It was always a treat to visage the aisles of bodies, men & woman, tall & short, large & thin. Oh bliss. Bliss and heaven. Better than sex, better than any heroin injection; Codeine, Opium, Xanax, & Vicodin all pointless as such lovely pictures enter my mind, gravity lost as I drift behind the clothed rabbit.

Millions of images flood my brain as I pass each mammal, each creature passed feeling smaller & smaller as I eye them, foxy grin peeking from my lips. They know very well who is in charge at this hour.

Blood & the gallows are what enters my brain first; a disturbed panther gazes over towards me & I vision them hanging as the glorious life juice leaks from their neck.

Oh blood, glorious blood. I can vision myself bathing in it for hours, images as strong as memories come of myself spinning in the glory of the rain, glorious red treacle flowing from clouds as dark as the fur of the reddest red panda.

Oh, beautiful red ichor, how the deepest crimson could never match your beauty.

Beauty…

And then I see it…

How have I never envisioned this before?

The beautiful deep purple eyes of the gorgeous Officer Hopps spring into my mind. I can see her twirling in the carmine rain, a short summer dress as lovely & bright as the pinkest rose dons her body, her silver fur complemented to the nth degree.

She is the single most gorgeous creature that has ever graced this ugly world we call earth.

Such an ugly world deserves no beauty.

As gorgeous as blood.

Blood, glorious blood.

Judy, glorious Judy.

You bring goodness to a Fox so evil.

This rabbit cannot have this effect on me. I must be rid of her as soon as I can. I try to direct my attention to the situation at hand. I've had infatuations before, I'm sure I can be over this as soon as her pretend little investigation comes to its satisfying conclusion.

That meaning that it ends, very quickly, & without me becoming an easy to see loose end.

This was never a situation regarding some kitnapped mammals, this is about survival; the most primitive aspect of our very souls. And if the most dangerous individual in a sea of freaks & monsters should feel threatened, so should the entirety of Zootopia.

I'll make sure this rabbit knows what kind of fire she's dealing with.

'Listen Carrots, I can't make clues jump out of thin air! You can't keep me in the loop forever,'

There was nothing to find in the Oasis. Hell, he didn't even make it to the Springs. Its apart of my id. I am incredibly meticulous in what I do; & in all my days, I have not had a single loophole that could destroy my entire system. If flawlessness existed, it would most certainly be in this system.

'Just… please! You're my only hope in solving this case!' Where there lay doubt, there breeds desperation; & where desperation lay…

Opportunity.

'Look… Judy… I don't know what you want me to do! If I knew where the otter was, I would have told you by now…' this day is seeming to shine in my favor; it's nearly impossible to hide the ever-growing grin that seems almost evident to everyone in the close vicinity apart from this rabbit. The frown on her face is almost able to bring down the mood of mammals across the street.

So very radiant indeed.

But then I sigh.

Why? Why do I sigh, you may be asking yourself? And I would be damned if anyone I cross were to know about this. Judy herself seemed to be surprised by my sigh, seeming to show what one would call empathetic. I, however, will call it a lapse of judgement.

Yes, a lapse of judgement changed my direction of thought. Perhaps an intrigue, of this gorgeous rabbit. A need, to see this rabbit again.

A very… very poor lapse of judgement.

'I'm sorry Carrots, really I am. But… perhaps… if you need some cheering up… I know a lovely place on the corner of seventh. Perhaps I could treat you to a drink sometime?' she seemed visibly appalled by this reaction. I feel like I may have thrown my two cents in a little too soon.

'M-Mr. Wilde… while some may be… flattered… by a Todd of your… charisma… I would prefer it if we kept our relationship strictly professional.'

She…

She refused me…

She fucking refused me…

'Mr. Wilde… I think it would be best if we would part ways; but let me be clear,' a deep breath not befitting to the small creature in my eyeline… '…if I see you acting another one of your… hustles…' she is most sure to show off the little orange recorder off.

'This is going straight to the ZPD Head Offices for processing!'

It seems rather fitting that the pen is orange; orange is the new black, as they say…

I don't really hear the other obscenities that I here on the way to my apartment. I don't see the multiple cars that honk their annoying sounds & screeching tires as I walk on the road.

She used me.

She fucking used me.

Like a fucking condom, or some other disgusting metaphor to show off my anger.

I cannot think of what to do… I've never been used before. Manipulated like. It's always been me who would do the manipulating.

It was always me. Fucking me who would do the manipulating! ME!

My mind is screaming at me. I'm to do something it says. I'm to do something.

ANYTHING.

