"Savages."

That's what they're saying on the radio.

I'm packing up the last of my things in my locker, clocking out on a short shift, with a little radio on a nearby box blasting news. And that word keeps coming up.

They're not saying "victims". They haven't for a long time. They're not saying "predators who have gone savage" or even "savage predators".

Now they're just calling them "savages".

I slam my locker shut a little too hard and head out for the night. With the warehouse behind me, I've got the rest of the night free. And since I've still got a couple hours before I'm supposed to pick up Anneke for our totally-not-a-date, I'm naturally on my way to Pandora's Box.

I'll admit, I'm nervous about tonight for a number of reasons -- not the least of which being that Annie's one of my closest neighbors, in terms of proximity. If the night goes south, shit's gonna be awkward between us. It's not really like I can avoid her when I live across the hall from her and her brother. Plus, whatever club Annie's got planned for us to go to is almost definitely going to cater to pred tastes, and let's face facts -- no prey dude goes to a pred club to pick up prey chicks. It doesn't work that way.

Besides, a night club full of hot, sweaty, musky predators, boozed up and grinding to music? It's going to be a hormone storm the entire time I'm in there. So even though I don't want to admit it, I know myself well enough to know I'll end up looking like the thirstiest tailchaser in town unless I get some relief first. And that's why I'm hitting a sex shop on my way home.

By pure chance yesterday, when I was leaving the gym I ran into the tigress entrepreneur herself. Pandora generously offered me a replacement after I explained I "broke" the freebie she gave me. To be fair, I may have neglected to mention the reason the toy "broke" was because I melted it in my microwave. I figure I might as well at least buy some condoms from her or something while I'm picking it up -- I mean, even if she does feel indebted to me for helping out on the tiger oil shipment, I'm no freeloader.

Besides, who knows what's going to happen tonight? No reason not to be prepared, just in case.

Running a hoof through the curly wool on my arms, I notice I'm starting to get pretty shaggy again. I wonder if I should trim up before tonight. I mean, I am going out on the town -- least I could do is try to look marketable, right? Based on the comments some of my neighbors have made in the past, I imagine wool might be kind of a turn-off to girls who aren't used to it. Annie herself seemed to like me trimmed down, too, so I may as well play to my audience.

I'm mulling over the idea of making a second detour on the way home to stop by Clippership's for a buzz (like hell I'm letting Betty anywhere near me with shears again), when out of the corner of my eye, I catch a huge pred in a hoodie and jeans running up the street behind me. He's coming this way. Like, directly towards me. I immediately start to panic -- holy shit, who've I pissed off now?! They're really fuckin' hauling ass, too! Shit, shit! Not good!

I try to break to one side, leaning against the wall of some closed storefront. Play it off like I'm checking my watch or something. Are they still coming? Standing still, I keep an eye on them in my peripheral vision, bracing to take off running as soon as they're too close. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to run. Doesn't it encourage them to chase you? Well, like hell I'm just gonna stand here, either. I'm not the greatest sprinter or anything but I can probably make it to a nearby occupied building to call for help. Reaching a hoof under my collar, I grab the string my whistle is hanging on. I don't want to sound it unless I'm really in trouble -- Al made that much damn clear.

Tensing up, I'm just about to bolt when the guy blitzes past me obliviously without even so much as a "fuck you".

What the hell?

"Shit, man, where's the fire?!" Sighing in a mix of relief (and frustration), I make a point of straightening myself out before shakily resuming my trek up the street. "Fuckin' typical. Some people really know how to further the stereo--"

I'm jolted from my grumbling by the shrill, loud sounds of wailing sirens coming from nearby. A squad car roars down the street, followed by another -- and moments later, an ambulance joins them.

...the fuck?

Apparently I'm not the only one that's noticing the commotion -- residents and passersby are pouring out of the nearby buildings in droves, taking off down the street past me. Cars on the street are turning or grabbing quick parking. It's about 10 PM, or pretty much "broad daylight" for Pack Street given how nearly everyone here's nocturnal. I'm not sure why -- chalk it up to herd mentality, I guess -- but I feel compelled to follow them. And besides, I guess I AM headed in this general direction, anyway.

