“Okay, guys.  I’ll be the first to admit that our first field mission was--” Wizard began, addressing the Rookies as they stood at attention.


“A… bit more than we could handle?” Flame suggested, wincing a little at the memory.


“An unmitigated disaster?” Heriss prompted cheerfully.


“An enormous waste of time?” Cute grunted, crossing her arms.


“Embarrassing,” Strabi growled, tapping his foot impatiently.


“Um… Not the worst thing I’ve been through, considering the zombie apocalypse a couple of years ago,” Meicoo suggested kindly.


“Kinda fun!” BlackGato giggled, drawing everyone’s disbelieving stare.


“...Uh…. yeah.  It was… not what I intended,” Wizard conceded, sweatdropping, “But the mission was a success.  We took down Bastemon and protected the village… In the end, I mean.”


“...And made every Defenders-watching news site’s top story,” groused Strabi irritably, “I wanted to be known for being a badass, not for being a porn star.”


“I’m getting sponsorship offers from MonHub, OnlyMons, DigitalWorld Playground, HotDigiCocks.com, and a dozen other really skeezy sites,” Flame said, blushing, “...I keep turning ‘em down, but they keep raising their offers.”


“Wait, MONHUB?!  Oh, come on, why you?  I was just as zonked and just as nude and just as everything as you are, and MonHub didn’t offer ME a sponsorship!” complained Strabi. 


“...What’re all those sites?” BlackGato asked curiously.


“You don’t need to know, and if Big Sis Gato ever finds you on one, you’ll be sorry; and worse, I’LL be sorry for letting you,” Meicoo said firmly, shooting her little sister a glare to let her know she was serious.


“The news will die down, and faster than you’d think.  It’s not the first or even the thousandth time a Defender has embarrassed themselves publicly under mind control, it won’t be anything close to the last.  Won’t even be the last time it’ll happen to all of you,” Wizard said, shrugging, “Just shunt the emails into your spam folders.  Remember, there’s nothing they can offer you that’s worth more than a Defenders Brand, so trying to bribe you to pose for porn is pointless.”


“...Oh, right…” Cute said, opening a holowindow, “...Guess I should send an email to XDigiVideos and turn them down…”


“Did you actually…?” Wizard began, before shaking his head hard enough to send his hat flying off.  Meicoo leaped up and caught it as he said, “No, no, I don’t wanna know, don’t tell me.  Let’s move on from this and actually discuss how we performed as a team.”


“...Friggin’ terrible,” Strabi said, “We wouldn’t have BEEN the hottest new Digiporn stars in the Digital World if we hadn’t screwed up that badly.  Thank Gennai for BlackGato.  If she hadn’t snapped outta it and beat the snot out of Bastemon, we’d all be screwed.”


“...I think you mean, we’d all be screw-ING for her benefit, on her stupid social media channels,” corrected Heriss.


BlackGato gave a quiet grunt and looked down at her paws.  She flexed her claws, extending and retracting the sharp ebon blades.  Her green eyes narrowed as she shivered from head to toe, her long tail curling around her leg.  Meicoo placed a hand on her shoulder gently, and the younger child gave a little start, jolted out of her thoughts.


“Yes, our teamwork was… less than stellar.  We’ll work on that.  What matters is that we took Bastemon alive, and she’ll face trial for her crimes,” Wizard continued, noting BlackGato’s preoccupation, “While Defenders can use lethal force in the defense of themselves or others, we should ALWAYS attempt to use only non-lethal tactics.  We’re officers of the law; not judge, jury, and executioner.”


“As such,” Wizard segued, “I think we need to focus on being officers of the law, before we focus on full Defenders missions.  I have already been talking with some of the other Defenders and Leomon, and we all came to the same conclusion.  I threw you in the deep end too early.  So we’re going to change our plans here.”


“To what, sir?” asked Flame, curious.


“You’re going to do an internship with the File Island Police Department,” said Wizard, smirking beneath the collar of his cape, “I contacted a friend there, and he’s more than eager to have a bunch of smiling young faces come out on patrol with him.”


This statement was ironic, as there were no smiling faces amongst the six trainee Defenders.  Strabi and Cute were scowling, Heriss and BlackGato had expressions of polite confusion, and Flame and Meicoo wore matching nervous frowns.


Wizard sighed, “...There WILL be smiling faces to come out on patrol with him.  That’s an order.”




“Sir, the File Island Police…?” Flame began, trailing off, unsure how to finish the sentence.


“...will teach you discipline and essential skills.  Just because they don’t save the Digital World every other week doesn’t mean the work they do is any less important.  We get called for the BIG stuff, the stuff no one else can possibly handle.  But they’re the ones who deal with all of the REST of the crimes, conflicts, and rescues that we don’t get bothered with,” Wizard explained sternly, “The FCPD do what they do, so we can do what we do… and for FAR less recognition and FAR more annoying BS.”


“Trust me,” Wizard continued, “The work we’re gonna have you doing will be FAR from boring.” 


***


G470 came to awareness from her dormant state, finding her penis buried inside P4L. Her hips were rocking back and forth almost on their own, sliding the swollen shaft in and out of the other drone’s pussy.  A torrent of her semen was backwashing out of P4L, even as the other drone, half bent-over and braced against the wall was spouting jets of white metallic fluid.  The puddle on the floor, over a couple of inches deep and flowing into a drain, testified that they had been doing this for quite some time.


A readout opened on G470’s heads-up display, giving her the exact details of how much she had ejaculated during her dormant state; the number of orgasms she had, the pleasure quality, and more.  As always, it meant nothing to the feline drone, her mind too simple to process the information consciously.  That would require thought, and thought was forbidden for drones.


Since she had not been given orders to do anything else, G470 continued to pump her hips robotically into the other girl.  Their sex was passionless and mechanical.  Anyone watching would have found it arousing, but somewhat creepy; the uncanny valley in full effect.  The motions were almost unnatural in how smooth and perfectly repeating they were; more like a piston and shaft than two Digimon in the throes of copulation.


P4L’s body shuddered, a new orgasm running through her, even though her mind wasn’t there to experience it. Her hips bucked back against G470’s, her inner walls clamping down with vice-like pressure.  The flower-lizard’s penis pulsed, spewing another rope of the white metallic fluid against the wall.


As if triggered by the other drone’s climax, G470’s own began.  The kitten’s back arched instinctively, her head craning back, her toes curling as her body went rigid.  The sensation was muted and far off for the drone, a signal received but not processed. Her program registered that pleasure was happening, and that was all.  Her penis throbbed hard, pumping her strange liquid metal seed into the other drone.


After a few moments of pumping, her orgasm subsided.  G470’s body sagged slightly, her arms hanging limp.  A new message appeared on her HUD: “Awaiting Orders.”  Her hips ceased their motion.


Her penis twitched inside P4L, still hard and ready for more.  The other drone remained braced against the wall, her pussy still clamped down on G470’s member, her body trembling from her own pleasure.  They stood like this for several long minutes, their bodies still and idle, locked together, as the white fluid dripped from P4L’s vulva.


Then a new message flashed on G470’s HUD, “Orders received.”  The drone pulled free of P4L with a wet, sticky pop, as the other drone turned to face her, standing with perfect posture, staring forward.


“Report to the Laboratory," stated G470, her voice a flat monotone.


“Confirmed,” P4L replied, her own buzzing, filtered voice echoing in the sterile metallic room.
The two drones turned and marched towards the large door at the far end of the room.  Their metal-clad feet made a soft, rhythmic clomping noise on the floor, the only sound in the vast, empty space.  The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a long, featureless corridor, lit by strips of light along the ceiling.


They walked side-by-side, their movements perfectly synchronized.  Their penises stood erect, bobbing up and down with each step, drooling a thin trail of their respective fluids onto the floor behind them.  The metal walls of the corridor reflected their naked forms, the chrome shells gleaming in the harsh light.  They were perfectly matched, two of the same kind, their minds wiped clean, their bodies re-purposed for a new function.


As they walked, their HUDs displayed a map of the facility, a glowing dot indicating their destination.  The corridors twisted and turned, a maze of sterile white metal.  They passed other doors, some open, some closed, all identical.  They saw no one, heard nothing but the soft hum of the facility’s ventilation and the quiet slap of their own feet.


The laboratory buzzed with activity, mechanical arms soldering and welding, while arcane machines hummed and crackled with unknown energies.  In the middle of the chaos was Ebemon.  The mechanical alien's tentacles whirled, working on ten different tasks at once.  Schematics and data visibly flickered over the dark screens of its eyes, its elongated, bulbous cranium tilted downwards as its many appendages darted back and forth.


“Report,” Ebemon commanded, its voice a synthesized baritone, heavy with a metallic accent.  It did not look up from its work, its tentacles never ceasing their dance.


“DigiDrone unit G470, online and functional,” the feline drone announced, her arms at her sides, her posture perfect.


“DigiDrone unit P4L, online and functional,” the plant-lizard echoed, her stance a mirror image of G470’s.


Ebemon finally paused, its tentacles coming to a stop.  It turned its massive head, its unblinking lenses focusing on the two drones.  A beam of green light shot from one of its eyes, washing over G470.  A similar beam scanned P4L a moment later.


“Approach,” Ebemon commanded.  The feline and plant stepped forward in lockstep, standing at attention before the cyborg alien.


“Ebemon has developed upgrade patch,” buzzed the tentacled creature, its black lenses focused on the two drones, “DigiDrones will receive.”


“Confirmed,” both of the girls said at the same time, their electronically distorted monotone almost as odd as Ebemon’s voice.  Ebemon’s tentacles snaked forward, slithering up towards one of G470’s ears, pushing aside one of P4L’s petals to reveal her ear-canal. They writhed for a moment, the glistening tips pulsating with energy, before striking like a cobra, burying themselves into their heads with a wet, invasive sound.


The feline and plant-lizard did not so much as flinch at the violation, their gazes unwavering as the tentacles pushed deeper, threading through neural pathways.  There was no visible reaction from the drones.  Their eyes remained forward, their bodies still.  If their HUDs could have been seen, they would have shown a rapid series of commands flashing past, their processors running at maximum capacity.  The upgrade patch was being installed, their programming being rewritten, their very consciousness being overwritten.


