Secret Origins: Times Past 1941: To Skin a Cat

[DocQuantum]

The city was a jungle of concrete and steel, where dreams came to either soar or get swallowed in the shadows. I was no stranger to the latter. My name is Roland DiGrasso, once a nimble-fingered thief who could lift a wallet as easily as a spirit, but those days were behind me. Now, I was just another retired crook known to the cops, ekeing out a living whenever I'm not drowning the memories of my checkered past in a bottle.

It was one of those mornings when the sun seemed to accuse you with its light, shining through the grimy window of my New York City apartment. I was nursing the tail end of an all-night bender, the kind that leaves your head feeling like it's been used as a drum in a jazz band's marathon session. My cat, Midnight, was staring into my face with disdain, her green eyes sharp as emeralds. She gave me a start, a silent alarm that something was off.

A heavy but familiar knocking at the door clawed its way through the haze of my hangover. "Oh, for crying out loud," I muttered, staggering to my feet. The knocking persisted, urgent and uninvited. I shuffled to the door, flung it open, and found myself squinting at three badges and the stern faces above them, just as I'd expected.

"What am I supposed to have done now, Officers? Whatever it is, I should let you know that I have an alibi," I grumbled, my voice as rough as the stubble on my chin.

The one in the lead, a broad-shouldered cop I knew to be named Flannery, gave me a look that could curdle milk. "We're not here to arrest you this time, DiGrasso," he said with an Irish brogue, his tone suggesting that was more my luck than his restraint. "But we do need your help. It's about a theft. Some rich kook who fancies himself a dealer in antiquities got himself robbed last night, and we can't figure it out. Looks like he might've faked the robbery for the insurance. That's my theory, anyway. But on the off chance this is a legit robbery, we thought we'd bring you in. You being an 'old friend' of the Captain's and all."

"The old 'set a thief to catch a thief' bit, again?" I sighed, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Not really, Bucko," Flannery shot back, "unless you'd rather be suspect number one, given your history."

Seems I'd never live it down. "Well, can I at least grab a cup of joe first?"

"There's coffee down at the station. Let's go," he said, and I knew that was the end of it.

As the officers brought me to the station, the rain began to fall, a relentless downpour that mirrored my own murky state of mind. Once there, I hugged my cup of java like it was a lifeline, the bitter liquid barely making a dent in my hangover. That's when they brought me in to a dingy interrogation room to talk to the 'rich kook' who was robbed. His name was Clepp, and he was being treated more like a suspect than a victim.

Clepp was a portly man with a receding hairline and a nervous twitch that betrayed his unease. "I'm telling you the truth!" he protested, his trembling voice a mix of indignation and desperation. "My collection of ancient Peruvian artifacts is second to none!"

Flannery was unimpressed. "The Smithsonian tells a different story," he countered, his tone dripping with skepticism. "They say you're a fraudster who's tried to pass off elaborate fakes as ancient artifacts, and conned some people into believing you."

"My sponsors believe in my mission," Clepp insisted. "And the Smithsonian is stuck in outdated concepts of human history. They've been proven wrong again and again by my discoveries and those of my colleagues. They're nothing but gatekeepers of the truth."

"And what truth might that be, Clepp?" Flannery asked, amused skepticism dripping from every word.

Clepp's eyes burned with the fervor of a zealot. "Why, the very truth I speak about in my lectures -- that we've been visited by civilized life from other planets with intelligence far superior to ours."

The room erupted in laughter from the cops, but I wasn't joining in. Something about Clepp's conviction caught my attention. I leaned in, my curiosity piqued. Maybe it was just the hangover talking, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this case than met the eye.

[DocQuantum]

The interrogation room was a box of stale air and peeling gray paint, a place where hope came to get a good frisking before being locked away. I was there alone with Clepp, the man of the hour, who looked like he'd been chewed up and spat out by the very idea of being a suspect.

Of course, Flannery had been reluctant to allow me to speak with Clepp alone, but I managed to twist his arm by suggesting that, if the man really did fake a theft for the insurance money, he might slip up if he thought he was talking to the last friend he had in the world. The old flatfoot only agreed when he finally saw the wisdom in it himself.

I handed the poor man a cup of coffee, black as the market I used to frequent in my less-than-legal days. "Here," I said, "it's not exactly ambrosia, but it'll help."

