Packer's Gym is gone.

Well, mostly. I mean, the building itself's still here, but all of the gym equipment, the exercise machines, and all the other stuff has completely vanished. So you know, only everything that actually makes it Packer's Gym and not just another run-down warehouse on the older side of Pack. Hell, even the wooden boards that made up the basketball court's floor have been ripped up.

Fucking hell. Whoever did this was thorough. As I wander around the lobby in confusion, I'm racking my brain trying to figure out why someone would rob a gym. All that comes to mind is this has to be some act of specist retaliation in the wake of Bellwether. I had no idea there were so many tensions still running rampant, but I guess I should have expected it. As I turn from the doorway, my eyes catch sight of a bizarre square-shaped discoloration at the lobby's entrance, and my stomach drops when I realize that the assholes even swiped the fucking donation box. I trace my hooftips along the screwholes in the faded, cracked plaster where it used to be, shaking my head in disgust.

What a dick move. What a fucking dick move. Packer's barely had anything as it was. A loss of this magnitude'll mean the end of the gym for everyone. One of the few nice things we could all look forward to, and poof -- just like that, it's gone.

"What the hell happened here?" I mutter.

"I know, right?" a tiny voice comments from somewhere behind me. "It's a little exciting, don't you think?"

I nearly choke as I turn to look down at the tiny stoat behind me, whose arms are wrapped around a clipboard that's almost as big as she is. I guess that's Martina for you: even in the wake of this catastrophe she's trying so hard to find some optimistic way of looking at things.

"Do we have any idea of who could've done this?" I ask. "Has anyone thought to call the cops down here?!"

"The... police?" the tiny stoat mumbles confusedly, tilting her head just slightly before quickly reaching up to straighten her headfur. "Over a remodeling?"

"...remodeling," I repeat.

She nods slowly and I suddenly find myself deflating like a woolly balloon.

...oh.

"The gym's been long overdue for one," Martina continues, smothering a giggle. "We recently got Packer's recognized as a Civic Place of Interest, so now it qualifies for city funding. It's not a lot, but at least we can start doing some basic renovations."

"Oh, man, I -- yeah, that's good. Way better than what I was thinking," I breathe, letting out a sigh of relief.

"What did you think?" she returns, an amused yet concerned look on her face. "A bunch of mammals snuck in overnight to steal some old gym gear and pry up the floorboards?"

"What?!" I laugh a little too loudly. "Noooo, ha. No, nah, nothing like that."

She gives me a weird, squiggly smile.

"Yeah. That's exactly what I thought," I sheepishly admit.

"You're too funny," she snickers good-naturedly. "Nothing quite that exciting, I'm afraid."

Looking around the empty gym anew, I've finally got an idea of just how huge the building really is now that all the equipment's out of here. "All the stuff's gone -- does that mean we're getting new exercise machines, too?"

"Mm, no," Martina says with a sigh. "As nice as that would be, we're going to be relying on donations as usual. The money's just enough to help with upkeep."

"Ah. Bummer."

"The machines are all out back on the court for the time being. Head on out through the rear door, we've got a tarp roof up." Even though I've been here enough to know where the door is, she points helpfully. "Have a nice workout!"

"Thanks, Martina." I take a step towards the back, but hesitate. "Well, actually, before I go, do you have any snacks for sale today?"

"Sorry," she sort of bows in apology, "I'm too busy helping with the renovation, but I do have some drinks if you need hydration. On the house!"

"What sort of drinks?"

Setting her clipboard down, she scampers around behind her familiar snack table, beckoning me over with an excited paw and a swish of her tail. Intrigued, I drop my gym bag onto the floor and step around behind the folding table where I see Martina digging through a large wheeled cooler, right next to a sizable metal box with a sturdy-looking padlock.

"Is that a new donation box?" I chuckle, folding my arms.

"Oh, you noticed! The locksmith's had some surplus inventory they didn't need, and so they dropped it off this morning!"

I cock my head to one side. "...Betty?"

"Yes! I forgot you know her!" Martina claps her paws in excitement, then looks a little embarrassed for having done it. "Betty delivered it personally. She really cares about the gym."

"I figure with all the fundraising you do, you probably know better than me, but instead of having it in the lobby where you only see it when you first walk in, why not put it inside the gym itself?" I glance over at the spot where the old donation box used to be, nodding. "That way it'll always be visible while everyone's working out."

