Three days.

  Yelz had been whittling away her claws upon a keyboard for three days, locked away in her office at Wild Gregs. Numbers rolled in the kobold's eyes like syrup, seeping past a brain that was slowly turning to mush and pooling around tired paws that became heavier with each step. Mornings were quick, nights were long, and sleep was short. Books had been her focus, the money coming and going out of Gregs her gospel. Only, without full access, all the frustrated lizard had found were suspicious mistakes at best. Not that she was confident a sneaky issue would slide by under her tired gaze.

  Speed had been the name of the game, Yelz blistering through her work quick enough to also comb through day after day, week after week, and month after month of numbers. Numbers and numbers and numbers. Breaks in the pattern that caught the eye; a red splotch in the forest or a breach in the ruddy mud of logistics. They were… there, but always in such minor mistakes or amounts so small as to be passed off as nothing more than a fat finger on a keyboard. Nothing that would implicate a crime. Nothing that could snare Greg in a trap. It was when her scaly nose nearly slammed into her desk, head bobbing from fatigue, that Yelz finally eased her frantic search.

  Paws scratched at the bags beneath Yelz's eyes, hidden under bright pink scales that shrouded just how tired the kobold was. Three days… three days of busting her tail for the man she hated most and with nothing to show for it. If she stamped her paws on the floor, no one would hear over the beat of music from below. If she screamed, Tracey wasn't around to hear. If she cried… well, the underside of her desk was well acquainted with her tears.

  What am I doing?

  What am I doing to fix this?

  The fact of the matter stood; she didn't have the access required to catch Greg with his spindly little hand in the cookie jar. Tracey might… Greg's office more likely than not. However, it wasn't like she could just waltz in and start rifling though his files and computer. Nor could she slip into Tracey's office, Greg had a direct sight line right to it. So what could she do? Giving up was not an option, the empty pit in her stomach and unbalanced check book back home made that more than clear.

  What would Andrew do?

  What would Hershey do?

  Tolly and Johnna?

  Patricia?

  Pringles?

  Heck, what would Kolky do?

  Yelz blinked, the incessant clack of claws on a keyboard ceasing for just long enough that the kobold bit her tongue. Crime. She was looking for crime, and she couldn't find any. It was there, the dancers down on the first floor had said as much. So… why not use crime to find some? Breaking the law- ah, the rules, were like real life cheat codes, right? Just don't get caught. The consequences were often really, really expensive.

  Her tail wasn't wagging. Adult kobolds didn't do that, of course. Relief poured through Yelz's aching fingers as she reached down to adjust her office chair baaaack, wonderfully back, and kicked her bare feet upon the desk. It was the first time she'd relaxed in days. Out of bed minutes before she had to leave for work, mind focused during the long, lonely drive, petal to the metal work while stuck in her chair, only to drive home and do it all over again. Even though it'd only been three days, the break-neck monotony had been brutal. For but a moment, she let herself go limp.

  Nearly fell out of her chair too, but what can one do?

  Focus on the objective. Yelz needed inside Tracey's, and in a perfect world, Greg's office. There was no way she could sneak her bright pink ass into either while anyone was still here. So… she'd have to wait until no one was inside, obviously. How could she get back inside? Every door was locked, every exit checked by security, and every access sealed. Except… maybe… the roof? Stairs at the back of Greg's office led up to the roof access, often used by maintenance crews to get at the air conditioning units that always needed touch ups. With a groan as if she were pulling against broken bone, Yelz lifted herself from her chair and stomped out of her office.

  Wild Greg's upper terrace was free of guests and worker alike, aside from security over-watch calling down trouble makers to their coworkers. Usually, Yelz would crouch by the railing and gaze upon the roiling mass of perverts, partiers, and provocateurs from on high, observing as they whittled away their cash and brain cells. Tonight, however, her eyes turned towards the stage. Moonbeam danced an ethereal pattern across the old, tarnished wood. Wisps of nearly see through silver silk wrapped around her body and forelegs, hugging her flanks and streaming along her tail like rivers through the air. One beat of her obsidian wings saw the gryphon launch into a lazy spiral, her back legs crossing over a pole to twirl down to the stage in a whirl of glittering feathers and exposed belly. Crowds of men, and women, screeched their approval, their arousal, their need. Through it all, Moonbeam glared her hate. All it did was galvanize her fans, bundles of cash tossed at her paws as they begged for more- for better views… for her to spread her back legs and lift her tail. For her to glare at them and insult them and spit at them. To hate them more.

