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His left foot hesitates over the threshold, until he remembers her teary eyes and her paws slowly covering her face. With a deep breath, he crosses over.

But he still pauses. Behind him, he feels like she’s watching. But that’s not true. She’s fast asleep. She’s asleep in her room, with the door closed. She doesn’t have to see him go. It’s better she doesn’t. Not after that night. Her face…no, he can’t cry. He has to be strong. He has to go. He can’t hurt her, ever again.

The little fox inspects both ends of the street. Aside from the pangolin sleeping at the bus stop, the sidewalks are completely deserted. He sighs and rechecks his patchwork backpack. Two changes of clothes, a secured baggie of blueberry-flavored Pup-Tarts, an a folded photo. Everything he needs, right here. He smiles grimly at the disintegrating happy face of the ironed-on cartoon fox, and then looks over his shoulder. She’s not there. Good.

Taking another, heavier breath, the little fox slips the backpack over his shoulders and quietly closes the door behind him. He forces his feet down the steps. And then groans as the clouds finally break into rain. But there’s no turning back. Not after…no, he can’t. He just can’t.

A noise pierces through the rain. The little fox worriedly looks over his right shoulder. The pangolin slides forward, his snoring head dipping into his chest. Sighing with relief, the little fox resumes his journey with his left arm raised, to shield his head from the rain. And, of course, that stupid strap starts to slide off his left shoulder, again. With a growl, he moves it back. Of course, it slides down, again, making him accidentally look back at the apartment building.

No, he can’t look back. He has to keep walking. That way, she never has to worry about him, ever again. That way, he doesn’t have to see her frightened face, like that night…his claws dig into the stupid strap. No, he can’t think about that. Instead, he turns from the apartment building and the bus stop with the snoring pangolin. No turning back.

He makes a left at the corner, and yips when his left foot hooks a crack in the sidewalk. The little fox barely stops himself from falling with a stomp of his right foot. The backpack threatens to slide off and spill. He growls and shoves the strap back over his shoulder. No, he isn’t going to be tripped up by a stupid crack! He can’t!

But angrily stomping the crack doesn’t help, either. As his aching right foot attests.

The little fox grabs the nearby brick and mortar wall. He swallows a whimper building in his throat. No, he won’t be tripped by a stupid crack. The little fox tenderly rubs his sore right foot. No, he can’t cry. Not here, not now. Someone will hear him. Someone probably already has heard him. The little fox’s eyes clench and paws clutch the sides of his head.

Tires crunch over the cracked road. Someone’s coming! Someone might see him!

The little fox’s eyes shoot open. A dark green car approaches, its headlights dimmed and windows blackened by the faint light. He leans into the wall. Maybe his red fur will blend in with the bricks. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The car comes to a stop. He risks a look.

No one steps out of the car, or asks him why he’s walking outside this late at night. No one even looks out the window (he thinks). The green car just pauses at the Stop sign, and then disappears to the left, away from the apartment building. And it doesn’t return.

The little fox peels himself from the wall. And then groans, when he remembers the Pup-Tarts. He prepares to check his backpack, when sharp and cold raindrops strike his muzzle. With his left arm back in the air, the little fox looks down the sidewalk.

No more cars. Good.

He walks a few feet down, until he reaches a dark blue awning. Spared from the rain, the little fox slides off his backpack and carefully opens it. A red shirt unfurls. The secured baggie is unharmed, aside from a few more crumbs lining the bottom. Should he eat one? No, better not. He has to keep moving. He zips up the backpack and fits it over his shoulders. Time to go.

But he freezes a five steps from the awning and looks behind him. Something dips back around the corner. No, it can’t be her. She’s still asleep. She doesn’t know. The little fox bares his teeth and softly growls. Whoever it is, they’re not showing. Good. He turns back towards the sidewalk stretching into the rest of the city.

And his feet freeze, again, when he sees just how little light there is ahead.

Why should he be scared? He can see in the dark. Nocturnal mammals like him are made for the dark! He’s a Predator! Predators bite! Predators fight! He has teeth! He has claws! He can fight! He will fight! He will…

One of the streetlamps burns out. A frightened yip escapes him before he can choke it back down. He spins around, just in case they…that Stranger came back. But The Stranger doesn’t come back. Good. He can do this. He has to do this.

Colder drops strike the back of his neck. He angrily waves his left arm above his head. The streetlight creaks back on. The little fox smiles and triumphantly runs towards it. He can do this! The streetlight holds long enough, to reveal a tree reaching towards the street. His eyes adjust perfectly. This is going to work!

