Many, many leagues away, in a much different climate, and in what some might call a whole different universe, was an endless expanse of sand dunes and rocky outcroppings known as the Bone Dry Desert. One could wander for days through this wasteland and not see another soul, but if you knew your way around, and were tough enough to survive it, you might come across a mountain of sandstone that towered above the desert floor.

This island in the sea of sand was the Free City of Klugetown.

Town may have been in its name, but compared to the population of the surrounding desert wasteland – which was in the single digits at best – it may as well have been a thriving metropolis. With it being a week's march in any direction to find a coastline or civilization, it was a nexus for airship commerce, as that was the only viable mode of transportation.

But traveling by airship didn’t guarantee anyone's safety. All the approaches to the docks were littered with husks of ships that served as reminders of the fury that natural forces could visit upon those who were unprepared, or just unlucky. Airship trade may have come with its own laundry list of perils, but the rewards could easily surmount the risks. Apart from a few indigenous plants and animals that could be harvested and hunted, all food and drink had to be imported from abroad. A fine living could be earned by simply transporting the bare necessities of survival, but that wasn’t where the real money lay.

Being so far removed from the rest of the known world meant that Kludgetown answered to no gods or governments, so their pesky laws and regulations held no sway. Thus, the true way to thrive was to market certain items that were either flat out illegal in the rest of the known world or were surrounded by so much red tape that any kind of profit was nullified. From basic counterfeit prescription drugs, all the way to powerful magical artifacts, anything and everything under the sun that couldn’t be peddled in other places was fair game in the free city. There were even rumors of a doctor who would attempt any surgical procedure no matter how costly, for the right price.

But those were just rumors.

There was also plenty of organized crime brought in by the lawlessness. Every possible gang and syndicate had – or wanted to have – a stake in affairs big and small. From the Trottingham Mafia to the Changeling Cartels and all others in between, they all kept an ear to the ground, waiting for lucrative opportunities to conduct business. If they couldn’t get a decent slice outright, all it took were a few pokes and prods in the right places to alter the situation in their favor.

Just a short distance from the main dock and a little ways into town was the market district, where all the merchandise brought in would be distributed. The whole street was lined with dozens of cracked wood and faded canvas structures that looked like they could collapse at the slightest touch. It was early morning, which was the optimal time to shop. The heat hadn’t skyrocketed yet, and all the merchants were hawking their best stuff.

The yells and screams of stall runners trying to bring attention to their wares and the customers trying to haggle with them drowned out the sound of a rusty old shopping cart making its way down the dusty street. They didn’t hear the unbalanced caster in the front squeaking away – the same one that spun in its socket each time a bump was hit.

And they certainly didn’t hear the music the cart pusher was playing on blast through a pair of headphones that were just clinging together due to a combination of baling wire and electrical tape. They were currently off his ears, and resting around his neck. An equally ratty cable connected them to a bulky cassette player that was clipped to his belt, which was showing more exposed metal than paint on its casing – to the point that the manufacturer’s logo had ceased to exist.

The Abyssinian wasn’t as rough around the edges as his entertainment, but he wasn’t necessarily clean either. The fabric of his black t-shirt had been worn thin over the years, and the vinyl graphic of a fish skull with crossed bones had both faded and cracked right along with it. The black cargo pants were faring about the same, with the material over the knees having faded to gray, and some of the belt loops at the waist had broken at some point. They had been haphazardly repaired with fishing line. The large pockets had been filled with a few small items just bought at the market, and the bags of imported produce that were much too big to fit in them sloshed around inside the cart.

Completing him was a long, red mariner’s greatcoat that was in much better condition compared to the rest of his attire. It wasn’t spotless by any means, sporting its own brand of light wear and tear. There were several points of repair throughout it, but no outside observer would ever be able to discern them. Even after almost two years since the professional restoration occurred, the stitching was still holding strong, and it wasn’t the seamstress’s best thread. Two gold buttons had been added to the breast area of the coat at that time as well, and a Wish You Were In Canterlot decorative pin had been added just below the right one.

He threaded his way through the bazaar, simultaneously listening to his music and keeping a swiveled ear towards his surroundings until a crunch underfoot broke that focus. There was no need to look down, for he already knew that it was broken glass. Most of the taverns were just down the road near the docks, and the local or visiting drunks just loved to bring their empty bottles with them around town and lose them in the street. There were plenty of other little nasties littering the streets as well, but the heavy leather boots with large buckles and a nasty looking steel cap over the toes did a good job protecting his paws.

For any dangers that were above paw level, they also came with armor plating over the ankles and shins. Capper found that feature rather beneficial whenever he was traipsing around the scrapyard or climbing around in a derelict airship for any salvageable components.