  She did… clawing at the deck and boring a hole into the floor with her stare.

  To the side, Sade watched with approving glee at the shower of money, several men attending her paws and neck. One gagged on her tongue and another undulated behind her, the dragon's thick tail over his shoulder as he- Yelz snapped her gaze away, further into Wild Greg's shadows, only for her eyes to land on the tall male kobold who had greeted her in the back room days ago. His delicate paws wrapped around the rough hands of two men more than a head taller than he, as he led his customers into a private booth.

  A shudder of disgust ran through Yelz as she watched the… debauchery. Sex wasn't supposed to be like this- this… transactional, unfeeling, empty, hated act. It was supposed to be a celebration of connection, it was supposed to be fun and safe and relaxing. At least, for kobolds it was. As she watched Moonbeam spit at her crowd, only for them to cheer at the abuse, Yelz decided there was nothing down there that wouldn't break her.

  Yelz felt her own need to spit, turning on her heel to find Greg watching from his office, the bags under his own eyes as deep as hers, yet his grin more hungry than even Sade's. Yelz glared back, making a breaking motion with her paws and pointing up. Going on break, roof. The man only shrugged. As long as she did her job and made him money, he couldn't care less what she did. Pink paws made quick work of the staircase behind Greg's office, the heavy roof access swinging open on well oiled hinges and dumping Yelz out beneath a canvas of twinkling stars.

  Wind whipped at her blouse, dirt and trash dancing in a mindless cyclone under an open night illuminated by a bright, full moon. Soundproofing stopped the pervasive beat of music from reaching so high, the only disturbance being the nearby city of Alysia and its kicked-anthill of cars and people. Honks and revving engines and the quiet burble of a million voices were a balm to Yelz's sore ears, the usually soft pink insides an angry, inflamed red. The city had been her home for so long, the cacophony as calming as rain on a window.

  Tilted head… neck stretching… wind into the hot flesh of said sore ears…

  Thirty minutes.

  She had thirty minutes to finally stop moving. To just be a rock in the river. Like Andrew, who seemed calm and collected no matter what was crashing down around him. A single, trembling claw pointed skyward as Yelz fell to her back, tracing lines between constellations with its cracked tip. Bah, she'd need Hershey to give her a pedi and manicure at this rate. She was falling apart! No self respecting kobold let their claws crack.

  Veyo the wolf.

  Scorcha the Western Chariot.

  Skie herself, always guiding north.

  Yelz knew these stars well, the Matriarch always taught the hatchlings how to read the nighttime heavens. Oh, by the first scale, how she missed those lessons. How she missed the Matriarch's wisdom and her mate's understanding ear. For once, the solitude didn't draw the crawling whispers of loneliness. Yelz wished she could stay up here- hide up here… avoid going back down and just wait all the staff out.

  I wasn't a whine, nor a complaint, just a soft whisper into the night as her eyes fought to stay open. Yet there was no time to rest. A bit of trash, hearty metal from some careless HVAC worker, found its way into the kobold's paw and jammed into the roof access's door jamb. Once night fell, all she had to do was scale the gutters and she'd be in, free to pillage and bring Greg's sins to light. For now, though, all she had was her work earning money for a man she hated.