It's telling me to kill someone. Anyone. Maybe even everyone. Get into my car & start running down everyone who crosses my eyesight. Make everyone pay for ever hurting me.

Then I start to think of her. Rabbit princess of blood. Most gorgeous eyes & luscious fur that glistens in rain both red & clear. I feel betrayed. Driven to near madness.

I don't know whether I should kill her or myself.

Finally, I reach my apartment, above the now derelict "Wilde Tailors". The plural of "Tailor" at this point being a sort of ironic joke, of course; being the only American born Wilde to a father & mother hailing from three generations of Tailors swarming the lochs & crannies all throughout Scotland. Being a single Wilde, to a single Tailor after the disappearance of my mother from my life. Fate has a cruel way of looking at life indeed, having a near obvious lack of empathy like myself towards the idea of humor.

But now is not the time for humor. Humor is far from my mind.

Anger is all I see.

Anger is all I am.

For I am rage incarnate.

When I wake up, my father's apartment is desolate. A disgusting mess of wood planks, metal springs, nails & claw scrapings & bite marks plague my floor, walls & ceiling. The smell of blood is most present, as I look down at my tired body.

Two of my left paw's claws appear to be missing; a mild throbbing pain ever present as my eyes drift lower. Gashes plague my body, arms in cuts, stomach bruised, & legs bashed as I claw my way back to my bed.

Or my mattress at least. Somehow, by some divine miracle, there sits a lone coffee table, with a glass of water sitting atop its wood, lacking even a single scratch or graze.

I down the glass quickly. Lacking even the strength to lift it back up, toss it lazily into the mattress where I rest. Unfortunately, the angle which I toss causes it to bound off the sheets to hit the floor with a dull thud.

To this day, I'm still not sure who found me. The rest of my interactions were a blur with the medics, so someone must've found me. Either I called an ambulance or Finnick found me. There isn't a single other person I can think of who would give any more of a shit about me apart from my darling mother & father. Which makes me think of Judith…

Judith… "Judy" Hopps. A rabbit so strange, she captures my attention in the weirdest ways. And by the time I woke up, she was all that I thought of.

Or at least, by the time I was conscious.

'J….. Juuuuuddd….'

'Man, what the fuck are you on about?' as it turns out, the man who had rescued me from some sort of horrible, possibly bacterial death, & who was currently spoon feeding me, was my dear companion, Finnick.

As disgusting as it was, I soon realized that the food was dripping from my numbed face, all over my neck. What made it worse is that when I tried to reach for it, my arm reached a painful stopping point, revealing to myself that my small & well needed tantrum had caused more trouble than I'd anticipated. This, I shrugged off, with a loud, annoyed sigh. The left arm would have to do. I certainly doubt that Finnick would intervein with his own paw. No, in fact he was laughing, or at the very least chuckling.

'Man, freak; what did you do to yourself?' this was maybe the one of the few times in his life he showed sympathy for me. He may dislike the aura I give off, multiplied by my shady & fragmented availability for our… work outings…

'W-what?' My voice croaky & scratched, like I've been dehydrated for a thousand years.

'Man… you can't fucking kill yourself! Who else would I turn to if I needed to make fun of someone?' Maybe he didn't hate me as much as he let on. That may be one of the first sentences addressing me where he didn't use the pejorative term "freak". And boy, oh boy, does he love using the word freak. It's in every third sentence, at least. I mean, we are brothers in everything but legal.

Wait, did he mention suicide?

Oh no.

Oh fucking no.

I'm in here on suicide watch.

Fuck. FUCK.

How am I supposed to kill anyone while I'm on suicide watch. I don't want to fucking kill myself. It should be everyone else they fucking worry about.

'Look, just call it a moment of weakness… it won't happen again,'

'You're damn right it won't happen again! You're staying in my van until we sort out your goddamn living situation. Everything except your mom's fucking piano is ripped apart. I mean we could probably salvage your mattress… maybe…'

It took him a little to start up again, but his gaze was the most inquisitive & threatening I've ever seen.

'Did that fucking rabbit do this to you?' I flinch. Which he sees, quite clearly.

'I swear, if I get my fucking hands on that bunny whore, I'll make her rue the day she ever crossed u—'

'It wasn't her, man,' this seemed to get his attention.

'Look, I just had a little… tantrum… I guess… I was a bit… out of sorts… or whatever,'

He's listening now… and he looks pissed.

'I come over to your house & see it looking like C4 was placed in your kitchen… & you tell me it was all because of a fucking tantrum?' In following that little outburst, he strikes me hard on my casted arm. And let me tell you, my cherished audience, it hurt more than anything I could ever imagine.

