western Treachery and Tumbleweeds - The Western [Comm]

[Horatio Husky]

 

Treachery and Tumbleweeds

By Horatio Husky

Commissioned by AnnaNapps

Chapter One

The Gulch

The morning sun spilled across Brass Gulch, painting the bustling frontier town in shades of gold and copper. The air carried a faint metallic tang from the network of steam pipes crisscrossing the buildings, their occasional hisses and puffs a constant reminder of the town’s industrious, steampunk soul. Wooden sidewalks creaked underfoot as residents and travelers hurried about their business, and wagon wheels clattered over cobblestone streets. Above it all, the Brass Fountain gushed a glittering arc of water into the air, its spray catching the light like tiny jewels.

Though the town’s residents knew not to drink from it, the occasional traveler might be convinced to take a few sips from the fresh flowing water as a mark of good luck, only to find themselves waddling around babbling nonsense only a few minutes later as the tinged contents reduced their limbs and thoughts to that of one much more docile and giddy.

The town was alive with the clamor of commerce. Merchants shouted over the din, their stalls overflowing with goods ranging from exotic fabrics to intricate clockwork trinkets. A blacksmith’s hammer rang out from a nearby forge, the rhythmic clang melding with the lively chatter of townsfolk. Urchins darted through the square, their laughter weaving through the chaos as they played tag around the towering fountain.

At the center of it all, Sparky, the sheriff of Brass Gulch, walked with an air of quiet authority. She was a fennec fox, her sandy-colored fur shining in the morning light, her enormous ears twitching as she picked up snippets of conversation from all directions. Dressed in a sleeveless leather vest over a crisp white shirt, a turquoise tie neatly knotted at her throat, and leather chaps that framed the front and back of her thick, plainly visible diaper, she struck a striking figure. The attire, bold even by the town’s standards, was both practical and declarative: Sparky was proud, unflinching, and entirely in control.

She adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and continued her patrol, the polished brass of her badge catching the sunlight. Her boots clunked rhythmically against the wooden planks, and her sharp eyes scanned the street for signs of trouble. Sparky knew the rhythms of Brass Gulch well, knew how to read its moods like a familiar tune, and something about this morning felt off. 

Not wrong, exactly, but a little off.

Her instincts had been honed over years of keeping order in this chaotic, ever-growing town, and she trusted them implicitly.

Ahead, the Brass Gulch Jailhouse loomed, its sturdy walls built of dark ironwood reinforced with brass-plated steel. A pair of copper steam vents flanked the entrance, hissing softly as Sparky pushed through the heavy door. Inside, the familiar scent of polished metal and faint lavender greeted her. The cells were unorthodox for a jail, each equipped with padded cribs instead of bunks, their occupants given basic comforts alongside the occasional meal laced with just enough regression water to keep them placid. Most detainees left as humbled as they were clean, though some were denied changes to let their new situation properly set in.

Behind the desk sat Griggs, her deputy, a massive grizzly bear whose imposing size was matched only by his gentle demeanor. He was hunched over a ledger, his clawed fingers scratching notes in neat rows.

“Mornin’, Sheriff.” 

Griggs rumbled without looking up. His voice was deep and steady, as dependable as the man himself. 

“New one in Cell Three. Caught him swipin’ gears from the clockmaker’s shop.”

Sparky raised an eyebrow as she walked to the desk, her ears flicking toward the cells down the hall. 

“Gears, huh? Not the most creative heist I’ve heard of. What’s his story?”

Griggs looked up, his warm brown eyes meeting hers. 

“Young raccoon. Cocky. Says he was ‘borrowing.’”

Sparky’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk. 

“Let me guess… He didn’t have a return date in mind.”

“Nope.” 

Griggs replied with a soft chuckle. 

“But I’ll let you hear it from him.”

Sparky nodded and made her way to the back of the jailhouse, her boots clinking softly against the polished stone floor. The cells were mostly empty, save for Cell Three, where a wiry raccoon lounged in a padded crib like it was a throne. His striped tail flicked lazily causing the rather soggy diaper affixed to his waist to crinkle distinctly, and his sharp eyes gleamed with amusement as he saw her approach.

“Well, if it ain’t the sheriff herself.” 

He drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as his tone shifted to a higher pitch. 

“Come to tuck me in?”

“Not unless you ask nicely.” 

Sparky replied dryly, crossing her arms. 

“Got quite the nerve, stealing from the clockmaker.”

“Stealing’s a strong word.” 

The raccoon replied smoothly, his diction surprisingly clear given the dose of regression water he should have been under the effects of. Sitting up, he spread his dark paws in mock innocence. 

“I was jus’ borrowin’. Didn’ think them gears were such a big deal.”

“Everything’s a big deal when it belongs to someone else.”

 Sparky shot back, her tone firm but calm. 

“You’ll have time to think about that while you’re here.”

The raccoon’s grin didn’t falter, but his tail flicked a little faster as he drew a pastel blue blanket over himself. 

“Well, I guess I’ll just make myself at home then, Sheriff. Thanks for the hospitality.”

Sparky didn’t respond, turning on her heel and heading back to the front desk. 

“He’s too relaxed for his own good.” 

She muttered to Griggs. 

“Keep an eye on him. Double his dose”

“Already have.”

Griggs replied with a tone of exasperation barely concealed in his grumble. His large, heavy paws steady on the desk as he continued. 

“Not sure if triplin’ or quadruplin’ the dose is a good idea either. He’s already had two changes this morning.”

Sparky faltered at this, turning to gaze back at the rows of cells as she considered this fact. She turned back, continuing as she motioned with a paw for the bear to go ahead and increase the dose. 

“Do so anyway. I think he wants me to think he’s harmless… We’ll see.”

As Sparky stepped back into the sunlight, the town seemed different. The clamor of voices in the square had grown softer, replaced by hushed conversations and furtive glances. She paused, her ears swiveling as she picked up snippets of murmured words: “Bandits,” “trouble near the mines,” “more than last time.”

Her tail flicked sharply behind her as she scanned the crowd, her sharp eyes narrowing. Brass Gulch had seen its share of bandits before, roving gangs armed with weapons designed to fire regression water to pacify their victims. But this felt different. Bigger.

Sparky adjusted her hat and started walking again, her boots clicking steadily against the boardwalk. 

- = - = -

 

The desert stretched out like an endless sea of sand and stone,  the golden horizon rippling in the heat. Sparky adjusted the straps of her saddle and glanced at the small group of townsfolk gathered by the edge of Brass Gulch to see her off. The trouble near the mines had stirred up plenty of whispers, and while most residents were wary of the dangers out there, they trusted her to handle it. It was a sheriff’s duty to step into the fire when others hesitated.

Her mount, a sleek, muscular desert rat named Annie, shuffled under her. Annie’s fur was short and bristly, a brilliant white streaked with a few pink patches on her belly. Her large paws were perfect for scrambling over rocky terrain, and her long, whip-like tail swished impatiently. 

Sparky patted her broad neck as she settled into the cushioned saddle, its padding thick enough to cradle her diapered bottom snugly. She gave a light tug on the reins, the motion accompanied by the faint crinkle of her own garment beneath her chaps.

“All right, girl.” 

She murmured. 

“Let’s see what these bandits are up to.”

Annie let out a low squeak and surged forward, her powerful legs propelling them across the desert in a smooth, loping gait. The ride was surprisingly comfortable, the saddle designed to distribute the jostling motion evenly. Sparky allowed herself a brief moment of appreciation for the clever engineering before her focus returned to the task ahead.

The mines weren’t far, maybe an hour’s ride at Annie’s pace, but the terrain grew rougher the closer they got. Jagged outcroppings of rock jutted from the ground like the broken ribs of some ancient beast, and the air carried the faint metallic tang of exposed ore. 

As they crested a low hill, Sparky spotted the entrance to the mines below. A yawning black mouth rimmed with rusted scaffolding and abandoned equipment. The place looked deserted, but her instincts told her otherwise.

She slowed Annie to a halt and slid down from the saddle, her boots crunching against the rocky ground. Sparky adjusted her hat and unsnapped the holster on her hip, her fingers brushing the polished brass handle of her revolver: The Tranquilizer. She crouched low, her ears swiveling as she scanned the area. The faint sound of shifting rocks reached her ears, and she froze, her eyes narrowing.

“Come out nice and slow.” 

She called, her voice steady but firm. 

“No one needs to get hurt.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the air erupted in a cacophony of shouts and movement. From behind the rocks and shadows emerged four figures: two raccoons, an armadillo, and a spiky desert lizard. They wore patched-up gear and dusty clothing, their diapers unmistakable under their loose trousers and skirts. One raccoon’s garment was decorated with frayed ribbons, while the armadillo’s sagged noticeably, as though it hadn’t been changed in a while. The lizard’s diaper was thicker than the rest, the bulky padding forcing his legs into a slight waddle as he moved.

“Well, well,” 

Drawled one of the raccoons, twirling a small, makeshift pistol in his nimble fingers. 

“If it ain’t Sheriff Sparky herself, come ter pay us a visit.”

Sparky straightened, her hand hovering near her revolver. 

“I don’t suppose you’d like to do this the easy way and come quietly?”

The armadillo let out a low chuckle, his voice gravelly. 

“Sorry, Sheriff. We’re more pahr-tial to the fun way.”

Without warning, the lizard raised a strange, tube-like contraption and fired. Sparky ducked, the liquid shot from the weapon missing her by inches and splattering harmlessly against a rock. She rolled to the side, drawing her revolver and firing a single shot. The brass projectile burst mid-air, releasing a mist of water that caught the armadillo in the chest. He staggered, blinking as his expression turned vacant, and he dropped his weapon with a clatter.

“Anyone else?” 

Sparky asked, rising to her feet and training her revolver on the others.

But the bandits weren’t about to make it easy. Both raccoons rushed her, zigzagging to avoid her aim, while the lizard fired another shot. This time, the water grazed Sparky’s arm, leaving a cold, tingling sensation in its wake. She gritted her teeth and fired again, catching one of the raccoons in the leg. He stumbled, his cocky grin fading as his movements grew sluggish.

The other raccoon was quicker, darting around her and firing a tiny dart-like projectile. It struck her squarely in the back, the liquid payload spreading instantly. Sparky gasped as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled, her grip on The Tranquilizer faltering.

“No…” 

She muttered, shaking her head in an effort to clear it. But her movements were already sluggish, her mind fogging over like a clouded mirror.

The lizard and remaining raccoon closed in, their weapons firing in quick succession. Another shot struck Sparky in the shoulder, then one on her thigh, and finally a direct hit to her chest. The regression water soaked into her shirt, the potent formula taking hold almost immediately. Sparky’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the ground, her revolver slipping from her grasp.

Her thoughts unraveled into a haze of warmth and simplicity. The sharp, commanding edge of her personality melted away, leaving only the soft, unguarded core. She tried to lift her head, but it lolled to the side, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

The lizard crouched beside her, his spiked tail swishing as he examined her with a toothy grin. 

“Looks like the sheriff’s taking a little nap,” 

He sneered, poking at her cheek. 

“Good thing she’s properly padded, eh?”

The raccoon with the ribbons crouched down as well, his own diaper crinkling loudly. 

“She’s gonna be drooling for a good while! We should haul her back to camp and figure out what to do with her.”

The bandits exchanged gleeful laughs as they worked together to tie Sparky’s hands and hoist her onto the lizard’s broad back. Sparky’s body was limp, her mind a placid, vacant pool of simple thoughts. She could feel the gentle swaying as they carried her off, but it registered only faintly, like a distant memory she couldn’t quite grasp.

Her captors didn’t notice the faint glint of brass just a few feet from where she’d fallen, the forgotten revolver lying in the dust, waiting for its moment to be reclaimed. As Sparky’s consciousness continued to fade, the last thing she saw was Annie, sprinting away back to town, the bottoms of her pink paws flashing in the sunlight as she made her panicked escape. 

- = - = -

 

The dim light of the mines flickered and danced on the rough walls as the bandits made their way deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels, carrying their incapacitated prize. Sparky hung limply over the spiked desert lizard’s back, her ears drooping and her eyes half-lidded, a faint glaze still clouding her once sharp gaze.

 

Her mind was swimming in an unfamiliar haze, an odd, comfortable fog that dulled her senses and left her helpless to resist the bandits' plans.

The group of outlaws finally arrived at their camp, nestled in a large cavern illuminated by hanging lanterns and the faint, bioluminescent glow of moss creeping up the walls. Piles of stolen goods littered the area: crates of food, barrels of water, and shiny trinkets pilfered from the townsfolk of Brass Gulch. At the center of the cavern stood an oversized contraption, equal parts ridiculous and unsettling, a massive baby bouncer, its frame constructed from rusted steel beams with springs that looked sturdy enough to hold even the lizard.

The bandits set Sparky down on a tattered blanket and began preparing her “seat.” The raccoon with the frayed ribbons fussed over the bouncer, testing the springs with a delighted giggle. 

“She’s gonna look real cute in this,” he snickered, motioning to the others. “Get her all snug while I finish setting it up.”

The spiked lizard and the armadillo exchanged grins and crouched next to Sparky. She groaned softly as they worked to strip away her chaps, leaving her in her thick, already slightly damp diaper. The soft crinkle of the material filled the air as they moved her, fitting her arms into a set of plush, oversized cuffs behind her back. The restraints were snug but surprisingly gentle, covered in padded fabric that ensured no harm would come to their helpless captive.

“Don’t want her squirming too much.” 

The armadillo chuckled as he tightened the cuffs. 

“Not that she looks like she can put up much of a fight right now.”

Sparky’s legs were left free, though they dangled uselessly as the lizard hoisted her up and carefully placed her into the waiting bouncer. The seat was padded, designed with an exaggerated level of comfort that pressed warmly against her diapered bottom, squishing it slightly. As they secured her waist with a thick strap, she felt the faintest blush creep into her cheeks, though her thoughts were too muddled to fully grasp why.

