Sly Cooper 5: Promises Made By Thieves

Chapter 21: Sly

If we weren't all cell neighbors, I'd probably be dead.

Thankfully, I'm not dead. But this just might be the worst three months of my life.

I still remember Catra's speech she gave us when we were all thrown into our cells.

"You know, raccoons," she'd said as we were rubbing our butts after the impact with our freshly cut claws, "it's clear you see me as the bad one. But for me, for the fine well-being of this amazing land, that would be you."

I heard Slytunkhamen panting. I thought I could actually sense rage. And that caused me anxiety too. It gave me the hint this prison was not something we'd be out of so easily. "If you were poor and starving and no one would help you, you'd have to resort to stealing too," he snapped.

"On the contrary," she said, "I'd find reasonable work. I'd, I don't know, manage my earnings. Grow up a bit. You all are adults. You should've tried it while I gave you the slim chance you didn't deserve."

Asenath, of all people, ended up spitting on the floor at her and her guards in response to that.

Catra stepped back, paused, and then scoffed. "Out of all you lowlifes, I expected the most maturity from you. Guess I was disappointed."

I saw Asenath clearly want to say something, but maybe she felt there would be no point trying to fight back against what she just said.

"You vermin better get used to these walls, and fast," she said. "I would normally show mercy, but thanks to all the trouble, feels more suitable your baby will be born behind bars too." She began walking away and then stopped. "Oh, and Miss Pili." She turns to her. "Up until a little request for recount, I'd say you were actually doing decently in that little election."

I felt a rage course through Pili. "So I really won?" she asked through clenched teeth.

Catra laughed. "We'll never know."

The guards slammed the door shut behind her.

That was three months ago. At the start everyone was giving me a bit of cold shoulder. I guess they were hesitant of me since it was only a few days ago I'd met them and now we were all in the slammer. But about half a week went by where I was clearly suffering just like them, and they forgave me. To a certain degree.

Our food was always cold, flavorless, oversoggy porridge, bland carrots, and tepid dirty water. It wasn't long before all of us began losing significant weight. We were also all wearing itchy towels as clothing.

Not only that, but our hands were always forcefully declawed. None of us could ever grow our nails out enough to try and pick a lock.

One of the guards in charge of bringing us our food occasionally mocked us by saying how Catra had access to the water again and how agitated yet accommodating all the raccoons and other lowlifes were also coming to this jail, just in a new place on a higher floor, for rebellions that weren't working. But little did he know he was giving us hope, knowing people were getting mad and we weren't forgotten, having a fair few accomplices.

It was the light in the mound of excrement that was our lives right now. Because the four of us were really beginning to lose hope. Even if we had friends, we hadn't found a single way out of these cells. They were so strong we theorized Catra had poured that strengthening potion we were trying to get onto the bars. The only way in or out were the keys, and not once did the guards use them or let any of us get close to them. On occasion, he would unlock our doors to cut our nails, but the new guards were smarter than the ones Pili devoured with those crocodiles. Smarter with more paranoia.

Not only do they handcuff us to this pole with one hand whenever they cut our nails, or make sure we're to the back wall whenever we're given anything to eat or drink, but they threaten to just let us slowly die if we step out of line. They admitted they're keeping us alive so we can learn the errors of our ways, in hopes of maybe becoming model citizens, but that Catra is more than ready to change her mind.

And her tactics are sadly working. Three months in and I haven't left this cell. There's a drain and we occasionally get buckets and sponges to stay clean, but it's hardly enough. We each have our own toilet, and whatever smells we make linger in the tight dark dungeon. And I'm beginning to not want to talk about my adventures with the gang anymore. I feel they'd bring me too much hope.

"Uh...guys?!" exclaims Asenath.

My misery pauses, as does everyone's when we hear that tone from Asenath.

"Is it happening?" asks Pili.

I see some water dripping. "It's really happening!" she wails.