Nick Wilde

The water from the faucet is always ice-cold, and my fur prickles when I splash some on my face. Gazing into the mirror, I gingerly touch my cheek. The swelling has gone down quite a bit, but the flesh still feels raw.

Prison hasn't been all that bad, actually. With Chester being his chipper old self around me it's kinda hard to get too deep into an emotional slump. Unfortunately his company is more dependent on him coming to me rather than the other way around. When you look for him you don't know if he's gonna be relaxing, doing an improv routine, or stuck in a corner with another mammal or three filling the air with grunts and squelching noises.

Though even when he's unavailable, Gary and Larry are keeping watch over me. I feel at least kinda-sorta safe from getting shanked in the company of these two dum-dumbs. Aside from being approached by Duke that first day no one's tried to harass me, though I have seen others looking at me as if they want to. After all, some of these jokers I'd helped put away. Others I've cheated or otherwise screwed over before I went straight. Even without Savage hell-bent on seeing me dead, I have plenty of other enemies in here.

Prison is a completely alien world compared to civilization on the outside. It's this uncertain limbo of tense hostilities, of fragile and unspoken truces. Say one word wrong and you might set a guy off. A misplaced joke that I'd meant to lighten the mood might start a fight. For a guy who'd once banked on mammals being predictable to be able to hustle 'em, I have no idea how to cope here.

Dad had said he'd "take care of everything." I hope he isn't trying to engineer a breakout... that prospect had left me awake in terror all night. I'd rolled around on my rickety bed wondering if I'd have to make some insane dash after a dramatic action film explosion that blew out one of the walls.

Worst of all no one had called. Not Judy, not even to interrogate me further. Or Mom, to check if I was all right. Hell, had they even informed her about what was going on? Finnick should've popped in at least to say hi to his old buddy now that he was in the slammer.

But then again... that'd all probably make me feel worse. No way in hell did I want any friends seeing me in prison orange.

Just as I was thinking that though, one of the guards bangs his nightstick against my cell door.

"Wilde, you've got a visitor," he says.

I gulp when I see the two ZIA Agents with their indoor sunglasses and black suits standing next to him.

"H-hey..." I stutter, "You guys already questioned me. You know I'm not gonna talk. What's this about?"

"Come with us, Wilde," Agent Bearington says with typical ZIA deflection. His eyes are cold as he stares down at me.

My mind, already frazzled by everything that's happened, starts to search for the worst possibilities. Are they gonna execute me? I haven't even had a trial yet!

With my paws cuffed in front of me I follow my escort. By now everyone here knows that Nick Wilde is in prison... the sellout fox who'd gone cop the moment he made nice with the right mammals. They're rattling the bars now, jeering at me as I'm led through the gauntlet of wild convicts. Paws reach out towards me, making obscene gestures as they call me all sorts of horrible names or, even worse, tell me how shiny my coat is.

I really am too pretty and heterosexual for prison.

They lead me to one of the interview rooms... not the cold concrete interrogation chambers where perps are questioned. This one here's got carpeting and some basic motel-worthy furniture. Some minimal comforts to help ensure that the inmate is at least somewhat relaxed when he's talking to his lawyer.

But I hadn't asked for legal representation. I hadn't asked for anyone. So who could...

Two more ZIA Agents flank the door, each with a shotgun ready. My stomach does a little flip-flop when I see Judy there, this little gray rabbit with her violet eyes. She isn't angry or upset now. Instead she's just wearing a nervous smile as she looks at me.

Sitting behind the table with his paws cuffed together is my father.

"Judy?" I choke out in shock. "Dad?!"

"Hey, Jellybean," Dad says with a sad little smile. All that coldness I'd seen in him before is gone. His mood's thawed completely, and instead there's this warmth in his tone and in his gaze that reminds me of the father I'd known twenty years ago. "We did it, son."

I stand there, stunned as Judy takes a careful step towards me. She places her paw on mine.

