Three brothers - pigs - lived in the northeast corner of Meadowlands. The oldest worked construction, laying bricks until his hooves ached and cracked from the mortar, but he had the monumental task of keeping his family together, what was left of it. As for his brothers… they found a new high: Pollen. It was cheap and plentiful (unless they wanted the good stuff).

"Big bro!" the youngest said, his speech energetically aloft and his eyes discolored, he and the middle brother following their elder through the apartment, "We've got a surprise for you~"

"One of you got a job?"

"Better!"

"Both of you got a job?"

"No, silly," the middle said, "we got you a special gift."

"Very special," the other agreed.

"And I'll like this 'very special gift', huh?"

Their heads bobbed in over-eager nodding, which the older pig studied. "Go shower," one suggested, "we'll get it ready."

The oldest came out again, refreshed and admittedly curious as to what his "Howler" brothers might have in store for him. As it turned out, it was dinner, and not just any dinner but his favorite dinner: "sloproast", home cooking for the distinguished porcine pallet.

"We know we're screwups," the middle brother admitted, setting out three plates, "and you work really hard for us, so…"

"We wanted to do something for you," the younger agreed, "and after dinner, maybe we could… play a bit?"

The older was taken aback at everything, especially when he was poured a glass of what he immediately smelled was his favorite brand of hard spirits. "Wow, bros…" he choked and cleared his throat, "Sure, that'd be great." He could play the piano no matter how his knuckles ached because the youngest could toot on the flute with the middle on the fiddle in their only moments of lucidity. They would sing and dance just like when they were piglets and their mother played the piano, like their grandfather before her (rest their souls).

They dined and the more they did, the more the older brother wondered about the meal. "This tastes like Mabel's…" he thought aloud, to which his brothers eagerly agreed, "which is clear across town." They eagerly nodded again. "Bros, tell me you didn't order delivery all the way to Meadowlands."

"Of course not!" the youngest said, "We went ourselves to pick it up."

"Had to take the express to get back in time, of course."

The older brother went pale and then looked at the finished glass of hard spirits before scanning the kitchen, rocketing from his chair to properly inspect his "very special gift", and when he did, felt his heart drop into his full stomach. "This… this is over seventy years old…"

"Your favorite!"

"Only the best for our big bro~"

"How did you pay for this?" he weakly demanded, trying with all his might to not drop the bottle.

"Don't worry," the middle brother assured, sharing a disjointed giggle with his younger brother, "we found hidden treasure-"

"What happened to the rest of it?" the older pig quickly asked in a brewing panic.

"We didn't spend it all on your gifts," the younger then assured, "We ran into one of our dealers today with some of the really good stuff-"

"That was the rent!" he cried out, clenching his hooves so hard that they ached anew, "How did you even find it? I told you to stay out of my room!" he raved, "When will this stop?"

The younger brothers exchanged gradually worrying glances as the Pollen haze finally cleared enough to realize what they had done. "W-We're sorry, bro…"

"The landlord is coming tomorrow and if he doesn't get that money, we'll be out on our curly-Q's!" He then groaned and fumed as he marched around the kitchen, stopping only to swig directly from the bottle, they attempting to shrink into their chairs. "I can't do this anymore, guys, I just can't…"

And then there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," the older brother cut in before anyone else could, his face quite red for a variety of reasons. Who stood at the door, though, promptly drained any remaining color from his face. It was not the landlord but someone who collected what was due, all the same, a wolf whose ears and nose were exceptionally pointed. He let himself in and the two younger pigs stumbled back, knowing full well that plenty more wolves weren't far behind (if he even needed them to handle the business at hand). "Come on in," the older pig retroactively offered, gulping, "You're early-"

"And you're late," he stated, glancing about and sniffing the air, studying each of the younger brothers before turning on the older, "two months late, as it so happens. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by, save myself a trip," he explained with a wheeling of his paw, "Do you happen to have the rent handy?"

The older brother gulped again. "N-…No, not until tomorrow-"

"Which is odd," the wolf interjected, resting a paw on the shoulder of a younger brother as they trembled beneath it, "I heard that these adorable little morsels went on quite a spending spree today, and I can smell that you are a mammal of refined taste, with your choice of spirits. Is that Mabel's?" he then asked, sniffing toward the kitchen, "A bit rich for my delicate palette; I prefer something leaner, not so heavy on the stomach. So… no rent… what a bind that puts me in… You understand where I'm coming from, I hope?"

"You'll get your money-"

"I most certainly will," the wolf cut in, "Tonight, in fact; specifically, now."

"Bro…" the youngest pleaded, unable to pull his shoulder away from the clawed grip, holding onto the middle brother for dear life.