With a mild chuff, he carried on his plodding course out of the market and deeper into town. He followed the dense mess of power and data conduits that zig-zagged between each imposing, ramshackle building. The further he pressed on, the denser they became, eventually getting to the point where they barely had enough room to stir nervously in the breeze without touching and shorting out. Naturally, incidents with the high current lines were quite common, and it was an absolute nightmare to rectify problems after they occurred. The cat knew that he had to carry on for just a little longer… until he came upon a sight he had laid green slitted eyes upon plenty of times in just the past year alone.

Kludgetown Power & Utility was an institution that almost everyone who lived in town for some time had to visit monthly if they wanted to keep electricity and data flowing to their residences. Back when Capper was rolling with Verko, he did not need to visit such places – the mob had him covered. And although he was now free in more ways than one, that freedom came with a price, and he now had to pay for all of life’s little necessities, which in this case meant power and a connection to the outside world.

Three large buildings made up the facility, and it was always the biggest and oldest one that was most intimidating to first-time visitors. The power plant for the city was exclusively industrial, with the actual structure being mostly obscured by a latticework of pipes, scaffolds, and staircases that blanketed it. Massive smokestacks reached high into the sky, belching white smoke into the heavens, and they were always the first thing anybody saw when coming into port.

But it wasn’t the inner workings of the building bolted to the outside that intimidated, or the striped stacks leering down upon the mortal beings. It was the fact that, after decades of being accosted by the climate, anything that was exposed to the elements – which was everything – had been stained into several dull shades of brown, with patches of surface rust here and there.

It may have been touched by the sands of time, but that in no means meant that it was ready to fall. There were just as many patchwork repairs – some of them fresh enough to still retain a bit of luster – which greatly contrasted the old, and took it from ratty and dilapidated to a real eldritch horror. Those that viewed it for the first time felt that they had truly reached the end of the world, that civilization had finally bid them farewell.

At least that’s what Capper had jokingly thought during his first visit, but that novelty faded quickly when the place had become just another occasional errand to run in the grind known as life. All the conduits he had followed to get there terminated into an outdoor electrical substation that emitted a distinct hum, even from fifty paces away. And the entire facility was surrounded by a double-layered chain link fence topped with looped razorwire to prevent unwanted incursions.

The second largest building on the site was the telecommunications center. This building was a fair bit newer than the plant, and actually resembled something that business could be conducted within. It was five stories tall with sand scoured windows wrapping around each one. On its roof were a variety of lattice and parabolic antennas that up until a few years back were the sole means of contact with the outside world.

As he drew near the checkpoint on the road ahead, the security personnel at the gate could be seen keeping a callous watch of the area. However, they only gave him a cursory glance before carrying on with their duties. Kludgetowners always passed through that area to get to the public office and pay their dues, which had unfortunately fostered a spirit of complacency when it came to actually protecting the place. They also knew of him from his mob days as well and didn’t want to draw his ire even if he was retired.

He rolled through the gate unchałlenged – cart and all – and pushed his way towards the data center. The newest and smallest building of the bunch, it was still all original and constructed of much more modern and stronger materials. The hope was that it would fare much better than the two older structures, and be much less costly to repair overall. If improving building materials and build quality wasn’t enough, it had been built partially underground for even better protection.

Capper pulled the door to the above-ground portion of the office open and was greeted by a blast of sterile, chilled air. Air conditioning was a novelty for most in the wastes, and was only employed under certain conditions where temperature and humidity needed to be regulated. The sensitive equipment on the inside was no exception, which required a cool climate to run at peak efficiency. He hurried through the door and let it close on its own – just missing the nose of the cart. He carried on into the reception area, dragging the cart behind himself all the way.

He was the only one visiting the utility company at that time, so all the seats in the makeshift waiting area were unoccupied. The only signs of life came from what passed for a front desk, where a female lizard secretary was busying herself with whatever was on her monitor that any visitors would only ever see the back of. Her desk was usually the farthest he ever ventured into the facility, only ever wanting to just pay the bill and hit the road unless business dictated otherwise.

Today was one of those days, and his business partner of sorts was waiting near a very sturdy looking automatic door. Thunder Teeth was the site manager and head engineer of the facility, and a useful acquaintance if you needed something that was hard to find. The burly shark who was garbed in a set of worn leather overalls and equally blemished welding goggles trundled up to his favorite customer, arms opening in greeting.

“Capper! How are ya, my chum!”

Thunder tried to gather the Abyssinian up in his arms but was offered a paw instead. The shark didn’t miss a beat, taking the offered paw and pulling its owner into a friendly pat on the back.

“Here to pay your utility bills again?”

They separated a second later, one more quickly than the other. “Now Thunder, if I came all this way for that, I would have paid at the front desk. I hear you got a little sumthin’ sumthin’ waiting for me?”

“Always straight to business with you, eh?” Thunder patted once on the large front pocket of his coveralls, then a couple more times before sighing in defeat. “Dammit, coulda' sworn it was on me. Ah well, the thing must be in with the other merchandise.”

