Mask of the Archer

Amber, meerkat and ace journalist of the Empire City Tribune, sat at her writing desk surrounded by the clicking of typewriters and the scent of coffee. She idly fished a gummy worm from the candy jar on her desk and scarfed it down as she focused on her assignment.

“You know I actually hate you.” Amber looked to her right to see a beaver girl glowering at her.

“Why?” Amber asked, flattening her ears.

“Because you can scarf those down,” the beaver replied, “and you’re still skinny.”

Amber chuckled. “I walk a lot, Nadine.”

Nadine huffed before she spoke again. “Any luck on your next story?”

Amber shook her head. “I’ve got a few leads.”

Nadine nodded before she walked away leaving Amber to pursue her work. The story she was chasing was all laid out before her: The mysterious fox vigilante, knighted as 'The Archer' by the press, used a bow and arrow in this age of repeating firearms.

The press only had a blurry photo of him: a fox in a dark green hood, a scarf over his muzzle complete with a domino mask and, of course, wielding a bow. The Archer had - allegedly - cut quite the slough through various mobster gangs, and corrupt businessmen, with a few industry - and underworld - leaders found on street corners and gutters with arrows sticking out of their puffy chests.

“Who’s your next target, Archer?” Amber mused.

She had a few theories. All of his targets shared commonalities. First, they had all escaped the justice of the courts, let off on technicalities, aquited, saved by the best lawyers money could buy.

“You truly are a vigilante,” she said to herself as she poured over the articles. “Delivering your own style of justice.”

Amber went over a stack of court cases looking for any that would meet the criteria. She certainly had a lot to choose from, she thought as she idly ate another gummy worm. Her eyes settled on one in particular: a coyote named Cecil Valen. The man’s file was thicker than a stack of Sunday comics.

She skimmed the basics:

Aged forty-two. Owner of “Vallen Enterprises,” an umbrella that included a shipping company, a chain of “exclusive” supper clubs, and a warehouse leasing business down on the waterfront.

All of it smelled legit enough for the average reader, but Amber had learned long ago that neat letterheads and polite smiles didn’t wash away bloodstains.

The first clipping was from three years ago. “Police raid on gambling den! Charges dropped due to improper search warrant!”

Amber snorted, twirling her pencil between her claws.

“Improper, my tail.”

There were plenty of other headlines.

Suspected gang-related homicide, ties to Vallen Enterprises case dismissed for lack of evidence.

The most recent article read: “Prohibition-era loopholes allow Vallen Enterprises to keep ‘private clubs’ open, despite allegations of smuggling.”

“You are a slick one aren’t you Cecil?” Amber muttered.

She stood up and stretched - it was time for some field work. She had a few contacts to try. If Cecil was up to something there would be whispers in the underworld, and Amber just might get an exclusive.

Amber stood on the back dock of the old factory: concrete plastered with graffiti and every bit of metal covered in rust. Amber’s contact was an old black furred wolf. “One-Eye Otto” they called him, as he had lost his left eye in a knife fight long ago. He was a rough character, constantly subtracting his chances of living another five years with his chain-smoking habit... But in spite of his flaws, he was an invaluable source to Amber. Whatever his reasonings for feeding the reporter information, he was always spot on.

“Cecil, eh? Pah, that coyote is running scared. Sure he’s always projecting calm and collected, but in reality? He’s losing his mind. All the big players are.”

“The Archer?” Amber asked.

“The Archer,” Otto confirmed, pointing at the intrepid reporter with a massive finger adorned with a massive claw. “Cecil’s making drastic moves on the waterfront where he owns a good portion of the warehouses. I hear something's going down tonight. He’s been hiring out extra muscle. Might have a shipment he wants to make sure is secured.”

Amber smiled, her tail twitching. “Thanks Otto, you’ve been a big help.”

Otto tilted his head, his ears flattening. “Err, if I were you miss Zazuetta, I’d keep my distance.”

Amber giggled. “Otto, it’s like you don’t know me at all!”

The plucky meerkat had made it to the waterfront, the seaside warehouses shrouded with a thick heavy fog. Lonely foghorns wailed in the distance, and the smell of salt and dead fish hung heavy in the air. Amber pulled her coat closer trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. All she had for protection was her pepper spray. The entire section of the waterfront belonged to Cecil, and from what Amber could see, there didn’t seem to be much activity.

Yet.

The journalist hid behind a shipping container and waited, for something, anything. Eventually her patience was rewarded: The sound of something heavy dropping followed by an expletive.

“You idiot!” a harsh voice snapped.

Amber poked her head around and grinned a toothy grin, the group was loading containers of some sort into the warehouse. Quickly she pulled her camera out and snapped a few pictures before pocketing it. A figure stood among the laborers a canine in a fine suit and a tacky panama hat.

Cecil himself.

This was good, Amber said to herself, just too good. The meerkat made one more photo and started to sneak off before a large badger barred her way.

“What are you doing here, girly?” he growled.

“Oh, just out looking for work,” Amber replied innocently.

The badger flattened his ears and bared yellowed teeth.

“Like hell you are.”

He lumbered forward but Amber was fast on the draw and her little pink canister of pepperspray hissed like an angry serpent. The badger shouted in pain as his paws went to his face and he wailed. Amber kicked him in the shins and ran for it, weaving between the maze of crates and containers.

The commotion was bound to get a lot of attention she didn’t want. A gull shrieked as Amber disturbed its resting place as she vaulted over a container. She was home free until two burly rats barred her way, one of them holding a crowbar, the other going for something in their coatpocket, Amber turned but a serval was right there with a switchblade.

