The sun's coming up and my day's mostly over, but I'm still so keyed-up I could sprint all the way from my apartment to Packer's Gym and back without getting winded. My muscles are tensed, my hooves are clicking, and static electricity runs through my wool. I'm sweaty as all hell even though it's only sixty degrees outside.

I guess all this is my body's way of trying to come down from the high of officially quitting my job.

I've been dodging calls for weeks, but my pain-in-the-ass ex-boss finally got a hold of me this morning by calling the front desk of The Crowns directly. I damn near came unglued on him over the phone, but he was adamant that I come into work to take care of some "pressing matters" regarding my employment.

You know those scenes in a movie where you realize the hero's walking into an ambush? That's what this looked like. My boss was flanked by two company lawyers and a couple of higher-up suits, but the second they started talking I realized they were more afraid of me than I was of them. Sure, he didn't come right out and say it, but I think the cowardly bastard thought I'd try to sue the company over how he all-but-sacked me during the "Savage Crisis" because he knew I was eating meat and living with a bunch of predators. And I gotta say, having that sort of leverage on the dirtbag felt really fucking good. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the cherry on top, watching him squirm in his seat while everyone gathered breathed down his neck.

I ended up signing a bunch of legal-ese shit, but I walked out with a pretty nice "parting bonus" as well as a personal apology from my ex-boss. It wasn't exactly the huge settlement check that TV lawyers advertise, but I've got some breathing room for the next couple months, at least, to find a new job.

And yet, as I start the long walk home, I'm still so wound that I feel like punching a brick wall.

"Hey, Cormo. C'mere."

The familiar, rumbling voice calling out to me over the traffic shakes me from my thoughts. I look up to see Al standing at a sidewalk food stand just down the street. Guess the great white wolf must've just gotten off work, since he's dressed in a grimy long-sleeved tee and jeans, with a foil-wrapped foot-long hot-bug in one of his cement-caked paws and a fountain drink in the other.

"Al," I reply, nodding my head up at him. "What's up?"

A rough smile crosses his face. "You don't gotta show your neck, Remmy. We're good. This is a friendly visit."

I stop for a second, looking down at myself. I didn't even mean to. "So what are you doing out here? A long way from your job site, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I heard you were gonna be dealin' with your boss." He nods, taking a slow sip from his drink. "If you want, I could go in, exchange some words with him."

"What, seriously?" I'm left speechless at the thought of the Alpha throwing his weight in for me, but I wave him off. "Nah, that's -- I mean, I appreciate it, but I think I've got it handled."

He accepts my response without prying. "Arright. Well, since I'm here anyway, lemme give you a ride home."

"Yeah, thanks." Another bus wouldn't be by for a while, and I really didn't want to have to make that walk all the way back. "Charlie knew I'd be here, huh? Always keeping tabs."

"She said you told her you were comin' out."

"Oh. Right." Yeah. I guess I did.

He scratches the side of his neck awkwardly with the bottom of his cardboard drink cup. He seems serious as ever tonight. Looks like he's deep in thought.

"Right. Well, why don't you grab a bite and join me. Leo, this is the carnivore. Hook him up with the special."

"Hey, you got it, chief," the vendor -- a tall, slender, sleepy-eyed feline replies pleasantly.

I hadn't even thought about eating, but a hot-bug does sound good right about now, and this guy seems to be a friend of Al's. I try to pass a five to the vendor but he assures me it's been paid for, and less than a minute later I find myself holding a huge, fully-loaded hot-bug and a large cup full of ice-cold root beer.

Al motions for me to follow to his car, so I guess this one's to-go.

Last time I was in this car, I was driving. Ozzy was with me, and we were scanning the city for Charlie. Then there was the time where I went off with Wolt to Bunnyburrow. You know, now that I think about it, this is my first time actually sitting in Al's car with Al himself. Huh.

"So, uh, he seemed nice," I offer after a moment. "The hot-bug guy, I mean."

