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Thursday, September 29th, 2253 - 1:15 am

The Mystical Menagerie.

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Jeremiah drifted in a cocoon of blankets, the world outside his windows silent and still. Even the usual city noise had faded into a gentle hush. He lay sprawled in tangled sheets, mind hovering on the warm edge of dreams, the only sound his own slow, steady breathing.

The first jolt was subtle. A thin, icy needle slipping between his ribs. Jeremiah frowned in his sleep, shifting beneath the covers, unsure if it was just the chill of early autumn or the echo of some half-remembered nightmare. He buried his face in the pillow and willed the unease to fade.

But the feeling grew sharper, a dark pressure swelling in his chest until it crowded out the last dregs of sleep. Dread, thick and suffocating. Panic. A sudden, aching sorrow that felt too big to be his own. Jeremiah jerked upright, heart pounding. His eyes flew open, the bedroom painted in pale slices of moonlight and city glow.

He scanned the room, mind fogged and clumsy, searching for any sign of danger. Shadows clung to the corners, but nothing moved except the thin curtain fluttering in the window. His gaze darted to the door, then to the small tank on the dresser where Billy floated in gentle sleep, golden eyes closed, a faint pulse of contentment humming across their bond. There was no threat here — no sound of breaking glass, no hint of danger lurking just beyond the threshold.

The unease built to a roar, surging through his blood like a scream he couldn't quite hear. Jeremiah clutched at the bedsheets, fighting to slow his breathing, mind racing through half-baked explanations. Was this a nightmare? An attack? Some trick of the System?

A second wave hit, harder — raw terror, not his own, flooding his senses and wrenching him fully awake. He gasped, the taste of grief sharp and electric on his tongue, and suddenly he understood. The feelings weren't coming from him. They were bleeding in through the delicate, invisible threads of his attunements — hot and desperate, drowning out everything else.

And at the center of that storm: Sissy.

Jeremiah's panic snapped into focus, all other thoughts shoved aside by the certainty that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He threw off the covers, feet hitting the floor before his brain could even catch up. He scrambled for a pair of pants, nearly tripping as he dragged them on, not bothering with a shirt. Shoes, where were his shoes?! He found them by the door, jamming his feet inside and yanking the laces into a messy knot.

A soft, anxious chirr came from Billy's tank, the baby kraken stirring at the edge of Jeremiah's awareness, sensing the storm even in his sleep. Jeremiah paused only long enough to press a palm to the glass, sending a pulse of reassurance. "Stay here, Billy. I'll be back soon."

He snatched his keys, half-shrugged into a jacket, and yanked open his apartment door. The hallway beyond was dim and silent, the air stale with the scent of old paint and cleaning chemicals. He sprinted for the stairs, bare skin prickling in the cool air. His mind whirled with worst-case scenarios: fire, break-in, attack. Sissy's fear pulsed through him in frantic, nauseating waves.

He rounded the corner at a dead run — and collided hard with a wall of muscle. Jeremiah staggered back, breath knocked from his lungs, eyes wild as he looked up.

David Roger — Mr. Roger — stood in the hallway, suitcase at his feet, concern etched deep into the lines of his face. "Whoa, easy there, Jeremiah," Mr. Roger said, steadying him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "You all right? You look —"

"Mr. Roger, I— " Jeremiah's words tangled, panic tripping over relief and confusion. "Please, can you watch Billy? Something's wrong. I have to go. Please— " He barely registered Mr. Roger's startled nod before twisting away, already racing for the stairs.

His footsteps thundered down the steps, echoing in the cavernous silence of the building. He tore through the front doors, lungs burning with cold, and shot out onto the deserted street. The city was ghostly at this hour, streetlights painting pools of gold on cracked pavement, shadows huddled in the alleyways. Jeremiah didn't slow. He sprinted, heart a drumbeat of fear and urgency, the thread of Sissy's terror yanking him onward.

He ran, panic beating in his chest, toward the Mystical Menagerie. Toward whatever nightmare waited in the dark.

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Jeremiah could hear Sissy's cries before he even reached the shop door — a long, mournful sound that pierced the night and it hit him like a physical wave. He felt the confusion and unease ripple out through his attunements; even Milo and the puppies, sleeping in the back, stirred with a fretful edge. But Sissy's anguish drowned everything else.

