a drug bust, Haredevil took down a dangerous criminal… and you two set a ten foot tall unstoppable monster loose, who’s now reportedly lurking in the swamps outside the city. So yeah, you could say that.”

“And took down Elmer Fudd in the process,” Jerry added. “You left that part out.”

“And your intel,” Spike said. “About the harbor and the shipments from Boston. That helped a lot. Thanks.”

“So did you figure out what they were using the dogs for?” Jerry asked.

Spike nodded grimly. “For transporting the product. They’d sew the vials onto the inside of their skin, right around the belly. Then they’d send the dogs wherever they were supposed to go, and the receiver would then cut it out and get rid of the poor animals.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” Jerry said.

“Explains the mutilated corpse we found by the river,” Tom said, stroking his chin.

“What?” Spike said. “You found a body? Why didn’t you call it in?”

“Well immediately after that the Sylvester incident happened and we got arrested so it kind of got swept away,” Jerry explained.

“Well, doesn’t matter anymore, this awful business is done,” Spike said.

“Butch is still out there,” Haredevil said. “He got away.”

“Yes,” Spike said. “But one of his main enforcers is now off the streets, along with a truckload of cargo. Plus, I’ve worked enough of these drug cases to know that once their distribution system gets discovered, they burn the whole system, meaning no more mutilated pups.”

“That’s true,” Haredevil said. “There’s still work to do. We still have to figure out who’s really behind Taxi, but today… today was a win.”

“I am, technically, off-duty right now…” Spike said.

Haredevil glanced out the window. A tint of orange was starting to break the inky black of the night sky. “I guess I am too, now.”

“Then, a drink, shall we?” Spike opened a locked drawer and pulled out a bottle and a few shot glasses, including a tiny one for Jerry. “I figured, since we’re all working on this together now, might as well keep a couple extra glasses around, eh?” he said as he poured them all a drink.

“To a better tomorrow,” he said, raising his glass.

“A better tomorrow,” the others said in union, and they drank in silence.

Much was left to do, but much had been done as well, and the city was safer for it.

[…]

(Elsewhere in the city)

A white limousine cruised through the Main Boulevard. Inside, sat a man dressed in a tuxedo, the trousers of which fell short of his ankles by an inch, and in front of him was his secretary, a duck named Tina. The man was clenching his fists, shaking in rage.

“Inconceivable!” he snarled. “Fudd and the blasted Coyote both failed. How hard is it to kill a cat and a mouse and a damn rabbit? And now this debacle with the Alley Cats up north…”

“What do you think we should do, boss?” Tina asked.

“Let me think…” the suited man said. “Butch… Butch can be dealt with. The detectives and the rabbit freak are our priority. For them… release the mutt. It’s time the so-called Devil of Tolucaville and his friends met a real devil…”

Chapter Text

The Alley Cat enforcers, once eight, now seven, were gathered in The Whiskey Whisker, a bar in the heart of Madd Mile. Currently empty save for them and the bartender., the establishment was a frequent haunt of the gang, and was serving as the temporary meeting place now that their main base of operations was compromised.

The feline thugs smoked their cigars and sipped their drinks in uneasy silence, suffocated by the unsurety of what would happen next. It had been two days since the fiasco at the docks, and Butch’s temper had not cooled in the slightest since then.

A car screeched to a halt on the empty street outside, and a few seconds later the bar door swung open and Butch entered. The cats held their breath as their black furred leader looked at each and every one of them. The cats expected yet another rage-filled outburst, but when Butch spoke, he had a strange calmness in his voice.

“Gentlemen,” he said, voice steady, face impassive. “I’ve spoken with the organization… there’s gonna be a change of plans.”

The enforcers looked at each other nervously. Butch continued, “Our friends, the triads down in Chinatown, are joining the operation. They’ll be taking over distribution in upper New Toluca and Busterburg.”

A dumbfounded silence fell. At last, Clutch spoke up. “But boss- that’ll ruin us. That’s where we were earning the most, the Mile is worthless in comparison.”

“Indeed, Clutch,” Butch said, with a peculiar smile that took everyone by surprise. “I’ve done the math. Excluding what we kicked up to the organization, we were getting about 40% of the dough, same as the Calfones. With the triads taking distribution from us on the other side of the river, our share gets cut down to just 10%.”

It was clear this was the organization’s way of punishing the Alley Cats for what had happened at the docks. But what shocked everyone at the bar was that Butch was seemingly going along with it, not even attempting to resist the new shackles. The Calfones and triads were strong, yes, but Butch had never been one to back down so easily.

“Now,” Butch said. “Let’s take inventory, shall we? We’re one enforcer short. A dozen of Dutch’s cats were arrested as well. But we still have a decent stash of Taxi, and another shipment is coming by the highway. How many dogs do we have?”

“Some two dozen,” Clutch said.

“Excellent. Boys, we have some deliveries to make,” Butch said, with a grin now reaching his eyes. “Let’s not keep our friends waiting.”

A cruel, cunning look was stretched across his face, a look his enforcers were all too familiar with. That was enough for them to understand that he had no intention of going along with the new arrangements. He had come to the bar with a plan, and the intention of fighting a war.

The Butcher of Tolucaville would have his revenge.

[…]

(The Haredevil’s lair, beneath Bunny Manor)

Bugs sat in front of the Terminal, monitoring the city. It was a quiet night. So quiet in fact that he had returned from his nightly prowl early, as nothing was going on that required his direct intervention. Sure, there was Gossamer, but he hadn’t been sighted since the incident at Frankenbeans’ castle, and didn’t seem to pose any immediate danger. The rest of the city’s criminal underworld had been cowed by the incident at the harbor two nights before, and seemed to be keeping a low profile for the time being.

The only noteworthy news was that of the recently launched space station, being exposed to mysterious green cosmic radiation which had crippled the station’s functionality, and now a rescue mission was being prepared to bring those on board back to earth. As interesting as this development was however, it bore no relevance to Haredevil’s operations in the city.

But while Bugs’ body was resting, his mind was as active as ever. It seemed that with this Taxi conspiracy, every question answered only led to newer questions.

Taxi’s sources were identified, or at least the sources of a specific rare chemical found in the drug, but all three were completely separate of each other. Neither Bugs nor the Cat & Mouse detectives had found any solid connection associating them with each other, and only the plant outside New York was conclusively linked to the Taxi trade in Tolucaville. The mysterious entity behind Taxi and the Alley Cat-Calfone alliance remained unknown.