The springs creaked softly as the bandits tested the contraption, hoisting it up and anchoring it to the ceiling with sturdy chains. Sparky was left dangling several feet above the cavern floor, her legs swaying beneath her. The movement caused her diaper to crinkle and squish audibly, drawing a round of laughter from the gathered bandits.

“Well, would ya look at that.” 

Said one of the raccoons, leaning back against a crate. 

“Sheriff Sparky, defender of the town, reduced to a big ol’ baby in our little playroom.”

Sparky let out a soft whimper, her fogged mind registering the humiliating situation but unable to muster the clarity to respond. Her body felt impossibly relaxed, the regression water making her limbs feel like jelly and her thoughts drift aimlessly. Then, she felt it, a faint warmth spreading between her legs, followed by the telltale squish of her diaper absorbing the liquid.

The normally grey witness indicator on the front of her padding slowly shifted its hue, turning into a distinct light blue that made it all the more apparent for the surrounding bandits as to what had just happened in her diaper. 

The blush on her cheeks deepened as she wet herself, the sensation impossible to ignore as it pooled warmly against her fur. She let out a soft, involuntary whimper, her ears flattening in embarrassment even as her lips curled into a faint, uncontrollable smile. The regression water’s effects continued to toy with her mind, dulling her sense of shame and leaving her teetering on the edge of giggles.

The lizard noticed her reaction and chuckled, nudging one of the raccoons. 

“She’s already getting comfy. Look at that little squish.”

The raccoon grinned and picked up his regression pistol, twirling it lazily in one hand. 

“Let’s make sure she’s enjoying herself. Sheriff deserves to have some fun, don’tcha think?”

Sparky’s eyes widened slightly as the raccoon raised the pistol and fired, the familiar cold splash hitting her squarely in the chest. The regression water soaked into her shirt, and Sparky felt another wave of warm, fuzzy helplessness wash over her. Her mouth opened as a giggle bubbled up unbidden, soft and high-pitched, followed by another and another. Soon, she was laughing softly, her voice carrying an almost childlike glee.

The bandits howled with laughter, the raccoon slapping his knee. 

“Would ya listen to her? She’s already lost it.”

Another bandit, the armadillo, raised his own pistol and fired, the water striking Sparky’s shoulder. Her giggles turned into full-blown laughter, her head lolling back as she babbled incoherently. Words formed and dissolved before they could leave her mouth, leaving only a stream of nonsense sounds and squeals.

Her diaper squished audibly as she wriggled in the bouncer, the springs creaking gently with each motion. Her legs kicked faintly, toes curling as the regression water worked its magic, reducing her once sharp and commanding mind to a puddle of joy and simplicity. She was dimly aware of the bandits jeering and laughing below her, but their voices seemed distant, like echoes in a dream.

The lizard leaned against one of the support beams, his arms crossed as he watched the spectacle with a toothy grin. 

“Reduced to a squishy, giggly mess. Never thought I’d see the day!”

The raccoon with the ribbons pulled out a small camera from one of the crates, its bulky, brass design and lightbulb exaggeratedly oversized. 

“This is too good not to capture.” 

He said, snapping a photo. The flash startled Sparky, as the bulb practically exploded and let out a small puff of smoke as it went off. This made her blink rapidly before breaking into another fit of giggles.

“Think the townsfolk would pay a ransom for her?” 

Asked the other raccoon, leaning casually against a barrel. 

“Or maybe we should just keep her like this. She’s pretty quiet now.”

“Quiet and cute!” 

The armadillo added with a chuckle. 

“Could be nice having a sheriff-turned-mascot.”

As the bandits debated their next move, Sparky’s laughter began to fade into soft babbles, her head lolling forward as she swayed gently in the bouncer. The faint, rhythmic squish of her diaper was the only sound she made, her body too relaxed and her mind too far gone to resist.

Treachery and Tumbleweeds - Chapter 1.pdf

[Horatio Husky]

Chapter Two

Captive

The cavern was alive with raucous laughter echoing off of the sandstone walls as the outlaws took turns bouncing Sparky in the oversized contraption. The springs of the bouncer groaned rhythmically, sending her gently up and down as her diaper audibly crinkled with each motion. 

 

The thick, sodden padding squished against her with every bounce, a constant reminder of her helpless state. Her foggy mind processed it all in slow, disjointed fragments as the laughter, the creak of the metal, and the warm squishy against her fur all blurred together. 

 

“Look at ‘er go!”

 

One of the raccoons crowed, clapping his paws. His own diaper, snugly taped and visibly dry, just barely peeked out from beneath his patchy trousers; the pastel blue print stark against the dusty fabric. He leaned in close, his grin sharp and toothy as he continued to taunt Sparky. 

 

“Bouncin’ like a ‘ittle bunneh, Sheriff. Ain’t that just too darn precious!”

 

The spiked lizard gave an equally toothy chuckle, his thick tail swishing behind him. His diaper was noticeably bulkier than the rest, bulging beneath his loose pants and forcing his stance into a distinct waddle. Despite the obvious thickness, it was crisp and pristine, not a hint of use visible in significant contrast to Sparky’s soggy bottom. 

 

He leaned one elbow casually on the bouncer’s frame, making it sway slightly. 

 

“She’s getting a proper workout!”

 

He teased, prodding Sparky’s cheek with a clawed finger. 

 

“Bet she wishes she was as fresh as us about right now!”

 

Sparky let out a soft whimper, her limbs dangling limply as the bouncer continued its relentless rhythm. The regression water’s effects dulled her usually sharp tongue, leaving her unable to muster more than an incoherent babble and faint giggle when the tumult of the bouncer hit a particularly intense spring upwards. 

 

Her diaper, now sagging slightly from either side of the bouncer’s seat harness, squished noticeably during the jostling. The faint, telltale blue of the wetness indicator mostly obscured by the bouncer but nevertheless starkly standing out against the otherwise pristine white material. 

 

“Aww, listen to her tryin’ tah talk!”

 

The armadillo said with a gravelly chuckle, shifting his weight as the thick padding underneath his belt crinkled faintly as he moved. He leaned in closer, his tone mockingly sweet. 

 

“What’s the Sheriff? You like the bouncer? Want us to keep goin’ then?”

 

The bandits' laughter reared up once more at their own antics, each now taking turns pushing the bouncer to make it sway more vigorously. Sparky’s body jolted with each bounce, her ears twitching and her glazed eyes wide with a mixture of panic and residual embarrassment. The relentless squish of her diaper and the cool, damp sensation against her fur added to the sensory overload, her mind too fogged to fully grasp the situation despite being distinctly aware of the humiliating feelings coursing through her mind. 

 

The raccoon with the ribbons sauntered closer, his paws on his hips. His diaper was decorate with colorful, childish prints of balloons and stars which contrasted starkly with the rough leather straps running over his shoulders. His padding puffed slightly as he moved, as puppy powder escaped through the leak guards on the sides of his diaper. 

 

“You know what she’s missing?”

 

He said, snapping his claws.

 

“A little keepsake to remind her who’s in charge!”

 

The lizard grinned, quickly understanding as he revealed rows of surprisingly sharp teeth. 

 

“And I’ve go’ just the thing!”

 

He rummaged through one of the nearby crates, emerging with a shiny brass collar engraved with a simple but unmistakable message. 

 

Bandit Baby

 

“Been savin’ this one for any new recruits we might have gotten, but I think it’ll do just fine!”

 

The inscription appeared playful, but the locking mechanism at the back was all business. 

 

Sparky’s ears twitched as she felt the cool metal snap snugly around her neck. The weight of the collar pressed lightly against her fur, and the faint click of the lock sent a shiver through her as she squished in the bouncer. The fennec let out a soft, involuntary whimper as her added mind was just able to register the significance of the collar. 

 

“There we go!”

 

The lizard stepped back, appearing quite satisfied with his handiwork. 

 

“Now she’s officially ours! A fitting mascot, eh lads?”

 

The raccoon with the ribbons gave the bouncer another playful push, sending Sparky into a fresh round of gentle, squishy bounces. 

 

“Just look at ‘er! Sheriff Sparky, defender of justice, reduced to a drool, soggy baby! Ain’t it just an adorable sight?”

 

Sparky’s cheeks burned, a trace of her old self flickering beneath the haze as she gritted her teeth weakly. The regression water’s grip was too strong, however, and another fit of giggles bubbled up unbidden at the bouncer’s unceasing movement. Her legs kicked faintly, causing her diaper to crinkle and squish anew. 

 

“Let’s keep her bouncing for a while longer!”

 

The armadillo announced, leaning back against a dusty wooden crate with a smirk coloring his muzzle. 

 

“Don’t want her forgettin’ who’s in charge anytime soon!”

 

“She’s practically part of the furniture now. Wonder if she’s even got a thought left in that fuzzy head of hers.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” 

The armadillo replied, crossing his arms. His diaper crinkled faintly with the movement, the soft bulk beneath his trousers perfectly dry compared to Sparky’s soggy padding. He tilted his head, watching the sheriff’s dazed expression. 

“She’s so far gone, she probably doesn’t even know what’s happening.”

The raccoon with the ribbons cackled, his own diaper rustling as he leaned forward to peer at Sparky. 

“Oh, she knows. Look at her blushin’. She knows exactly what’s going on, don’t ya, Sheriff?”

Sparky’s ears twitched, and she let out a faint whimper. The pressure of the collar around her neck felt more prominent now, an unyielding symbol of her captivity. 

The engraved words, Bandit Baby, seemed to press against her psyche just as firmly as the metal pressed against her fur. The bouncer’s relentless rhythm did little to help her plight. Each movement jostled her diaper, the soggy padding squishing and rubbing against her in a way that was impossible to ignore.

But something else was building. A growing pressure deep in her gut that had started as a faint discomfort was now becoming impossible to dismiss. The constant bouncing only served to aggravate the sensation, each upward motion making her stomach churn slightly. She shifted faintly in the bouncer, her legs twitching as her body tried to instinctively resist what she knew was coming.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Sheriff?” one of the raccoons teased, noticing her faint movements.

 “You getting fussy already? Need us to rock you a little harder?”

Sparky’s cheeks burned hotter, her whimper turning into a soft groan. The bandits didn’t seem to notice, or care, that her squirming wasn’t from resistance but rather from the growing need she could no longer deny. Her stomach gave an audible gurgle, and she bit down on a soft gasp, her body tensing instinctively.

“Uh-oh,” the lizard said with a grin, his sharp teeth gleaming in the lamplight. 

“What was that? Sounds like our little sheriff’s got somethin’ brewin’.”

The raccoon with the ribbons burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. His diaper puffed noisily as he moved, but it remained perfectly clean and dry. 

“No way,” he chortled. “You think she’s really gonna—?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it.”

The armadillo interrupted, smirking. 

“She’s already so far gone. Not like she’s gonna hold it for long.”

Sparky’s ears flattened against her head as their words stung through the haze. She tried to hold herself together, to focus through the regression water’s effects, but it was no use. The constant motion of the bouncer only worsened her predicament, the steady rocking making the pressure unbearable. The snug waistband of her diaper pressed against her middle, a humiliating reminder that there was no escape, no dignity to salvage.

“Here it comes.” 

the lizard drawled, leaning forward with a delighted sneer. 

“Our sheriff’s about to give us a real show.”

Sparky’s body gave in before her mind could catch up. With a soft, involuntary grunt, she felt the pressure release. Warmth spread through her diaper as she helplessly messed herself, the once-clean white padding bulging visibly as the load settled against her. The added weight sagged her already sodden diaper further, leaving it drooping prominently between her thighs. The smell was immediate, unmistakable, and utterly mortifying.

The bandits erupted into uncontrollable laughter. The lizard clutched his stomach, his sharp tail swishing behind him as he doubled over. 

“Oh, that’s rich! Sheriff Sparky, makin’ a mess of herself like a proper baby.”

The raccoon with the ribbons laughed so hard he fell onto his backside, his own diaper crinkling loudly beneath him. Tears streamed down his face as he gasped for air. 

“I-I can’t… This is too much!” 

His laughter hit a crescendo, and suddenly, a wet hiss filled the air. The front of his diaper darkened visibly, the telltale sign of someone losing control. His laughter only grew louder as he realized what had happened. 

“Oh, man, she’s got me too!”

The other raccoon wasn’t far behind. His laughter turned into high-pitched squeals as he toppled onto a crate, his body shaking with mirth. A similar wet spot spread across his diaper, the fabric swelling slightly as he lost control mid-laugh. 

“This is the best day ever!” he crowed, tears streaming down his face.

Sparky whimpered softly, her cheeks burning hotter than ever. The mess in her diaper pressed against her uncomfortably with every bounce, the added weight making the bouncer’s motion feel even more humiliating. She tried to shift, to find a position that offered even a shred of comfort, but the snug fit of her diaper and the collar pressing against her neck reminded her there was no escape.

The armadillo wiped tears from his eyes, his grin stretching wide. 

“I didn’t think it was possible to laugh this hard,” he said, his deep voice shaking with mirth. 

“Sheriff Sparky, you really are somethin’ else.”

The lizard composed himself enough to step closer, giving the bouncer a playful push that sent Sparky into another round of squishy, messy bouncing. 

“You’re a natural at this, Sheriff,” he teased. 

“Maybe we oughta keep you around after all. Every bandit camp needs a mascot, don’tcha think?”

The raccoon with the ribbons, still lying on the ground, raised a hand weakly. 

“Mascot!” he wheezed. “Yeah, a big ol’ stinky mascot. She’s perfect!”

Sparky’s mind struggled to hold onto anything coherent, but the regression water’s effects kept her thoughts sluggish and simple. The overwhelming embarrassment of her situation was muffled by a strange, involuntary giggle that bubbled up from her lips. The sound was soft and high-pitched, more akin to a child than the formidable sheriff she once was.