"What are you talking about?" the older pig hoarsely demanded.

"Nothing more or less than an option," the wolf offered with a grin, showing far too many teeth than was needed, "You know whom I represent."

The three pigs certainly did, causing the youngest to squeal and tremble and writhe away so that both could hide behind their older brother. The wolf folded his paws behind his back to approach, looming over them and breathing in their terror.

"I hear Pollen gives them a certain… spice," he pondered with a lick of his lips, recognizing the wordless, terrified defiance that the older pig scraped together, "I'm afraid it's non-negotiable. We're in precarious times, you know, but I appreciate the bonds of brotherhood. Let's say… the last two months plus the rest of the year? I'm not a monster, after all, and that's more than fair…" His hungry eyes then lifted to glance over the stupefied pigs' shoulders before he strode around them, "What have we here?"

They gathered again and backed off, holding each other in whimpering despair.

"It's been in the family forever," the older brother finally explained as the wolf sat on the piano's bench.

"Do you mind if I…?" he asked without looking, adjusting the seat under him, "A Stynson & Sons… in fine condition, too… my, my…" The cover was lifted as he stroked the keys and played a single chord, humming his contemplative approval.

"But that's Mom's…!" the middle pig sobbed but was hushed.

"Is it enough?" the older brother asked through the choke in his throat, "If you take the piano instead, will it be enough?"

The wolf continued to hum, stood from the bench, and pulled out his phone to snap a picture of it all, the digital winds soon relaying his request for appraisal with a merry tone. "Oh, definitely," he decided and grinned that same grin over his shoulder, "and don't worry, I'll take excellent care of it."

The brothers quieted their tears as the wolf's tail swayed, stealing one more voracious glance at them. His phone then chimed, and so he addressed it… the glow exaggerating his confused, soon disgruntled expression. "Count your lucky stars," he huffed and puffed through clenched fangs, stashing the device into a coat pocket, "cash is more desirable right now."

The older pig's mouth went dry as he tried to answer, "But we don't have-"

"I'll be back next month…" the wolf growled, fangs sharper still, and then seemed to decide something else, "to collect on four months' rent." He left without another word.

The three brothers embraced on the floor of their apartment, counting every star they could. Amidst the chokes and tears, one of them said, "It's a miracle…"

"I guess," Mack figured, speaking more to himself as he denied the approval for compensation of what looked like a very fine piano, indeed, "not a bad piece of musical furniture, if that's your fancy, but no, whomever you're terrorizing will get some extra time to pay whatever you're collecting. So says I," he decided, typing away at his computer, "and what I says, is so." The Sparrow flicked his ears to the cell-door and promptly minimized his acts of espionage against MacGrim's "Secret Police", for his trio of guards was coming to check on his constantly surveilled progress (right on schedule).

As a wolf of his word, Mack found a way into Knotash and Mr. Never's vaults and discovered who killed Ulaf MacGrim. The vaults were, unfortunately, wiped clean with such ferocity that even the metaphorical bleach marks were untraceable. Knotash was, unfortunately, under such scrutiny that any and all outside signals set off digital alarms to shut down whole sectors therein. Ulaf's killer was, unfortunately, ghosted by the Federal government to any one of a dozen different holding facilities (assuming he was anywhere that the Sparrow knew about); the fact that it was Doug Ramses, hired gun of Magnus, was no small point of contention for Ferris MacGrim. Fortunately for Mack, whose special talent for the application of leverage at an opportune moment was rivaled only by his code-cracking, he had an ear to all of the fun conversations between the dark alpha and history's evilest bunny. Who knew what and when culminated to a smoldering armistice in favor of getting work done, but as the worst (or best) pirate on the darknet could attest, Pleasure Island was built on the mutual holding of knives to throats (and backs).

Though it took several weeks and displays of cooperation, MacGrim finally permitted Mack some luxuries. Namely, he allowed him a chair instead of a cardboard mat, a second monitor, pants, and perhaps most importantly of all, his hat (he was still chained to his computer desk). With his promises fulfilled but laterally beneficial at best, the Sparrow was given barebone, monitored access to the Underland servers on yet another promise to bolster the pack's finances. Thanks to some outside help from his protégé, "Little Bird" a.k.a. Finnick Faire, he was able to harness some stock market legitimacy and computational power to stave off the everpresent threat of termination (and provide a cushy margin of protection for the pack's extortion victims).

"A'ight, runt, eats time," Surly said, the oldest of the Shady brothers, banging on the barred door before popping the lock. They proved the most capable of keeping their prisoner in line.

"Thought we do ya' a solid," Burly said, the biggest of the Shady brothers, waltzing in with a stack of extra-large pizzas.