Then there was the matter of the two assassins – Elmer Fudd and Wile E. Coyote. Both had returned to Tolucaville on the same night. Fudd had gone after the Cat & Mouse, while the Coyote had been hunting Haredevil. Though neither the Devil nor the detective had any shortage of people who would want them dead, it was obvious that these were not isolated hits. Whoever had ordered them, had become privy to their investigation of the drug and wanted it dealt with quickly. The question was who…

A small *ding* came from one of the smaller monitors of the Terminal – a match had been found for the rocket launcher that the Coyote had been using. The files must have been highly classified, if it had taken the computer so long to access. The weapon in question was a prototype rocket launcher being developed for the military by… ACME.

And then it clicked.

The plants that synthesized Happyamine were owned by…

Atlantic Chemicals & Material Engineering…

Arctic Chemical Manufacturing Enterprises…

Asian Chemical and Molecular Enterprises…

A…C…M…E

ACME!

It had been right under his nose all along! ACME was the mystery entity, that had united half the city’s biggest gangs, that was smuggling in a high-end new drug, the spider at the center of this criminal web. Bugs jumped to his feet and put on his mask, but as he was climbing into the Bunnymobile, the lair was bathed in red light as the Terminal’s alarm went off – a level 5 emergency somewhere in the city.

Informing Spike would have to wait, the Devil’s attention was needed elsewhere.

[…]

(Meanwhile, in Chinatown, between New Toluca and Busterburg districts)

The Triads of Tolucaville were the smallest of the city’s major gangs by area, but their iron grip on the streets under their control was notorious. Their hideout was an abandoned teahouse nestled in the heart of Chinatown. Unassuming from the outside, but on the inside it was a bustling hub of illicit activity. It had a multi-level basement, where the higher-ups of the organization would meet and plan their nefarious schemes. A network of hidden tunnels opened to various locations in and around Chinatown, providing safe passages of escape or smuggling.

The air inside the teashop was thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversation as henchmen moved crates stacked high with contraband. The delivery dogs were brought inside by henchmen, their collars jingling faintly. The enforcer overseeing the arrival nodded at the henchmen, who pushed the poor mutts down and flipped them over, knives at the ready. However just as they pressed their hands against the dogs’ bellies, a faint ‘click’ sound came.

The henchmen barely had time to yell before the explosions ripped through the warehouse. A wave of fire and shrapnel tore through the gathered gangsters, obliterating them and sending bodies flying. The force of the blast shattered windows and hurled debris into the street, where bystanders screamed and scattered.

Soon, the sirens came wailing. The authorities swarmed the scene of the chaos. Police, firemen and medics attempted to tame the carnage. Lieutenant Spike was the first to step out, cigar clenched between his teeth, barking orders to his officers. Yet even amidst the chaos, he sensed a looming presence above.

The Haredevil was perched on a nearby rooftop, a shadowy silhouette against the full moon. He jumped and landed gracefully into the alley below, and Spike quietly joined him there.

Spike exhaled sharply. “You just can’t stay away from trouble, huh?”

Haredevil merely glanced at the destruction before turning his masked gaze to Spike. “Looks like Butch is lashing out.”

Spike surveyed the damage, shaking his head. “Heh, you think? But attacking the Triads outta the blue? Seems random.”

“Unless it wasn’t random.”

“Hmm. Looks like the triads were getting in on the Taxi action...” Spike said. “But that would have made them allies, or partners at the very least.”

“After the incident at the docks... I wouldn’t be surprised if the Alley Cats had to face some repercussions for their failures,” Haredevil said. “Somehow, some of ACME’s dealings with the Triads would have been to the detriment of the Cats.”

“Come to think of it... the Triads would have taken over all distribution this side of the river if they were really joining the game,” Spike speculated. “Butch wouldn’t have taken kindly to losing half his distribution zone.”

“No doubt,” Haredevil said gruffly.

“But Butch has no real control outside the Mile” Spike said. “and you know how the triads react to competitors on their turf. It was only a matter of time before they were brought on board. The Cats’ distribution network was always gonna be flimsy otherwise. A temporary arrangement at best.”

“Well, the Butcher clearly intended it to be permanent,” Haredevil said, once again eyeing the carnage on the street. “ACME underestimated him thinking he’d just give up a quarter of the city that easily, but Butch is also overestimating himself if he thinks he can take on the Triads and the Calfones at once. This war is going to be bloody.”

“So I take it, now that you’ve mentioned them twice, that ACME are the masterminds behind Taxi?” Spike said.

“Yes, I pieced it together. They’re the thread connecting everything — the drugs, the gangs, even the Coyote and Fudd I reckon. It’s all their doing.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised but... to what end? They’re a global conglomerate, what are they getting out of peddling drugs in Tolucaville?”

Haredevil’s expression darkened, “That’s the multi-billion dollar question, isn’t it? I don’t know the answer, yet, but there has to be some bigger ploy that we’re not seeing.”

“Shall we bring in the Cat & Mouse again?”

“No,” Haredevil said sharply. “They’ve already done enough, and put themselves in enough danger. You and I will have to take care of things from here on out, Lieutenant.”

Spike nodded with a puff of his cigar, before the silence in the alley was interrupted by his radio.

“Lieutenant Spike, come in, Lieutenant Spike!”

“What is it?” Spike said gruffly. Then his ears drooped and eyes went wide. He turned back to the Haredevil.

“Another explosion,” he said. “On Warner Boulevard.”

“Calfone territory...” Haredevil said. “That must have been their delivery point.”

“And just a mile down the road from ACME Tower,” Spike muttered. “This madcat is gonna doom the whole city.”

“Not on our watch,” Haredevil said.

[...]

(Meanwhile, at The Whiskey Whisker)

The Alley Cats were gathered, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke thick in the air. Butch sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

He leaned forward, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his grin widening. "Look at all of you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Couple of setbacks and you start looking like a pack of wet alley strays. Let me remind you — we don’t roll over and purr. The triads, the Calfones, ACME, the cops — they all think they can put us in a corner. But they forget who we are." He took a slow sip of his drink. "We are unbowed, unbent, unbroken. We take what we want."

Butch’s words were powerful, but they were indeed just words. Some of the cats grinned and cheered, but the feeling was not unanimous. A few among them were unsure, uneasy, but none dared voice their concerns. They drank, forcing laughter and cheers, masking their doubts behind the haze of alcohol and the raucous celebration.