“C’mon man, you slippin’,” Capper chided the shark whom her considered to be a bit of a friend, more or less.

“Ha! You try moving all this product every month. A small slip of the mind will become the least of your worries. How about we go back to my office and find it, eh. Even if it’s just a short visit.”

Not really seeing any harm in spending a few more minutes to stop in and say hi, Capper followed Thunder over to the security door, where the shark inputted a PIN number on the keypad and then muscled the heavy obstruction open. The duo proceeded through the area just beyond, which was just an office space for handling up-front tasks necessary to the operation. Inside some of the doorways, he caught some glimpses of the IT personnel at work, handling the problems that rather agitated Kludgetowners called in about, and offering their snark and sarcasm in turn.

“So how is the farm running, not to insinuate that I’ve been having any issues with my connection of course.”

Thunder Teeth shrugged his broad shoulders heartily. “I suppose it’s running as well as it wants to. A soon as we get one system stable, two more malfunction. Mostly software gremlins when the machines need to communicate amongst each other, but nothing that a few all nighters can’t fix. Of more note, one of our gem matrixes blew a tube last week and finding a fresh tube for one of those is nearly impossible. Shame, really.”

“Even for you?” Capper didn’t bother to hide shock in his tone, mostly to annoy. “The big fish who can find anything under the sun no matter how deep it hides?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea and think that I didn’t try my business associates first. Unfortunately, they’re more interested in conducting real business and pretty much told me to just modernize and take a hike.”

They would have carried on down conversation street, but when both realized that they were stopped in the middle of the somewhat used hallway the chat died and they carried on further into the facility.

A few more steps past the office block was the bread and butter of the facility. Heavy pawfalls changed from a minuscule click on the smooth concrete to a metallic clang as the office corridor became an elevated catwalk that skirted the edge of a cavernous room. It contained all the servers that kept the network going twenty-four-seven, but unlike the neat rows of matching machines the more developed parts of the world enjoyed, Kludgetown’s data center used whatever they could get ahold of.

The entire floor was jam-packed with dedicated servers and home computers of many types and spanning almost as many eras. Ranging from small desktops to monstrous gem matrixes, any applicable computer that could be put to work was put to work. As a cat who liked to live as frugally and thriftily as possible, Capper took joy in the fact that so many obsolete systems were getting a new lease on life for the benefit of the community.

Interspersed within all this were six or seven engineers like Thunder, actively going system to system and making sure that they were all functioning as they should. Like pretty much every other inhabitant of Kludgetown, they were a menagerie of species and crossbreeds of many shapes and sizes, all working to keep the operation running smoothly. At least that’s what they would have been doing if they weren’t all gathered loosely around a fully lowered scissor lift that would be used to access some of the taller mainframes for maintenance and other out of reach jobs on the farm – either standing next to the large piece of equipment or sitting on the edge of its platform.

They all were in the process of enjoying a meal break, and what Capper could view in their claws looked to be standard working class fare of street bought kebabs, gyros, cold cut sandwiches, luna pies, and some kind of caffeinated drink to wash it all down. Most were chatting as any employees would do while taking a load off, but a few were armed with laptops or equivalent handheld devices old and new used for diagnostics, and were still hammering away at the keys while eating their easily portable meals. And from his vantage point, the abyssinian could also determine that Thunder wasn’t kidding with his earlier omission. The tired body posture and sunken eyes of all around including the portly shark managing it all proved that they were indeed passing on good sleep to stay ahead of the curve.

As much as he loved seeing the treasure trove of repurposed tech and greatly appreciated the relatively thankless efforts required to keep it going, there was no love lost between him and the gods' awful racket that close to a hundred personal and server-grade computers could produce in an enclosed space. The whine and roar of a thousand cooling and exhaust fans spinning at once in what was essentially an echo chamber was something that just couldn’t go unnoticed.

Thunder started to walk sideways, casting a mirthful eye on Capper “I see you’ve taken notice of my grand symphony again?!”

“That’s not exactly music to my ears!” The cat exclaimed as his mentioned body parts flicked in irritation.

“If you hung around them for a week, you’d adjust! My offer still stands, Cap!”

“I’m pretty sure you know my answer! I’m not ready to give up on sunlight just yet!”

They continued across the catwalk towards a glassed-in observation deck on their level that overlooked the server floor. That room was the control center for the whole operation, and entry could only be gained through another coded door, and Capper sighed in relief as the harsh background noise was deadened considerably by the walls and glass. The obvious feature of the space were the giant panes that permitted oversight of everything below.

The wall opposite the window was lined with a couple dozen displays that were used to monitor all the statistics of the computers working away just outside. It wasn’t just that, though, as some of them showed live CCTV feeds of the server farm itself, and all the smaller screens ringed a massive central display that showed the current load on the system as a whole.