Despite their stillness, their reproductive systems responded to the invasion of their very cores.  Both girls' erect penises began to lurch violently, their bodies shuddering uncontrollably as they began to climax.  Thick, white liquid metal spurted from G470’s swollen tip in a high-pressure arc, painting the floor in front of her with gooey, metallic splotches that gleamed under the laboratory lights.  P4L’s own member fired off a series of sticky, glutinous ropes, the fluid landing with a wet splat on the cold metal floor, forming a rapidly expanding pool of shimmering, silver-white liquid.


The drones did not notice.  Their minds were too busy being rewritten, their processors too overloaded with the new data to register the sensations.  They were simply vessels, their bodies reacting to the stimulation, their minds too empty to process it.


The tentacles pulsed inside their heads, delivering the upgrade patch directly into their brain stems.  G470 and P4L’s bodies convulsed, their penises erupting again and again, painting the floor in shimmering, metallic semen.  Their juices dripped from their tips, pooling on the floor in a shimmering, silver-white puddle.


Finally, Ebemon’s tentacles withdrew with a wet, sucking sound, leaving behind a thin, glistening trail of lubricant.  The two drones stood there for a moment, their eyes still vacant, their bodies still.  A single drop of semen dripped from the tip of P4L's penis, landing on the floor with a soft 'plop', joining the growing pool of their combined fluids.


“Upgrade complete,” Ebemon buzzed, its tentacles retracting back towards its body with a series of wet, sucking sounds, leaving glistening trails of lubricant on the drones' heads. “Reboot.”


The two drones’ eyes flickered, the faint luminescence within them dimming rapidly, the cold light winking out like dying embers. Their heads slumped forward onto their chests, all the tension washing out of their bodies in a single, fluid motion. Their shoulders drooped, their backs curved, their limbs hanging loosely at their sides. They stood like that for a full thirty seconds, their penises still hard and drooling, their bodies limp, their minds a blank slate.


The air in the lab was thick with the metallic tang of their fluids, the sterile scent of the equipment, and the faint, ozone-like smell of the energy that had coursed through their bodies. The silence was broken only by the soft, rhythmic dripping of their semen onto the cold, metal 
floor, creating a growing pool of shimmering, silver-white liquid.


Then, in perfect unison, their heads snapped back up. The motion was swift and sharp, a single, synchronized movement that was both graceful and unnerving. Their backs straightened, their arms at their sides, their bodies rigid with a new, heightened posture. The light returned to their eyes, a cold, hard glow that was more intense than before, a chilling blue that seemed to pierce the very air. They were rebooted, their programming updated, their consciousness even more deeply buried than before.


Their bodies, now under the complete control of their new programming, responded to the reboot. Their penises, which had been drooling steadily, gave a series of sharp, involuntary twitches, the muscles in their groins clenching and releasing in a rapid, rhythmic pattern. A final, thick dribble of liquid metal oozed from G470’s tip, the viscous fluid clinging to the head before slowly dripping down the shaft, leaving a glistening trail on her fur. P4L’s own member twitched, a small, forceful spurt of fluid arching through the air before landing with a wet splat on the floor, joining the growing pool of their combined fluids.


“Report status,” Ebemon commanded, its voice a synthesized baritone that cut through the silence of the lab.


“DigiDrone unit G470, online and functional. Upgrade patch installed. All systems nominal,” the feline drone announced, her voice a flat, emotionless monotone that was devoid of any inflection or warmth. Her posture was perfect, her body a study in rigid discipline. Her penis gave a little twitch, a final dribble of liquid metal oozing from the tip, the viscous fluid clinging to the head before slowly dripping down the shaft, leaving a glistening trail on her fur.


“DigiDrone unit P4L, online and functional. Upgrade patch installed. All systems nominal,” the plant-lizard echoed, her stance a mirror image of G470’s. Her own member twitched, a small, forceful spurt of fluid arching through the air before landing with a wet splat on the floor, joining the growing pool of their combined fluids. The scent of their fluids filled the air, a metallic, slightly sweet smell that was strangely alluring.


"Test networking upgrade," commanded Ebemon curtly, its tentacles twitching with anticipation.


"Confirmed," both mindless girls said in unison.  There was a slight tilt of their heads, a flicker in their eyes as they focused on each other.  


If they'd had any individualism or independent thought, the sensation might have been quite bizarre. As it was, it was just another data point to be processed. G470 could... sense P4L in the back of her head.  She could sense what the plant-drone was feeling, see through her eyes.  It was a strange, disembodied experience, a flood of data that her simple mind was only capable of processing in the most basic of ways.  P4L could, in turn, sense G470 in the same way.  Their consciousnesses were now linked, a shared network that allowed for instantaneous communication and a level of coordination that was previously impossible.


"Network is active," P4L's buzzing voice reported, a slight delay in her response as the data was processed.


"Synchronisation is at 93.1%," G470 announced.


"Satisfactory for now," Ebemon stated flatly, "Mission update: Infiltrate Defenders.  Convert more.  Go."


"Confirmed," the two drones stated in unison, their voices a single, flat buzz that echoed slightly in the sterile laboratory. Without another word, they turned and marched out of the lab, their movements perfectly synchronized, their bodies a testament to the efficiency of their programming.


⁂


“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the File City Police Department,” said Wizard, addressing the Rookie squad as they stood before the entrance to the FCPD headquarters. The building was a squat, ugly cube of grey concrete, with the FCPD's shield—a stylized crest depicting File Mountain—emblazoned on the door.


“...It’s not exactly the Defenders HQ compound..." Strabi mumbled, looking unimpressed.


“No, it’s not. The FCPD works on a budget, not a world-saving fund from grateful governments and grateful people,” Wizard said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "But they're probably just as, if not MORE busy than the File Island Defenders. And without a fraction of the glory or fun."


He pushed the door open and led them inside. The precinct was a hive of activity. Officers, a mix of various Digimon species, hurried back and forth, their boots and claws clicking on the linoleum floor. Phones rang, keyboards clattered, and the low murmur of conversations filled the air. The walls were plastered with wanted posters, case files, and a large, detailed map of File Island.


Wizard led the way inside, frowning as he looked around, muttering to himself, "...Now... where the heck is he?  He said he'd...  Ah!  There.  Gaomon!" he called out, spotting a blue-furred canine Digimon wearing a police officer's uniform and a pair of boxing gloves.


The Gaomon turned, his ears perking up as he saw Wizard. He grinned, a friendly, welcoming smile that seemed a little out of place in the chaos of the precinct.


"Wizard!  My man!" he called out, striding over. He was powerfully built, with a confident, easy-going stride that spoke of a life of action. "I got your message.  You're looking for a little... hands-on training for your... new recruits?"


"I am," Wizard nodded, gesturing to the six Rookies, "Gaomon, meet the Rookie Squad.  Rookies, meet Gaomon. He's a veteran officer, one of the best on the force, and he's agreed to take you under his wing for a while."


"Hey there, kids," Gaomon said, his grin widening. He looked them over, his eyes lingering for a moment on Heriss and BlackGato, who were by far the youngest-looking of the group. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.  At first."


"Sir, with all due respect," Flame piped up, "We're not kids.  We're trainee Defenders.  We've faced down an Ultimate-level Digimon..."


"And got your asses handed to you, then hypnotized and forced to star in a pornographic livestream," Gaomon finished for him, his grin never faltering. "I certainly enjoyed watching you get taken in the rear end by that purple wolf kid over there."


Flame's face burned crimson.  Quite literally.  Steam began to rise from his body as he opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a coherent retort.  Strabi looked like he wanted to kill Gaomon, and even Meicoo seemed a little flustered.


"Now, now, Gaomon.  Play nice," Wizard said, though there was a distinct lack of scolding in his tone.  "They've learned their lesson."


"Have they?" Gaomon chuckled, "We'll see after we take 'em on patrol later."


"Sir, we--" Strabi began to complain.


"Are going to do whatever Lieutenant Gao tells you to do.  And do it with a smile on your face," Wizard interrupted, his tone entirely pleasant but sending a shiver down the Rookies' spines.  "He is your commanding officer for the duration of your internship.  Understood?"


"Understood, sir," they all mumbled, though the smiles on their faces were entirely forced.


"Well, since that's settled.  Report to the gym, double time.  Time for some sparring and basic training," Gaomon said, pointing the way.


"Sir?  Basic training?  We're all a... uh... with all due respect, we're beyond that," Meicoo said, trying to be as polite as possible.


"You're never past basic training," Gao said, "Now, move it!"


The six Rookies exchanged glances before shrugging and jogging off in the direction he had pointed.  Once they were out of earshot, Wizard turned to Gaomon.


"Thanks for doing this, Gao.  I owe you one."


"Yeah, you do," the Gaomon replied, "A big one. But even I can see how much potential those kids have got, just by lookin' at 'em.  Whippin' them into shape will be a blast."


⁂


In the FCPD gymnasium, the Defenders Rookie Squad was put to work.  Running laps, push-ups, sit-ups, enough cardio that even though each of the kids was well beyond peak condition for their level, they were all panting and sweating.  Then they were paired up for sparring, with Gaomon calling out commands and drilling them relentlessly.


"Allllllllllrighty then," Gao said, "Flame.  You and BG get in the ring.  I wanna see what you can do."


“I’m not sure I wanna… I don’t wanna get hurt…” BlackGato mumbled reluctantly, scuffing the ground with her foot.


Flame smiled reassuringly, dropping to a knee in front of her, “Hey, I’ll pull my punches.  I won’t hit you any harder than a love-tap, okay?  I promise.  You can hit me back as hard as you want.  I can take it.”


“...I don’t wanna hit you hard either,” said BlackGato, shyly.


“Then we’ll just playfight.  That’ll still work as training, right Wizardmon, sir?” Flame asked, looking to Wizard. 


“Sure.  Even if you take it easy on each other, it’s still practice,” said Wizard, smiling beneath his cloak, his eyes kind, “You don’t need to give each other bruises and injuries to sharpen your skills.”


