Packer's Gym.

It's only my second visit, but it's already starting to feel familiar. Honestly, I wouldn't mind becoming a regular, and I intend to get a lot of use out of it as long as I'm living here. It's one of the few places I can go for exercise that isn't work, and at least the preds that hang out here were friendly to me my first day.

I learned from experience this place doesn't provide much, so I brought my own towel and a water bottle this time. I don't actually own a real gym bag anymore -- haven't needed one since I graduated -- so I just repurposed that stupid "scent-proof" tote bag I paid a king's ransom for that did fuck-all to conceal my burgas. Might as well get some use out of the worthless piece of shit.

Once I'm inside the lobby, I can see the gym's pretty busy today. Strange -- this shouldn't really be "peak hours". I mean, I'm in here the same time of day I came with Avo and the twins, and yet the crowd's much larger and even a little more diverse than before. If the weather was still as hot as it was this last week, I'd assume they were trying to beat the heat, but you don't exactly go to a gym to cool down.

"Excuse me, sir!" a frilly, high-pitched voice pipes up.

Against the near wall, by the door, there's a folding table with an assortment of healthy-looking snacks and supplements designed to appeal to the average gym-goer. Two big plastic barrels full of sports drinks and ice are at either end of the table along with stacks of cups. A hand-written price list hangs from the front of the table by a piece of masking tape -- looks like it might be a fundraiser for some local organization, possibly the gym itself.

Stationed at the table is a stoat girl, sitting on a stack of books piled up on the seat of a folding chair. She's a tiny thing, right at about Marty's size. Her fur pattern's pretty similar to his as well; roughly the same color as walnut wood with darker circular markings underneath her beady eyes. The stoat (stoatess?) has a messy mop of uncombed, frizzy brown hair atop her head. She's wearing a cute ankle-length one-piece dress that starts out pink and fades to crimson by the time it reaches the hem. Her expression is bright, dainty, and cheerful, but when I turn to her, she seems a little taken aback. I'm used to the reaction by now, though. Still a sheep among wolves.

"Oh, uh, hi there," I respond, walking over to her table. A cash box that's bigger than she is rests next to one of the drink barrels. I'm a little surprised she feels safe running this operation considering what kind of neighborhood we're in. I can't possibly imagine someone her size being able to stand up to a thief helping himself to the cash.

"U-um, hello r-- sir!" She seems a little nervous, blushing and wringing her paws as she talks to me. "I- um, uh, I'm raising money on behalf of the Pack Street local library! W-would you like a snack or a drink? All proceeds go towards operation costs!"

I'm not really hungry, but sure, I'll help the girl out. No telling how long she's been at this. "Sure. What's good?" I ask, eyeing some granola bars in a tupperware case. They appear to be homemade.

"W-well, I make these myself. It's my mom's dark chocolate and marshmallow granola bar recipe. It's a real good pick-me-up after exercising, and they're only 150 calories each."

Yeah, somehow I doubt a four-inch thick granola and cereal brick drizzled in dark chocolate and held together with marshmallows is "only" 150 calories, but I'm sure that's just part of her sales pitch.

"Well, I'm not really counting calories so much since I actually could stand to gain a little weight," I joke, eyeing the glorified hunk of candy. "Looks good, though, so I'll take one of those. Can you wrap it up for me?"

"S-sure! That'll be a dollar fifty."

I reach into my wallet and pull out a five dollar bill as she wraps a granola bar up in a piece of wax paper. "Here you go. You can keep the change."

"O-oh wow, thank you, sir," she breathes, tucking the bill into her cash box. I sneak a glance at it as she does -- surprisingly her take's not as meager as I'd have expected, but that's a good thing. Call me a soft touch, but I have an appreciation for someone who'll put the time and effort into busting hump for a cause they believe in. Maybe Charlie roping me into her various odd jobs has rubbed off on me a little.

