Sly Cooper and the Gang in…The Vigilante Police

Chapter 1: A Shell of His Former Self

A LESSON ON TIME TRAVEL

As Written by Bentley "The Wiseturtle"

It is a supreme honor to be the first thief outside of the Cooper family to chronicle my adventures in these pages. Contradictorily, it is with great dismay that my first significant entry is one depicting great personal shortcomings.

I had originally hoped that my experiments in the development of a time travelling machine would yield stronger results, results that would be on par with my other achievements while working with my lifelong friends. Therefore, it is with a heavy heart that I have come to realize that time travelling is a scientific achievement that is simply beyond my reach.

Penelope has done all she can to help me, bless her heart, but even with her collaboration I have made no headway whatsoever. I attribute this failure to the sensitivity of the theoretical space-time continuum from which my experiments derived. To put it more plainly, there are far too many variables in my equations for my computer system to calculate. A more concise system of equations is necessary to successfully streamline the computer programming; however, in my research, I have not found a satisfactory system.

I fear I must abandon the project until further scientific advancement in the field of time travel can be published. I would gladly develop and contribute my own theories; however, given my extensive criminal background, it will be next to impossible to have my theories published and reviewed by the scientific community at large.

Thus―just as the great Slaigh MacCooper attempted to break through the side of a mountain with his bare hands―I have reached a dead end.

Bentley looked over his writings and concluded that they sufficiently captured his present mood. He hated to abandon a project of this scope, after all of the time he put into research and experiments, but the project had finally become more trouble than it was worth. He had decided that he needed to take more active measures to reunite his old team and restore those old friendships.

It was the year 2007―two years since the Cooper Gang's first foray into the ancestral Cooper vault, two years since the last surviving heir had succumbed to amnesia and forgotten who he was. It still pained Bentley to think that Sly Cooper had truly forgotten him, but all the evidence suggested that he had.

Initially, Bentley had hoped that Sly was faking his amnesia in order to allow his relationship with Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox to develop. It was the only way, Bentley thought, for a lifelong thief to be romantically involved with a high-standing police officer without causing uproar. One roguish wink from Sly seemed to confirm this theory, but other developments had led Bentley to give up hope. No matter how persuasive Sly was―and Bentley knew that he was very persuasive―he could not have hoped to fake amnesia for two years without somebody discovering those intentions, especially when he spent so much of his time with one of the most intelligent police officers around. Additionally, Sly would surely have tried to contact Bentley or Murray, friends of his since he was a small child, to let them know what his intentions were. But Bentley had never received a message from Sly, and when he had called Murray the other day, it was only to discover that Murray had heard no news as well.

The only logical conclusion was that Sly had really suffered strong amnesia, and over a span of time this long, Bentley feared that the memory loss was permanent. A weight far greater than that of Clockwerk's beak had crushed him when he had concluded this. He had not been able to hold back the tears that had poured from behind his thick glasses. Even Penelope had been unable to comfort him. He had not felt such anguish since Murray had left the team after Bentley's crippling injury, one that to this day left him bound to a wheelchair.

That was two years ago. He had spent all his time since working furiously on his time travelling machine, in a desperate attempt to observe the future and the fate of his friend. But now, all hope for completing the time travelling machine was gone, and this time he felt hollow, merely a shell of his former self.

This time Penelope decided that her pity would get Bentley nowhere. It was time for her to become uncharacteristically harsh, which was a huge challenge for a mouse. She steeled herself when she approached Bentley, but as soon as he looked at her, with such weariness etched in his face, she almost lost her composure and reverted to pitying him again.

But no. This time she was resolute.

"Bentley," she said sternly, which caught him by surprise, "enough is enough. You've made no headway on that time travelling machine, and it's high time you tried a more direct way to bring Sly home."

"What do you mean, Penelope?" asked Bentley. His voice always sounded like it was congested, but Penelope could sense the weariness in it.

"I mean, if you want to bring him back, you need to go out and find him. You can't just sit here, working on an impossible machine only to see what the future holds. You need to make your own future!"