He took it with a tremor in his hand that wasn't just from the caffeine. "Thanks," he muttered, and I could see the gratitude in his eyes. It was the look of a man who'd been drowning in suspicion and was just handed a lifeline.

I settled across from him, nursing my own cup, the steam doing little to clear the fog in my head left from last night's escapades. "So, Clepp," I began, casual as a cat on a windowsill, "tell me about these artifacts of yours."

He perked up at that, the way a man does when he's talking about his life's passion. "Well, to begin with, they're not just artifacts, Mr. DiGrasso. They're proof." His voice had that edge of excitement, the kind that comes from believing in something bigger than yourself. "Proof that we're not alone -- or at least, we weren't."

He went on to tell me about his latest expedition to an uninhabited area of Peru, not far from Machu Picchu. He had found the usual pottery and relics, but also something more extraordinary: ancient technology, similar to the Antikythera mechanism but far more advanced.

"I believe these artifacts are proof that, at the dawn of humanity, Earth was visited by extraterrestrials," Clepp said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "They left behind incredible technology that has been lost to us for centuries."

I listened intently, my mind racing like a curious kid flipping through the pages of National Geographic. Clepp's story was outlandish, but there was a strange sincerity in his eyes. And the fact that he had been robbed of these artifacts, with no signs of forced entry, suggested that someone was very interested in what he had found.

"I know what you're thinking," Clepp said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You think I'm crazy. But I'm telling you the truth, Mr. DiGrasso. I have proof."

He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small metallic object. It had an odd shape and was covered in weird symbols and hieroglyphs, and I couldn't help but feel a strange pull towards it.

"This is one of the artifacts I found," Clepp said. "I believe it's a key. A key to unlocking the secrets of the universe."

I took the key-like artifact from him and examined it closely. It was cold to the touch, but I could feel a faint vibration beneath my fingertips.

"Where are the other artifacts?" I asked, handing it back to him.

"They were stolen," Clepp said, his voice filled with despair as he slipped the key into his pocket. "It happened last night, after I'd penned the latest newsletter detailing my newest discoveries for all of my faithful subscribers, then gone to bed. Mind you, both the doors and windows were locked from the inside, and the police found no evidence of anyone breaking in. I can attest that the theft must have been almost completely soundless, given that I slept undisturbed while it happened. I didn't discover the theft until this morning, approximately a quarter after five o'clock. The strangest thing is that, while the museum was ransacked, none of my more valuable antiquities from my private collection were taken, only those artifacts I believe to be ancient technology."

"Who do you think would do such a thing?" I asked.

"I believe it was the Smithsonian Institution," Clepp said, a note of outrage in his voice. "They're afraid of what I've discovered, and must have hired a professional thief. They claim to stand for education and truth, but in reality they wish to do nothing less than suppress the truth and keep the masses in the dark."

I frowned. It was a bold accusation, but Clepp seemed convinced. He went on talking.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. DiGrasso, I think they're jealous of my following. While they've successfully kept my articles out of all the peer-reviewed journals, I've still managed to get the word out by turning to alternative sources -- pulp magazines, mostly... Weird Tales and the like -- and as a result I've become quite popular in certain circles. Many of those readers have become my most fervent supporters, financing each of my expeditions."

My guess was that Clepp's supporters were mostly gullible old widows with too much money, as well as that certain percentage of the wide-eyed masses that always falls for scams like this. Like P.T. Barnum always said, there's a sucker born every minute. Naturally, I kept those thoughts to myself.

As I leaned back, the pieces began clicking together in my mind like the tumblers of a safe I once cracked. "I might have an idea about who took your treasures," I said, thinking of a shadow from my past, a rivalry I'd once had with certain talented thief.

Clepp's eyes were hungry, desperate. "If you can retrieve my artifacts and help me prove to the world that I'm not crazy, I'll pay you handsomely."

I looked at Clepp, his eyes filled with desperation. And in that moment, I knew I had to help him. "Consider it done," I told him.

Clepp's face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. DiGrasso," he said. "I knew I could count on you."

With a tip of my hat, I stood up and turned to go. As I reached the door, I looked back at Clepp.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll get your artifacts back -- and clear your name."

As I left the room, I could feel the old thrill of the hunt stirring in my blood. If it was indeed my old rival, he was about to find out that this old cat burglar still had claws.