I accept the treat from her and slip it into the pocket of my tote bag. "I'm Remmy, by the way. Nice to meet you, miss...?"

"Ah, Mart-- Martina," she responds, extending her tiny paw for a shake. "Forgive my saying this, but... you're kind of a rare sight to see here at Packer's, Mr. Remmy!"

"Just Remmy's fine. I'm new to the neighborhood. And yeah, I bet not many rams come here, right?" Wow, nice to have someone not calling me a slur or some weird pet name for once.

"Not really," Martina chuckles, clasping her paws together with an enthusiastic smile. "But it's always great to see new faces! Enjoy your workout! Come see me if you get thirsty!"

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head into the gym proper. "Will do."

Most of the weight sets are occupied today so I have to make do with ones that are small even by my standards. The gym's even expanded its inventory a little, too. To my surprise I see a few "new" pieces of exercise equipment that either I didn't notice or weren't here last time, including two treadmills. They're not in brand-new condition, of course -- that'd probably be asking too much of a place that squeaks by on donations and volunteer work -- but hey, more stuff's never a bad thing. When it's less busy maybe I'll even get a shot at using one.

"Hey, Remmy! Good to see you back."

Glancing over my shoulder, I spot a familiar-looking Bengal tiger in a nearby crowd of predators.

"Hey, Cliff," I greet, setting my barbell aside to shake his paw. "Thanks, I had a couple hours and thought I'd swing on by. How you doing?"

"Miserable," Cliff laughs. "Dude, I've been wanting to ball since I got here two hours ago but those sloth kids have the court on lockdown."

Looking at the partitioned-off basketball court at the far end of the gym, I spot a pair of statues enjoying a slow-motion game of basketball while a group of mostly canine predators look on in a mix of amusement and thinly-veiled agitation. Prey species are a rare sight around here, but these wouldn't be the first I've run into since moving in. A certain ewe comes to mind and I find myself frowning unconsciously, only snapped back to reality when one of the kids goes for a dribble and just ends up dropping the ball. It's come to a stop before he even manages to scoop it back up.

"I really shouldn't laugh," I chuckle, watching as one of the sloth boys begins the motions to attempt a steal. He might even be done with it by the time I leave. "I take it they're out-of-towners?"

"That's the vibe I got," Cliff sighs. "Really sweet kids -- well raised. Very polite. Asked if they could use the court, oldest can't be more than fourteen. Their folks probably dropped them off while they tend to whatever business they have in the area."

"And of course nobody else can simply play around them," I add. "Because they're, y'know..."

"Yeah, exactly." Cliff rakes his claws gently across the top of his head, massaging his scalp. "Damn nice kids, though. Like I said. They just don't know any better."

"Right, sure."

Cliff sticks around for a little while longer making small talk before Neil comes up with a friendly greeting -- apparently he's Cliff's ride. The two wave goodbye, so I scoot over to the set of weights Cliff had been using, trading up to something more within my comfort zone.

I'm no bodybuilder, but I know my way around a set of weights, at least. I wish I had a music player or something, but lacking a distraction, I just sort of zone out during workout instead. My thoughts drift to some of the uncharacteristically friendly faces I've seen today. Martina, Cliff, Neil... in spite of myself, I can't help wondering if there'll be another block party soon. Maybe I'll have the opportunity to get to know some of these folks a bit better now that I can appreciate nocturnal life more.

A pleasant image of myself with a beer and a bbq burga as "Mr. Life of the Party" is interrupted when I feel the heat of breath on my neck, causing the wool on my back to bristle. With a start, I turn around to see Avo towering over me, arms folded and her usual shark-like sneer in place.

Oh, fuck.

I've been kind of trying to avoid her and Betty since the whole Pandora's Box debacle. Running into Avo twice at the sex shop wasn't part of my plan, either. If I'd gotten more intel from Charlie on what our client was actually about, I'd have let Wolter spearhead offloading the boxes while I waited in the van.