"He's a good guy, yeah," Al replies, peeling the foil wrapper back on his food, which I take as a cue to do the same. "Used to be part of the Pack. Long time ago."

We chew our hot-bugs in silence for a couple of minutes, and then he decides that's enough time for the icebreaker.

"Look, I don't know what this shit is going on between you'n Anneke, but you need to settle it."

"Yeah, that makes two of us!" I mutter, taking a pull off my root beer and wincing a little at the carbonation. "Mmgh. I don't know what her deal is."

"Remmy."

I turn my gaze to look up at him, but despite the sincerity -- severity? -- in his tone, he doesn't look angry. Instead, it's more like... concern. He seems troubled.

"I mean it." He exhales heavily through his nose, his breath fogging up the windshield of the car. "I'm askin' you to sort this shit out."

I start to interrupt him, but quickly catch myself once I realize he has more he wants to say.

"Betty told me that whatever this is, is causin' problems for the twins at home. And those two ain't the type to fight over personal disagreements." He flicks the straw of his drink cup idly with his thumb. "This bad blood between you an' Annie's poison. An' poison spreads."

Sighing, I turn my focus to look out the window, watching the passersby making their way up and down the sidewalk.

"Mmgh. Look, I know she's pissed off, but whatever this is about, it's on her, not me," I answer. "So tell her that."

He furrows his brow and sighs. "I did. And she told me to tell you, and so here we are."

I shrug. "Maybe she just needs some more time to cool off. It's been bugging me too. I can't even hang around some places when she's there."

"I don't want to lose a member of the Pack over this. Sort it out. Please."

Losing a member-- he thinks it's that serious? That I'd just up and bolt? I mean, I know she's still pissed over the whole thing with Bellwether, and that's kind of to be expected. The conspirators were sheep, I'm a sheep, so I at least understand the guilt by association. I figured she just needs time to work through it all and then we'll be back to normal, but it's been over a week.

"You're the Alpha," I finally manage. "Why don't you just, you know, do the Pack leader thing, if it's such a big deal?"

"I can't just tell you two how to feel about each other. This is one'a those things I can't do anythin' about myself. I wish it was, but it ain't."

Drumming my hooftips on the dash, I nod.

"Fine. I'll talk to her and see what's up," I offer. "Go clear the air, I guess."

"Mm. Then unless you got other business here, let's get back to the Crowns." Al turns the key in the ignition, and the old car roars to life. "I hope I can count on you, Cormo."

I pinch my muzzle and set my half-empty cup in the console's holder.

"I'll get it taken care of."

"Good."

 

"Hey, speakin' of," I tap on the window with my knuckle.

As he stops the car in front of the Crowns, he glances out the driver's side window at where I'm pointing. Betty's seated on the stoop of the apartment next to ours, the towering black wolfess puffing a lit smoke hanging from her muzzle. Not an unusual sight -- but the small aardwolf chatting away next to her with a matching cigarette sure is.

"I didn't know Anneke smoked," I mumble, scratching the side of my head.

To my surprise, Al seems just as confused. "Me neither."

As Al pulls up to the front of the Crowns, I motion for him to let me out before he goes to park.

He glances over, an unusually patient look on his face. "You okay to handle this right now?"

"Better rip the bandage off now," I shrug.

Reluctantly, I climb out, brush myself off, and slowly make my way up to the neighboring steps. The sooner I clear this misunderstanding up, the better. Not just for Al, but for me and Anneke, too. Besides, after dealing with my former boss earlier, I'm pretty much prepared for anything right now.

Betty's the first to notice me approach. She stubs out her cigarette and stands up abruptly, nodding to me. Anneke pauses mid-sentence, turns, sees me, and instantly her entire body language flips from giddy to fuming like the flick of a switch.

"Hey hey hey, no, Betty." She flags down her departing friend. "C'mon, you don't have to go."

It doesn't work. "Uh-uh. Sorry, Annie. We'll catch up later," Betty replies.

The aardwolf growls in frustration as the door closes. She stands, fur bristling, and I'm half-expecting her to just storm right past me.