The little fox lowers his cold, wet arm and settles under the tree. The concrete is nice and dry, if a bit chilly. He smiles, until his face drifts back to the street, towards home. He sees his mother, still sleeping peacefully. She’s happy. She’s not hurting or scared, not because of him. And that’s why he can’t stay. He can’t turn back.

But where is he gonna go?

It doesn’t matter. As long as he’s far away, as long as he never scares her, ever again…he will be happy. Still, he catches himself taking another look towards the apartment building. With a resolved growl, he forces himself to get back onto his feet and continue walking.

***

Nick made one last bow towards the Conejillo house. The rain pattering the top of his head didn’t sway him, one bit. He stretched out his right arm over Judy, until they reached the Hopps Family Farm truck. She shook her head and waited until she stepped into the cab to laugh. Nick smirked and gave a little bow through the window. She waved for him to get inside and settled into her seat. “‘Raindrops of Heaven’?”

He curled his right arm atop the door handle. It smeared water, still damp from its valiant shielding of his partner from the sudden storm. “It’s called a sales pitch, my dear Hopps. As the daughter of merchants, I figured you’d be familiar with the concept.”

The gray rabbit started the ignition. “We were making a delivery, Slick. They already paid for it.” A smirk grew across her face. “But…‘Raindrops of Heaven’?”

He shrugged. “Could’ve gone with my original plan: ‘An Orgasm for Your Tongue’. But I decided to be a gentlemammal.”

Judy groaned and covered her face with her free paw. “Thank you.”

The red fox grinned. “I thought people around here were a little more…” He spun his left paw. “…frank about these kinds of things.”

“We are, kinda. But it woulda sounded a little weird coming out of you.” She frowned apologetically. “I’m sorry; that sounded horrible.”

“Relax, I get you. It’s like the C-word.”

Judy’s frown cracked into an embarrassed grin. “We’ve been over that. It’s okay if you call me “cute” in private, but please don’t say it around other rabbits.”

He raised his left paw. “I’m a good fox, Carrots. I know better.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“I try.”

After permitting herself to roll her eyes, Judy checked the rearview and started backing up. Ahead, the youngest of the Conejillo brood ran to the door and waved. Judy paused a moment to wave back. Nick smiled warmly and waved with her. The youngest Conejillo laughed and retreated into the house. Feeling content, Judy pulled out of the driveway and shifted onto the road.

Nick settled into his seat and looked out the passenger side window. Raindrops broke and trailed down the glass in long, sickly fingers. The red fox smiled, leaned closer, and breathed onto it. Much to his amusement, a white spot of condensation blossomed. He carefully traced the outline of bunny head with his fingertip.

“You’re gonna leave a smudge,” Judy warned.

The fox laughed and pulled his finger away. With a devious smile, he pressed his cool fingertip to Judy’s right cheek. She gasped, laughed, and swatted his paw away. The produce truck swerved a little to the left. Judy quickly steered it back into place.

“Watch the road, Carrots.”

She narrowed her eyes. A pot hole materialized near the far right, a few feet ahead. An evil smile curled on her face. But then came the better-not sigh, followed by the professional, neutral expression. Instead, she steered a hair to the left, to promptly avoid it.

“A chance for payback, and you missed it,” he chuckled.

“I’m not gonna mess up my parents’ truck, just to get back at you, Nick.”

The fox tsk-tsked and wagged his finger. “Now, Judith, we both know that’s not the real reason.”

Judy hiked the wheel sharply to the right.

Nick pressed into his seat, but couldn’t stop from laughing. “Okay, okay, you made your point. Your honor has been avenged.”

With a content smile, she steadied their course. “Good to hear, Nicholas.”

The red fox’s tail, bored of hooking around the top of the seat, settled between them, stopping just short of the gearshift. Moving her right paw from the wheel, Judy lightly stroked the tip. A strange, surprised, and adorable whine escaped Nick, before he could clasp his mouth shut. She giggled and retracted her paw. “Sorry, Slick. I should have asked, first.”

Nick peeled his paw away, revealing a suitably amused grin. “I understand. You bunnies lack self-control.”

“I can still slug you, you know.” Her fingers slipped down and curled, matching her equally amused grin.

“Again with the corporal punishment.”

“I have to keep you in line, somehow.”

“You attract more flies with honey, Carrots.”

Judy stuck out her tongue and groaned.

Nick nodded. “I know, that’s such a disgusting mental image. Besides, crickets are much tastier. Crunchier, too.”

The gray rabbit eased into a relaxed smile. And soon, her fingers slipped from the wheel and ran through his tail fur. Nick closed his eyes and slumped towards the rain-splattered window. A steady, quiet moan rose in his throat. Her smile grew and her fingers dug a little deeper. Nick’s left foot tapped the floormat.

