Well, s***. Those bullets were flying at me, and there was no dodging them now. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited. Please, Karma, I thought, make it quick. I don't want Carrots to see me suffer.

Three, two, one…

A blossom of pain erupted in my shoulder, then another in my thigh, then in my chest, then...nothing.

The last thing I heard was Judy screaming: "No! Nick!"

Three Years Later

They found me innocent, after all, and they found Nick innocent too, albeit posthumously. Sweet cheese and crackers, that bunny ex-boyfriend of mine is a prick. He was always late to our dates, every one, and that impeccable sense of timing just had to come into play. As soon as Nick had dropped to the ground, he came bursting out into the yard, crying "He's innocent! He's innocent!"

Karma knows what he was thinking then, but he was exactly ten seconds too late. Nick Wilde, or Chase Blacktip, as Jack called him, was dead. The medics tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late. They signed his death notice at 12:09 PM, Zootopian Standard Time, on the morning of the fourth of April, 2016.

Today is March fifteenth, 2019, three years and eleven days after I saw him shot, and my life has been a living hell since. Bellwether revealed herself, and when the city reacted by rushing the mayor's office, the lead fountains erupted. Forty thousand Zootopians died either on that day, or within the next two weeks, as the ZKVD came barreling down the streets with their turrets ablaze. Of the remaining population of Zootopia, all three hundred thousand mammalian souls, only a few hundred now remain in the city, and rarely does dare leave their bunker.

Oddly enough, there's still mail delivery, done by Bellwether's cronies. Though most of the city has been blown to ashes, Bellwether ordered the construction of miles upon miles of mailboxes to allow for mail collection and to give the illusion that it's still just grand in the city.

The rest of Pangaea doesn't know what's going on within the city, not with several hundred-foot tall walls lining the city's perimeter and the ZGB running sweeps day and night, keeping any outside mammal away.

I'm sure that there are millions of confused mammals out there, wondering what on Earth is with their children? And why haven't they responded? Well, with ZGB henchmen undercover in every remaining post office, it's pretty easy to pretend to the civilians that there's just no mail today, no mail for the thousandth consecutive day.

How I survived is something completely beyond me. I don't know, I just know that the bombed out shell of 1955 Cypress Grove Lane had a bunker in its basement. I don't know why, and nor do I care. I was extremely shocked when I found this place, even more so when I found a full garden inside, electricity, and, the best part of all, water! I figured out that it had been drawing off of the city's water system, which, who knows how, was still intact. With nobody using it, the system was full, and so now I have enough food and water down here to last me years.

As for the collar, that Karma-forsaken thing, I'm still wearing it. The batteries still have a charge, while not strong enough anymore to cause any real problems, are still able to produce a little shock. I just have to hope that they'll die soon. I also to say thank you to the designer of this thing.

I never thought that I'd ever say that, but it wasn't until I got in the shower that this thing had for the first time until I realized that there was an electric collar around my neck, and water conducts electricity.

"Stupid bunny!" I'd scolded myself. Then I realized that I was still alive. "Oh...waterproof…"

Anyways, it was during one of my bi-weekly showers (always conservative, rabbits are) when I heard a banging on my door. I assumed it was the ZKVD, so I grabbed a rifle and a towel (whoever built this thing was a crazy doomsday prepper), and went to the door.

"Who is it?" I shouted. The voice that shot back a response was on the verge of death, but I still knew it.

"How the hey...Nick?"