By the time we make it over the hill and around the bend, I realize with a sinking feeling just how true that is.

Pandora's Box looks like a fucking warzone.

Shards of glass litter the surrounding asphalt like confetti after a parade. Blinding, spinning red and white beacons burn away in the night. Heavy metal doors opening and slamming as stretchers are loaded into ambulances by mammals in white uniforms. Distorted voices scream orders through megaphones at the crowd that's gathered to spectate. Strips of yellow police tape rope off sections of the block, acting as a flimsy barrier to keep dozens of predators and prey alike from getting too close.

The scene's a fucking haze of noise and insanity. I can just barely make out a couple of excited words murmured from some of the rubberneckers who're spectating from nearby, shaking their heads and commentating on the chaos.

"Hey, what's going on here?" a tall guy beside me excitedly asks, giving voice to the question I myself was just about to ask. Obviously an out-of-towner, considering his dopey smile and fancy clothes. Oh, and the fact that he's a stag.

"Not sure," a wolf replies, looking back at him. She clutches her purse, head tilted curiously like I've seen so many canines do when something catches their attention. "I heard someone saying something about a mauling. Maybe a tiger, not sure."

I can feel my wool standing on end.

"Wait, what? A mauling?" I blurt out. "Are you sure it's a tiger? Like, a tiger was mauled, or --"

"Possible mauling," another, shorter wolf interrupts from beside her, glaring at me. "Emphasis on POSSIBLE. Don't jump to conclusions, dear. Last thing we want is to spook any MORE of the prey who're stopping to gawk."

Hey. I live here, asshole!

"Holy smokes, a real-life savaging!" the stag says obliviously, his grin widening as he leans in. "Well now I'm glad I'm not missing this! Maybe we'll be able to make the news!" Man, what the fuck's wrong with you?! You shouldn't be this fucking enthusiastic!

My stomach's turning over on itself, and instinctively I find myself chewing on my hooftips as I try to push my way to the front of the onlookers. Tigers aren't common on Pack Street at all, and I know the tiger that runs this store.

"HEY!" A bleating voice goes up, shouting over the din. "HEY, THEY'RE COMIN' OUT! THEY'RE COMIN' OUT!"

Everyone moves forward, and I move with them, closer to the police tape. I desperately push through to the barrier, just in time to catch a horrifying glimpse of a group of first responders filing out of Pandora's Box, pushing a large mammal covered in a white blanket along on a gurney.

Whatever's strapped down to it is convulsing violently. It's hard to see from where I'm standing, but I think I can just barely make out a frizzy, orange and black-striped tail flicking from underneath the blanket.

"Oh, fuck," I choke.

My knees buckle and I almost hit the ground without even realizing it. I'm nauseous. I'm looking around in utter confusion. Fuck. This is all happening so fast, I can't even begin to fucking process it.

"Please, god, don't be him," a familiar male voice whimpers from off to my side. I look up in a daze and see a bulky figure in a hoodie trying to fight past mammals in the crowd -- the same guy that almost ran me over just minutes ago. He reaches a shaky, quivering paw up to his hood and pulls it back, revealing a thick lion's mane.

"Neil?" I hoarsely whisper.

"Cliff!!" Neil yells into the crowd, oblivious to me as he shoves past a middle-aged rhino couple, lifting the tape up over himself. "Oh, god, Cliff! Hey, wait, where are they taking him?!"

Oh, shit. Cliff's a tiger too! Fuck, I didn't even think about that!

"Hey, get back, kid," the male rhino grumbles, brushing Neil away with the back of his -- hoof? foot? "Damn upstart lions, think they're the king of the--"

"Move it!" Panic-stricken, Neil shoves him back, his normally sleepy eyes full of worry. "I gotta -- I gotta get in there! Move! I've got -- MOVE, okay?! Could you just, nngh-- get the hell out of my way!!"