"But I can't do that, Penelope," he said, and this time Penelope did not need to fake harshness. It came naturally along with her building frustration. Bentley had been telling her he couldn't confront Sly for two years.

"Why not? Are you too afraid he'll reject you?"

"No, Penelope, I'm afraid he'll arrest me the moment he sees me!" Her frustration vanished. Of course Bentley couldn't just run into Sly on the street and say hi. Sly was now an officer at Interpol.

"I…I didn't think of that…" she said lamely.

"Obviously," Bentley muttered. Penelope's frustration rose again.

"Don't start talking to me like that! I'm only trying to help you." Yes, for two years Penelope had only been trying to help. But clearly, her help had not gotten them anywhere.

"You want to help me?" Bentley asked. "Maybe you can show a little more sympathy to a guy who's lost his best friend!"

"I am," Penelope said. "You don't know it, but I am. I'm trying to get you out of this funk so you can actually find your friend."

"But Sly will―"

"I could help you find a disguise," Penelope suggested. "I could help you work on a treatment for amnesia. I could help you kidnap the guy! But please, let's hope a wildly impossible time travelling machine isn't our last hope." Her words were finally starting to sink again. Bentley did not appreciate her emotions at all, but there was no denying her logic. There were far more practical ways to reach Sly. He could not understand why he hadn't been able to see them.

"I thought I was helping you before," Penelope said, and this time there was sorrow in her voice. "I thought I had to support your endeavors with the time travelling machine. I thought I had to cheer for you like the good girlfriend. But all this time, I knew that it was futile. All this time, I knew I should have stopped you from pursuing this project. But all this time, I convinced myself I was doing the right thing. Now I know it was entirely wrong, and I'm sorry for not realizing it sooner." Bentley's own anger melted. He now understood the sacrifices Penelope had been making for him, and he now cursed himself for being so blind to the obvious truth.

"You don't have to apologize to me," Bentley said. "I was the one too foolish to realize the whole idea was a waste. Two whole years I squandered. I could have spent two whole years constructing the perfect disguise, developing a treatment for amnesia, or even executing an elaborate kidnapping. Any of those would have been better alternatives than this." And as he said this, he pointed to the obscene metallic monster of a device: the beginnings of a crude prototype for a time travelling machine. Its parts were jerry-rigged together in an entirely unappealing fashion, making it look like an appalling creation worthy of Frankenstein.

"Why didn't you stop, Bentley?" Penelope asked. "Why didn't you give it up?"

"I was afraid…" Bentley admitted after thinking about it for a minute. "I was afraid to confront Sly and have the truth confirmed before my eyes, that he would never remember me again." Tears began to trickle down Bentley's face, and Penelope finally lost her front of tough love. She went over to Bentley, held his face in her warm paws, and kissed him tenderly. This made Bentley cry even harder.

"I've been horrible to you!" he choked miserably. "All this time, barking orders at you like you were some servant, treating you like a piece of shit! That's not how I feel about you at all!" Penelope was taken aback; Bentley almost never used such harsh language.

"I know how you feel about me," Penelope said, still flustered. "I know you love me with all your heart."

"I do! I do! I love you more than anything, Penelope."

"And I love you, too, Bentley, more than anything." Bentley now wept openly as Penelope hugged him, trying to rub his back only to feel his hard, crusty shell. Bentley's glasses slid off-center as he cried into Penelope's shoulder. Tears now streamed down Penelope's face as well.

The two of them held each other for a long time before Bentley pulled back, fixing his glasses so they were perfectly centered.

"Could I hab a tissue?" he asked, his voice even stuffier than normal. Penelope chuckled softly and pulled some tissues out of her overall pockets. She always had them in store so Bentley could blow his nose. He did so now, and the ungodly sound made Penelope laugh even harder, which was such a relief after all the crying.

"Thanks," he said. "That's better."

"Don't mention it," Penelope said.

"No, I mean thanks for standing by me after all this time," Bentley said. "You should have left me a long time ago, the way I treated you."