I raise my hooves in surrender, keeping a respectful distance.

"Hey, Annie," I begin, glancing sideways to Betty -- who nods back to me before opening the apartment door and stepping inside to give the two of us some space. "Can we, uh... can we talk for a sec?"

She scowls, and rather than replying, takes a heavy pull off the cigarette in her mouth, exhaling as I walk up the steps. Her eyes are red, and she looks like she's fighting the urge to cough. I guess she didn't know she smoked either.

"Listen. I get that, y'know, that you're frustrated..."

"That's a fuckin' understatement," she interrupts, her voice almost like a hiss.

I just kind of nod. I want to come across sympathetic here. It's important to me that she knows I'm not here to lecture her, that I'm on her side. I've always been on her side. I politely wait a few seconds to see if she wants to say anything else, but she just kind of glares back incredulously and makes a weird half-waving gesture at me. Which I take as an invitation -- well, it's more like a demand -- to continue.

"But I know that all this -- that you're not angry at me personally, that this is really about--"

Annie's eyes go wide and her muzzle opens up, and my words die on my tongue. For the briefest moment I'm half expecting her to just kind of scream in my face. It's the sort of face you'd make if you stepped on a fishhook or something and were halfway through realizing you were in pain. She bursts out into laughter -- but it's not humorous, not an amused laugh. It's angry and vicious, mean-spirited, like she's trying to pack as much animosity into it as she can.

"Are you fucking me right now?!" she yaps, tossing the cigarette on the concrete and bounding down the steps two at a time until she's right in my face. "You think I'm not pissed at you?! You're the entire fucking problem, you tone-deaf fuck!"

I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't this. I want to open my mouth but she's got all the forward momentum right now.

"You're ground fucking zero -- right here! Of course it's you! It's always you!"

"How-- what did I do?" I finally manage to croak out.

"Fucking exactly!!" Her breaths are coming heavy and ragged, her fists clenched and shaking at her sides. "You unaware little prick! Open your fucking eyes and maybe you'll see what you are!"

"Wh-- Are you seriously blaming me for what Bellwether did?!" I can't believe I'm hearing this. She thinks I was fucking complicit?! "You think because I'm a sheep, that I'm just okay with what happened?! That I had something to do with her?"

"No, you idiot! This isn't about Bellwether! This is about what specist little fucks like you did the second she gave you carte blanche!"

I blink, feeling like I'm caught in headlights. "...what?"

"This city's fucking sick, and mammals like you? You're the fucking disease!" She growls, the fur of her whole body fluffed up in agitation, and she paces around the sidewalk in front of me. "All those anti-pred demonstrations? The protests? The new laws they tried to pass? Talk of re-segregating the line? Hell, I heard a fucking talk show host bring up 'Happytown'! In my fucking lifetime?!"

She twirls, storming up to me, and gets right in my face. I almost think she's gonna throttle me, but it's all I can do to stare. I sure can't find the words.

"Y'know there's this bunny -- older guy, I used to live down the street from him, when I was a little kid? I saw him on TV not even a month ago, holding a big sign for the camera that said 'Better Dead than Pred'. Same fucking guy. I trick-or-treated at his fucking house!"

"Annie--"

"How are mammals supposed to look their friends, neighbors, their-- their fucking teachers, leaders in the eye ever again when they spent months calling us monsters? Abominations, freaks, savages?" Tears swell in her eyes, and her teeth chatter in rage. "Everyone wants to-- t-to pretend we can all just go back to normal? Well I've seen Zootopia's true face. And now we're supposed to act like it never happened, just because they put the mask back on?!"

I answer quietly, searching for an appeal to common sense. "Bellwether had everyone convinced there was a threat."

But she won't have it. "No. No, Remmy, this much hate doesn't just crop up overnight, from outta nowhere. It was always there -- just under the surface. Waiting for the first excuse to come out. These mammals played their hand. They let us know exactly what they are."