Clutch was one of those, yet after exchanging some uneasy looks with the others, he stood up, lifting his glass higher than the rest. He spoke cleverly, "A toast... to the boss who doesn’t kneel to some fancy schmancy suits up in their skyscrapers, who doesn’t take crap from some washed-up guineas who think an old name makes them untouchable, or a bunch of orientals thinking they can take what’s ours! To the one who’s gonna carve our name into every damn street! To the Butcher, the Don in the North!”

The others followed suit, chanting in unison with drunken conviction. “The Don in the North! The Don in the North!”

Butch watched with a satisfied smile and leaned back in his chair. He was at war with half the city now, but he had faced steeper odds before. A decade ago, he had conquered Madd Mile with just ten cats, taking on both the police and half a dozen petty gangs at once. But it seemed the city had forgotten his wrath...

It was time to remind Tolucaville why he was called the Butcher.

Chapter Text

(BunnyCorp Tower, top floor – Bug’s office)

Bugs Bunny sat behind an enormous mahogany desk in his office, sipping a glass of carrot juice and mindlessly signing some papers, the contents of whom he did not know nor care for. The TV was set to the news channel, but running the same old story since morning about the mysterious flying hero clad in green, who had rescued the stranded space station single handedly.

He finished signing the last paper just as his right-hand man, Lucius Wolf entered the office. Wolf all but ran the company on his behalf, leaving Bugs free for his other commitments.

“Done with those, Mr. Bunny?” he asked, gesturing towards the stack of papers.

“Yeah, they’re all yours,” he said, passing them to him.

The sound of breaking news caught both their attention. A press conference at the mayor’s office was underway. A podium emblazoned with the Tolucaville city seal stood before a row of microphones. Behind it loomed the towering, bald, bloated figure of Mayor William Sunfisk, flanked by the police commissioner and other officials.

The mayor’s voice was oily and theatrical, his solemn, determined expression betrayed by the slightest of smug smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Good citizens of Tolucaville, I come before you tonight with resolve in my heart and duty in my soul…”

Bugs leaned forward on his desk and narrowed his eyes.

“For far too long, this city has been plagued by vigilantes, radicals, and masked freaks operating outside the law. Yes, crime runs rampant — but it is not the job of costumed amateurs to restore order. That is the duty of your elected officials and your brave, uniformed police!”

Sunfisk gestured to the line of officers behind him. Some among the crowd clapped, though most did not.

“That’s why, I am proud to announce the formation of a new task force — a dedicated unit with full jurisdiction across district lines. Their first mission?”

He leaned into the mic.

“Bring the Haredevil to justice.”

The camera flashed as reporters shouted questions. Sunfisk raised his hand for silence.

“Let me be clear: the Haredevil is not a hero. He is a criminal. No better than the ones he claims to oppose. And Tolucaville will not be held hostage by masked men with... with delusions of self-righteousness.”

Bugs’ jaw tensed. The screen cut to footage of recent chaos — wreckage from the Chinatown blasts, buildings still smoking, shattered glass littering the streets, and aftermaths of retaliatory shootouts in Madd Mile. The anchor’s voiceover chimed in:

“...sources say the destruction was a result of an ongoing turf war between rival gangs, but no official confirmation has been provided. The mayor instead continues to blame the Haredevil for the growing unrest...”

Bugs picked up the remote, paused the footage, and stared at the frozen image of the mayor’s smug face mid-speech.

“You’ll sell this city to the highest bidder, won’t ya, Will?” Bugs muttered.

“Seems the city’s turning on you, Mr. Bunny…” Lucius said.

Bugs didn’t respond at first. He set his glass down and slowly stood, walking toward the window. Rain slid down the glass. Bugs took a deep breath and took in the view. There, across the river, was the root of all evil in this city – ACME Tower.

“I gave them hope,” Bugs said, almost to himself. “But now Sunfisk is giving them fear. Him and his handlers at ACME. This task force...” he repeated, watching the headline run across the news again.

“This. Means. War.”

[...]

Bugs exited the office an hour later and sat down in the back seat of the car with a tired groan.

“Anoth-eh-another t-tiring three hour work day, Master Bugs?” Porky said dryly.

“Tiring for other reasons,” Bugs said. “I trust you’ve seen the news?”

“N-n-naturally,” Porky said. “I suppose Lieutenant Spike’s friendship is going to come real handy now.”

“Hmm...” Bugs said. “There’s nothing else on the agenda for today right? I wanna catch up on some sleep.”

“I’m afraid you have to attend the fundraiser for the Riverrun Harbor at 7, Master Bugs.”

Bugs groaned. “Ah yes, of course. The fundraiser, where I’m expected to donate to the very organization I’m fighting.”

Technically the fundraiser in question was organized by the city, for the development of Riverrun – Tolucaville’s secondary and long neglected harbor, in Old Toluca. But Bugs had little doubt that the sudden attention towards Riverrun was a move by ACME – to replace Madd Mile’s harbor as the city’s primary trade hub. A strategic manoeuvre meant to further weaken the Alley Cats.

“Now, now, Master Bugs,” Porky said. “You need to maintain app-p-pearances. You’ve already skipped the last three events.”

“Ugh... fine,” Bugs said. “I’ll go, but we’re leaving early.”

[...]

(Later that evening, downtown Tolucaville)

The venue was already teeming with Tolucaville’s rich and famous, yet the arrival of Bugs brought a special buzz to the scene. The paparazzi all but flocked to his limo when he arrived and nearly blinded him with the flashing photographs. Bugs, as he had learned to do so well, swallowed his disdain and put on his trademark charming smile and headed into the venue, security parting the crowd of paparazzi to make room for him.

Inside, Bugs quickly greeted whoever came his way and then withdrew himself to the corner, grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, and began sipping it. He was trying to avoid interacting with the guests as much as he could. The whole lot of them made him sick – snivelling little toads with too much money and no dignity. Tonight they were all, knowingly or otherwise, about to further fan the flames of ACME’s schemes. No doubt their generous donations were contributing to the anti-Haredevil task force as well.

To think that Bugs sacrificed the peace of his nights, put his own life on the line to protect Tolucaville, and for what? Just for the city to try and eradicate him instead of the actual parasites eating away at it... and tonight he was expected to rub shoulders with the same people who had made such corruption possible. Bugs mulled over these thoughts, his mood soured further and he was seriously considering making up some excuse to leave when a great, white, feathery arm reached out of the crowd and grabbed his shoulder.

