The warehouse smelled faintly of rust and dust, its high windows letting in fractured stripes of moonlight. A massive wooden table in the center was cluttered with blueprints, half-eaten bags of chips, a laptop covered in sticky notes, and a pile of random gadgets — smoke bombs, duct tape, and something that looked suspiciously like a rocket-powered hairdryer. The Bad Guys sat on one side, the Bad Girls on the other, the air between them tense enough to slice.

Mr. Wolf leaned forward, his signature grin flashing. “Alright, team. We’re professionals. One heist, one plan, no claws out.” He tapped the blueprint with a claw. “The museum vault. We get in, we get out, we look fantastic doing it.”

Snake coiled tighter in his chair, hissing softly. “Oh, sure. Because working with them is gonna go smooth as butter.” His eyes flicked to Kitty Kat, who was calmly sharpening her claws on the table’s edge. Kitty didn’t even look up. “Funny thing about butter, Snake. It melts under pressure.” She leaned over the map, tail flicking lazily. “We’ll need precision, not attitude. My crew delivers precision.”

“Precision?” Shark muttered nervously, tugging at a fake mustache he’d slapped on for no reason. It peeled at the edges from the heat of his breath. “I’m not sure anything about this feels precise. I mean, what if the lasers—”

“Relax, big guy,” Wolf said, patting him on the fin. “That’s what Webs is for.”

At the corner of the table, Ms. Tarantula’s many legs were a blur over her keyboard. “Already on it. Security grid’s tighter than your pants, Wolf. But lucky for you, I’m better than their entire IT department combined.” She smirked as red lines of code scrolled down her screen.

Piranha bounced in his seat, fists clenched. “I say we just blow the doors off! BOOM! Instant access!” He kicked the leg of the table, rattling gadgets and nearly knocking over the laptop.

Doom, perched on the back of her chair, tilted her raven head. Her voice came out low and theatrical. “Yes… blow the doors. Let chaos echo through the marble halls. Let the alarms sing us their funeral song.” She cackled softly, sending a shiver down Shark’s spine.

“Creepy bird,” Snake muttered.

Pigtail Petrova pushed up her oversized goggles and clapped her hooves together. “Or, or — hear me out! — we could tunnel under the vault with my latest design.” She yanked out a sketchpad covered in scribbles of drills, gears, and what looked like a jet-propelled shovel. “It’s sustainable! Quiet! Efficient!”

“Efficient?” Snake snorted. “Looks like it’ll explode if someone sneezes on it.”

Wolf raised his paws, his voice smooth but firm. “Alright, alright. Options are good. Explosions, tunnels, hacking — we’ll blend the best of both worlds. That’s the beauty of a team-up, right?”

Kitty finally met his eyes, her golden gaze steady. “Or the beginning of a disaster.” She gave a sly smile. “But if we’re going to do this, we do it my way. No slip-ups.”

Wolf grinned wider. “My way has style.”

“Mine has results.”

The two stared each other down, sparks practically dancing in the air.

“Uh, guys?” Shark whispered, his mustache finally drooping off his snout. “Maybe we can… agree before the lasers actually fry us all?”

Webs snorted without looking up. “About time someone said it.”

For a long moment, silence hung in the warehouse. Then Wolf leaned back, hands behind his head, and said smoothly, “Fine. We mix it. Kitty’s precision, my style. Doom can… be creepy in the corner, and Pigtail, you get a backup drill ready in case Webs doesn’t fry the grid in time.”

Kitty’s tail curled like a question mark, but she nodded. “Deal. For now.”

Snake groaned, sliding lower in his chair. “This is gonna end badly.” Piranha punched the air. “Or epically!”