"He's losing it!" A shrill voice shrieks from nearby.

"Look out!"

Stumbling backwards into his wife, the rhino cries out in alarm, and I quickly force myself between the two giants to get over to Neil's side just as a heavyset bison in a police uniform hustles over to the police line. He's got a hoof on his taser.

"Neil!" I call, louder this time. "Hey, whoa! Settle down, man!"

The towering lion turns down to look at me, eyes glinting red and blue in the light of the sirens. I find myself taking a step back as I quickly wave my hooves to get his attention.

"Remmy?" he finally manages. "What're you doing here?"

"Same as you!" I motion for him to pull off to the side, away from the cop and the panicky spectators. "I heard noise and came running!"

"Have you seen Cliff?" he chokes. "I can't find him! I heard something about a--"

"Tiger!"

"Oh, shit, another one!"

The whole crowd seems to turn towards the source of the disturbance, parting like a stream. Even from my pitiful height I can see the fuzzy orange and black tips of Cliff's ears bobbing along over the sea of heads and horns. As his face drifts into view, he looks every bit as worried and panicked as Neil does.

"Oh, fuck, he's got his claws out! Is he going savage too?!" a kangaroo off to our right screams, cupping his hands over his muzzle in a panic.

"Two in one night?" the overly-cheerful stag grins, elbowing me. "Oh man, what are the odds, right?"

"Cliff!" Neil cries out, waving his arms. That gets his attention, and the sudden relief on their faces is unreal.

"Neil!" Cliff shouts back as he runs towards us. Mammals are stepping back as he hurries through, giving him a wide berth and panicky glares. The two felines throw their arms around each other even as some of the bystanders stare warily at them.

Neil grips him like he's holding on to a life preserver. "I was so fucking scared."

"I'm here. It's okay."

"Look at that shit," a scraggly goat mutters nearby. "They're celebrating. Mammals got hurt and they're happy."

Meanwhile, I find myself just kind of struggling in disbelief, trying to make sense of all of this. On the one hand, I'm happy that Cliff's okay, but that doesn't change the fact that Pandora isn't.

It's difficult to be happy about someone dodging a bullet when the bullet ends up hitting someone else.

I swallow the lump in my throat, looking at the ambulances as the police motion for the crowd to part so that they can drive away from the scene. They wouldn't send more than half a dozen ambulances if only one person needed medical attention. The guy was right: a lot of mammals had to have gotten hurt here tonight.

Pandora. She was one of the good ones, too. Sweet and perky. Friendly, jovial, good sense of humor. Well-adjusted. Self-made businesswoman. Public speaker, gives lectures at colleges. Just last night she was telling me about some big deal she was going to go close.

And then this happens.

Fucking hell.

Tears in my eyes, I shake my head, stumbling off away from the din and the madness. I'm dimly aware of someone calling my name, but it's not even registering. My legs have taken over, and all I can do now is follow.

It's half past eleven. I've been staring dully at the report on the lobby TV for over an hour trying to gather my wits. Looks like the stag got his wish -- I can even see the bastard in the crowd behind the reporter, waving his arms and mugging for the camera. Sighing, I lean back in my chair, dragging a hoof over my bleary eyes. That's her picture, all right. That's Dora. Right up next to the glass-strewn parking lot lit up all red and blue in the night. In the photo, she's smiling. Pleasant. No teeth. I wonder if she does that on purpose.

Words drift in and out. I can't even focus enough to listen. Reaching for the remote, I shut the TV off.

It's never the ones you expect. That's what they say, right?

The guy who serves you your morning coffee at the diner. The girl at the grocery store who gathers shopping carts in the parking lot. That friendly neighbor that always puts a dollar in your kid's lemonade stand jar. Your co-worker, your mailman, the student who mows your lawn.

Any one of them could be a fucking time bomb with a two-second fuse. This is the world we live in now. Our reality, as it stands. How long is it going to be this way? Forever?