“Ah, Bugs, there – I say – there you are!” Foghorn Leghorn, the great big bumbling rooster, exclaimed with a hiccup as he wrapped his arm around Bugs and pulled him closer. “Been looking every for you, son. *hic* I thought you were a no-show again!”

“Hello Foggy,” Bugs said, slipping out from Foghorn’s shoulder-crushing grip. The rooster was overbearing on the best of days but among the current crowd Bugs did not mind his company. As far as general scum factor went, he ranked close to the bottom. “I’m not sure how you missed me, my entrance drew quite some attention.”

“Ah well, I was probably just busy er... indulging mahself!” the rooster said with a hearty chuckle, his words slurring through the heavy southern accent.

“How are you drunk already, the event’s barely started,” Bugs said in disbelief.

“Heh, son,” Foghorn said, in the fatherly tone he frequently (and often unwelcomely) adopted when talking to people. “I’ve been attending these events since you were a boy – getting drunk is the only way, I say, the only way they’re bearable!”

“Yeah, I’ll drink to that, cheers” Bugs said in agreement, and gently clinked his glass with Foghorn’s.

“Ah, gentlemen,” a third voice said. Bugs turned to see a man dressed in a sharp black tux – the trousers of which were short of the ankle by a couple inches – with a red bow tie, oily centre-parted hair, round glasses, and sporting a smile greasier than his hair. The man Bugs now knew to be the evil mastermind behind Taxi – Mr. Luther J. Chairman, CEO of ACME Corporation.

“Mr. Leghorn, a pleasure as always,” he said as he shook hands with Foghorn Leghorn. Then he turned to Bugs and smiled. “Ah, Mr. Bunny... pleasantly surprised to see you here. Nowadays you’re almost as elusive as the dreaded Haredevil himself.

Bugs merely returned the remark with a smile, then asked, “How’s business, Mr. Chairman?”

“Business is booming, Mr. Bunny,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “Yes, booming indeed. A fine time to be the CEO of a global conglomerate, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’d say that’s most times,” Bugs said dryly. Foghorn laughed uproariously, earning stares from some people nearby.

“This boy, I say, this boy, Chairman,” he said through chuckles, patting his belly. “A breath of fresh air among us old croaks, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Mr. Chairman agreed with a polite, yet forced smile. An uneasy silence befell the trio, and Bugs excused himself to the restroom as a means of escape. He returned to the main hall a few minutes later. The buzz of clinking glasses and shallow conversation drifted through the air like perfume — cloying, expensive, and utterly exhausting.

A shimmer of silver in the corner of his eye stopped him dead in his tracks.

She was radiant — dressed in a flowing, silver satin gown that hugged her just enough to be noticed, but not to beg for attention. Her blonde hair was swept into a graceful twist, and when she turned slightly, the crystal chandelier overhead scattered its light across her like stardust. She was the most beautiful rabbit he had ever laid eyes on.

For a moment, Bugs forgot how to walk, then he composed himself. He stopped a passing waiter and said, “Hey pal, you got any clue who that is?”

The waiter followed his gaze, then said, “I’m sorry sir, but I’m only the waiter.”

Bugs slipped a hundred dollar bill into the waiter’s jacket pocket.

“That would be Ms. Lola Bunny, sir.”

 “Lola...” Bugs repeated. He smoothed his ears, took a deep breath and strolled forward like he owned the floor beneath him (which, all things considered, he probably did).

“Now what’s someone like you doing in a place like this?” he said, stopping a few steps away and sporting his signature lopsided grin.

Lola turned to him, brows raised. “Trying to survive it. And you?”

He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “I was just rescued.”

“Oh? From what exactly?”

“Boredom. Pretension. A second helping of bad shrimp canapés.”

She chuckled. “That sounds like a real emergency.”

“It was,” Bugs said, stepping closer. “But then I saw you, and suddenly I forgot all about it. You always shine this bright, or is it just tonight?”

“Wow,” Lola said, tilting her head, amused. “Do those lines usually work?”

“Only when I mean ’em,” he said smoothly. “Name’s Bugs. Bugs Bunny.”

“I figured,” she said, sizing him up. “You walk like someone whose name people already know.”

“And you look like someone they’d make statues of,” Bugs said, eyes twinkling. “Let me guess — Lola?”

“Someone’s done their homework.”

“Lucky guess,” he shrugged. “But I’m hoping the luck holds.”

Lola arched a brow. “And what would you of all people need luck for, Mister Bunny?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bugs said, pretending to ponder. “Maybe use it for a chance to hear you laugh. Or convince you to skip the inevitable boring speech with me. Maybe sneak out the back and grab something decent to eat.”

“Tempting,” she said, sipping her rosé. “But I’m still deciding if you’re charming… or just very practiced.”

Before Bugs could fire back another quip, the sharp chime of a champagne glass being tapped rang through the hall. The moment shattered like glass, much to Bugs’ immense irritation. They both turned toward the ballroom, where Mayor William Sunfisk, enormous and bald, stood on a low stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed, “may I have your attention please?”

The crowd settled into a hush as Mayor William Sunfisk tapped the mic, his wide grin oozing false humility. He adjusted his tie, basking in the silence like an actor before curtain call. Once the crowd had quietened, he began in an oily, practiced voice, “Tonight, we gather to support the rebirth of Riverrun Harbor — a bold new step in Tolucaville’s bright future, aiming to create jobs and bring prosperity to our great city.”

Scattered applause. Clinks of crystal glasses. Bugs listened with only one ear.

“But more than just economic revival,” the mayor continued, “tonight is about celebrating hope. Not the kind offered by masked vigilantes — no, no. I’m talking about real, tangible hope. That’s what the project is truly about.”

Yes, yes, of course. Hope, that’s what it was about. Definitely not about lining the mayor’s and ACME’s pockets.

“Now, on a related note,” the mayor said. “As you all well know, the city is going through a troubled time. Now, more than ever, we need... a hero. Not costumed freaks and rooftop prowlers masquerading as champions of the law... self proclaimed devils in the night who answer to no one and only contribute to the chaos they claim to oppose. No, allow me to introduce a real hero, one who will work alongside our police to restore peace and order to the city. You may know him from the recent news, he is after all, the one who rescued the space station single-handedly. Please welcome... the brave, the gallant, the one and only... DUCK DODGERS!”