She reaches for something -- her cigarette, I think -- only to realize with an angry huff that she's already discarded it. Instead, she turns back to me, and I see the fire in her eyes has been replaced with something else. It's a deep, tearful sadness. She's crying in rivers, and something wrenches my heart.

"Ozzy," she sniffs. "Ozzy got jumped."

I don't think I heard her right. "...What?"

"About a month before you moved in." She keeps raising her paw to gesture, but dropping it partway, like she doesn't have the energy to follow it through. "He was out playing and I guess one of those protests was happening nearby, and a bunch of prey fucks came by and just -- kicked the shit out of him. Ozzy never did nothing to nobody."

"What was he singing?"

Her jaw goes slack, even as tears continue to pour from her eyes.

"Fuck does it matter what he was singing?" she snaps, furious and incredulous all at once. "Could'a been singing 'fuck all your mothers', doesn't give 'em the fucking right!"

I put my hooves up in defense. "No, I-- Anneke, you know me, I didn't mean anything like that, I was just curious!"

She turns away, silent, and I find the time to finally take a breath and steady myself.

"Anneke," I shake my head. "That's-- I mean, even if everything you said is true, and that's terrible, I had nothing to do with any of that. You can't take all that out on me."

"You're the perfect example. The face of this shit. You bought that fucking narrative real fast, didn't you," she mutters darkly, her back still to me.

"Folks were scared. I was scared!"

"I know you were!" She barks back, immediately, and all her pissed-off energy returns as she spins to face me. "Everything you fuckin' did showed how scared you were of us! You fucking flinched every time someone got near you! I saw how you'd stare at our teeth, cover your neck, hurry away. Treated us like timebombs! Oh, Remmy was scared! Well guess what? I was scared too! Everyone was fucking scared!"

I feel like I'm being backed into a corner here. "You can't blame me for buying into the fear! You guys believed it, too! What was I supposed to do?"

"You could've stood with us! Even if it was real, and some -- what, how many people in the city? 0.01% of mammals going savage? -- you could've had some empathy. When your friend's sick, do you try to help them? Take care of them, even if it means you could get sick too? Or do you just keep your distance and hope they go away?"

"That's--" I choke, waving my hooves. "That's not a fair analogy, Anneke, and you know it!"

"Yeah? How about our 'date', huh? How about that fuckin' shitshow?! I felt like I was losing my fucking mind, and I'm pouring my heart out to you and all you could do is wonder whether or not you could take one of us if we turned?!" She paces up and down the steps, never once taking her eyes off of me as she moves from side-to-side. "While we were all suffering, the only thing you could think of was you! 'How does this affect Remmy Cormo?'"

I'm fucking stunned. It's like she's yanked the carpet out from under my feet, and then rolled it up and clubbed me with it. Forget the whole deal with my boss, this was the real ambush. Swallowing, I grip the concrete outcrop of the stoop for balance, tracking her frantic form with my eyes.

"Fuck's sake, you called Pandora 'one of the good ones'," she breathes to herself in disbelief, her paw to her forehead.

"Why didn't you say something before, if this is how you felt?"

"What fuckin' good would it have done, huh? Like you said, you bastards had us believing it! Every time we got slapped in the face we got told 'you deserved this'. And 'don't make waves'."

My hoof tightens on the stoop and the words flow out of my mouth faster than I can really even think.

"I'm sorry."

She stops cold, her head swiveling to lock onto my face.

"You what."

"I'm sorry," I repeat quietly. "Annie, I didn't know. I had no idea that this is what you were going through. I'm so sorry."

"Yes you did," she comments, quivering lips twisting into a trembling, insincere smile. "You knew because I fucking told you."

"Look," I steady my breathing, and try for the little window I have. It's not so much a defense, more an explanation. "A lot happened. These were special circumstances. The whole city was lied to. I know that you're angry, but do you really think I'm that kind of mammal?"

Her paw's on the door to Betty's building, already heading inside, but she pauses to look at me first.

"I don't care what Al says," she sniffs, soberly. "Remmy Cormo, I don't ever want to see you again."