The species divide's at an all-time high, tensions through the roof. Any pred around you can turn at any fucking moment, and yet you never think it could happen to someone you know.

Crisis is what happens to other people.

The nightly news is blaring sound bites from Gazelle like they're going out of style. Makes sense. Everyone wants to stick their head in the sand and listen to feel-good noise. Meaningless platitudes are a seller's market. The late shows put on a silly sketch, get some washed-up B-list celebrity actor to dress up like our new mayor and put words in her muzzle because she can't snap her hooves to put an end to an epidemic. As if there's some magic formula. The mayor doesn't fuckin' know. She doesn't know shit, she just got handed a job out of nowhere and she's just trying to run the fucking city. Give her a fuckin' break.

Honest to god I would've bet Betty or Al would snap and lose it long before someone like Pandora.

Never the ones you expect.

The lobby door opens and closes, and the breeze startles me out of my thoughts.

A small, thin fox in an oversized sweater and baggy pants drifts in, kicking a little dust from her feet as she pads over to the downstairs sitting area next to me. Rather than taking a seat, Charlie opts to stand in front of me, restlessly fidgeting with her paws. I can't quite put my hoof on it, but something about her seems off -- which is a feat, considering who we're talking about.

"Cormo," she murmurs.

"Hey, Charlie," I sigh. "What's up?"

She doesn't immediately answer. Reaching up to her head, she bats restlessly at one of her ears. As she does, it clicks for me -- that's what it is; her eyes are wide open. And I mean WIDE open. Usually she's squinting like she needs glasses, but right now I can see her blue eyes staring back at me.

It's a very unnerving look for her.

"I received some bad news tonight," she says, continuing to stare. "About Pandora."

"You heard too, huh."

Without any warning, she slumps against me, wrapping her frail arms around my shoulders. I'm alarmed for a moment before I realize what it is she's doing -- she's hugging me. Or trying to, anyway.

"I'm not... in a well place right now," she murmurs, voice muffled against me. "This isn't a feeling I much appreciate."

"Fear?" I ask.

"Grief," she responds. "Dora is more than a business partner to me. She's one of the few people I can call a friend."

Frowning, I lower my head and wrap my arms around Charlie as she buries her muzzle in my woolly chest. It's weird to think about, but I feel pretty much exactly the same way about Dora too. Unlike just about all of my neighbors, I've never had any rough run-ins or harsh words exchanged with her. She's been nothing but polite and generous to me -- friendly, even. Shit, Velvet and I've been on more sour terms, and she's a prey species. If anything, you'd think the Alpha's doe girlfriend would be more sympathetic to me than a tigress who's almost twice my age.

She mumbles again, quietly, almost whispering into my wool. "It should have been me."

"What?"

I pull her back gently by the shoulders, but she doesn't return my gaze. "It should have been me, Cormo."

I shake my head. "Hey. Come on."

She refuses to meet my eye. "I'm no good, Cormo. Pandora's legitimate. She has a lot. People depend on her. But me? No one would miss me. I could just vanish. Poof. Like I was never here."

I try to lean in front of her but she tucks down into her oversized collar, exactly like I do into my wool. "Charlie, that's ridiculous. Of course people would miss you."

I finally catch her eye. She doesn't flinch. Instead, a second later, she falls against me again, squeezing me tight.

"Why wasn't it me?"

Charlie doesn't say anything else. I'm sure this looks weird to anyone who might pass by -- she's draped across me like a blanket. Still, I kind of understand where she's coming from right now. After several minutes, though, she still hasn't let go, and it's starting to get kind of awkward. I eye the clock nervously -- I'm going to have to get moving pretty soon if I'm going to pick Annie up.

"I'm sorry," I say after a while, gently helping her to her feet. "I hate doing this to you, but I have to run. I've got plans tonight."

"Right," she comments. "No, of course. Your date with Anneke."

"It's not a date."