The double doors of the hall swung open, and in flew the mysterious new hero – his suit was green from the waist up, black from waist down, with white gloves and boots, a green domino mask and a red cape. He was surrounded by an aura of green energy as he glided over the cheering crowd. He landed besides the mayor and shook hands with him, allowing everyone to get a closer look at him, and underneath the garb was a black duck that Bugs recognized all too well.

[...]

“Daffy?!” Bugs said, approaching the duck after the mayor’s speech had ended.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Duck Dodgers said, turning to Bugs.

“You live with me!”

“Ugh, sheesh, keep it down,” Daffy said. “Obviously I know you Bugs, ever heard of a secret identity?”

Bugs silently cursed himself. “Yeah, right, sorry, it’s just- you, a superhero? Is this what you’ve been up to since you vanished from the house? How on earth did-”

Daffy grabbed Bugs by the arm and dragged him to a secluded corner, away from prying eyes and curious ears. “Alright, let me explain. It all started when I was living with you in your mansion. In order to afford the rent-”

“What rent?”

“The rent for staying with you.”

“Daffy, I never said you had to pay rent-”

“-in order to afford the rent, I got a job at That-a-Burger downtown,” Daffy went on dramatically, ignoring Bugs’ interruption. “Every day for six months, I toiled in the kitchen, flipping burger patties at barely minimum wage. Then one day, after another gruelling shift, I decided I’d had enough! Why should I break my back every day just to make some fat, rich CEO even fatter and richer? It was time for change! But alas, wherever I looked, I saw more of the same – corporate greed eating society from the inside out! And so, I decided to go to the one place left still uncorrupted by capitalism – space!”

Bugs blinked at Daffy as the duck posed dramatically, staring into the distance with his fist raised in the air.

“Wow,” Bugs said. “I never took you for the communist type.”

“What’s a communist?”

“Never mind,” Bugs said, rolling his eyes. “So how’d you get to space?”

“The space station mission, dummy.”

“You snuck on to the rocket?” Bugs asked incredulously.

“No, silly, I was hanging on the outside the whole time.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I was hanging on to the outside of the ship in orbit when all of a sudden, this strange green cosmic radiation struck the space station, and I was exposed to it directly.”

“And that’s how you got your powers?”

“Will you let me finish my story?”

“Right, sorry.”

“When the radiation hit me, I blacked out,” Daffy continued in a low, serious tone, eyes closed as if recalling a past experience of great pain. “Darkness took me, and I passed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead, as my spirit travelled from the heart of the galaxy to the very edges of creation and back, past nebulas and strange alien worlds. What felt like millennia was in fact, only a few moments as I returned to my body. I realized the space station had been crippled by the cosmic rays, and I knew immediately what I had to do! Using my newfound powers I flew the space station safely back to earth.”

He snatched Bugs’ drink right out of his hand and downed it in a single big gulp.

“Thanks, I’m parched from all that talking,” Daffy said as he tossed the glass aside. “Anyway, when I got back to earth, I found out I was already making headlines! Then I was approached by the mayor to return to Tolucaville and become the city’s hero, and how could I refuse my city’s call in its hour of need?”

“Daffy, that’s... that’s very noble of you, but don’t you realize that the mayor is-”

“Calling me,” Daffy said, looking past Bug’s shoulder to see the mayor gesturing him over. “Talk to you later!”

Bugs watched Daffy hover off back to the crowd, and hung his head dejectedly before making his way back to the party as well. The air in the ballroom was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and the sickly sweetness of false laughter. Bugs navigated through the crowd, trying to find Lola again.

“Bugs Bunny,” a smooth voice said from his side. Bugs recognized it, and turned to face its owner. A fifty-something man with slicked back hair greying on the sides and a thin moustache, dressed in a black tux with a red rose in the front pocket. Marcine Calfone, the head of the Calfone crime family. His voice was low, casual, deceptively friendly. “Tolucaville’s golden boy.”

“Mr. Calfone,” Bugs said dryly. “Aren’t you a refreshing sight in this circus of moral ambiguity.”

“You flatter me, Mr. Bunny,” Calfone said with a chuckle. “But I wish I was as saintly as you think.”

“You misunderstand me,” Bugs said. “You see, moral ambiguity implies the uncertainty of a person’s morals. With you, there is no such uncertainty, as you have none to begin with.”

Calfone’s face soured. Bugs was perhaps the only person in Tolucaville who had ever dared say such words to the crime boss. Bugs could fake politeness to a lot of people, but never Calfone.

“You remind me of your father in so many ways,” Calfone said. “Capable of so much, yet blinded by their sense of-”

“My father will be remembered for his deeds in life,” Bugs cut him off, not giving him the chance to begin his monologue. “And so will you. But history will treat you both very differently.”

Before Marcine could retort, Luther J. Chairman appeared, materializing like a shadow.

“Gentlemen,” Chairman said with a crisp nod. “Enjoying the evening, I hope.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Marcine replied, the subtext heavy.

Chairman and Calfone exchanged a glance at Bugs, then at each other. Calfone shook his head slightly, almost unnoticeably. Whatever the gesture meant, Chairman seemed to understand.

“We’re standing at a great turning point in our city’s history, Mr. Bunny,” he began. “You have a choice, you can be a part of the city’s bright future... or be left in the past. Prosper, or perish.”

Bugs laughed. “Mr. Chairman... your promises of prosperity and wealth would be better spent elsewhere. I can buy every gold watch, every diamond ring, every designer outfit in this building and be richer by midnight than I was at the start of the day. I have no use for your promises.”

“Mr. Bunny,” Chairman said, with the tone of an impatient adult explaining something to a small child. “Your family is the oldest and richest in Tolucaville. The Bunny name is in the very foundations of this city. I urge you to reconsider... it would be a shame if the very city your forefathers helped build were to leave you in the past. Riverrun is a golden opportunity-”

“You know,” Bugs cut him off. “It’s kind of funny. This whole time I’ve been thinking that Riverrun was a project initiated by the city – but not even the mayor himself is selling this thing as much as you are, Mr. Chairman.”

“Mr. Bunny, you’re intelligent enough to know this, but there’s a difference between running the city,” he lowered his voice and glanced towards the mayor. “And owning it.”

“Owning it means you’re responsible when it burns,” Bugs said. “Are you willing to take that responsibility?”

“I did not expect such childish retorts from someone who comes from a family of legendary businessmen,” Chairman said. “Think of what your ancestors would want.”