"'Out of sight, out of mind', hm?" she replies, straightening her skirt. "Hmmm. That's not a bad idea, actually!"

"Well, you don't have to sound quite so surprised."

She bursts out giggling and waves a tiny paw at me. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it quite like that! Please, let me get you your drink and you can get on with your day."

I can't help but laugh, myself. I lean against the bare table, glancing around the empty gym. When I got here I couldn't wait to hit the weights, but now it seems a lot less urgent. The cool, quiet atmosphere of the gym is way different from what I came here to find, but I think I'm liking it anyway.

With a scratch of my chin, I turn back to the tiny stoat, who's unpacking a few things from the cooler. "Hey, Martina, what's the renovation cover, anyway?"

"Safety certs, inspections. Mostly reflooring the main room," she replies with a strain as she tries to haul a massive plastic pitcher up to the table. "A couple of-- nhf-- elephants came through looking to play basketball last week, and -- well, you can guess how that went."

"Yeah, that court didn't exactly seem safety-rated for that kind of abuse." I reach down, scooping the heavy pitcher up onto the table, and Martina scurries up a moment later with paper cups. "Painting too? I see you've got a lot of buckets around the lobby, and it looks like these walls already have painter's tape up."

"Thanks." She carefully tips the enormous pitcher and begins pouring each of us a cup full of what appears to be some kind of sports drink, dark purple in color. "Yep! I figured I could save a little money in the budget by doing the painting myself."

"Yourself? C'mon, that's going to take forever." I can't resist laughing as I take the cup from her; even from here I can smell the distinct scent of artificial grape flavoring.

Because of course it would be.

"What? What's so funny?" she asks with a huff. "You think I don't know how to handle something like painting?"

"Oh no, that's not it at all. You reminded me of someone just now," I explain, taking a sip of it and reeling at the surprisingly strong flavor. Usually sports drinks taste like salt water, but this is almost pure grape syrup. "You're not the first stoat I've met that loves grape."

"You mean Marty, by chance?"

I set the cup down. "You know him?"

"Only all my life! Marty's my older brother."

I blink for a second, studying her expression. "Wait, really? You're Marty's sister? Are you sure?"

Her face scrunches up as she gives me an incredulous smirk. "'Am I sure'?"

I laugh hard and cover my reddening cheeks with both hooves. Real smooth, Cormo. Now she thinks you're an idiot.

In a sweet tone she laughs, too, capping off the pitcher. "Lives at the Crowns with a vixen named Charlie, right? Unless you know two Martys."

"Uh, yeah, that's him," I mutter from my hiding place of shame, when something clicks in my head. "Wait. 'The Crowns'?"

"The Royal Crown Estates at Aurora Gardens? The old beat-up apartment building towards the end of the street?" she prompts before taking a thirsty sip from her too-large cup. "The one you live in? You're his next-door neighbor, uh, if I remember right -- the ram he's always going on and on about."

"Oh god," I groan, dragging a hoof down my face as Martina sips from her drink. "I'm sure he's had plenty to say about me. He and I don't exactly get along well."

"Mmm. I know my brother can be a little... abrasive, but he's got a really good heart underneath that sour exterior."

"That sour grape exterior?" I joke.

"...what's wrong with grape?" she asks defensively.

I'm not entirely sure what to say to that, so I just shrug, hauling the nearest paint can to the wall.

"He isn't afraid to speak his mind," Martina says, setting her half-finished cup aside to finish unpacking her cooler. "That's the one thing I can say about Marty. You always know what you're getting with him."

I contemplate that for a minute, popping the lid and dipping a roller into the thick white paint. "There's an understatement."

 

The gym's front door opens with a jingle, and for the first time I notice there's a bell that's been mounted to the top of the door. I'm guessing by the cutesy little "happy-face" ribbon that this is another of Martina's new remodeling touches.

Pushing his way inside is a tall, muscular tiger with a gym bag slung over his shoulder and a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of his muzzle. Cliff grins, eyebrows raised as he looks around the empty building. He's dressed way fancier than I think I've ever seen him -- pressed slacks, a button-up dress shirt with a tie, and a blazer folded neatly over his free arm.

My heart begins to pound, and I can feel my hooves shaking. Usually where there's Cliff, there's Neil. In the back of my mind I can still see the tattered fluff from that night's horrible spectacle. I'm half-expecting him to pop out at any moment and rip me to pieces for real.

Surveying the empty gymnasium, the tiger offers a stunned, open-paw gesture. "Did we get robbed or something?"