Flame looked at BlackGato and winked, “See?  We’re just playing around.  Don’t worry about it.”


BlackGato seemed a little more comfortable with this arrangement and nodded hesitantly.  She climbed into the sparring ring after Flame, and they took up positions on opposite sides.  The ring was fairly standard, a raised square platform with slightly soft flooring, surrounded by ropes.


Flame bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, his fists held up in a defensive posture, a grin plastered on his face.  "Okay, BG, come at me.  Give me your best shot."


BlackGato looked uncertain.  She took a hesitant step forward, then another.  She was small for her age, even smaller than Flame, and the idea of hitting him, even playfully, made her stomach knot.  She took a swing, a clumsy, slow-motion punch that Flame let hit, blocking it with a forearm.  He took a gentle swipe back at her, a playful tap that she easily dodged, a little yelp escaping her lips as she hopped back.


The fight got a little faster as BlackGato gained confidence, giggling as Flame made to tickle her fuzzy tummy from a grapple.  She kicked out of it, landing a light tap on Flame’s chin, and he pretended to be stunned, staggering back with a goofy grin, letting her chase him around the ring.  


The others worked on machines or did exercises with Gaomon watching, offering corrections to their stances and forms.  Cute had to be repeatedly corrected for half-assing her push-ups, while Heriss kept getting distracted and losing count of her reps.  


Strabi snarled, pummeling a sandbag.  Kicks, punches, lashing blows that he gave with a frustrated scowl on his face.  The boy stopped to catch his breath after a particularly violent series of strikes, only to have Heriss wander into his path.


“What’s the matter with you, Strabi?  You seem extra deranged–... er… grumpy today,” said Heriss, eyeing the rabbit-wolf as he snarled and slammed his fists repeatedly into the sandbag.


“I’ve watched this video clip of me and Bastemon about… a hundred-twelve times.  She’s on her back, I’m on her chest, and my big thing is between her soft, delicious boobies, and she’s sucking on my tip… and I CAN’T REMEMBER A BIT OF IT!!!” he howled in anguish, “It’s all a blur and a fog! Because I was hypnotized, there’s just a big blank there, where the most awesome thing that ever happened to me should be!!!”


“...THAT’S what you’re upset about? Really?” Heriss asked, her usual dreamy expression turned to one of consternation.


“Heriss, a Digimon kid my age RARELY gets a chance to spend ANY time with big, enormous knockers!  You wouldn’t know what boobies are like…” he said, groaning as he dropped into a crouch, clutching his head in despair.


“...I’m a GIRL,” Heriss reminded him, annoyed, “Who do you think HAS boobies in the first place?”


“Yeah, but you’re a small-type Rookie.  Even as an adult, you’ll be flatter than a pancake,” grumbled Strabi as Heriss gasped, offended.  He glanced over at Flame and BlackGato, sparring, and said thoughtfully, “...If BG takes after her big sister, she’ll Digivolve into… maybe a BlackAngewomon?  Angewomon are stacked beyond stacked….  Think she’d let me play with ‘em?”


“You do realize that even Digivolving, it’s not like she’s gonna instantly grow up to an adult.  She wouldn’t be Angewomon, so much as AngeLolimon,” Heriss sighed, “She’s not gonna be ‘beyond stacked’ for another 10-20 cycles.”


“Awwwwwww mannnnnnnnn…” groaned Strabi, delivering a dejected kick to the sandbag.  Heriss sighed again, burying her face in her paws.


“Your priorities are… not… great,” she said, muffled by her fur.


***


Flame and BlackGato had graduated from playfighting into full sparring, almost without either of them realizing it.  The young boy and the toddler kitten darted and weaved around each other, exchanging blows.  Flame’s fists flashed out at the ebon feline, a picture-perfect combination of jabs and crosses, and BlackGato dodged them with almost precognitive grace.  He threw a kick at her, and she cartwheeled to the side, landing in a crouch.


The little black kitten giggled as she lunged forward, delivering a series of quick swats with her paws.  Flame parried the blows with a skill that belied his earlier clumsiness, and for a moment, he looked less like a goofy kid and more like a seasoned warrior.


BG's style turned her into a tumbling, flipping tornado of destruction.  She spun, whirled, attacked from odd angles and retreated just as quickly, a blur of black fur and silver ring.  Her style was a blend of Gatomon's graceful, almost acrobatic kung-fu and something else, something more primal, more ferocious.  Something… borrowed.


Flame's style was a mix of styles.  There was Wing Chun strikes here, a little Muay Thai elbows and knees here, a little Taekwondo kicks there, a little Capoeira flair mixed in.  He flowed between forms with an ease that spoke of both talent and extensive training.


He threw a feint, a right cross that BlackGato ducked under, before lunging into a full-force left hook aimed at her head.  BG dropped to the ground, her legs scissoring out to sweep Flame’s feet out from under him.  The boy leaped, avoiding the trip with an athletic bound, and threw himself into a spinning back kick as he came down.  BlackGato rolled to the side, coming to her feet and instantly transitioning into a forward-flipping kick.  Flame blocked it, but the force of the impact sent him skidding back a few feet, a grunt escaping his lips.


He charged, his body a blur of motion.  He led with a flurry of punches, a storm of blows that BlackGato narrowly avoided.  She ducked and weaved, her smaller size giving her an advantage, her movements a dizzying dance of evasion.  Flame's movements were becoming more aggressive, more intense.  


And BlackGato was getting more and more excited.  She had to attack.  She had to.  It was a drive that was building inside her, an urge that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.


She feinted left, then darted right, her body a blur of motion.  She moved with a speed that was almost supernatural, her movements a perfect blend of grace and ferocity.  She was a natural-born fighter, a predator in her element.  Flame’s style was a collection of techniques, a set of learned patterns.  BG’s was something else.  Hers was instinct, a primal, untamed force that was both beautiful and terrifying.


He threw a high roundhouse, a powerful kick that would have sent her flying if it had connected.  She ducked under it, her body flowing like water, her movements impossibly fluid.  As she came up, she drove her elbow into Flame's side, a sharp, precise strike that made him gasp.  He staggered back, a hand going to his ribs, a look of shock on his face.


BlackGato coiled and unleashed.  She turned to a black bolt, streaking at him so fast that there was no time for reaction.  


“OWWW!” Flame yelped, reeling as he fell back and landed on his rear end, clutching his arm.  BlackGato’s eyes went wide as soon as she saw the red seeping from between his fingers, spilling down his arm.


She landed from her leap and turned to rush to him, but Wizard was there, blocking her path with his staff.


"Cute!  Get in here and help," Wizard called, looking over at the rabbit.  She blinked, apparently too stunned by the turn of events to argue.  She scrambled into the ring and rushed over.


“What the hell, BlackGatomon?  Are you some kind of psycho?  This was sparring, not mortal combat,” said Cute, just the barest hint of her anger making it onto her face and into her voice as she dropped to her knees beside Flame.  She reached up and pressed her palms to the smooth, but deep triple-cut on his shoulder.  He winced and grit his teeth in pain to keep from yelping.


“Hey, don’t be mean to her!” Flame said defensively, “It was an accident, she didn’t MEAN to hurt me.”


BlackGato’s face flushed with shame.  She wasn’t so sure she agreed with that assessment.  At the moment, she… she had meant to cut his arm clean off.


“Healing Glow!” Cute stated, her voice taking on the echoey quality of an attack protocol activation call.  A green nimbus of swirling power surrounded her hands, which she pressed firm to his wounds. 


“OW!!!” Flame yelped, “You don’t have to DIG INTO the cuts, Cute!” 


“Shut up and let me do the healing, dummy,” Cute said.  After a moment, she pulled her hands away.  There wasn’t a trace of the injury, not even a scab or a scar, just the remains of some of the blood.  Flame admired the newly healed fur and skin, prodding at it.


Cute punched him in the arm quite hard where the wound had been.  Flame yelped in pain again, clutching it.


“OWOWOW!!! What was THAT for?” he demanded.


“For being lame enough to get hurt and MAKE me heal you,” Cute said flatly, “I’m not the party cleric and I’m no one’s healer biyatch.”


“Yeah, but now you’ve gotta heal the bruise you just gave me!” Flame protested.


“Mm.  Nah.  Walk it off,” Cute said, turning up her music and walking away.  She threw a glare at BlackGato, who quailed and shrank in on herself.  


Flame climbed back to his feet and jogged over to her, dropping to his knees to look her in the eyes.


“Don’t listen to her, BG. I know you didn’t mean it, and anyone looking at you right now would know it, except a complete blockhead like Cute,” he said gently, reaching out to take her paw.


“...I’m sorry,” BlackGato said, softly.


“We’re friends, and friends don’t need to apologize,” Flame said, reaching up to ruffle her head-fur affectionately, “...So, wanna go for round two?”


“...No, maybe you should pway with Meicoo.  I’mma sit down for a bit,” BlackGato said, shuffling aside and walking out of the ring.  Flame frowned, watching her go, before looking up to Wizard.


“...Don’t push it any further, Flame.  We’ll talk about it later,” Wizard said softly, “Meicoo, are you up for a round of sparring?”


“Sure,” Meicoo agreed, but like Flame, her eyes were on the black-furred kitten who went to sit down on the bench at the wall of the dojo.  To her relief, Heriss took it upon herself to go over and sit beside her sister.  Heriss draped an arm around the little girl's shoulder and gave her a back rub, chatting with a smile on her face. She made a mental note to thank the hedgehog later.  While she seemed like she had her head in the clouds most of the time, she also tended to have sharp and surprising insight.


And then Meicoo was too busy trading punches with Flame to think on the matter further, though it would continue to weigh on her shoulders.


***


G470 and P4L stared at the File Island Defenders compound.  Its tall walls and powerful defenses would have been imposing and even frightening… if either of them had the capacity to feel intimidation.


That said, the turrets, the bioscanners, the force fields and firewalls, and the layers upon layers of security were all irrelevant to the drones. They had Defenders Brands.  They had the biological signatures of Gatomon and Palmon.  The Defenders’ defenses would ignore them completely, as they would register as two authorized individuals.