"So long as you don't go barkin' it to all the stiffs upstairs, y'hear?" Eustace said (though he hated the name, so was called "Hurly" by his brothers), hoisting a hefty cooler as the door was closed and locked behind them.

"Aww, lads, that really isn't necessary," Mack declined, pivoting in his chair as the occupancy of his cell quadrupled, but his nostrils inhaled that savory scent of pizza and then spotted the icy cider, "but if you insist. Perish the thought I'd be so disgracious a host as to turn away such fine gents as yourselves."

Halfway through the fourth pizza, Surly checked his watch and glanced up at the dormant security camera just outside the cell. "Tha'll be turning back on before too long," he huffed but smiled all the same with a hearty guffaw, "Good t'have these li'l dinners ev'ry once in a while!"

Burly loosed a belch and wiped his mouth on an arm. "Aww, bro, we ain't done, yet!" he argued, gesturing to the remaining slices, "It's not ev'ryday we can jus' relax."

"Maybe jus' one more, bro?" Hurly offered, pulling out an icy cider, "No harm in it, and you can handle anyone who whimps."

It was accepted with a chuckle, the tab popped and thusly chugged. Mack laughed along, reclined in his computer chair, and then stuffed another greasy slice into his gob. The Shadys, a triplet set of pitch-black wolves with bright red eyes that made them all manner of terrifying in the dark; and in the light, their hulking physiques, bodily scars, and prolific facial piercings made them the absolute worst of MacGrim's pack to run into, as they infamously worked as a unit of top-notch gatekeepers. Fortunately for Mack, they enjoyed cider and pizza more than he did and, after applying every ounce of his ingratiating wit, finagled a schedule of shifts that he could plan around. And plan he did.

A conveniently timed alert popped up on his console, so he wolfed down the remaining slice and wiped off his fingers to address it. The Shadys paid it no heed until he gave them a reason to. "Bugger," Mack curiously muttered under his breath after swallowing his mouthful.

"'Eh?" Surly idly wondered.

"Your bar's up for sale."

The three brothers collectively choked on whatever they were consuming.

"Up for what, now?" Burly demanded, joining his brothers in crowding Mack's workspace by peering over him at the notice. As they usually did, the three heads collectively growled and great clawed mitts gripped at the desk, chair, and wall.

"That ain't what we agreed to," Hurly warned, "The old goat's duckin' out on our deal!"

Mack shrunk in his chair, not necessarily from fear but simply to avoid being crushed. "The way I heard it, you 'leased' that bar to one Mr. Octaves until such a time that he died or otherwise ended his retirement," he mediated, "and at liberty to do with it as he will so long as it stayed in his possession, thus freeing you to work for one Alpha-of-Alphas, a.k.a., Mr. MacGrim, et cetera. Well," the smaller wolf continued, bringing up a recent news article about the current MMA coaches, "one Mr. Octaves has, quite legally, 'ended his retirement'."

"He said he'd never leave!" Burly promptly worried, his and his brothers' ears pinning, "That's why we let him run it in the first place!"

"What do we do, bro?" Hurly pleaded, he and his brother shaking their elder's shoulders, "What if someone buys Pop's bar and tears it down?"

Surly crossed his arms in thought… but then snapped his fingers. "Mack, you can buy it, right?" he asked, his and his brothers' tails wagging, "You know we're good for it."

"Definitively," the hacker considered, "I would need to use the pack's money for it, though, which would put it squarely in the possession of the aforementioned Alpha-of-Alphas, ergo, defeating the purpose for leaving Preds' Corner in the first place, et cetera. What a cruel irony…"

"Enough of your legal jargon!" Surly barked and crossed his arms tighter, grinding his fangs in fuming, blatant recalculation.

"What can we do?" Hurly continued to plead of his older brother but shaking the smaller wolf's chair, "Is MacGrim still holding Pop's debt?"

"Ya' gotta help us, Mack!" Burly insisted, also shaking the chair, "We can't lose Pop's bar!"

Mack steadied his hat after such a jostling. "I'll have m'self a look-see at some options, maybe even a solution or two," he said and leaned forward to work (as three sets of eyes and their accompanying schnozzes poked further into his workspace). "Looks like it's on the market… already has some bids, too," he relayed, checking the realtor listings for The Brambles area, their increasing dismay quite audible, "Very popular, from the look of things, no doubt thanks to that old goat's former glory. I might lend a paw in this direst of pickles but the watcher programs won't let me do anything without permission."

"Whose permission?" Surly immediately inquired.

"I'd need three of MacGrim's most trusted Alphas, top-of-the-top," the Sparrow defeatedly explained, "then it'd be pup's-play to stopper that sale until such time that you can handle it directly."

