The Mau The Merrier

Pawsitive Reinforcement !!

The last few months had been a mix of monotony and chaos. {Y/N} had settled into a routine—well, as much of a routine as someone like her could manage. Her sanctuary had been her arcade, a dusty, forgotten corner of the city she’d claimed for herself. Sure, the place wasn’t hers legally, but possession was nine-tenths of the law, and she possessed the hell out of it. 

Then some pests had moved in. 

A group of chain-smoking delinquents had decided her arcade was prime turf, stinking it up with cigarette smoke and spray-painting a decapitated baby silhouette on the front door. She retaliated, of course. Subtle acts of sabotage were her bread and butter: their cigarettes mysteriously vanished, their belongings were subtly booby-trapped, and their egos took a hit when they found themselves tripping over seemingly invisible obstacles. They didn’t know it was her, and that was the best part. 

But even her games grew old. Summer had set in, the heat oppressive enough to make her venture outside just for a change of pace. That’s how she found herself at the park that afternoon, Joe trailing behind her like a loyal dog, loaded down with milk bottles. 

“You better not drop any of those,” {Y/N} teased, taking a swig from her own bottle. 

Joe smiled, shifting the weight of the bottles in his arms. “I won’t.” 

The park was quiet, mostly empty except for the occasional bird or distant hum of cicadas. As they walked, a commotion caught {Y/N}’s attention. She slowed, her ears twitching at the sound of something—no, someone—being hit. Many, many times.

“Huh.” She stopped in her tracks, her sharp eyes locking onto the scene ahead. A group of kids—no, teenagers, barely older than children—were huddled beneath a tree. Five of them looked like they’d been dragged through the dirt and stomped on for good measure. Surrounding them were their tormentors: one tall, smug guy who looked like he thought he was king of the park, and several lackeys, all radiating the same brand of arrogance. 

“I didn’t know this park came with live entertainment,” {Y/N} remarked, taking another swig of milk. 

Joe squinted at the group and immediately stiffened. “Hey, wait a minute. That’s the same guy that beat me up a few weeks ago!” He pointed at the ringleader, a tall, muscular guy with dark grey pompadour and a smirk too big for his face.

“Oh, word?” {Y/N} replied nonchalantly. 

Before Joe could say anything else, she shoved her open bottle into his hands. “Hold this.” 

“Wait, what are you—” 

She was already walking away. 

///

The leader—Kiyomasa, though she didn’t know that—didn’t notice her until it was too late. One moment, he was watching his lackeys kick a kid with glasses, and the next, a sneaker slammed into his gut, sending him sprawling. 

“The hell—” 

He barely got the words out before {Y/N} descended on him like a wild animal. Her fist connected with his jaw, then her knee drove into his stomach, leaving him gasping for air. 

“Who the hell is this chick?!” one of his underlings—a wiry guy with bleached blonde hair—yelled, rushing to help. 

Bad move. 

{Y/N} turned on him, grabbing his arm and twisting until he dropped to his knees. She delivered a quick jab to his temple, and he collapsed in a heap. 

Another boy tried to grab her from behind, but she ducked, sending him tumbling over her shoulder with a well-timed shove. A stocky guy with a buzzcut hesitated, glancing nervously at the fallen bodies around him, before deciding to run. 

'Coward.' she spat in her head before pouncing on a tall blonde, scratching at his eyes.

By the time she was done, the once-proud group of attackers was scattered across the ground like discarded garbage.   

The five victims, previously huddled on the ground, slowly started to pick themselves up. 

One of them, a boy with blond hair and an expression that screamed “why me,” looked at her with wide eyes. His uniform was disheveled, and there was a bruise forming on his cheek. “Th-Thank you,” he stammered. 

Next to him, a tall, lanky boy with a slicked back mullet smoothed it shakily, his hands trembling. “Are they…are they dead?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“They’re fine,” {Y/N} replied flatly. “Probably.” 

A shorter boy with bleached hair—who had clearly tried to hold back tears during the beating—stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Who are you?” 

Before she could answer, Joe jogged over, his arms still full of milk bottles. He set them down carefully and immediately pulled a pack of wet wipes from the fanny pack strapped around his waist. 

“You’re a mess,” he muttered, wiping dirt and blood from her hands and face. 

She groaned, swatting at him half-heartedly. “I thought I told you to burn that thing,” she grumbled, gesturing to the fanny pack. 

Joe ignored her, focusing on a particularly stubborn smudge of dirt. “You didn’t have to go that hard, you know.” 

“They deserved it,” she said simply. 

Joe chuckled softly. “Yeah, but now I’m out of wet wipes.” 

The Mizo Middle Five exchanged glances, unsure whether to thank her again or just run for the hills. 

“Let’s go,” {Y/N} said finally, grabbing her milk. “This park’s boring now.” 

Joe grinned as he picked up the remaining bottles. “Lead the way, boss!”