WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions/implications of sexual themes (including dubious/nonconsensual intercourse (non-explicit but implied) and harassment (primarily verbal in nature but still present)) and blood/gore. Please read with caution.


The same evening as the Dia de los Muertos celebration, in a dark, cramped laboratory, Pepé sits under the lamp's light, cautiously tearing away at the parcel. Hidden underneath the paper covering is an old and worn leather-bound journal, secured with a scratched-up lock. Though he cannot explain the reason, when he sees the journal he feels a sense of déjà vu arising. I don't see any key, and there is a great amount of damage around the hole. Whatever's in this journal is extremely important.

He searches through his desk drawers, choosing from the assortment of medical tools in his repertoire. Unearthing a scalpel and needles, he gets to work.

It takes him far longer than he had predicted, but once the lock snaps open, he breathes a sigh of relief. He opens the journal and starts reading. As his eyes drift through the words, memories flood in, muffled voices and blurred images gradually becoming clear.


Many years ago, in Montréal, there stood a series of factory and research buildings. Above all of them, marked on the tall center facility was the name "ACME Corporation". In the sterile white halls of the company, a bespectacled skunk walked side-by-side with a gray rabbit.

"I cannot thank you enough for this opportunity," said the skunk. "After years of hard work and study, my genius is finally recognized! Mais pourquoi moi? Why go as far as to hire some back-alley doctor from the slums?"

"Because, Henri," the rabbit answered in a strange American accent, "your pharmaceutical talents are second to none. Word spreads fast in the seedy underground, and when rumors about you reached the surface world, I got curious. Besides, here in ACME, all Sapients are given a fair chance."

The two stopped before a door labeled "Research Lab", and the rabbit continued. "Here's your new second home. Starting today, you'll be joining us in our top secret research project. Tell me, Mr. La Moufette, do you believe in aliens?"

Taken aback, Henri scratched his chin. "I never thought about it, but it would be interesting if they did. Mr. Bunny, you don't mean to tell me that you hired me to perform some Area 51 shenanigans, are you?"

The rabbit slid a card through the door's reader, prompting the lock to click open. "Recently, our archeological staff over in Egypt have uncovered a foreign substance hidden within the tombs of a once-lost pharaoh. It didn't take long for 'em to find more of the stuff, and after confirming it was safe to handle, they brought it over to our companies here in North America. Your job is to test the material's reactions to organic and inorganic matter and whatever else you nerdy types do. Dr. Brain can explain the details."


Illudium, the universal reagent. Or so that was what the researchers called it. Organic or inorganic, the strange green substance was able to dilute and attach itself to any earthly element and compound possible. Even better, with the right additions and alterations to a formula, the Illudium was capable of creating effects never before seen on this planet. Some had compared it to the Philosopher's Stone of legend, others believed it capable of creating the elixir of life. Whether those claims held truth or not, one thing was certain: Illudium was a powerful and alluring mystery. There was just one downside…

"Dr. La Moufette, the human subjects are reacting poorly to the Illudium. What do you suggest?"

Henri stood before the medical beds, occupied by human patients. They were gaunt and sickly, their skin turning green in hue. The skunk wracked his brain with all manners of speculation: radiation, overdose, poor application into the bloodstream. He knew it was not radioactive, and the application and dosage were safe and consistent with those of their Sapient and non-Sapient animal subjects. Yet while the non-humans were thriving, the humans were not.

"Gather fresh blood samples from everyone," Henri answered. "Every last subject, regardless of species or sentience. Have the hematologists look into it."


Weeks passed, and as the researchers inspected the blood samples and observed the subjects, the human patients passed on one by one. Henri, normally level-headed even under pressure, was wracked with a strong feeling he never recalled feeling before.

I failed. My research, my work, my reputation, it's all falling apart! All because of those humans…

"The results have come in," a goose scientist interrupted his train of thought. "The Illudium particles in the homo sapiens samples had been absorbing the blood cells and mutating them. The hematologists theorize that they're reacting to a genetic compound specific to human blood, but we'll have to refer to the geneticists before we can confirm it."

Henri thanked the scientist and ordered them to execute their suggested action, adding in a request to bring in more human subjects for further testing. Once they're out of the lab, he closed the door and sighed. I'm tired of dealing with such useless distractions. He shuffled over to the lab table upon which his journal rested. A series of formulas were scribbled on its exposed pages, topped by the name, "Potion d'Amour". I have more important matters to tend to.