[DocQuantum]

The city had a way of making you feel like you were wrapped up in a wet newspaper, cold and forgotten. I stepped out onto the streets, the overcast sky pressing down like a lead lid on a pot of yesterday's stew. I turned up the collar of my trench coat, a feeble defense against the biting March chill that seemed to sneak into your bones like a con artist into a widow's trust fund.

Before I left I had made sure to give Flannery a piece of my mind, telling him Clepp was clean. I suggested he post a bluecoat outside Clepp's door, for the man's own good. Flannery scoffed with a dry laugh and barked, "Mind your own damn business, DiGrasso." So I tipped my hat and stepped out, leaving the cop to marinate in his own juice.

Clepp was a different breed from the usual high-heels and heartaches that came knocking at my door. No damsels in distress or rich old birds lightening their bank accounts for me this time. But the guy had the look of a deer in headlights -- scared, confused, and too innocent for his own good. His theories were wilder than an opium dream, but that didn't mean he deserved to be framed. And besides, it'd been a few weeks since the last time I recovered something stolen from somebody. The last time the client was named Cynthia, and her husband had ditched her for his mistress, taking a few thousand in cash with him. The thirty percent that I'd kept as my fee from that case had begun to dry up, which was just as well, given my tendency to overdrink whether times were good or bad. Still, I needed a fresh influx of cash to pay the rent, and Clepp was the ideal customer.

My gut told me this was the work of a pro. My mind raced to one name -- Slayton. A Brit with a touch as light as a pickpocket's kiss and the only other cat burglar who could give me a run for my money back in the day. He was as dangerous as a cornered rat, and twice as vicious if he thought he'd left a trail.

With Clepp's blessing, I made my way to his mansion. The butler, a stiff-backed chap named Jacobsen, let me in. A couple of gumshoes were still combing the place, their eyes giving me the once-over. Still, Captain O'Malley had given the nod for my visit, so they kept their traps shut and let me be.

The top floor housed Clepp's private museum, a fortress of locks and alarms. To any Joe off the street, or to most cops, it seemed as impenetrable as Fort Knox. But as I peered around the room, which was still in disarray after the theft, I could spot a few avenues of entry that I might have used myself back when I was a thief.

Yeah, just as I'd figured, it had Slayton's fingerprints all over it, even if they weren't the kind you could dust for. Now all I had to do was prove it, and the game would really begin.

[DocQuantum]

The butler, Jacobsen, had that look in his eye -- the kind that said he knew more than he'd let on -- but I wasn't in the business of twisting arms for words. Not anymore. I tipped my hat to him and stepped out of Clepp's mausoleum of a mansion with a purpose. If Slayton was behind this, Clepp was as safe as a mouse in a room full of hungry cats.

I hit the pavement, my soles slapping against the concrete like the steady beat of a jazz drummer. The city was a maze, and I was the rat who knew its twists and turns. I ducked into smoky speakeasies, rubbed elbows with street corner prophets, and slipped through back alleys where the sun never shone. But Slayton? He was a ghost, and my leads had all gone dry.

Once upon a less honest time, Slayton and I could've been two sides of the same coin -- rivals in the night's shadowy dance. We almost broached the chasm between us one booze-soaked evening when he lured me to his lair with tales taller than the Empire State. But there was a chill in his laughter that sobered me quicker than a cold shower. I left that night with the nagging feeling that I'd dodged more than just a hangover.

Now, five years later, I was standing at the same door that once swung open to a world I'd left behind. It creaked ajar, and whether it was an invitation or a trap, I couldn't tell. I stepped inside, the taste of regret bitter on my tongue. I should've really had my trusty M1911 with me, but that was part of a past life -- one I'd handed over to my nemesis-turned-friend Captain O'Malley along with my rap sheet.

The Captain had been my get-out-of-jail-free card, a lucky break for a cat with nine lives. He set me up as the guy you call when the cops are out of ideas and the trail's gone cold. I was good at it, too -- using the tricks of my former trade to right wrongs without crossing certain lines I'd drawn in the sand.

Slayton's hideout was empty, but I combed through it with the thoroughness of a tax man. I was ready to call it quits when the moon, playing peek-a-boo through the clouds, threw a spotlight on a glint in the closet. There, hidden away like a sinner's conscience, was a small metal box.