"Oh. My mistake then," Charlie replies as she turns and heads for the stairs.

Sighing, I shiver a little. I'm cold. No -- wet? Looking down at myself, I realize my shirt's drenched with sweat. It's not that warm out tonight, but I feel clammy and disgusting. Miserable, in fact. I'm supposed to pick up Anneke soon, and I haven't even had a shower yet. I should at least go upstairs to my apartment and rinse off.

Pushing myself to my hooves, I start to head up the stairs. A short, heavyset wolf exiting the apartment next to the twins' sees me coming. Walking this way, he makes it a point to avoid my gaze. Another member of the Pack? Must be, since he's a wolf. All the wolves I know are part of the Pack. So how've I been here this long and not yet met this guy yet?

"Hey, how's it going."

"Evenin'," he mumbles, barely loud enough to hear.

I extend my hoof for a shake as he approaches. I've gotten off on the wrong start with so many of my neighbors that now more than ever I should be trying to make peace with them.

"I'm Rem--"

"Don't care," he grunts, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder and continuing on past me.

I stand in the hallway, hoof still outstretched like a fucking clod as he clomps down the stairs. I'm legitimately surprised that I have a neighbor who's not immediately up in my business like just about everyone else around here. A few months ago, I'd have pointed to that guy as some kind of model or ideal -- the standard that all of my other neighbors should hold themselves to. Now, I'm surprised to find that I'm actually kind of offended.

I'm not sure what that says about me at this point.

Opening up my apartment door, I walk inside and head for my shower. After seeing everything go down at Pandora's I'm not sure I'm up to going out tonight. I don't at all feel like getting dressed up for a night on the town, but I'm not gonna blow off Annie after she asked me. Besides, when was the last time I had a date? Even if it's not a date. I mean, couldn't hurt to make some inroads, so to speak. Let's not get ahead of myself here. Turning the water on, I climb inside the tub and try to force myself to focus.

I'm nowhere near the crime scene and yet I can still hear the sirens, the glass crunching underfoot, the gurney clattering as it carts off one of the few people around here I'd call a "friend".

Despite my best efforts, I end up idle in the shower longer than I wanted to. I towel off and try to pick out something to wear that looks semi-decent. I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard with formal clothes, but I don't want to head out my door looking like a slob either. Eventually I tell myself "fuck it" and go for the tried-and-true -- a nice pullover and my khaki slacks. If these were good enough for the alpha, then I'm sure Annie won't mind. Besides, the pullover's thick enough that it'll mask some of the excess wool that's starting to creep out from under my shirt lately. It always seems to come in thickest around my belly, giving the impression that I've got a beer gut or something.

Really wish I'd gotten that trim.

Tucking myself in, I comb the last of the water out of my pomp and grab my phone. Might as well head over to the aardwolves' apartment and get this show on the road.

After a couple of raps at the twins' door, Annie answers looking about as disheveled as I feel. Her fur's oily and she looks like she just got out of bed. She's wearing a sleeveless band shirt that's so faded I can't even tell what band it's for, and threadbare skinny jeans with no knees. Or ankles. I almost wonder if I'm overdressed for the occasion. Propping herself against the doorframe, she cocks her head at me, letting her mouth open with a huge yawn.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I offer, tapping my hooves together and giving her a shaky smile.

She stares at me, looking pretty unimpressed. I focus my mental efforts on not fidgeting.

"So, uh," I fumble, smiling like an idiot, "You look really cute tonight."

She sniffs, shifting her weight on the frame of the door, but doesn't respond. Uh oh. Too far? I mean I know she's the one who said this wasn't a date but I figured she'd at least like the compliment.

I can't pretend suaveness right now, so I just go with honesty. "Look, I know I look like a tool or whatever, but, uh, I really was looking forward to this. And I hope you're not gonna call it off. Because, uh, I mean, I dunno. I wanted to have a nice night, tonight. With you. So uh, yeah."

That seemed to get a reaction. She arches her brows at me slightly and straightens up, nodding. I sigh, smiling a little. Good sign, right?