"Oh, good morning, Cliff!" Martina's eyes light up as he saunters over to her table, the only real point of interest left in the lobby. "Don't worry, the stuff's out back on the tennis court."

The well-trimmed gym cat turns on his heels, gesturing blankly at the empty main room. "And by 'the stuff', you mean 'the entire gym', right?"

I snort. At least I feel a little less like a dumbass now.

"Didn't either of you get the newsletter I sent out via e-mail about the renovations?" the stoat huffs in exasperation, her paws on her hips, wearing a very Marty-esque frown. Oh fuck, now every time I look at her I'm going to start seeing Marty. "Why'd you both act so surprised?"

"Who uses e-mail anymore?" Cliff deflects.

"I don't have a computer," I add. It's a weak excuse, since technically my phone is capable of e-mail, but like he said -- who uses e-mail anymore?

"Hm. Maybe we should switch to some kind of SMS list for announcements then?" she mumbles, scribbling a note down on her clipboard. "I wonder if the library computers could be set up for something like that..."

"So, what... no Neil today, man?" I ask, looking around warily for Cliff's intimidating other half.

I don't like my chances if I've got to run like hell from a lion. They're supposed to be fast, right? Or wait, is that cheetahs? Wait, shit. Is it specist to assume that they're all fast runners? Then again, these guys are in great shape, so they could probably manage a good sprint, whereas I spend most of my free time gobbling fast food...

"He'll be along any minute," Cliff replies. "Bank let everyone off early today, so I just told him to meet me here."

"The bank?"

"Yeah, I'm a teller at Zootopia First Financial." Loosening his tie, Cliff unzips his own gym bag and tosses it inside. "So what's up, big ram? Feels like it's been a while since I saw you last. How you been?"

"I'm hanging in there." I decide that's about as optimistic as I've got in me right now. "Trying to get on with life after everything, I guess."

He pauses halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, tilting his head at me. "Something happen?"

I glance over at Martina, who's staring at Cliff with half-lidded eyes and one of the corners of her mouth upturned. Feels a little heavy to get into right now, and I doubt, as preds, they'd know where I was coming from, so I decide to just keep the peace for now.

"Just a rough couple days, I guess." That much is true. "I'll be okay."

"All right then. Hope you're on the upswing," he shrugs, his paws in his pockets and gym bag forgotten in the corner. "So, what were you two cuties up to before I interrupted?"

"Well, we couldn't afford to hire painters, so I was taping the doors up to start painting, myself," Martina explains bashfully, motioning to a cardboard box full of supplies near her cooler, "I've given art classes at the library, by the way, so I know my way around a brush. But Remmy here offered to help, so..."

I glance down suddenly. Wait, I did? When-- how long have I been painting the gym?

"Uh, yeah, I got this," I mutter, only just now realizing I've already finished most of one of the lobby's walls. "You wanna pitch in, Cliff? It'd go faster with us both on it."

"...wait, are you serious?" he replies incredulously. "This place is huge! You guys are tiny! It'd take you days to paint it all -- of course I don't mind helping out. Heck, we could probably just dip Remmy in the paint and use him as a big ol' brush. Have the place knocked out in minutes."

"Hey. Some things you just don't joke about, man. You get any paint on my pompadour and I'm gonna be pissed," I warn, grinning.

"Oh, no! Both of you, really, there's really no need," Martina hastily insists.

I shake my head. "No trouble."

"You don't need to do all this, Remmy. You give to the gym every time you come in. Please."

"Well, that's different. This place is free to the public, and I've certainly gotten my fair share of use out of it already, so dropping a five here or there's the least I could do." I laugh, feeling a little on-the-spot. "But Packer's also introduced me to a lot of great mammals -- present company included -- and if it looks nicer, maybe other mammals'll visit. And that means more donations down the line. So really, everyone wins. So I mean, unless you actually want me to stop, I might as well keep painting and pay it forward."

"Yeah, Remmy's right! Packer's needs more traffic. We can get it done lots faster if we all work together." Cliff rolls his shoulder a couple of times, his joints popping. "Besides, there's just something magical about a fresh paint job. A nice clean slate, full of possibility."

Martina looks so happy she could cry. I can't blame her, it's a huge job -- especially for such a little stoat. I hardly expected to spend my night (morning? whatever) painting the gym instead of exercising at it, but I figure it's the least I can do.