“I know exactly what they’d want,” Bugs said, a tone of finality in his voice signalling the end of the conversation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Bugs left them and headed to the balcony, fully aware of the dark glares he was getting from Chairman and Calfone. He needed fresh air, another minute in that hellhole and he would have burst. He took a deep breath outside and tried to calm himself, but his hands were shaking with anger. This cursed city... those cursed crooks back there... they’d even stolen Daffy, his oldest friend from him...

He leaned against the stone railing, closing his eyes for a moment and taking in the cool night air. His mind replayed the conversation with Marcine and Chairman like a needle stuck in a groove.

Suddenly, he became aware of another person present on the balcony. He opened his eyes and turned slightly. Lola was already there, resting one elbow on the railing, her silver gown catching the faint light from inside. She didn’t look at him right away. She was gazing out across the river, where ACME Tower loomed like a dark monolith against the skyline.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without turning, she said, “You didn’t look very happy in there.”

Bugs smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Yeah, well... when the wolves start smiling at you, it usually means you’re the next course.”

Lola finally looked at him, a curious gleam in her eyes. “They tried to buy you too?” she asked.

He chuckled dryly. “Tried being the key word here.”

“And what did you tell them?” she said, tilting her head.

Bugs met her gaze. “I told them to go to hell,” he said simply.

She smiled then — not the polite, surface-level smile she had showed him earlier, but something more real.

“Good,” she said. “They don’t deserve anything less.”

“You seem to know a lot about this city,” Bugs said. “But I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’ve heard enough stories from my uncle.”

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Dr. Frankenbeans,” Lola said.

“Frankenbeans?” Bugs said, eyeing Lola up and down and recalling the small, eccentric doctor.

“Don’t see the resemblance?” Lola said with a smile. “My dad, rest his soul, was his adopted brother, and Uncle asked me to take care of his house while he’s locked away in Looney Asylum.”

“Oh, I see...” Bugs said.

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’. “He’s told me plenty of stories about how scummy the elite in this city are. What you did back there was... surprising, I dunno. At first I thought you’d just be a spoilt rich kid, but maybe I was wrong.”

“Gee, you got me blushing,” Bugs said sarcastically, but not without a smile. And for a fleeting second, Bugs forgot everything else — the city, the gala, the wolves in tuxedos. Just being there, with Lola, took his worries away. His anger had cooled.

A sharp burst of applause inside broke the moment and brought Bugs back to reality. Someone was giving a speech. Another hollow promise for the city’s future. Lola turned back toward the ballroom, her expression cooling.

“We should go back,” she said, though she didn’t sound eager.

“Yeah,” Bugs murmured. “Back to the circus.”

He followed her in, slipping once more into the mask of Bugs Bunny, billionaire darling of Tolucaville, but with Lola by his side, it didn’t seem so unbearable anymore.

Chapter Text

Once the fundraiser ended, Bugs had insisted on dropping Lola off at the pier from where she could take the boat to Frankenbeans castle, which she now owned. Lola had refused initially, as the way to the pier was in the opposite direction from Bunny Manor, but eventually gave in to Bug’s charm.

After seeing her off and exchanging friendly pecks on the cheek, Bugs loosened his tie and put his feet up. With a deep sigh, he said, “What a night, huh?”

“Uh-buh-buh-I take it the night wasn’t a c-complete waste though, Master Bugs?” Porky said from the driver’s seat.

“Maybe not,” Bugs said, gazing out the window. “Porky, wake me up when we get back. I need to catch up on some Z’s before heading out.”

“You’re not suggesting going out c-c-crimefighting t-tonight, are you?”

“What else would I be suggesting, Porky?”

“D-don’t you think you ought to take the night off?”

“You know I can’t,” Bugs said. “Now more than ever, the city needs me.”

“Why not let D-d-daffy handle the crime for a night?”

“Because…” Bugs said with a sigh. “I’m worried for him. ACME is using him for their own means. He might end up helping the wrong people without realizing it. I can’t let that happen.”

[…]

An hour later, Haredevil patrolled through the dark streets of New Toluca, which had become the primary battleground for the Alley Cats and ACME. Over the past ten days, Butch had seriously weakened the Triads in the northern parts of the district and taken over some of the neighborhoods surrounding Chinatown, essentially giving himself a buffer between ACME territory and Madd Mile – the Alley Cat heartland.

Despite increased police activity in the area, the violence was showing no signs of stopping. Three police officers had already been killed and a dozen injured in the conflict. What nighttime activity that could once be found in the streets of New Toluca had largely ceased, as people were now too afraid to leave their homes once the sun went down. The city’s second safest district had now descended into chaos.

The Bunnymobile zoomed through the streets, a crime-vessel on wheels dispersing justice as it went. It was already proving to be one of Haredevil’s busiest nights in a while, and he hadn’t even hit the usual hotspots of criminal activity.

“Eh- come in, Bugs,” Porky’s voice spoke on the Bunnymobile’s comms.

“Go on.”

“I’m getting reports of something serious going down at the m-m-museum,” Porky said.

“The museum?” Bugs repeated. “The Alley Cats have gotten that far already?”

“I don’t know for certain if it’s them.”

“It’s not an unreasonable assumption,” Bugs said. “I’ll go check it out.”

“Be careful.”

“You know I always am.”

Porky scoffed and the call ended. Bugs took a left turn and began heading north. The Tolucaville Museum was a grand, white marble building with a great glass dome. The police hadn’t yet arrived by the time Bugs reached, but he could already hear the alarms inside. He parked the Bunnymobile in a nearby alley and grappled onto the roof of the museum, opening a hatch in the glass dome and slowly gliding down, landing gracefully in the dark museum lobby.

The instant he touched down, his ears twitched.

Something was wrong.

Before he could even stand back up, suddenly all the lights turned on and the alarms stopped. Bugs squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. The sounds of boots and loaded guns erupted all around him as a dozen armed police officers emerged from their hiding spots, surrounding him completely.

“TCPD, WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!” an officer shouted. “HANDS IN THE AIR, HAREDEVIL!”

Bugs snarled and looked around. An ambush, a dozen guns pointed at him. He had to think fast. He was still crouched – his cape concealed most of his form, so he detached as many smoke grenades from his belt as his hands could hold and threw them around him, creating a smokescreen. Then he took out his grappling gun and fired it at the dome, lifting himself up out the hatch and dodging gunfire as he went. A helicopter had shown up outside, pointing its light on him.

“HAREDEVIL, STAND DOWN – WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED,” blared the chopper’s loudspeaker.

