Bernardt began reassessing his situation and the unfortunate turn his life had taken in the last few hours. When the fourth guy in a suit returned, all his hope vanished.

"Zack wants us to get the name of your contact in the resistance," he said, putting on a pair of mechanic's gloves from his pocket. "It's up to you whether you tell us nicely or we beat it out of you."

"I still have to go back for that dog, so we should make this quick," the dog owner said, pulling off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves in preparation for the beating.

At first, Bernardt didn't understand or didn't want to understand their preparations, but he couldn't have any illusions; the guys were serious about extracting the information from him. He had no doubts; he suspected that even if he told them, they would kill him anyway. Was he afraid for his life? That day, he had crossed himself secretly several times, so he felt prepared for the inevitable. Resigned to his fate, he stubbornly refused to say anything.

No one would learn any names from him.

"So, who did you give the prototype to, and later the plans?" the guy with the cigarette squatted in front of him, drawing imaginary circles in the air with the cigarette between his fingers. Then, with a sudden move, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette against Bernardt's hand.

It hurt a lot, but Bernardt tried not to make any noise other than a hiss. He was thinking that Tim had been there when he handed it over. Did they know who he gave it to? Or do they want Max? He definitely wouldn't give up Max; if Max were exposed, it would end the entire FYI.

"I see you don't want to cooperate," said the dog owner, and Bernardt received a punch from the right. The blow split his eyebrow, and he felt the blood run down his face. The force of the punch knocked him off the chair, and two of his interrogators lifted him back onto it.

And it went on like this—they kept hitting his face, he sometimes fell to the ground, they lifted him again, then shouted at him if it wasn't enough yet, and that he just needed to say a name.

But Bernard held out, even though he could barely see, and everything hurt. Once, when he fell and lay on the ground, leaving there a bit longer to let his beaters catch their breath, he caught sight of Katy, who was watching. She was still standing on the ledge, but at least she was no longer preoccupied with licking her skin; she was watching what was happening.

At that moment, it seemed to Bernardt that he saw something in the cat's eyes, something like madness, or he wasn't sure what. And then he was back in the chair, now with a gun pressed to his temple, threatened to be shot if he didn't give a name. Bernardt couldn't take his eyes off Katy, who was preparing for something, as she flattened her ears and got ready to pounce.

But what did she want? And then, as if in slow motion, he saw his cat lightning-fast at the throat of the guy holding the gun, slashing his face and chest with incredible speed, then leaping to the next one, scratching each of them with her claws.

All four of them writhed on the ground in pain, unable to see because their faces were covered in blood and flesh wounds.

Bernardt slowly came to his senses from the sight, and Katy, as if satisfied with her job, stood before him and meowed once. She was like saying, "Okay, we can go now; what are we waiting for?"

Bernardt stood up, limping because they had also kicked him when he fell. He had the mind to pick up his backpack from the floor. He opened the door and, though with difficulty, climbed the stairs. The cat patiently walked beside him, skillfully avoiding his path whenever he stumbled so he wouldn't step on her.

The car was still there, even the door was open, and when he got in, and Katy sat on the passenger seat, he finally looked around, unsure of where to go because he had no idea where he was. And with his hands still tied and a swollen, bleeding eye that made him see only vaguely, how was he going to drive?

The whole situation seemed so hopeless that Bernardt started to despair when Katy meowed as if urging him to get going.

"So, you're saying I should just go, and that's it? But where?" He looked around and saw that there was no key. This was a modern car, probably with some fingerprint or retina scanner. He had no idea, and when he realized this, he screamed in frustration.

But Katy seemed to understand, placing her paw on his thigh as if to say, "Come on, let's go."

"On foot? Or how?" With no other choice, they got out of the car and started back down the dirt road. The cat was leading in practice, with Bernardt trailing behind, holding his backpack. It was getting dark; he should have been at Jimmy's long ago.

Then the cat suddenly turned off the dirt road, walking through the forest for a long time, as if she knew the way, and her owner just followed her, having no idea where they were.

Only when he started seeing more walnut trees did he begin to hope, and when the grey building of the lab emerged from behind the trees, he began to relax. Katy had found her way home. After all those months of bringing the cat to his office daily, she knew the way.

Jimmy, standing in front of his small wooden cabin with a gun in hand, didn't concern him much. He hurried towards him, and the cat followed as Jimmy helped the beaten inventor inside.