Inside, an assortment of relics lay haphazardly, their ancient surfaces catching the moonlight. They were Clepp's missing pieces, all right -- artifacts that seemed to whisper of times long gone and secrets not meant for the likes of me. Forgeries or not, they were my ticket to pinning the tail on Slayton and proving Clepp innocent.

I pocketed the box and slipped back into the night, a shadow among shadows. Making a beeline for Clepp's mansion, I knew I needed to tell him the good news and, more importantly, ensure he kept himself safe.

But before I could play my hand, I needed a hole to squirrel away my find -- a secure spot for safekeeping. The game was afoot, and I wasn't about to fumble at the goal line.

[DocQuantum]

The night was black as pitch by the time I returned to Clepp's mansion, the kind of place where the shadows whispered secrets and the wind carried the scent of old money and older sins. The mansion loomed over me, its windows like blind eyes to the world's woes. I was there to meet Clepp, but fate had other plans.

I found him, all right, not cozy in his study, but cold on the pavement. A mugging, they said, gone wrong while he took a moonlit stroll. But the streets were too silent, the kind of silence that screams cover-up. Flannery hadn't taken my advice about keeping Clepp safe, and the cops arrived only after the reaper had punched the old man's ticket.

Flannery showed up, of course, being the kind of cop that chewed on tragedies like they were his morning gum. "It's a damn shame, DiGrasso," he said, his voice as rough as gravel. "But Clepp's kicking the bucket means the 'ancient artifact' theft case is dead in the water. You know those trinkets he claimed were stolen from his private museum? Turns out they're phony as a three-dollar bill, according to the Smithsonian bigwigs."

He had a theory, Flannery did, that Clepp had staged the whole robbery to dodge a fraud charge from one of the old biddies he'd supposedly fleeced. Now, with Clepp pushing up daisies, that theory would be considered gospel truth at the precinct. But I knew better. Clepp was targeted, all right. They had taken more than a few measly bills from his wallet; they had also snatched the small, key-like artifact he had shown me at the precinct, the kind that might unlock more than just doors. It was clear as anything could be -- someone wanted Clepp silenced for good.

Slayton topped my list of suspects. If he was behind this, he'd have to answer to more than just the law. Clepp was my client, and now he was a stiff. That made it personal.

My mind went back to that box of artifacts I'd found in Slayton's old hideout. I knew I needed to retrieve them from the place I'd stashed them on my way to the mansion. But before I could do anything more, I felt eyes on me. Street toughs, a whole pack of them, were trailing me like hounds on a fox hunt. I tried to shake them, but the night had other ideas. Out of nowhere, a blackjack kissed the back of my head, and the world went as dark as the alleyway I stood in.

The city's underbelly was a beast, and I was in its jaws. But Roland DiGrasso never went down that easily. This was my city, my case, and I'd see it through to the bitter end, come hell or high water.

[DocQuantum]

Consciousness crept back to me like a cat burglar, silent and unwelcome. My head throbbed like hell. But as I blinked the darkness away, I found myself in a scene straight out of a dime novel. Tied up in an underground cavern, the air thick with the musk of damp earth and the flicker of torchlight casting shadows that danced like devils at a sabbath.

The place was crawling with cloak-wearing goons, their robes adorned with the kind of occult symbols whose meaning would make a sane man's skin crawl. It was clear as the gin in my flask -- these jokers had pegged me for the guest of honor in some twisted ritual sacrifice.

I've been in pickles before, sure, but this was a whole new brand of trouble, and things were getting stranger than ever. I'm Roland DiGrasso, lover by choice, fighter by necessity, and right now, I wasn't given much option for sweet talk.

Then he stepped out of the shadows -- Slayton, my former rival for the title of greatest cat burglar on the Eastern Seaboard, and the current head honcho of this loony little witch's coven. He had the kind of grin that'd make a shark head for the shallows. "I've been keeping tabs on you, DiGrasso, old chap," he said, his voice slick as oil on water. "You have absolutely no idea what you've managed to stumble upon, do you? Clepp's trinkets from Peru, they're more than just shiny baubles or forgeries, as some claim. They're keys -- keys to power that you cannot even begin to fathom."

I shot back, "You think you can scare me, Slayton? I've stared down the barrel of a .45 without blinking. And you think your hoodoo voodoo rattles me?"

