It was a deathly quiet weekend, like the stillness after a gunshot. After the disastrous election debate had been abruptly halted midway through, students were led to their dorms and left in the dark. No votes were cast, no updates were given. It seemed both the student council and the faculty were struggling on how to address what steps should be taken next, if any. This impotence proved arguably more disastrous than the debate itself. With the absence of an official stance, people were starting to talk.

Desmond couldn't escape the talk. The moment he stepped foot outside of his dorm, his ears twitched with perpetual droning of herbivorous lips conspiring. The common room had been converted into a headquarters of sorts, filled to the brim with furrowed-browed herbivores discussing what had transpired. The crowd all spiraled around one white rhinoceros, who spent the entire weekend being interviewed by every herbie in the school. Even the females dropped by to this meeting of the minds.

"Did you get in trouble?" A tapir asked.

"A little bit. I could tell that old goose wanted to hit me with the old suspension boot." Ezekiel replied cooly. "But I just said legally available information that was relevant to the election, in my eyes. They just didn't like the ruckus it caused."

A dairy cow spoke up from the back. "They just wanna censor you!"

"Yeah, shame on them!" A horse chimed in. "They were trying to hide yet another killer! This whole academy is crooked!"

"The student council too!" A mouse spoke into the available voice amplifier on the wall. "I bet they knew the whole time! It's all one big feline cabal!"

The star of the show raised a hand to settle the mob. "You may have a point. I just think this whole little scandal proves one thing…"

With an emphatic grunt, he lifts himself atop one of the counters, his horn nearly touching the ceiling. "Predators like that panther are always gonna hide in the shadows of Noah's Arc as long as carnies are allowed to study here!"

The herbivores roared. Desmond thought it was a horrible sound. Much of his weekend was spent in the ram fighting training room alongside his teammates. After all, all rams destress with a little violence.

But even his second home became tainted with the toxic stench of politics. Though Desmond forbade any talk not related to horns and tackling, he could still pick up whisperings here and there. Especially from Elmer and Marcel.

"I can't believe we nearly fell for it again…"

"Peter would be so ashamed…"

"That's the last time I ever trust a feline…"

"Or a carnie at that…"

Desmond seethed at those words, but couldn't muster the energy to call them out. He simply let them sizzle in the background as he grappled the tackling bag. Who was he to contradict them? Despite his attempts, Desmond was losing hope. It seemed that whenever he committed to something, the universe found a way to humiliate him for daring to care about something.

Whether or not Toma had actually eaten his mother or not was of no interest to him. There could be a million reasons why, and the sheep had learned not to take things at surface value. The problem lied with the world around him, the world that beat him over the head with the notion that carnies and herbies have no business being near each other. How does a society with both tropic groups even run? Is the adult thing to do simply to forever keep one's heart guarded, one's walls up, one's hand always grazing the gun holster? Perhaps there was no such thing as harmony between the species.

But then… isn't he right back to where he started?

The idea depressed him. How he would've loved Hafsa's advice then. But that too had been taken from him. Instead, all he could do was stare at the copper plaque outside of the ram training room labelled 'BIGHORN PETER HALL'.


Hafsa's weekend was also far from pleasant. Her life as a popular girl had spoiled her so that she had nearly forgotten the feeling of being ostracized. Walking into the cafeteria, she felt all eyes land on her. All chatter seemed to pause at the serval's arrival before resuming in a lower, conspiratorial tone.

Solomon was right. Hafsa's obvious favoritism of Toma made his crimes her own. She advocated for a predator, which in the eyes of the students, made her one as well. Not even fellow carnies dared approach her.

"They're making us look bad…" She overheard a female mutter in the halls of her dorm. "I don't wanna get expelled because the student council is incompetent…"

Hafsa had never been called incompetent before. She'd been called many things, even a killer, but never that. She reached a level of debasement entirely new to her. But just like her days as the Crazy Kitty Killer, she swallowed the lump caught in her throat and marched around campus with her head held high. Her dignity, though completely artificial, was the only thing she had left.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the frantic waving of arms. Brian beckoned her to his table (he too was sitting alone). With a helpless smile, Hafsa made her way over to the only friend who hadn't abandoned her.

"Hi, Brian." She greeted meekly.

"Hey, Hafsa! Sit down, your dinner's getting cold."

The rock dove's usual cheeriness was intact, despite the trouble he certainly was facing as well. His bright attitude helped perk the feline up a bit. She still is Hafsa, after all. Fake smiles are her speciality.

"How's your vow of silence been?"

Brian pinches his beak in between his index finger and thumb. "Not a peep out of me. But between us, I don't think this strategy is working very much. Since Principal House told us to keep quiet, it's not like we can go against it, but I don't think it does much for settling nerves."

"I guess the herbie dorms are just as crazy as the carnie ones, huh?" She asked with a bitter chuckle.

"With a certain someone always blabbing on in the common room, I wouldn't say it's super comfy. Thank God I work weekends."

"I envy that. It must be nice getting away from this mess even for a couple of hours."

"Well, it's a barista job so it's not much better." The pigeon joked.

"I wonder if that's what Solomon's doing…" Hafsa grumbled.

Neither the serval nor the pigeon knew what became of the secretary, though Brian had an idea he prayed was wrong. After storming out of the nurse's office on Friday, the caracal had essentially vanished without so much as a text. Any message Hafsa sent was ignored, every call dropped. Could he have bailed altogether? This type of cowardice was extremely unlike him, though. Hafsa had the feeling he was mad at her, but she was also very much not in the mood to plead and apologize, so she let the matter be. The caracal would have to come to her.

