My pop taught me a lot of things growing up.

Animals are divided into weak and strong. No one can deny that, and no one's got a choice in the matter. But the strong animals have a choice: how will they use their strength? If they use it to oppress the weak, to harm them, subjugate them, terrorize them, exploit them… then those animals are nothing but bullies.

All carnivores are bullies. How could a creature designed to crave the flesh of others not be a bully? In order for them to live, they need others to die. They thrive off of using their claws and fangs to kill the weak. Even if a carnivore has never eaten meat, their existence is morally sinful. A lion could save an entire orphanage's worth of kids from a fire, but he would still be nothing but a bully.

But then, there are the strong who use their strength to defend the weak from the bullies. The animals who are not daunted by the powers of evil, and through compassion and justice, protect those in need. We call those types of animals heroes.

My pop was a hero, through and through. Being a white rhinoceros, there's not much even an apex predator could've done to him. His armor-like skin was tougher than leather; any carnie foolish enough to attack him would only leave with chipped teeth and split nails. And when it comes to raw power, well… breaking bones was as easy as snapping a twig for him. This all applies to me too, naturally.

"Ezekiel, there ain't nothing more terrifying to a carnie than a rhinoceros." Pop would say.

All of this is what makes white rhinoceroses great, but our biggest pride by far is our nose horns. Two pillars of keratin proudly perched atop our noses like crowns, the frontmost one towering, challenging, while its stouter brother follows close behind. They jut out of our snouts like the crooked fangs of wolves, unafraid of anything, eternally leading the way like guardian angels and warding off the cowardly scumbags.

My pop taught me all about heroes and bullies. He was after all, chief of police. Catching bad guys was his occupation. When I was a tyke, he'd bring me down to the precinct to look at the perps that were locked up for the night. Most of them were carnies, no surprise there, literally caught red-handed in the middle of a predation attempt, reeking of gore and saliva.

He'd tell me to look deep into their rabid eyes. Their expressions were truly monstrous; they only stared back, twitching and panting. The eyes of demons. I could see their limbs covered in wounds, self-inflicted or otherwise, as if they had been trying to claw out of their very skin. It repulsed me beyond words.

It was an important lesson to learn. This was our reality, these were our enemies. And if I wanted to be a hero, I needed to rise up and face them, just like my pop.

I'm nothing like other herbivores. All my life, I was told by the world that herbivores should fear carnivores, but nobody ever talks about animals like me. The herbies that can fight back. Large plant eaters like myself are always forgotten in the debate of intertrophic conflicts. Society wants you to conveniently forget that carnivores do not hold all the power, that there is only the predator and the prey. The existence of heroes terrify them, but the thing about heroes is that they always save the day.

Well, not always.

On an otherwise normal day, this was in middle school, I got called into the principal's office in the middle of class. She sat me down with a frightened look on her face as she told me my pop was in the hospital. My mom soon arrived at my school to pick me up. As we raced to the hospital, I watched as fat tears rolled down her cheeks, staining her leathery cheeks a dark grey. As worried as I was, it never occurred to me that he had been injured. For the whole car ride, I feared he had some kind of heart attack, or stroke, or even terminal indigestion. Anything but losing a fight.

But when we entered that hospital room, I saw something I previously thought impossible. My proud pop, a military tank of a male, lying down on the bed's pale sheets, eyes shut in a weary expression.

Both of his horns had been hacked off, leaving only a bloody crater on his snout.

Within the gouged out pit, spirals of red, pink and black flesh intertwined with each other, creating an almost mesmerizing optical illusion. The gash shifted with every breath he took, and I was left wondering if maybe that was my real pop, and the creature it impaled was nothing more than an inanimate vessel.

The sight didn't scare me. It didn't even upset me. I simply couldn't believe what I was seeing. I couldn't accept it.

Pop's grief-stricken coworkers came to visit, and explained that Pop was raiding some criminal hideout in the black market, a band of crocodiles known for peddling ivory. Somehow, they managed to pin my pop down long enough to bust out the chainsaw they use on elephant tusks. Turns out rhino horns sell just as well as ivory, and cut just as easily. I listened to the story despite my mom asking me to leave, but it just didn't add up.

My pop was a hero. Heroes don't lose fights.

