Okay, so here's the rundown: as a kid, the "adults" don't really expect you to be able to do much in the way of defending yourself, let alone mounting an escape attempt. Yeah, yeah, yeah. They're about to be proven wrong.
Completely.
Okay, so here's the rundown. Here I am, a fourteen-year-old mother of all things, and the views I've been treated to for the last two months have been nothing but moldy stone, cracked concrete, and the smell of vomit.
Oh, and don't forget loneliness. That, and the gunshots. They're like alarms here in Happytown. That's right, we're in Happytown. You know, not one in my life would I have thought this possible. Of course, I knew of predators' plight back home (wherever home is now), but I never in a million years would have thought that this pit of hell was actually possible, even with what I've gone through.
Then again, what's the use in complaining? It's not like it's going to get me anywhere, and I got a good hand, I feel. Of course, it could be worse, and I know it is for my family- my parents (both sets), my brother and sister, my grandparents.
But the one thing that stays in my head is why? Why all of this, for a poor orphan girl fox? Being alone on the streets, that was nothing compared to the pain and worry right now. I hear Karma talking to me sometimes- heh, I bet I'm going nuts. In all honesty, I've lost track of the date, but I think- emphasis on think- it's 2021. Who knows anymore?
Not me, that's for sure.
"Okay, take two."
"Now, Johnathan, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Son, I don't care whether you're nine or thirty-nine, quit cussing!"
"How in hell is 'hell' cussing?"
"It is because I'm your father, and I say so, that's why. Now, both of you, shut it. I have to tell you something important."
"Ooh, important, he says."
"Karma darn it, son, just shut the hell up and listen. At least the guards have turned us rightside- up."
"Look, Dad, that's really not important to me anymore. What is important to me is protecting lives, and jabbering isn't going to do us any good, you know how the guards hate chatter. Besides, if you haven't been paying attention, they're not going to let us go. I mean, look at me- my teeth are yellow, my fur is falling out, and those are the least of my troubles. I've worse things to worry about, old man."
"Wh-what?! Old man? You dare-?"
"Yeah, I do. Deal with it, Dad. Look, it's true, and you know it is. Neither of us are as young as we used to be, even though as circumstance would have it, I'm ten years older than you. And it's not just you who's suffering, Dad. Look around us- we're the ones who have it the best. Electra's who knows where, Jet's been muttering about looking for rope, and Luke's started talking to himself, I'm nuts at both ages, Judy's pulled her fur out... If we don't go for it now, there might not be any more time. Look, I know it's rough, but…"
"Look, son, I get it, you know. I know what it feels like to have lost before you've even begun…"
"I don't suppose a moldy, leaky prison cell, complete with tetanus-inducing shackles, is helping much, eh?"
"No, and you can't give in, promise me that. Promise me."
"I promise, Dad, with all my heart."
"And I the same with all of mine. There's a reason I'm on edge, you know, and it's not because- well, not just because- we're stuck here. There's a worse reason, one that digs deep and stings once and forever."
"Mm-hrm. What's that?"
"Did your mom ever tell you that you weren't the first Wilde kit?"
"You guys were certainly something…" Then curiosity grabbed hold of me. "Wait, what do you mean I wasn't the first Wilde kit?"
"Well, please pardon me. It hurts me greatly to tell this, but…" He sighed. "This is better for both of us….There was a reason I was after the Bellwethers that day, and it wasn't just because they had supposedly committed crimes against the city. No, son, it was worse than that. Much worse than that….They killed my daughter."
Okay, I wasn't expecting that sort of revelation. I had a sister? The Bellwethers killed her? What? When? Why? How? What, what, what?
"Okay, Dad, hold it, please," I said, paws trembling, despite my every attempt to stop them. "Never let them see that they get to you. Never let them see that they get to you. Never-"
"Son, calm down. Please, I beg you. Quiet yourself."
"Calm down? Quiet myself?! No, Dad, I can't, I won't!"
"Please, Nicholas," he said, using my full first name for the first time that I could remember. "The guards will shoot you. I'm not losing you, too, not with the way I lost your sister."
"How….?"
"Gunshot...square to the head, courtesy of Mister Bellwether. She was two years old, Nick. Only two. Bellwether tried to break into my house because I had supposedly taken confidential files from the ZIA."
"Key word supposedly."
"Ex-actly, son, exactly. I go to work one day, expecting not necessary nothing to be okay, but maybe not worse. Anyways, that day was the day of the big meeting. I, as the Agency's newest, had to go before the Board of Directors and explain to them who I was, what I did, and why I should be allowed to serve the Zootopian Government. Worst. Presentation. Ever. I actually heard them whispering about 'sly, sneaky foxes,' and 'How'd he get here?' 'I bet he lied his way in.' All this for a fox who was lying to his young mate about what he really did all day, and working government business as a teen. Yeah, a lot.
"Anyways, did I mention that that presentation was absolutely effing horrible? I did? Good. Worst. Effing. Day. Ever. Oh, and as you've probably have figured out, son, it only got worse from there. Yeah, baaaad day. At least I got my paycheck that day, and it turned out that that slip of paper gave me enough to pay off the last of the loans on the tailor's shop that I also ran. Finally.
So I call up Marian to tell her the good news and invite her out to lunch, bring the kit along, please, hun?
She does, and two things happen simultaneously. One, the Aries Gang (of which the Bellwethers were heads) comes barreling down the street; two, oh, sweet Karma, it was Bring Your Kit To Work Day for her, and she brought the kit! Run, run, run as fast as you can for cover. Only thing is, there's not enough cover for the both of them, and little Emily gets caught in the crossfire.
There was no hope for her- blood, bones, fur all over the pavement and all over Marian. No hope at all. Her funeral was a ten-minute affair, then they just threw her body in the sewer. No proper burial, because "Why waste a proper burial on devil-spawn?"
So Nick, there's your story. No tears from me, I can no longer cry- no water, and I'm too close to breaking as it is to let even a mite of my resolve go. I slip, and I'm gone. You guys all need me, I can't die yet."
"Funny thing is, guys…," a deep voice came from the passageway adjacent to our cell- "I've orders from up on high."
"Oh?"
"They're to shoot you, here and now."
Oh, crap.