 

My ears are ringing. I have this weird, hard-to-describe feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's one I haven't felt in a while; not since the night I unloaded on everyone in the middle of the lobby. My hooves are cramping -- I look down and realize they're balled up so tight that my hooftips are digging into my palms. It takes me several seconds just to unclutch them.

I try to breathe deeply to calm myself down, but it sounds more like a crazed snort than anything else. I'm grinding my teeth and my heart feels like it's gonna beat right outta my chest. I think I better go lay down before I headbutt something -- or someone -- right into next fuckin' week.

Shoving through the entrance into the lobby, I see that while it's quiet tonight, it's not empty. Al's sitting on the couch with a magazine in his paws, and Ozzy's tuning his guitar in the corner of the room. The hyena looks up at me, pauses mid-strum, and quickly slips off in the direction of his room. I don't really blame him -- I wouldn't want to be around me right now either.

I storm towards the stairs, but this time I don't even make it to the staircase before I hear Al.

"Remmy," he murmurs low, folding his magazine and standing up from the couch. "Hold on a sec."

"...This is getting to be a thing between us, isn't it." I meant it as a joke, but it comes off way harder than I meant. I can't win for losing tonight.

Al sighs, walking over to me.

"How'd it go?" he asks plainly.

"How do you think--"

I cut myself off from saying something too harsh, but Al doesn't look insulted. Just... sad. Quiet. He lowers his head, nodding, and thumbs his claw over his nose.

"Not good," he finishes for me.

"Yeah," I return more gently, but no less upset. "Pretty sure she wants to kick my ass."

He nods patiently, and there's something in him that seems sympathetic. He puts his paw on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. I just sort of stand here while he does, trembling. I'm a fucking whirlwind right now. I can't decide whether I want to cry, or scream my head off, or just pick the coffee table up and throw it so hard against the ceiling that it gets embedded in Avo's floorboards.

After a minute, I finally gather enough of my wits to look him in the eye.

"...There's something else?" I sniff, rubbing my nose.

"It can wait," Al says dismissively. "Get some rest."

"No, you got somethin' to say," I return through clenched teeth. "You don't gotta play games, Al. I've already gotten it today from Anneke, so you might as well--"

He shakes his head calmly. "An' I'm tellin' you now, never you mind. It'll wait."

"Why?!"

"Because you ain't in a place to hear it, Remmy," he returns, a little more sternly. "Not now, not yet. You're itchin' for a fight and you're mad as hell."

My gut instinct is to tell him off, but that'd just be proving him right. So biting my lip, I just kind of nod dumbly, and he lets me go. I slowly make my way past him and up the creaky staircase on my way to my apartment.

 

I'm stomping circles around my room. Haven't even tried lying down. Even though it's probably what I need more than anything, there's no way in hell I'm going to sleep right now. Not after Anneke.

I can't remember the last time I felt this torn up. I don't know if I'm mad because she's wrong or mad because she's right. Well, no, it sure isn't just one or the other. A whole goddamn lot got said, and my brain's doing cartwheels trying to sort out what made me mad, what made me hurt, and what made me confused. She had some points. But so did I. I wasn't totally wrong.

But I didn't even think about what it must be like, being told to go back to normal and knowing the people around you hate your guts just for being you. Fuck, I saw that shit in my boss's own face today. The Savage Hoax might've made it worse, but like she said, that shit was already inside him somewhere. I'd be mad too. But it's not like I started this, right?

But maybe that's me just thinking about Remmy Cormo again.

I can't fuckin' untangle this. It's too much to think about.

Some part of me wonders if I'd have done better to stay in and comfort Charlie after Pandora's incident, instead of taking Anneke out for our date. Maybe Annie would have understood, hell, maybe she'd have thought better of me if I had. Maybe I should've taken them both out for the night. Even if it was just to someplace like Bug Burga. There's no way things could've gone any worse than they did.

I mean, Annie's burning herself to cinders right now and as far as she's concerned, I am the problem! I don't even know if she'll ever give me the time of day again, and I gotta live with that awkwardness, with her being right outside my apartment. I get to fuckin' own that now.