"Absolutely not," Penelope said. "There's no way I would leave you for anything." Bentley smiled, as he knew that it was true. Penelope had been more loyal to him than anyone he had ever known, including Sly and Murray.

"I love you," Bentley said.

"I love you, too," said Penelope. The two of them kissed more passionately and deeply than they had in a long time and enormous relief washed over both of them.

"Okay," Bentley said after they stopped locking lips. "It's past time we take a more practical approach to reuniting with Sly. What do you propose we attempt first?" Penelope laughed, and the frames of Bentley's glasses―so much like real eyebrows―rose inquisitively.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Penelope replied. This irked Bentley slightly, as he preferred direct answers. "The only way you'll stand a chance at restoring Sly's memory is if you bring back every significant person, belonging, and event in his life." As she said this, Bentley already started thinking of such items: Sly's cane, the Thievius Raccoonus, pictures of his parents, and objects stolen in eventful heists. Then a pink hippo lodged himself so forcefully into Bentley's mind that it was a wonder he didn't think of him straight away. The hippo wore a pilot's mask, a grungy blue shirt, a thick blue scarf, and red gloves that looked more like battle gauntlets.

"Penelope," Bentley stated simply, "we need Murray back."

Murray groaned as the alarm awoke him. He had been dreaming that he was driving the getaway van through a large city, police officers shooting at him from all sides. It had been exhilarating, swerving around tight corners, ducking low as bullets smashed into the windshield, gazing over to make sure his best friends weren't harmed.

Of course, life as a stock-van driver was exhilarating on its own, at least it should have been. The thrill and excitement Murray had initially felt had worn off, to be replaced by a sore longing for his old life. He had never been separated from his friends for this long, not even when he left to undertake that spiritual quest.

The life of a high-risk racecar driver was taking its toll on Murray. As he tried to rise out of bed, he groaned at the sores running rampant through his body, winced at the bruises on his arms and legs. He was so battered that he was not able to keep up with his weight training. As a result, he was fatter and flabbier than he had been in a long time, and he was ashamed about it. No longer could he lift heavy iron bars as if they were sticks.

Murray was also mentally burnt out, due to the physical pain of his career and the emotional pain of his loss. Bentley was still in touch with him, and for that he was grateful beyond all measure. But Sly hadn't spoken to him in two years. Murray longed more than anything to see his best friend once again, but Bentley constantly warned him not to approach Sly unless he wanted to be sent to jail.

Murray accepted Bentley's advice without question, as he always had. Bentley had always known what to do, after all. But Murray couldn't help but notice the strain in Bentley's voice, which never used to exist. Murray could tell that the loss of Sly was putting stress on him, too.

But there was nothing for it. Bentley told Murray to keep living his own life, and Murray obliged, but his heart just wasn't in it anymore. Having done this for two years, Murray had lost all hope that his best friend would ever recover his memory.

But when Bentley called him later that day, his hope was kindled anew.

"Do you mean it?" Murray asked excitedly, talking to Bentley over the phone. "I can really come back?"

"Yep. Penelope thinks exposing Sly to as much of his past as possible might help trigger his memories. Obviously, the whole plan just wouldn't work without you here."

"So Sly's gonna get his memory back?" Murray asked, excitement running through his voice as if he were a small child.

"I can't make any promises, Murray. I can't guarantee that this will even work. All we're doing here is taking a shot, and trust me, pal, it's a long one. Don't get your hopes up just yet."

But Murray couldn't help but hold high hopes. As he drove to Paris, where Bentley had arranged that they meet, Murray couldn't help picturing his best friend wearing that blue shirt, donning that dark mask, and holding that pristine cane.

Sly Cooper had been working at Interpol for two years, and he had quickly risen to the rank of Inspector because of his uncanny ability to capture grand larcenists. Many of the officers joked that Sly was simply able to think like a thief.

His partner, the equally esteemed Inspector Fox, had worked with him over the two-year span. Though it was common practice to interchange partners at Interpol, Chief Barkley had made a notable exception for these two officers, even when rumors flew that they were more than just partners at the office. The pair was unstoppable. He had a knack at finding the thieves' secret hideouts; she, frankly, knew how to kick thieves' asses.