  Moonbeam was still dancing when Yelz returned, her eyes drawn to the midnight gryphon like a moth to the flame. Tolly was beautiful in the same way a warm apple pie was delicious, inviting and cozy. Moonbeam… Moonbeam was a fine wine in an engraved glass, dripping with class and sharp elegance. Every twirl, every curve of those sleek haunches, every toss of her raven head that scattered the overhead lights off her glitter covered feathers. Yelz felt her knees go weak. Moonbeam was a muse, an avatar of the goddess of beauty. Yelz wanted to tell her how pretty she was, how perfect she was, not out of some overwhelming lust but in the same way an artist gazes upon some master's magnum opus. Moonbeam deserved to be told, Yelz's admiration of her sheer form demanded to be voiced…

  … and yet.

  That heated, hateful scowl marred Moonbeam's otherwise divine visage.

  She hated it up there, on that stage, the target of a hedonistic hoard, forced to carry the perverted weight of sex-addicted fiends- and for what? For what… for money? To avoid trouble with the law if Greg released whatever dirt he had on her? To feed herself, to pay the bills?

  Suddenly, Yelz's admiration boiled away to a seething anger. Moonbeam was a treasure, she shouldn't be showcasing her body by force. No, her grace should be something she gifted out of free will and only on her terms! This… twisted perversion of beauty was a disservice.

  To her.

  To Yelz.

  To the fetid souls below further rotting themselves away.

  …

  …

  …

  Yelz didn't want to watch anymore. She carried herself into her office, curled under her desk, and set an alarm on her phone for three hours. Just three hours… that would be enough rest. No dreams came to her, no blissful fantasies of home or her warren or even Andrew's warm lap. Hershey didn't come to her to pour warm wisdom atop her head and hold her in her paws, nor did Tolly's chicks curl up by her neck and sides, so warm and safe and innocent. It was just… her. Alone in the dark under a desk. When her alarm went off, it felt as if she'd only just closed her eyes.

  Closing was a routine monotony; power down the computer, clean up her messes, and trudge out and down after the crowds had left. Normally, Yelz would have no issue rushing to her loyal Acura and diving into the gas pedal with all the righteous fear of a prey animal chased, yet tonight… all she did was lock herself inside and curl up hidden in the backseat. Wild Gregs always had a fleet of forgotten cars in her parking lot, drunks that had taken a taxi home or simply wandered off to vomit and pass out in the grass field behind the bar. One more shitty sedan wasn't out of the ordinary.

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  Sleep pulled at the kobold as she listened to car after car roll away, the laughter or griping of employees finally dying as the moon rose to its zenith. Silence followed, the witching hour blanketing the asphalt with a tide of silver. Silver, that was pierced through by pink, as Yelz peeked her nose over the window to gaze at the empty lot. Slowly, her paws worked the handle and she was away into the night, skittering around the back of the club to scramble up gutters and emergency fire escapes. Most were covered from the outside to prevent just such a thing, but for a kobold who grew up scrambling about fireman poles built into a apartment turned warren? Such deterrents were hatchlings-play. Annoyance, and a small bit of despair, roiled through her already exhausted mind as a claw chipped upon brick, the tip falling away as she pulled herself onto the roof proper.

  Yelz cradled her paw, looking down at her blunted and ruined claws. They had been so pretty and shiny, now blunted and dull from clacking away at a keyboard for days and days and days. Not to mention, the tip of her middle finger's claw was broken away almost at the middle. It stuck out, obvious and glaring.

  Still, just because her claws were devastated beyond repair and the prospects for man seemed distant, didn't mean there wasn't work to be done. The metal scrap she'd slid into the roof access door had performed admirably, keeping the bolt from seating properly and allowing the sneaky pink kobold unfettered entry into Wild Gregs. No music thrummed through the clubs floorboards or shook the walls as Yelz closed the roof access behind her with a flick of a tail. No lights bouncing off bottles and jewelry, no cat calls or the din of horny, rowdy, drunk patrons. No shuffling of feet or stamping of dancing boots. It was… quiet… dark. It felt like entering a tomb, Yelz finding her paws pulling to her chest as she descended the last of the stairs to pass by Greg's office- his throne, to make for Tracey's across the hall.