"Well, um -- let's finish the lobby then!" Martina says, taking charge.

I nod, getting back to work. "I'm on it. I'm almost done on this wall. You wanna get the left one, Cliff?"

I'm rolling some more paint out, but the response I'm waiting for doesn't come.

"...Cliff?"

I turn to look over my shoulder to see both him and Martina standing at the table, glancing repeatedly between me and a fresh paint roller.

Martina marvels, tapping her chin. "Hmm! The resemblance is uncanny..."

The tiger nods in quiet awe. "I wonder if they're related."

"Yeah, real funny," I groan, fighting a chuckle as I swipe it from them -- only for my laughter to stop as I feel the rolling surface. "Wait, this thing isn't actually made out of wool, is it?"

 

I'm in the middle of thoroughly applying some more masking tape to the doorframes of the main gym when something heavy and warm taps gently on my shoulder. A paw. A lion's paw.

Oh, fuck.

"N-Neil!" I bleat out.

"Hey, Remmy! How are you?" he greets with a broad, razor-toothed grin. Too many teeth, too sharp. "Sorry I'm just gettin' here -- traffic was a nightmare."

I swallow heavily, letting my pulse slow back down to normal as I size him up. I'm trying to read his face for any of the warning signs -- and yet, he looks as pleasant and agreeable as ever. If anything, he's in a cheerful mood. In other words, a sharp fucking turn from the last time I saw him. Remembering back to the performance mauling I witnessed the night the Bellwether news broke, it's like he's a different mammal altogether.

But then again, everything's different now.

"I'm... good," I reply, fidgeting anxiously with the roll of tape in my hooves. "How about you? Everything... okay?"

"I'm great, yeah! Been kinda beside myself after this whole thing, but who isn't, right?" he jovially replies, lifting one of his broad arms to scratch at the back of his head. "I mean, man, hard to have a bad day compared to that night outside Pandora's, you know?"

"Yeah," Cliff adds, somberly. "We were both really shaken by it."

"Yeah, me an' Cliff spent the rest of the evening trying to put ourselves back together, like, emotionally. We just cuddled up and ate ice cream all night."

The tiger coughs. "You ate ice cream."

"Aw c'mon," Neil objects, chuckling. "You're tattling on me?"

Cliff sets his paint roller down, wiping sweat off his forehead and unintentionally leaving a broad white streak neither Martina nor myself feels like pointing out. "Hey, uh. Speaking of Pandora, anyone heard anything about her?"

"...not yet," I reply quietly. "The city's holding her and some of the other, um... victims. For evaluation."

Everyone sorta looks at their feet for a moment.

"Man."

"Yeah."

Neil throws off his jacket, and Martina watches from her table as he stretches in a purple and yellow tank top that reads Mane Event in block letters. "Well, on the bright side, at least she's in good hands and we don't have to worry about it happening to anyone else ever again."

"Yeah. Yeah, absolutely." I pick at a loose lock of wool on my arm, struggling to think of something to say.

"Hey. You okay, Remmy?" Neil asks warily. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Fuck it. I have to know.

"You, uh. You remember when the news broke about Bellwether?" I mumble, my voice low. "And, uh... everyone was partying outside the apartment-- the Crowns?"

"Yeah," he replies with a wistful smile. "Dude, that was like, the best night of my life. 'Course I remember."

His words are like a sharp slash to the gut -- both stinging and knocking the wind out of me all at once. Best night of his life, huh? I really wish I could say the same.

"Well, uh. I saw you out there, on the street," I continue, nudging the opened paint can across the floor with my heel. I can't even look at him. "And, uh... you guys had like, an effigy. A sheep effigy."

"...a what?"

"Like -- it looked like it was made out of a pillow, I guess... done up to look like me." I drag my hooves across my head, wringing the sweat loose from my skin and wool. "I mean, not me specifically, maybe, but it was... you know, it was sheep. My apartment was right overhead. I heard the noise outside, and, I saw you just -- fuckin' wreck that thing. Ripped it apart with your teeth. And I'm not gonna lie, it really... really fucking shook me, dude."

"Oh. Oh, shit. No, man -- no no no, no." Neil's stammering, his enthusiasm gone in an instant. "Oh my god, man, Remmy -- I am so sorry. That's, that's not -- I promise you, that's not what that was about."

"It wasn't?"