When he finally regained conscious, he couldn't look us in the eyes. His dark irises remained fixed in the corner, looking down at some unseen presence. I resorted to looking at the void on his nose as if that was his eye. He was always a male of few words, but after that, he hardly spoke more than a word or two.

The doctors managed to stabilize his condition, cauterizing the gaping wounds that had once been his pride and joy. But even then, we knew Pop was dead. A white rhinoceros is nothing without his horns. Bereft of his title of chief of police, he spent his days holed up in his room. What he did in there, I will never know. Neither me nor my mom tried to stop him when he left the house after months of festering in that little room. We knew it would be the last time we saw him.

Sometimes I wonder where my pop's body is, though I'm sure he wouldn't want me to know. Considering it's never been discovered to this day, he probably went somewhere far enough so that nobody would look at his disfigured face ever again.

Pop was a hero, all right. The fact that he lost is proof that society is overrun with bullies. And I wouldn't be my pop's son if I didn't stand up to them.

I ain't never been afraid of carnivores. But my friends are. So it's my job to make them feel safe.

Starting with Noah's Arc.

Toma sighs into the February night air, watching as his breath diffuses from his mouth as a pale mist. Frustratingly, it's only 7pm, and yet the sky is devoid of any sunlight whatsoever. Only the street lamps that line the paved walkways of the campus guide his way to the Noah building, and although they do a great job in illuminating the brick path, the lack of his serval buddy makes his commute considerably harder.

As supportive as Hafsa is, she is still the student council president and has a life outside of being his personal stroller. After a series of profuse apologies, she explained that she is needed in the Emzara building after classes and will probably be staying there all night in preparation of Lupercalia, meaning the panther would be by his lonesome once the bell at the end of sixth period rang. Toma assured her he would be fine without her and shooed her off. He resolved to stay put in his dorm room until dinner time so as to not burden her or make a fool of himself.

However, the dreaded dinner time eventually approached, and he now has to make the trek to the cafeteria in the academy's main building. What would be a five minute walk for the average panther easily becomes a twenty minute affair for a panther stripped of his whiskers. Nonetheless, his hunger overpowers his hesitance, leading him to hobble his way to the cafeteria in a record seventeen minutes. He may be finally getting used to the upheaval of his sense of balance.

He greets the cafeteria ladies (though the cold makes his voice sound gruffer than he would like) and receives his admittedly very delicious-smelling dinner: butternut lasagna, wild rice soup and a hearty chick pea salad. Since he classifies as a "large obligate carnivore", his portions are the biggest of all. After nearly spilling his tray a couple of times, he manages to safely seat himself in a lone corner of the cafeteria, with only a few splashes of the wild rice soup on his napkin to show for it. He smiles at this progress; a week ago his meal would've been on the floor not three steps in. Before digging in, he scans the other tables. 7pm is the dinner rush, so the vast room is overrun with hungry animals of all shapes and sizes. Toma can hardly think over the sound of clinking silverware and boisterous chatting.

He glances at the content teenage faces of his colleagues. They look like they're having fun. He then looks down at his soup, where his own face stares up at him. He looks like he's not having that much fun. The panther never expected to get along with the other students. He isn't naive enough to think they would ever accept him. He's even used to eating all of his meals alone; it's no different than juvie. But still… wouldn't it be nice?

A sudden movement makes his soup tremble, drowning his reflection in the ripples. He looks up to see what caused this miniature earthquake, only to be met by the dark eyes of an enormous animal. A white rhinoceros sits directly across from him with an inscrutable expression.

Toma blinks. Another student, sitting with him? He must be hallucinating. He blinks again. The rhinoceros is still there.

"Evening." The large ungulate greets.

The feline is almost too shocked to reply. "U-uh. Hey."

"Cold one today, ain't it?"

"Y-yeah. Cold."

"You're Toma, right? New guy?"

"Yeah. Panther Toma. And you're…"

Toma struggles to recall the rhino's name. While he knows he is a junior like him, he also didn't really bother to learn anyone's name except Hafsa's. Not like he would ever need to know.

"Ezekiel." The rhino completes the sentence with an outstretched hand. "Nice meeting ya."