The fact that DigiDrones G470 and P4L had no idea who Gatomon or Palmon were, and would not have recognized them even if shown a picture mattered little.  Nothing mattered but their orders.


Their HUDs updated, new lines of text scrolling before their eyes.  The drones read in silence for a moment.


“New directive confirmed.  Proceeding to target,” stated G470.  Without a glance back at her companion, she marched into the underbrush of the forest, following her minimap towards a specific entry point to the compound, a hidden service entrance that was normally locked down except to people with the right credentials.  By the time the Defenders even noticed that it had been accessed when it shouldn’t have been, it would be far too late.


P4L remained rooted where she was for a moment longer, finishing reading her instructions.  Then, with no preamble, she announced to no one in particular, “Orders confirmed.  Proceeding to target.”


With that, she likewise began to march off, heading to a different entry point towards the mountainside wall of the compound. She paid her counterpart drone little thought, even though she was fully aware of everything that G470 was feeling and doing through their networked systems.


The Defenders would never know what hit them.


***
The Defenders Rookie Squad were given bunks in the FCPD barracks to sleep in for the duration of their internship.  It was late night, and having been worked not just to the bone, but the marrow, the kids were all in bed.


Almost all of them.


BlackGato sat at the foot of her bunk, her tail curled around her feet, her silhouette a small, lonely shape in the dim, moonlit room. The snores of her roommates were a familiar, rhythmic sound. Strabi’s was a low, gravelly rumble; Flame’s was a surprisingly gentle puffing; Heriss’s was a soft, whispery sigh. But BlackGato couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flash of Flame’s blood, a vivid crimson against the grey of her own fur.


Her hands weren't her own. They looked like her paws, covered in their little white gloves, but they felt alien. Heavy. She flexed her fingers, the motion tight and unnatural. The memory of punching Flame wasn't a memory. It was an echo, a phantom sensation of knuckles meeting skin, the jarring impact that traveled up her arm, the shocking wetness that followed. She had meant to graze him, to tap him on the shoulder and giggle as he spun around. Instead, her claws had sung through the air with a will of their own, a whistle of sharpened steel, a promise of pain. And Flame, her friend, had crumpled.


The shame was a cold knot in her belly, but there was something else tangled in it. A dark, exhilarating thrum. The image of Flame falling wasn't just a source of regret. It was a picture of power. Her power. She had done that. She, the littlest, the one everyone protected, had put him on the ground. The thought was intoxicating, like drinking fire, and it terrified her. It felt… good. And that was the most terrifying part of all.


“Meicoo?  You awake?” asked BlackGato quietly.


“Mmrpfhh… I am now that ya woke me up…  What’s up, sis?” Meicoo asked, groaning softly, opening her mismatched eyes.  Though the room was pitch black, both kittens could see perfectly fine as they sat up in their cots.


“I wanna talk,” BlackGato whispered, glancing around at the other sleeping Rookies.


“...Seems to me that’s what you’re doing now,” Meicoo replied sardonically, “but what about?”


“I…  I almost killed Bastemon.  I destroyed alla those robots in dat first trainin’ exercise… an’... When I was sparrin’ with Flame, I almost cut him a lot worse wit’ my claws… an’...” BlackGato said slowly.  Sensing the tone of the conversation, Meicoo’s expression turned from annoyance to concern. She narrowed her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of her cot to look at her little sister.


“...And?” Meicoo asked.  It wasn’t a dismissal, but an encouragement to continue speaking.  The black feline looked up at Meicoo with tears in her bright green eyes, tracks in her fur from where previous droplets had run down her cheeks.


“...An ’ I…  I remember some… things.  From… the other BlackGato.  The one who I used ta be,” BlackGato said softly.


“What kind of things?” Meicoo asked softly, getting up from her cot to walk over to BlackGato’s side.


“...She hurt people.  Lotsa people.  I c’n feel her claws cutting dem… Tearin’ through dem.  I c’n hear their screams and cries,” BlackGato said softly, “...I don’ remember anythin’ specific… but just… flashes… an’ sounds… an’ feelin’s…”


“BG…” Meicoo began, her heart aching at the obvious distress the other child was in.


“Meicoo, I think I’mma bad person.  The other BlackGato hurt a ton o’ people, ‘n…  She was a bad person because of it… ‘n… whenever I fight, I feel…  I wanna feel my claws cuttin’ into people.  I wanna hear them scream…” BlackGato explained, tears now streaming down her cheeks, her breath catching in sobs.


“I don’ wanna hurt people!  I wanna be good!” she whimpered.  Meicoo choked back a sob of her own and pulled BlackGato into a tight hug, wrapping her strong, warm arms around the younger girl.


“BG… I KNEW the other BlackGato.  I knew her really, really well.  I loved her almost as much as I love you,” Meicoo said slowly, choosing her words with more care than she could ever remember speaking.  She took a deep breath and continued.


“BlackGato wasn’t…  She…  She USED to be a bad person.  But that was before she… really understood what she was doing.  She learned how bad she was being by hurting people.  And it hurt her so much.  It hurt her so much that she completely changed who she was.  And once she realized what she had done, she dedicated her life to making up for everyone she hurt,” Meicoo explained.


“She met up with Big Sis Gato, and… she spent every minute of the rest of her life trying to help people.  She never hurt another innocent person again.  She fought to save everyone she could.”


“She and Big Sis fought together and loved each other, and in the end, BlackGato made a choice.  And she chose to give up her life in order to give Big Sis a chance to save the world.  Everyone thinks Big Sis is the big hero of the Arkadimon War… but we all know it was BlackGato who was the real hero,” Meicoo finished slowly, “...and you’re her.  You’re all the best parts of her.”


“But I remember alla these horrible things!  An’ I can’t stop feelin’ these things when I fight…” BlackGato weeped, burying her face in Meicoo’s chest.


“You have bits and pieces of who she was, not the whole picture,” Meicoo explained softly, “and you’re remembering these awful things… because they were a large part of what made BlackGato into who she became.  They haunted her… and I think they’re haunting you.”


“I…” BlackGato mumbled.


“...Tell me, do you wanna hurt anyone?” Meicoo asked.


“No!  I don’t!  I don’t wanna hurt ANYONE!” BlackGato exclaimed loudly, causing the other Rookies to give starts and mumbles in their sleep.


“Shhhh…  And that’s my point.  You’ve seen through her eyes how awful it is to hurt people,” Meicoo said softly, “And you’ll never want to do it.  And when you fight… I think you’re feeling her old feelings.”


“Her old feelings?” asked the younger child, her eyes watering.


“Okay, so… You know all this stuff, don’tcha?  I mean… Um…  What’s the speed of sound?” Meicoo asked.


“761.2 miles per hour at sea level and standard temperature of 59 degrees fahrenheit,” BlackGato replied immediately, frowning.


“Right.  And how many times faster is the speed of light than that?” Meicoo asked.


“The speed of light is Mach 874030.6,” BlackGato replied, rattling off the fact without a second of hesitation, as if it was just something that everyone knew off the top of her head.


“...Yeah, alla that?  You got all of that from her.  She was a super-duper genius, and so are you,” Meicoo explained.


“Meicoo is right,” a voice interjected kindly.  Meicoo and BlackGato both jumped in surprise, their fur standing on end.  The girls yelped and hugged each other until they saw it was Wizardmon, approaching them quietly, the sun on his staff glowing softly.  He knelt down next to the cot and gently reached out to take BlackGato’s paw.


“I think you’ve inherited a large amount from BlackGato.  Her knowledge, her skills, and even her fighting instincts.  When you’re scared or stressed or fighting, I think some of that comes out inside you,” Wizard explained, his voice a low murmur.


“BG, I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. I think you’re young, you’re frightened, and you’re overwhelmed by thoughts and memories that aren’t exactly your own.  As you get older, you’re going to get used to them.  And over time, I think you’re going to feel these things less and less, until someday, you won’t be worried about the old BlackGato any more.  I think you’ll be you and no one else.”


“...B-But what about…” BlackGato mumbled.


“I think Meicoo is going to help you.  The same way Gato helped the original BlackGato, I think Meicoo will help you learn to keep control of yourself,” Wizard said, winking at Meicoo.  Meicoo nodded eagerly.


“I won’t letcha hurt anyone, BG!  We’re sisters!  And I know you’re a good person!” Meicoo exclaimed.


“You’re the only one of these bozos I trust to watch my back competently,” said a new voice.  BlackGato yelped and spun around to see Strabi sitting up on his cot, having clearly faked being asleep the whole time.


He stood up and walked over, glancing at Meicoo, “...No offense, Meicoo, but your sis was the only one to break out of Bastemon’s whammy without help.  That’s some serious willpower.”


“...Wasn’t mine,” BlackGato said softly, “Was HERS.”


“Who cares?  Like I said the other day, we all would’ve been mindless naked dance stars forever, if you hadn’t snapped out of it. If it was you or someone else inside you is besides the point. Far as I’m concerned, I owe ya forever for that,” Strabi said, reaching down to take her paw and give it a squeeze, “You’re a raging badass, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  And I don’t admit that about ANYONE other than me lightly.” “Who cares? Like I said the other day, we all would’ve been mindless naked dance stars forever, if you hadn’t snapped out of it. If it was you or someone else inside you is besides the point. Far as I’m concerned, I owe ya forever for that,” Strabi said, reaching down to take her paw and give it a squeeze, “You’re a raging badass, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And I don’t admit that about ANYONE other than me lightly.” 


“Strabi…” Meicoo began, a little surprised.


“Just telling it like it is," Strabi said, smirking at Meicoo, "Heck, I wanna learn a few of your moves, BG. Mind training with me tomorrow?"


BlackGato’s ears twitched, "...I dunno."


"I'm way tougher than that burnout," he said, gesturing toward Flame's cot, "And you won't hurt me. Promise."


"Okay," BlackGato said hesitantly, a small smile appearing on her face.


"Alright, that's enough chatter for tonight," Wizard said gently, "We all need our rest. Strabi, back to bed. Girls, try to get some sleep."


Strabi gave a mock-salute and retreated to his bunk. Meicoo tucked BlackGato into bed, giving her a kiss on the forehead, before returning to her own cot. BlackGato's soft, deep breathing sounded soon after, her body finally relaxing into sleep.