"No, of course not! Never! I didn't even know you lived there! Or -- well, I guess I did, because I know Avo lives there, and I think I knew that she said you guys were in the same building." He's almost frantic in his apology, both of his huge paws raised plaintively. "But I swear, it wasn't supposed to be 'sheep', it was her. It's like -- you know how it is when you're with the guys, right? Folks start talkin', and -- there was this dude, he ran outside with a pillow and he was like 'hey, look, it's Mayor Bellwether!' And we all kinda just... I dunno, man. She'd spent the last -- how many months? -- just fuckin' with us. Ruining our lives. We were all pretty charged and just, you know, happy. And angry. We were just fuckin' around with it."

Blinking, I stare dumbfounded. I can hardly believe it.

"I mean, I didn't even think about how that might look to somebody like you, but we had glasses on it and everything, so-- I mean, we did at the start, they mighta got knocked off. I was pretty drunk. I dunno man, we were all excited just -- just going nuts because of the good news, right? Everyone was shouting and laughing and we were havin' a good time, smackin' it around, and it got to me, and all I could think about was all that shit she kept saying about 'savage' predators, and what happened the other day, and -- and how I felt when I thought Cliff was -- uh, yeah. An' I shouted somethin' about showin' her what a savage predator looks like, and I just... sank my teeth into her. Uh, the pillow 'her', I mean." Running his paws nervously through his thick, unruly mane, Neil's muscles strain at the fabric of his shirt. "I mean, she was the one turning everyone savage. Everyone was excited, and it just... I was all in the moment."

Martina and Cliff stand wordlessly nearby, glancing awkwardly at each other as Neil wraps up his hurried, stumbling explanation.

"Well... when you put it that way, I get it," I murmur, thinking back to my visit to Bunnyburrow with Wolt when we went to deal with that pigheaded asshole, Rasher. "Some people are just so rotten, make you so mad, you gotta do something to blow off that anger."

"Exactly! You totally get me," he says with a growing smile. "I know those guys like the back of my paw and none of them would've done somethin' like that for real. Or even out of like, intimidation or whatever. I promise I wasn't tryin' to make you uncomfortable. Sorry about that, man. I didn't even think of the uh, the... you know how it'd..."

"The optics," Martina chimes in, helpfully.

Neil nods enthusiastically, pointing to her. "Yeah."

"No, dude, I... I believe you." And I'm relieved to find I even mean it. I don't know how to explain it, but it's like... I feel like this is the first time in days I've been able to breathe. "When you put it that way, it makes perfect sense. Hell, I wish I'd known. I almost would've laid into that backstabber, myself."

"So we're good then?" he asks.

"We're good," I reply, bumping his fist with my hoof. "And thanks, man. Really, thank you. You have... no idea what kind of a weight off my chest that is."

"Hey, right on. Don't want to scare off one of my newest customers anyway," he laughs. "Hey, speakin' of, tell you what: How about you an' me an' Cliff all hit up my truck after this and we have some tacos -- on the house! I got some fresh beer-battered cod -- you're gonna love it, dude. Mm. Melts in your mouth."

"Hey, that's awesome, I'm totally down! You'll have to make mine bug meat, though."

"Oh, changed your mind about fish after all?"

"Not at all -- I just... kinda promised myself I wouldn't have fish again until Pandora's back." I scratch the back of my head sheepishly. "She was the one who introduced me to it, after all. It... wouldn't feel right."

"Hey, respect, man," Cliff nods from the side. "Showing solidarity."

"Us preds gotta stick together," Neil adds.

"We all do," Cliff corrects, gesturing at me.

"Oh, no, Remmy included!" the lion guffaws. "This ram is an honorary predator, the way he goes at that meat."

I crack my neck, flexing dramatically. "I'll have you know, I'm actually part of a pack."

"No shit," Cliff marvels. "Well, spill, what pack?"

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if ours has a name. "Uh, Al's?"

"Great white Al?" he breathes, looking surprised.

"Hey, cool, same pack as Avo! Guess that makes sense, since you guys live in the same building. Oh, and Marty -- your brother," Neil nods to Martina.

I had no idea the Pack would get this kind of recognition even out here. Al's reputation must be even stronger than I expected for them to sound this impressed.

The tiger scratches his chest, deep in thought. "And uhhh... who else? Foxtrot."

"Ozzy!" Neil nearly shouts, clapping his paws together firmly. "Ozzy's in that pack!"

"Dude, he's gonna be stoked to have the court fixed up," I join in. "That alley court of his is great, but he always seems to do better with other mammals. He'd probably be happy for a chance to get into a bigger game."