But this dream team had not come about easily. Chief Barkley had been floored when Carmelita had reported Sly's amnesia, and when she had said that she convinced Sly he was an officer at Interpol, he had thought the whole thing a joke. Only when Sly had come into his office and reported to him with unswerving respect had Chief Barkley continued the illusion.

And now Sly was a police officer. His name was on the payroll, he had official identification, and he sat at his own desk. It had been difficult work, but Chief Barkley had convinced the entire department to agree to the story that Sly had been a criminal until Carmelita had reformed him. That was close enough to the truth that Sly was not able to discover otherwise, though there had been close calls.

Many of the thieves Sly and Carmelita booked knew Sly, either through Thiefnet or simply because he was famous in the criminal world. They tried to remind him of the life he led as he arrested them, but thankfully Sly had seen this as an attempt to trick him into releasing them. It was a sign of his strong amnesia that he was more willing to believe Interpol about his past life than the thieves with whom he had once traded.

There were some at Interpol, though, who found Sly highly untrustworthy. They believed what Bentley once had, that he was merely faking amnesia to get into Inspector Fox's pants. Most of the officers who believed this were jealous, but others said it was the only logical conclusion, given Sly's obvious attempts to flirt with Carmelita prior to his memory loss. Still, they kept the illusion alive, if only because Chief Barkley threatened to fire them if they refused.

And so Sly had once again made a name for himself, only this time he had done it on the opposite side of the law.

The morning dawned one day in Paris, the sun peeking through the bedroom window of Carmelita's small flat. Sly yawned as the alarm awoke him, the bed sheets rustling as he stretched his long, lithe arms. Even his gray fur was not enough to keep him warm this winter, an unusually cold one for Paris.

Being cold was the furthest thing from his mind, however, when a woman rolled over and draped her arm over his stomach, kissing him softly on the neck. No, Sly thought with a smile as he gazed at his lover, Carmelita was the polar opposite of cold.

"Good morning," he cooed.

"Morning," Carmelita mumbled as she began to kiss his face.

"Sleep well?" Sly asked.

"Of course," she replied, and soon they were locking lips. Sly wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her warm, soft fur, tasting the moisture from her lips. Her blue hair, such a contrast to her reddish brown fur, fell down her back in frizzy curls, but Sly preferred it that way. It complemented visually her visceral energy when they had sex.

"We should do this more often," Sly said, once the kissing had subsided.

"Really?" Carmelita asked. "So every night isn't enough to satisfy you?"

"Nothing is enough to satisfy me," Sly said, and they kissed once again.

"Well, unless you want to start making love in the office, you're out of luck," Carmelita said. Neither of them had confirmed the rumors flying around Interpol. Carmelita knew that the situation between her and Sly was awkward enough as it is, given their complex history, and she didn't need her boss firing questions at her. Sly merely enjoyed keeping the secret; seeing his colleagues sweat it out when he dropped the oh-so-subtlest hints was too tantalizing to pass up.

"Maybe we can't do it in the office," Sly said, "but there's always the shower…" Carmelita smiled.

"Sly, my shower's small enough without you in it," Carmelita said. "It would be a very tight fit."

"My thoughts exactly," Sly said, with a devilish grin that Carmelita knew all too well. It was almost enough to make her give in, she always said to herself. Almost.

"Besides," Sly said, "we'll save time and use less water if we shower together. We could shave fifteen minutes off our morning routine."

"Sly, you and I both know we'd spend much longer than fifteen minutes in that shower together…" Sly purred. The hint of Spanish in that voice was so sexy.

"Well then we haven't got time to lose," Sly said, rising quickly from the bed. Carmelita smiled as she watched him wave his long, striped tail, and she couldn't help but think how appealing the idea was.

"Oh, come here," she said, dragging Sly into the small bathroom. Sly's smirk was scandalous when Carmelita turned the hot water on and brought him into the shower with her.

Sly had not underestimated the proportions in the slightest. It was a very tight fit.