His laugh was like glass scraping on stone. "Brave words for a man about to meet his maker," he sneered. He held up the box of artifacts I'd hidden, the one I thought was safe. "Did you really think you could outsmart me? I've been two steps ahead before you even set foot in that old flat of mine."

Slayton chuckled in that arrogant way of his and proceeded with his plans. The cultists started their chant, a sound that crawled up your spine and set up camp. Slayton himself raised a dagger that looked as if it had thirsted for blood since the dawn of time. As they called to their dark gods, the ones they believed coughed up those cursed artifacts, I had to admit, things were looking grim for ol' DiGrasso.

But if there's one thing I knew, it's that the night was darkest just before the dawn. And I'd be damned if I'd let some two-bit cult snuff out my eternal flame, even if it did seem that my legendary lucky streak truly had run out. Sure, it's a hackneyed old saying, but hope springs eternal.

[DocQuantum]

The cavern's air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmur of ancient chants while I just lay there tied up tighter than a drum, my head still singing from the blackjack's kiss. The cultists, a motley crew of cloak-and-dagger enthusiasts, were too busy playing dress-up to notice the real show.

For that was when Midnight made her grand entrance, my tempestuous shadow with a purr like a '39 Packard. She sauntered in, her black coat blending with the dark like she was born from it. I gave her the signal, a whistle soft as the breeze through a graveyard. She gave me the feline once-over, that look of utter disinterest only a cat can muster. But when the chips are down, Midnight knows the score.

With a leap as sudden as a gunshot, she was on Slayton, the self-proclaimed high priest of this dime-store cult. The dagger flew from his hand like a startled bird, spinning through the air, and by some stroke of luck, it landed within reach of my bound hands.

The cultists were in an uproar, chaos unfurling like a flag in a storm. Midnight, God bless her, was practically a black-furred hurricane, all claws and teeth and untamed fury. I snatched the dagger, cutting through my bonds like they were butter. I'm no brawler, but when the reaper's at your door, you don't exactly invite him in and offer him a drink.

I slashed at the nearest robes, buying myself a breath of time. Then, as I spotted the box of artifacts, I grabbed for it, but in the scuffle, all I managed to hold on to was a strange cube, the key still unturned in its lock -- the same key that Clepp had shown me back at the station, and which had been stolen from him after his murder. That was a personal reminder that I still had a client to avenge.

With the cube and key in hand I bolted, the cultists hot on my heels, Slayton leading the pack with a new dagger glinting in his hand. But Midnight was still a whirlwind, keeping the stragglers at bay while I made my escape. The chase was on, and I had the feeling this was only the beginning of a very long night.

Still, if there's one thing I have always done well, it's survive. With Midnight at my side and the artifacts in my pocket, I hoped to turn the tables on Slayton and his dark plans. After all, in my city, the night belongs to us self-styled detectives and our cats. And by my count I still had most of my nine lives left.

[DocQuantum]

The torchlit passageway was a poor excuse for a lifeline, but it was all I had. I darted through it, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, the echoes of my footsteps a desperate rhythm in the pressing silence. The passage spilled me out into a cavernous void, a black so complete it felt like being swallowed whole, though it was probably just a big warehouse.

I stumbled, cursed, and found cover behind a stack of crates that smelled of old journeys and forgotten things. My heart was a drumbeat in my chest, the only sound in the suffocating dark until the scrape of Slayton's footsteps approached, his flashlight cutting through the black like a traitor's smile.

There, in the quiet, I turned the strange cube over in my hands as if there was nothing better to do. It glowed with a dim blue light, a heartbeat of color in the void. Curiosity, that old fiend, got the better of me as it does most cats. I turned the key and opened it up.

The amulet inside immediately fell out, hitting the ground with a sound like destiny calling. I reached for it instinctually, but the thing had a mind of its own. It leaped at me, a living thing, burrowing into my chest like it was coming home.

The night was as quiet as a churchyard, but inside my head, it suddenly became Mardi Gras. Visions assaulted me, a torrent of alien memories: flashes of beings that shone like a spotlight, others dark as a mobster's heart, passed through my mind. Names that tasted of starlight and time whispered through my thoughts, dancing on the tip of my tongue.

Were they gods or frauds? I knew I had no capacity to decide as I kept watching the parade of ancient astronauts play out behind my peepers. All I knew was that Clepp had been right all along. These alien gods were here before the pyramids were a twinkle in Pharaoh's eye, giving a leg up to the human race like a sap handing over his wallet to a grifter.