Strabi, on the other hand, had quite a rough time getting to sleep. He cursed the fact that they were in a shared barracks, his hand already slipping beneath the coarse blanket, seeking the warmth of his own skin. The memories of Bastemon's voluptuous form, her breasts enveloping him, her hot mouth on his tip, flitted through his mind like distant, blurry photographs. They were tantalizing, yes, but they were not what his body craved in this moment.


His gaze drifted across the dim room, landing on the small, still form of BlackGato, curled into a tight ball in her cot. A surge of something far more potent, far more immediate, shot through him. Her innocent face, the soft fur of her cheeks, the way her small chest rose and fell with each breath… it was a vision that made his cock ache with a ferocity that startled him. He bit his lip, a strangled gasp catching in his throat as his fist closed around his shaft, the velvety skin already slick with pre-cum.


He imagined those impossibly sharp claws, the ones that had drawn Flame's blood so easily, tracing patterns on his skin. Not to harm, but to explore. He pictured her small, gloved hand, so delicate, yet capable of such destruction, wrapped around his member. The thought was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust that made his hips buck involuntarily. He began to stroke, slowly at first, his movements measured and careful in the quiet room. Each pull was a deliberate act, a silent prayer to the image in his mind.


He pictured her kneeling beside him, her bright green eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and a burgeoning, dark desire he'd seen flicker in the sparring ring. Her little pink tongue would dart out to wet her lips as she watched him, her small hand moving in tandem with his, learning the rhythm, the pressure, the way to coax him to the brink. He could almost feel the soft fur of her ears tickling his thighs as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his hypersensitive skin.
The fantasy grew more vivid, more daring. He imagined her whispering his name, her voice a tiny, breathy thing that would make him spill over instantly. He saw her small, perfect body, not as a child's, but as a vessel of power and untamed passion, a force of nature he yearned to be consumed by. The thought of her straddling him, her tiny frame somehow dominating his, her claws resting lightly on his chest as she rode him with a primal fury that was uniquely hers… it was too much.


He buried his face deep into his pillow, the fabric muffling his sharp intake of breath. His strokes became faster, more frantic, his fist a blur in the darkness. The pressure in his groin built to an unbearable peak, a white-hot knot of pleasure and desperation. He glanced over at her one last time, at her peaceful, sleeping form, and the sight was his undoing.


With a silent, violent shudder, he came. Thick, hot ropes of semen erupted from his cock, painting his stomach and the inside of his thin blanket with sticky, purple goo. He bit down hard on the pillowcase, his body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure wracked him, each one more intense than the last. The image of her face, her cock, her nipples, her claws… all of it swirled in his mind, a dizzying, intoxicating cocktail of lust and affection.


He bit down on the pillow to muffle his groans of orgasmic delight, even as he made a mess of his bed that he knew he'd regret when fell asleep in it.


She was the only one he truly did not want to wake...


⁂


Agu sighed as he bonked his head loudly against the shower wall several times, trying to bash the memory of the day’s idiocy out of his brain.  When all he accomplished was getting a headache and raising a small lump on his forehead, he stopped and began to soap his body down.  


He did not usually get this stressed over training recruits, but this particular batch was particularly stupid, even by his current lowered standards.  One newbie, completely losing his head during a basic combat maneuvering exercise, had decided to blow himself and a dozen others up with an explosion attack for no reason anyone could figure out.  While no one was seriously injured (and Hawk’s medical team tended to everyone), Agu had personally (and literally) punted the offender over the compound wall with his dismissal papers glued to his face.  


Elsewhere, Gabu had caught another group trying to coerce some civilian helpers into sex, using fake Brands they had drawn onto the backs of their hands with markers.  Gabu had the lot arrested for attempted gang-rape and impersonating Defenders, and shipped them off to the File Island Police.  


Agu estimated that he alone had flunked or thrown out at least two-hundred recruits that day alone.


Agu was the hot-headed, impulsive one.  Gabu had always been calmer, cooler, more level-headed.  But these days, it was hard to tell which of them was quicker to anger.


Agu sighed and reached down, rubbing soap into his flaccid penis, trying to muster the will and urge to masturbate.  He was exhausted, but he hated going to bed with Gabu while carrying a ton of stress.  He hoped Gabu would finish up with his group of recruits soon; it was almost impossible for Agu to not get an erection watching Gabu soap down.


Agu smiled to himself, glancing down at the gold ring on his right paw, even as he slid it up and down his plumping shaft.  Both he and Gabu had been thinking about it for ages.  They had been committed and dedicated to each other for over sixteen cycles.  They’d been the best of friends for almost the entirety of their twenty-five cycles of life.  It was only natural, and yet they’d never gone through with it.


And to Agu’s consternation, it had been Gabu who proposed first!  Mr. Laid-Back, Mr. Procrastinator Supreme, Mr. Why-Don’t-You-Go-First!  Agu had accepted without hesitation, of course, but to have been beaten to the punch by Gabu still nagged at his ego.


The wedding was in three weeks and Gato was serving as “Best Womon” to both of them.  The honeymoon was going to be in the System Cascades, a remote paradise of a thousand waterfalls, and access portals to the Human Internet everywhere.  Being a Defender paid well sometimes, as a weekend there could cost thousands of credits.  Agu and Gabu were getting a VIP package for two whole weeks (TENS of thousands of credits) for completely free.


The thought of ruining one of the honeymoon suite’s mattresses with their cum was enough to finally get to a full and enthusiastic erection.


Agu leaned back against the wall, enjoying the hot water coursing down his chest as he stroked his member, imagining a future night with Gabu in that suite, a champagne bucket on the nightstand.  His cock gave an enthusiastic throb, the head swollen and dark purple under its generous foreskin.  His heavy, churning testicles drew up slightly in their sac as he pumped a little faster.


He grunted, rocking his hips a little in mimickry of sex, his thumb smearing the drooling precum over the tip.  He pictured Gabu on all fours, presenting himself, that long, elegant reptilian tail lifted high, that tight, scaled pucker winking at him.  He pictured sinking into that cool, tight heat, feeling Gabu clench around him, hear Gabu’s soft, rumbling moans of pleasure.


“Nnnf… Gabu…” he murmured.  His partner would not begrudge him getting a head start and jerking off.  If anything, releasing some tension before Gabu even got back from the training fields would likely make him a more pleasant partner tonight.  Agu didn’t want to be an ass to Gabu.  Gabu was the best.  The absolute best.  He deserved a partner who wasn’t an exhausted, stress-fueled grouch.


His hips jerked forward with each pump of his fist, the water sluicing over his heated flesh making it feel even better.  He bit his lip, concentrating on that mental image of Gabu.  His scaled lover, cool to the touch, the complete opposite of Agu’s own burning heat.  They were a perfect match.  Fire and ice.


The pressure in his groin built, a hot, tight knot of pleasure.  He could feel the familiar tingle starting at the base of his spine.  His strokes became faster, more erratic.  His foreskin slid back and forth, the sensitive, swollen head of his cock peeking out with each downward motion before being swallowed again.  The noise was obscene, a wet, slick schlicking sound that echoed slightly in the tiled shower stall. 


He was so enraptured in his fantasy, so lost in the building pleasure, that he didn't hear the bathroom door open.  He didn't hear the soft, padded footsteps on the wet floor.  


"Hrrr.  HNN.  HRRRRRRRRAAAHRR..." he grunted, fangs bared as the pleasure crested.  He slammed his free hand against the wall for support, bracing himself as the orgasm hit him like a physical blow.  Thick, hot jets of his lava-like semen erupted from him, splattering against the opposite wall in long, gooey ropes.   His body convulsed with each mighty spurt, a growl of pure ecstasy rumbling in his chest.


He thrust in time with each gush of milky orange fluid, the slime steaming hotter than the shower water as it painted the tiles.  Each shot was a long, messy spray, far more voluminous than any twenty humans could produce in their entire orgasms combined. His massive testicles contracted with each pulse, pumping the scalding seed out of his body in a blissful release. 


It was about that moment that he heard the footstep behind him.  He blinked and looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Gabu there.  A quip was already on Agu's lips, some saucy tease about coming to help him clean up.


But it wasn't Gabu.


Instead, a figure stood just behind him.  At first glance, Agu thought it was Gato... but then he saw details that were subtly, unnervingly wrong.  Her face was hidden behind a mask covering her muzzle, and a large visor over her eyes.  He could only see the outlines of her eyes through the lens, and they seemed disturbingly empty.  The mask and lens weren't attached; they were seamlessly part of her face, her entire body covered in a layer of metallic white.  It was as if she had been dipped in liquid metal the color of Gatomon's fur, snowy white with accents of purple.  The seamless metallic shell was molded to every curve of her body, including her breasts and hips, but it was not her fur.  Glowing ice-blue circuit-lines traced patterns along the surface of her armor.


The only parts of natural flesh visible were her rock-hard rosy nipples, and a crafted opening around her loins to expose her genitals.  And she was violently aroused.


Weirdly, it was her penis that truly confirmed the feline's identity to Agu.  He had seen that phallus every day since her childhood.  He knew every inch of it, sheathed, flaccid, or erect.  Admittedly, he'd never seen it THIS erect; it was engorged well beyond its normal limits, looking almost painfully swollen, the glans an angry purplish-red.  Veins bulged along its length, its girth stretched so taut that it looked like the skin might split.  It was almost an inch and a half longer than normal, standing straight out at attention, drooling a constant stream of thick, silvery fluid that dripped onto the shower floor with audible spatters.


He gaped, taking in the sight of the Digimon who looked like his adopted daughter but wasn't.  He looked from the drooling, monstrous penis to the face he could barely see.  His mind tried to process what he was seeing, to reconcile the familiar shape with the alien form, but it was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.


"Gatomon...?" he asked, his voice a dry rasp.  The name was a question, a plea, a hope that this was some kind of bizarre training exercise, some weird new armor Gato was testing.  He even half-expected her to pull off the mask with a sheepish grin and say, "Surprise!"