Judy guiltily pulled her paw away. “Sorry about that. I don’t like to be so hard on you.”

The fox shrugged, tilting his face away to hide his disappointed frown. “I’m a jerk. Like you said, you gotta keep me in line, somehow.”

“Don’t feel too bad. You behaved yourself at the Conejillos.”

“If my bad boy attitude ruined your parents’ benevolent scheme to spread their wonderful blueberries to the rest of the world, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I’m glad you’re so considerate of my parents’ livelihood.”

“It’s good practice, for when they become my in-laws.”

Judy’s cheeks flared. And the fox turned and triumphantly grinned, before her drooping ears could cover them. She sighed, but then smiled back at him. “You better not talk like that, ‘til you can back it up with an emerald ring.”

Nick scoffed. “Diamonds not good enough for you?”

Judy briefly met his gaze. “Emeralds are nicer.”

A warm smile spread across his muzzle. “When you’re right, you’re right, Miss Hopps.”

Content, Nick leaned back into the seat. His eyes gradually returned to the window. Rain gathered into a paw shape that stretched down the glass. Through it, the grass and rows of the field warped into a melting pot of greens and browns. Beyond that, rabbit workers in bright yellow ponchos flanked a white pickup. And a Hopps Family Farm sign tilted in the rain. And a little fox kit ran into the–

He snapped up. “Stop the truck.”

“Nick, what’s wrong?”

“Stop the truck!” he repeated, stomping his left foot and unbuckling himself.

Judy quickly pulled over and killed the engine. Before she could reach over, Nick flung the door open and bolted out into the rain. “What’s going on?! Where are you going?!”

Breaking clusters of mud and grass beneath his feet, Nick ran for the bushes. The flash of orange-red, which surely took the form of a fox kit, surely disappeared among them. He shook off a thick wad of mud clinging to his right foot and pried the nearest two bushes apart. And…there was no one there? The rain beat down, sealing his trademark Pawaiian shirt against his back fur. He stifled an annoyed growl and carefully looked over the next two bushes. But before he could take another step, something dove into the mud.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

The third bush shuddered. Nick slowly reached over and pulled as many leaves and branches aside as he could. Once again, no one was there. The fox’s ears folded against his skull. His mind painted images of the poor, scared fox kit. They fell forward into the mud, sinking with each attempt to dig their way out. They violently coughed and sneezed. They cried for someone to help them. He shuddered.

“Nick!”

He groaned and squeezed his face. As much as ignoring Judy put his heart in a vice grip, he had to keep looking. He knew what he saw. There was a fox kit out here, somewhere. What else could it have been? That poor kit. Lost and alone. He had to find them, before–

Behind the third bush, something fell into a puddle with a soft splash.

Nick seized a handful of leaves and tugged. There was the puddle, with a large stick collapsed across it. He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. No scents. No footprints. Nothing. Come on, Wilde, you’re a cop. You know what you saw. Choking back another annoyed growl, Nick slid back and scanned the area around him. No frightened kid stumbled out of the bushes. No whimpers or cries reached his ears. No flash of orange-red shot for the horizon. No one…

Oh, God, you’re seeing things. And you’ve terrified Carrots by acting like a total nutcase. Great job.

“No…I…” He sighed and waited for a few seconds more. Surely, the fox kit was still hiding? All this yelling, that would scare any little one. “It’s okay; I’m not gonna hurt you. You don’t have to hide from me. It’s okay…”

A fox kit flickered before his eyes, flashing worry in their green ones. He took a step back and held out his right paw. But the fox kit quickly disappeared. He blinked. That couldn’t have been…no, it couldn’t have been. There had to be an actual fox kit here. There had to be.

His Pawaiian shirt froze to his back, like a cold layer of dead skin. He blinked back the raindrops sliding into his eyes. Still no fox kit emerging from the bushes. But there had to be one. He wasn’t just seeing things. He…he couldn’t have just…he wasn’t seeing things. He couldn’t be. There had to be a fox kit, here, out in the rain. There had to be…

Forget it. Get back to the truck, before Carrots catches pneumonia dragging your crazy ass out of the mud. You’re not gonna endanger her over a stupid flashback.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” Nick groaned and clutched his face. “I’m so sorry…”

A ball of water broke free from his collar folds and chilled the top of his spine. The fox permitted himself to growl and turned back towards the produce truck. “I’m sorry…” And before Judy would come after him, he ran.

***

This time, he expertly avoids another crack in the sidewalk. What a clever fox! Those Prey kids didn’t know what they were talking about!

He chuckles and rechecks his surroundings. Home…no, her home is about…seventeen, maybe eighteen streets back. It’s still raining, but he can handle that. Predators like him can see in the dark. Predators like him can walk for hours. Predators like him can do anything.