“Aww, she’s laughing too!” 

One of the raccoons said, pointing with delight. 

“Guess she’s finally accepted her new role.”

The bandits laughed and jeered, their taunts blending into the cavern’s echoing acoustics. Sparky, her strength drained and her resistance utterly broken, could do little but hang limply in the bouncer as the motion rocked her gently. The weight of the collar around her neck, the wet and messy diaper pressing against her fur, and the incessant laughter of the bandits all combined into a cacophony of humiliation she couldn’t escape.

But for now, her mind was too fogged to resist, too regressed to fully grasp the depths of her predicament. Her faint giggles mingled with the bandits’ laughter, a strange harmony in the dim glow of the cavern.

- = - = -

 

The cavern’s lively echoes had dimmed into a steady murmur as the evening settled in. The bandits lounged around a crackling campfire at the center of their makeshift camp, the golden flames casting flickering shadows across the rough walls. Their earlier mirth had quieted into low chuckles and the occasional comment as they lazily reclined on tattered blankets and old crates. 

 

Each bandit was in a different state of disarray. The raccoon with the ribbons sat cross-pawed on the ground, his diaper now swollen and sagging visibly beneath his trousers. The damp material had darkened in places, making his earlier laughter-fueled accident impossible to ignore. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t emphasize the bulk between his legs. 

 

“Ugh.” 

 

He muttered, tugging at his waistband. 

 

“This thing’s starting to feel like I’m sitting on a water balloon.”

 

The armadillo smirked, his own diaper crinkling audibly as he adjusted his weight. His padding was not quite as saturated as the raccoon’s, but the faint sag was evidence enough of his lack of restraint earlier. He leaned back on his elbows, letting out a contented sigh. 

 

“You’re just mad because you couldn’t hold i in.”

 

He teased, flashing the raccoon a toothy grin.

 

“Like you’re one to talk”

 

The raccoon shot back, gesturing toward the faint yellowing along the edges of the armadillo’s diaper.

 

“Don’t act like you didn’t have your own little moment.”

 

The lizard leaned against a crate, his spiked tail swaying lazily behind him. His diaper was still impressively dry, the thick material crisp and unyielding against his movements. He shot the others a smug look, puffing out his chest. 

 

“Amateurs.”

 

He said, smirking.

“You lot can't handle a little excitement without making a mess.”

 

The second raccoon, who had been lying flat on his back and staring up at the cavern ceiling, let out a snort of laughter. 

 

His diaper was in similar shape to the ribboned one’s, the swollen bulk straining against the waistband of his trousers. 

“Says the guy who didn’t laugh hard enough,” he quipped, wiggling his toes lazily. 

“If you’d loosened up a little, maybe you wouldn’t be the only one here still dry.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

The lizard replied with a chuckle. He shifted his attention toward Sparky, still suspended in the bouncer on the far side of the cavern. The sheriff hung limply, her head drooping forward and her ears twitching faintly in the firelight. Her diaper was a disaster, visibly swollen and sagging heavily, the bulging padding straining against the elastic waistband. The smell lingered faintly in the air, a constant reminder of her earlier humiliation.

“She’s been quiet for a while.” 

The lizard observed, his voice low. 

“Think she’s finally run out of steam?”

“Probably passed out from embarrassment.” 

The armadillo said, chuckling softly. He reached over to a nearby crate and grabbed a bottle of water, taking a long swig. 

“Can’t blame her, though. She’s had a rough day.”

The ribboned raccoon leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands as he stared at Sparky. 

“So, what do we do with her? We can’t just keep her here forever. As funny as she is, she’s still the sheriff. Someone’s bound to come lookin’.”

The group fell into a brief silence, each of them pondering the question. The fire crackled softly, filling the cavern with its warm, flickering glow.

“We could ransom her.” 

The lizard suggested after a moment, his sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. 

“Send a message to the townsfolk. Make ‘em pay up if they want her back.”

The armadillo frowned, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 

“Could work, but what if they don’t take the bait? Brass Gulch is full of stubborn types. They might decide to send a posse instead of coin.”

The second raccoon perked up, raising a hand. 

“What if we keep her for ourselves? Make her our mascot or somethin’. She’s already dressed for the part.”

The ribboned raccoon snorted, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, right. Like we’ve got time to babysit a soggy sheriff. Besides, she’s not exactly gonna be much help when she’s like this.” 

He gestured toward Sparky, whose soft, incoherent babbles were the only sound she made.

The group lapsed into silence again, the fire popping faintly as they mulled over their options. Finally, the lizard straightened up, snapping his fingers. 

“I’ve got it. We’ll leave her on the outskirts of town. Strap her back into the bouncer, give her a few extra doses of the regression water, and let the townsfolk find her.”

The armadillo’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely. 

“Now that’s an idea. She’ll be too far gone to explain what happened, and we’ll be long gone before anyone can come after us.”

The ribboned raccoon clapped his hands together, laughing softly. 

“Perfect. Can you imagine the look on their faces when they find their sheriff like that? Priceless.”

The second raccoon nodded enthusiastically, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Early morning drop-off, right before sunrise. Less chance of anyone spotting us.”

The lizard smirked, crossing his arms. 

“Exactly. We’ll load her up with enough regression water to keep her giggling for days. By the time she’s back to normal, if she even remembers anything, we’ll be halfway to the next territory.”

The group erupted into murmurs of approval, their earlier laughter replaced with a shared sense of satisfaction. The plan was simple, humiliating, and guaranteed to send a message to Brass Gulch without putting the bandits in immediate danger.

As the conversation wound down, the armadillo shifted in his seat, letting out a faint grunt. His diaper crinkled loudly, the soft bulk pressing against his trousers in a way that made him shift uncomfortably. The ribboned raccoon caught the sound and grinned, pointing at him.

“Speaking of messes.” 

The raccoon teased, his voice dripping with mockery. 

“Looks like someone else could use a change.”

The armadillo’s ears flushed a faint pink, and he shot the raccoon a glare. 

“Mind your business.” 

He muttered, shifting again. But the sagging bulk of his diaper was hard to ignore, and the others burst into laughter as the evening drew to a close.

[Horatio Husky]

Chapter Three

Back in Town

The desert night was quiet, save for the faint rustle of a breeze through the scrub brush and the soft squeaks of worn leather saddlebags. Overhead, the moon hung low, bathing the sandy landscape in pale silver light. The bandits trudged carefully through the shadows, their steps muffled on the packed dirt road leading to Brass Gulch’s outskirts. 

At the center of their group was their prize: Sheriff Sparky.

The fennec hung limply, her giggles bubbling like a stream as the regression water coursed through her system. The lizard carried her over his broad shoulders, her soft, soggy diaper squishing audibly with each step. Her hand and footpaws had been bound in soft, cushy buttons and buckled with leather straps just for good measure. 

“Will ya keep her quiet already?” 

Whispered the ribboned raccoon, shooting a glare at the lizard. His own voice was strained, keeping his tone low despite his frustration. 

“She’s gonna give us away!”

“How d’ya propose I do that?” 

The lizard shot back, his sharp tail flicking behind him. 

“Stick a sock in her mouth? She’s gigglin’ like a loon.”

The raccoon sighed and glanced over his shoulder toward Brass Gulch, where the faint glow of lanterns could be seen in the distance. 

“Just keep her steady, all right? We’re almost there.”

The armadillo snickered, trailing behind the group with a small crate balanced in his hefty arms. 

“Admit it. You’re nervous. Not every day you see a sheriff reduced to a giggly, soggy bundle, huh?”

“Of course, I’m nervous!” 

The raccoon snapped, though his voice barely rose above a whisper. 

“If someone hears us…”

“She’s harmless!” 

The lizard interrupted, jostling Sparky slightly for emphasis. The fennec let out a delighted squeal, her legs kicking faintly as if in response. The motion caused her diaper to crinkle and squish louder than before, drawing matching groans from the bandits.

“Would ya stop shaking her?” 

Hissed the second raccoon, his ears flattened in exasperation. 

“You’re makin’ it worse.”

“I’m not tryin’ to!” 

The lizard grumbled, readjusting Sparky on his shoulders. 

“She’s just... bouncin’ herself.”

The group fell silent as they approached a lone wooden post sticking out of the ground just before the rocky outcropping marking the town’s edge. It was a weathered thing, tilted slightly to one side and wrapped in tangled ropes from some long-forgotten purpose. The ribboned raccoon stopped first, resting his hands on his hips and squinting up at it.

“Well, this’ll do.” 

He said, gesturing toward the post. 

“Get her set up. We’ll give her a few more doses and let the town find her in the morning.”

The lizard lowered Sparky onto the ground with surprising gentleness, the sheriff letting out a soft coo as her diaper squished audibly beneath her. She wriggled faintly, her hands still bound behind her back with thick, padded cuffs. Her bright giggles spilled into the quiet desert air, making the raccoons wince.

“She’s too loud.” 

Muttered the second raccoon, pulling a coil of rope from his satchel. 

“Gag her or somethin’. I don’t care what, but shut her up before someone hears.”

“You wanna gag her?” 

Tthe lizard asked with a smirk, leaning down to prod Sparky’s squishy diaper with a claw. 

“Be my guest. She’s yours to wrangle.”

The raccoon grimaced but crouched down beside her, hesitating for a moment before pulling a soft handkerchief from his pocket. He hesitated again as Sparky let out another delighted giggle, her glassy eyes locking on him as if she were waiting for something.

Sparky just giggled louder, her legs kicking again as the regression water’s effects bubbled through her. The raccoon sighed and began tying the handkerchief gently around her muzzle, muffling her laughter into soft, hiccupped snorts.

“There.” 

He said, standing and brushing his hands off. 

“That should hold her for now.”

The armadillo set the crate down beside the post and pried it open, revealing several bottles of clear liquid; they had brought extra doses of the regression water, their labels scrawled with warnings in faded ink. 

“Might as well make it count.” 

he said, grabbing one of the bottles and tossing it to the ribboned raccoon. 

“Let’s give her a good soak.”

The raccoon caught the bottle and unscrewed the cap, hesitating for a brief moment before tipping it over Sparky’s head. The cool liquid splashed down her fur, soaking into her shirt and dripping onto her already sodden diaper. Sparky shivered slightly, her muffled giggles rising in pitch as the water amplified her regression.

“Good lord.” 

Muttered the second raccoon, shaking his head. 

“She’s gonna be laughin’ for days.”

“That’s the point.” 

The armadillo said with a toothy grin. 

“By the time she’s back to normal, we’ll be long gone.”

With Sparky thoroughly doused, the bandits set to work stringing her up. They tied the rope around the bouncer’s metal frame, securing it to the wooden post with a series of tight knots. The springs of the contraption creaked faintly as they hoisted it into position, Sparky’s body swaying gently as the bouncer settled into place. The sheriff let out a soft, muffled squeal of delight, her legs kicking faintly as the motion caused her diaper to crinkle and squish anew.

“Would ya quit movin’ her?” 

The ribboned raccoon snapped, glaring at the lizard. 

“She’s already loud enough!”

The lizard shrugged, stepping back to admire their handiwork. 

“Ain’t my fault she’s havin’ a grand ol’ time. Besides, we’re done here. Let’s skedaddle.”

The group exchanged a few quick nods, gathering their supplies and making sure there were no loose ends. Sparky hung in the bouncer, her giggles muffled but still audible, her soggy diaper sagging visibly beneath her. The faint glow of the town lights loomed in the distance, but no one stirred. At least, not yet.

The bandits mounted their stolen desert steeds, the ribboned raccoon glancing back one last time before shaking his head with a grin. 

“What a sight.” 

He muttered. 

“Sheriff Sparky, defender of Brass Gulch, bouncin’ away in her own soggy mess.”

The lizard chuckled as he adjusted his reins. 

“Reckon they’ll find her before the sun’s up?”

“Don’t matter.” 

The armadillo replied, spurring his steed forward. 

“She’s their problem now.”

With soft, whispered laughter, the bandits disappeared into the night, their figures vanishing against the shadowy desert backdrop. Sparky was left behind, the faint creak of the bouncer’s springs and her muffled giggles the only sounds in the quiet night. The moonlight cast her in a pale glow, highlighting the swollen, drooping diaper and the collar glinting faintly around her neck.

The sheriff’s ears twitched faintly, her giggles bubbling into soft, incoherent babbles as the bouncer swayed gently in the breeze. The faint smell of her accident lingered in the air, a humiliating reminder of her helpless state. As Brass Gulch slept peacefully in the distance, Sparky’s giggling and muttering continued into the night, a strange, haunting melody carried on the desert wind.

Sparky swayed gently in the bouncer, her limp body rocking with the faint creak of the springs as the night stretched on. The desert air had cooled considerably, brushing against her fur in soft, refreshing waves. Her head lolled forward, her ears twitching faintly at the sounds of the distant desert, the chirps of nocturnal insects, the occasional hoot of an owl, but none of it penetrated the haze enveloping her mind. The regression water still pulsed through her, leaving her teetering on the edge of consciousness, her thoughts simple and fleeting.

Her diaper was a source of constant, nagging discomfort. The once-snowy white padding was thoroughly saturated, swollen to its limits and sagging heavily against her hips. The wetness indicator strip had long since disappeared, replaced by a faint blue hue that highlighted every inch of the soggy fabric. 

Worse yet, the mess she’d helplessly released earlier had spread, settling uncomfortably against her fur and adding to the sensation of warm, squishy humiliation pressing against her. The sheer bulk of the diaper made it impossible to ignore, crinkling faintly with every gentle sway of the bouncer and rubbing against her thighs with each motion.

Sparky’s regression-addled mind couldn’t fully grasp the depth of her situation, but snippets of clarity flickered in and out of her daze. Her half-lidded eyes caught glimpses of the town lights in the distance, their soft glow a faint beacon of civilization she couldn’t quite reach. She tried to shift in the bouncer, her legs twitching faintly, but the snug straps held her firmly in place, leaving her to do little more than wriggle against her increasingly uncomfortable padding.