Pepé flips the page, only to find the next two to be ripped out. He blinks, confused. He flips back to an earlier entry, then back to the torn sections. Potion d'Amour… Was I trying to make an aphrodisiac of some sort? And for what reason? His mind reeling with questions, he reads on.


How does one define "love"? Lust for one's body, or desire for one's heart? No matter who I ask, the answers continue to confound me.

In the break room, he was sitting at the table, chatting with one of his coworkers, an attractive blonde mink who often wore red under her lab coat. During the conversation, she nearly spat out her drink.

"You mean to tell me that you," she exclaimed, "never had a girlfriend? Like, ever?"

To this, Henri responded, "I have often fantasized the idea of falling in love, but so far, I haven't come across anyone that I see as more than a friend or acquaintance. I tried asking Bernard, but he wasn't much help. Minerva, what is it like to 'feel love'?"

Minerva tapped her chin, her lips curled up into a cheeky smirk. "Well, whenever I see an attractive guy, my heart races and my body starts getting warmer, and…" She punctuated her sentiment with a moan and feigned swoon. "Say, you're pretty cute, even with your glasses on. I bet you've had plenty of ladies and gents swooning over you." She leaned over and brushed her fingers against his cheek.

"I was hardly considered 'popular' in any sense," Henri stammered, perturbed by Minerva's suggestive gesture. "Skunks aren't well-liked where I came from, and when your name is associated with the…" He swatted her hand away. "Can you not do that? It's distracting."

His reaction caught Minerva off-guard. "Sorry, but I just… I couldn't help myself! You're cute, I'm gorgeous, and we're both Mustelidae. It's like we're fated for each other!"

He glared, his pink eyes looking more eerie than endearing. "I may not know the meaning of 'love', but I know the definition of 'sexual harassment'! I will be speaking with HR about your misbehavior." He stood up and stormed out of the break room, but not without adding, "And for the record, we skunks are Mephitidae, not Mustelidae!"

Later in the lab, he and his male peers were chatting like usual until one wolf brought up the incident with Minerva, which he overheard from someone in HR. Then the conversation devolved into chaos.

"Hold up. You turned down Minerva Mink?"

"Dude, are you crazy?"

"Half of the Science Department would kill to go on a date with her!"

Despite his attempts at brushing off their nosy statements, Henri could ignore them for only so long before the pressure got to him. "Minerva is an attractive woman," he finally said, "but her personality is quite repulsive."

"Repulsive or not, you don't come across a pretty face like that everyday," the wolf replied. "'Specially in a workplace like this. You should give her a second chance. Lord knows you need to get laid."

Henri snapped, "If you want her so badly, perhaps you should ask her out. I want nothing to do with cette pute!"

"Don't mind if I do," the wolf said with a grin. "I doubt she would want anything to do with a smelly old skunk from the black market." His emphasis on the last words elicited shocked gasps from those around him, including Henri. "Don't bother playing pretend, everyone on this side of Québec has heard of the La Moufettes. The family of skunk doctors who sold poisons disguised as medicine and cut out organs for sale in the black market. Any bastard who treats lives as callously as you are incapable of love and undeserving of it!"

The skunk wanted to make a remark, shout about how wrong he was, and yet he froze up, too shaken to speak. That moment, he could sense the leery eyes of his coworkers, their murmuring tickling his sensitive eardrums. Henri's anxiety grew more intense inside him, but for the sake of not looking conspicuous, he kept to himself. Mr. Bunny hired me for a reason, he rationalized to himself. He recognized my talent and believed I deserved a second chance. So perhaps even I could be deserving of love.

Love… What is love?


A year passed since Henri La Moufette was brought onto ACME's top secret Illudium project, and many things had happened in that time frame.

After many repeated failures and the increased legal and safety risks involved, human subjects had been banned from further testing of Illudium and all samples of human blood had been tossed out. In contrast, the non-Sapient animal test subjects had gained sentience, and are slowly showing signs of becoming Sapient–the biggest scientific breakthrough thus far. In response to this discovery, tests began taking blood samples from non-Illudium-affected Sapients, comparing their DNA to that of the recently-transformed ones. The research process was still ongoing, but as time went on, Illudium was becoming touted as "the miracle element" more and more by the science community.