In the split seconds that I thought of the pain, I thought of a young woman; a vixen, mind you. Her red fur glistened in blood, much like my imaginings of my darling rabbit companion. I imagined her dancing, much like the bunny, through a rain of blood.

Not… dancing…

Wincing…

She was wincing in pain. A lot of pain. The blood showered her body from head to toe. I never knew there was so much blood inside a mammal's body so small… and it showered her. Oh, how it showered her.

She looked down at me in fear; but not fear of me, I must tell you. She did not fear of me, but she feared for me.

And for half a second, half a second, but such a long half-second; I did not want this vixen to die. She couldn't die; she can't die; but she was going to.

She fell to her knees, so very weak. But still strong enough to reach over & pet my muzzle.

'Tis okay pet, claise yer een...' her accent was one I hadn't heard in a long, long time, but it was one I knew most clearly.

'Mom…'

She was clear as day. My beloved mother; a woman enough to stir even the loudest emotions from the deepest recess of my soul.

My beloved mother.

And in a flash, she was gone… the last vestiges of my memory of her gone like the wind. Lost, were her gorgeous blue eyes, deeper than any ocean & more beautiful than any common tart that walks the street; better looking than any quote unquote "supermodel", those ugly whores using looks so commonly viewed as gorgeous, just because they fucked the right agent they get to flaunt themselves all over the covers of magazines & live in mansions just because their "dump-truck ass" as Finnick calls it.

My gorgeous mother, cut in half right in front of me.

I saw it so very clearly. I want to stop seeing it.

I want to stop seeing all that blood.

Please God, stop all that blood.

You bastard God, if you have any sympathy for mortal, you will take these images away. All I can image is her body, split in two.

For the first time in a long time, I cant stand the sight of blood.

I gaze at my broken body, covered in bandages & slightly stained with the blood of its bearer.

And I cannot bear even that, my dear reader. I cannot handle the sight of what an apex predator must bear to see.

My body begins to convulse as I gaze at my arms & legs. I think I must have vomited but I'm too far gone to realize. I can't stand it. I'm looking at my own body & I feel like I'm going to die if I don't close my eyes. But even when I do that, I cannot stand it.

My eyes are as stained as my bandages, as when my eyelids close over my gazers I just see my mother, her body split so horribly in two, blood staining her perfect fur as I close, but whenever I open my eyes all I can think of is the urge to vomit at the sight of the stains.

I try to keep my eyes open as long as I can, the very idea of shutting my eyes horrific as I open them wider.

I am told that I was given some very strong painkillers after Finnick rushed off for the head nurse.

I wish they never gave me them.

I can taste the blood that stained the floor my mother fell unto. My eyes feel like they've already cried all my tears before they've even started tearing up.

My poor mother. Its horrifying. Not even Finnick, nor my father have gotten this kind of reaction out of me. All I can think of is a small crying todd, the poor kit lying in his mother's blood, cradling her head against mine as the lights slowly dim.

Whatever Hell is, I'm in it.

Hell is watching my dearest darling mother die, over & over again, while I'm powerless to defend her against our tormentors.

She is undoubtably watching from blissful heaven, watching the child of her very own bosom turn into the monster he had become today. What pains me most is that she'll be apart from her child; while she lay in heaven, being cherished & honored by all those she loved. All those, except her darling child. Her one & only, sans Finnick.

I mean maybe Finnick will join her one day, I don't know; don't ask me how God & the concepts of Heaven & Hell work.

When I finally awaken, all I taste is bile; having removed all but from my stomach. But all I want is to die.

It's funny; I came into this hospital under the notion that I had attempted suicide, which was undoubtably false; & yet once I leave, I'm going to want to snuff myself more than when I entered.

The painkillers had me quite knocked out for a few hours, & it was not long before I made my way out of the hospital, wheeled out by Finnick himself.

It was a sight to see, watching a tiny thing like Finnick wheel the chair of a substantially larger man. We certainly got a fair number of strange looks, one or two being unfortunately bigoted, but I imagine they were just mammals that couldn't gauge the humor of the situation. I mean take it from someone who lacked the capacity to understand humor, I can understand where they came from.

Being from a rather lacking part of society, they were more than happy to let me out with Finnick just as long as they got a new bed & all the money that I owed out of me. There was no need for anyone to sue, which was always strange to understand; you want to get healthy? You need a certain amount of money.

It is awfully strange, this society. It's times like that that I wished my family had never moved from Scotland.

As Finnick would say, "Fuck this place".

Over the course of the next couple of days, Finnick & I cleaned up my apartment to make it look substantially more "homely", as the everyday mammal would have put it.