The images came in hot and heavy -- humanoid figures, tall and regal, being worshipped like they were the cat's pajamas. They flitted through the stars, stopping by our little blue marble for a cosmic coffee break, sparking civilizations like a match to kindling.

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, scolding myself to get a grip. But the names kept coming, a roll call of the otherworldly. I could almost see them, etched in stone and time, a signature left by visitors with a one-way ticket to the great unknown.

And then, as sudden as a snapped neck, the visions stopped. And I discovered that I was different, that I had been physically changed while my mind had taken a trip on that rollercoaster. My skin was a tapestry of living metal, a gleaming coat of armor given form by some cosmic joke, a verbatim mockery of my former life as a cat burglar. A helmet with ears like a cat's crowned my head, and a steel tail swayed behind me. I flexed my hands, and blades slid from my knuckles as easily as a politician's promises before Election Day.

I felt power thrumming in my veins, a vitality that sang of youth and strength I'd thought long gone after many years of hard living. But it came with a price. There was an edge to me, a new sharpness to my thoughts that wasn't there before. Thanks to my upbringing I'd always been mild-mannered as a Quaker, a proud pacifist by nurture, if not nature. But now? Now I was something else, something more.

Slayton was close, his light a beacon for my newfound rage. I was eager and willing, blades at the ready, a metallic avenger born from the shadows. This was my city, my fight, and I was going to take it back, one cultist at a time.

[lee]

I'm hooked.

[DocQuantum]

I burst from my cover like a bullet from a gun, my metallic form catching the flickering torchlight as I confronted Slayton. The cult leader's eyes widened in terror at the sight of me, a steel apparition in the dim cavern. But as realization of who I must be dawned on him, his fear twisted into a grotesque smile.

"You've done it, DiGrasso!" he crowed. "By thwarting your own sacrifice, you've inadvertently become the human incarnation of the very god we summoned through our rites and sought to control! Oh, just think of all the valuables you'll steal and the men you'll slay, all in my name!"

I snorted, the sound echoing oddly against my metal throat. "You're off your rocker, Slayton. I'm no one's puppet."

He laughed, a sound that grated on my nerves. "Ah, but you are, DiGrasso! You're a 'stainless steel cat,' so to speak, and with the other artifacts still under our control, you'll have no choice but to become our cat's paw!"

To shut him up, I lunged at him, my new body coiled with tension and power. But Slayton stood unafraid, a man certain of his delusions. Just as my blunt steel fist was about to connect with his smug face, something colossal and shadowy barreled into me, sending me sprawling.

It was a creature of nightmares, a behemoth with fur as black as sin and a face of many eyes that burned with an otherworldly fire. It had the ears of a cat and the presence of a god. Slayton's mad cackle filled the cavern.

"The Cat God lives!" he shrieked, triumphant.

I picked myself up, my mind racing. This was no god, but another of Slayton's tricks, another piece on the chessboard. But if he wanted to play games, he'd find I was a player of a different sort. The Stainless Steel Cat, if that's what I'd now become, was nobody's pawn.

[DocQuantum]

The air was thick with the scent of dust and the electric tang of supernatural fear. I stood there, the Stainless Steel Cat, my metal body gleaming in the scant light, facing down a behemoth that myths were too scared to whisper about. Slayton, that conniving snake, watched with glee from the sidelines, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

"You're out of your league, DiGrasso!" he jeered, his voice bouncing around the cavern like a pinball. "You're nothing but a pawn in a celestial game played by the gods themselves!"

I squared my shoulders, feeling the weight of my new form. "We'll see about that," I growled, my voice a metallic rasp.

The Cat God, a towering figure with fur as dark as the void, fixed me with a many-eyed gaze that could curdle blood. We clashed, metal against fur, a symphony of violence that would make the Furies weep. It was a dance of power, each of us vying for dominance, but the beast had millennia of strength behind it.

Just as I felt the tide turning against me, a streak of black darted across the cavern floor. Midnight, my trusty feline companion, had joined the fray, her small form a blur as she weaved between the Cat God's massive paws. The distraction was all I needed. With a roar that shook the cavern, I surged forward and delivered a blow that would've made Hercules nod in respect.