"Yeah, good point." Cliff stoops to dip his paintbrush in one of the cans, being careful not to accidentally slosh paint all over the floor. "Maybe he can work on his pickup game."

"Granted his pickups are a little rusty," Neil chuckles.

I stare blankly, evidently not getting the joke. "What, is that why he doesn't have a girlfriend, or...? Everyone loves that guy, so I figured--"

The gym cats both stifle a laugh, and Neil exaggeratedly looks away, whistling.

"Yeahhh," Cliff drawls, looking over his claws, "Let's just say I don't think his mom's holding her breath waiting on him to bring home a nice girl any time soon."

"Cliff!" Neil elbows him in the side. "You're fuckin' terrible."

"Shut up," Cliff laughs, elbowing him back. Neil responds with a noogie.

The two muscle-shirted gym cats tussle playfully for a moment or two before eventually breaking off to get back to work. As I turn back to what I was doing, a tiny tap on my hip draws my attention. I glance over to see Martina standing patiently at my side.

"Remmy, I just want you to know," the little stoat begins quietly, "I think my brother might've been... mistaken about you. A little bit. I'll talk to him for you."

"Oh, uh," I rub my hooves together, shyly. "Well, anything that can help smooth things out would be nice. You really think he'll listen to you?"

She closes her eyes, filling her tiny frame with a deep breath before looking up at me with a confident smile.

"I've got a feeling he will."

"Hey, quick question," Neil interjects, turning away from the wall he and Cliff are working on, clutching a wet paint roller. "Anyone know when I picked this thing up?"

 

With white streaks on my shirt (no big loss, it's my workout shirt anyway) and a bug meat taco in hoof, I'm finally on my way home.

After we wrapped up work at the gym, Martina tagged along with us over to Neil's truck, and we ended up shooting the breeze together for a little while. While today was a lot of hard work, it's work I can be proud of. Cornerstone of the neighborhood like Packer's, a fresh coat of paint is the least it deserves. I feel like I made a difference for a change, and it'll be worth it just to see the look on everyone's faces when the place is done. We got almost half the gym painted, and we're coming back tomorrow for the rest. For now, I'm ready to get back to my room to finish off this taco and enjoy some peace and quiet.

As I make my way up to the apartment building, sitting on the front street steps of "the Crowns" is the towering Alpha wolf himself. Al takes up nearly the entire stoop, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and a stormy expression brewing below two stained white brows. He stares off towards the purple-orange skies in the distance, an opened can of beer in one paw, and doesn't even seem to acknowledge me as I approach.

I step past him without a word, but something stops me before I can make it inside. I slowly pull my hoof away from the lobby door's handle and step back to where he's sitting.

Standing next to him, it's amazing how much height he's got on me, even seated. His once-white fur's now gray in large, matted splotches and powdered concrete cakes his muzzle. His slacks are frayed all around the cuffs, crusted black from mud and maybe blood. No bandages this time, but I notice just under his A-shirt, he's got a heat pack on his back the size of my pillow. A few dozen possible conversation starters pop through my brain, but none of them seem right. Finally I just sit down beside him, watching as the sun begins its slow ascent over the distant downtown skyline.

There's something tired in him. More than just a long shift at work. I can't put my hoof on it. The hulking, stone-faced wolf sighs deeply, almost growling, and takes a short swig of his beer. Still, he says nothing to me.

"Long night?" I finally say.

He inhales sharply through his nose, but his expression doesn't falter, and his gaze doesn't move.

Well, what the hell. It was free, right? Easy come, easy go. Might as well pay it forward.

"Here," I offer, holding out the leftover taco. "Fresh from the food truck."

"No thanks," he mutters.

"C'mon," I insist, wiggling it at him, like that'll somehow make it more tempting. "Consider it an offering to the Alpha."

"I'm not hungry," he returns sharply. "Go give it to the idiot twins. They'll eat anything."

"Al."

"I said I'm not hungry."

I tap my hooves on my knees. A heavyset badger walks down the street with her kid.

After a moment, I turn to glance at Al with a smile. "Hey, you hear the one about the antelope barber and the sheep?"

"You can go inside," he rumbles.

"How about the bear who married a fox?"

Finally I get his attention, and he turns away from the sunrise. "You're startin' to piss me off, lambchop."

"Well, good," I shrug, making myself comfortable on the stoop. "Just part of being Omega."