It's scary that Neil going ballistic on that fuckin' pillow doesn't seem so unreasonable anymore. Now, I think I'd be right there with him! I mean, if Bellwether or her goons were anywhere near me, I'd put their asses in the fuckin' ground!!

I pull the whistle Al gave me from its strap around my neck in anger and slam it down on my TV stand a little too hard. The screen wobbles, but while I stoop down to check for damage, the whistle rolls off and across the floor. Shit, the whole apartment is probably off-level. I walk after it and it keeps rolling. Just one more fucking thing to get under my skin tonight.

It keeps rolling straight into the bathroom, where it finally comes to a stop by hitting one of the baseboard tiles hard enough to knock it loose. Fantastic. I get down on my hooves and knees, checking the popped tile. It opens right into the wall, looks like.

...There's something in there.

I reach into the rectangular recess without thinking, and a second later, pull out a strange little box.

Caked in a thin layer of dust and grime is a small, worn case with a handle -- kind of like a toolbox, but smaller, narrower, and a little more flat. Upon closer look, it could be the case for a musical instrument, like for a trumpet or... oh, what do they call those really fancy flutes? A recorder, I think? I can't think of much else that would fit in here. Even a violin would be way too big.

All my frustration takes a quick backseat to my growing curiosity, and I carefully carry the mystery box over to my kitchen table. I grab a couple paper towels and wipe the grit off of it as best as I can so that I don't make more of a mess, and on the lid, there's a painted-on mark. It just says "K".

And all of a sudden I realize what this is.

 

This is Kenny's stash.

 

I've heard about him on and off. I know he used to live in this apartment, before me. I think he went to jail? And I remember at the block party -- god, that must've been over a month ago, now -- Ozzy asked me to bring him Kenny's "stash" if I ever found it.

Well, looks like I just did. Fuck, I didn't think he was being serious! I didn't think it was real!

I don't need this. Not now, of all times. I really don't need to fuck with drugs right now, I can't have the cops coming at me on top of everything. If I bring these to Ozzy, does that make me an accomplice or something? No. No way, man. No no no. I'm flushing this. Or burying it. Or throwing it out in the dumpster at least. Where can I put this?

My eyes trace the edge, where a little combination lock on the front is set to straight zeroes. On a whim, I press the button on the lock, and it immediately pops loose.

Shit.

I shouldn't. I really can't. The less I know about this, the better. Plausible deniability, and all that.

But on the other hand, what's one quick peek going to do? Not like anybody's gonna know. And at least I'll know what I'm dealing with.

With trembling hooves I reach out and slowly flip back the lid.

Whatever the case was originally designed to hold, it's now packed to near-bursting with... actually, I'm not sure what all this stuff is.

On the top of the pile is a deck of well-used playing cards, held together with a dried-out rubber band. The faces of each card feature a picture of a different pinup girl along with the rank and suit, while the cardbacks all share the Pandora's Box store logo.

Loosely tucked between the pages of a (long-overdue) paperback novel is a bright, folded-up piece of orange paper. I pull it loose and give it a quick skim; looks like it's for the grand opening of Clippership's Grooming, with the words 'now hiring friendly faces' circled in pencil.

And-- shit, I knew it. There's drugs after all. Under the book is a plastic zipper-seal sandwich baggie full of... rocks? No, they're literally just rocks. Really smooth, like ones you'd find in a river maybe? Written in faded marker on the front of the bag is the message "Don't give up! We'll make a skipper out of you yet!"

Little by little I'm sorting out the contents, clearing out the box and placing all the weird objects on the table in neat piles. I can't quite piece them together, and my curiosity's only drawing me deeper. Nothing else exists right now except me and this box.

In a side compartment are several guitar picks in varying condition -- most seem okay, but a couple appear to have bite marks in the plastic...? Predator teeth for sure. Wonder if Kenny played with Ozzy? The picks are laying on top of a refillable metal cigarette lighter. Seems brand new, unlike most of this stuff, including the beat-up portable video game player underneath it.