"He... told me what happened, Nick..." she says slowly. "I've talked to everyone. The Mayor, Chief Bogo, Director Seraphine. The District Attorney, too. Mr. Vash is back in office, and he's very sympathetic to what happened to you. Especially since the Sanguinis also tried to recruit him."

"So... so you know everything then?" I gulp.

"Yeah..." she says, scratching the side of her head. "That you had to make it look like you were the one who did all those awful things. All so your dad could use that as cover while he searched for the mole. That you had to stay quiet about the bunnies in the auction even when you were trying to find a way to save 'em."

"Carrots, I swear..." I say, my voice raw with desperation. "Please, you have to believe me. I wanted to tell you about it so badly. But if Rufinius knew I was trying to track his clients he would've warned them. They might've shipped those bunnies off somewhere we'd never find. Or even killed them to get rid of the evidence."

"I know, Nick..." she says, cupping my cheek. "But... please tell me you know who they are."

"Every guest at the Carnivale were wearing masks. They'd dyed their fur, spoke in accents that were just slightly off to make sure no one knew who they were... but I found a way..."

I sat at the table overlooking the alley where the guests were set to arrive from. Glancing down for a moment I noticed to my surprise that I'd been fiddling with three cocktail cherry stems. Somehow I'd been so lost in thought that Pearl had been obediently replacing my drinks with fresh ones as I finished each one off, all without me noticing.

I took note of the buzz that was running through me. Yeah, there were about three drinks in me right now.

My mind was working on Rufinius' plots. Trying to figure out his motives and what he was up to. The murders of Jesse Lyserod and his crew were fresh in my mind, and I had just figured out why...

Rufinius could've all done it stealthily. But he hadn't. No... on the contrary, he wanted the ZIA to notice. He wanted the ZIA completely occupied trying to hunt down the Vulpes Sanguinis. They'd take their eyes off the ball and in the meantime Woolter and Doug would think the other had done it. They'd go underground and make it even harder for the ZIA to find 'em. Plus they'd be stocking up on weapons for sure.

And... you know what? I'd bet that Rufinius had a head start on tracking these weapons sales. All so he could follow the trail of breadcrumbs back to the sheep.

Hmm. But how to inform the task force about this? Especially if the Sanguinis was monitoring me? I knew for a fact that the ZIA was now monitoring me too. They've planted a camera in my apartment, had me followed to and from work thinking I didn't notice. And they for sure had my computer bugged and my phone calls and texts are being traced.

Though that could be a good thing... all I'd have to do is search the local gun stores on my work computer. If I kept looking up recent weapons purchases and their background checks, Jack Savage would see what I'm doing. Even that dumb striped rabbit should be able to take the hint. All while I'd fly under the Sanguinis' radar.

Maybe I'll even throw some gay bunny porn searches into the mix. Just to fuck with his stupid head a little.

A limo pulled up in the alley. Gazing out of the window I watched as a female antelope stepped out first, circling around to open the door. A large cat stepped out, though his face was covered in a hood and a mask of laser-cut metal like mine. It was only from his coat pattern on his exposed feet and paws that I could tell he was a leopard.

I couldn't possibly tell who he was. But I knew the antelope.

That note that'd been left for me in my locker had been perfectly clear in its advice. "Though your broadest talents can be applied high and low, the footing of the low road is more sure." And my broadest talent was the fact that I knew everybody.

Another limo pulled up, and a plump otter in a feather mask slipped out. He was wearing a white tux and he waddled a bit as he moved. How much of it was part of the disguise, I wondered? A little padding to fill out his figure some more, add a distinctive way of walking... maybe throw a fake accent into the mix. How many of these mammals knew each other? He spoke to the hyena driver for a moment before heading in.

I didn't know the otter. But I thought I recognized the hyena.