Finally she leans back, calling over her shoulder with the wrong voice entirely. "Anna, your cotton candy delivery is here!"

My smile disappears instantly. Ah, fuck. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

"...Wolt."

He turns his attention back to me, his grin slowly widening. "Thanks, by the way. You look cute too. You know, for a dude."

It's uncanny how much they look alike. I guess I've never really noticed. In my defense there're usually more clues, too, like the clothes they're wearing. It's rare to encounter them when they're not chatting away, so I guess I usually go by their voices, too. Annie's is kind of scratchy and breaks every now and then, whereas Wolt's got more of a tired, lazy drawl.

"I'm sorry, Wolt," I groan, dragging my hoof down my face in embarrassment.

"Eh. Not the first time someone's mistaken us for one another," he chuckles. "Probably won't be the last either. I'll go see what's keepin' my sister."

He ducks back into the darkened apartment, and it's not long before Annie comes to the door. This time, I'm confident it's her. Either that or Wolt got a shower, applied makeup, and changed into a one-piece dress all in the span of about a minute.

"Hey cotton-butt," she quips, but I can tell she's not feeling it. Her eyes are a little red and she's looking a lot more subdued than usual. Like she's just seen a ghost.

"Hey yourself," I reply. "...I take it you heard."

"Yeah." She bites her lip, looking down at the ground. "Yeah, I heard."

"If you want to, you know..." Running a hoof through my wool, I shrug. "...do this some other night? That's fine. I understand."

"No, I need to get out of the house. Besides, Wolt's got plans with his pals anyway and he doesn't need me fuckin' bringin' the atmosphere down." She gives me a smile that seems kind of forced. Looks like one of mine, just with sharper teeth. "I don't think I'm up to clubbing, though. Someplace a little more quiet might be nice."

I nod. "You got a place in mind?"

"There's a little sidewalk cafe not far from here." She perks up a little, running a paw through her headfur. "I hear they've got pretty good fish, since I heard you're the kind of deviant that's into that kinda thing."

I smile back, this time a little easier. "What can I say? Fish agrees with me."

"Awww," she grins, and I feel a little better as she leans in, patting my cheek. "There's our little wannabite."

"How about sliders instead?" I joke, shoving my hooves in my pockets. "I gotta get this tab settled up sooner or later."

Annie chuckles, closing the door behind herself and stepping out into the hall with me. "Hoo, you wish you were that lucky."

"Hah! Yeah, 'lucky' and I don't really belong in the same sentence," I reply with a smirk of my own.

"Hey, don't be so sure. Y'know, since we're not going clubbing, you're gonna have a lot less competition tonight."

I stop halfway to the landing as she continues on down the stairs. Wait, did she just say what I think she--

"You comin', grazer?" she asks, glancing up at me from the ground level.

"Yeah, absolutely," I reply, hurrying to catch up with her.

I should've known "little sidewalk cafe" would sound familiar. I ate here once with Pandora, not long ago -- it was right after I tried fish for the first time at Neil's little taco truck, the night I made peace with the Alpha after losing my cool.

That was a better night than this one. That was a way better night.

"Pretty sky tonight," she muses, staring up at the stars overhead.

I know she's struggling to find conversation, especially after we've already veered into talking about today's incident a few times, but she's right. They sure are out tonight.

"Did I ever tell you about my first day here?" I offer, sitting up. This'll be a good one.

She seems to think so, too, because the weariness leaves her face and she gives me a look of genuine attention. "Oh my god, no. Is it good? Because if you're just going to waste my time with a story about moving boxes and packing tape I'm walkin' out. So it better be good."

I flex my hooves with a grin and she settles in. "Okay. So this is day one, right? I haven't met anyone yet, not even Al. I don't even have a moving truck, 'cause my stuff's--"

A distant siren blares in the night, and we both stiffen up, going silent. I can even see the waiter freeze. Annie and I exchange a quick, hesitant glance, but soon the noise fades.