But as impressive as the nerve center was, it wasn’t the final destination. The shark led on past the multitude of terminals and office chairs and over to a nondescript heavy steel door in the far back corner of the space. A high voltage warning placard was bolted to the front of it, but that was no deterrent for Thunder who muscled it open and strolling inside.

Thunder Teeth’s office was small to say the least. If it was just an office, Capper would have considered it decent, but since it was also a living space for two, the room was packed with all the necessities and comforts of modern life. While the shark made his way to the closet in the back of the room where he stored all the under the table merchandise, the cat chose to loiter by the door. He didn’t know how long his little package had been sat upon as monthly visits were the only interval for coming to the place, but when you wanted something that just couldn’t be obtained through official channels, a little patience went a long way.

But now that he was so close to the prize, he almost couldn’t contain the impotent excitement that was welling up. As his long tail switched side to side, he continued to observe the search with crossed arms. Whenever there was a goal, he liked to apply all his time and effort into achieving it. Finding just one had taken a little over a decade, and that time wasn’t spent twiddling claws while the world spun.

Meandering a little deeper into the abode, he was now able to see through the halfway ajar door of a business-type attached restroom. The opening was wide enough for him to spot Raquel – Thunder’s significant other – staring into a dirt-haloed mirror while leaning over the sink. The female shark was applying some lip gloss and Capper wondered if he was visible in the reflection. The toothy grin that quickly spread across her mouth confirmed that she indeed could.

“My favorite pussycat returns.” She smacked her lips several times, examining the end result before capping the small tube and leaving the restroom. “What can I do ya for?”

Capper had known the voluptuous shark for a few years now, but her sizeable features always got to him. Especially when she was down to her skimpy bra and short-shorts. He couldn’t help grinning sheepishly as she came over and put a thick-skinned hand on his shoulder.

“Do you need some kind of computer assistance?” She gave a little squeeze. “Or are you looking for a different kind of service?”

There were many things the Abyssinian considered himself to be good at, and conversing with the ladies was definitely one of them. “You know I’d love that babe, but today the pussycat is here on official business only.”

A sharp crash followed by a string of rapid-fire curses drew their attention to the storage closet. Some empty boxes sailed past the open door as well while Thunder located that which was desired.

“Alright ya little bastard, where are ya hiding!”

With a soft sigh, Raquel went over and sat upon the edge of the unfolded futon and gathered up an unlaced boot that was stored under.

“I’ve told Thunder several times now to better organize his shit, but you try telling him that,” she expressed while slipping on the boot and tugging at the laces. “But I suppose it’s his choice to run his side deal the way he likes.”

“Aha! Found you!”

Thunder came out of his storage closet a moment later, and a brown wax paper-wrapped parcel bound with butcher twine was in his claws. He waddled up to the customer but stopped short of handing it over.

“I’m sure you know the drill by now, Cap. Gold gets you the package.”

Truth be told, the Abyssinian was so eager to get what he desired that he had forgotten about paying entirely. For an instant, he worried that he had blown all his bank at the market, but a quick check of his inner breast pocket revealed that that wasn’t the case. As he produced the unforgotten sack of bits that had been counted out to the agreed-upon amount, a little joke couldn’t be resisted.

“And here I was hoping you’d forgotten about that part.”

Thunder rewarded the humor with a very toothy grin. “Only way that would ever happen is if I had you running deliveries.”

Capper returned the smirk. “Now, now, is that a way to treat one of your best clients? I’ve run enough crazy errands for one of my nine lives thank you very much.”

“That’s right, you retired. Keep forgetting.”

“Anywho,” Capper tossed the sack into Thunder’s open hand. “There’s your sweet sweet money my dear sir.”

Thunder passed the package over and opened the baggie to make sure he wasn’t being scammed. As this customer was more or less trustworthy, he didn’t bother counting it all, and all his clients had been in the game long enough to know the dangers of short-changing those who were connected. The shark may have only been small-time, but he could call upon others who weren’t to correct any problems with transactions. He’d never had to go that far with a deal before, but he wouldn’t hesitate if that time ever came.

The shark retied the sack of bits and stuffed it into his front pocket and grinned. “Well, looks like you got what you wanted and I got what was due. Say, If you’re not in too much of a hurry, you wanna stick around and have a little fun with us again?”

Capper held up his paws defensively. “Hey now, even though I did enjoy the last time, I didn’t exactly come prepared if you catch my drift.”

Thunder and his significant other both shared a conspiratorial wink.

“Aw well, looks like the pussycat wants to play with his toys instead, ha!”

They both bust into chuckles and Raquel blew a raspberry. Now, Capper was typically a cool cat when it came to business, but this time that mindset slipped slightly.

“Aargh, I thought I told you guys not to laugh!”

The forecast had been correct... for once. The wind through the buildings had picked up considerably over the small amount of time he'd spent indoors. The fine silt that clung to everything in layers was now being whipped up into an orange haze, which was already firing up his sinuses. That was enough to surpass his personal threshold for unmasked discomfort, so he worked the tan scarf up over his muzzle and sealed the edges of the improvised filter to the best of his ability.