The carnie reaches across to take his new friend's hand in his, giving it a gentle shake. Hell must be freezing over. Another animal is speaking to him. A herbivore, no less! Even though the herbivore is somehow bigger than him, this is still unprecedented. What a record-breaking day!

After introductions, the two males start eating. Neither of them speak much. It could even be considered an awkward silence. Toma would not know, however, because he's too enraptured by Ezekiel's presence to care about whether or not they should talk. He's content to simply eat his meal quietly, tail wagging with reckless abandon. Eventually, each of them politely push their trays away, not a single crumb of food left in either. Although dinner is over, both herbivore and carnivore remain seated.

"Say," Ezekiel breaks the silence, causing the panther to jolt up. "Wanna arm wrestle?"

"Arm wrestle?"

"Sure. It's fun."

A display of his strength is the last thing Toma wants. His classmates are already scared of just his looks, they certainly don't need to see him flexing his biceps and gritting his fangs.

"N-nah, I'm good. We just ate so…" Maybe that was a good enough excuse, anatomically nonsensical as it was.

"Aw, come on. Scared I'm gonna beat ya?"

The panther sweats. He'd hate to drive off his new friend by refusing. Maybe if he can just lose on purpose, it will be over and done with in a flash.

"Alright, you're on then."

The males place their elbows on the dining table and lock hands. He had noticed it when they first shook hands, but Toma is surprised at both the size and roughness of Ezekiel's hands. It's like he's wearing leather gloves.

"Okay, on the count of three, we go. Ready?" The rhino grins.

"Ready."

"Three… two… one!"

Although Toma was prepared to lose the fight from the start, he assumed he'd have to fake it. He never expected to genuinely lose. All at once overwhelmed by the rhinoceros' brute strength, his arm gets slammed on the table's surface in less than a second in one fluid motion. Both his arm and his mind are stunned.

"Heh heh…" Ezekiel chuckles. "Aw come on, Toma. That the best you got?"

A flame of competitiveness lights up within the panther's heart. "No way, that was a practice run. Now it's for real."

"Alright, then. Let's go again."

They clasp hands together once more, exchanging fierce expressions.

"Three… two… one!"

This time, Toma cranks all his muscles in gear, raging against the ridiculous force that threatens to twist his arm once more. A rhinoceros is obviously no pushover, but to be this strong? He underestimated him. Slowly, tantalizingly, unsteadily, the panther feels he is overpowering Ezekiel's assault. He flashes a smile, tightening his grip on his opponent's hand. The herbie's callous grey arm inches closer and closer to the surface, when suddenly Ezekiel lets out a proud chuckle.

"You think you're winning?"

A hurricane of strength bends Toma's arm in an instance, pinning the carnivore's arm to the table. The ferocity of the strike and uncomfortable angle of his elbow stupefies him, a pained gasp escaping from his lips. Ezekiel doesn't release his enemy's hand, instead further adding pressure to make the cat bend to the side in the hopes of easing the pain. His clench is so strong Toma fears his hand may get crushed altogether.

"As if I'd lose to predator scum like you."

The rhinoceros' words pierce Toma like knives. His yellow eyes, widened in shock, stare into the herbivore's merciless black ones as if asking why.

Then the panther remembers… Ezekiel is one of those animals that protest outside of the carnivore dorm rooms every day. He's a member of DAVID.

The horned beast continues. "You must have come here expecting to run this school, right? Devour a couple of your classmates every now and then like you did before you got locked up?"

"Th-that's not—"

"You're very unlucky to have joined this year, Toma. Because this year is the year I finally throw out all the trash out. Trash like you and all the other carnies."

His grip tightens. Toma begins to see white, panic overtaking him. Suddenly, a searing hotness slashes his neck, spreading to his entire body, disabling all of his muscles. Ezekiel finally releases the panther, jerking his hand away in surprise. He shakes his hand ruefully, seemingly wounded, until he spies the red light that emanates from Toma's collar.

"Ah, I get it." He sneers. "That gave me a bit of a shock, too. Did I get your heart racing?"

The panther is too busy curling into himself to answer. He trembles as waves of electric pain paralyze his body. After a few seconds, the shocks from his collar cease, the red light returning to a harmless green. Every muscle remains tensed and twitching, but Toma chokes out a gasp of relief, struggling to catch his breath. Only his arm remains on the table, strained into a veiny fist.