The three brothers exchanged dawning realizations as Mack studied the screen. "We're top Alphas!" they simultaneously exclaimed and then Hurly asked, "What d'you need?"

Mack held his keyboard aloft, "Passwords, quicklike," he said and then braced it on the back of his shoulders, "Age before beauty if you please." The keys clickity-clacked with each brother's provided credentials and when finished, Mack pulled an ace from his digital sleeve to outbid the next highest by ten-fold. "There we are, mates."

The Shady brothers collectively sighed and rejoiced until Burly spoke up, "But what'd you mean 'handle it directly'?"

"All I did was spin their heads," the darknet pirate extrapolated, pivoting in his chair to address their combined bewilderment and suspicion, "you all still need to go down there and claim what's yours. As is, Phil's out of the picture but so are you, savvy?"

Guilt and dread washed the black wolves' features. Surly then affirmed himself and nodded. "How long we got?"

A sincere shrug was all Mack could ascertain. "A week? A day? An hour?" he aloud wondered and then turned back to his computer, the screen reflecting off his glasses, "The next alert could mean it's already too late."

They resolved with a single grunting nod. "We're getting on the next train to Bunnyburrow," Surly decided, his brothers raptly agreeing. Fortunately for them, Mack just so happened to be checking the timetables for Savannah Central Station.

"If you hurry, you'll catch the last one for the night," he pointed out.

"You done us a solid, Sparrow," the oldest Shady said while his younger brothers hastily cleaned up the cell.

"We square," Mack dismissed with a wave of his paw.

He huffed a chuckle. "We'll need to send someone else to guard ya', y'know. MacGrim's still your Alpha, same as us."

"Well, one could've hoped," he mused, swiveling his chair a bit, before pointing up and outside the cell, "I'd suggest letting that camera stay off for your allotted time; give you a chance to slip out without too much fuss," Mack suggested, sneaking a wink from under the brim of his hat, "I'll cover for ya', mates."

Surly convened a glance with his younger triplets before winking back and grinning. He flicked the cell key into the air and caught it to unlock the door, exit with his brothers, and lock it all up again.

A few beats passed as Mack listened for their departure down the hall… he then waited a bit more, eying the dormant camera… and then in a flurry of activity, enacted his plan. He slipped under the desk and pulled out the computer tower, removed the cover, and located an empty SD card slot… all while the console remained on. He then doffed his hat with all due solemnity to trace his claw through a secreted pocket inside the lining (courtesy of one Mr. Chester Vandersnatch) and fished out his trump card: a solid-state micro-RAM laser-etched onto a single flake of crystal (encased in protective plastic), untraceable storage on a gargantuan scale no bigger than a postage stamp. For Mack's purposes, it was filled with a lifetime's painstaking compilation of hacker code, enough to make the Federal government's most brutal firewalls little more than a lacy veil; his skeleton key for unhindered access to any computer, network, and server on the planet while he ran from MacGrim. "Cruel irony, indeed," he mused, plugging it into the computer and hand-tightening everything back together.

The security camera blinked back on and buzzed, seeing only that the pack's precious prisoner was hard at work. The watcher programs reactivated, seeing that Mack was crunching code on one screen while the other was open to the most recent MMA bout on ZooTube, all part of his tasks.

"Ladies and gentlemammals, what a road it's been for our fighters, hasn't it? There's no doubt that the hype for the Strawweight Championship is understated."

"Our returning champ towers in his weight class at three-foot-eight, just skirting the upper limits at a wiry forty-nine-and-a-half pounds. He's Bug Burga's golden boy with his own cheeseburger combo meal and boy howdy, maybe he should eat a few to put some meat on his bones. Let's give it up for the 'Pangolin of Pain', the 'Sand Dragon' from Sahara Square, Keri Phat!"

"Just listen to that crowd, Whinny, there is no shortage of love for this unstoppable force as he literally rolls over his competition. Phat's patented 'Steamroller' combines offense and defense as an insurmountable obstacle for many of his opponents. His ground game is a real terror."

"That's right, Pawl, even with his claws and scales smoothed to prevent evisceration, his long tail and hardy build make him a danger at any distance. If you're not light on your feet, you are on the mat and in a world of hurt."

"On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the absolute bare minimum requirements for his weight class met by a fraction of an ounce, standing three-foot-tall with another four inches for his ears, the 'Bunnyburrow Brawler', 'The Boulder', Bo Briar!"

"Now that is a gentlemammal's applause if I ever heard it but there are definitely feet thumping from the rabbits in the audience, and no doubt, plenty watching back home on the farm. Briar's turned several heads this season not only as the first bunny to fight his way up the rankings with sponsor newcomer - Hexward Pharmaceuticals - but the bewildering return of the 'cursed coach' himself, Phil Octaves."