  A yawning, black pit beckoned down the corridor leading to the main dance floor, the upper terrace railing only visible due to her reptilian eyes greedy for what little light there might be within the formless walls. Curiosity, seeping like a cold miasma, pulled Yelz away from her objective and towards the empty main room. Paws uttered nary a sound, the accountant glad for the decision to go without her sandals, as she approached the railing to kneel and stick her muzzle through the worn, aged, wooden slats.

  It was… unsettling, to see Wild Gregs so empty and silent.

  Even her whisper felt like an affront, loud in her ears in the roaring silence. With a shudder, Yelz remembered the only other time she'd heard such mute air; after she'd cried her eyes out on the bathroom floor. Void pulled at her chest as she, against every instinct in her poor lizard brain, walked down to the dance floor surrounded by dead eyes and silent spirits. Her paws traced a circle on the battered wood, eyes gracing the walls and bar and upper terrace from an angle she'd never seen. Gregs seemed so big down here, so hungry, as if she made too much noise the music and lights would burst to life and devour her, never to leave. Sade's promise of a broken soul, of a shattered mind, rushed from memory like an ocean wave.

  This is where men would use her. Where women would grope her. Where she'd shake her tail and be ordered off the menu like a meal.

  A thing.

  An object to be used and wiped down with a wet rag and set back to task.

  This wasn't a dance floor, it was a tomb, a place where dreams died.

  Yelz hugged the sudden cold away, ears pinned to her skull and tail tight between her legs.

  Eyes.

  Eyes in the dark stared back at Yelz from beyond the stage, perched on a rafter above the entrance to the dancer's makeup room and showers. Gleaming, bright white eyes dripping with curiosity, with hunger, with… anger. Yelz fell to her rear, a whimper tearing from her throat as those bright pearls dropped to the floor, silent and plodding. Talons were the first thing that crossed a beam of dim light streaming from an overhead window, then pitch black avian scales leading to midnight feathers. A raven's beak, a sharp spear of obsidian, slid into view framed below those piercing eyes of ice. Great wings like an avenging angel rose like steeple over the gryphon's back, rising towards the ceiling like spires.

  Moonbeam…

  The rest of the infamous dancer slinked from the shadows like oil, her single silver streak like lightning leading over her head and down her back to sleek and unblemished fur. Predatory paws and a thick panther tail sliced through the still air as Yelz crawled back on all fours, her instincts roaring. The rise and fall of the gryphon's shoulder blades, the wide eyed and focused stare, the slow approach with talons outstretched… every step measured, every breath silent, like a ghost across the dance floor. Yelz had always been attracted to power, to strength, but this… this felt like she was being hunted.

  Greg left her to guard the place after hours!

  Fear took the driver's seat as Yelz flipped to all fours, crawling away like a wounded animal, gibbering and panting as terror scratched at the walls of her mind.

  The floor came rushing up to meet the kobold's chin as her paws stumbled over one another, her body curling into a ball, tail whipping tight over her own head and knees buried in her chest. Those talons paused, set… pulled back… Yelz peeked between her fingers at the gryphon who now sat back on her haunches, head tilted in a curious gaze. Maybe she wasn't going to tear her apart? Though, the rumors of how mean and angry she was, the memory of how she'd pushed that woman to the ground in the makeup room…

  Nothing.

  No movement, no wave of a claw… nothing.

  The truth, then. Yelz couldn't bring herself to lie under those ice-white eyes. Every time she tried, every fib she conjured, tightened a noose around her throat. In the end, her fear turned to desperation, the little pink kobold leaning toward the gryphon. Pat pat, her paw upon the dance floor, scratched and dented from boots uncountable. Crawling, pleading, begging, wet eyes looking up to this… predator. Realization, panting, paws pressed together in placation.

  Yelz slumped onto her knees. Not once had the pitch black gryphon so much as twitched at her cries for help. No shiver or shuffle of wings or swish of a tail. Only silence, only that stare. Yelz couldn't even tell if she was breathing. Yet, at the mention of black mail…

  …Moonbeam tilted her head upright… slow… calculated… calm… then let it tilt to the other side… eyes still locked on the lizard.