He'd been around the area long enough to know that the change in weather was only a prelude to the main front of the sandstorm, and that he had about fifteen minutes before it swept through. He didn't need to stare at the billowing brown mass on the western horizon for more than a second to understand what was in store for the city. As far as the abyssinian was concerned, the only sight the storm would get of him would be his coattails flapping in the breeze as he hurried home.

Even though it wasn’t quite upon them yet, other Kludgetowners were seen and heard rushing around to complete whatever business they had so they could batten down the hatches and forego getting blasted by the main event. Of course, not all of that business was legitimate. There was profit to be made in the distracting chaos, and Capper felt he had to truly keep his awareness up so he didn’t fall victim.

As soon as the husky shark stepped out of the blackened alcove ahead and make to block the path, he knew that lady luck wasn’t on his side that day. He came to a halt with still a fair distance between the two – the cart full of his things just off to his left side. The handle was gripped by a clenched left paw, and he considered his options.

As far as he could tell, the potential thief was unarmed apart from his naturally occurring weapons. Capper wasn’t a brawler by any means, but fists were something that he had experience with as plenty of those had been ducked and dodged in little scraps over the years.

Then the knife was drawn.

Running was generally the safest possibility when it came to blades, but that would mean abandoning the rusty cart and a week's worth of provisions within. As with almost all things in the wastes, food had to be imported, and the prices were abysmal due to this. Having just paid all his bills, and having spent a little extra on top for personal pleasures had left the cat practically broke for the time being.

“Now, we can either do this the easy way,” the thief stated as he kept on course, the blade held low in a wringing right hand. “Or we can do this the ha-”

Capper wasn’t interested in dragging the situation out any longer than necessary, so he pushed the right side of his coat back to unholster the best weapon he possessed. The double-barreled flintlock pistol was at his hip in an instant, and he let go of the cart to swipe both hammers back with two very distinctive clicks.

The shark stopped in his tracks, and the knife began to quiver. Any thoughts about a clean break were forced to instantly shift to ones of survival when he saw the twin barrels leveled at his midsection. With his victim’s left paw now grabbing the short wooden foregrip, and two claws on the triggers ready to cut him down, he thought twice about going for the cart.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Capper grinned behind the scarf, his voice muffled slightly. “Did I break your concentration?!”

The thief took a defensive step back, but the knife was retained in his hand. “Hey dude, I-I want no trouble, okay!”

The Abyssinian kept his gun up. “Good, good. Because, as I well know, and you probably know, powder ain’t exactly cheap ‘round here, so I’d hate to waste it on a scamp like yourself.”

“Then again,” the double barrel was suddenly brought up to eye level, and a slitted pupil peered down the crude sights. “I really want to get home and have a nice meal for once, and maybe crack open a beer. So how about you drop that wicked lookin’ blade, and blow on out of here like the storm that’s almost upon us.”

The shark took one last forlorn look at the rusty cart, then allowed the knife to clatter onto the ground as he beat a quick retreat back into the shadows.

After keeping a bead on the mugger until he disappeared from view, and on the alley for a few more tense seconds, Capper lowered his guard a little and went over to the fallen knife. He still kept his wits about him, and his gun fully cocked, as he bent down and scooped it up.

After a quick one-pawed inspection of the weapon. the cat concluded that it too had been stolen at some point. A supple leather grip and a custom paint job on the blade told him that it was a ceremonial commission, something that would be carried for status rather than practicality. And that didn’t stop him from jogging back to the cart and tossing it in with all else. Custom jobs like it could be worth a fair bit to the right buyer, and he wasn’t going to squander such an opportunity.

He took another long stare down the alley, and once certain that the thief wasn’t going to make a second attempt, he brought the hammers on his flintlock back down to half-cock and holstered it. It was now time to go. The little distraction had already taken up valuable time, and he didn’t want to be out in the storm without a more substantial filtration apparatus.

Capper had made it back to his little compound with nary a moment to spare. The storm front was just about upon the city, and he had to fight a nasty crosswind as he all but ran the last few feet to the front door of the defunct windmill called home. Once there, he wheeled the cart up against the wall of the building and swiftly used his keys to unlock it. He turned the handle and shouldered it open, yanking the cart through before the gale could take it away. The door was then closed, locked, and deadbolted with practiced ease.

Only then, in the relative safety of his home, did he feel his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. He also took note of his hitched breaths, almost tearing the scarf away from his face. It wasn’t panic per-se as he’d experienced so many horrors in his life that nothing really phazed him anymore, but almost having to fight for life and limb followed by running away from the closing storm would cause the adrenaline to coarse through the veins of anyone in that situation. At least that’s what he’d rationalized while intentionally slowing his breathing to a smoother pace. Therefore he wasn’t about to let it slow things down anymore than it already had.