A large white car this time, and this time a black bear lumbered out wearing a hawk-beaked mask while a wolf attendant retrieved a briefcase from the trunk. He was shaped more like a grizzly though... probably dyed his fur temporarily as part of the disguise.

The bear was in disguise. But the wolf wasn't. Not to me.

Those I knew, I mentally filed away their names. Those I didn't, I memorized their faces. Foxes have good memories, and forty-two guests to track down was a lot. It'd strain even my talents. With lives on the line though, I might just manage it.

After all, I knew everybody.

"Rufinius had set me up with access to the City's databases. Everything from internal memo boards for the ZPD to tax records and driver's licenses," I explain, feeling kinda lightheaded that it's finally safe to talk about this. "I've been researching all the names and faces I remembered... the drivers and assistants the guests had brought along in their cars. I uncovered their bosses, made sure they matched the descriptions I remembered... I have 'em all, Judy."

She throws her arms around my middle, though with my wrists still cuffed I have to loop my arms over her head. It feels so strange, being held by her. For the longest time I never thought I'd be able to feel Judy wrap her arms around me ever again. My stomach's doing somersaults, and I'm feeling dizzy with the shock of the moment.

There's the joy of knowing that Judy's here and she's smiling. The relief of being vindicated. But there's a bitterness to this sweet moment, and it sharpens when I look at my Dad.

"You're... you're taking the fall for this, aren't you?"

He smiles and gives a shrug. "Someone has to."

"But..." I gulp, and the tears are welling up in my eyes. "They'll... give you the death penalty..."

"Shhh... Nick, please don't worry about me. I'll work something out with the DA. There are still a few Sanguinis facilities abroad, and I know everything needed to take them out. I'm sure he'll give me clemency in exchange for that. Tarquin Vash is quite reasonable, I hear."

"But still... Dad, they'll put you away for life. The only way I'll see you is-"

"Nicholas..." He shakes his head. "Your father... John Wilde... he died twenty years ago in a car accident. And when we're done here, I want you to remember him for who he was before that. John Wilde never would've used you to help defeat Rufinius. He never would've stood by and watched as you took the blame for things the Sanguinis had done. He never would've stayed in the background as you suffered like you did, thinking the whole world was against you. He..."

I choke up as Judy steps aside, and I throw my arms around him. His cheek is so warm and damp against mine.

"Just... just remember the park bench, Nick... if you ever feel sad, just remember me back then, holding you on that warm summer day."

"D-Dad..." I sniffle.

I want to tell him I'd done it willingly. That it wasn't him that'd pressured me into the situation. I want to tell him that I could take the pain, that I'd toughed it out and survived. But nothing comes out of my muzzle except for a soft choking sound.

"Nick... don't visit me in prison. You can't, understand?" he murmurs into my ear. "I don't want you to see me like that. Please. Just remember John Wilde, and forget that Jacob Frisk ever existed."

"You know I can't, Dad..." I whisper. "Us foxes... we have good memories."


Milo Cinzento

My legs wobble a bit as I step on solid ground again.

Two weeks I've been on that cargo ship. It'd taken three days of puking over the side before I got used to the dizzying sway of the deck. The food involved a lot of canned fish and instant noodles, but there was vodka in abundance. Which, frankly, made the puking worse.

Even though I wasn't old enough to drink the sailors had insisted I split a few bottles with 'em. Apparently where they came from having a black cat on deck was good luck. None of them asked about my scars or wanted to know my story. Mostly they wanted to gamble, putting up chocolate bars as wagers. After a long losing streak though a wolf named Sergei joked that maybe my luck had run out. Didn't stop anyone from tussling my headfur to see if my fortune would rub off on them tough.

I wouldn't say we became friends, but they definitely had grown familiar. Looking back to Sergei waving me goodbye, part of me wishes I had taken up his offer for me to stay on board. Maybe if I don't fit in here I'll join them. It'll be another couple months before they come back to this port, apparently. My money should easily last until then.