This thing looks like it's been attacked by a bear. The screen's scratched, the case is cracked, and the batteries are so corroded that they look like they exploded. The game cartridge (which is just about the only intact part of it) looks like it's called Nightmare Raid. Never heard of it. Based on the shadowy figures on the label's art, I'm guessing it's some sort of stealth game, maybe? Wonder if it still works.

Wedged into the loose fabric of the box's lining is a paper crown, one of the novelty kiddie meal prizes from Bug Burga. Looks just like the kind I got for Annie and Wolt. A stray strand of black fur hangs from it, and someone wrote "Queen Bitch" on the front flap with a crayon. Hoo boy. I bet there's a story there.

...Of course, now that think about it, there's gotta be a story attached to a lot of this stuff. It's not like a junk drawer where you stash tape or push pins or tools or whatever. I mean, none of these items have much practical use. Which I would guess makes these mostly personal mementos. I guess the right thing to do would be to leave them to Kenny's own privacy, but I'm kidding myself if I think I can stop now.

Fascinated, I dig deeper at what remains. A couple of packets of spicy 'Bug-B-Q' sauce from Bug Burga... man, didn't they discontinue that shit years ago? A pair of black sunglasses -- obviously a knockoff of a name brand. A pair of broken chopsticks with something rubbery stuck to them. A few creased business cards for a local dentist -- who, worryingly, also claims to 'dabble in doctor work on the side'? And here's a crappy keychain made out of red plastic and shaped like a... I guess it's a bunny? Looks like you can wear it on your finger. Reminds me of those cheap prizes you get at arcades and school fairs.

There's a few other odds and ends in here, and I dutifully pile them out onto the table in turn -- some old coins, an ink pen from a hotel, a makeup brush, and a... okay, I guess a lipstick-smeared cigarette butt stands out a little. Still, it's looking like the box is just about empty, and the last item lining its bottom is a small manila envelope tied shut with string.

I raise an eyebrow as I pull it out and turn it over in my hooves. The extra layer kinda looks like it may have been something the previous owner wanted to keep private. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it. For a moment, I hesitate -- considering just packing everything back up and reporting it to the building's lost and found.

Buuuuuut fuck that. I've come this far, and it's too damn interesting to stop now!

I slowly unwind the twine, then open the envelope and shake its contents loose onto the table next to everything else.

Holy shit. Holy SHIT. It's a stack of photos taken with an instant camera -- and the very first picture is of a very, very familiar black-furred wolfess at the beach -- and she's wearing almost nothing but said black fur. I nearly choke on my own spit as I hold the racy photo of Betty up to the light, staring bug-eyed at it.

Holy SHIT.

She's barely dressed -- just a thin two-piece bathing suit, in a kinda garish red. And damn if she isn't in an incredibly suggestive pose. She's sprawled across a towel on the sand. Her top's visibly untied, head's turned ever so slightly away from the camera, her eyes are half-lidded, and she's got a weird smile I've never seen her wear, like she's a mix of shy and playful. Everything from her pose to her expression is provocative, and that look in her eyes is so piercing it feels like she can see me through the photo. Goddamn, this is a loaded image.

My mouth is watering, and my cheeks -- no, scratch that, my whole face is burning. Suddenly it's obvious why this was hidden away.

After several long minutes of scrutinizing every square inch of it, I finally -- gently -- place the photo aside and begin slowly looking through the other ones. Don't tell me there's more. I wonder if there's any of the others, too?

To my surprise, there are -- but nothing quite like that first one. I recognize just about everybody in these pictures. There's one of Martina with a little smock and a paintbrush in her paws, decorating what looks like one of the posters at the library. And here's one with Annie and Wolt at what looks like a block party, each of them grinning and holding a plate of chips and burga sliders, just like the one Al grilled for me. I notice a handful of prey in this one, but to my displeasure, I soon recognize the familiar pig with the facial scar in the background. That'd be Rasher, Anneke's ex. Guess this might've been taken when they were still together.