Yanking the cart over several rough patches of wood in the entry, the first thing he did after entering the main living space of his converted windmill was to visit the fridge to offload all the perishables. The dilapidated, crusty fridge that had been pulled out of a local scrapheap when the cat first came to town and had served him somewhat well ever since. It was also very old, to the point that it was made almost entirely out of wood that had warped and split over many decades of sitting out in the elements. But that didn’t stop him from carelessly slinging the creaking door open and getting all the necessary things stored away. The knife was also dealt with by setting it up on the dining table to further examine later.

The next place Capper went to was a cramped pantry just off the kitchen, and he started to move several sacks and many cans of nonperishable food into their designated areas. As he toiled, he could feel the whole building quiver and creak as a mass of air buffeted against the walls, and sensitive ears could hear sand and whatever else was being thrown up blasting away at the exterior. It was all paid no mind, as storms like that were just par for the course when it came to living in Kludgetown.

A fully stocked pantry and fridge took the mildly stressed thoughts out of his mind, and he walked back out into the main living area better for it. Then something else took precedence. All the turbulence in the atmosphere caused friction, which in turn could make for a brilliant lightning show. But, it also served to create the ultimate bane for those of feline disposition.

Static electricity.

With a grumble of displeasure, Capper quickly stripped out of the dusty overcoat and carried it in an outstretched paw over to the coat rack, where it found a new home on the top peg. He then retrieved his special package from the inside breast pocket, wincing as the wool-like fabric discharged a nasty shock into his paw. The duster had been a part of him for the longest time, but he never wanted anything to do with it whenever a storm roared through.

Passing the kitchen table once again, he exchanged the parcel for the decorative knife and rotated it around in his paws. The first rule of possessing anything hot was to do what you wanted to do with it as soon as possible. He wanted to fence it and see what kind of profit it could turn, but nothing of that nature could be done until conditions improved.

It will be several hours before the storm passes, so I may as well make the best out of it.

Capper set the crux of his thoughts down for the time being, and plodded over to his oven. Of all the appliances in the kitchen, it was the oldest and most worn by far. Originally, the mass of cast iron was supposed to be a wood burner only, but as technology crept forward so did it to an extent. At some point, it was retrofitted with a propane burning system and the portable cylinder that fueled it sat in a cobbled-together retainer that was welded to the side. But even with the modification, it was no modern marvel.

He grabbed one of the few rudimentary twist valves by the oven door and cracked it open slightly. Once a faint but telltale hiss could be heard coming from the depths of the oven, the manual igniter for that part itself was pulled out to its fullest extent and then shoved back in. The little flint on the end of the rod struck home, and with a boosh, the burners inside came to life. After adjusting the fuel flow for an optimal burn, it was time to prepare lunch.

A baking tin was gathered, along with some cooking oil and basic seasonings. He had intended to keep things simple and only prepare some cured fish fillets, but it turned into something more elaborate as he went on. Another tin was retrieved and he raided the pantry for some potatoes, opting to leave the skins on and just slice them into thick chips with a paring knife. Some more exotic herbs and spices had also been found to amp things up. It was a time for celebration after all.

When all the preparation for the fish and chips was complete and both tins were in the oven, Capper found himself with about fifteen minutes to spare. He was again left with nothing productive to busy himself with. Times like these would usually be passed by putting an old record of Abyssinian folk music on the equally old gramophone that had been looted from a wrecked airship a few years back and sitting down in the nearby armchair with a coffee or other drinks, but he wasn’t too keen on easy listening today.

So all of that was bypassed as he went up to a side window where a potted plant of catnip weed was growing on the sill. The plant itself had been harvested recently, so it didn’t obstruct the view – not that there really was one. The initial, strongest phase of the storm had passed over while Capper prepared his meal, and the secondary phase that would last much longer had settled in. Insanely powerful gales had given way to lesser winds and it wasn’t quite as dark, but the swirling miasma of gray and tan still brought down to zero. Sporadic flashes of static lightning ignited the silhouettes of neighboring structures, with longer intervals between them and the subsequent rolling thunder.

The setup on the table below was far more interesting. Two cobbled together speakers stood crookedly on either side, with several wires sitting loose in the center. The missing piece was currently clipped to his belt, which was easily plucked off there and planted in between. The next thing to leave his person was the ratty headphones, which were unplugged from the device and found their place on a tiny shelf off to the side. Now, it was just a simple matter of plugging in the speakers, and the portable player was transformed into a home audio setup.

He was about to sift through his cassette stash for something that suited his mood, but he remembered to plug in the DC power cord to save the batteries. The player used an obscure battery size that was already hard to come by in the big world, which made it almost impossible to buy replacements at the local vendors. Thankfully, folks were operating in town that made their livings producing counterfeit versions of popular products.