Except join the Junior Ranger Scouts.

His claws dig into his curled right fist. No, that’s not going to help. He relaxes his fingers and brushes his sore palm. Ducking another street-reaching tree near a chain-link fence, the little fox takes another breather. Walking this many blocks is hard work. He closes his eyes and kneads his palm a little longer. Feels nice, like the way his mother soothed some of his wounds.

No, he can’t think about that. He’s doing this for her, to ensure he never scares her, ever again.

Another pair of headlights!

The little fox crouches low, propping himself atop the thankfully dry cement. A dark blue car shoots out of the darkness and over a conveniently placed puddle. Cold, dirty water soars into the air and coats his backpack and head. He sputters and coughs. A thick, lightly dusted fleck of saliva hits the curb. He chokes back a growl.

Something ducks behind the tree across the street.

The little fox yelps and stumbles backwards. The stupid strap slides free, dangling his backpack dangerously close to the ground. He steps until the chain-link rattles against his back. The pack falls and lands with a far too loud thud. Across the street, something peers around the tree, before vanishing once more.

The Stranger is following him! He just knows it! But it can’t be his mother. Nor can it be that pangolin snoring at the bus stop. The Stranger coughs. The little fox pushes himself up and bares his teeth. It seems to work, since The Stranger isn’t showing their ugly face. The little fox snaps his teeth. The Stranger still doesn’t show.

Triumphant, the little fox collects and fits on his backpack. He quickly checks the house behind him. Despite the rattling chain-link, no one comes out, expecting to find some mean fox kit waiting for them. Probably some stupid Prey children, like those…jerks. The little fox clutches his face and shudders. No, he can’t be distracted by stupid stuff! He needs to keep walking!

After making absolute sure The Stranger won’t lunge, the little fox resumes. The rain pauses as he steps out from under the tree. Yet every five or six steps, he shoots a worried look over his shoulder. No, The Stranger won’t come back. No one wants to deal with an angry fox kit. No one wants to deal with those teeth. Not when they don’t have a muzz–

NO! HE CAN’T THINK ABOUT THAT!

The little fox stomps the cement, thankfully avoiding another crack, this time. He shoots a glare over his shoulder. The Stranger doesn’t come running. Good. He turns his attention back to the street. Where should he go, next? Maybe there’ll be another tree coming up, in case it rains, again. Which it does, as soon as he takes that next step. Stupid weather!

Frustrated, the little fox looks for something else to think about. Boring houses. Boring fences. More boring houses, with so few trees to shield him from the rain. Only about two streetlights that haven’t burned out. But why is he worried about that? Predators like him can handle the dark. And if anyone comes for him, one snap of his teeth will change their minds. Yes, that’s what they expect. And that’s what they’ll get. He’s sure of that.

Expertly avoiding another pesky crack, he pauses at another corner. A streetlight hangs nearby, flickering a sickly orange-yellow peppered by rain. He can do this. The little fox leaps for the pole. His paw slides free from the metal. He lands on the sidewalk sharp to the left. It takes everything to grit his teeth and cut off the pained yelp that wants to escape.

Footsteps!

The little fox throws himself onto his feet and bites at the cold air. But there’s no one there. He clutches his sore right arm and narrows his eyes. There has to be someone! He hikes his head up and tries to pick up a scent. Nothing but rainwater. He groans and clicks his teeth twice. Whoever it was, they’re not showing their stupid, ugly face. Like those stupid Prey–

He fails to stop a frustrated growl that echoes down the street.

A door, from a couple houses to the right, opens. The little fox dives out of the orange-yellow aura, scraping his knees on the concrete. He chokes back another yelp and keeps level with the ground. He can’t be seen here! He can’t be! If he is, someone will tell her! And then she’ll get scared and hurt, all because of him! After he said he wouldn’t do that, every again!

The little fox shuts his eyes and presses his face to the sidewalk. An unpleasant chill shoots down the back of his head, and then all the way down to his tail. But no one walks out. The door from a couple houses down, to the right, closes. But it could be a trick! He has to lay low. Even as barbs in the concrete dig into his eyelids and the bridge of his snout.

After what feels like an hour of rain sealing his shirt to his fur, the little fox stands up. The stupid strap almost slides off. He lifts it back into place and cautiously peers around the corner. No lights. No one stepping out of their house. Good. He looks up. His eyes shut tightly under the orange-yellow streetlight. The little fox covers his face and takes a deep breath. It’s okay. No one saw him. She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t have to be hurt, again. It’s fine.