Checking the zippers on my backpack, I throw it over my shoulders. Just a couple hundred shy of fifty thousand bucks... more than enough to live off of here in Feltaleza for a good long while. Though the bugout bag Mr. Frisk had given to me had a gun, I'd tossed it overboard the first chance I got. At the time I'd thought to myself: no way would I get into the sort of trouble where I'd need that. Never again.

Now though, I wonder if that was the right thing to do.

The main port of Feltaleza is a maze of orange cargo containers and cranes. The smell of the ocean is briny and pungent, but it's cut with something industrial. It's the scent of old axle grease and cigarette smoke fighting against the crisp scent of the surrounding jungle. So unlike Zootopia. Civilization kinda interlaces with wilderness in a similar way here, but it's more like the city is encroaching on nature rather than weaving seamlessly into it.

Everything smells totally different from the Rainforest District back home, from the plants to the pollution to the sulfurous stink of rotting algae. It's like this place is a primal echo of the City.

"Cat. He belong in jungle. Feltaleza good place, no?" Sergei had suggested. But standing here in a foreign land, the thought of living here... it kinda hurts. It reminds me too much of a home I'll never get to go back to, of parents I'll never see again. My buddies from school. The college career I'll never get to experience.

Deep down I'm feeling so hollow.

I've already cried out all the tears in me though. All that's left is to soldier on.

As I walk down the pier the air is filled with a thick, greasy aroma... the food vendors along the docks. My nose twitches when I catch the scent of fried fish. Maybe some of the local grub would make me feel better.

But as I begin to browse, I hear a commotion.

There, right at the pier, a black-furred she-wolf is being harassed by three clouded leopards. They're screaming at each other in the local tongue. I can only make out every other word, mostly the ones that would've shocked my mom if she learned I knew 'em.

"Ey! Stulta!" the she-wolf snarls as she tries to rip her arm out of a leopard's grasp, "Lasu mian pojnon!"

"Cesu batali, purrata!" the leopard growls back. I gaze out at the surrounding sailors and dock workers. Why aren't they dong anything? This wolf's getting assaulted, and no one's doing anything. No one's even looking up at them.

I try my best to fade into the background. I'm feeling a bit queasy, and I try to tell myself it's just because I still haven't lost my sea legs yet. I'd been on that damn boat for so long that I'd gotten used to the swaying, and now the solid earth beneath me feels like it's rising and falling like it's the chest of a slumbering giant.

Just ignore it. Just do as the locals do.

But then the leopard slaps her across the face. Hard.

Something inside me snaps when I hear that paw crack against her muzzle. After the months of living in fear, of feeling completely helpless against forces bigger than me, the sight of this mammal being attacked and overpowered- why is no one helping her?

Milo, you gotta stop being such a little turd.

Unshouldering my backpack and hanging it on a post, I leave myself a mental check to keep track of it as I charge.

They're just clouded leopards. Runty little cats about half my size, and I'm betting none of them had spent a day training on the football field. I grab the first one and, hoisting him over my head with a snarl, I toss him over the edge of the pier. He lets out a wild screech as he plunges into the water. The second one turns around just in time as I deck him right in the face. I don't consider myself much of a fighter, but the months of training Mr. Frisk had provided, training that'd laid dormant until now in meek lil' Milo... it kicks in. It feels like it's suddenly unlocked a totally different mammal in me.

The second cat drops like a sandbag.

The third one turns around, face bleak with shock, and he lets go of the wolf's arm just as I grab him by the front of his shirt and drive my knee into his balls. He collapses, both paws gripping his crotch.

I'm panting, less from the exertion of the fight because honestly it was just so easy. No, I'm gulping down air out of surprise at what I'd done. I'd actually stood up for someone. I'd actually...

Wham!

Something hard and heavy slams into my upper back, knocking me against one of the posts.

"Maltado kato!" the she-wolf is screaming at me as she swings her purse yet again. "Purrata!"

