"Where is he?" The fox deep cold voice echoed within that sad small and humid basement. Sounds of water rushing trhought rusted pipes, creaks of the old wood and the stench of blood. "Where's the mammal who hired you?" Controled, contemplative, cold. Nick P. Wilde paws where methaphorically and literally bloody.



The large lion whimpered under the stony glaze of the Fox. His paws tied, but at this point where most of his muscled where teared and bones broked, The option of scaping became a foregeing subject.



"I don't know! the payment was cash left in the truck of my car!" he wheezed sagedly. His broken body aching in pain. He just want to sleep "I-i told you everything i know... please... let me go...I have a wife..."he coughted blood. Somehow the cold stare became an invernal hell.



"So did I..." Pulling a red hankerchief he wiped out traces of blood off his leather jacket. smothering the scarlet sustance. "Now she's diying because of your kind..." Slowly and debirearly he pulled an old revolver out of his pockets, snagged a bullet out, reloaded with it and spined the bullets room. "If this makes you feel better..." Suddenly the Lion's world turn red as the Fox stabbed him with a clawed knife, piercing his lungs "I won't give them a choice" He then drops the revolver on the ground swiftly leaving the room.



The Lion could hear the locks of the basement being placed. Sounds of chains being moved and locks being clicked. Just then he realized his paws where freed. Bleeding to death he slumped on the ground. The bastard fox broke his kneecaps along his fingers.