On the subject of miracles, Henri had written and released a thesis on his ongoing project: a substance which, when ingested or injected, would create an emulation of the sensations associated with infatuation. His "love potion" thesis was met with much controversy, comparing his project to "promoting date rape" and scrutinizing it heavily. The article was taken down swiftly, but rumors of its contents would linger in the years since.

He was disappointed, offended even, but his ambitions did not falter. Through months of research and years of observation, he would build upon the folklorish descriptions with modern science, reaching ever closer to achieving that which he could not experience himself. Yet after many trials, none of his formulas had any effect. At this rate, he would need a miracle to find success.

Miracle… The miracle element. Illudium. That's what I needed.

Late one night, he snuck into the Illudium storage–normally forbidden off-hours even to those most closely associated with its research–and stole a tube-shaped container's worth of the foreign matter before returning to his company-paid residence–located just outside of ACME property. From his home kitchen lab, he began work on his newest experiment, using half a tube of Illudium as the base to which all the other components would connect. Once the potion is completed, he gulped it down without hesitation, becoming increasingly lightheaded as the bottle emptied. After the last drop slipped down his throat, his body turned limp, and he fell to the floor, losing consciousness.


He awakened, much to his surprise. The light feeling still lingered, but his body was full of energy. Grabbing his lab coat, lanyard, and satchel, he ran out the door. He was ready and able to take on the world.

As he ran down the street, Henri swerved around pedestrians, fled from ongoing traffic, and leapt over fences and other obstacles. None of his past experiments gave him this level of strength and vitality, none until the last one. Could this be a side effect of the Illudium?, he wondered to himself. Questions continued to run through his mind, distracting him from the small Sapient directly in front of him.

CRASH!

Papers and writing utensils flew from his satchel, scattering across the sidewalk. He scrambled to pick them up, when a small, black-furred paw handed him a sheet. "Here," a female voice spoke. Henri stopped to look up, and let out a gasp of awe. Soft fur, golden eyes, and a svelte silhouette combined to form the most beautiful skunk he ever laid his eyes upon. "Sorry for making such a mess," she added.

"Non, non, it was my fault," he apologized. "I was not paying attention to where I was going." In that moment, his heart started pounding as he stumbled over his words. "Je m'appelle Henri. Et toi?"

"Marie La Fume. I work at the perfume shop a few blocks down from here."

"What a coincidence, my workplace is along the way!" He showed off his ID card hanging around his neck. "I work for ACME R&D. Chemistry, to be exact. Perfumery is outside of what I usually do, but I would love to try out some fragrances."

She let out a light, airy laugh. "Well, you're in luck, for I happen to have a sample in my bag." She dug through her purse and gave him a small bottle. "I call it 'Sérendipité'. I made the blend with the thought of 'meeting an old friend' or 'love at first sight', that sort of thing."

Henri dabbed a bit of the fragrance onto his wrist and smelled it. Light and airy, with a subtle hint of roses, it calmed down his beating heart even as the source of it was beside him. "C'est magnifique! This is the best scent I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing."

"Since you enjoy it, it's all yours." She handed him a business card. "Call me or drop by when you want to make an order. I do custom blends, too."

Accepting the card, he smiled bashfully. "Merci. Erm, if it's alright with you, would you mind if we meet again… sometime this weekend?"

Marie's eyes widened in surprise, then she replied, "It's a date."


Am I dreaming? No, it's not a dream. I still have her card. I'm holding her hand right now. She has a ring on her finger, as do I.

Henri and Marie's first date went over splendidly, and over the next year, their hearts grew fonder for each other. Halfway through his third year working for ACME, he proposed to her. They married before the end of the year, and spent their honeymoon in Paris. Never before could he have imagined being able to live such an idealistic and idyllic future, yet now he is living it.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end.

Their first time together in bed was awkward, to say the least. Henri, a virgin who never experienced sexual attraction or desire, could only lie down and react stiltedly as his wife led him through the motions. His emotional response was mixed: consciously, he found it unimpressive, but his carnal subconscious was intrigued. Perhaps this was the "love" his peers had spoken about. He noted Marie's pleasure and smiled back on impulse. If this made her happy, then he wouldn't mind doing it again for her sake. Though next time, he mused darkly, I will be the one in control.