He tore open the front door, lungs burning from his sprint, and stumbled into the dim shop. There was no fire, no shattered glass, no sign of intruders — only the desperate, heart-wrenching sound of a mother in distress.

He didn't bother with the lights. Guided by moonlight pooling across the floor, Jeremiah hurried to the cat enclosure, the sound of Sissy's cries growing sharper with each step.

A patch of silver moonlight slanted through the windows, illuminating the scene within the enclosure. Sissy sat on the bottom level, body low and tail puffed, her eyes wide and frantic. Beside her, a tiny, unmoving shape lay sprawled on the blankets. The kitten's fur looked dull and thin, chest barely moving. Cold panic slammed through Jeremiah.

He froze. For a moment, all he could do was stare, the world shrinking to that tiny, motionless form. Sissy let out another raw, throaty yowl, placing herself between Jeremiah and the kitten. Her hackles rose and she hissed, ears flattened, every muscle quivering with the threat to attack if he came any closer.

Jeremiah's heart clenched. He dropped to his knees, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out, but didn't try to touch — sending instead a surge of calm and reassurance through their tenuous attunement. It's okay. I'm here. I want to help. Please let me help.

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The attunement trembled with Sissy's pain and fear, but after a few tense heartbeats, something softened. The hissing faded, replaced by a keening, helpless cry. Sissy pressed her nose to the kitten's side, then, slowly, warily, edged away just enough for Jeremiah to reach the little one.

Jeremiah's hands shook as he carefully scooped up the kitten. The tiny body was limp and frighteningly cold, the fragile chest rising and falling so faintly he almost missed it. He pressed his thumb to the kitten's side — there, barely, a whisper of breath against his skin.

Relief crashed through him, mixed with a fresh stab of dread. The kitten was alive, but only just. He didn't need a System prompt to recognize the signs: listlessness, cold skin, labored breathing — the textbook symptoms of Fading Kitten Syndrome. He'd seen it back in the shelters, and he knew all too well how quickly it could steal a young life. If he didn't act now, he'd lose her.

Jeremiah's mind raced. I need heat. Glucose. Something to stabilize her, fast. He shifted the kitten gently into one hand and fumbled open his System menu with the other, desperately searching through the store's options. Shelves of mundane supplies flashed by, too slow, too little. He needed something better. Now.

There — a listing shone at the top of the [Creature Care & Habitat] section: a specialist pod, built for exactly this. It was expensive — nearly everything he'd earned that day — but he barely hesitated, thumb slamming the purchase button, heedless of the cost.

A familiar shimmer filled the air, accompanied by a System window:

—✦—

Neonate Life Support Pod

Rank: F

Type: Medical / Recovery

Description: A state-of-the-art incubator designed for the critical care of neonate and juvenile beasts. The pod maintains optimal temperature, humidity, and oxygen levels, while a suite of magical and medical sensors monitor vital signs in real time. Includes emergency glucose IV packs and automatic nutrient dispensers for rapid stabilization and recovery. System-guided interface offers step-by-step instructions, ensuring even novice caretakers can operate with confidence.

Requirements: Intended for newborn, orphaned, or at-risk young animals. Not for use with adult or non-creature patients.

Cost: 150 Marks

—✦—

The pod materialized with a crackle of light, humming softly as it powered up. The advanced looking box was barely bigger than Sissy and he slid it into the enclosure next to her. Jeremiah wasted no time — he lifted the kitten into the warm, softly glowing cradle within. He attached the smallest glucose line, set the temperature, and watched as the pod's sensors flickered to life: heart rate, oxygen, heat, all displayed in trembling green and yellow numbers.

For a long, suspended moment, Jeremiah hovered beside the pod, hardly daring to breathe. The machine sealed with a soft chime, its translucent lid misting with warmth as the care routines began. Hope flickered, fragile but real, in the hush of the midnight shop. All he could do now was wait, pray, and send every scrap of strength and comfort he had through the bond to Sissy and her struggling kitten.

The Mystical Menagerie seemed to hold its breath with him, moonlight sliding in silver ribbons across the floor as shadows danced overhead. Jeremiah knelt there, shoulders tense, heart pounding out each passing second.