"Octaves has a storied history of bringing long-shot rookies all the way to the championship of their weight class but this will be the first time a fighter of his avoided any bad luck and physically entered the Septagon for the final bout."

"Looks like Briar's lucky feet are carrying him to a milestone in rabbit history."

(Locker Room)

Bo breathed, steadying himself in the minutes before heading out to face his destiny.

Almost there, Dad, he thought, rewatching a video of Bertie and Mary Ann Briar for the umpteenth time, the newly-weds' faces and voices already memorized. He could almost hear his father's voice, sometimes…

"Ready, Briar?" Phil asked.

The phone was stashed as Bo hopped up, checked his gloves and Hexward-branded shorts, and then proceeded to stretch. "Let's kick some tail," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet as a fighter would.

A half-smile pinched the old goat's face. "How's your arm, still itching?"

Bo wheeled it about. "I hardly feel it."

"Good, because even that iota of distraction could mean curtains against Phat. He's a big fish in a small pond and never lets an advantage pass."

"I know, I know, I've studied his footage," the rabbit dismissed, "and it's just a bug bite, I get them all the time; nothing to worry about."

"Bo!"

The bright voice sprung his ears as Judy scampered up.

"Juju, this is the guys' locker room," he joked but grasped her paws anyway to touch noses, soon being hugging around the neck until her lips brushed the fluff of his ear.

"But I wanted to wish you luck beforehand," she said, "besides, I snuck out of the Felix's box and in here no problem, I can slip back just as easily."

"A'Alright, goo-goo eyes in head," Phil bleated and clapped Bo's face, "With all due respect, Hopps, you best skedaddle."

She chuckled and bounded back with a teasing flick of her finger. "Oh, fine, have it your way."

Phil huffed and crossed his arms. "Dames…" he muttered under his breath and looked at Bo again, snapping his fingers, "Oi', space-cadet!"

The bunny started and shook his head. "Sorry! I was just thinking about Phat's 'Steamroller' move… he does a sort of… dive to get momentum," Bo explained and gestured with his paw, "initiates the grapple, and it's all downhill from there. Usually, he sweeps his tail at the legs to disorient or trip but because I'm small, he won't need to do that," he pondered.

The goat blinked and then laughed. "And here I thought your head was in the clouds."

"Well, it was until Judy whispered 'Use your ears to look taller'," he said, "that way, Phat would overcompensate on his dive to tackle me."

"You got all that from a sweet nothing?" Phil doubted.

Bo rubbed the back of his head. "We were brainstorming last night and she must've finally realized the solution a few minutes ago. So, I guess I really do have a chance," he explained and idly cracked his knuckles, "This is really happening, isn't it, Coach? We're at the finals."

Phil nodded and patted Bo's shoulder. "You've got a big burden on ya', ain't that right?" he teased, "Don't think I didn't notice that you went ahead and forged steel for not only your parents but for Judy and all those other cursed bunnies; that interview bringing awareness to your hypertrophy certainly won some good press," he then sighed, " Normally, I tell my fighters to keep one goal in their heart… but I guess bunnies do better when they're all together."

"That's right!" the bunny declared, solemnly touching his chest, "I thought the same thing, that I had to prove I could do this on my own, like how Judy got into the ZPD, but she kept her family in her heart every step of the way. It's just like you said."

"Not bad," Phil said, "Not what I meant, but not bad. Now, get out there and show them what a bunny's made of."

Someone with a headset then leaned into the locker room. "Thirty seconds."

"The fighters are meeting at the middle and exchanging good ol' fashioned pleasantries."

"So long as they stay good sports about it, the ref hasn't a qualm. They fight as much for their fans as they do themselves."

"Phat's always been something of a showboater, Pawl, that just comes with the territory, but Briar's giving as good as he gets."

"Oh, yikes! That wiped the smirk off his face. And as soon as you remember that you're a professional, Whinny, you can get back to commentating."

"Sorry about that, folks, I don't think I've ever seen Phat gawk before and from the looks of it… he is none too happy. Things are shaping up for a real scrapper of a brawl. And there's the bell."

"The fighters are feeling each other out and Phat starts strong… Jumpin' Jehowlsephat, what did we just see! The crowd's in an uproar! This is insane! Phat is down and Briar's still bouncing about!"

"Alright, let's not lose our heads over this, Pawl, we are professionals. Let's watch the replay for those of us who blinked and missed the entire fight: they charging each other almost immediately which is a bold move on Briar's part, one might even say foolhardy but his ears are up and Phat is already launching his signature 'Steamroller' for a takedown… but then Briar slides, he's on his back and Phat's underside is exposed!"