By now the leopards are crawling/hobbling/swimming away and beating a hasty retreat as this crazy female is smacking the shit out of me. Now I'm starting to wonder if the rest of the bystanders actually had the right idea, not getting involved.

"Ow!" I yelp as the purse connects with the side of my arm. That thing is so damn heavy it feels like it might break a bone. "OW, lady! What the fuck?! I was only trying to help!"

She gasps in shock the moment I speak.

"Ey!" she says, her eyes changing immediately. "Your accent!"

"Jeez, lady..." I grunt, rubbing my shoulder. "You keep a brick in there or something?"

The wolf grins as she opens her purse, pulling out a ten-pound gym weight. "I take care of myself. You Zootopian, yes? Gazelle?"

As if to demonstrate, she belts out a few terribly off-key notes of Try Everything.

I look her up and down. She's somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties. Though it should be winter back home, she's got her thinner summer coat in this heat. Her fur is black as night and her eyes are blue like chips of ice... being a wolf she's obviously born to immigrants to a cat-run city like Feltaleza, though by her accent she'd grown up here. But looking at her now I realize there's not much that's feminine about her. She's wearing some pretty butch jeans, and her sleeveless top hugs a pretty broad-shouldered body for a wolf.

Nursing my bruises, I realize she probably had everything in the bag. Literally.

"Yeah... I'm Milo." Stupid, stupid Milo.

"Mai-lo..." she growls affectionately around my name. "Mi Mama, she from Zootopia. Name me Karma. Funny, yes?"

At first I think it's a nice coincidence, that I just tried to do a good deed for someone named Karma. But just as I'm taking her in something clicks.

"Ooooh because Karma is a b- ah... um..."

She laughs at that. "Mai-lo... slow, but cute."

Karma cups my face with one paw then, considering me. "Why these scars? You mafioso? Gangster?"

"N-no..." I gulp.

"Mmm..." she says, considering me carefully, when her muzzle sharpens into a toothy grin. Back home polite preds would never think about baring our teeth like that. It's kinda exhilarating, the thought of what a pred-dominant city was like.

She hooks her arm into mine then. "Come. You come with Karma, take you for meal. You like feijoada?"

"Love it..." I gulp. It was one of my favorite dishes growing up. Nothing could beat my mom's feijoada.

As we walk alongside the post I reach out for the backpack I'd hung up. As if to help me she grabs for it at the same time, but when I pull too quickly the zipper comes slightly undone. It drags open, just enough to reveal the stacks of bills inside.

Karma's eyes shrink back in shock. The ferocious grin she was wearing melts instantly from her face.

Doing up the zipper quickly I wonder if I should make a run for it. Would she try to knock me out with her purse? Scream for help? After all the shit I'd been through I didn't wanna get tossed in jail again.

"Stupid Mai-lo..." Karma shakes her head and shoves the backpack into my paws. "Bag not for money. People steal."

She pats her own purse with its ten-pound weight. What, does she expect me to stuff all of this in my pockets?

We wend our way through the docks and down to a more run-down area of the city. Feltaleza has its nicer spots of course, but this neighborhood looks pretty rough. The paint is peeling off the walls and plaster is flaking away from naked brickwork. Some buildings look as if they were just made from poured concrete. These mammals didn't care about architectural style or construction standards or harmonizing their homes with their environment. They just wanted spaces to live in.

I'm feeling pretty bummed out seeing all this. And not just because this crazy bitch might be taking me into an alley to get jumped.

But then we turn the corner.

It's a whole street of restaurants, as if the great cities of the world had been thrown haphazardly into a bag of toy blocks and some cub had tried to build something sensible out of it. A white-walled polar bear cafe is selling chilled borscht and passionfruit iced tea. A family of red pandas have a storefront with red lanterns hanging outside, offering a variety of bamboo noodle dishes. The rich, complex smell of spices prickles at my nose, and I turn to see a curry house. A tiger in traditional Tigrian garb is placing some fresh incense in the shrine outside, and he looks up at me and Karma as we pass.