The first night in their new home in Montréal, Marie entered the room and was hit with a waft of a familiar smell. The light, rosy odor sent her afloat, her body feeling as if she was walking on top of clouds. As she approached the bed, the sights around her shifted, turning from a mundane bedroom into a heavenly landscape of pink, billowy clouds, with her husband in the middle of it. He pulled her close, dragging her onto the bed, and then kissed her hand. "Are you ready to ascend towards Heaven, my love?" he whispered in her ear. Wistfully, she complied and closed her eyes.

When she awoke, her whole body was aching, and her head was spinning. She turned to face Henri, smiling peacefully. Yet something felt different about him. His pink eyes, once sparkling with innocence, had turned dull and lifeless. "Did you enjoy last night's dream, mon chérie?" he asked impassively. "I promise I'll be more gentle next time."

A chill ran down the doe's spine. "Henri… Did we…?" Suddenly, an overwhelming nausea took over, and she rushed over to the bathroom.

She proceeded to vomit in the toilet when Henri knocked on the door. "Marie, is something wrong?" he asked, his voice emotive with concern. "Wait one moment. I think there's something in the kitchen that can help–"

"Henri," Marie wheezed, "what did you do to me?"

A pause, then: "I thought I could make you happy. When we had our first time, I felt guilty for not taking the initiative, as a buck's supposed to with his doe. So I… I tried to make it pleasurable."

"So you drugged me, is that it?" she snapped. "Salaud! Do you realize what you've done to me?" Calming down, she whimpered, "Go grab a pregnancy test from the store. Let's hope that it's not… Cus if it's a positive… I'll never forgive you."


The test was positive. It should have been a joyous occasion for the two of us, but that was true for only myself. Ever since that night, she gave me the cold shoulder, and as the life inside her womb grew, so did her sense of self shrunk into nonexistence. I've tried over and over to beg for her forgiveness, but it was too late. I killed my wife, if not physically, then mentally.

I was not meant to love, I do not deserve love.


Marie… Forgive me… I have failed you. I should have protected you, but instead I let you fall in her hands.

In the outskirts of a Québécois town, there stood an abandoned hospital building. Henri ran into the building, traversing its dark and filthy halls with what memories he had of its layout. He burst through the double doors that lead into the obstetrics wing, then followed the faint echoes of crying in the end of the hall. Before he reached its end, however, a figure stepped out, cradling the source of the sound.

The figure was, aside from her feminine features, the spitting image of himself, wearing bloodied hospital scrubs. In her arms was a newborn skunk, squealing and flailing. The doe was smiling serenely, but her pink eyes were blank and soulless. "Congratulations, brother," she announced, her stoic inflection contrasting her words. "Your new son is alive and healthy. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of your wife. But that's for the better, is it not? She was complaining about how you betrayed her and whatnot, so maybe she was better off dead. I mean, look on the bright side: we can raise the baby together." Her expression falls, brows furrowed with worry. "Henri, why are you crying?"

Tears blinding his vision, Henri growled, "Henriette, what did you do to Marie?"

Beaming, the doe answered, "Simple: I cut her open and took out the baby. He was having trouble coming out, you see, so I had to perform a C-section. But don't you worry–your wife's fresh, healthy organs won't go to waste."

He stood, stunned into stillness. All he could imagine was his wife's blood-drenched corpse, her viscera exposed. He shifted his gaze to the child in her arms. Part of him desperately wanted to retrieve it, to cling onto what remained of Marie's existence, and yet, for all the suffering it caused her–and him by extension–he also felt a seething sense of loathing towards it. Voice trembling, he decided, "Take the bastard child for all I care. You've already taken everything else I cared for. I want nothing to do with either of you anymore!"

Before Henriette could make a remark, he turned and ran off, his footsteps echoing in the halls as she watched.


Pepé turns the page and nearly drops the book on reflex. The next entry, as well as the pages following it, are stained with blood. Flipping ahead a sheet or two, he finds more pages missing. Fingers quivering in trepidation, he reads the final entry, dated September twenty-fourth of thirteen years ago.


After compiling all my years of research on the Illudium, I believe that I have found a cure for the curse I brought to myself. Marie, if you will allow me entry into Heaven, please let me join you.