"Hello, fluff," Avo coos as she backs me up against a wooden bench, rolling her lollipop around her mouth. "Trying to put some lamb on those chops again? Or are there maybe some frustrations you're working off?"

Sighing, I lower my weights and brush myself off, looking up at her. "All right. Go ahead, get it out of your system," I groan. "Let's hear the full run of sheep penis jokes. I'm sure you've heard them all by now from everyone."

"Hey, I didn't tell a soul, Cormo." She seems almost offended.

I cock my head to the side, not quite believing her. "Oh no? Why not?"

"Oh, get over yourself," she cracks a thin smile, "Like you're the biggest weirdo I've ever seen working there. Customers are customers, after all. I can't scare them all off. Bad for business. We've got to have SOME kind of confidentiality."

I sigh, leaning back to rest. "Sure. I can see you're itching to get some quips out. Go ahead. It's all right, I can take it."

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, slumping her shoulders for effect. "Oh, take all of the joy out of it, why don't you? Besides, I had my fun at the shop already. I figure you've been run through the wringer enough by now."

"So what, you're just gonna let it go then?" I scoff.

Tapping the tip of her muzzle, she smirks. "Well, I reserve the right to hold onto it for a rainy day. But, ahh, tell you what: any time you want to swing on by and pick up that toy you left behind -- I think I remember the one, in fact -- I'll give you my employee discount. You know, so that there are no... hard feelings."

I sit up, blushing slightly and draping my hooves over my knees. "You done yet?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now I am." Avo leans down and condescendingly pats my coif, albeit with a genuine smile. "You can't blame me for wanting to rib you, fluff. You're kind of cute when you're flustered."

"Only when I'm flustered?" I return, folding my arms with a smirk of my own.

She scrunches up her face in surprise at my comeback, a grin at her muzzle. "Ooh, careful Remmy. Someone might think you're trying to flirt."

I shrug, fishing in my bag for my water bottle. When I look back up, I see Avo's gesturing for me to follow her.

"Alright, mutton, time for a little advice from me to you. If you're gonna work on building up some muscle you might as well know how to use it." Gesturing to the punching bags hanging in the back corner of the gym, Avo spits her stick out before reloading her lollipop with a fresh one from her pocket. "You at least know how to throw a punch, right?"

"Hooves," I respond bluntly, arms up in mock surrender. "They're not really designed for punches. There's a reason we're called 'prey species'. I can kick pretty alright, though."

"Hey, you use what you've got," she nods. "I mean, look, we've all seen the news. I don't see much point in pretending it's not happening. If someone -- god forbid -- goes savage around here, we all gotta be prepared."

I stretch, loosening up my shoulders. "Ooh, careful, Avo. Someone might think you're worried about me."

She laughs so suddenly it sounds like a cough, and she waves a hand in front of herself, wafting away my comment like a bad smell. "Please. I'm just saying, last thing Pack Street needs is a SHEEP getting mauled, or worse. It'd just give the donut patrol more of a reason to climb up our asses."

Reasoning aside, I can't disagree with her suggestion. I never was one of those passive-to-a-fault types like the "naturalist" crowd who thinks a mammal doesn't have a right to at least defend himself from an attack, but I've never owned a weapon of any variety before. Unless you count, like, kitchen knives or something. Point is, I've never really had much of a need for self-defense, but the game changed when I moved into a rough neighborhood in the middle of an unheard-of epidemic.

After returning the last of the weights to the rack for the next guy, I grab my bag and follow Avo to the far end of the room. There's hardly anyone nearby, so I hopefully don't have to worry as much about a bunch of preds gawking as I make a fool of myself. And as far as Avo goes, well, if she wanted to humiliate me I'm sure she's already got all the necessary ammo for it after the other day.

"Alright grazer," Avo croons as she sidles behind one of the predator-sized punching bags, wrapping her paws around it like she's giving it a hug. The thing's at least twice my size. Maybe more. "Give me your best hit."

