It started with a low rumble, like thunder approaching from a distance. Then, the "dog" in cell 40 let out a roar that sounded nothing like a bark and everything like a man screaming in fury.
"I AM A DRIVER!"
"I AM A RUNNER!" screamed cell 45.
"FREEDOM!" squawked the parrot-man.
The noise was deafening. The prisoners slammed their bodies against the metal doors. They rattled their cups against the bars. It was a cacophony of human rage tearing through the animal facade.
The Persian guard panicked. He fumbled for his radio. "Control! We have a situation! The animals are... they're talking!"
High above, in the shadows of the ceiling, a small tabby cat dropped from a vent. Mittens landed silently on top of the control panel console.
The guard reached for his baton, but he was too distracted by the screaming inmates to notice the cat.
Mittens unsheathed his claws. He didn't just press a button; he raked his claws across the entire control board, sparks flying as he severed wires and short-circuited the locking mechanism.
ZZZZZT.
The red lights on the cells flickered and turned green. The hum of the laser bars died.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
All down the corridor, the metal doors slid open.
"Go!" Noah screamed, charging out of his cell.
He didn't run for the exit. He ran for the guard. The Persian's eyes went wide. He tried to raise his baton, but Noah lowered his shoulder and tackled him. It wasn't a graceful move, but it was effective. The heavy cat went down with a oof, sliding across the polished floor.
Noah didn't stop to fight. He scrambled up and grabbed the guard's keycard.
"Evidence Room!" Noah shouted to the chaos. "Evidence is down the hall! Get your lives back!"
The corridor was a flood of orange jumpsuits. Men and women, some running on two legs, some still on four, surged forward. They overwhelmed the reinforcement Dobermans that poured through the main doors. It was a brawl of desperate memory against suppressive force.
Noah sprinted to the second door on the left. He swiped the keycard. The door beeped and opened.
The Evidence Room was rows of metal lockers. Noah frantically checked the tags.
Inmate 038 - Bone.
Inmate 040 - Keys.
Inmate 042 - Contraband.
Noah ripped open locker 042.
There, sitting in a plastic bag, was the wooden Ark. The Ring. The Pink Sleeper. The Bow. The Space Drawing. The Portrait.
And Mr. Whiskers.
Noah grabbed the bag, clutching the stuffed cat to his chest. He felt the rough fur, the loose button eye.
"I got you," he whispered. "I'm not leaving you again."
"Noah!" Mittens yelled from the doorway. "We have to go! The SWAT Cats are coming! They have water cannons!"
"Which way?" Noah asked, shoving the items into his jumpsuit.
"The drain!" Mittens pointed to a large grate in the floor of the evidence room. "It leads to the Undercity. The sewers. They won't follow us down there. It ruins their boots."
Noah ran to the grate. He helped Mittens heave it open. The smell of sewage and damp earth wafted up—the smell of the Rat King's domain, perhaps, or just the smell of truth.
"Everyone!" Noah yelled to the rioting prisoners. "To the drain! Follow me!"
He didn't wait to see who followed. He clutched Mr. Whiskers tight and jumped into the dark.