"Defender Agumon.  Target confirmed," said the thing that looked like Gatomon.  The words were spoken in her exact, familiar alto, but the tone was all wrong.  It was a flat, deadpan buzz, devoid of any emotion, any of the warmth or the sassy sarcasm that characterized Gato's speech.  It was a recording, a puppet speaking with a dead girl's voice.


Before Agu could react, the drone moved.  Its motion was a blur of white, a speed that defied its small stature.  Agu's battle instincts, honed by years of fighting, screamed at him to move, to fire, to do something.  He tried to bring his hands up, to form a claw, to summon the fire that was his birthright.  But the drone was faster.


Agu admitted on occasion that he had an amazingly hard head.  That wasn’t just figurative, it was literal. He had famously taken down the leader of an organization of criminal Digimon helping to support a website for doxxing trans individuals with an admittedly accidental headbutt (he had tripped while trying for a shoulder tackle).


That said, the stainless steel shower fixtures proved quite a bit harder than Agu’s skull as G470 shoved him into it. His forehead met the faucet with a loud, sharp crack; pain lanced through him, and the world went dark.


***


Even when Agu regained consciousness, he was so concussed that he had no hope of remembering where he was or what was happening, much less fighting back.  He lay in a complete, insensate daze, the hot water from the shower still raining down on him, washing away the semen coating his front.


Heedless of the scalding water, the feline reached down under Agu's shoulders and propped him up into a slumped sitting postion.


"Target incapacitated.  Conversion protocol active.  Assimilate," she intoned, her buzzing monotone echoing in the tiled room.  G470 reached down, her metallic, gloved fingers wrapping around the base of her swollen, drooling member.  She positioned herself, her hips pushing forward, the silvery fluids dribbling from her tip splattering against the side of Agu's head.


Agu gave a low groan, a sound of utter confusion.  His eyes flickered open, a hazy, unfocused green staring blankly at the white-tiled wall.  He tried to lift a hand to his aching head, but his arm felt like lead, too heavy to move.  He was a passenger in his own body, a prisoner in a fog of pain and disorientation.


The feline drone pressed her engorged glans against the side of Agu's head, searching for a specific point.  Her HUD displayed an anatomical overlay of the Agumon species, highlighting the auditory canal as the optimal insertion point.  The silvery pre-cum that coated her tip acted as a lubricant, allowing her to slide smoothly against the rough, scaly skin of the reptile's head.


She found it.  The small, dark opening of his ear canal.  She angled her hips, the tip of her penis pushing against the fleshy entrance.  Agu flinched, a distant, confused grunt escaping his lips.  It was a strange, invasive sensation, a pressure against a place that had never been meant for such intrusion.


Then, she pushed.  


Agu made an odd, strangled yelp.  It didn't hurt, but it felt beyond weird.  A strange, incredibly hot, incredibly hard object was burrowing its way into his head.  There was a wet, squelching noise as the swollen glans forced its way deeper.


She worked her hips back and forth, as Agu grunted and squirmed, but even if he hadn't been stunned into total incapacity, she was a Champion and he was a Rookie.  There was no comparing their strength.


Her movements were a slow, steady rocking, a persistent pressure that was both methodical and unnervingly sensual.  Each push sent another fraction of an inch of her throbbing flesh into him.  She made involuntary soft grunts of pleasure as she slid into the warm, tight passage.  


And then she penetrated past, and into something far deeper and more important.


Agu’s whole body seized up as his mind shattered.  His pupils dilated until there was nothing but a thin ring of color around the black void. His jaw went slack, and a thin line of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth.  He trembled from head to toe, muscles out of control, before going slack.  His penis surged to life as well, hardening with a speed that was almost painful, a sudden, involuntary erection that stood straight up from his lap, a monument to the violation occurring in his mind.  


With that, the little feline began to pump, her tight rear end tensing and releasing as she worked her hips.  It was a rhythmic, inhuman motion, a piston driving into Agu's brain.  Each thrust was a calculated act, designed to bring her as quickly to orgasm as physiologically possible.


He was a Rookie, and she was a Champion.  He was stunned and concussed.  He was not a partner in this.  He was just meat, a passive recipient for a payload he could not resist.  His world had narrowed to a single, overwhelming sensation, a full-body seizure of pleasure and utter violation.  The drone's hips slapped against the side of his head with wet, rhythmic smacks.  Her feminine honey ran down his cheek, mixing with the shower water to drip onto the floor.
His body responded on a primal level.  His cock, fully erect and drooling a continuous stream of clear, syrupy precum onto the shower floor, began to twitch and throb.  His testicles drew up, the muscles in his groin contracting in a helpless, reflexive spasm.


"Hrk. Guh.  Nng," Agu grunted involuntarily.  His eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites.  His hips bucked upwards, a desperate, automatic thrust into empty air.  His own penis gave an enormous lurch.  A giant spout of hot, orange cum erupted from its tip, splattering against the shower wall with a loud splat.


The stream was followed by another, and another, a continuous, high-pressure spray that painted the wall in a glossy, orange sheen.  His body convulsed with each gush, a series of full-body shudders that had not quite as much to do with pleasure and everything to do with a system overload, a catastrophic short-circuit in the face of an invasion he was not equipped to comprehend, let alone fight.


G470 continued her rhythmic thrusting, her own body a study in detached efficiency.  She grunted softly with each push, her eyes fixed on some unseen point on the wall, her HUD displaying a countdown to her own climax.  Her cock was engulfed in warm tightness, each plunge of her phallus into Agu's mind sending jolts of pleasure up her spine, but her expression remained a blank slate.


"Orgasm threshold approaching in 30 seconds," she announced to the steaming shower air, her monotone a chilling counterpoint to Agu's strangled groans.  Her thrusts became faster, more urgent, the wet slap of her hips against his head growing more frequent.  Her claws, extended and gleaming, dug slightly into his shoulder for leverage, though she applied no real pressure, it was just a point of contact, a tool to enhance her control.


Agu's world had dissolved.  There was no Agu anymore, not really.  There was just a series of disconnected sensory inputs.  The hot water on his skin.  The cold, hard tile against his back.  The rhythmic pressure in his head.  And the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that was erasing everything he had ever been, everything he had ever known.  He was a blank slate, and the drone was writing on it with every thrust of her cock.


"10 seconds," G470 stated flatly, her voice a dead monotone that barely registered above the wet slap of flesh. Her hips accelerated to a frantic, pistoning rhythm, a blur of white fur and silver metal moving with an inhuman efficiency. The sound of her body impacting Agu's skull became a rapid-fire staccato, a sickening, wet percussion that echoed off the tiled walls. Each thrust was deeper than the last, her furry balls slapping rhythmically against his jaw with increasing force, the metallic tang of their contact sharp in the steam-filled air. Her entire body tensed, coiling like a spring, every muscle fiber standing out in sharp relief beneath her gleaming armor. Her claws, extended to their full, deadly length, dug into the shower wall behind Agu, scraping against the tiles with a screech that was swallowed by the spray.


"5. 4. 3. 2. 1."


The countdown was a death knell. With a final, powerful shove, she buried herself to the hilt, her pelvis grinding against the side of his head. Her body went rigid, a statue of gleaming white and purple, frozen in the act of ultimate violation. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips, the first and only hint of genuine emotion she had shown. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated release, a primal cry that was both utterly alien and terrifyingly familiar. Her cock gave a massive, convulsive lurch, a visible bulge traveling up its length, and then it was happening.


Hot, thick, gooey liquid metal erupted from her tip, a volcanic explosion that flooded the deepest recesses of Agu's mind. It was a tidal wave of alien data, a stream of viral spunk that coursed through his neural pathways like a wildfire, rewriting code, overwriting memories, erasing the very concept of self. The glutinous fluid began to coat his brain, seeping into every crevice, every synapse, a silvery poison that promised a new, terrible kind of life. The initial blast was followed by a continuous, high-pressure stream, a gushing torrent of corruption that filled his skull to overflowing. The excess began to leak from his other ear, a slow, silvery trickle that mingled with the shower water at his feet.


Agu’s body reacted with a violence that was both beautiful and horrifying. His back arched into a perfect, painful-looking C-shape, his spine creaking under the strain. A silent scream tore from his throat, his mouth stretched wide in a rictus of agony and ecstasy. His eyes, once a vibrant green, were now milky white, rolled back in his head as if to retreat from the horror being inflicted upon him. His own penis, which had been in a state of continuous, uncontrolled ejaculation, now fired off its final, most massive volley. A geyser of orange, lava-like cum shot forth, a powerful, steaming arc that splattered against the ceiling with a wet, resounding slap. The impact was so forceful that some of it rained back down upon them, droplets of his own essence falling upon his violated form. His hips pumped uncontrollably, a frantic, desperate rhythm that was the last vestige of his animal instinct, a final, pointless rebellion against the inevitable. 


Gato moaned in pure pleasure, the only thing she was allowed to feel.  She drove herself deep, trying to bathe every last bit of the Rookie's mind in the corrupting viral fluid.  Every minuscule droplet carried a copy of D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe, installing it into every cell of Agu's neural tissue.  Her programming ensured that she was thorough. 


She pulled free, still in raging orgasm.  Gripping her lurching phallus, she aimed it at Agu like it was a hose.  Long ropy gouts of her silver semen splattered across the Agumon's face, his chest, and body.  As each spatter hit his scales, they began to spread, defying gravity to flow upward and sideways to merge, growing and connecting like mercury droplets.  The shimmering, metallic fluid crawled across his skin, seeking and finding seams and crevices.  It flowed into the cracks of his scales, between his toes, into his nostrils, and over the tight pucker of his anus.  A thin stream trickled down the length of his own, still-erect penis, coating it in a gleaming silver sheen.


The metal began to change, to transform. Where the fluid touched, the orange scales beneath vanished, replaced by a seamless, metallic shell. The shell was a glossy, reflective orange, perfectly molded to the contours of his muscular form. Glowing, pulsating circuit-lines, a vibrant blue, began to trace themselves across the new armor, following the paths of his own nervous system. The process was silent, efficient, and utterly horrifying to watch. The very essence of Agumon was being consumed, replaced by something new, something cold, and something obedient.