“Uh, this isn’t where I parked my car,” Amber said in a last ditch ploy.

“Some kind of weasel, Frank,” the rat with the crowbar said. “I hate weasels. Can’t trust ‘em.”

“I’m not even a mustelid,” Amber grunted.

Suddenly, she was grabbed by the goons and dragged away. Amber tried struggling but couldn’t shake loose as she was dragged back to the warehouse.

“Get your dirty paws off of me!” Amber shouted only to get a punch to the gut that took the fight out of her. Amber wheezed as she was dragged in and shoved into a steel chair where the goons quickly tied her hands and feet together.

Amber blinked as her eyes adjusted. The warehouse was full of all manner of crates marked with foreign logos, the building lit by dim dying bulbs.

“Cheaping out on the electric bill?” Amber asked.

“I’m all for saving a buck or two,” a smooth voice said as Cecil stepped from the shadows flanked by goons wielding submachine guns.

“The headman himself.” Amber grinned. “I feel honored.”

Cecil growled as he got closer, his muzzle inches from Amber’s face.

“Only thing you should feel right now is fear. You snooping paparazzi.”

Amber blinked. “What did I interrupt something? Your latest shipment?”

Cecil backed away and shook his head. “Hardly, things have gotten bad for business lately, I’m cutting my losses.”

Amber didn’t follow until she saw one of the goons pouring gasoline out of a container.

“I have too much merchandise to move it all safely, the flames will take care of everything, and I’ll get a nice insurance payout.” Cecil grinned. “But best of all I can get rid of you and make it look like an accident. Your curiosity got the better of you.”

Amber’s eyes widened as he looked around at the place that was soon to be her crematorium, her heart beat against her chest. One of the goons pouring gas suddenly was swallowed by the shadows with not a sound.

Amber cleared her throat. “Come on Cecil, this is overkill.”

“It’s really not, toots,” Cecil replied to Amber’s disgust. “Hey, I wouldn’t worry too much: you’ll probably suffocate before the fire gets you.”

He laughed at that, as he signaled one of his goons and a match was struck, Amber swallowed a lump in her throat as the goon fell to the ground an arrow sticking out of his chest.

“Boss!” one of the thugs exclaimed.

“He’s here. The archer!” Another wailed.

“Get him, you morons!” Cecil shouted as the minions fanned out, some of them firing wildly into the shadows. Arrows flew from the darkness, each finding their mark. Another two down. Amber was seemingly forgotten about as the crooks searched for the intruder. Amber watched as two more fell, this time from throwing knives that lodged in their throats.

Cecil backed to the door, the remaining thugs close to him as the masked fox was suddenly on top of them, bow slung across his back as he struck out with a pair of rattan sticks. The badger Amber had confronted aimed a pistol just as the stick hit his wrist, the pistol went off and sparked something as flames suddenly erupted, filling the whole warehouse with an intense heat.

Amber screamed.

The Archer hit the badger in his already pained knee with the other stick, and then clubbed him in the head, as if that weren’t enough the fox brought his knee up to the gut of his foe and the badger crumpled.

The fox hurled one of his sticks and hit a weasel square in the head as the vigilante sprinted towards Cecil. A goon fired a shotgun, but in a surprise move, the fox slid across the floor like a baseball player and popped up - bow in hand.

Another twang of the bowstring and the rat went down.

The Archer shifted to Cecil who drew a pistol but *TWANG!* an arrow knocked the firearm from the canine's grip. In a quick motion, the Archer had another arrow ready as Ceicl held up his paws.

“Wait, a minute. Wait, a minute! We can work something out here! I need somefox like you on my payroll! I’ll make you rich! ANYTHING!”

The fox merely aimed his bow and spoke in a deep voice. “Cecil Valen! Your judgement is here.”

With that The Archer let loose and the coyote grabbed his chest, coughed up a sphere of blood and fell to the ground, an arrow in his heart.

The fox turned to Amber who was coughing from all the smoke.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Amber muttered as the fox drew closer, quickly he cut through her bonds with an arrowhead and picked Amber up like she was a bride. The fox dashed out of the burning warehouse through licking flames and choking smoke, carrying Amber the whole way until they crashed through a window and out into the cool foggy night air.

The fox stopped several feet away and gently set Amber down.

“Are you all right, Miss Zazuetta?”

Amber blinked. “You know me?”

The hooded and masked fox nodded, his long tail waving in the night air. “Your work is well known to me.”

The meerkat ran a paw across her forehead. “Got time for an interview?”

The fox chuckled. “Some day... But not now.”

“What should we call you? What do you call yourself? The best my profession could come up with is the Archer.”

The eyes behind the domino mask flashed. “I am sure you’ll think of something. Until we meet again.”

Amber’s eyes widened. “When and where? How do I even find you?”

The fox strode away before looking over his shoulder at her. “I will find you. Look for my sign.”

With that he dashed away into the night, leaving a mystified Amber behind. The wail of sirens echoed in the distance as there was a muffled explosion within the warehouse.

“What have I got myself into, now?” Amber asked herself.

The next day, the headline of the Empire City Tribune screamed:

“WHO IS THE ARCHER?”

The subheader was only slightly quieter:

“JOURNALIST SEES THE ARCHER SNOOT TO SNOOT DURING DARING ATTACK!”

Amber, on the thiry-first floor of the skyscraper her newspaper called home, sipped coffee while she watched the little dots on the street below mob the local newsstands as soon as they opened their storefronts.

“I hope I’m doing right by you Archer,” Amber whispered as she put another gummy worm in her mouth and read the latest court transcripts and reports, scanning for another ne’er do well escaping the claws of justice.