Just to be sure, he waits a few seconds before taking his next step. With his left arm raised over his head, he searches for the next street-reaching tree. Success! There’s one about three blocks down, to the right. He quickly checks both sides and bolts across. The backpack bobs uncomfortably off his left shoulder and snags the curb. The stupid strap yanks him right back onto the tarmac.

Well, at least he misses that big, dirty puddle a few feet away.

The little fox growls and slams his fists. Rising before anyone can see him, he seizes and throws the backpack onto the sidewalk. The stupid strap almost completely tears off. Paws shaking, he clambers up and drags the backpack by its good strap towards the tree. Rain dips into his eyes and chills its way down his now-exposed back. Choking back another growl, the little fox settles. After retracing some steps, to collect his pack, snagged on another stupid crack.

Positioning it atop the mostly dry concrete, he checks inside. Clothes are fine. Photo is fine. And a few more crumbs pile around the bottom of the Pup-Tarts baggie. He sighs and rests against the bark. His paws fidget over the baggie. Why not? After all that, he deserves one. He cracks the seal and pulls out a crumb-dusted Pup-Tart. Dark blueberry filling breaks through the crust. He takes a big bite.

Someone’s coming!

The little fox quickly shoves the Pup-Tart back into the baggie. Down the sidewalk, someone shifts around in the shadows of the last block. His feet freeze. His unwanted pursuer peeks around the corner, their head perfectly cloaked in shadow. His face falters. No, he’s a Predator! Predators can do anything! A Predator wouldn’t run away from…

It’s The Stranger, isn’t it?! Why can’t they just go away and leave him alone?!

Instead, their sickly arm curls out. The little fox narrows his eyes and bares his teeth. The Stranger shuffles onto the sidewalk, their arms shifting and swaying. Their paws crack into long claws. The little fox’s eyes widen. The Stranger pauses and holds a sickly paw over their head. The claws bend and twist into the shape of a mouth. In the back of his mind, bones break and teeth gnash. He takes a step back.

The Stranger lowers their paw and points to him.

Forgetting everything Predators are supposed to do, the little fox throws the backpack onto his left shoulder. The top flaps open, nearly dropping the Pup-Tarts onto the sidewalk. He clumsily tugs the zipper up and breaks into a run. Behind him, The Stranger follows. He forces his eyes towards the sidewalk. No, he can do this! He can get away! He can do anything! Those stupid Prey children were just–!

Sharp claws seize the backpack.

The little fox yelps and releases the backpack from his shoulder. The Stranger grunts and falls. This is his chance! With a hopefully not too scared-sounding cry, he bows his head and quickens his pace. The Stranger lets out a throaty moan, like a monster that hides under the bed. But that won’t stop the little fox! He’s a Predator, and Predators can do anything! He can do this!

He ducks around the next corner and finally comes to a stop near a wooden fence, three houses down from the Stop sign. He leans into the wood, digging his claws in as he pants and coughs. After about the fiftieth cough, he looks over his shoulder. The Stranger is not there, waiting for him. The little fox quietly laughs. He got away. Predators can do any…

His face sinks, as his paw runs over his bare back. He shoots a fearful look towards the corner. The Stranger has his backpack. He let The Stranger catch it! The little fox shuts his eyes and growls, slamming his head against the fence. How can he be so stupid! Predators are supposed to be able to do anything! How can he be so stupid?!

Footsteps.

The little fox pulls his face away from the fence, just in time to see The Stranger down the corner. They turn to face. It takes everything not to scream.

***

Judy’s heart threatened to drill a hole in her chest. After calling his name for the fifth time, she unbuckled and reached for the door handle. But then her fox ran back. Her paw pulled away and settled over her heart. Nick Wilde, thoroughly soaked and with mud caked around his feet and pant legs, slowed to a walk and opened the passenger’s side door. He scraped his feet and slid inside. His eyes locked onto the road.

The gray rabbit took a deep breath and gripped the wheel. Her heart steadied to a more reasonable pace. She took another deep breath and slowly turned to face him. “Nick, what is going on?”

“I’m sorry, Carrots. I didn’t mean to run out into the rain, like a complete idiot,” he flatly replied.

Judy sighed, started the engine, and cranked up the heater. Her vulpine partner sank into his seat, still not looking at her. His tail shied away, resigning itself to curl behind him. After a few seconds, Nick’s eyes slowly drifted towards something in the field. Rain spilled over from behind his ears and atop his muzzle, making him shiver. The rabbit slowly extended one paw to his shoulder. “Nick.”

“You can stop blasting me with hot air, Fluff.” He tried to grin. “I’m a big, strong fox. I promise I won’t get the sniffles.”

She gently squeezed his shoulder. “Can you at least look at me, when you say that?”