A few hours later, after a bit of washing and some wound cleaning, Bernardt began to feel a bit better. Jimmy was constantly grumbling.

"How am I supposed to photograph your face like this? I'll have to do a lot of retouching. And what about the cat? You know you can't go through together, right?"

Jimmy kept talking and expressing his doubts, but secretly, he was glad to be part of the plan to rescue the inventor and aid the resistance.

Bernardt still couldn't believe what had happened to him. When Jimmy took the photo for the ID and asked for a name, he thought of that peculiar figure, that tall guy whom Katy inexplicably liked, and said, "Make it Timothy; I'll leave the last name to you."

"Alright. Could Katy be the first cat to teleport?" asked Jimmy.

"I don't think so. We've done various experiments with animals. Katy herself has used this, though only within the building."

"I thought animal experiments were banned..."

"Officially, yes." Bernardt smiled, nostalgically looking at the old teleporter and Katy, who had come to him as a test subject but had something special about her that made Bernardt keep her.

"They're completely shutting them down, these old models. So it's just in time that I'm sending you through." Jimmy handed him the ID.

Katy went first, knowing exactly what to expect. When the bluish light appeared, she bravely walked into the swirling blue.

"Thank you for everything!" Bernardt said as he bid farewell. "I hope we meet soon on the other side."

"We will. Sooner or later, I'll get out, too."

It was Bernardt's turn, and with a bit of sadness, he left the lab so dear to his heart, where he had worked on his invention every day for twenty years. So many failures and sleepless nights!

The bluish light of the teleporter glowed, and he disappeared into the vortex.

***

Noir was waiting for them at the other end of the teleporter. At first, he didn't know what to make of a cat coming through, but then he saw that there would be one more jump. Katy waited patiently for her owner, and when she saw him, she jumped into his lap to greet him.

"How secure is this place? Because Max said he's coming here too."

"There's no more monitoring since teleportation has completely ceased, much to the locals' delight. This teleporter will be dismantled within days..." the old man lamented.

"So, we're completely safe here?"

"For now, yes, there's no one from the authorities here. But you look awful. It looks like you've been beaten up!"

"Yes, there was some fighting, so I was late. I appreciate you waiting for me."

"Is it true that you're the inventor who made that wristwatch-sized teleporter?" Noir scrutinized Bernardt.

"Uh-huh. Yes. I'll have to redesign it since I couldn't keep the prototype. But I have the plans, so I need the materials."

"Wonderful! You'll have the time and space for everything here. It is peculiar that Professor Walnut also built the first teleporter here. Sadly, they want to demolish it. But never mind, it's high time the new one replaced the old one. I can temporarily house you in the previous gatekeeper Timothy's place."

Meanwhile, they arrived at the tiny house via back roads through the forest. "I live across the way," Noir said, pointing to his home. "If you need anything, just let me know."

Upon entering the gate, Katy immediately jumped out of his lap and started sniffing the grass, cautiously approaching a pile of clothes. "Tim wanted to make a scarecrow out of it because birds were pecking the seeds from his garden."

"Wow! Tim did some gardening too? Interesting." Bernardt bent down and picked up the coat rack. He could already see what a great scarecrow he could make. "So, there are still birds here?"

"There are, not as many as before, but there are some."

Katy was chasing bugs and soon disappeared among the bushes. "Did you know this Tim kid well?" Bernardt asked.

"Pretty well. Tim was a perfect kid, but something happened to him. I blame myself because he was so close to seeing that the authorities' excesses weren't realistic. The problem is I should have guided him, but I let him make his own decisions. Then, poor girl, just yesterday... She came over, waiting for Tim, but he didn't show up; he took off with the plans. It's a shame. He fully committed himself to the authority, and since we don't know how much he might tell them, we did not protest against the destruction.

Katy appeared with a mouse in her mouth and dropped it in front of them. She looked much more balanced, not wanting to tear up the older man.

"I don't think he'll say anything anymore; Tim is dead," Bernardt said, not wanting to elaborate on the circumstances.

"Oh, poor soul..." Noir said sadly.

The mysterious outline of the teleportation device was visible on the hill, and in the valley, the pleasantly blowing wind turned into a gale, whipping the half-torn "Open" sign that still hung there, swaying.

The end.