"My best hit, huh?" I crack my neck, arms folded. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, really try to reach in and tap your inner pillow fighter," she smirks. "I need to get an idea of what we're working with here."

Taking a deep breath, I begin backing up. She cocks her head at me funny once I'm a few yards back. "What, you running away? I get that's your natural instinct, but you know this thing can't hit back, right? It's just practice," she calls out to me.

I decide I've got enough of a running start. I hunker down and charge the bag. Avo's grin is firmly locked in place right up until the moment my headbutt impacts the punching bag. It jolts hard backwards, taking Avo with it, and she stumbles a good few steps just to keep standing. I hear her sharply inhale as she slumps to the floor, eyes wide.

I rub my head and neck, immediately sore after the impact. I haven't headbutted in years, I don't think. Lacking horns makes it a lot harder, but I think everyone around here would agree I've got a thick skull.

I circle around the bag to check on Avo. Chunks of sugary candy dribble out of her mouth in a trail of saliva. "Holy... shit," she gasps, clutching at her stomach. "Were you -- kafffh! You trying to, gguuhhh -- show off or something...?"

"You okay?" I ask, warily glancing around to make sure nobody saw what just happened. "Sorry. You said to give it my best hit."

"F-ffuck, Cormo." She sucks in a lungful of air -- apparently I knocked the wind out of her and good, so she keeps pausing to gasp. "Feels like... I got run over by a truck. You're not as... lightweight as I thought."

"Where do you think the phrase 'battering ram' came from?" I reach into my bag and pull out my water bottle, popping the cap loose and handing it to her. She nods to me, slowly sipping at it as she wipes the shards of lollipop from her chin.

"I'm lucky I didn't bite my damn tongue in half," Avo finally manages after collecting herself. "I think you might need to teach ME that move."

After parting ways with Avo, I've gotta admit, I'm feeling pretty damn good. If the gym hadn't been so crowded I could have easily stuck around a while longer. The endorphin rush has been great. I don't know if it's just the atmosphere of the place or what, but it seems like everyone was in a good mood. Even Avo seemed agreeable for a change, and spent more time smiling and working with me than figuring out new insults.

It also helps that I'm feeling pretty flush right now, too. My cut from Charlie made the Bug Burga sauce packet hustle look sad. I'm almost wondering if it isn't too early to consider looking at apartments over on Flock Street, or maybe closer to Downtown Zootopia. Hell, I wonder if I couldn't get a couple roommates to go in with me on a townhouse in Savannah Central right now. Might be time to post myself a Camelslist ad.

Still, I guess I can stick around here a little longer and build my resources up before making the commitment. Even with the bump I got from boosting -- sorry, "transporting" those cases of Tiger Oil for Dora, I want to make sure my move's comfortable. Plus, my current place is paid up for the month. Might as well get my money's worth before I bail. Getting out of this neighborhood doesn't seem quite as urgent as it did a couple weeks ago.

Again I find myself snapped from a daydream by a familiar voice. "Heeey, woolly bully! Man, what're you doin' gallivanting around out here?"

Turning to look across the street, I see Ozzy loping along across the pedestrian crossing with a sling bag over his shoulder. "Hey, it's the music man! What's up Ozzy?"

"Aww, felt like takin' a walk! Weather's cooled down enough after that fuckin' -- felt like a volcano eruption the other day, man." He grins easily, sticking his paw out for a bump. I tap the end of my hoof against it as we step over to the side to make way for the sidewalk foot traffic. "I see you're all in your gym duds, Remmy. You headin' to Packer's?"

"Just came from there actually," I answer. "Avo and I hung out for a while before she had to go to work."

"Hey, nice. You guys get a chance to play any ball?"