She sighs, paws to her forehead, and I sink back into my seat.

"God."

"I know," I mutter.

"I just -- fuckin' hell," Annie stammers, laughing nervously. "Like, what would you do? I mean if it happened."

"Prey can't go savage," I reply quietly, looking down at my glass of white wine. I'd never even heard the term "apéritif" before I came here to join Pandora. Now I'm sitting here having one.

"Right, but I mean, if you were."

I think about it for a long moment, but my mind's a blank. Nothing. "...I don't know."

"Like just -- what the fuck even ARE you supposed to do, like..." She dances her fork around her appetizer. Fried crickets. A favorite of mine when I'm hungry, but tonight it looks like neither of us have much in the way of appetite. "Like, do you think you get any warning?"

I trace the edge of my glass with my hooftip. It makes an unsatisfying squeaking sound.

"Do you think there's, fuckin'... a feeling?" she continues. "If there was, I mean -- would you just tell everyone around you 'hey, I'm about to turn, run while you fuckin' can!'?"

"I don't think there's much warning, no," I finally admit at length. "It seems like a... a sudden kinda thing."

"Well that just makes it fuckin' worse. Like would you try to get to somewhere safe? I mean, where would even be safe TO go?" Annie asks. "Like when Wolt and I were kids, there was a tornado warning and we had to hide in the ground one time. In a little cellar in the backyard."

"I don't know. I don't know, like... I don't know if you could hide FROM a savage predator. I saw the damage done to the shop, it was..." I shake my head. "Someone small like Marty, sure. If Al went savage, well..."

"It's fucking terrifying," she mutters, looking down at herself. "I don't, like... I spend so much time at Pandora's. And now it's -- I don't even know."

"I know."

"Like... why? Why the fuck does it even happen? Pandora isn't violent. She doesn't have any -- any tendencies, like that."

"I know," I agree quickly. "I was just thinking that earlier, myself. She was so polite, so calm. She was one of the good ones."

Annie shrinks down, looking at me with an expression that's almost fearful. "God. You're talking about her in the past tense. She's not DEAD."

"No, no no no, I just meant before this. She didn't have any signs or anything. It was -- I mean, no one could have seen it coming."

She glances down at the tablecloth and nods. "...Yeah."

There's a long pause and I'm trying to think of what to say. But all that comes to mind is the image of Pandora thrashing on a gurney.

"That's what makes it so scary, you know?" Annie bites her lip, swirling her drink in one paw.

I was starting to feel pretty okay a few minutes ago, but being here just makes me think about my dinner with Pandora.

She continues, after a silence. "I wonder if, you know, if it happened to me. Would I remember? Would I still know who I was? Or is -- is all that just gone? You know? Would there be anything left of me or just -- god, does it ever come back? Is a cure even possible or is it just...? And how would you know it was even coming? Any night could be your last night as YOU."

Makes me think of the time I passed her by the pastry shop. That was the last time I saw her, before this. What if it was the last time I'll ever see her and I didn't even know it?

"I mean -- shit. Shit, Remmy. It comes from inside, like, it's not a shot you get or a, a-a-a contagion. Do you have any idea how fucking -- it grows inside. It could be in me. Right now." She's a mess right now. Keeps running her paw through her tufted mane, which is more and more standing on end until she's left with a shaky, striped mohawk.

I reach out, putting my hoof on her paw. "I'm really sorry, Annie. That must be terrifying," I agree, gently. "I can't even imagine. You have every reason to be upset."

She breaks eye contact to look down at her food, tapping the plate with her fork again.

"Yeah."

So much for a dinner at a quiet little cafe. Our waiter, some kind of small canine, comes by for the fourth time in the last ten minutes to check up on us again, trying to upsell more booze and desserts. We haven't even ordered our main course yet. Clearly it's a slow night here -- figures, since this place isn't far from the blast radius. Now that the show's over, the rubberneckers have fucked off. This part of Pack Street'll be a ghost town until morning.