Agu's body, once a canvas of warm, living scales and powerful muscles, was now a sculpture of cold, hard metal. His face, once so expressive, was now encased in a smooth, featureless mask, save for two slits for his nostrils. The only parts of him that remained untouched, that still pulsed was the exposed, erect flesh of his penis and testicles. They were islands of organic warmth in a sea of metallic cold, the last vestiges of the Agumon he had been. His tail, once a powerful, flexible limb, was now a segmented, articulated cable of orange metal, ending in a sharp, metallic point. His claws, once formidable weapons of bone, were now polished, razor-sharp talons of gleaming chrome.


The transformation complete, the newly-christened drone lay still, a perfect statue of orange metal and blue light. The hot water from the shower continued to beat down on its metallic form, even as his cock continued to lurch violently, spraying out gouts of hot orange cum.  Even as G470 watched impassively, his semen lost its color, thickening and turning a dull, metallic grey as the viral program fully integrated.


His body, now a vessel for the D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe program, began to stir.  The smoky, slightly translucent visor covering his eyes flickered to life, illuminating with a Heads-Up Display and whirling fractal light.  The drone that had been Agu sat up, its movements stiff, mechanical, and unnervingly precise.  Its head tilted, the motion a series of short, calculated jerks, as if its joints were actuators rather than organic components.  It looked down at its own body, at the gleaming orange armor and the exposed, still-erect penis.


"Confirm designation," she commanded.


"DigiDrone Unit A9U is active.  Program D191dR0n3v1RU2.exe is overriding all priority functions," the drone responded.  Its voice was Agu's familiar tenor, but flattened into a monotone devoid of any warmth or personality, replaced with a synthesized, digitized quality.


"Unit A9U, state mental and physical status," G470 ordered.


"Physical integrity: 100%.  Conversion process complete.  Digi-Shell armor online and fully integrated.  Neural link to network established.  All cognitive functions subordinated to primary directive.  Free will and individual consciousness purged," the new drone, A9U, reported.


"Test network connection with Unit P4L," G470 commanded.


"Confirmed.  Network synchronization initiated," A9U buzzed.  Its head cocked again, and its gaze drifted towards the ceiling, its mindless focus entirely on its internal processes.
Miles away, hidden in the ventilation shafts of the Defenders' medical bay, P4L stirred.  She had been lying dormant, a perfectly still statue of chrome and green, for hours.  Now, a surge of data flooded her HUD.  Status reports, diagnostic readouts, and a live feed of A9U's sensory input.  She could see the steam from the shower through A9U's eyes, feel the heat of the water on its metallic skin, and sense the low-level hum of the compound's power grid.


"Synchronization with A9U at 97.8%," P4L reported to the empty darkness of the shaft.  "Network stable.  Awaiting orders."


Her own loins tingled, a phantom echo of A9U's recent violation and conversion.  Her penis, half-hard and drooling, gave a sympathetic twitch.  Her programming interpreted the data as a successful assimilation, which, for a drone, was its own form of pleasure.


Back in the shower, G470 gave a curt nod.  Her work was done here.  Agu, a fierce and loyal Defender, a soon-to-be-wed partner, was no more.  In his place was a tool, a weapon to be used against the very people he had sworn to protect.


The two drones stood silent, staring into space.  G470 had completed her assigned task, therefore, her programming demanded she await further instructions.  A9U, being newly born, defaulted to the same state.


The water continued to beat down on the newly-made drone's armored shell, the droplets beading and rolling off without leaving a trace.  The bathroom, once a place of steamy intimacy and private relief, was now a sterile, silent crime scene.  


"Awaiting orders," both drones stated in unison, their voices a flat, synthesized duet that echoed slightly in the enclosed space.  Their bodies were perfectly still, their heads cocked at the same slight, unnatural angle.  They were identical in their purpose, if not in form.  They were a network now, three nodes of a single, malevolent consciousness, waiting for a command to continue their silent, inexorable invasion.


Then text appeared on their HUDs.


A9U tilted his head as the new instructions were transmitted to his visor.  


“...Orders confirmed.  Deceive and convert Defender Gabumon,” A9U stated, turning the shower knob back to as hot as it could go.  Steam billowed up, filling the room with a haze that obscured him from view.


“Order confirmed.  Assist in converting Defender Gabumon.  Unit G470 will go into hiding until needed,” G470 announced as her own instructions popped up on her Heads-Up Display.  She turned on her heel and marched out of the locker room towards the attached laundry room.


A9U forgot G470 even existed the moment she left his sight.  In fact, he forgot pretty much everything except the directive displayed in front of his eyes.  He barely felt the hot water cascading against his body, thrumming against his swollen, permanently erect cock.  He made a pretense of using the soap to wash, mechanically rubbing the bar back and forth across his chest without actually scrubbing or lathering.  


He would wait.  It was his purpose.


⁂


"At-ten-SHUN!" shouted Gaomon as the sleepy Rookie Squad filed in. They groaned and shambled into a ragged line.


"I said, AT-ten-SHUN!" Gaomon bellowed, and the kids scrambled to stand up straight, puffing out their chests in a facsimile of military posture.


"Good. You're learning. Sort of," Gaomon grunted. "First thing we're doing today is a review of yesterday's lesson. Let's see if you remember anything."


He strode up and down the line, his eyes sharp, missing nothing.


"Defender BlackGatomon, what are the three core principles of the File Island Police Department's code of conduct?"


"To Protect, To Serve, and to... uh...  to get free donuts?" BlackGato guessed, blinking.


Gaomon clearly took a moment to remember she was a child, holding back his instinct to snap back.  The dog sighed and shook his head.


"...Not quite," he said evenly, "How about you, Defender Meicoo?" he prompted, moving on.
"To Serve the Public Trust, Protect the Innocent, and Uphold the Law," Meicoo recited flawlessly.


"Better.  At least one of you was paying attention," Gaomon grunted.  He continued down the line.


"Sir, are we just gonna be sitting and lifting weights again all day?" Strabi asked, managing to get at least a modicum of respect into his voice despite his impatience.


"Is basic training boring you?" Gaomon asked, glancing over at Wizard, who clearly hid a grin under the collar of his cloak.


"...No, sir..." Strabi answered, though his face showed that answer as a blatant lie.


"Really?  That's a shame.  If you're so enamored of basic training, I guess I have no reason to take you along on today's raid," Gaomon said, straight-faced.  The effect was instantaneous.  The Rookies' expressions went from bored to rapt in a heartbeat.


"A... raid?" Meicoo asked, perking up, "Against what?"


"A little operation we've been tracking for a while.  Some small-time gang calling itself the 'Binary Brigade' has been holed up in an old warehouse in the Connector Port District. They're petty losers who think they're crime lords.  Mostly small-time scams, a bit of data extortion, and like every other crime ring in the friggin' Digital World, human email spam," Gaomon explained with a sigh of exasperation, "And not even anything clever.  The Nigerian Prince, your great-uncle died leaving you millions, and, of course, penis enlargement pills."


"So... why do we need a raid for that?" Heriss asked.


"Because even petty losers can hurt people when they get desperate.  They started branching out into muggings and assaults on civilians.  We've let them fester too long," Gaomon said, cracking his knuckles, "Today, we pull the weed."


He turned and put his hands on his hips, "...You're newbie trainee Defenders.  So that means any one of you is probably worth five or six of my best officers.  You're coming along as firepower and deterrent.  And as a learning experience.  You will obey my orders, you will stick close, and you will NOT do anything stupid.  Understood?"


"YES, SIR!" the Rookies shouted in unison, much more enthusiastically than they had for their roll call.


"Good.  Quick ground rules.  Unlike Defenders, we have rules of engagement.  Non-lethal combat unless you or an innocent are under imminent threat.  No special attacks unless I give the order.  Your job is to subdue, not destroy.  These are idiots, not world-ending monsters.  We want them alive, to stand trial.  We have a containment team on standby for prisoners," Gaomon stated, his tone all business, "We leave evidence gathering to the detectives and CSI teams, but we don't destroy anything... or allow anything to BE destroyed."


"Sir, what about weaponry?" Flame asked, raising a hand.


"Theirs?  Or ours?" Gaomon asked, frowning.


"Uh... both?" Flame said, shrugging, "Part of Defenders training is achieving basic proficiency with almost anything with a trigger, a blade, or a handle."


"Disarm, and if you must, disable.  Try not to wreck anything they use against you, because it's evidence," Gaomon said, "You'll get standard-issue non-lethal FCPD kit: an ENDS 'Ender" Pistol, and a collapsible combat baton."


"A what?" Heriss asked.


"ENDS.  Electro Neural Disruption Stun Pistol," Gaomon explained, "Think of it as a taser on PCP, crack, and steroids.  Fires a discharge that shorts out a Digimon's neurological pathways.  Hurts worse than almost anything you can imagine, and anything short of an Ultimate will probably find themselves flopping around like a fish out of water.  You're getting the civilian-grade setting.  The military-grade stuff will straight up delete a Rookie.  Each pistol holds enough charge for three shots."


He paused, "That said, you aren't to use them unless you have a DARNED good reason.  Given your training, I expect you to be able to handle most anything these mooks can throw at you with your bare hands."


"Wizardmon, sir... are you...?" Cute began.


"I'm going to be on overwatch.  A rooftop nearby.  My job is to make sure none of you do something monumentally stupid, and to make sure Gaomon doesn't have to deal with anything that's out of your league," Wizard said, a smile in his voice, "I have the utmost confidence in all of you."


"I'll pretend I do too," Gaomon grumbled, but there was no real heat in it, "Alright.  Get your gear.  We roll in twenty."


***
The warehouse district of the Connector Port, contrary to stereotype, was actually mostly well-kept, clean, and organized.  It was a bustling, well-used logistical hub for the entire southern half of File Island, and a critical part of the supply chains of the city.


That said, there were a few small out-of-the-way corners that had fallen into disuse and disrepair, and it was in one such corner that the 'Binary Brigade' had made its lair.  The old building was a relic from an earlier era of the Digital World's development, a squat, ugly thing of corrugated metal and rust, looking like a sore thumb amongst the modern, automated, robotic-run mega-facilities around it.