"No protective keratin there, Whinny, a beautiful counter to this formerly invincible move as he braces the mat and kicks upward with all the force his bunny-legs can muster. According to Octaves, Briar's highest vertical jump is ten feet straight up. That is a lot of power focused onto Phat's diaphragm."

"Phat is airborne and hits the mat hard. The refs are convening and the medics are tending to the Phat, so let's take a minute to consider a few things about Briar: all throughout his fights, he only ever threw punches and stayed off his heels, skipping around his opponents with precision strikes, as if getting grappled was a losing condition for him; next, he riles up the champ with a doozy of a zinger to bait him into tackling-"

"Hold on a sec… we've got a development in the Septagon… My gosh, that bunny is just full of surprises, his arm is blowing up like a balloon!"

"It looks like he's going into some kind of shock! The medics will need to bring them both out on stretchers!"

"It was touch and go but he's stabilized. Stars Above, it's lucky that the ringside EMTs had epi-pens as part of their standard kit, or else Bo wouldn't have made it."

"Thank you, Doctor," said an aunt of Bo's, one of many that he never knew he had and only met recently.

"Thanks, Les," Felix Oswald Lapis said, perhaps a bit terser than he would've liked, gesturing to his swollen and discolored nephew strapped to the hospital bed, "but does he really need the restraints? He's not a danger to anyone."

Doctor Les repaid the flat glare. "With all due respect, Oswald, you might own this hospital wing of Knotash but I've got stories aplenty from Bunnyburrow about Mr. Briar here that came along with his medical records," he explained, perhaps a bit warily, "I heard there was a time when they needed a lion to keep him in check; he's already made three escape attempts tonight. So my diagnosis is: yes, those restraints are necessary until he behaves himself."

"Bah."

Bo mumbled something and Judy kept her paw around his, directing a long ear to listen around his tracheotomy tube. "He says he's 'sorry for causing so much trouble'," she interpreted, "and 'promises to stay in bed'." Her ear flicked again. "Oh, Bobo, you don't need to say that," she consoled but acquiesced to his imploring look, "He doesn't want to 'reflect any worse on Uncle Ozzy than he already has'."

"Come on, Les, have a heart," the Felix said.

"Please?" Judy then asked, despite the doctor's reluctance, "Bo only wanted to plead his case to the MMA committee; he's so accustomed to doing everything on his own, no matter the risk to his wellbeing."

The doctor sighed and blinked. "Alright," he then permitted and wagged a finger at the Felix, "but you'll get an earful if his foot so much as twitches the wrong way. I saw the way he fought tonight and I don't want anything like that happening to our orderlies."

"Of course, of course," Felix Lapis assured, and then directed his own wagging finger at his nephew (if by far more lighthearted), "You rest up, capisce?"

Bo nodded.

"I think that's settled, then."

"Would it be alright if we had a moment alone, Uncle Ozzy?" Judy requested, taking a step back only so some nurses might release the resilient bands.

"That's up to the doctor," the aunt suggested with an arching of her eyebrows.

Doctor Les huffed. "I see no harm in it; she seems to be the only bunny in this entire city who has any control over him."

The room was otherwise vacated as Judy sat back down at Bo's bedside, caressing his cheek and dabbing his eyes as he blinked through the tears gathering in his swollen face.

I'm sorry, Juju…

Judy smiled kindly before glancing at the door… and dropped the bed-rail to sit beside him. "You fought valiantly, Bobo," she said and stroked his ear, "My own Captain Warren."

I'll be disqualified…

"And don't you worry about the investigation into any kind of performance enhancement drugs. You have a long medical history of crippling steroid allergies and plenty of bunnies who will vouch for your character," she continued and leaned in to gingerly kiss a swollen lip, "You've made everyone back home very proud, and Phil, too!"

I'm a failure…

Judy smiled sadly as his gaze averted from her. "I'm proud of you, too, you know," she attempted, "Not only for bringing awareness to that 'cursed' rabbits still have life in them worth saving, but because you showed everyone that a rabbit was brave enough to look fear dead in the eye and fight," her paw cradled his cheek to turn his eyes back to her, "You shouldered everybunny's burden."

I guess…

She hugged his neck as gently as she could.

I kinda… I just wanna be alone right now…

"Get some rest," Judy said, climbing down to erect the bed rail again and then pointed at a visitor couch with a blanket and pillow, "I'll be sleeping right over there, okay?"

Bo nodded.

"I love you, Bobo," Judy said, "Good night."

I love you, too, Juju.