Unbeknownst to her, the sight she presented was nothing short of a spectacle. Brass Gulch’s proud sheriff, defender of justice and the steely symbol of law and order, hung from a wooden post like a wayward decoration. Her uniform, soaked and wrinkled, clung to her fur, and her badge gleamed faintly in the moonlight, a sharp contrast to the drooping, thoroughly used diaper that was now the focal point of her appearance. The collar around her neck, engraved with the mocking title Bandit Baby, glinted dully as it caught what little starlight it could, a crude but effective symbol of her helpless state.

As the hours dragged on, Sparky drifted in and out of a dozing sleep. The regression water’s effects kept her mind fogged, her thoughts slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers. In her rare moments of semi-lucidity, she was dimly aware of the dampness and warmth pressing against her fur, the faint crinkle and squish of her diaper a persistent reminder of her humiliating state. But even that awareness faded quickly, replaced by soft, involuntary giggles and the faintest of smiles curling at her lips.

It was just as the faintest hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon that a sound broke through the quiet, a rhythmic thudding, growing louder and more insistent. Sparky’s ears twitched faintly, her hazy thoughts unable to piece together the noise’s source. The thudding grew closer, accompanied by the soft padding of heavy paws on sand, until a large, sleek shape emerged from the darkness.

Annie.

The desert rat skidded to a halt just a few feet from her, her broad, bristly nose sniffing the air with growing urgency. Her large, dark eyes scanned the area before landing on Sparky, suspended and swaying in the bouncer. Annie let out a low squeak, rushing forward to nuzzle her rider’s drooping ears and then stepping back to sniff her from head to toe. Her snout lingered at Sparky’s waist, her whiskers twitching as she caught the unmistakable scent of a thoroughly used diaper. She squeaked again, her tail flicking sharply as she pawed at the ground.

Sparky stirred faintly, her half-closed eyes blinking sluggishly as she registered the familiar warmth of Annie’s nose pressing against her cheek. A faint smile tugged at her lips, and a soft, giggling murmur escaped her.

“A-Annie…” 

She mumbled, her voice slurred and barely audible. Her head lolled forward again, her ears twitching at the sound of Annie’s concerned squeaks. She lacked the clarity to fully grasp the situation, but some part of her felt a flicker of comfort at her steed’s presence, even as her body sagged deeper into the bouncer’s unyielding embrace.

Annie let out another squeak, her paws scuffing the dirt as she circled the post, sniffing and nuzzling at the ropes holding Sparky in place. The first light of morning spilled across the desert, casting long shadows and bathing the sheriff and her steed in a soft, golden glow. Sparky’s giggles quieted into faint babbles, her head leaning limply against the bouncer’s straps as Annie continued to fuss over her even as some of her latest accident dribbled down her furred legs.

The town of Brass Gulch stirred faintly in the distance, unaware of their sheriff gently bobbing up and down at its edge.

[Horatio Husky]

Chapter Four

To The Clinic

Annie sniffed anxiously at the thick leather straps holding Sparky in the bouncer, her whiskers twitching and her large ears flicking forward with concern. The sheriff dangled limply, her padded bottom crinkling softly with every faint sway in the morning breeze. A low squeak rumbled from Annie’s throat, a mixture of frustration and determination as she gnawed experimentally at the bindings. Her sharp teeth dug into the straps, working them back and forth until the fibers began to fray and tear.

Sparky, still lost in the fog of regression, giggled softly at the sensation of the bouncer shifting beneath her. A weak murmur escaped her lips.

“Annie… s’ a good girl…”

Annie snorted in response and bit down harder, finally snapping one of the straps with a sharp snap! The sudden jolt made Sparky lurch forward, her body slumping awkwardly within the harness as Annie quickly went to work on the remaining restraints. Another snap, then another, and finally, with one last gnaw, the bouncer gave way entirely.

With nothing to hold her up, Sparky tumbled down, landing with a soft, squishy plop onto the sandy ground below. A muffled whimper escaped her lips as the thoroughly saturated diaper absorbed the impact, pressing even further against her fur. The damp bulk shifted uncomfortably, and the familiar warmth squished between her legs and against her tail in a way that made her ears twitch in mortified awareness.

Annie nosed at her insistently, nudging her shoulder with growing urgency. Sparky stirred weakly, blinking up at the towering desert rat as reality slowly seeped through the fog clouding her mind. She was vaguely aware of the desert stretching around her, the faint outline of Brass Gulch’s buildings in the distance. It took another firm nudge from Annie for Sparky to understand what was happening.

“Hnnngh... Annie?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and uncertain. The world still felt distant, but she could tell that she wasn’t bouncing anymore. She was on the ground.

Her limbs felt like lead, her entire body weighed down by the effects of the regression water. Every motion was sluggish, her muscles weak and uncoordinated. The sheriff grunted softly, trying to push herself up, but her arms buckled, and she flopped back onto the ground with a wet-sounding crinkle.

Annie squeaked again, frustration evident in the twitch of her whiskers. Carefully, she leaned down and nudged Sparky’s side, rolling the sheriff onto her back with surprising gentleness. Sparky barely managed a feeble protest before Annie hooked her nose under her and, with a swift motion, hoisted the fennec onto her belly.

Sparky sprawled across Annie’s broad back, her diaper sagging heavily behind her, the squishy mass pressing snugly against Annie’s fur. The sheriff let out a tired whimper, gripping weakly at the rat’s bristly fur, her balance precarious and her limbs wobbling uselessly.

“Annie, I… I can’t…” 

She mumbled, her voice thick with lingering regression.

But Annie didn’t wait for a response. With a powerful kick of her hind legs, the rat took off at a gallop, carrying her padded burden swiftly across the desert. The sudden motion made Sparky squeak, her body jostling atop Annie’s back with each powerful stride. The rhythmic motion caused her soggy diaper to squish audibly, pressing and shifting against her fur in a way that sent shivers of embarrassment down her spine.

The wind whipped past them, the cool morning air rushing through Sparky’s fur and finally stirring her from her foggy state. Awareness crept in, slow but relentless. The humiliation of her situation settled in full, the bouncing trot making her painfully aware of the swollen bulk pressing between her legs, the humiliating dampness, the unmistakable smell that lingered in the air. The brass collar around her neck jingled lightly with every bounce, a constant reminder of the bandits’ mockery.

She swallowed hard, her ears folding back against her head.

“I gotta… gotta get myself together.” 

She muttered, clutching Annie’s fur tightly as the rat barreled toward town.

Her vision wavered, and though the regression water was still coursing through her veins, her mind fought against it. Every bounce against Annie’s gallop sent her diaper squishing against her, and every little crinkle echoed in her ears like a taunting whisper.

The town of Brass Gulch loomed closer and closer, the outlines of buildings and townsfolk becoming more distinct with every passing second. Sparky’s heart pounded in her chest, her breathing ragged.

“Oh no… they’re gonna see me…”

Her cheeks burned fiercely at the thought. The proud sheriff, reduced to a soggy, giggling mess, barely able to sit upright on her own. Her knees wobbled uselessly against Annie’s sides, and despite her growing awareness, she knew she wouldn’t be able to walk without help.

Annie squeaked sharply, sensing her distress, and slowed her pace slightly. The rat’s powerful legs carried them past the first row of buildings, where a few early risers had already begun setting up shop. Sparky groaned softly, burying her face in Annie’s fur, but it didn’t stop the inevitable.

“There she is!” 

A voice called.

Heads turned. Conversations stopped. A few gasps echoed through the street. Sparky felt their eyes on her, the eyes of shopkeepers, miners, and travelers, staring at the ridiculous sight of their once-fearless sheriff slumped over her rat, her diaper sagging heavily and the collar around her neck glinting mockingly in the morning light.

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, followed by hushed whispers.

“What happened to her?”

Sparky groaned, wishing the ground would swallow her up whole.

 

She was still too weak, too regressed. All she could do was cling to Annie as the rat steadily carried her toward the sheriff’s office.

Through the haze of embarrassment, Sparky managed to lift her head, her half-lidded eyes locking onto the familiar outline of the jailhouse. If she could just get inside, she could deal with the humiliation later.

Annie, sensing her goal, picked up the pace again. The rat’s powerful stride kicked up dust behind them, leaving a stunned and murmuring crowd in their wake.

Sparky squeezed her eyes shut, her ears burning with shame.

"Just... get me inside... please..."

Sparky barely registered the murmurs and whispers trailing behind her as Annie galloped straight through the heart of Brass Gulch. The bustling frontier town was slowly waking up, the clang of blacksmith hammers and the chatter of merchants setting up their stalls blending into a distant hum. But all of it felt like background noise compared to the uncomfortable squish beneath her and the heat flushing her cheeks as Annie pressed forward toward the clinic.

Her ears twitched at snippets of hushed conversations.

“Poor thing, she’s a mess…”

“Never seen her like that before.”

“Y’think the bandits did this to her?”

Sparky groaned softly, her limbs still weak, the regression water’s grip making it nearly impossible to lift her head for long. Her diaper sagged heavily with every bounce of Annie’s stride, pressing damply against her fur, each shift of her weight sending another shiver of discomfort through her. She knew she was a sight, Brass Gulch’s once-proud sheriff reduced to a soggy, helpless mess, her badge still pinned to her chest but tarnished with moisture and shame.

The clinic was a squat, sturdy building at the far end of town, its white-washed wooden sign creaking faintly in the breeze. Before Sparky could fully process their arrival, Annie slowed to a stop and gave a soft, concerned squeak, nudging the sheriff’s limp form as if to say.

We’re here, now get some help.

The door creaked open before Annie even had a chance to paw at it, and a gruff voice called out from inside.

“Now what in tarnation—”

Doctor Marlowe, the town’s honey badger physician, stepped onto the porch, his dark eyes narrowing at the sorry sight before him. He was dressed in his usual white coat, though it was stained with patches of oil and soot—likely from some mechanical contraption he'd been tinkering with in the back. His keen nose twitched, and his expression immediately shifted to one of concern.

“Sweet mercy, Sparky.” 

He muttered, stepping forward and running his claws through his coarse fur. 

“What the blazes happened to you?”

Annie chittered urgently, nudging Sparky forward until the fennec gave a faint groan and shifted, blinking up at Marlowe with half-lidded, glazed eyes. A slow, loopy smile tugged at her lips.

“Marlowe…” she mumbled sluggishly. “I… m’back…”

Marlowe’s sharp gaze swept over her, taking in the drooping, discolored diaper, the telltale stains of regression water on her shirt, and, most concerning, the dazed, giddy look in her eyes.

“Alright, alright, let’s get her inside.” 

He grunted, reaching up to carefully hoist Sparky off Annie’s back. 

“Poor girl’s been soaked to the brim, by the smell of it. Regression water, huh?”

Annie squeaked affirmatively, her tail flicking anxiously as she watched Marlowe carry Sparky inside the clinic.

The interior was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and antiseptic. Marlowe set her down gently onto the padded examination table, her crinkling diaper squishing beneath her weight, and he let out a low whistle.

“Stars above, Sheriff.” 

He muttered, pulling on a pair of gloves and carefully prodding at the swollen padding encasing her bottom. 

“You’re practically sittin’ in a swamp down there.”

Sparky let out a weak giggle, the effects of the regression water still strong enough to keep her floating in a mindless daze. Marlowe frowned and gently pressed a paw to her forehead, tilting her head to get a better look at her eyes.

“Yep, they got you good. Dosed you pretty heavy, didn’t they?” 

He tsked and reached for a glass vial from one of the shelves, pouring out a pale amber liquid into a spoon.

Sparky blinked lazily, her ears twitching faintly as he brought the spoon to her lips.

“Drink this.”

He said, his tone softer than before. 

“It’ll help clear up that fog in your head.”

Sparky pouted briefly, her lips trembling, but obediently parted them to let him slip the liquid in. The taste was bitter and medicinal, a stark contrast to the warm, hazy fuzziness that had settled in her thoughts. Almost immediately, the fog began to lift, clarity trickling in like light piercing through thick clouds.

Her eyes sharpened slightly, and she swallowed again, licking her lips. 

“Marlowe… I…” 

Her voice cracked weakly, but at least it made sense this time.

“There she is.” 

Marlowe said with a faint smirk. 

“Knew you were still in there somewhere.” 

He patted her arm before his expression grew serious. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at the damage.”

As his paws deftly worked to untape the heavy diaper clinging to her, Sparky’s ears burned with mortification. She turned her head away, feeling the warm rush of humiliation flare up once again as the wet, swollen padding was peeled away with a damp schlorp.

Marlowe let out a low grunt, his eyes narrowing. 

“Hoo boy… you’ve got a rash that’s just about as bad as I’ve ever seen, Sparky. Those bandits didn’t let up on you, did they?”

Sparky swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of embarrassment. 

“I… I was out there for hours… bouncin’... they…” 

She bit her lip, struggling to piece her memories together, but flashes of her humiliation came flooding back in vivid detail. 

“They kept me stuck... And Annie… she found me.”

Marlowe hummed, nodding thoughtfully as he fetched a clean cloth and a basin of warm water.

 “Well, it’s a good thing she did. You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a full infection down here.” 

He began to gently wipe at her fur, his touch firm but not unkind.

Sparky whimpered softly, her legs twitching weakly at the cool sensation. The redness of her skin was painfully obvious now, and the irritated rash left her squirming uncomfortably on the padded table.

“Hurts, huh?” 

Marlowe murmured sympathetically, working quickly to clean the worst of it. 

“Well, we’ll get you sorted soon enough. Just hold tight, Sheriff.”

Sparky nodded weakly, resting her head against the pillow as exhaustion tugged at her limbs. Despite the clarity returning to her thoughts, her body was still sore and drained from the ordeal. Her legs felt useless, trembling slightly whenever she tried to shift them, and the dull ache in her diapered area was a constant reminder of her humiliating experience.