"Pathetic." The rhino grabs the overgrown fur on Toma's head, yanking his face upwards to meet his. "Not so tough with your little necklace on, huh?"

The cat's only reply is a whimper. His eyes are sealed shut, unsuccessfully preventing tears from falling.

Ezekiel coos mockingly at the waterworks. "Poor thing. Doesn't it feel bad when you're the one getting hurt?"

He slams Toma's muzzle against his horn. "You touch any of the herbies here and that shock collar's gonna be the least of your worries."

An outraged voice suddenly interrupts the ungulate.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

A delicate white hand pushes Ezekiel's horn away from the crying feline, in turn forcing him to release the mop of hair clutched in his fingers.

A very pissed-off Jacob sheep glares at the rugged herbie with indignation. "Are you fucking kidding me?! As if the pickets weren't enough!"

"Good evening to you, vice president." Ezekiel grins bitterly.

"Assaulting a student in the goddamn cafeteria?! Are you deranged?!"

"Toma and I were just having a friendly arm wrestling match. Weren't we?" He nods at the panting cat.

The feline says nothing to this, only glancing to and from the bigger and smaller herbivore.

"That didn't look like an arm wrestling match, that's for goddamn sure." Desmond huffs. "Get your ass back to your dorm before I send you to Principal House's office!"

"I've been meaning to speak to that goose anyway." Despite his words, Ezekiel gets up with a shrug and walks away with a carefree gait, deserting his tray, Toma, and Desmond at the table.

Sheep and panther stare at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do now.

"Sorry you had to deal with that jackass." Desmond mumbles eventually as he straightens himself up. "I don't know if I'm allowed to call him a jackass, being Vice President, so don't tell anyone."

"I- I won't."

The ram's expressions softens a little, now only mildly irritated. "I make a quick trip here to get snacks for everyone, and I see him jostling you around like a rattle. You hurt?"

"I'll be fine. It's nothing."

"Well, the nurse is open 24/7…" Desmond suggests, unconvinced. "For now, just stay away from that psycho. He's the student council's problem, and believe me, we are trying to deal with him."

Toma looks up at the sheep, his eyes still glassy. "Are they protesting because of me?"

The herbivore's brow twitches. "No, they're upset about something that happened last year. Before you got here. You just have really shitty timing, I guess."

The panther lets out a wheeze that could be interpreted as laughter. He places his head facedown on the table. "You're telling me."

"Listen, I gotta go back to the Emzara building now… The male dorms are on the way. I'll take you back. Hafsa said… that you need help getting places, right?"

Toma is too tired to argue. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it."

All prospects of getting snacks forgotten, Desmond leads the sniffling panther out of the cafeteria and into the biting wind of the night. They don't exchange words until reaching the entrance to the male carnivore dorm.

"You best get some rest now." Desmond suggests somewhat awkwardly. "And uh… let the student council know if he keeps giving you trouble. Despite his tough-guy exterior, I'm convinced he's scared of Hafsa."

"Sure. Sorry for the hassle."

"It's not a hassle."

Toma wishes he could smile in appreciation, but the best he can muster is a head nod. As he goes to turn, the sheep makes a final attempt at comforting him.

"I-I!" He bleats. "I know it may not seem like it now, but you are welcome here."

Pure surprise causes the panther to turn back. He sees Desmond's hand outstretched, offering him a tissue packet.

"Hafsa told me about you." He continues. "Right now, not everyone can trust carnivores. It's a shitty situation, and sometimes even I can't help myself. I don't know what you've done in the past, and frankly I don't wanna know. But, just keep being yourself. The others will see you for who you truly are eventually."

He tosses the tissue packet at Toma, who makes no attempt to catch it. He simply looks back at the smaller male with glowing eyes.

"You're a pretty cool guy, vice president."

"No, I'm an asshole. But I'm trying."

Desmond returns to the Emzara building with hands utterly lacking in snacks, and a mind positively filled with thoughts.

AN: Thanks for reading! Figured it was about time to add some depth to Ezekiel. Sorry if I went overboard.

Fun fact: the name Ezekiel means "God's strength".

Take it easy and stay safe.