Bo couldn't keep his eyes closed so he just blinked at the dark hospital ceiling. He'd done it, he fulfilled his dream of defying some faulty rabbit genetics and fought in the MMA… but his hypertrophy wasn't the reason he couldn't go the distance. No… it was because of an allergy all his own… the reason he failed was one-hundred-percent Bo Briar.

Judy snoozed quietly, right where she said she would be. The last nurse of the night had refilled the water pitcher, provided extra blankets and pillows for the both of them, and another would probably be by in the few hours to check on how things were. For the time being, though, Bo's wish for solitude was fulfilled.

"Can't sleep?"

No…

"Worried about the MMA investigation into your 'performance enhancement drugs'?"

I really shouldn't be. Judy's right, there's no case.

"Except for the steroids in your system."

How did they even get there? Was I poisoned?

"You certainly didn't put them there yourself, your nutrition is dictated with an iron fist. You're probably the only mammal in the world who willingly counts the grains of rice you eat."

Yeah… it wasn't ingested… so it must have been injected. Right?

"Ohh… that's a good point. But when?"

I don't know…

"Don't you?"

How would I? I don't have access to a, y'know, surveillance system tracking me twenty-four-seven.

"Maybe, maybe not."

How do you mean?

"What did Mr. Wilde tell you when you went to him for 'special training'?"

That I could've pinned Nick with one arm tied behind my back?

"Well… yes, but aside from that."

He said… he taught me that I should be able to hear the mammals around me better than most other species, being a bunny and all.

"And?"

And… that I should be able to feel the mammals around me, too, because empathy is so engrained into raising young bunnies. I wish I could've trained with him longer, I was really on the verge of somethi-

"Bo, focus."

Right, right, sorry… umm… Someone injected me… but when… It could have happened at any time before the match.

"The whole day prior?"

No… my allergy flares up within the hour, if not sooner, it must have been…

"Yeah?"

…The bug bite! It wasn't… it wasn't a bug bite! I'm so used to having ticks and fleas and lice out on the farm that it never occurred to me that the city regularly treats their public buildings.

"That certainly sounds reasonable!"

Someone injected me with steroids… but why? Someone from Phat's team must've sabotaged me.

"'Sabotage'?"

But… if that were the case, they wouldn't give me performance-enhancing drugs, it would have been a sedative or something to throw me off balance.

"Was it to get you disqualified, maybe?"

At the risk of hurting Keri? That doesn't make sense, they would have studied my footage just like I studied his… unless it was someone else entirely.

"Someone who would have known you were allergic."

Yeah, that's not exactly widely known, is it? It's my only allergy; the best way to get me out of the fight, short of poison.

"Think back. It had to have been within the hour before the match like you said. What do you remember about anyone getting close to you?"

I remember I brushed by a lot of mammals during the interview right outside the locker room; too many to identify and no one I would have recognized.

"Mr. Wilde said 'You're more than just your eyes'. You don't have the nose of a fox but you do have…?"

My ears, yes, but that's too many to identify by voice. Judy would be able to, but not me.

"What did you feel back then?"

What did I feel?

"Mull it over."

What I felt… I was excited, nervous, maybe a bit scared…

"What did everyone else feel?"

I mean… that's an awful lot to sift through.

"Just think about it, there must have been a few big emotions to consider at the time."

Well, yeah… I guess… they were also excited, nervous… curious, maybe? Ambitious… and… oh… there was someone…

"Ohh, you do remember."

It was only for a second but… they felt… I don't know how to explain it…

"The first word that comes to mind."

It was… like a hunger.

"Yeah, that's definitely a word for it."

I… can't shake that I felt it recently… tonight?

"Maybe you did."

That last nurse… they weren't like the other nurses, were they?

"What did you feel when they fluffed your pillows?"

Hunger. How could I feel that, though?

"Mr. Wilde called it a 'fighter sense', a composite of all your senses, intuition, training, and instinct that creates a feeling whenever someone is going to attack you. He also said that it was especially strong in small prey species which is why - if honed - it would prove invaluable in the Septagon."

But… why here? Have they come back for me?

"There are cameras in every corner of this hospital, watched around the clock by paranoid bunnies on high-alert. This is the safest place you can possibly be. The question is, why do they want you?"

Is it because I'm the Felix's nephew? Were they sent by Magnus?

"Maybe. Does it matter who sent them?"

I'd say so!

"Okay, yes, an important fact but not right now. The question is, 'Why you?'. You're not his only nephew and let's be honest here, you've become pretty high profile to attempt any kind of abduction."

There must be something unique about me… is it because I'm Judy's boyfriend?

"What could they get out of her?"

Revenge comes to mind. Like, immediately. Thus, why it's important to know who sent them and what they want.

"Again, yes, but not right now."

Is it because I'm the thought-dead son of Bertie and Mary Ann Briar? Magnus was pretty upset about that getting out, I think.