I blink in wonder. In a way... it's kinda like a microcosm of Zootopia. Mammals from all over the world, from different biomes and cultures, just mashed together in one clunky, busy, amazing mess.

Finally, we arrive at the biggest restaurant on the street, one that seems to specialize in the local fare.

It's four in the afternoon, well past the lunch rush of the day, so the chef is taking a smoke break outside. He's an enormous gray wolf: the biggest I've seen by far, about as big as the tiger we'd walked past. He's broad-shouldered and stacked with muscle like a pro football player. I swallow heavily as Karma drags me up to him.

"Ey, frato!" she says cheerfully, "This is Mai-lo. Dumb little mafioso. Bring him here for meal."

"I'm not mafioso!" I protest.

The wolf, obviously her brother, looks down at me. Dropping his cigarette he mashes it into the dirt with his foot. "Mmm. Get in trouble again, Karma?" Unlike his sister, the guy's more fluent and his accent isn't nearly as thick.

"Ey! The Makulitaja harass me, yes. But I fight them off."

"Uh, actually... I fought them off?" I say cautiously.

"No, you get in way," Karma sniffs. "I was taking care."

"I'm Matheus," Karma's brother says with a chuckle. "Kid, I know back home you feel like you gotta play the white knight, but this is Feltaleza. Females can stand up for themselves."

"I wasn't-"

"Aaaah I'm just teasing!" he lets out a thick, bellowing laugh. "Come on in, it's great to meet another mammal from Zootopia."

Good feijoada kinda needs some time to sit for the flavors to meld properly, but the bowl of stew Matheus sets in front of me smells like it'd been on the stove all day. There's this mellow earthiness to it from the black beans and bell peppers, the bay leaves and just a hint of cumin. There's something extra savory about the aroma too.

Karma gestures that I should help myself first. When I stir the serving spoon through the dish, I blink in surprise at the sight of thick, rubbery meat in there. And... is that bone? And this white thing... a foot?

It's chicken. Chicken thigh, sausage, neck, and even its feet too.

Matheus must've seen the expression on my face, because he snorts in derision. "This is the real shit, kiddo. Not that bug protein crap they serve back home to keep the hoofers from getting spooked."

Hey, bug loaf and mealworm sausage aren't that bad, really. Especially in mom's feijoada. I mean I've tried chicken before. It's almost a religious experience biting into a juicy fried chicken thigh, with that crispy fatty skin. But that's kinda a sinful little indulgence you could usually only find on the outskirts just beyond the bounds of polite society. And for it to be in feijoada...

The saliva is puddling in my mouth.

I ladle a modest scoop into my rice, mixing in a bit of the farofa and taking care I don't accidentally drag the collard greens into the mix. My first bite is a revelation... there's this unctuous meatiness to the dish, with a satisfying texture that resists each bite and bursts with juices like the bird is still alive in my mouth. I have to close my eyes and really chew to take it all in. It's nothing like mom's dish... I mean, I'll always love her cooking, and I'll always miss it, but there's no way I'd turn down this stuff.

Between every couple of bites I make sure to get a mouthful of greens, before munching on one of the orange wedges to help clear my palate for the next spoonful. I sprinkle on a liberal helping of chili oil to add some kick, too. Dad always liked to go heavy on the chili oil. As I help myself to a second scoop Matheus has returned from the kitchen, setting down a tall caipirinha in front of me. Luckily I have plenty of experience with alcohol by now.

Karma smirks as she watches me eat. Her plate is a bit of a mess in comparison.

"Mai-lo... so dainty how you eat," she laughs. "Your mother, she teach you those manners?"

I feel an ache in my chest at that thought, and I grip the front of my shirt with a paw.

"Y-yeah... she did."