Marlowe applied a thick, cooling ointment, the honey-scented salve soothing against her inflamed skin. 

“There we go. That oughta take the sting out.”

Sparky let out a soft, relieved sigh. 

“Thank you, Marlowe…”

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. 

“Don’t mention it, kid. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble like this again.” 

He patted her shoulder before reaching into a nearby drawer and pulling out a thick, fresh diaper. 

“Now, let’s get you back in somethin’ clean, yeah?”

Sparky groaned, but couldn’t bring herself to protest as Marlowe slid the clean padding under her and fastened it securely around her waist. The new diaper was snug, but at least it wasn’t sagging and heavy like the last one.

 

She lay still on the clinic's padded table, the fresh diaper crinkling softly beneath her as she shifted slightly under the warm weight of the blanket Marlowe had draped over her. The honey badger busied himself at a nearby counter, carefully grinding herbs and preparing another dose of medicine while Annie sat curled up by the door, her beady eyes watching Sparky closely.

Sparky blinked slowly, trying to fight off the lingering fog that clung to her thoughts. The bitter tonic Marlowe had given her earlier was working, she could feel the return of clarity, but it was slow, frustratingly so. Every time she tried to focus, her mind drifted, tugged back into that warm, hazy space where thoughts were soft and simple.

Her body still felt foreign, weak and clumsy. She lifted a paw to rub at her eyes and winced at how unsteady it felt, fingers fumbling slightly before finally making contact with her face. She swallowed hard, the crinkle of her diaper reminding her all too keenly of just how deep the bandits had sunk their humiliation into her.

"Feelin’ a bit more yourself?"

 Marlowe's voice broke through the quiet. Sparky turned her head sluggishly, offering a weak smile.

"Sorta…" 

Her voice was still hoarse, and her words felt slower than usual, but at least they made sense now. 

"M'head's still fuzzy."

Marlowe nodded, rolling a small wooden spoon between his fingers as he measured out a small dose of powder into a glass of water. 

"Ain’t surprising. You were doused somethin’ fierce. Gonna take a while for it all to work outta your system." 

He walked back over to the table, offering the glass to Sparky. 

"Drink up. This’ll help flush the rest of it out."

Sparky hesitated, then took the glass with both paws, careful not to spill. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it to her lips, the cool water soothing her dry throat.

"Good girl." 

Marlowe said absently, his eyes scanning over her as she drank. Sparky stiffened at the words, a faint blush creeping across her face as an odd, warm feeling settled in her chest. Her ears twitched, and she quickly finished the drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink on the tray.

Marlowe quirked a brow. 

"You alright? Looks like somethin' just clicked in that head of yours."

Sparky shifted uncomfortably, the thick padding pressing snugly against her thighs with the movement. 

"I… uh… it's nothin'." 

She muttered, avoiding his gaze.

It was not nothing. A strange pattern had settled into her over the past day, little habits that now felt too natural, too instinctual. The way she clutched the blanket tightly around her, the way she had instinctively sucked on her lower lip without thinking, and the way Marlowe’s casual praise made her tail flick in an oddly pleased way.

The regression water had done more than just fog her mind. It had left traces of something deeper, something she was not sure she could shake off so easily.

Marlowe didn't press, but his keen eyes were watching. 

"Well, Sparky." 

He said, pulling up a stool beside her. 

"I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it. You're gonna be dealin' with a lotta strange feelings for a while. That much regression water? It rewires things, makes ya form habits without even realizin’ it."

Sparky exhaled sharply, ears drooping. 

"Yeah, I'm… startin' to notice." 

She squirmed in place, feeling the diaper crinkle again, and bit down on her lip.

Marlowe smirked knowingly, leaning back in his chair. 

"Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. What matters is how we handle it movin’ forward. But first things first… Let’s get you sittin’ up proper, see if those legs still work."

Sparky nodded, bracing herself as she shifted on the table, slowly swinging her legs over the edge. Marlowe placed a firm paw on her back to steady her, his grip warm and reassuring. She tried to push herself up, but her legs trembled beneath her, muscles weakened from too long spent in enforced helplessness.

"I gotcha." 

Marlowe said gently, easing her weight until she was sitting upright. Sparky’s ears flattened with frustration at how much effort it took just to do something so simple.

"I feel like a newborn foal." 

She muttered, gripping the edge of the table tightly.

Marlowe chuckled. 

"You’ll get your strength back, don’t you worry." 

He patted her back before moving to her side, holding out a paw. 

"Let’s try standin’ now, nice and easy."

Sparky swallowed hard and took his hand, wobbling as she slid off the table. The moment her feet touched the floor, she nearly collapsed, her knees buckling beneath her. If it weren’t for Marlowe’s quick reflexes, she would have crumpled onto the floor entirely.

"Whoa there!" 

He steadied her, gripping her waist to keep her upright. Sparky whimpered softly, clutching his arm as she leaned heavily against him.

"I'm... I'm tryin'." 

She muttered, frustrated tears welling in her eyes. The thick bulk between her legs made everything feel even more awkward, forcing her to take a wide stance just to balance.

"I know, I know." 

Marlowe soothed. 

"Takes time. Your body’s still sortin’ itself out." 

He guided her carefully toward a nearby cushioned chair, lowering her into it with a sigh. 

"Let's take it slow."

Sparky huffed, crossing her arms with a pout that felt entirely too natural. Marlowe gave her an amused glance but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he busied himself with fetching a bottle of nutrient-rich milk from a nearby cupboard.

"Drink up." 

He said, handing it to her. 

"Gotta rebuild your strength."

Sparky hesitated again, staring at the bottle in her hands. She fumbled with the cap, her fingers struggling to twist it off. Her cheeks burned in humiliation as Marlowe finally reached over and popped it open for her with an easy twist.

"Don’t overthink it, Sheriff," he said softly. "Just focus on recoverin’."

Sparky sighed, bringing the bottle to her lips. She sipped tentatively, feeling the creamy richness slide down her throat, and despite herself, she found it oddly comforting. Her fingers curled around the bottle tightly, and she drank more eagerly, the familiar action soothing in ways she didn’t want to admit.

Marlowe watched her for a moment before speaking. 

"You're doin’ better than you think, Sparky. But I’ll be honest with ya—you’re gonna need some help for a while. Regression water ain't somethin’ you just walk off."

Sparky nodded slowly, a small frown tugging at her lips. 

"I know," she admitted. "Just… don’t wanna be like this forever."

"You won’t," Marlowe reassured her, doing his best to keep the note of concern out of his voice as he gave her knee a pat. 

"But until then, we’ll take it one step at a time. Now, finish that bottle. You’ve got a long day ahead."

Sparky sighed again, taking another sip, the warmth spreading through her chest as the town bustled outside.

[Horatio Husky]

Chapter Five

Townsfolk

Sparky sat stiffly in the cushioned chair, shifting uncomfortably as Marlowe strapped the metal braces around her knees. The honey badger worked with practiced efficiency, tightening the buckles and ensuring the mechanisms clicked into place. The braces were sturdy, lined with soft padding against her fur but rigid enough to keep her legs from giving out under her weight.

The fennec frowned down at them, her ears twitching. 

Braces. Diapers. A slow recovery. This ain't how a sheriff should look.

Marlowe noticed her expression and huffed. 

“Quit fussin’. These’ll help keep you upright till your legs stop wobblin’ like a newborn calf’s.”

He gave the side of one brace a testing tap. 

“With how much regression water they pumped into ya, I’m surprised you ain’t still crawlin’.”

Sparky groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“Great. Now I just gotta learn how to walk again and deal with everyone in town lookin’ at me like I lost my damn mind.”

Marlowe stood, brushing off his paws. 

“Ain’t no gettin’ around that part.” 

He stepped back, arms crossed. 

“Town’s been buzzin’ since Annie dragged you in. You were out there, bouncin’ in that soaked diaper all night, on display like some fool carnival act. I imagine folk are gonna have words.”

Sparky winced at that. She knew they were talking. How could they not? The mighty Sheriff of Brass Gulch, reduced to a drooling, giggling mess in the hands of the bandits. Strung up like a child’s toy, squishing away in her own shame. Her ears flattened as she let out a slow breath.

I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve found a way out.

Marlowe crouched beside her chair, his tone softer now. 

“Listen, Sparky. You’re gonna hear folks whisperin’. Maybe even laughin’. You got humiliated, no denyin’ that.” 

He rested a paw on her arm. 

“But you are still sheriff. You get back on your feet, hold your head high, and remind ‘em that.”

Sparky swallowed hard, nodding. She adjusted her vest, making sure her badge was still pinned firmly in place. It was scratched, a little scuffed, but it still shone in the light.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed herself up from the chair. The braces locked into place with a sharp click, giving her the stability her weak legs still lacked. The first step felt foreign, stiff and mechanical, but she stayed standing. Marlowe hovered nearby, ready to catch her if she wobbled.

"Not bad." 

He muttered. 

"Now, let’s see if you can make it out the door without fallin’ on your tail.”

Sparky shot him a look, her tail flicking in irritation, but she moved forward. Each step was slow, careful. The braces kept her knees from buckling, but the rash covering her inner thighs burned with every movement. The thick padding between her legs did little to help, the chafing making her teeth grit in discomfort.

Marlowe held the clinic door open for her, and for the first time since her ordeal, Sparky stepped out into the morning sun.

And immediately regretted it.

The streets of Brass Gulch were alive with the usual bustle of a frontier town, merchants calling out their wares, miners loading up carts, travelers passing through on horseback. But all of it came to a halt the second they noticed her.

Conversations died. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

And then the murmurs started.

“There she is…”

“Never thought I’d see our sheriff in such a sorry state.”

“Heard she was bouncin’ like a baby all night out there…”

“Poor thing, barely even walkin’ right.”

Sparky’s ears burned. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn around, to march back into the clinic and lock the door. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t.

She forced herself to keep moving, her steps stiff and awkward but deliberate.

The town was watching.

And then, someone laughed.

It started as a chuckle from a scruffy-looking hyena leaning against the saloon post. Then, a fox near the general store smirked, whispering something to his friend, who snickered in response.

And then it spread.

The sound hit Sparky like a slap, each burst of laughter a fresh sting against her already wounded pride. She couldn’t even deny what they were laughing at.

She had been out there, completely helpless, giggling and drooling in a soaked, sagging diaper. She had been reduced to nothing but a plaything for the bandits, a spectacle for anyone who happened to pass by.

Her grip on her vest tightened, her breath coming a little quicker.

Marlowe noticed. 

“Keep walkin’.” 

He muttered under his breath, his voice firm. 

“Don’t let ‘em get in your head.”

Sparky nodded once, her jaw clenched as she moved forward. The braces clicked with each step, the bulky diaper crinkling loudly beneath her clothes. She could feel the thick padding shifting awkwardly with every movement, and she knew the townsfolk could hear it too.

“Still waddlin’, huh?” 

a voice called out, just loud enough to carry. A few more snickers followed.

Sparky almost stopped. Almost turned on her heel to snap at whoever had said it. But she caught herself, forcing her ears to stay upright, her expression neutral. She had one job now, get to the sheriff’s office.

The town could talk. They could laugh.

But she was still sheriff.

She reached the steps of the jailhouse and took a breath, glancing back at Marlowe. He gave her a short nod.

“You did good, Sheriff.” 

he murmured. 

“They’re gonna talk, but let ‘em. You’ll shut ‘em up soon enough.”

Sparky swallowed her pride and nodded back.

But as she reached for the door, a single voice rang out, sharp and clear above the murmurs.

“Hey, Sheriff!”

Sparky turned, her heart sinking as she spotted the speaker. A raccoon. Not one of them, but damn close enough, the brother of one of the bandits who had strung her up. He grinned lazily, arms crossed, leaning against the hitching post.

“Word is, you were real comfy in that bouncer. Maybe we oughta keep one out there for ya, just in case?”

Laughter. Again. Louder this time.

Sparky’s fingers twitched at her side.

She should have ignored it. She should have just gone inside.

But she turned. Slowly.

And stared at him.

The laughter died down. Not all at once, but enough that people started shifting uncomfortably, realizing maybe they HAD pushed too far.

The raccoon’s smirk faltered slightly.

Sparky’s voice was quiet when she spoke, but there was no mistaking the steel in it.

“Say that again.”

The raccoon opened his mouth, then hesitated.

Sparky took one step forward. The braces clicked. The diaper crinkled. The town watched.

And then she smirked.

“Didn’t think so.”

With that, she turned, stepped into her office, and shut the door.

The town was still laughing.

But at least now, they were nervous.

- = - = -

 

Sparky exhaled slowly, her hands braced on the desk inside her office. The wooden walls of the sheriff’s station muffled the town’s lingering murmurs, but she knew they were still talking.

It didn’t matter.

She was back where she belonged.

The jailhouse was quiet, save for the occasional hiss of steam from the brass pipes lining the walls. The structure was sturdy, ironwood and steel reinforcements made it one of the most secure buildings in Brass Gulch. In the corner, Griggs sat behind the heavy wooden desk, his massive frame hunched as he scribbled notes into a leather-bound logbook.

The grizzly bear glanced up as she entered, his sharp brown eyes sweeping over her. There was no pity in his gaze, no amusement—just a quiet acknowledgment of her presence.

“Welcome back, Sheriff.”

Sparky gave him a curt nod and moved stiffly toward the desk, her knee braces clicking with each step. She hated how loud they were. The crinkling of her fresh diaper wasn’t much better, and she was certain Griggs heard it.

If he did, he didn’t say a damn thing.

“Anything new?” 

She asked, keeping her voice steady.

Griggs grunted, flipping a page in the logbook. 

“Picked up a straggler last night.” 

He said, tapping his claw against a name. 

“One of the bandits. Didn’t take much to wrangle him, tripped over his own boots tryin’ to run.”