And by Finnick & I, I mean only Finnick, as I was unable to lift even the smallest plank of plywood.

Hell, I couldn't even walk straight let alone move furniture.

But it certainly was a treat to watch Finnick move stick after stick of furniture all by his lonesome.

Honestly, I felt rather evil watching him hoist all my stuff around to make my abode look like a mammal being lived inside.

'Hey freak, if you wanna keep laughing, I've got a perfect way to send you back to that hospital with these perfect babies,' His ego seemed to have stretched for a split second, gesturing to his two hard pressed fists. The wounded lion knows when to take help from the feeble mouse when asked. And I'm not one to tempt fate, no sir.

'Maybe you'd be happier if I moved back in with you?' he asked, facing nobody in particular; but I was more than certain the question was aimed at me, what with there being nobody else around & all.

He didn't need to mind you; & I don't say this out of spite or lack of need for my dearest brother's companionship. It was his choice to move out. He wanted freedom. Living in a small apartment above a closed down tailor shop isn't exactly the best choice for a pair of brothers, with one entering his mid-forties.

The point being he had his own life to live.

'Don't be stupid, Finn…' I began, nice & simple. 'We both want our own freedoms & we both like to be alone,' I give him a sly wink. I know he likes to have the occasional gal-pal around every now & again. There's a reason he wears an Elephant costume when he gets to work.

He's a fan of "larger" women.

And boy, oh boy… they certainly are a fan of him.

This little interaction does get a laugh out of him though.

'Yeah, we do don't we,' his loud cackle could be heard all over Flock Street. He has quite the knowable laugh.

'Well, I suppose we lead very different lives if we throw work out,'

'That we do my small, sandy compadre. That we do,'

The majority of the time he works his way around the apartment, I'm surfing the net on my cPhone. It's my usual way to find my next victim, to be bisected on my very own cutting room table.

It really is the only thing I can think of to keep my mind occupied. Sure, I could play a video game or watch a film; but my games have very much been destroyed after my fit of unwellness; my unbridled rage has become of myself, oh my dear friends. In the time it may have felt more than justifiable. But now…

Now I see the result of my rage. The mess that it caused.

The mess that that rabbit had made of me.

I had met that gorgeous rabbit maybe twice, of my recollection. And such an impact she had made on me.

Such an impact, it amazes me.

But my retrospective is short-lived, as I see a photo of a cheetah displayed front page on some generic news site.

But this cheetah I knew. This cheetah I knew well.

Not three months ago I took this cheetah very far away. To a place not known to many. I made sure his head was very far away from his body by the time I was finished.

But unfortunately, it was too far.

Even now, it Is much too far from the body, where it should have been pushed to at this stage.

This young cheetah's head was unfortunately found on the outskirts of Sandy Ridge.

A beach.

They found his head on a fucking beach. It should have been at the bottom of the Polar Strait.

DISMEMBERED REMAINS OF CHEETAH FOUND ON BEACH.

From what I've read, there isn't any word yet of the name of him, which is a positive. His name was Phillip, but as it happens, I am not one who wants to reveal such information to the authorities.

My small reaction of joy is short lived, however, as it is quickly stifled by a call from an unknown number. Finnick, noticing the change in atmosphere, is quick to make himself scarce, & I am once again left to my own devices.

My fears begin to make themselves known as I toss & turn in fear of possibilities that I know now to be most irrational. I fear police, ZBI & even dreaded blackmailers will make themselves known as I answer the phone. Sweat stains my bandages, mixing with the very small amount of ichor that made its home allover my bandages.

But then, my dear readers, I heard the most beautiful voice echo from the speakers into my humble ears.

'Uhh… Mr. W-Wilde?' I smile to myself knowingly. Seratonin & dopamine flowing through my brain as my mouth stretches wide.

'Nick?' maybe I left her hanging just a little too long.

'Speaking?' I reply smugly. What a waste to have such a horrible fit. Incredibly immature of myself. I shall work to fix that of myself.

'I-It's Judy… Judy H-Hopps?' the poor thing was most worried, fear entering her form through every word she spoke. It was the kind of tone that most certainly made it know who was in charge of this conversation.

To spoil this lovely fairy tale, it was me.

'Look… I understand this is incredibly unprofessional…' her sigh spoke volumes of her current situation, '…& incredibly unorthodox', you're damn right it's unorthodox. I've never heard of such a situation happening.

'But… I was just wondering…' she sounded pretty depressed in all honesty; so against my better judgement, I decided to give her a little bit of leeway. She had earnt it after all.

'Look, I was wondering if your offer was still open,'