Then, at last, the pod's status light glowed steady green. Relief crashed through him in a tidal wave, and he slumped to the floor, sliding down the front of the enclosure until he was sitting on the cool tile. A weak laugh broke from his chest — a sound of exhaustion and raw, incredulous joy. The crisis wasn't over, not yet. He would have to stay close, keep vigil in case the pod's alert chimed for his help. But for now, the kitten was stable. Still fighting.

That was too close.

If I hadn't attuned to Sissy, I would never have known until it was too late, he thought, the weight of what-ifs pressing in on him. The System wasn't perfect — Jeremiah could still count the troubles it had brought him. But in this quiet, moonlit moment, gratitude welled up inside him, as steady and unexpected as the purr of the machines.

A soft thump pulled his attention from the pod. Jeremiah turned and found Sissy on the floor, just outside her enclosure, watching him with wide, gleaming eyes. Her tail twitched, the tip flickering with restless energy, and the moonlight caught the subtle gold in her gaze.

He blinked, then looked up, suddenly realizing he'd left the enclosure hatch open in his rush.

Meeting Sissy's stare, Jeremiah managed a tired but genuine smile. He reached out through the bond, sending a flood of reassurance, quiet joy, and the gentle certainty that things were — at least for now — all right. Sissy studied him a moment longer, her shoulders easing. Then, surprising him utterly, she padded over and pressed her head into his arm, a warm, tentative gesture. The low rumble of her purr broke the silence, echoing softly in the stillness of the shop.

Before Jeremiah could react to the unexpected show of affection, Sissy abruptly withdrew, springing lightly back through the open hatch into her enclosure. He grinned at her retreating form, a low chuckle escaping as he pushed himself up to his knees and peered inside.

For a moment, the enclosure looked empty, shadows pooling in the corners. Then Sissy's head emerged from the crate, a tiny bundle of fur clenched gently between her teeth. She paused at the entrance, her gaze locking with Jeremiah's in the dim light before she turned and padded out, carrying her kitten toward the heated cat house nestled in the far corner. A moment later, she slipped back inside the crate, emerging with another mewling kitten. Twice more, Sissy repeated her journey, each time ferrying a sleepy, squirming kitten into the warmth and safety of the new bed.

Curiosity tugged at Jeremiah. He leaned closer, peering into the now-empty crate. The answer as to why Sissy had chosen now to move her kittens was immediately clear.

"So that's it…" he murmured, his words barely more than a breath.

Bunched up against the inside lip of the crate was a rumpled blanket — soft, inviting, and, he realized, just high enough to act as a ramp for a curious kitten.

Sissy paused in her work, ears flicking as she regarded him from the cat house entrance.

"The kittens are old enough now to start wandering," he said, half to Sissy, half to himself, piecing the story together aloud. His eyes lingered on the fragile kitten nestled in the pod. "That little girl must have woken up during the night. Normally she wouldn't have been able to go far, but the blanket gave her just enough of a path. Once she tumbled out, she was too small and weak to climb back in on her own…"

He swallowed hard, guilt settling cold and heavy in his chest. Kittens this young were helpless outside their mother's warmth. Even in the heated enclosure, away from her family, she wouldn't have lasted long. By the time Sissy awoke to her cries, it was already too late.

A wave of frustration washed over Jeremiah. He should have noticed the risk, should have moved the blanket, should have double-checked everything. In his determination to make Sissy feel at home, he'd overlooked the most basic protocol for keeping the kittens safe. It was an amateur's mistake.

But when he met Sissy's eyes again, searching for judgment, he found none. Through their fragile attunement, all he felt was a soft, shared sorrow laced with flickers of hope. No anger, no blame. Just the quiet understanding of two souls doing their best.

Sissy turned away from his gaze and padded to the pod. She pressed her nose to the incubator's clear shell, lingering for a moment before rubbing along its side in a silent blessing. Without another glance, she slipped back into the cat house, disappearing into the new nest where her kittens now slept.

Jeremiah let out a long, unsteady breath and slumped back to the floor, exhaustion finally catching up with him. The gentle chorus of mewling faded into the hush of the night, replaced by the rhythmic sound of kittens breathing, the soft whir of the pod, and Sissy's purrs from the shadows.

As Jeremiah's own eyelids grew heavy, he let himself sink into the comfort of hope — fragile, but alive. Soon, sleep claimed him, cradled by the quiet heartbeat of the shop.

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