Slayton's face drained of color as I turned to him, my blades catching the light. "Time to pay for your sins, Slayton. Justice is coming for you."

But fate had other plans. The Cat God, not yet finished, rose like a phoenix from the ashes of defeat. With a look of divine retribution, it lunged at Slayton, its massive clawed hands closing around his throat. I could only watch as the life was choked from him, his eyes wide with terror.

As Slayton's body went limp, the Cat God's voice filled my mind by way of explanation for this unexpected turnabout, a telepathic whisper that spoke of debts unpaid and sacrifices still owed. With a final act of vengeance, the creature opened a portal, a swirling maelstrom of fire and brimstone, and dragged Slayton's corpse into the abyss.

The portal closed with a sound like the universe exhaling, leaving me alone in the cavern with the echoes of what had transpired. I looked down at my hands, my steel claws slowly retracting. The Stainless Steel Cat had won the night, but at what cost?

Led by unerring feral instincts, I stepped out of the cavernous warehouse and looked up into the night, seeing the city's lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth. The game had changed, and I was a player reborn. The streets of the city whispered my name, and I answered their call, a guardian in living metal. The night was mine, and I was its champion.

[DocQuantum]

The danger had passed, and the adrenaline that had fueled my veins like high-octane gas began to ebb away. I could feel the hexagonal pieces of my metallic armor retracting, collapsing back into the amulet that had become a part of me. It nestled into my chest, a constant reminder of the night's surreal events. I was back in my worn tweed suit, the fabric feeling foreign after the cold kiss of steel.

Midnight, my four-legged shadow, leaped into my arms with a grace that belied the chaos we'd just endured. Her green eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the night, and for a moment, I envied her simple world.

Reentering the warehouse, we navigated the labyrinthine tunnels that had led into it, the walls whispering secrets of ancient rites and modern madness. The chamber where the cultists had congregated was deserted, the air still heavy with the scent of their fear and the incense they'd burned to mask it. They'd taken their cursed trinkets with them, no doubt to peddle their dark arts elsewhere.

The return to the surface and the walk back to my apartment was a blur, Midnight perched on my shoulder like a silent sentinel. My mind wrestled with all the events that had unfolded this night, trying to concoct a tale the boys in blue would swallow without choking. But some knots aren't meant to be untied. Clepp's murder and the theft of the artifacts would remain an open sore in the city's underbelly, unsolved and festering like so many others, but ultimately forgotten.

I stood in my apartment, the familiar clutter somehow comforting after the night's otherworldliness. The case was closed, as much as any case in this city ever is. Clepp and Slayton were gone, their disparate ambitions snuffed out like candles in a gale. The amulet, a piece of otherworldly craftsmanship, was bound to me now, a permanent fixture of my being. I'd have tossed it into the deepest ocean if I could, but it seemed fate had other plans for Roland DiGrasso, the Stainless Steel Cat.

Life would go on, with Midnight by my side. The irony wasn't lost on me; the vices that had once been my closest companions no longer called to me. Cigars, the bottle, the bitter brew of coffee -- my body rejected them all like bad alibis. For the first time in a long stretch, my head was clear, my hands steady. It was a new beginning, or perhaps the start of another end.

Although I didn't yet suspect it, the missing artifacts, still under the cult's control, would come back to haunt me in the years to come. But that would be a story for another time.

The End

[DocQuantum]

Sometimes ideas simmer for a long time at the back of your mind before suddenly giving birth to themselves, fully formed. I wrote this entire story today, after coming up with the hook at the beginning. I was inspired by a series of novels I've been reading, the Travis McGee series by John D. MacDonald (The Deep Blue Good-By, et al), although my version of Roland DiGrasso is probably more inspired by Raymond Chandler than anyone.

I hope you enjoy this origin story of the Stainless Steel Cat, a character created by CSyphrett for a single 1948 times past story in which he dies along with his teammates in the Sentinels of Magic, and loosely based both on our fellow writer Immortalwildcat and the Stainless Steel Rat by Harry Harrison. This is not my character, but I'm glad to have left my mark on him, and I would love to see someone else tell a story of the Stainless Steel Cat someday.

[DocQuantum]

Jul 11, 2024 3:45:11 GMT lee said:

I'm hooked.

Thanks! I hope you enjoy the ending.

[dans]

nice! reads like one of those novels you are talking about and leaves Roland ready to go