Homebrew power cells were among the most popular of the broad range of things produced in the factories and small-time shops. and they were made for many applications and came in many shapes and sizes. Thanks to some odd jobs that were of dubious legality, he had been able to secure a good deal with one of the producers for not only the two cells necessary for the player to function but for a box of spares that sat next to the table.

With the power now sorted, he knelt and lifted open the lid of the chest that was directly under the sound system. Inside was his amassed collection of vinyl records and cassettes, which were the only formats he ever delved into. After picking through the plastic boxes for something that fit his mood, he came back up with one and quickly figured out who the artist was.

“Yeah, that’ll do nicely.”

One tape was ejected; another was slotted in. A paw slammed the door shut, and a claw pressed play.

As a chugging beat filled with loud guitars and strong drums filled the room, Capper slowly turned the volume knob up until the sounds of the outside were drowned out. What now blasted out the speakers was full of cracks, pops, hisses, and distortion, but it was still better than nothing.

Feelin’ down and dirty, feelin’ kinda mean!

It only took a second for the Abyssinian to start grooving to the music, and a few more to grab a canned beer from the fridge.

I’ve been from one to another extreme!

He took a long pull from his liquor, then picked up his package and sauntered over to what at first glance looked like a few wooden Storm King shipping crates that had been pushed into a dark corner to free up floor space. At least that’s what he hoped any would-be burglar would think as well. But it was so much more.

The two crates that jutted into the room the furthest had a gap in between big enough for a narrow chair to fit. Everything above that was obscured by a remarkably clean, tan canvas sheet which was draped over the rest of the pile. It was covering and protecting his most valuable – if not most cherished – possession.

This time I had a good time, ain’t got time to wait!

Holding the beer in one paw and the package in the crook of his elbow, he grabbed a corner of the canvas and pulled it off to the side to reveal his first and only computer system. The machine itself – which rested on a plywood sheet that spanned the gap between crates – could easily be mistaken for something else entirely.

I wanna stick around till I can’t see straight!

The big, brushed metal box in the center of the desk looked for all intents and purposes to be the main driver of the system, with its size alone enough to fool anyone not in the know. That size gave it multiple avenues of expandability. To the right of the blank panel with a power button in the bottom left corner were the vertical expansion bays – seven in total – along with a five and a quarter inch floppy drive sitting sideways on the far end. The scuffs and scratches adorning the body implied that was well-used at best, and the dent on the side implied that it was kicked around a bit at worst.

A very small portable color television perched on the top of the box, but unfortunately, it had been stripped of any kind of protective casing by junkyard scavengers. Only a thin aluminum frame was left to hold things together, and all the wires and other bits that hung out in the open air showed that it wasn’t doing a good job at that. Despite its less than great life, the most important component of the television – its screen – was still in perfect working order. But despite the less than stellar looking monitor sitting on top, the Peripheral Expansion Box was not the computer.

That title belonged to the keyboard.

For those that were better versed in technology, all they had to do was follow the giant, faded black ribbon cable that ran from the bigger component and terminated into a port on the right side of the smaller computer to get a concept of what was going on. The Text Equipment TE-100/5A was a squat all-in-one system that was predominantly comprised of a keyboard which was rather simplified compared to the modern standard. Off to the right of the board was a peculiar looking drive which was recessed down into the housing, and it only accepted cartridges of an obscure form-factor. Unlike the beaten up expansion box, this device was in great condition, without any scratched steel or cracked plastic which was all too common for machines of such vintage.

Fill my eyes with that double vision.

Capper pulled up a seat, which in this case was another crate with a ratty looking cushion from a barstool set loosely on top. It was not the ideal situation comfort-wise, but when on a tight budget you made do with materials readily available. He took another strong gulp of his beer, and set the half-empty can on the desk, ready to finally tear the wrapper off the package that had been so elusive.

No disguise for that double vision.

As soon as the paper and twine fell into his lap, as soon as he saw that faded sticker on the cartridge and felt that weathered casing, he was hit with a strong sense of nostalgia... and longing. Old and repressed memories of Abyssinia – the homeland – rushed to the forefront of his mind. Vague visions of parents he never knew, living and growing up in that halfway home in Panthera, and of the machine he sat before now.

Any introspection into those earlier times – or thought of – was almost always stuffed down by a wall of harsh cynicism. What happened had happened, and nothing could change that fact. The only way to keep afloat in the world he had inhabited was to keep his eyes on the horizon and milk the present for every opportunity it presented. It was only on rare occasions that he let that mindset go for a moment; this was one of those times.

On the eve of the Storm Kingdom’s invasion, while those wiser were packing the bare essentials and fleeing into the wilderness, he had been preparing the home’s computer system for travel. It was just sitting out in the open, he couldn’t just leave the poor thing to the invaders. So he stuffed it and whatever else could fit into the rucksack that was much too large for his teenage frame, and stowed away on a fleeing merchant vessel.