Sparky’s ears flicked. 

“Name?”

“Calls himself Kade.”

That name wasn’t familiar, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved in the same gang that had strung her up like a damn ornament.

She clenched her jaw, ignoring the way her rash stung as she shifted her stance. 

“Where is he?”

Griggs jerked a thumb toward the back of the station. 

“Cell two. He’s been in and out of regression since I hauled him in.”

Sparky’s lips curled slightly. 

“Good. Let’s see what he knows.”

The hallway leading to the cells was dimly lit, the soft glow of gas lamps casting flickering shadows against the steel-plated walls. Sparky’s boots clunked against the floor, each step slow and deliberate.

Griggs trailed behind her, his arms crossed, but he let her take the lead.

She needed this.

She needed something to put her focus into.

A low, lazy chuckle drifted from the second cell as they approached.

“Well, ain’t this a sight.”

Sparky’s ear twitched.

Inside the crib-like cell, sprawled out with his arms behind his head, lay Kade. The jackal’s dusty fur was unkempt, and his vest was missing a few buttons, but his sharp yellow eyes gleamed with mischief.

And, of course, he was padded.

His diaper was swollen, a clear indication that he hadn’t been given a change since his capture. The wetness indicator had long since vanished, replaced by a soft, sagging bulk around his hips.

He grinned wide, his tail flicking against the crib’s mattress.

“Didn’t think I’d be gettin’ a visit from the infamous Sheriff Sparky.” 

He drawled. 

“Last I heard, you were havin’ yourself a grand ol’ time, bouncin’ away like a proper baby.”

Sparky didn’t flinch. She didn’t glare.

She just stepped forward.

Kade’s grin widened.

 “What, no witty comeback? No sharp remarks?” 

He snickered. 

“Guess that regression water did a number on ya, huh?”

Griggs shifted slightly beside her, but Sparky lifted a paw, stopping him before he could say anything.

Instead, she tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

“Y’know.” 

She said slowly. 

“I was gonna give you a chance to talk first. But now?”

She leaned in just enough to make the jackal’s ears twitch.

“Now, I think I’ll just get what I need outta you my way.”

Kade’s grin faltered.

Sparky turned to Griggs. 

“Go ahead and double his dose.”

The grizzly grunted in acknowledgment.

Kade’s ears flattened. 

“W-wait now, hold on-”

Sparky turned back, fixing him with a smirk. 

“Somethin’ wrong, Kade?”

She purred. 

“Didn’t seem like you had any problems when I was on the receivin’ end of it.”

The jackal swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching against the mattress.

Sparky took another slow step forward. 

“Y’see, I got a real itch to pay back some of that humiliation. So, either you tell me exactly what you know, or you can spend the next two days suckin’ on your thumb, droolin’ in that crib.”

Kade’s breath hitched. His cocky demeanor cracked, and his tail tucked slightly between his legs.

Sparky smiled. 

“What’s it gonna be?”

A faint hiss filled the air.

Kade’s body stiffened as warmth spread through his already soaked diaper, the padding swelling further as he lost control. His eyes darted between Sparky and Griggs, panic flickering beneath the surface.

“I… I was just followin’ orders!” 

He blurted out. 

“That’s it! Nothin’ else, I swear!”

Sparky folded her arms. 

“Whose orders?”

Kade hesitated, his ears twitching, but another sharp look from the sheriff made his tail flick anxiously.

“Dunno who exactly.” 

He admitted. 

“We just got word to raid wherever we could. Steal what we wanted, cause a little chaos, then move on before things got too hot.”

Sparky narrowed her eyes. 

“That’s all?”

The jackal nodded frantically. 

“Y-yeah! We weren’t workin’ on no grand scheme or nothin’! Just takin’ what we could.”

Sparky studied him for a long moment. The fear in his eyes was real, too real for someone trying to lie his way out.

She exhaled through her nose. 

“Fine.”

Kade sagged with relief, until she smirked again.

“But I do think you’ll benefit from a little extra regression, just to make sure you stay nice and placid for a while.”

Kade whined. 

“Sheriff, c’mon…”

But Griggs was already reaching for the vial.

Sparky turned on her heel, striding back toward the front of the station.

Kade’s panicked protests followed her, but she didn’t care.

She had what she needed.

And soon enough, she would make sure the rest of those bandits paid the price.

- = - = -

The evening air was crisp as Sparky stepped out of the sheriff’s office, the last remnants of sunset casting a warm orange glow over the rooftops of Brass Gulch. The town was alive with the usual nighttime bustle, miners fresh off their shifts, merchants locking up their stalls, and the occasional drifter lingering by the boardwalks.

And, of course, the snickering.

She heard it as soon as she started walking. The stiff click of her knee braces, the telltale crinkle of her diaper beneath her clothes, it was impossible to hide, and the townsfolk weren’t exactly subtle about noticing.

“Still waddlin’, huh?” 

One voice muttered from a shadowed porch.
 

“Heard she got strung up like a baby doll.” 

Another whispered, barely hushed enough to not be outright taunting.

Sparky’s ears twitched, but she kept her gaze forward.

They could talk all they wanted. She was not going to let it get to her.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

By the time she reached The Brass Barrel, the town’s main watering hole, she was already tired down to her bones. The tavern was a sturdy two-story building, its ironwood frame lined with brass accents that glowed under the gas lanterns hanging from the eaves. The ‘Brass Barrel’ sign creaked gently in the wind, the lettering burned into the wood alongside the crude image of a frothy mug.

Sparky stepped up onto the boardwalk, gripping the railing for balance before pushing her way inside.

The tavern was lively, as expected, miners, travelers, and locals all gathered in clusters around wooden tables, their voices a steady hum beneath the occasional bursts of laughter. The air smelled of sawdust and warm milk, the latter being the most popular drink around these parts.

Sparky made her way to the bar, ignoring the few sideways glances she got as she took a seat on a high stool. The braces on her legs made it a little awkward, but she managed, resting her arms against the smooth wooden counter with a sigh.

Behind the bar, a familiar face turned toward her.

Brutus.

The bristly spiked lizard was a massive figure, standing nearly as tall as Griggs, his scales a deep, earthen brown with an almost metallic sheen under the lantern light. His eyes were sharp, but there was warmth behind them, a respect that had been earned over years of keeping Brass Gulch safe.

He wiped a glass clean with a rag, glancing at her with a knowing look.

“Well, if it ain’t Sheriff Sparky.” 

His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble. 

“Didn’t think I’d see ya out and about after what happened.”

Sparky exhaled, rubbing her temple. 

“Didn’t exactly have much of a choice, Brutus.”

The lizard let out a low chuckle. 

“Ain’t that always the cause.” 

He set the glass down and reached for a bottle behind the bar, pouring her a tall mug of warm milk before sliding it in front of her. 

“Here… On the house.”

Sparky quirked a brow but took the mug, the warmth seeping into her fingers. 

“Appreciate it.”

Brutus leaned against the counter, folding his thick arms. 

“So, Sheriff. You gonna tell me what happened, or do I gotta piece it together from all the gossip flyin’ around?”

Sparky took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle in her stomach before setting the mug down. 

“Bandits.” 

She said simply. 

“Jumped me outside the mines. Got a few good hits in before they overpowered me.”

Brutus nodded, unsurprised. 

“Heard they strung you up real good.”

 

Sparky’s grip on the mug tightened. 

“Yeah.” 

She muttered. 

“They did.”

There was a pause before Brutus spoke again, his voice quieter. 

“They get in your head?”

Sparky’s ears twitched. That was the real question, wasn’t it?

“They tried.” 

She admitted. 

“Dosed me bad. Had me gigglin’ like a fool. Didn’t even know my own name for a while.”

Brutus grunted. 

“And now?”

Sparky exhaled, tilting the mug in her paws. 

“Now… I’m back. Sorta.” 

She tapped a claw against the rim. 

“Feels like some of it’s still stickin’, though.”

Brutus studied her for a moment before nodding. 

“That’ll pass. You’re tougher than most, Sparky. Just gotta give it time.”

Sparky huffed a short laugh. 

“Time, huh? Don’t got much of that. Got bandits runnin’ ‘round, terrorizin’ my town, makin’ me look like a joke.”

She shook her head. 

“I need somethin’ now… Anything to work with.”

Brutus drummed his claws against the countertop, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he leaned in slightly.

“Well.” 

He said. 

“Since you’re lookin’ for somethin’… maybe I do got a little nugget of information you might find useful.”

Sparky’s ears perked. 

“Go on.”

Brutus glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping, before lowering his voice.

“These bandits? They ain’t just some random group causin’ trouble for the hell of it.” 

His eyes met hers, sharp and serious. 

“They’re from Dry Spoke.”

Sparky’s breath caught in her throat.

Dry Spoke.

Another mining town, about a day’s ride from Brass Gulch.

A rival town.

Brutus continued. 

“Word is, they ain’t just lootin’ for fun. They were hired, paid, to make sure Brass Gulch’s talcum mines stay outta commission. Someone in Dry Spoke don’t want you folks prosperin’.”

Sparky’s grip tightened on the mug.

That made too much sense.

The bandits had been reckless, but targeted. The mines had been in their sights from the beginning. And with talcum being one of the most valuable resources in the region, it wasn’t hard to guess who might be behind this.

“This is exactly what I needed.” 

She muttered.

Brutus smirked, straightening up. 

“Figured as much.”

Sparky downed the last of her milk, the warmth giving her just enough fuel to push through the exhaustion settling in her bones. She set the empty mug down with a solid thunk, wiping her mouth on her sleeve before glancing up at Brutus.

“You may have just saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Brutus chuckled. 

“That’s what I’m here for, Sheriff.”

Sparky slid off the stool, bracing herself as her knees wobbled slightly beneath her. The braces clicked as she steadied herself, rolling her shoulders before meeting Brutus’ gaze.

“Keep your ears open. If you hear anything else, you let me know.”

Brutus tipped an imaginary hat. 

“Always do.”

Sparky nodded, adjusting her vest as she turned toward the door. She finally had a lead. And come morning, she was gonna act on it.

[Horatio Husky]

Chapter Six

Word around Town

Sparky adjusted the straps on her knee braces as she hobbled down the boardwalk, her boots thudding against the wooden planks. Each step still felt stiff, unnatural, but she had no choice but to push through. The town still cast sideways glances her way, whispers following in her wake, but she paid them no mind. She had a lead now, and it was time to follow it.

If Dry Spoke had hired the bandits to sabotage Brass Gulch’s talcum mines, that meant they were getting in and out of town somehow. And given the lack of fresh horse tracks near the outskirts, that left only one possibility: the railway.

The Brass Gulch Rail Station sat at the edge of town, just past the merchant square. A long stretch of iron rails ran through it, branching outward like veins toward the rest of the frontier. The station itself was a modest thing, built of dark wood and reinforced with brass plating, steam pipes hissing from the engine yard where trains were prepped for long-haul journeys.

Sparky approached the station office, her ears twitching at the hum of voices inside. A few travelers loitered near the ticket booth, their luggage stacked haphazardly against the walls. A tired-looking rabbit in a dust-covered coat was arguing with the attendant over a misplaced ticket, while a pair of otters, likely miners from out of town, chattered near the schedule board.

Sparky ignored them and stepped up to the counter, leaning slightly to steady herself. The station clerk, a rail-thin ferret with round glasses perched on his snout, blinked up at her in surprise.

“Sheriff Sparky.” 

He greeted hesitantly, glancing down at the braces on her legs before quickly looking away. 

“Uh… didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sparky exhaled. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be here either.” 

She adjusted her vest. 

“I got a question for you, Luther.”

The ferret, Luther, straightened slightly. 

“Go on.”

“You noticed any unusual traffic lately?” 

Sparky tapped a claw against the counter. 

“Any unfamiliar faces coming in? Maybe folks making multiple trips between here and Dry Spoke?”

Luther scratched his chin. 

“Now that you mention it…” 

He turned, flipping through a large logbook resting beside the ticket register. His whiskers twitched as he ran a finger down the list of names. 

“Yeah, there’s been a bit more movement than usual. Last couple weeks, we’ve had a handful of folks comin’ in on the Iron Runner. that’s the overnight line from Dry Spoke. Normally, we only get traders and a few prospectors, but lately?”

He tapped the page. 

“I’ve been seein’ repeat names. Same fellas comin’ and goin’, sometimes back-to-back trips.”

Sparky’s tail flicked. 

“You got names?”

Luther adjusted his glasses and squinted. 

“Let’s see… we got a Jeb Holton, Mick Fallow, and…” 

His voice trailed off, his ears twitching. 

“Huh. That’s funny.”

Sparky leaned in. 

“What?”

“This last one.” 

Luther turned the book toward her, tapping a name with his claw. Sam Rudder. 

“He’s been on nearly every trip.”

Sparky frowned. 

“That name mean anything to you?”

Luther shrugged. 

“Not personally, but he’s always travelin’ light. No cargo, no luggage. Just comes in, sticks around town for a bit, then hops the next train back out.”

Sparky narrowed her eyes. 

“That’s suspicious.”

“Sure is,” Luther agreed. 

“And get this… He never buys a ticket. Someone else always covers it. I ain’t never seen him pay for his own fare.”

Sparky’s grip on the counter tightened. If someone from Dry Spoke was funding these trips, that meant there was money backing this operation.

“Any idea when he’s due back?” 

She asked.

Luther flipped ahead a few pages. 

“Looks like… Tomorrow. Late afternoon.”

That gave her time. Not much, but enough. Sparky straightened, her braces clicking as she shifted her weight. 

“Alright, Luther. You see him come through, you let me know. Immediately.”

Luther nodded. 

“You got it, Sheriff.”

Sparky turned to leave, but just as she reached the door, Luther cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh… for what it’s worth?” 

His voice was quieter now. 

“Not everyone in town’s laughin’ at you.”

Sparky paused, her ears flicking.