Frantically, he returned to his lab, scribbling down formulas in his journal. Illudium mixed with human blood leads to the destruction of human life, but when human blood is mixed with Sapient blood…?

He flipped back to a set of notes written in a previous page, stashed away between personal anecdotes. Past experiments of human blood-mixed Illudium compounds had detrimental effects on the non-Sapient-turned-Sapient subjects, with extreme cases resulting in death. Those who did not perish in the process still retained their Sapience, but suffered various side effects ranging from vomiting to internal damage or atrophy. If he created an antidote–or a poison–would he be able to find penance? There's only one way to find out.

Syringes in hand, he snuck about the streets of Montréal, swiping blood samples from unsuspecting humans. Once he retrieved a satisfactory amount, he returned to mix the blood in with the remaining Illudium and various other substances. As his potion-making went on, his fears and anxieties grew more and more, and he started wondering if this really was the best option. Watching the colors in the flask changing from bright green to a swirling cosmos of hues, he made one last call. "Mr. Bunny? If you're hearing this, Henri La Moufette is no longer with us. Come to his apartment and take the body far away from here."

He imbibed the cosmic concoction, then proceeded to write his final entry. His hand started trembling, the tip of the pen creating scribbled letters the more the potion took effect. A nauseating feeling welled up, as drops of blood fell onto the pages from his lips. Unable to hold on anymore, he coughed up a mouthful of blood and fell to the floor, convulsing until all sensation was lost. As his vision blackened, his last thoughts were, If I die here… Let me come back as a creature worthy of love.


Pepé closes the book, his hand trembling. The pieces start to click together in his mind: the reason behind his impotent scent glands, the reason behind his memory loss, the reason behind his being in Acme City. The root cause of it all is Illudium. His research, his ambitions, his love, all held together by the universal reagent. But with questions answered come even more questions, mainly those regarding the fate of his then-newborn child and the contents of the missing pages. He's certain Sylvester would be curious about the results of his findings, but after what he just read, the skunk will have to save that discussion for another day.

Little does he know just how deep the rabbit hole falls.


Somewhere in a shady corner of Acme City's West Quarter, a bus rolls in. The bus door opens, and two skunks step out. One is an older doe with pink eyes, the other a young buck with golden eyes. To the doe, the buck asks, "Auntie Anne, why do we have to move?"

To him the doe replies, "Because, dear Charlie, this city is full of opportunities, much more than back at home. Monsieur Bunny called this the 'Sapient Utopia' during our last conversation many years ago. Think of it as a fresh new start to your life." An insidious smirk curls across her face as she adds, "Besides, don't you want to finally meet ton pére?"


AUTHOR'S NOTE

Final chapter of the year, yaaaay! Well, at least I'm expecting it to be such; I can't ever tell what future me will do next.

As you all might notice, this is the first time I've had to put a content warning for a specific chapter in this story. I normally would try to downplay the presence of such things, as I fear the possibility of them spoiling important contexts or likewise driving away folks who otherwise might enjoy the story, but considering the rather complicated matter of what goes on in this entry, I felt it necessary to bring it up. The stuff in the previous chapters, while it had hints or off-hand mentions of certain family-unfriendly and overall dubious subjects, I kept the descriptions light enough for it to reasonably be envisioned as something that could pass as accessible to the teen/YA audience (or whatever the TV viewing equivalent is). This one, however, I wasn't sure if it could easily be "censored" without losing its emotional weight, hence the warning. Perhaps I'm overreaching with assuming how bad the content is from an audience reaction perspective, but better safe than sorry, as they say.

I've been feeling rather exhausted this week, so I can't come up with any specific character or worldbuilding trivia. Instead I'll throw out an idea I've had for a while: a side series of short stories based in the W&C universe, but without any concerns about timeline shenanigans. Basically, the stories will cover a variety of genres/subjects, and while they won't always fit neatly into the main story's timeline, they'll all be considered canon to some degree. That's the gist of what I had in mind, anyway. If by chance this manifests into reality, I'll be sure to share an update.

Not sure when the next chapter will come out, as my brain has been fried this past week, but until then, stay tuned!

PS: I've been practicing French recently, and while I have done some Googling and self-checking to make sure the language used has been accurate, there's still a chance that I might not have it entirely correct. Feel free to let me know of any grammar/spelling/contextual mistakes, s'il vous plâit et merci.