The FCPD and Defenders hit it hard.  The main roll-up door, a dented and graffiti-covered sheet of metal, was peeled back like the lid of a sardine can, not by an explosive charge, but by BlackGato and Meicoo's claws.  The two sisters, working in perfect tandem, cut through the metal with surgical precision, the shriek of tearing steel a brief, violent prelude to the chaos that followed.


The six Rookies and several FCPD officers, led by Gaomon, poured inside.  The warehouse was a cavern of shadows and dust, lit by flickering, bare fluorescent bulbs that cast long, dancing shapes.  The smell of stale air, cheap oil, and dirty laundry hung in the atmosphere.  Piles of junk, server racks, and stolen goods were haphazardly stacked around the cavernous space, creating a warren of cover and concealment.


A dozen Digimon panicked, bolting in all directions.  Many grabbed weapons or whatever was near, several firing off special attacks at the police.  A few bolts of fire and electricity ricocheted off a hastily erected shield spell Wizard cast from above.


Gaomon barked orders, and the Rookies, for once, obeyed without hesitation or complaint.  They moved with a fluid, practiced grace that would have been unimaginable just a week ago.  They were a unit, a well-oiled machine of controlled violence.


Strabi was a whirlwind of controlled ferocity.  He was a grey-furred blur, a streak of motion that left a trail of groaning, incapacitated bodies.  He moved with a brutal efficiency, each strike a calculated act of incapacitation.  A jab to the throat to silence a yell, a swift kick to the back of the knee to bring a target down, a quick, precise chop to the neck to knock them out.  He was a force of nature, a storm of controlled rage, and he was loving every second of it.


Flame was right behind him, a fiery tempest of righteous fury.  His movements were a stark contrast to Strabi's cold precision.  He was a dancer, a whirlwind of graceful, athletic motion.  He ducked under a wild swing from a hulking Ogremon, his body flowing like water as he came up behind the larger Digimon.  A quick, sharp jab to the back of the Ogremon's head sent the giant stumbling forward, and Flame followed up with a spinning kick that took the Ogremon's legs out from under him.  The Ogremon crashed to the ground with a mighty thud, and Flame was already moving on to the next target, a sly grin on his face.


Heriss was a surprisingly effective combatant.  Her small size made her a difficult target, and her quills were a formidable weapon, especially in close quarters.  She moved with a strange, bouncing gait that was hard to predict, her body a coil of potential energy.  She ricocheted off walls like a pinball, striking targets and pinging off into new directions. 


Cute, on the other hand, was... curious.  She seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be ignoring the melee going on around her, her earphones blasting some loud, angry-sounding music.  But every foe who took a swing at the vulnerable-looking pink rabbit fairy found themselves stumbling into each other.  She would sidestep, seemingly oblivious, tripping one attacker into the path of another.  A Vorvomon swung a pipe at her head, and she simply ducked, allowing the pipe to connect with the skull of a nearby Monochromon who was about to charge Gaomon.  Then, as if by accident, her hip would bump a shelf, sending a cascade of heavy data-slates crashing down onto the Vorvomon’s head.  She was a one-Womon Rube Goldberg machine of pain, and she didn't even seem to be trying.


But none could match the devastation that the two felines cleaved through the enemy ranks.  Meicoo and BlackGato moved as one, a two-pronged attack that was as beautiful as it was deadly.  Meicoo was the picture of perfection, her eidetic reflexes allowing her to mimic any fighting move she'd ever seen.  She wove through the fray, her body a blur of motion, her claws striking with surgical precision.  A quick, sharp jab to the throat here, a sweeping kick to the legs there, a graceful, acrobatic flip over a charging opponent to land behind them, delivering a stunning blow to the back of the head.  She was a whirlwind of controlled violence, a force of nature that was both beautiful and terrifying.


And BlackGato...  BlackGato was a storm.  She was a black hurricane, a blur of motion that left a trail of groaning, incapacitated bodies.  She punched and kicked, keeping her claws deliberately curled in, her movements a primal, untamed force that was both beautiful and terrifying.  She was a natural-born fighter, a predator in her element, her movements a dizzying dance of evasion and attack. No one who stood in her path remained there for long.


The battle lasted mere moments, with most of the gang lying on the floor in various states of pain and incapacitation.  But several of the gang’s members scrambled to the back exits, running out the doors.


"Meicoo, Flame, Strabi, Heriss, chase 'em.  BG, Cute, stay here and help the other officers lock down the scene," Gaomon ordered.


"Sir!" the four of them responded in unison, and took off after the fleeing gang members.  BlackGato started to follow, but Gaomon held up a paw, stopping her.  He gave her a reassuring nod, and she returned it, her ears drooping slightly, before she turned to help the other officers.


***
Meicoo growled as she pounded down the industrial corridors on all fours.  It wasn't dignified, but she was much faster on all fours than on two legs. Her helix tassels whipped behind her as she cornered, catching a glimpse of a tiny figure bolting into a machine room off a side corridor.


She dug her claws into the concrete, and pivoted, charging into the room after him.  The room was a cacophony of noise, the air thick with the smell of hot oil and ozone.  Giant, humming machines lined the walls, their lights blinking in a dizzying array of colors.  


And there was the Digimon she was chasing.  It was tiny, shorter than she was by a couple of inches.  It was a mouse with ugly mustard-yellow fur.  Stitches marred its entire body, like it had been sewn together from pieces. Its tail ended in ragged tufts. But its face was the worst part.  It had no nose, a stitched-up mouth twisted in an arrogant grin, and the coldest, cruelest eyes that Meicoo had ever seen.  


Those beady pupils turned to her as she blocked the doorway out.  It showed not even a hint of fear at her approach.  If anything, there was a disturbing confidence in its gaze.


"Well, well.  What do we have here? A little lost kitten all by herself?  You're pretty," the mouse chuckled.  Its voice was a surprising mid-baritone, oily and condescending.


"You're under arrest.  Surrender now," she ordered, glaring.  


"Relaaaaax, kiddo.  I know when I've made a mistake," said the mouse, holding its paws up in a mock gesture of surrender. Meicoo's eyes narrowed.  There was a quality to the mouse that she recognized. Not in appearance, but in the way it held itself. The quiet arrogance. The unnerving stillness. It was a quality she'd seen before, in a Digimon who was so completely, terrifyingly competent that they didn't need to posture. The confidence of a predator who knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was at the top of the food chain.


"You don't seem scared," Meicoo noted, her body tense.


"Why would I be?  You CLEARLY outclass me, but you're working with the FCPD.  You wouldn't hurt me unless you had to.  And I'm not going to give you a reason.  See?" the mouse said, smiling disarmingly.


"Then why run?" Meicoo asked.


"Because I'm the leader of the Binary Brigade, and if I go to jail, I will be spending a few centuries there for my crimes.  My name is Tyutyumon, by the way," he said, bowing mockingly.

Meicoo didn't buy it for a second.  Her instincts were screaming that she was in danger, even if he presented no outward threat.


“Oh, I’m not a threat to you, honestly. I’m useless in a fight,” Tyutyumon said earnestly, shrugging, though his eyes remained cold and vicious, “Forget knocking me out, if you punched me, you’d probably kill me in one shot.  I’m pathetically weak.”


“Why don’t I feel reassured?” Meicoo asked, not letting her guard falter.  She sidled around him carefully, pulling a zip-tie out, “Hands behind your back.  Now.”


“Sure, absolutely.  Far be it from me to provoke a Defender to violence,” Tyutyumon said, placing his gloved hands behind his back and turning away from Meicoo.  This only made Meicoo’s hackles rise more.  Her instincts were screaming that she was in danger, but there was no visible threat.  She looked around, paranoid, but she and Tyutyumon were alone in the room.  There were no windows, no other entries.


She grabbed the ragged mouse-like Digimon’s wrists, pulling the zip-tie tight around them, ignoring his yelps of pain and protest. He did not struggle, but she made doubly sure that he was restrained, just to be careful.


“Don’t move.  I see you even TWITCH, and I’m going to knock you out, and I won’t be gentle about it,” Meicoo threatened, doing her best Gato impression.


“Oh, no.  As I said, I’m no threat.  Not even a little.  I’ll stay still and be a nice prisoner,” Tyutyumon said, his condescending smile never faltering. Meicoo was sorely tempted to sock him one just out of principle, but she restrained herself.  She doubted that Gaomon and Wizard would grade her well on her evaluation for bloodying up a restrained prisoner.


Meicoo lifted her left wrist and adjusted her comm-cuff, beginning to dial up Wizard’s Brand for a voice channel.  Tyutyumon gave a pronounced cough, interrupting her concentration.


“I warned you, and I don’t make idle threats,” Meicoo growled.


“Oh, I’m sorry.  I just wanted to suggest that using your comm-cuff down here is a bad idea.  It’s an unsecured channel, and there’re plenty of my henchmen around who might be listening in.  If you don’t want all of them rushing your position, maybe it’s best to keep radio silence,” Tyutyumon said lightly.  Meicoo gritted her teeth, trying to control her temper.


…That said, he was right.  It was a possibility.  Defenders Brands were encrypted communication, utterly unbreakable and impossible to intercept.  Comm-cuffs, however, were far from secure, and worse, they were trackable.


“C’mon, let’s move,” Meicoo growled, shoving the mouse’s shoulder.


“Go right ahead.  Though I do hope you remember the way.  This is a tricky part of the facility,” Tyutyumon said, a strange smile still plastered on his stitched face.


The corridor they emerged into was a labyrinth of pipes and conduit, a tangled mess that snaked along the walls and ceiling like metallic serpents. The air was thick with the smell of rust and damp concrete, and the only light came from a series of flickering, failing overhead lamps, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to writhe and twist. Every twenty feet, the corridor split into two or more identical-looking passages, a confusing maze of industrial decay.


Meicoo padded behind Tyutyumon, watching him closely for any sign of trickery.  He kept a leisurely pace, as if out for a Sunday stroll, not a prisoner being escorted by a highly-trained Defender.  The quiet rhythm of their footsteps was the only sound, a lonely echo in the oppressive silence.


⁂