"Why spirit you away after Ozzy made it public if it was meant to be kept a secret?"

Then I really don't know. And it's 'Uncle Ozzy'; honorifics are important.

"C'mon, Bo, you're almost there!"

Wait… do you know the answer?

"Of course, not."

So… how do you know that that I'm 'almost there'?

"Because you can feel it, that tingle in the back of your brain like you're just on the verge of something really cool."

…Who are you?

"Focus, Bo."

I mean, who are you supposed to be? You can't be Dawson, that's absurd, I didn't get one. Are you a low-severity auditory hallucination? The midnicampum holicithias drug was only in my stomach for a few seconds, after all, but I haven't had any since then so that can't be it. Maybe I should let Dr. Honey know, anyway.

"Focus."

You sound more like my Dad but that's probably just because I've watched so many videos of him and Mom. Uncle Ozzy almost always held the camera when they were together.

"Focus."

If you were anything of the sort, I figured you would have sounded like… like Phil…

"Oh?"

I'm the first rookie that Phil's trained in over a decade.

"True."

He's always been at odds with the Zootopia gaming commission, with the MMA.

"Also true."

His 'curse', where every fighter he's ever trained suffered an accident before the championship…

"Yeah?"

There was never any connection, they were all written off as accidents but what if… what if they weren't accidents?

"Okay, good, we're getting somewhere. Now… why?"

I… I don't know!

"Don't you?"

I bet you do!

"I can't know until you know. You've got to figure it out. Ask the right questions, you've almost got it, you can feel it!"

I… they want me, I guess? But why… why risk visiting the hospital? Did they want something from me? Was it a warning? But they…

"They were quiet."

They didn't say anything, just fluffed my pillow and filled the water pitcher.

"They came and went without saying a word."

Bo craned his neck at the bedside tray and reached for it as carefully as his current condition would allow. His night vision was not keen but there was soft ground lighting - as was the custom for all prey hospital rooms - and he could just distinguish a flip-phone near the water pitcher.

He picked it up.

He flipped it open.

The pale, gentle glow bathed his swollen face as it searched for a signal… and when it found one, the selfie-camera seemed to be loading, and then a single text message popped onto the screen without a sound.

Bo read it.

Took you long enough to find it. You in?

He shook from the ends of his ears to the tips of his toes. In for what? he responded.

Another shot at glory. Last chance, Briar; yes or no?

Bo glanced at Judy's reposed body and clenched his jaw, thumbs trembling as they typed out the singular answer. Yes.

Expect details after you recover. Tell no one. We'll know.

He closed the phone when it turned itself off and sunk his head into the pillows. I'll make this right, Judy.

Author's Notes:

The pigs in his chapter are based on a "Silly Symphony" of "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?", sung by the Three Little Pigs where the youngest plays a flute, the middle a fiddle, and the oldest a piano after the former two spend the whole time singing and dancing while the latter is laying bricks.

First mentioned at the beginning of Trustworthy, "Howler" is a term for those who use Night Howler Pollen as a recreational drug.

"Curly-Q" is pig slang for "tail".

"Stynson & Sons" is a play on "Steinson & Sons", one of the foremost piano makers in the world, with "sty", as in a pig's. Not implying that the pigs here are Stynsons.

["the application of leverage at an opportune moment"] references Capt. Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, whom Mack is based on.

"Whimps" is a colloquialism popular in canine community, short for "whimpers" as in, to whine about something.

The Shady brothers were mentioned earlier in Helpful and are based on Cerberus from Disney's Hercules (Surly, Burly, Eustace).

["courtesy of one Mr. Chester Vandersnatch"] references the scene with Mack & Chess in Loyal, chapter 23.

Keri Phat. Pangolins are similar to armadillos and porcupines in that their bodies are covered in a protective layer of spiky scales made from keratin (the first part of his name); "Phataginus" is one of the three genera of the pangolin's extant family (and the irony was too good to pass up since he starves himself to stay under the maximum for the lowest weight class in the MMA).

Phil Ocataves is based on Philoctetes from Disney's Hercules and his being the "cursed coach" was first mentioned in Trustworthy when Nick and Bo visit his bar. ["Not bad," Phil said, "Not what I meant, but not bad."] is a line of his.

[Let's get the replay up for those of us who blinked and missed the entire fight!] is inspired by the "Diaz vs. McGregor" UCF fight from 2016 which lasted a grand total 5 seconds, as McGregor flying-kneed Diaz in the face.

["…does he really need the restraints?"] is a reference to Bo being restrained to the hospital bed in Trustworthy after he was hit by Graham's car. Then Nurse Lanny Wild is also referenced here.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!