“Hmph,” he chuckled, and then ran a paw across the top of the machine. “Out of all the things I could have taken with me, I chose you. After all, you were the best system an alley cat like me could ask for at the time.”

Ooh! When it gets through to me, It’s always new to me...

Not wanting to go any further on that particular train of thought, he switched gears by reaching for the power button on the expansion box. Unlike modern machines, the TE had a bit of a startup procedure. The bigger component had to be booted first, and he pressed the big red button in the bottom left corner of an otherwise barren front panel. With a dim red light coming to life on the fifth expansion slot, he reached down by the bottom corner of the One-Hundred for the textured power switch and clicked it to the right.

My double vision gets the best of me!

It only took about two seconds for the whole system to boot fully, and another one for Capper to grumble as the BASIC interface popped up in green text. One of the pitfalls of keeping a machine of such vintage up and running was the heightened probability of component failure, and the original BIOS chip had done just that. Even the most well cared for of objects would fail at some point – especially when exposed to harsh environments – so that meant a trip to the local salvage for a replacement.

Naturally, they didn’t have exactly what he was looking for, which was a genuine Text Equipment chip with that company’s operating system onboard. So the next best thing to do at that time was to buy a homebrew chip with a more complex, third party operating system. Capper knew his way around hardware, but his knowledge of the software was rudimentary at best. He was going to get the real deal through Thunder, but a much more important opportunity had presented itself at the last minute.

The computer may have been a little more inconvenient to operate as a result, but the solid and flashing lights of the expansion bays that glowed a nominal yellow meant that it was functioning, which was all that truly mattered.

The first time he had played a video game was on that very system, and it awakened a bit of a passion. Of course, he was barely able to scrape by back then, so finding a new one was always a rare treat. Regardless, he would play as much as possible during the allotted time and had become proficient at what he considered to be the greatest one of them all.

Now, after a decade and some odd years, he once again held in his paw a copy of that very game. Capper had been risking it all just to save the computer, he didn’t have time to hunt down rogue games as well. The only software he had packed with it was whatever was in its drives at the time. Ever since then he’d been slowly piecing the collection back together. Some components were quite elusive to any collector, but he had also come across several additions that were new to him.

I’ve lived all my years in a single minute!

The Abyssinian didn’t know for how long he’d been gripping the peripheral joystick, but simply jiggling it around with nothing on the screen wasn’t very productive. Without any further adieu, he popped the cartridge into the drive next to the keyboard, manually typed in the path, and hoped that it would take.

The screen went blank for an apprehensive few seconds, then the main menu for the program snapped into frame. The image displayed was a simple one, with cute little kittens sitting on a shoreline – each one holding a fishing pole. As soon as it displayed the title of Kitty Fishing Adventures in a rainbow of pastel letters, a truly genuine smile graced his lips and he excitedly took a swig of the beer.

The sneeze was as unexpected as it was sudden, and the fact that it was mid-swallow sent Capper into a massive coughing and sputtering fit. The back of his sinuses burned in irritation as he hacked away – still having the forethought to turn away from the setup and spare it of any mess. He was able to get sorted out after a few more seconds, but he swore that he heard the older kids at the home once again chastising him for enjoying a game that was for kittens.

Shut up! It’s awesome!

He looked down and examined the beer still in paw, wondering if the alcohol had helped dredge up the past. No. He only had a few sips thus far, not even enough to get mildly buzzed, and it would take more than one to take things that far.

The little eight-bit jingle coming from the tinny speakers – which was mostly drowned out by the stronger music – brought Capper back to the moment. By a bit of luck and a bunch of coin, he had been reunited with a long lost love, and the last thing he was willing to do was to let ancient history ruin the moment. He didn’t care what cats thought of his gaming choices back then, and he sure as shit didn’t now.

Setting the can off to the side and then cracking his knuckles, he placed digits upon the keyboard and started typing out his inputs. After pressing enter, the game switched to its menu where the location select and options dialogues were displayed. The number one key was next, and that took him to a list of locations to fish from. Number six, Sunset Shores, was his personal favorite, so he figured that was as good a place as any to get reacquainted. With that level queued up, he held down the only control key on the keyboard and pressed six – which when modified in such a way acted as a start command.

It switched surprisingly quickly to the actual game, and Capper took a moment to sit back and let the nostalgia trip take hold. The beach scene, with a wooden pier stretching out into the lapping waves of the ocean and a pink-tinged sky streaked with bright clouds illuminated by the sun dipping halfway below the vast horizon looked almost surreal, and harkened back to a time where survival wasn’t as paramount. He felt that he could easily just pull up a lawn chair – kick back – and watch the sky while sipping on a margarita. He didn’t possess such things, but he did have half a can of beer, which he took down to a quarter after a few gulps. And then, with a stupid grin on his muzzle, he made his first cast in many years, the hook and bobber soaring out to sea and plunging into the water with a cartoonish, exaggerated splash.

Boy, I sure missed this.