Nick inhaled and turned his head to meet her gaze. “I’ll be fine, Mama Doe. I just got a little wet. It’s not gonna kill me.”

Judy frowned, but said nothing. Her paw slid from his shoulder and shut off the heater.

Nick groaned and angrily wiped away a thick raindrop trailing between his eyes. “Please, don’t start. I’m not in the mood for Twenty Questions.”

Judy’s face shifted into a glare, before easing into a more neutral frown. The fox’s attention turned back to the rain-slicked road. Another irritating drop trailed right into his left eye. He choked back a growl and wiped it away with the back of his right arm. His tail stiffened behind him, before falling lifeless to the floor. The rabbit set her paws into her lap.

“I’m sorry, Judy. I just hate it when rain gets in my eyes. And it’d be really rude, if I shook off all this water all over you. Then you might catch the sniffles.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t dive kick the common cold, Carrots.” A little smile worked its way onto his face, as he pushed himself to face her. “But I’m sure you’d find a way to kick its ass.”

Judy managed a little smile of her own. “Yeah, I would.”

His tail curled back towards the gearshift and resettled between them. She freed up her right paw to stroke it. Nick closed his eyes and leaned towards the window. They slowly reopened. A flash of orange-red darted through the grass and disappeared into the bushes. He growled and buried his face in his paw.

No, stop that. You’re just gonna scare her–more than you already have. You can hate yourself for going crazy, later. Don’t make things worse.

With a little nod, Nick forced his paw into his lap and his eyes to stare ahead. Judy resumed stroking his tail. The fur bristled unpleasantly under her fingers. She sighed.

His eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“This is the part where you start to interrogate me. Where you stomp that little foot of yours and tell me we’re not going anywhere, until I tell you what’s wrong.” He turned to her. “So, why aren’t you threatening to strand us, unless I spill my guts?”

“I’m letting you calm down,” she replied, softly. “It’s not gonna help either of us, if you go flying into a rage.”

Nick’s face softened. “I’m sorry.” A feeble smile twisted at the edge of his muzzle. “I’m just so used to your no-nonsense, immediate results approach.”

The rabbit lightly squeezed his tail. “We’re off the clock, Slick. If you wanna talk, we’ll talk. If you don’t, we won’t. But you need a moment. Take as long as you need.”

“And your parents aren’t gonna get worried, if we don’t get back before dark?”

She rolled her eyes and pulled Nick’s tail into her lap. Her other paw joined in, petting the now not-as-bristly fur. “I’m here for you, Nick. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He leaned over and caressed the top of her head. “I do.” As Judy stroked his tail, Nick’s eyes wandered back towards the grass. He sighed and gently gripped her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll talk. Your superior interrogation skills have broken me.”

“And I didn’t even have to play bad cop.”

He briefly smiled at her. “You’re all good cop, Judy.” The smile faded. “I just thought I saw someone, out there.”

She set her paws back onto the wheel. “Someone bad?”

Nick shook his head. “Not bad, just…” Spill it, Wilde. She’ll understand. Might be the only one who will. “I thought I saw a fox kit running through the grass, over there.”

Judy tilted forward and inspected the grass, mud, and bushes.

“Don’t bother looking, Carrots.” The fox sank into his seat. “I thought I saw a runaway kit. So, I bolted out of the truck and into the cold rain. And then I got my feet all nice and dirty. And there was no kit, there. And I could have gotten the sniffles. Pretty dumb, huh?”

“No, Nick, it’s not. That’s admirable.” She gave his tail another quick brush, before he could say anything. “Well, the part about trying to save a runaway kit is, anyway.”

“That’s just it, Fluff. There was no kit. I was just…maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe the Zootopian beat’s giving me a savior complex. I should get my head checked.” His paws weakly twisted his temples. “If I can unscrew my skull, first.”

Judy took his left paw and held it. “You’re not crazy. But, next time, tell me before you going running out into the rain. I’d hate for my big, strong fox to get the sniffles.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you, Mama Doe?”

She grinned widely. “Nope. Because I love my big, strong fox.”

Nick playfully nudged her away. “Okay, now you’re just being corny. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” His eyes shifted back to the grass. See, she doesn’t think you’re crazy. And you didn’t have to tell her…no, she doesn’t have to know about that. Yet.

Judy gave his left paw a final squeeze and regripped the steering wheel. “You love it.”

“Yeah, I do. Never change, Hopps.”

As Judy prepared to resume driving, Nick closed his eyes. Orange-red sparked through the darkness. A faded sidewalk trailed behind it. The concrete cracked away, revealing thick grass and heavy mud that threatened to swallow everything whole. A sharp pain shot up his right arm. The fox shook himself awake and pried his paw from the door handle. He didn’t need to look, to know she was watching.