  A shiver ran through Yelz, the fear creeping back into her throat as the dancer rose to waltz passed her, silent as a snowfall. Up the stairs, back to the terrace… Yelz followed, trying her hardest to step as silently as the gryphon she tagged behind. Moonbeam didn't stop at Tracey's office, she padded right up to Greg's door, slid her claw into the lock, and pushed the door open. Without a word, the gryphon turned on her paws and descended back down the stairs, eyes still locked to the trembling kobold who pressed against the wall, looking so much like a fly.

  As if by command, Yelz rushed into Greg's office, thumb-drive slipping from her pocket and at the ready. Only once had she graced the man's throne room, during her interview, and now that it sat silent and empty… she couldn't help but feel watched. It was nothing more than a square office, the door leading directly to a chair before his desk and feet meeting a plush carpet. Trophies and pictures and awards lined the back wall, standing vigil over rows of filing cabinets each sealed with a padlock. Windows overlooked the man's kingdom below to her left, shades pulled tight to block light and lasers while he worked. Yelz padded around the oak desk to plop her rear in an oversized leather chair, broken claw stabbing at the man's computer.

  Unlike her own trudging desktop, Gregs bloomed to life almost the instant she graced the power button, a bright white password screen glaring back at her.

  Yelz lifted the keyboard, opened drawers filled with cigarette butts and empty bottles, food wrappers and crushed energy drinks. Not so much as a scribble of a password. The final drawer opened, and closed, with a startled yipe. A gun layed upon piles of empty condom wrappers…

  A black talon reached over her shoulder.

  Yelz grabbed at her pounding heart, eyes shot small into pinpricks, as the gryphon came from… nowhere, to clack her perfect talons over the keys. A long password etched itself across the screen, opening Greg's computer like the keys to a castle. For the first time, Yelz turned to the bird without fear, those icy blue eyes glancing to the dark void beneath the desk, her beak twisting in disgust and rage before ripping away. Yelz said nothing, watching as the dancer padded around her before ducking under the aged wood herself, finding nothing but scratches and dust. Yelz returned to the chair confused, yet too scared to bring any question to voice. Moonbeam said nothing, only turned and started working on the filing cabinets with her claws with a disgusted grimace.

  SLAM

  Claws crushed a wastebasket in the corner of the room, Moonbeam turning her glare upon the tiny kobold with all the wrath of a goddess. Yelz didn't whimper, didn't scream, didn't utter a sound. Only snapped back to her work and began combing files. The fear was back. The terror had returned. Though, it didn't last. Over the past three days, Yelz had delved deep into Wild Greg's finances. The little carton of pink lemonade had a solid grasp of where every possible discrepancy, every lie, every cover up, every bit of fraud might be.

  And now?

  WHOOMP, A stack of papers fell on the desk beside her paws like a falling rock, a black talon reaching into her blouse for the bulge of her trusty nokia. Snap snap snap, photos of… something… went into the hardy little device as Yelz downloaded file after file.

  Greg had been… busy. Records of narcotic sales, all sold in the bathrooms, the money washed via hiring security and then circled back into alcohol sales by the manager of Greg's third party security company. Each employee with organized dossiers and blackmail, fake alcohol licensures, Greg had it all. Every corner cut, every penny pinched. Yelz eyes came across Moonbeam's file, her paw dragging the cursor over each line item that was the collar around the gryphon's feathered neck.

  Previous drug charges, use and possession, assault and burglary, a prison sentence… more below, marked faux-mail, ready and waiting to be sent to police. One tap of a button and Greg could land the bird back in jail… just like Sade had said, Greg had them all by the tails. So why hadn't she done something sooner? It was obvious Moonbeam could break into his office and his cabinets and knew his password… so why? Yelz scrolled further down, a secondary file with the name 'Min'Tal'Wah' filling the screen before black talons covered the monitor.