Bugs ran over to the edge of the roof and jumped – using his cape to glide across the street into the alley where the Bunnymobile was hidden. He climbed into the vehicle and quickly started it. A message from Spike from three minutes ago displayed across the car’s computer screen.

‘DO NOT GO TO THE MUSEUM – IT’S A TRAP.’

Haredevil cursed under his breath – had he taken even a minute longer to get here, he would have gotten the message and could have avoided this mess, but no time for that now. He zoomed out the alley, dodging two police cars as he did and zoomed off into the night.

He managed to lose the police cars on his tail – the Bunnymobile’s speed and maneuvering were after all, second to none. Once he was sure he’d lost them, he rung up Porky.

“Master Bugs? Is everything al-alright? I’m picking up heavy police activity around the museum.”

“There was no emergency at the museum, Pork,” Bugs said. “It was an ambush – by the TCPD task force.”

“An am-am-ambush?!” Porky stammered. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine but that was a close call,” Bugs said. “Lieutenant Spike sent me a warning but it missed me by a minute. I’m coming back to the lair for now.”

“Very well, sir,” Porky said.

The call cut and Bugs began to head back to the manor. Just as the Bunnymobile took a sharp turn past Barbera Street, Bugs’ ears twitched.

Too late.

A blinding flash of headlights surged from the side — BOOM! — an armored TCPD riot truck slammed full force into the Bunnymobile, flipping it onto its side in a spray of sparks and shrapnel. The Bunnymobile skidded, upside down, into a wall and stopped.

Bugs groaned inside the wreck, blood trickling from his brow. He unbuckled the harness and crawled out of the Bunnymobile onto the street. Two armoured policemen got out the front of the van.

“Alright Haredevil,” one of them said. “Let’s see you handle a real devil.”

He opened the back of the truck, and monstrous shape spun out of the back of the police truck — a living whirlwind of brown fur, drool, and rage. It landed with a snarl, cracking the pavement beneath its clawed feet.

“All the way from sunny Tasmania! Give em hell, Taz!”

Taz didn’t speak. He howled, then spun toward Bugs at terrifying speed. Bugs just barely backflipped over the attack, missing the beast’s claws by mere inches. He landed hard and threw a Bunnyrang at Taz, but he caught it in his mouth. He bit down hard and shattered the steel projectile into pieces with his bare teeth, then grinned at Bugs. He lunged forward with frightening speed – Bugs stepped to the side and struck back. Three punches, fast and clean. One connected with Taz’s jaw, another with his gut and the third on his side. The beast stumbled, and for a second, Bugs thought he might have an edge.

Then Taz roared and backhanded him, knocking him to the ground. He then grabbed Bugs by the leg, and swung him in a circle before hurling him straight into a dumpster. Bugs crashed through the metal, rolled, and stumbled back up.

He unclipped two small bombs from his belt and threw them at him, but Taz spun again, faster this time, and the bombs were deflected and exploded midair. Realizing he was outmatched, Bugs threw a smoke pellet and tried to grapple up to a fire escape, but Taz launched through the smoke and snatched him midair.

They slammed into the ground together. Bugs struggled underneath him, elbowed the beast twice, but Taz only growled and smashed his fists into Bugs’ ribs. Once. Twice.

Bugs coughed, gasping for breath.

“Should’ve... stayed in... tonight,” he wheezed.

Taz then delivered a final fist right to Bug’s face, and the world turned black.

[…]

(Meanwhile, at the Cat & Mouse Detectives)

Ever since they’d helped Haredevil with the Taxi business and found out where the missing dogs were ending up (and nearly gotten killed by a dangerous assassin and giant red furry monster), the Cat and Mouse detectives hadn’t had much to do. At first, Tom had welcomed the peace and quiet, but after a few days it had worn off, and he was bored out of his mind once more. You would think, that with crime going through the roof in the city they would be drowning in work but alas, this was not the case. That’s the thing about gang warfare – it left very little room for mystery. 

This is why, when the doorbell rang, Tom’s eyes lit up. A visitor at this hour only ever meant one thing – a case.

“Turn that crap off,” he said to Jerry as he walked over to the door. The mouse was watching the news – listening to the mayor harp on and on about how much of a menace Haredevil was. Tom had no time for such rubbish, he was lost in thoughts of what juicy case was being served to them – what crime could be so grave, what crisis so dire that it would compel a person to traverse across the dangerous city in the dead of night to seek justice?

“Cat and Mouse detectives – at your service!” Tom said, with uncharacteristic excitement as he opened the door. Yet there was no one outside the apartment. Tom blinked and looked around – still no one.

“Eh, senor? Down here.”

Tom looks down at the ground and saw a brown mouse dressed in white, with long whiskers and an oversized yellow sombrero standing by his feet.

“Hey- uh, how can I help you?” Tom said.

“Is Jerry home?”

“Uh, yes-”

“Speedy!” Jerry exclaimed and ran between Tom’s legs to hug the newcomer – apparently named Speedy.

“Cousin Jerry!” Speedy said as he embraced Jerry. “So good to see you again!”

“It’s been too long, buddy, come on in,” Jerry said, leading Speedy into the apartment and closing the door behind them. He then turned to Tom. “Tom, this is my cousin from Mexico, Speedy Gonzales! Speedy, this is my best friend, Tom!”

“Pleasure to finally meet you, senor!”

“Likewise,” Tom said. “Hey, wait I know you – you’re that famous racer mouse, aren’t you.”

“Guilty as charged,” Speedy said sheepishly. “Five-time winner of the Pan-American Marathon!”

“Yeah that one,” Tom said. “So what brings ya here?

“Ah,” Speedy said, taking off his hat and jumping onto the sofa. “This year the Marathon was being held in Mexico, you see. The cartel boss bribed all the racers to lose deliberately so that his nephew would win the gold. The ones who didn’t accept the bribe were threatened at gunpoint.”

“So you’ve come here to escape the cartel because you didn’t accept their offer?” Tom guessed.

“No no, I accepted the bribe,” Speedy chuckled. “Of course I did. I took the money and then won anyway.”

“Oh,” said Tom. “And now the cartel is hunting you.”

“Si.”

“And you need our help to sort out this cartel problem?”

Speedy chuckled again. “Oh, no no senor nothing like that! This is hardly the first time I’ve run into problems with the cartel, but they can never catch me so they just give up after some time. I’m just here to lay low for a bit.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, Speedy,” Jerry said happily. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, cousin Jerry,” Speedy said. “Come, sit, we have so much catching up to do! You must tell me some detective stories!”

