By the time Prince returned to the hideout, the adrenaline from the audition had finally begun to wear off.
The warehouse was quiet in the familiar way, their kind of quiet. Gold bars stacked against the walls caught the light from hanging lamps. Bundles of cash were scattered across tables like props from a movie set. The TV hummed softly in the background, stuck on some rerun no one was really watching.
The crew was idling around.
Shark was leaning back in a chair, arms folded. Snake was coiled lazily near the ceiling beams. Webs sat at the table with a laptop open, fingers tapping absentmindedly. Piranha was suspiciously hovering near the refrigerator.
Wolf noticed Prince the moment he stepped inside.
He stood up slowly.
"So," Wolf said, hands in his pockets, voice casual but his eyes were sharp. "How was it?"
The room went quiet.
"Did you get in?"
Everyone turned toward Prince.
For a brief second, he let the silence hang. Then he smiled.
"I'm in."
There was a heartbeat of stillness—
"YES!" Wolf shouted, punching the air.
Shark was on him instantly, laughing as he wrapped Prince in a crushing hug and lifted him clean off the ground.
"Knew it! I knew it!"
Snake flicked his tongue approvingly. Webs looked up from his laptop with a rare grin.
Piranha, meanwhile, darted to the fridge and reappeared holding a cake box like it was treasure.
"Let's celebrate! Whooo!" he cheered, rushing over.
He opened the box proudly. "Ta-da! I made this myself!"
The crew leaned in.
Silence.
"…Uh…" Webs squinted. "Piranha?"
"Yeah?"
"Why does the cake say 'It's okay, you can audition another time'?"
The words were written in bright frosting. Very supportive and very... defeatist.
Piranha froze.
He slowly looked down.
"…Oh."
His eyes widened in horror.
Without a word, he snapped the box shut, spun around, and sprinted back to the fridge. A second later, he returned with another cake box, this one presented far more carefully.
He opened it.
'Congratulations Prince, we knew you could do it!'
Prince stared at it for a second… then burst out laughing.
"Piranha," he said between laughs, "did you seriously make two cakes?"
Piranha rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"Well… you know. Just in case."
Wolf took the box from him, chuckling. "That's called planning ahead."
Shark laughed loudly, snake snorted, even Webs shook his head in amusement.
Wolf lifted the cake slightly. "Alright, then. No more heists, no more auditions, no more stress at least for tonight."
He looked around at the crew.
"Let's party."
Cheers erupted through the hideout as Prince leaned back against the table, pink fur catching the warm light. For once, the thrill he felt didn't come from a perfect con or a clean getaway but from knowing that, just this once, everything had gone right.
_______
The celebration didn't slow down.
Cake disappeared fast, bottles were opened. Someone dragged out an old karaoke machine that absolutely should've been retired years ago.
Piranha grabbed the mic first.
"I dedicate this song to Prince!" he shouted, before absolutely butchering a classic ballad.
Shark laughed so hard he nearly tipped over a chair. Snake kept time by thumping his tail against the floor. Webs queued up tracks like she was running a professional set, while Wolf leaned back, watching it all with a satisfied grin.
Prince joined in when they pulled him up, singing just enough to make everyone realize, again that yeah, he really was built for this.
At some point, he checked the clock on the wall.
6:15 PM
The number hit him harder than he expected.
Prince set his drink down and stood up.
"Hey," he said, raising his voice slightly. "I gotta go."
The music slowed to a stop. Wolf looked over. "Now?"
"Yeah. I've got work."
Webs frowned. "Oh come on, it's a party. You can take a leave, you know."
"Yeah, man," Piranha added. "We're celebrating!"
Prince smiled apologetically and shook his head.
"I can't do that. Don't worry—I'll make it up next time."
Wolf studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Don't be late."
Shark clapped him on the shoulder. "Congrats again."
Prince grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit, the sound of laughter and off-key singing following him all the way out.
The hideout door shut behind him.
_______
(Prince Pov)
You might be wondering why someone like me, someone who makes over a million in a single heist is still going to a job.
A normal job.
The truth is… this isn't about money.
It's about identity.
In my past life, I was a con artist and being a con artist means living behind masks. Different names, different faces, different lives. You grow a mustache, change your hair, fake an accent, maybe even get surgery if you're desperate enough.
But this world?
This world doesn't work that way. There are no humans here. Everyone is an anthropomorphic animal and that means your face is your face. One of a kind. No duplicates, no look-alikes, no hiding in a crowd of similar people.
Wolf could slap on a fake mustache and maybe pass from a distance. But if you're someone like the police chief, the kind whose entire job is hunting us, she'd recognize him in a second.
And me?
Pink fur, a panther, rare.
Changing who you are is hard when your body itself is an identifier.
And I don't want to mix my con life with my real one. I've seen what happens when you do.
Back then, I wanted to be a singer. Someone known, seen, or remembered. But how can you chase fame when your face is plastered across the city as a wanted criminal?
You can't.
So I separate them.
The crew, the heists and then there's this life. A small rented place, steady job, a name I can say without lying.
This identity isn't a disguise.
It's the one I protect the most.