Before she could say anything, Nick chuckled and rubbed his sore fingers. “Good thing I’m not very strong. I don’t think your parents would appreciate me wrecking their truck.” He pitifully flexed his right arm. “I’m fine, Fluff.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be…” Nick’s head snapped towards the field.

Orange-red flickered out of the grass and tumbled to the ground. The fox blinked. It was still there, and it was still shaped like a fox kit. His right paw grabbed the door handle, while his left paw moved for his seatbelt. But his arms locked. No, don’t scare her like that, again. You gotta stop acting like a damn lunatic. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Calm down. You’re not gonna scare her. Now, open your eyes and keep quiet. Everything will be–

The driver’s door slowly opened.

Nick reopened his eyes. The orange-red kit was still there; and they now tried to hide under the first bush. And to his left, Judy buckled her seatbelt and stepped out into the rain. The fox growled and followed suit, ignoring the drops that bombarded his eyes. So, I’m not crazy. And someone needs our help. Let’s go.

Judy paused at the edge of the road. Nick stopped to her right and took a cautious breath. Ahead of them, the kit kicked up dirt and sank into the mud. A flattened backpack collapsed against their spine. Judy took a step forward. Nick held out his arm to stop her. “Let’s take this slow,” he whispered. “We don’t wanna scare him. No more than I probably already did.”

She smiled and gave his arm a light squeeze. He smiled back. Together, they stepped into the field. Nick locked his eyes onto the kit’s tail, whipping around in a desperate attempt to shield them from the rain. Judy broke away from him and stopped a few feet from the bush. The kit froze, their tail stiffening over the back of their head. Nick cast a nod to Judy, who motioned for him to start.

The older fox sighed and crouched down. The kit’s tail lifted from the back of their head, revealing a worried pair of brown eyes. Nick eased his face into a gentle smile. “Hey, there. Kind of a bad time to be playing hide and seek, isn’t it?”

The kit attempted a feeble laugh. Their tail curled around the flattened, soaked backpack. Nick shuffled a couple steps closer. The kit looked between him and Judy. Their eyes widened at the sight of the gray rabbit. Before Nick could reach out to them, the kit dug their paws deep into the mud and resumed trying to crawl under the bush.

Nick carefully placed his paw on the flattened backpack. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. We’re just here to help.”

The kit snarled and flipped over, slinging a wad of mud at the bottom of Nick’s jaw. He blinked. The kit rose to their feet and stumbled towards the bush. They paused and looked back at Nick, their brown eyes sparking with alarm. Nick smiled and slowly brushed the mud wad away. “Nice shot.”

Judy fought the urge to walk towards the kit, even as those widened eyes absolutely broke her heart. Still, she smiled calmly and set her paws at her sides. “You’ve got great aim. Of course, he’s such an easy target.”

“Suppose that’s what I get for crossing the best mudslinger in the county,” Nick added.

The alarm faded from the kit’s eyes. Their tail descended to the soft, wet grass, spinning easily around their feet. Nick slowly rose and carefully walked towards the kit. The little one locked eyes with the older fox. Good, keep your eyes on me. He cautiously held out his left paw and brushed away a drop that landed squarely in his left eye. “That’s the bad thing about rain. It really likes to go for the eyes.”

It took a few seconds, but the kit let out another, slightly stronger laugh. “Yeah…”

Nick’s smile grew. “Yeah. It’s a pain, isn’t it? Makes our tails all sloppy, like we’re dragging a wet sack around.” He bent down and “struggled” to lift his tail into the air.

Another, slightly stronger laugh. “Yeah, I don’t like my tail when it gets really, really wet.”

Nick chuckled. “Smart kid. So, then, if you really hate it when your tail gets wet, why are you out here in the rain?”

The kit’s face sank. They shot another look towards Judy, who stayed where she was. Their muzzle quivered.

Nick calmly shook his head. “It’s okay; you don’t have to tell us. But I’m sure you’d like to get out of the rain, right?”

The kit took a step back. Their right foot hooked a rock embedded in the grass and mud. With a little yelp, they threw out their arms.

Right on cue, Nick deftly caught the kit by the shoulders, anchoring them to the ground. The kit shuddered a little at his touch. Nick pulled his paws away and nodded. “We really should get out of here. How about we go somewhere warmer and drier…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. I’m Nick.” He held out his left paw.

The kit slowly held out their right paw to meet with his. “My name’s Mikey.”

Nick gave Mikey’s paw a little shake. “Good to meet you, Mikey.” He gestured to Judy. “And this is my good friend–”

“Judy Hopps!” the little kit yelled.

