The Cape Hook

Creative Deer Thicket rose like a living hedge of steel and glass, its “branches” shaped into walkways above Super Forest City.

Creative Mother Deer pushed open the training hall door. Her light blue cape slid over her black-and-blue suit. Her glowing blue eyes swept the room.

Clara bounced in first. “Targets today! Fast ones!”

Clarice tugged her sister’s sleeve. “Don’t dent anything.”

Inside, a rack of spare suits hung beside a wall screen that read: UNIT 43—RETURN GEAR AFTER DRILLS.

A sneaker squeaked.

A human kid stood near the mats, wearing the exact same black-and-blue suit and the same light blue cape. His messy dark hair stuck up like grass. He gripped a blue access badge so hard his knuckles went pale.

Clara pointed. “Thief!”

The kid shook his head. “No. I didn’t steal it.”

Clarice stepped closer. “Then where did you get it?”

Creative Mother Deer lifted her wrist phone toward the ceiling cameras and tapped—

The Badge That Blinked

Creative Mother Deer, a humanoid doe in a black-and-blue supersuit, tapped her wrist phone again.

The screen showed a spinning circle, then: ARCHIVE LOCKED.

Overhead, the ceiling cameras whirred and turned to face the blank wall.

Clara’s ears went stiff. “That is rude.”

Clarice narrowed her eyes. “Mom, the cameras moved.”

The human kid swallowed. He held up the blue access badge. “It started beeping by itself.”

Beep-beep.

The training hall door clicked open without anyone touching it.

Creative Mother Deer grabbed the kid’s wrist—gentle, but firm. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“I am!” he squeaked.

Her phone flashed red: UNIT 43 SUIT—UNAUTHORIZED COPY.

A calm speaker voice filled the hall. “Report to mail room. Now.”

Clara huffed. “Mail? We were going to do targets.”

They jogged down the bright corridor. At the mail room, an otter in a navy delivery vest pushed a cart beside a big box stamped: UNIT 43—2 OF 2.

The otter pointed at the kid. “Is he the one who signed for this?”