I make a show of hanging my head. "Nah. Shame, too. Couple of sloth kids had the court tied up and so we ended up just lifting weights and doing some kickboxing kind of stuff." I neglect to mention that I nearly broke her ribs. "They were STILL playing when I left."

Ozzy lets out a raspy, low chuckle. "Sloths, man, gotta love 'em." Reaching into his sling, he pulls out a basketball, tossing it to me. "If you've still got the energy to go shoot some hoops, I know a great alley court just like, a block from here."

"Fuck yeah I've got the energy!" I reply, catching the ball in my hooves with ease. There's a reason I played back in high school. Bowling, hockey, tennis, most other sports and activities work better with hands or paws, but even hooves can grip a basketball with minimal effort. Hell, I even learned to palm. "I'll follow you."

"Hey, right on! You're gonna love this place -- it's nice and shaded and EVERYTHING. Little smaller than, you know, regulation size, but still. Best fuckin' deli next door, too."

A month ago I might be alarmed at how readily I'm following a hyena into a back alley. But Ozzy's a lot of things, and malicious sure doesn't seem to be one of them. I mean, the guy did basically save my life and all, so I figure he's not going to shiv me. Either way, it's not long before I confirm he's absolutely telling the truth -- there's a nice little alley court tucked behind a building about a block away. The broken, pock-marked sidewalk gives way to nice clean pavement and a backboard in good shape, and honestly there's nothing more you can ask for.

"Do I know how to pick 'em or what?" Ozzy chuckles as we set our bags down on top of a nearby trash can lid. "Can't tell you how many afternoons I spent here growin' up."

"No kidding?" I scratch the back of my head while he stretches. "Man, you were right. Nice little spot here."

"Tell me about it! Packer's is great too, y'know, for the cushy indoor thing." Cushy? I mean, Packer's is alright, but I wouldn't call it 'cushy'. "But there's just something about an alley court that, like, it feels real. I know more than a few scholarships ended up goin' to mammals who cut their teeth sinkin' baskets here."

Licking his lips, he picks up the ball and lobs a practice shot at the hoop, swishing it with ease. "Aww yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about. Hey, Cormo, you wanna make it interesting?"

"Maybe. Whatcha got in mind? Loser buys lunch?"

Chuckling, he tosses me the ball. "You know I won't say no to a free meal, man."

"I warn you, I'm on a lucky streak today," I return, lining up my shot. "Best two outta three, then?"

"Works for me, woolly B."

In the end, it's pretty close but Ozzy just barely manages to edge me out in sudden death. I haven't had anyone give me nearly this much of a run for my money since our senior year matchup against the Rainforest High Raiders.

"That was a damn good game," I pant, taking a seat on a discarded milk crate and wiping sweat from my brow. I'm achy but damn, even losing I'm really fucking riding high. A real game. It's been way too long. I make a mental note of the court, because I sure as hell plan on coming back.

Ozzy's leaning on the wall, catching his breath. "I ain't never seen a puff-ball move like that," he laughs, in his usual way. "Shit, Remmy."

"It's my game, I guess. Well, I mean, I still lost, but you get what I mean."

He flops down on the ground next to me with a yawn, craning his neck over to eyeball my watch. "I got time for one more if you want a rematch."

"You sure?" I ask warily. "You don't have to like, gimme a sympathy do-over. I don't mind picking up lunch, I lost fair and square."

"Nah, don't worry, you're still buying lunch." he snickers. "This one'll be just for fun. I mean, if you're up for it. I know you just came back from the gym, y'know? Don't wear your little sheep legs out on my account."

I mull it over for a few seconds. "Yeah, why the fuck not? I only have a four-hour shift tonight, boss cut my hours for the week. I can sleep in."

"Fuckin' A. Let's do it," Ozzy declares, scooping the ball up and flipping it stylishly over his shoulder towards the hoop. He misses by a fucking mile -- it doesn't even hit the backboard.

I clap my hooves together with a wry grin as I stand up. "Very nice. Ten out of ten shot."