Photo after photo in this box, and it's almost all of my neighbors and friends. Ozzy busking and singing a duet with Charlie. A nighttime shot of Al at work, a stack of rebar slung over his shoulders as prey species work around him. Different work uniform, though. Could be a different gig. There's Velvet and Betty in tacky holiday sweaters sipping mugs of hot chocolate. That one brings a smile to my face. There's even a photo of Rex in casual clothes, seated in a barber chair with a big old grin.

And then there's a picture of a large group, gathered on the steps out front of the Crowns, right outside this very building. Seems it wasn't taken too long ago.

Charlie took this one, I think, given she's closest to the camera and is taking up much of the right side of the picture. The whole pack is here, from Al acting tough and Anneke flashing a peace sign to Marty and Avo both looking like they're too cool to care about the photo.

But right there in the middle, next to where Betty's got Wolt in a headlock, and with Ozzy's arm around his shoulder, is someone I've never seen before.

Another prey, like in the party photo. A llama. Friend of Ozzy's maybe? Out of towner? Someone Kenny knew? Tall, thin, wearing a biker's jacket and a pair of jet-black sunglasses. Pale off-white wool pulled up into a puffy greaser's quiff style. He's got his hooves thrust in his pockets and smiles coolly for the photo.

I turn the picture over in my hooftips, my head tilted, trying to figure out who the hell this guy even is. He seems weirdly familiar, and yet I've never seen him around here anywhere. Or heard any of the Pack talk about him. I mean, I think I'd remember if they'd mentioned a llama.

Rubbing my muzzle, I reach back over to the rest of the stuff from the stash on the table--

And bump into the sunglasses.

The same sunglasses as in the photo.

I stare at the llama in the shot for a long moment, and my jaw just kinda hangs slack.

 

"Fuck me," I quietly curse under my breath as realization hits me like a sledgehammer. "You're Kenny?"

 

My head's spinning and I collapse back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Ever since I first heard Kenny mentioned, I figured he was -- fuck, I don't know what I figured. Another wolf, I guess? I don't know. Just that he was some druggie who had some dope pigeonholed away in my apartment. I knew he was an ex-Packmate, I just sure as fuck never thought he was a prey species!

God damn. My mind's racing, trying to piece this in with everything I knew. Thought I knew.

My hooves move on their own, and I begin flipping through the stack of pictures anew, this time looking to see if there are any more of Kenny in them. Sure enough, in one of the previous photos, I spot a hoof that looks just like his, holding the posterboard that Martina's painting on. His reflection's also visible in the mirror behind Rex at the barber shop, and I can see he's wearing a Clippership's uniform. There's even one I missed, stuck to the back of the picture of Al. Looks like a New Year's party, and there's that greaser-looking llama giving (a very drunk) Anneke a piggyback ride while she waves a pair of sparklers around.

My head's swimming. All this time, there was another prey in the Pack before me. And it looks like they were close, too, judging by some of these pictures. Not to mention all the other stuff in the box, too. I can't even process them all. Was the lighter a gift from Betty -- or maybe a gift for her?

Man, no wonder Ozzy was curious to know if I'd found the "stash". It was never about drugs or some quick-fix.

He was after the memories in here the whole time.

I glance at the clock. It's getting late, but I have one last errand to take care of before I can finally let myself get some rest. Slowly, I begin returning everything to the box, one piece at a time, taking care to make sure everything's layered in gently so that it doesn't get damaged. What an unexpected topper for an already emotionally overwhelming day. I'm not even sure sleep would do anything at this point -- I feel like I need to spend a week in a sensory deprivation tank.

Just one thing first.

 

After a few seconds, the door opens and a familiar, sleepy-looking face pokes out.

"Oh. Hey, uh. You all right, man?"

The shaggy hyena in front of me scratches his neck uncomfortably, eyeing me up and down. I'm sure after the day I've had, I look like a fucking mess. But hey, I gave him my word.

I clear my throat, holding out the old box. "I think I got something for you, Ozzy."