The immense Alpha squints at me. "What was that?"

"Just the other day, I did some research," I muse, faking nonchalance. "Way back when, one of the roles of the Omega was to antagonize the rest of the pack."

"Sounds like you," he huffs, humorlessly, as he turns back to the horizon.

"I mean it. The Omega would sorta playfully poke at the others, make them chase him, start fights he knew he'd lose. He'd unite the others by getting them to rally against him, kinda like a willing punching bag."

Heavily, Al rolls his head back, scratching at the scruff of his broad, fluffy white neck. "That how you see yourself? A punching bag for the rest of us?"

"No, not really," I sniff, scratching my own neck in an unintentional mirror of his actions. "But, you know, I do think it helps everyone to vent, now and then. All the way up the chain."

He glances sideways at me, then returns to staring at the skyline. My casual bravado -- maybe just emotional momentum from Packer's -- is quickly wearing thin, and I tap the tips of my hooves together, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Look, I'm just sayin'. I know you gotta be there for everyone, but you got your own problems too, right?"

He rolls his eyes beneath his heavy brow, shaking his head. "Oh, fuck off."

I don't.

Instead, I just sit there with him for a while. A minute passes, maybe a few. I guess I could go up to my room. I guess I probably should. A few weeks ago I wouldn't be caught dead sitting out on the street with a wolf several times my size, let alone the one who once shook me down for my lunch. God, I remember that encounter so clearly, and yet somehow the memory doesn't feel real.

Wasn't even that long ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

I can't think of anything else to say, but somehow I don't feel ready to leave yet. There's something in the air, something that's still waiting.

I'm sitting there, wondering about this banged up old car with a family of otters in it that I've just seen circle the block for like, the third time, when Al finally speaks up.

"I was just a boy when I sat down to watch the news on TV. The kind of things I saw--" he pauses for a second, huge claws tensing. "And my old man, he said, 'don't look away, Al. You gotta be strong. You gotta be brave.'"

He breathes slowly, heavily, watching the rising sun, blinking. I squash the part of me that wants to tell him he'll ruin his eyesight.

"I was alive when the city was still debating TAME collars. The Byron Manifesto was released when I was a pup." The Alpha glares over his shoulder down at me, his eyes hard. "I could be wearin' a fuckin' shock collar right now. You have any idea how close we came? Do you even give a shit? Four votes. Four fuckin' votes."

I stare back, at a loss for words, and try to keep the dumbfounded look off my face. "I thought-- I thought it was more than that."

"They had a public council vote after those ex-TUSK whackjobs made the news. The only thing that stopped this city from going over the edge was a look at what was waiting down there. More things change, the more they stay the same. And it'll take more than a fresh coat of paint to cover up all the ugly shit."

He stares down at the scratched aluminum can, and his jaw moves like he's chewing his tongue -- like he's too pissed off to find the words right away. Then he throws his head back and finishes his beer, before crumpling the empty can in his fist, down to a tiny, mangled ball. He watches -- and I watch with him -- as the sun finally peeks out over the graffiti-covered overpass that crosses Pack Street, behind the twisting skyline, and the last bits of purple in the sky begin to make way for the warm, orange hues of morning.

 

"They used to call this place Happytown."

 

I glance up at Al, but he's still just watching the horizon. The name doesn't mean anything to me.

"Back when my old man lived here, that's what they called it. Back when preds were still just gettin' over being treated like shit -- that's when they changed the name. Everyone thought it was a bright new future." The great white wolf frowns deeply. "But people in this city got short fuckin' memories."

Finally, and with some effort, he stands. The Alpha dusts himself off and tosses the crumpled can into my lap, then turns for the lobby. I stare at the wrenched aluminum in my hooves, a thin red mark of blood on one of its jagged edges, and I get this weird pain in my stomach. I don't even know why, but something about it is making me really angry.

"Hey, Al."

He stops at the door, but doesn't look back. "What."

I bite my lip, take a breath through my nose. I feel like maybe I don't have the guts to finish this thought, but I sure as hell don't have the guts not to, now that I've said something. "The Pack knows you're here for them. But we're here for you, too. You don't gotta deal with everything by yourself."

The Alpha stands there with his back to me for a few long seconds, then sighs, and I can see him shaking his head. "Don't make me kick your ass, Omega."

And with that he walks off into the lobby, and I'm out here on the step by myself, with a crumpled beer can and a leftover taco.

I wonder if the twins are hungry.