There's a badger in an ugly suit wandering around with a little violin, playing music that's probably supposed to be romantic but just comes off as distracting for the few patrons that are here. I can't tell if it's that he doesn't know how to play or I just don't like the violin. Either way, it's grating as fuck.

Anneke straightens up and takes a slow, deep breath, closing her eyes. She's trying to fight the stress. I don't blame her. I don't know how I'd be able to sleep at night if I were a predator.

"I don't -- y'know, I'm sorry, Remmy, uh... I'm really sorry. I don't think it's working tonight."

"No, I think -- I think you're right," I sigh, folding my napkin and motioning our waiter over. "Check, please."

"Before your dinner course?" he asks, brow furrowed.

Is this guy serious? Read the fucking mood, man. I give him an incredulous look and he backs off. "Just bring us two boxes for the appetizers, please."

The waiter scurries off, and Anneke sighs again, staring up at the sky. "I came out because I wanted to get my mind off everything, but I don't think I can shake this right now. I thought I could. It's just too soon, I dunno."

I nod to Annie. "Sorry."

Her mane's settled back down a little. "No, yeah. Me too. Let's, uh -- maybe try this again another night."

"I'd like that."

After settling the tab, she takes her food, and with a halfhearted wave, trudges off toward the direction of the apartment building. I offer to walk her home, but she doesn't even respond. I figure she needs some time to think.

I'm pretty sure I do, too.

For a nocturnal district, there aren't many mammals -- pred or otherwise -- out right now. I suppose that's because everyone heard about what happened and they're giving this entire chunk of town a wide berth. The ones that are milling about look like they're just kind of lost -- like they could be extras in any disaster movie after an earthquake or a zombie attack or something wipes everything out.

There's a familiar-looking coyote in business clothes across the intersection. Don, if I remember right. I don't see his partner anywhere. He's quietly sitting on a bench with his briefcase and his suit jacket in a messy pile next to him, staring off into the distance.

He looks lost, too.

I've noticed when I've got a lot on my mind, I tend to drift. For the second time tonight my legs are just sort of carrying me along -- they do that, I guess. Everyone's saying the savage epidemic might be due to predator biology. Well, then maybe it's in prey biology to wander around when we're troubled. Maybe herds scatter when they don't have someone to follow. I don't have a "leadersheep".

I keep having to remind myself that I'm not part of the herd anymore. I'm in the Pack now, for better or for worse. Al's my Alpha, now -- that still feels weird to say -- but after what I saw, turning to a predator that could rip me in half with his claws alone is little comfort. Still, the whistle hanging around my neck's proof I've got something. Something's better than nothing.

Speaking of the Pack, that standoffish wolf I met earlier makes me wonder -- is that how the others saw me at first? Did I come off to them as some uninterested, calloused stick-in-the-ass? Do I seem that way NOW? Some "can't be fucked enough to care" type? I mean, I like my privacy (and I could do without my apartment being open to anyone who wants to swing on by), but I don't want them to see me as an untouchable who locks himself away in a tower -- to paraphrase Marty.

Eventually, a smooth brick wall cropping up in front of me alerts me to the fact that I've arrived at a dead end.

As I glance around, it occurs to me that I know right where I am -- this is the alley court where Ozzy and I've shot hoops a few times. I guess my subconscious just wanted to bring me someplace quiet and familiar to think. I might as well indulge. I walk over to an upturned milk crate, brushing it off with the back of my hoof and sitting down.

As I settle in to reflect, I see there's a puddle of red liquid on the ground in front of me. I flinch at first, but a second later I realize that it's not blood -- it's way too bright and... goopy, though I don't know if that's the right word. Relaxing, I follow its trail with my eyes, looking up at the "tag" -- the beautiful graffiti mural that's supposed to be on the wall across from me.

My heart sinks as I see what's been done to it.

The "vandalism" has itself been vandalized. Scrawled all over the gorgeous wall art in bold, ugly red letters is one word.