“Well, I dunno, those are usually uh, morbid.”

“Nonsense,” Speedy waved a hand at him. “I’ve seen 3 cartel executions with my own eyes, I can handle stories of some gringo thugs shooting each other.”

“Hmm, alright then,” Jerry said. “So our last case was pretty crazy, it started with-”

“Quiet,” Tom said, eyes fixed on the TV.

“Pardon?” Jerry said, annoyedly.

“Where’s the remote, turn the volume up,” Tom said.

Jerry’s eyes fell on the TV. Breaking news was blaring across the screen.

‘CITY REJOICES: HAREDEVIL ARRESTED BY TASK FORCE!’

“Jesus Christ…” Tom said, rubbing his forehead.

“We have to help him,” Jerry said.

“I know but what can we do?” Tom said.

“Try calling the lieutenant,” Jerry suggested.

“If there was something he could do to stop this he’d have done it already,” Tom said. “This wasn’t in his precinct either.”

Jerry rubbed his chin, then looked at Speedy, who looked confused.

“Er… what’s exactly going on, cousin Jer?”

“Speedy… I have a mission for you. You up to it?”

Speedy grinned. “Always.”

[…]

Haredevil regained consciousness in the back of a moving police car. He was wearing handcuffs, his utility belt was gone, but his mask was still on. No doubt the cops who’d tried removing it would have gotten a nasty zap.

His body hurt, all of it, and he was pretty sure some of his ribs were broken, but he did his best to not let out any sound so as not to alert the two officers sitting in the front. His mind scrambled, trying to think of a plan – a way of getting out of here, but a throbbing headache was making that impossible. He had no tools or gadgets, his hands were bound, his body was too sore and his mind too scattered to do anything.

This was bad.

As they turned onto the Main Boulevard the traffic started getting heavier – and they got stuck at a crowded red light. One of the cops happened to look in the rearview mirror and noticed Bugs shifting awake.

“Well, well, looks like sleeping beauty is up!”

He and his partner chuckled. Then suddenly the window on the drivers seat shattered and a small white blur zoomed in, hitting both the cops in the face and knocking them out cold.

Haredevil blinked as he saw a small brown mouse, clad in white with an oversized yellow sombrero hop onto the backseat with him.

“Jerry…?”

“Ahh, no senor,” the mouse said with a Hispanic accent. “I’m Jerry’s cousin, Speedy! Speedy Gonzalez – the fastest mouse in Mexico! He saw the news and sent me to rescue you!”

“Huh… alright then doc,” Bugs said. “Help get these cuffs off me.”

“On it!” Speedy twisted three of his whiskers together and stuck them in the keyhole, shifting and turning until there was a ‘click’ and the cuffs opened.

“You know you could have just taken the keys.”

“I know, but I wanted to do that,” Speedy shrugged. “Come on now senor, we haven’t much time.”

They quickly got out the car and ducked into a nearby alley before they could be seen.

“Let’s get you back to the apartment,” Speedy said.

[…]

“Oh my, my, what did that monster do to you?” Porky said as he tended to Bugs’ wounds back at Tom and Jerry’s apartment – who had been smart enough to send an alert via the communications channel to the Terminal.

“It’s nothing, Porky, I’ve had worse,” Bugs said.

“Regardless, that thing is a proper monster,” Tom said. “How are you gonna beat it?”

“I can’t,” Haredevil said. “But I know someone who might be able to.”

“Who?” Tom asked.

“The only thing that might be able to beat Taz in brute strength. We’re gonna have to fight fire with fire – beast with beast.”

Jerry froze.

“You’re not suggesting-?”

 “I am.”

“Have you checked him for concussions?” Tom said to Porky.

“Listen – Gossamer may seem like a monster, but he’s not evil,” Bugs said. “I’ve been monitoring his behavior – what little I can. He hasn’t attacked anyone, not even animals. He’s intelligent. What happened on the island that night seems to me more like the actions of a creature that was scared and hurt. If we plan this right, we might be able to befriend him.”

There was silence for a few moments. Stunned silence.

“Glad we all agree, then,” Bugs said.

There was a knock on the door. Tom checked and then opened. Spike hurried in.

“Alright, I checked with my guy at the precinct,” he panted. “Your car’s in the impound lot and your belt is in the precinct armory. I can arrange an opening for the little fast mouse to sneak in and get it for ya. The car will be trickier though.”

“Senor, trust me, I can drive. I’m fast enough to move from the pedals to the wheel and back!”

Spike looked to Jerry, who nodded.

“Alrighty then… also, you should get going soon,” Spike said to Bugs.

“Agreed,” Tom said. “This place isn’t safe.”

“We’ll disguise him,” Jerry said. “Then sneak him out.”

“Can we uh… keep the mask on?” Bugs said.

“And be spotted from a mile away?” Tom said. “Listen man, I get why you keep your identity secret but if you haven’t learned to trust us by now…”

“Alright, alright, sheesh,” Bugs said, and he took off his mask.

The room went silent.

“BUGS BUNNY?!” Jerry and Spike said in unison.

“Bugs Bunny?!” Speedy gasped dramatically. “Er… who’s Bugs Bunny, anyway?”

Tom thrust his fist in the air.

“I knew it!”

[…]

(Meanwhile, at ACME Tower, top floor)

Mr. Luther J. Chairman, chairman of ACME Inc., was sitting on his desk. His back was to the rest of his dark office as he gazed out the massive windows at the Tolucaville skyline. A faint green light appeared behind him.

“Why weren’t you at the museum tonight, Mr. Dodgers?” he spoke slowly, deliberately.

“I was… occupied elsewhere,” Daffy Duck – aka Duck Dodgers – said in a low voice.

“If you had been there, as you were supposed to, Haredevil would have been captured instantly. Taz would not have been needed, and Haredevil would CERTAINLY HAVE NOT ESCAPED!”

“It was my first night as a superhero, cut me some slack, man.”

Chairman inhaled sharply.

“This is your first – and final – warning, Duck. No more failures.”

“You got it, boss!” Daffy said with mock enthusiasm, then turned around and left without saying another word.

“Tina? Get in here,” Chairman said on the intercom.

His secretary, a young white duck with long brown hair walked in.

“Yes boss?”

“Keep an eye on our new friend,” he said. “I want to make sure his loyalty does not… waver.”

“Yes boss.”