Arc 2- The Approaching Storm: Part 5- Disparagement

The first thing Gideon noticed was the cold. It seeped through the metal bars of the cage he was in and bit at his fur. His head throbbed, and he groaned as he shifted, his back pressed awkwardly against the unforgiving steel. Blinking groggily, he tried to focus his vision, but the dim light made it nearly impossible to see much.

"Where… where am I?" he muttered, his voice cracking with disorientation.

A movement from the cage across from him caught his attention. Another figure, smaller and more compact, stirred. Gideon squinted, his pulse quickening as the figure came into focus.

"Wait. . . Ain't you. . .Emmitt Otterton?" Gideon asked, his voice a mix of surprise and relief to see someone he knew about, even if it was under bizarre circumstances.

The otter rubbed his eyes, groaning as he pushed himself upright. His fur was ruffled, and his expression mirrored Gideon's confusion. "Um? Who are you? Where are we?"

"I'm a friend of Officer Hopps, but I couldn't tell ya where we are," Gideon replied, gripping the bars of his cage and giving them an experimental shake. Solid. No give. "Last thing I remember, I was at the bakery, and then—"

The memory hit him like a brick. Bellwether. Her rams. The gag and the blindfold. He clenched his fists. "Those no-good—"

"Well, isn't this an amusing little meet and greet?" A voice interrupted, rich and dripping with mockery, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Gideon and Emmitt froze, their ears twitching as they tried to pinpoint the source.

"Who's there?" Emmitt demanded, his voice trembling slightly.

"Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself," the voice continued, almost lazily. "But then again, I do enjoy a little mystery. Let's just say that at the moment I'm... an observer of calamity. A connoisseur of mischief. A curator of... dysfunction."

Gideon growled, his hackles rising. "Listen here, pal, if you think you can scare us—"

"Oh, Gideon," the voice cut him off, a sinister chuckle echoing through the space. "You've already done all the scaring yourself, haven't you? Shall we revisit your greatest hits? Like, say… the time you slashed a certain bunny across the face?"

The fox stiffened, his ears flattening against his head. "I—I had a whole lot of unchecked anger—"

"Unchecked anger?" the voice interrupted again, dripping with mock pity. "Oh, I'm sure Judy Hopps found that very comforting when she was nursing those scars. But let's talk about the others, shall we?"

Gideon's heart sank. "How do you know about-?"

The voice chuckled darkly. "Oh, yes, Gideon. How many prey mammals did you terrorize before they finally forced you into therapy? Ten? Twenty? Don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question. I already know the exact amount printed on your record. But that big ol' number are only the ones who were reported. Shall I list them for you in reverse alphabetical order by the second letter of their first names?"

"I've changed!" Gideon shouted, his voice cracking. "I'm not that fox anymore!"

"Changed?" The word rolled off the voice's tongue, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how quaint. Tell me, Gideon, do you think those prey mammals lie awake at night, terrified of the changed fox? Do you think their nightmares vanish because you bake pies now?"

Gideon's breathing grew ragged, his claws digging into the floor of the cage. His chest heaved as the weight of his past came crashing down on him. "Stop it," he whispered. "Please."

"And you, Emmitt," the voice turned its attention, making the otter flinch. "Our dear, upstanding florist. How's your family doing? Still cozy with Mr. Big and his Tundratown crew?"

Emmitt's eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, it's my business to know things," the voice replied breezily. "Like how you thought it was safe to cozy up to the mob. Did you think you could stay clean while swimming with sharks? Getting hit with that Nighthowler serum was the best case scenario"

"That's not fair!" Emmitt yelled, his voice desperate. "All I did was sell him some flowers! I never ever committed a crime!"

"Ah, yes. Everyone's a victim of circumstance, aren't they?" the voice sneered, "Poor Emmitt, caught in the web of the mafia. Poor Gideon, a victim of his own anger. The world's so unfair, isn't it?"

A low, chilling laugh filled the air, growing louder and more distorted, until it seemed to vibrate the very cages they were trapped in. The laughter swirled around them like a storm, wrapping them in its oppressive weight.

And then, the light in the room began to dim. A strange, creeping grayness seemed to seep into the edges of their vision, spreading through the room like ink in water. Gideon's once vibrant fur was fading, the rich red turning dull gray and lifeless. Emmitt's brown fur began losing its color and waterproof luster as well.

"Finally you're feeling the weight of your truths. The feeling of you're sins crawling down your backs. Only there's no convenient reset to save you. But look at the bright side! Disharmony suits you both so well." the voice said in a more menacing tone.

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