Matheus notices the change in my expression, and gives his sister's shoulder a light cuff with his paw. "So... how's the City these days? They still call it the City, right?"

"Yeah," I nod, taking a sip of the caipirinha. "It's fine."

I'm not sure what they'd do to me if I told them about the Blue epidemic, the drug war, or the Sanguinis running rampant with the attack on Catsro square. With my face the way it is it wouldn't take much for them to put two and two together.

"He mafioso," Karma says again as she sucks a hunk of cartilage off of a bone. "Check his bag."

Matheus' eyes narrow as he looks at me. His muzzle tightens into a very stern expression.

"Milo? May I look in your bag?"

"Uh- w-well..."

"Please."

He's trying to sound polite, but his voice is so flat and stern I'm terrified of saying no. Especially with how huge he is.

My paw trembling, I give him my backpack.

Matheus unzips it and takes a good, long look at the crisp stacks of hundreds. He stares at it for a while, face expressionless, before he zips it back up and passes it back to me.

"Look, I don't know what you're running from, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. But the fact that you tried standing up for my sister... that tells me you're a decent mammal in my book."

"I try..." I say shyly, nibbling on an orange wedge.

There's something about the way he's taking charge right now that it makes me realize... Matheus is probably the Alpha in the neighborhood. Hoofers and grazers tend to think it's a pred thing in general, the whole Pack Life subculture. But I'm a cat, and except for lions we kinda go our own way. Plus my family was upper middle-class... we never needed a pack.

I've had a few wolf friends and I've picked up a few things from them, but it's still kinda new territory for me.

"So tell me, Milo. What're your plans right now? You're obviously fresh off the boat."

"Well.." I say stirring my rice a little. "I'm... not sure."

"Mmm," Matheus rubs his chin. "Well... I'm just thinking, we could always use a good pair of paws in the neighborhood. You might've noticed Jetita Street here is basically a community of migrants. We're constantly being harassed by the Makulitaja... the local thugs who think we're disrespecting their turf just by existing outside of the feline persuasion. You look like you've seen some shit, and if you just puffed your chest out a little and looked more confident you could be a real scary looking fucker."

I shake my head nervously. "I'm... I'm really not a fighter."

"He lying," Karma chuckles. "He actually move real good."

"I don't need someone to fight, I just need someone to look a little intimidating to keep the Makulitaja out of our fur," Matheus sniffs. "You can work moving crates in the meantime. I can't pay much, but it looks like you don't need it. I can offer free meals, though."

"And Mai-lo can stay with me!" Karma laughs, throwing a paw in the air as if volunteering.

She's running her foot up along my calf now, and it's getting really high up there. I spaz out when she begins caressing the inside of my thigh with her toes. The caipirinha I'm holding splashes against my wrist.

Karma looks at me soberly as Matheus heads to the kitchen for a towel. The moment he's out of sight she leans in close, her voice lowering.

"Mai-lo... you not like girls? You..." she tilts her head like she's trying to think of the right term. "You, eh... donut-puncher?"

It's obvious that she's trying to go for a gentler euphemism, but her words have the complete opposite effect.

"I'm not gay!" I yelp.

At the door, one of the cats in Tigrian garb glances at me as he walks past. I slap a paw to my forehead.

"Good!" Karma grins, taking my paw in hers. "You stay with Karma, enjoy Matheus' cooking. And we work together, yes? Help keep Jetita Street safe from Makulitaja assholes?"

In the back of my mind I'm thinking of the house I grew up in. The banister I'd broken from sliding down it too many times and not noticing how big I'd gotten. Mom's cooking, and the sound of an ice cream machine churning away on a hot summer afternoon. The way the turf had felt beneath my feet when I ran on the field.

Mom... Dad... I'm sorry. I know we'll never be able to go back to the same home I grew up in. I know that after everything I've done our lives won't be the same. But maybe someday you'll forgive me. Maybe someday, I'll find you and we can be a family again.

But until then... I think I've found a home.