Brian nodded. "Sure wish he were here now. Toma, too."

"It's probably for the best that he lies low."

Much like Solomon, the academy hadn't seen a hair of Toma, though he let the student council know where he was: holed up in his dorm. He only left in the wee hours, long past curfew, to stock up on food for the next day. Whether he would even leave the room for classes on Monday was to be confirmed.

"It's so unfair!" The bird whined. "He's innocent yet everyone's treating him like a criminal…"

"He technically is one."

"Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he fight back?" The bird stirs his millet in frustration.

Hafsa sighed. "It's like he said… who would take his word for it?"

"We would."

"Yeah… That's why we're also being treated like criminals."

"I bet Desmond would believe him."

The serval's breath hitched. "Desmond's not like the other herbies."

Her friend observed the sudden strain in her countenance. Miserably, he tosses his spoon aside, rattling against the half empty bowl. "You know, I used to think that any animal could get along in this world as long as they showed a little honesty and openness. But I don't know if I think that anymore."

Hearing these pitiful words broke Hafsa's heart. If there was any creature in this world who deserved to keep faith alive, it was sweet Brian. She confronted her own reflection in his glassy beady eyes.

"Don't say that." She urged him. "I'm sorry, don't let my mopeyness contaminate you. This is all my fault to begin with."

"No, no." Brian shook his head. "I was even thinking that before the elections. I mean… I'm always preaching bout accepting differences and look at me. Too cowardly to even tell people about Humbert."

"That's not your fault! That's self-preservation." The female counters. "You're doing what you have to do to secure your future. It's not your fault if others wouldn't understand."

"Do you… really think I don't have a future? Being the way I am?"

Oh God, what did she do.

"N-no, of course not!" She stammers, frantically waving a hand as if shaking the very idea from the atmosphere. "I-I just meant that… at least for now, g-given our society… keeping it a secret is smart! I-isn't that what you think too?"

"I mean, I guess that was my logic…" Brian remained unconvinced. "But… It's not right to live a lie. Even if it's the only thing others will accept, it's just not right. Just look at Toma."

"But the lie is what protects you!" Hafsa's tone grew frantic. "And even in Toma's case, imagine if he tried to clear his name now! People would think even worse of him! Sometimes, the truth can only hurt you!"

"The truth…" He repeated. "The truth can make things more difficult, and even hurt… But running away from it… do you think Toma is happy?"

The serval clenched her jaw shut.

"I'm not happy. I can't be if I have to deceive others and act like something I'm not."

The pigeon gestured to their surroundings. To the whispers, and the glares, and the unmistakable split between carnies on one side of the cafeteria and herbies on the other.

"Look around us, Hafsa. All of this is because nobody wants to face the truth. Maybe they think this is the truth. But maybe… maybe if someone is bold enough to take that first step and break free… Well, maybe something would change. Maybe we'd be happier."

He expected her to say something, if only just a murmur of agreement or disagreement. But Hafsa had fallen deathly quiet, like the stillness after a gunshot.

They silently watched the motions of the segregated cafeteria, and not a word was spoken for the rest of the day.


"Regarding the abrupt cancellation of the vice presidential debate, both the student council and Principal House would like to offer our sincerest apologies."

The president's words ring loud and clear within the auditorium. Not three days ago, the students and staff of Noah's Arc found themselves in this very room in a similar situation. However, the atmosphere now is light years away from its predecessor. Instead of excitement, the auditorium crushes those trapped within with a hair-raising tension.

Desmond wriggles amongst the crowd of hundreds, cloaked by the darkness not granted to those up on stage. His companions seated next to him shift irritably, muttering complaints to each other while the serval (under the greatest scrutiny of the harsh spotlight) continues her speech.

"After the arguments lost focus, leading to an unruly climate, and one of the candidates lost consciousness, we felt it was best to conclude the debate at that moment. As such, you were unable to cast your votes."

Her tone is professional, as always. A casual observer wouldn't be able to detect a hint of weakness in her disposition. But Desmond can spot what her anxiety was doing to her from a mile away. He can only imagine that the student council office must be up in flames. He curses himself internally for ever having left, especially for what now seems like such a petulant reason. He never would have gone had he known the trouble it would cause for her.

"During the weekend, it was decided that the election process is to be delayed until after spring break. The seat of Vice President will remain empty until then. Thank you for understanding."

Weak claps mimic the feline's footsteps as she walks to the background of the stage, joining Brian and Solomon while the stout House totters to the podium to carry on with the assembly.

Weak claps mixed with some undeniable booing. Desmond fights the turn to snap his head back and see who is guilty, but of course, he already knows.

None other than his own kind. Just turning his head to either side will show him the blistering herbivores that scowl at the animals on stage. Some of the students booing aren't even in DAVID. It seems Ezekiel had accomplished precisely what he wanted. The ram looks helplessly on, scanning Hafsa's face. She stares unblinkingly into the crowd with an unreadable expression, as if she didn't pick up on the heckling despite her superior hearing.

He almost laughs at the sight. Only she would look so utterly unbothered as the world crumbles around her.


AN: Thank you kindly for reading. Apologies for the delayed upload, some of that may have to do with the new Pokemon game. This chapter is a bit on the shorter side, but I already have a good idea for the coming chapters. I hate writing about the protagonists being in tough spots!

Take it easy and stay safe.