Luther rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I mean, yeah, folks talk, but we know you ain’t gonna let this slide. You always get back up.”

Sparky did not turn around, but she nodded once before stepping outside.

- = - = -

 

The warm hues of the sunset deepened as Sparky made her way across town, the rhythmic click of her knee braces mingling with the sounds of the evening bustle. Merchants were closing their stalls, the last of the day’s miners were filing into the tavern for a well-earned drink, and the distant hiss of steam from the brass piping running along the town’s rooftops filled the air with a faint metallic tang.

Sparky ignored the side glances and whispers that still lingered as she walked, her mind set on her next destination: the Brass Gulch Talcum Warehouse.

The warehouse was the backbone of the town’s economy. Every grain of fine, white powder pulled from the mines passed through here, processed, packaged, and sent out to buyers across the frontier. If Dry Spoke was looking to sabotage the mine, they would not stop at just terrorizing the town. There had to be something off in the supply chain.

The building itself was a massive, sturdy structure made of dark ironwood, reinforced with steel braces to withstand the weight of the massive talcum shipments it processed daily. A set of brass pipes ran along the walls, hissing with bursts of steam as they helped regulate temperature and humidity inside. The scent of fresh powder lingered in the air, clinging to the wooden planks and settling into every nook and cranny.

As Sparky approached, she spotted a familiar face near the entrance, Dale Wexley, the warehouse foreman, a thick-bodied badger with fur streaked in white dust and a perpetually tired expression. He stood near a loading dock, barking orders at a pair of workers struggling to move a heavy crate onto a wagon.

“Careful with that, ya clumsy louts!” 

Dale snapped, rubbing his temples. 

“One wrong move and we’ll be sneezin’ talc for a week!”

Sparky smirked as she approached. 

“Still yellin’ at people, huh, Dale?”

The badger turned, blinking in surprise before his expression softened. 

“Well, I’ll be danged. Sheriff.” 

He eyed her up and down, gaze lingering on the knee braces. 

“Heard you had a rough go of it.”

Sparky crossed her arms. 

“You could say that.”

Dale nodded knowingly, wiping his paws on his dust-covered vest. 

“Ain’t many folks got the guts to walk ‘round town after somethin’ like that. I respect it.”

Sparky huffed. 

“Appreciate it. But I ain’t here for pleasantries.” 

She glanced toward the warehouse doors. 

“I need to know if anything’s been off lately, shipments, deliveries, anything that don’t sit right.”

Dale scratched his chin. 

“Funny you ask. I was just goin’ over the ledgers this mornin’ ‘cause I had a hunch somethin’ was wrong.”

Sparky’s ears perked. 

“And?”

Dale gestured for her to follow as he led her into the warehouse. Inside, the scent of talcum was even stronger, thick in the air as workers shoveled powder into burlap sacks, weighing and sealing them for transport. Conveyor belts rattled as they moved crates along, and overhead, brass lanterns cast a warm glow over the busy workspace.

Dale led her to a side office, a modest room cluttered with stacks of papers, ledgers, and an old brass cash register that looked like it hadn’t worked in years. He grabbed a thick logbook from a shelf, flipping it open to a page near the back.

“Now, normally we keep pretty tight records.” 

He explained, running a claw down the list of numbers. 

But I noticed that for the past two weeks, we’ve been comin’ up short.”

Sparky frowned. 

“Short how?”

Dale tapped the page. 

“Each shipment we send out is weighed before it leaves. But somewhere between leavin’ here and reachin’ the buyers, we’re losin’ product.”

Sparky narrowed her eyes. 

“Sabotage?”

Dale shrugged. 

“Maybe. Could be someone skimmin’ off the top, too. But what don’t sit right with me is the timing. This started right when them bandits started causin’ trouble.”

Sparky tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. 

“You got any idea where the shipments are gettin’ light?”

Dale turned a few pages, then jabbed a claw at a name. 

“Here. Jeb Holton. He runs the freight operation outta town. He’s been signin’ off on all our shipments, but he ain’t reported any discrepancies on his end.”

Sparky’s tail flicked sharply. 

“Jeb Holton.”

That was the same name that had popped up at the rail station.

Dale grunted. 

“I ain’t accusin’ nobody outright, but if you ask me? Either Jeb’s workin’ with someone, or he’s too damn stupid to notice he’s bein’ played.”

Sparky exhaled slowly. She had her answer.

The bandits were not just here to cause chaos, they were cutting the supply making sure shipments never reached their destinations in full. And if Jeb Holton was the one overseeing freight, that meant he was either complicit or the world’s biggest fool.

She clenched her jaw. Either way, she would find out soon enough.

Dale watched her for a moment before crossing his arms. 

“What’s your plan, Sheriff?”

Sparky closed the logbook, setting it down with a firm thud. 

“I pay Jeb Holton a visit.”

Dale smirked. 

“Now that, I’d like to see.”

Sparky adjusted her vest, ignoring the stiffness in her legs as she turned toward the door.

“Trust me, Dale,” she muttered. “You will.”

- = - = -

Sparky exhaled through her nose as she pushed open the door to the Brass Gulch Sheriff’s Office, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The building was quiet, Griggs must have stepped out for the evening, but that was fine. She needed a moment to herself.

Her legs ached from the stiff braces, and her diaper, while not yet soaked, was certainly not at its freshest. With the long train ride to Dry Spoke ahead of her, she wasn’t about to risk sitting in discomfort for the entire trip.

She made her way to the back room, where a small washbasin and supply chest sat against the wall. With a practiced motion, she unfastened her chaps and carefully lowered herself onto a padded bench, grimacing at the faint squish beneath her.

“Ugh… yeah, definitely time for a change.”

The process was familiar, almost mechanical. She worked quickly, untaping the used diaper, balling it up, and wiping herself clean with a damp cloth. The rash cream Marlowe had given her was already helping, but the skin was still tender. She hissed softly as she rubbed it in, then reached for a fresh, thick diaper from the supply chest. She dusted herself with a bit of powder, fastened the tapes snugly around her waist, and adjusted the fit.

Softer. Better.

She pulled her chaps back on, made sure her vest was straight, then moved to her desk. She wouldn’t be gone long, but if she was heading to Dry Spoke, she needed a few essentials.

She grabbed her brass revolver, The Tranquilizer, sliding it into its holster. A small leather pouch of coin, just enough to cover her ticket and maybe a drink. A folded map of the railway lines. A spare diaper, just in case.

She paused as she adjusted the strap on her satchel, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror mounted above her desk. The braces on her legs. The diaper barely concealed beneath her clothes, as was custom in the generally hotter weather of the area. Sparky was unhappy with her posture, but knew that it would take some time before she would be able to stand up to her full height.  

With a final glance around the office, she slung her satchel over her shoulder, adjusted her hat, and stepped back out into the night.

The Brass Gulch Rail Station was quieter now, the earlier rush of passengers having died down to just a few stragglers. A lone lantern flickered above the ticket booth, casting long shadows across the wooden platform. The Iron Runner, the train bound for Dry Spoke, was scheduled to arrive within the hour, giving Sparky enough time to buy her ticket and settle in before departure.

She approached the booth, where the same ferret clerk, Luther, peered at her through his round glasses.

“Back so soon, Sheriff?” 

He asked, tilting his head.

Sparky nodded, setting a few coins on the counter. 

“Ticket to Dry Spoke. One way.”

Luther raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. He slid a ticket across the counter. 

“Train’ll be here in about forty minutes.”

Sparky took the ticket and muttered a quick thanks before stepping away. She made her way toward a bench near the platform’s edge, settling down with a sigh. The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rolling across the station.

But as she adjusted her satchel, a strange sensation crept over her.

A prickle at the back of her neck.

Like she was being watched.

Her ears flicked, scanning the dimly lit station.

A few passengers sat scattered along the platform, an older coyote smoking a pipe as several bubbles rose out of it, a raccoon flipping through a newspaper, a pair of badgers murmuring quietly to each other. No one seemed out of place.

But the feeling did not fade. Sparky shifted, her paw resting against the grip of her revolver. Her eyes flicked toward the shadows near the cargo depot. She saw something move, deeper into the shadows as if it had sensed her scanning gaze. 

She did not react. Did not let on that she had spotted them. Instead, she tilted her hat down slightly and stretched, feigning nonchalance. If someone wanted to watch, fine.

She would let them make the first move.

The train arrived a few minutes later in a billow of steam and the shriek of grinding metal as it pulled into the station. The Iron Runner was an old but sturdy locomotive, its brass plating gleaming under the lantern light. A few passengers stirred, gathering their belongings as the conductor called out final boarding.

Sparky stood, adjusting her satchel as she made her way toward the nearest carriage. She kept her ears trained, listening for any unusual movement behind her.

Nothing.

She glanced toward the cargo depot once more. The needling sensation was gone, but still her fur bristled. She did not like this..

Boarding the train, she chose a seat near the back, positioning herself where she could see most of the carriage. She set her satchel beside her, keeping The Tranquilizer within reach. A few more passengers filtered in. The coyote with the pipe. The raccoon with the newspaper. A trio of miners covered in talcum residue.

The train lurched as the whistle blew, steam hissing as the wheels groaned into motion. Sparky exhaled, settling into her seat.

She was on her way, but she was not alone. And whoever was watching her back at the station, she had a feeling that might be waiting for her in Dry Spoke as well.

[Horatio Husky]

Chapter Seven

Dry Spoke

The train’s whistle screamed into the night as the Iron Runner pulled into the Dry Spoke Station, its heavy wheels grinding against the rails before coming to a shuddering halt. The lanterns along the platform cast flickering shadows across the cracked wooden planks, their dim light barely cutting through the thick desert air.

Sparky shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her vest. The long ride had left her restless, and though her diaper had held up, she could feel the telltale dampness creeping up against her fur. Normally, the idea of stepping off a train in such a state would have made her hesitant, but Dry Spoke was different.

Here, everyone wore them.

As she stepped onto the platform, her boots hitting the worn wood with a soft thunk, she let her eyes scan the town beyond the station. Dry Spoke was smaller than Brass Gulch, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in a thick, uneasy atmosphere. The buildings were made of dark timber, some reinforced with rusted metal plating. Unlike the lively, bustling streets of her home, Dry Spoke was too quiet.

The few furs milling about spoke in hushed voices, their movements brisk, avoiding eye contact with anyone for too long. The town was not deserted, not by a long shot, but something about it felt off.

She noticed right away that, much like in Brass Gulch, diapers were the norm here. Every passerby she saw had some level of padding peeking from beneath their outfits, miners wearing reinforced overalls with telltale bulges at the waist, shopkeepers with snug, thick waistbands beneath their dusters, even travelers whose garb made no effort to hide their usage.

But what stood out most was not the diapers themselves. It was the fear.

The way people walked and the way they always whispered.

Nobody looked at her with suspicion, which was odd considering she was an outsider. Instead, there was concern, like they were afraid she would draw attention. Sparky exhaled, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she made her way off the platform. 

Her first stop would decidedly be the shipping station. The Dry Spoke Freight Depot was a squat, sturdy building near the edge of town, built from heavy timber reinforced with metal plating. Large stacks of wooden crates were piled along the loading dock, waiting for transport.

Sparky climbed the steps, pushing open the heavy door to find a near-empty office. Inside, the air smelled of ink and dry paper. A single lantern burned dimly behind the counter, casting long shadows over the stacks of freight logs and manifests. A lone clerk, a wiry prairie dog in a loose-fitting vest, stood behind the desk, his eyes flicking up as Sparky approached.

He stiffened immediately.

Sparky recognized the reaction. Not suspicion.

Apprehension.

The prairie dog swallowed, glancing toward the back door as if expecting someone else to walk in.

Sparky kept her voice even. 

“Relax. I ain’t here to cause trouble.”

The clerk’s paws twitched on the countertop. 

“That so?”

She nodded. 

“Just got a few questions ‘bout the freight leavin’ this town.”

The clerk hesitated, then licked his lips before lowering his tone down to a low, quavering whisper. 

“…Who sent ya?”

“No one,” Sparky replied smoothly. “Just followin’ a lead.”

The prairie dog’s whiskers twitched, but he didn’t push. Instead, he sighed, rubbing his face with one paw. 

“Look, Sheriff…”

The fact that he already knew she was a sheriff made her tail flick uneasily. She steadied herself mentally, hoping to display less signs of agitation as the town’s atmosphere was almost contagious. 

“I ain’t lookin’ to get caught up in anything,” the clerk muttered. “I got a job, I do my job, I keep my head down.”

Sparky folded her arms. 

“Funny thing is, I keep hearin’ the same tune from everyone in this town. Whole place seems… jittery.”

The clerk’s eyes darted toward the door again. 

“Because we got a reason to be.”

Sparky leaned forward, lowering her voice. 

“Who’s pullin’ the strings here?”

The clerk hesitated. Sparky could hear his breath hitch slightly, could see the way his paws tightened against the counter. He wanted to say something, but fear held him back.

“…Lotta big names come through Dry Spoke,” he muttered at last. “Names that don’t like bein’ talked about.”

Sparky narrowed her eyes. 

“And Jeb Holton? He one of ‘em?”

The prairie dog exhaled sharply, his eyes watery as he scanned hers, before he reluctantly continued. 

“Holton’s just a middleman,” he muttered. 

“He gets the cargo, makes sure it gets where it’s supposed to. That’s it.”

“But where’s it supposed to go?”

The clerk hesitated again, then shook his head decisively. 

“I ain’t sayin’ any more. You wanna poke at this mess, do it yourself.”

Sparky clenched her jaw. 

Damn it!

Before she could press him further, the faint jingle of the entrance bell sent the clerk into a full-body flinch.

Sparky tensed. Footsteps.

Someone had walked in. She did not turn right away. Instead, she watched the clerk’s face.

The way his whiskers twitched. The way his paws tensed.

Who was that?