"Gonna be honest: I saw that working out so much cooler in my head," he chuckles as it rolls to a stop near his foot.

Ozzy's in better shape than I am, but this time around fatigue's getting the best of both of us. My experience is just enough to give me the edge, and I end up beating him 3-2. By the time we're done with our second impromptu match, we're both on the brink of collapsing where we stand. Still, I'm happy just having redeemed myself after that close first loss.

"You ready for that lunch break yet?" I ask as we limp out of the alley. "I heard there's a great deli next door."

"Haha, yeah. Just a little mom an' pop place, nothing fancy. Pretty much a literal roach-coach," Ozzy wheezes, one paw outstretched towards a family deli at the front of the alley. "Oof. I could go for something cold to drink, too. If you're feelin' generous."

"That makes two of us. My water bottle ran dry back at the gym."

The day's special is a hot sandwich, chips and a fountain drink for three bucks. Ozzy's right -- the building isn't really much to speak of and there isn't even sitting room inside, so we're street-eating, as he put it, out on the court. Some old stacked crates make for useful enough seats, and with a breeze blowing down the alley and the shade from the buildings on either side, it's actually pretty pleasant. To top it off, the cicada sandwich is one of the best I've ever had even if the cheese isn't the real deal. After burning so much energy I devour my plate in just a few minutes, but Ozzy takes his time eating. Chewing thoroughly, small bites, small sips. After a few seconds he realizes I'm staring and blushes, obviously self-conscious.

"I ain't holdin' you up or anything, am I?" he asks, almost apologetically.

"Nah, don't worry about it," I reply, relaxing in my chair. "You take your time, man."

Ozzy bobs his head rhythmically. "Coo'. Hey, speaking of time -- when's all this goin' down, Cormo?" I turn my wrist so that he can eyeball my watch. "Oh, wow. Guess I'll hurry it along then so we can get goin'."

He polishes off the last of his sandwich and chips before chucking the paper plate in the trash. "Thanks again, man. I had fun today," Ozzy responds, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Yeah, me too," I reply as we begin making our way home. "Start to finish, actually."

He laughs, slapping me on the back. "Hey, there you go! Didn't I say if you just got out in the world, you'd find your groove?"

"Let's do this again sometime."

In an interesting switch-up from the norm, Betty's out smoking on our apartment's porch rather than her own. As soon as she catches sight of us, she reaches behind herself and swings the lobby door open, leaning inside our apartment building for just a few seconds before exiting again.

"Wonder what that was about," I mutter to Ozzy as Betty descends the steps, keeping an eye on us the entire time as she walks back to her usual stoop.

"Couldn't say," Ozzy mutters, his perma-grin replaced with an uncharacteristic frown. I don't really blame him. She kinda has that effect on me, too.

I make eye contact with Betty as we pass, waiting for her inevitable jeer or call out to me. She's stone silent today, though, and something about that makes it worse. I've got an uneasy feeling as I reach the front door.

Al's standing dead center in the lobby, arms folded across his chest. He's dressed immaculately, in a dark black suit I've never seen before. His entire body language screams hostile, and I instantly find myself wanting to retreat into my wool casing only to lament once again that it's not there.

Avo's leaning against the far wall, staring daggers in my direction, lollipop clamped between her sharp teeth. Seated near Al on one of the couches is Velvet, that deer who came to visit other week. Her clipboard's in her hooves and a very stern expression's on her face. Now, I've only met this lady once before, but she seemed like a pretty optimistic, professional type back then. I wonder what's got her in such a foul mood today.

With little choice, I slowly head in, glancing around and trying to figure out what's going on. Ozzy lingers at the door, but with an audible sigh and a hangdog look, he plods in after me.

"I'm disappointed in you, Ozzy," Velvet reprimands, standing from the couch as we step inside. "And I'm ESPECIALLY disappointed with you as well, Mr. Cormo."