  Moonbeam clacked her beak, impatient and angry. Yelz got back to work. Hours seeped by, the expensive thumb-drive filling until it couldn't be filled any longer. Every paper had been replaced, the cabinets relocked, and Yelz ushered back into the gloom of Wild Gregs. Only this time, she held the sword that would behead the beast, a tiny thumb-drive filled to the brim with everything the police would need. Screenshots and timestamps and names and times and dates and places. Anxiety welled in her chest, the little piece of plastic suddenly so very heavy. Claws on her back had her skittering, breath coming short and quick, out the roof access and sliding down the gutters to the ground.

  Moonbeam watched her go, all the unsung praises dying in her throat. That was a brave, if stupid, kobold. People like that didn't belong in here. Still, she was useful. Time would be short, she'd have to move fast to avoid Greg's contingencies. Still… Moonbeam let her paws carry her slow back to the stage, alone again in the dark. Where she belonged. Where she wanted to be. Gregs was more a prison than actual jail could ever have been. At least behind bars there were options. There were protections, of a sort, even if they were far from perfect. Here? She was just… prey. A claw raised to caress the lone microphone upon the stage, long lost and tossed aside dreams of letting her voice carry through one ghosting the gryphon's heart.

  Oh, how'd she'd have done anything, sliced any throat, to just… sing. Sing to even one person that just listened and didn't look at her with lust. That dream had died with Wild Gregs, and using that kobold, she'd make sure someone payed for it.

  Yelz didn't look back, scared she would glance upon the roof's edge and see Greg grinning down at her like all her efforts had been useless. As if she were to stay and soon be covered in scale paint and glitter, dancing on the floor with her eyes as dead as every other kobold and slaved to Sade like a pet.

  Yelz didn't feel herself dive into the Acura.

  Didn't feel the drive to Alysia.

  Didn't feel the slow drudge through traffic.

  Didn't feel herself fall going up the steps of the police headquarters, nor how she blubbered in fear to the officer that rushed to help her.

  Didn't feel her shaking claws as rough hands helped her into the station.

  F-Fraud.

  Help."

  Yelz didn't remember gibbering to some faceless police chief who shushed her, lead her, coffee in hand to another office.

  Attorney General…

  She told the old man everything. How she'd had to leave her warren, not too far away, now that she thought about it. Told him everything about Wild Gregs. Greg's Lies. Greg's Promises.

  Not once did he interrupt, only when she was done did he slide a box of tissues over and plug in her thumb-drive into a laptop. Only when she was done did he peruse her nokia, Yelz saying nothing when he didn't give it back. Only when her tears had dried and he'd taken her contact information did he amble around his desk…

  …And wrap his arms around Yelz.

  He'd said.

  He'd said.

  He'd said.

  Yelz just shook her head. No one had seen her.

  No one but the moonlight.

  The drive home was… strange.

  Floating.

  Yelz didn't feel right.

  Her head hurt.

  Her stomach hurt.

  Had she parked in the right spot at Patricia's? Was the car straight in the spot?

  Something was wrong… her paws were heavy. All the stress, all the work, all the running around and sleepless nights.

  She'd done it. She'd dropped the hammer on that creep and he didn't even know! The rogue had slid a dagger in the boss's back and wouldn't feel the poison hit his heart until it was too late!

  Yet all she wanted to do was sleep.

  Yelz didn't feel the knob in her paw. Didn't feel herself lock the door.

  By the first scale she just wanted to sleep- no eat. Yes, eat.

  She deserved a treat. A good meal. A solid reward. Not at the table, where the budget book was, no. She hated that book.

  The kitchen floor was cold.

  Her paws hurt.

  Her stomach hurt.

  When was the last time she'd eaten?

  Why was it so hard to open the fridge?

  oh…

  No food, she'd forgotten to get groceries after eating the last of her ham.

  T…Tomorrow…

  Bedtime… the carpet of the living room felt nice…

  Floor?

  carpet…

  Yelz felt wrong.

  Why was she lying down?

  Why…

  Blink.

  A growl.

  Pain.

  It took too long to rise, too long… too heavy…

  Yelz hadn't eaten in three days.

  Help…

  …help.

  I can't get up