They were the reason for his fear. Sparky inhaled slowly before turning, keeping her movements casual. Standing in the doorway was a coyote, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a heavy duster lined with brass buttons. His fur was dusty, his ears tall and sharp. But it was his eyes that set Sparky on edge.

He knew who she was.

Sparky forced a smirk. “Well now. Don’t believe we’ve met.”

The coyote’s grin was slow, lazy. 

“No, ma’am. But I know you.”

Sparky’s fingers twitched near her revolver. 

“That so?”

The coyote nodded, stepping further inside. 

“I’m the warehouse supervisor. Got yourself into a real mess, didn’t ya?”

Sparky’s fur bristled as the tall coyote smirked at her, his brass-buttoned duster shifting slightly as he stepped closer. The air in the freight office felt heavier now, thick with unspoken threats. The clerk behind the counter had gone stiff, his paws trembling against the wood, his eyes darting between the two of them like he expected something to happen.

The coyote tilted his head slightly. 

"Sheriff Sparky," he drawled, voice smooth as oiled leather. 

"Heard you might be stoppin’ by."

Sparky forced a smirk, keeping her posture relaxed. 

"That right? Didn’t know I was so popular ‘round here."

The coyote chuckled, running a paw through the fur on his chin. 

"You cause enough of a stir, word gets around." 

His yellow eyes flickered over her, lingering for just a moment on her waist, on the faint crinkle barely hidden beneath her chaps. His grin widened slightly. Sparky’s jaw tightened.

"That makes you the warehouse manager, then?" 

She asked, her tone sharp.

The coyote dipped his head. 

"Name’s Merrick Dunn. I make sure things run smooth 'round here."

Sparky folded her arms. 

"Smooth, huh? Funny, I hear shipments’ve been lighter than they should be lately. Thought you might know somethin’ about that."

Merrick let out a low chuckle, turning toward the door. 

"Why don’t we take a little walk, Sheriff?" he said, pushing it open. "Talk somewhere quieter."

Sparky hesitated for only a second before following him outside. The desert night was cool, the sky above Dry Spoke dotted with faint stars. The warehouse loomed large ahead of them, a fortress of dark ironwood and steel. Dim lanterns flickered along the edges of the building, casting long shadows across the ground.

Merrick took a few slow steps forward, hands casually in his pockets. 

"See, Sheriff, I get where you’re comin’ from. You’re curious. Diggin’ around. That’s your job, ain’t it?"

Sparky’s ears twitched. 

"I don’t just ‘dig around.’ I find things. Things folks don’t want me to find."

Merrick chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, that’s real admirable. Problem is… there’s some things you shouldn’t find."

Sparky’s fingers twitched toward her revolver. 

"That a threat?"

Merrick stopped walking, turning back to face her. His smirk was still there, but now there was something else in his eyes. Not amusement.

Anticipation.

"Nah," he said. "Not from me."

Sparky’s fur stood on end. Behind her, movement.

She barely had time to react before three figures lunged out of the shadows. Sparky twisted, her instincts kicking in as she reached for The Tranquilizer.

Too late.

The first blow slammed into her shoulder, knocking her forward. The scent hit her next, wet fabric, soaked through with something chemical and cloyingly sweet.

Regression water. The realization barely had time to settle before a second strike crashed into her ribs, sending her staggering.

"Look at this!" one of them laughed, a hyena, wrapped in boxing gear soaked in damp towels. 

"The big, bad sheriff still ain’t learned her lesson!"

"Thought you’d get away clean, Sheriff?" another sneered, a bulldog, his fists wrapped in dripping cloth. 

"Not tonight!"

The third, a lean panther with wrapped fists, circled around her, grinning. 

"Boss says you’re snoopin’ too much. We’re here to help you forget."

Sparky growled, shaking off the daze as her hand finally closed around her revolver’s grip. 

"You boys must not be real bright," she spat, steadying herself. "Takin’ me on three against one?"

The panther cracked his knuckles. "Nah, Sheriff." His grin widened. "It’s three against a soon-to-be droolin’ mess."

They lunged. Sparky dodged left, barely slipping past the bulldog’s fist as it sailed past her jaw. She fired a direct shot to his chest. The brass casing of the tranquilizer round burst, sending a cloud of regression mist straight into his face. The bulldog staggered, shaking his head violently before his expression slackened.

His movements slowed. His fists dropped slightly. His legs wobbled.

"N-no," he mumbled, blinking sluggishly.

Sparky smirked. 

That’s one.

But before she could fire again…

WHAM!

The hyena slammed a towel-covered fist into her stomach, hard. The damp fabric pressed against her vest, soaking through instantly. Sparky gasped, her muscles tensing as a chilling numbness spread through her limbs.

“Argh!”

She yowled, the regression water was already seeping in.

"Feel that, Sheriff?" the hyena cackled. 

"That’s what you get for bringin’ a gun to a real fight!"

Sparky stumbled back, blinking hard as her limbs felt just a little heavier.

Not! This time!

She clenched her teeth, fighting the haze, forcing herself to move. The panther moved in fast. Sparky ducked, her revolver coming up…

BAM!

Direct hit. A regression round burst against his shoulder, soaking into his fur. The panther froze mid-step, eyes widened, as his body swayed.

He blinked once. Twice. Then again. He grinned stupidly.

"Heheh… feelin’ kinda funny," he muttered, his words slurring.

Sparky smirked, her curled lips accenting her speech. 

"That’s two."

She turned just in time for the hyena to tackle her. They hit the ground hard, rolling across the dirt as Sparky fought to keep her revolver in hand. The hyena grinned wildly, pressing a drenched towel against her face.

"Time to let go, Sheriff," he whispered. 

"Just let it sink in."

Sparky snarled, twisting beneath him, feeling the water soaking into her fur, the fog starting to creep into her head. Her free hand grabbed a handful of sand. With a sharp jerk, she threw it into his eyes.

"GAH—"

The hyena reeled back, pawing at his face. Sparky did not hesitate. She pressed her revolver against his gut and fired. The tranquilizer round burst against his stomach, regression water soaking through. The hyena’s laughter died in his throat. His pupils dilated.

He blinked. Then plopped onto his backside, a dumb, open-mouthed grin spreading across his face.

Sparky rolled onto her hands and knees, panting. She looked up. The bulldog was on his knees, drooling as his diaper appeared almost full to bursting, a likely recent wet accident. The panther was giggling to himself and the hyena had started sucking his own thumb, the iconic laughter of the canine now gone from the air as he appeared quite happy to soothe himself.

She had won.

About time I got the upper paw.

She thought to herself, turning her head towards the direction the coyote had gone. No sign of him, not even dust in the air indicating where he had trodden. The coward had completely removed himself from the situation without a trace. 

Then she doubled over, the adrenaline from the fight having somewhat abated as she felt a cramp hit the bottom of her abdomen. She cringed, her tail flagging behind her padded bottom as she sank down to her knees. 

With a grunt, she felt the pressure in her bottom give way as the back seat of her diaper expanded to accommodate her accident. The other three seemed unphased as they idly watched her unload into the seat of her pants. She panted for a second, a humorless laugh leaving her throat as she felt the warmth of her fresh deposit pressing up against her before eventually sagging slightly as she stood up to her full height. 

Sparky glanced behind her, assessing the damage even as the front of her diaper grew warm, apparently not quite done yet. It was to be expected, after all she had been smacked with regression water soaked towels for the better part of the past ten minutes. She shook her head, she could take care of her full diaper later. 

Time for some investigating. 

Sparky gathered herself up, taking one last look at the three that had assailed her. The hyena looked up at her, his eyes wide and innocent. She patted him on the head affectionately, before leaving the warehouse and heading towards the town’s police station. 

- = - = -

Sparky continued to dust herself off as she stormed through the streets of Dry Spoke, her knee braces clicking with each step, her revolver still gripped tightly in her paw. The fight outside the warehouse had left her rattled a little bit but now she was feeling fully awake. Merrick Dunn had slipped away, and she was not about to let the whole damn town turn into another obstacle.

If there was one place she could go where someone should be doing their job, it was the Dry Spoke Sheriff’s Office.

She doubted she would get much cooperation, but that was not going to stop her from trying. The police station was not far, just a few blocks from the warehouse, nestled between a general store and a tailor’s shop. Unlike Brass Gulch’s sturdy ironwood-and-steel jailhouse, Dry Spoke’s sheriff’s office looked run-down, neglected. The paint was peeling from the wooden walls, the front porch sagged slightly, and the sign above the door was so sun-bleached that the words “Sheriff’s Office” were barely legible.

Figures.

She stomped up the steps, threw the door open, and marched inside. The interior was not much better. The air smelled faintly of cigar smoke and old paper, and the wooden floor creaked beneath her boots. A few desks lined the room, cluttered with scattered files and half-filled ledgers. A single scrawny ferret, dressed in an ill-fitting uniform, sat behind the front desk, tapping a pen nervously against the surface.

He looked up when she entered, and immediately stiffened, a reaction to her presence in the town the fennec was starting to get used to.

"Uh…" 

His whiskers twitched. 

“Can I… help you?”

Sparky planted her paws on the counter, leaning forward, her tail waving lazily behind her as she drawled out a honey-coated question. 

“Where’s the sheriff?”

The ferret swallowed hard. 

“He’s, uh… he’s in his office, but—”

Her tone hardened immediately as her eyes bore into the ferret’s own nervous pupils, she growled. 

“Then go get ‘im.”

The ferret hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue, then seemed to think better of it. He scrambled from his chair and disappeared down the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry. Sparky exhaled sharply, crossing her furred arms as she waited. If the entire town was scared of whoever was running things, she doubted the sheriff was much different.

The floor creaked again as the office door swung open and out waddled the fattest toad she had ever seen.

The sheriff of Dry Spoke was massive, his round belly straining against his stretched-out vest. His skin was a dull, mottled green, his wide mouth set in a permanent frown. He moved with a sluggish, heavy gait, his thick arms swaying slightly as he lumbered forward.

His badge, dulled from age and neglect, barely clung to the buttons of his vest. His eyes, however, were sharp. Tired, but sharp. Sparky immediately disliked him.

The toad came to a stop near the desk, his wide throat puffing out slightly as he took her in.

“Sheriff Sparky.” 

He grumbled, his voice a deep, slow drawl. 

“Heard you were lookin’ for a mess in my town.”

Sparky’s ears twitched. 

“And I heard you weren’t doin’ a damn thing to clean it up.”

The toad’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he moved toward the desk, his heavy bulk sinking into a chair that creaked dangerously beneath him. The ferret from earlier hovered near the doorway, looking too nervous to leave but too scared to stay.

Sparky folded her arms. 

“You got a name, or should I just call you ‘Toady’?”

The toad let out a long, slow exhale. 

“Sheriff Winton.”

Sparky scoffed. “Hell of a sheriff you are.”

Winton’s jaw tightened. 

“You think I don’t know what’s happenin’ here?”

Sparky leaned forward. 

“Oh, I know you do. The real question is why you ain’t done a damn thing about it.”

Winton’s webbed fingers drummed slowly against the desk. 

“Because I can’t.”

Sparky narrowed her eyes. 

“Bull hookey.”

The toad sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“Look, Sparky. Dry Spoke’s been this way for longer than I’ve had this badge. This town don’t run on law, it runs on fear.”

Sparky’s tail flicked sharply. 

“So you just let ‘em take over?”

Winton’s mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“You think I don’t want to stop it? You think I like sittin’ behind this desk, knowin’ what goes on in my town?”

Sparky stared at him, searching for any sign of deceit. There was not any. Beneath the lazy demeanor, beneath the round belly and slouched posture… Winton hated it.

Sparky exhaled, rubbing her temple.

“Sure does look like you do a lot of sittin’... Why the hell are you still wearin’ that badge?”

Winton chuckled dryly. 

“Because if I ain’t here, it gets worse.”

Sparky scowled. “It’s already bad.”

“I know.” 

Winton leaned forward, his throat puffing out slightly as he rested his elbows on the desk. 

“But you might be able to do somethin’ about it.”

Sparky’s ear twitched. 

“How’s that?”

The toad tapped a fat finger against the desk.

“You’re lookin’ for Jeb Holton, right?”

Sparky nodded slowly.

Winton exhaled. 

“Then you need to head to The Burrow.”

Sparky frowned. 

“And that is?”

Winton’s expression darkened. 

“An underground gambling den. They run freight deals through there… Smugglin’, bribery, the whole thing. If Jeb Holton’s anywhere in this town, he’s there.”

Sparky straightened. 

“Ya got directions?”

Winton’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

“Back alley behind the Rusty Spoon Saloon. There’s a trapdoor near the crates. Knock twice, then once more after a pause.”

Sparky’s grip tightened on her satchel.

“You givin’ me a setup?” 

She asked, voice sharp.

“Just got through one of those at the warehouse.”

The toad looked at her, noticing the fading wet splotches on her clothes. He seemed to look at her with a newfound respect, given that she was standing up straight and fully lucid after appearing to have had an up close and personal ordeal with regression water. 

Winton met her gaze. 

“If I was, you’d already be in chains.”

Sparky exhaled.

The toad leaned back as he looked down and let out a breath. 

“Look, Sheriff. I ain’t gonna fight you. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna stop you.” 

His voice lowered. 

“Just be careful. You ain’t the first one to push back against ‘em.”

Sparky adjusted her hat. 

“Yeah? And what happened to the last one?”

Winton’s expression darkened.

“…Ain’t seen ‘em since.”

Sparky’s tail flicked.

“Then I best make sure I don’t disappear.”

She turned sharply, heading for the door. As she reached for the handle, Winton spoke one last time.

“Sheriff...”

Sparky paused.

“…Good luck.”

She looked back, before nodding once, then turning to pad out the door. 

Time for this fox to pay a visit to the burrow.

She thought to herself with some amusement, as she made her way down the street just as first light loomed beneath the horizon.