The older fox frowned. “Word spreads fast around here, doesn’t it, Carrots?” he halfheartedly quipped. “Yes, she’s a good friend of mine. You don’t have to–”

Mikey screamed and broke into another run. Nick shot a look at Judy, who already closed the distance between them. He rose to his feet and quickly moved around the bushes. Mikey was already several feet ahead, still screaming and trying to keep himself from falling back into the mud. Beyond the kit, Nick noticed the ground started to rise, leading to an uncomfortably high-looking ledge. A vice grip tightened around his heart.

The fox snapped back to reality when Judy grabbed his arm. “Come on, Slick. We gotta stop him before he hurts himself.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Are you insane, Wilde? He’s afraid of Judy, for some reason, and running after him is just gonna scare him some more!

The fox growled and shook away that thought, just in time to spot his lapine partner maneuvering around the mud and loose dirt left in the kit’s wake. He grunted and followed suit, ignoring the vice grip around his heart. Ahead, Mikey still ran towards the ledge, completely oblivious to the potential danger. Judy was only a few feet behind.

Come on, Wilde! Don’t be useless! You’ve been trained to do this! Now do it!

And yet, when Mikey looked back over his shoulder, with frightened eyes and a scream, Nick’s heart sank deeper into the vice grip.

***

He risks a look behind. The sidewalk stretches into the dimly-lit cluster of houses and fences. He turns back. The Stranger still stands about two, maybe three feet away. And, for some reason, his nocturnal eyes can’t see through the darkness that enshrouds them. He risks closing and reopening his eyes. The Stranger still stands there. And his backpack dangles uselessly in its extended claws.

The little fox tries to step away. He tries to yell. He tries to bite at the air. He tries to growl. But all he can do, is watch as The Stranger steps closer. His backpack drags along the sidewalk. The stupid strap snags and tears. The Stranger looks down.

He screams and runs backwards, almost colliding with the chain-link fence. The Stranger freezes. The little fox blinks and snaps his teeth. The Stranger takes a step back. A little grin crosses his face. As The Stranger moves towards him, the little fox stomps his right foot and snaps his teeth, again. The Stranger shudders, their claws slipping from the remaining strap. He looks down. The Stranger follows his gaze.

With an angry yelp, he rushes and snatches the backpack away. The Stranger takes another step back, their claws curling in retreat. The little fox laughs and slides the good strap over his shoulder. He can do this! Just like a real Predator! He opens his mouth wide and takes the biggest bite he can. The Stranger freezes. With a laugh, the little fox turns and bolts down the sidewalk. He’s done it! He’s–

The little fox’s enthusiasm dies the second he looks over his shoulder.

It starts with a horrible growl. Then, The Stranger leans forward, scraping their claws against the concrete and knocking a loose chip into the air. And then, after hiking their head towards them, they begin to run. The little fox forces himself to look ahead. Another horrible growl echoes behind him. He shakes his head and grits his teeth. At the back of his mind, large teeth sink into his throat and lift him into the air. And those stupid Prey children watch. And they laugh.

Swallowing a frustrated groan, the little fox dives around the next corner. A slightly rusted mailbox perches nearby. He slides behind it, pressing his right cheek against the cold, wet metal. His backpack nearly slides off. He pushes the strap back on and slows his breathing. A few feet ahead, The Stranger stops at the corner and looks around. Their claws grasp at the air. His ears fold, trying to shut out the sound of tearing flesh. He fights to keep his eyes open.

The Stranger slides back down the street. The sound of tearing flesh stops. The mental image of teeth fade away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he reopens them, The Stranger doesn’t reemerge, claws drawn and charging directly at the mailbox. He recloses his eyes and peels his face from the cold, wet metal. When he’s sure The Stranger won’t reappear, the little fox allows himself to laugh.

Until his mother’s face flashes in the darkness. He reopens his eyes. The images play out atop the ground.

The Stranger, failing to capture him, stalks down the sidewalk, retracing his steps back to the apartment building. With their claws drawn, they walk up the front steps and easily tear through the wooden door. No one steps out, either because they’re asleep or because they’re scared of footsteps thudding down the hall. The Stranger hikes their head into the air and follows the scent of a fox. And then they tear through the apartment door, where his mother wakes up–

His claws dig into his palms, and a low growl escapes him. The little fox starts to turn towards the street corner. But his feet freeze. His mother will wonder why he’s out here. Her eyes will widen, and her paws will cover her face. She will look exactly like she did, that terrible night. And he’ll scare her, after he promised he never would, ever again…

But he can’t let The Stranger get to her, either! He grunts and slams his right fist against the mailbox. And then pulls his aching fingers to his chest. His eyes start to water. No, going back will scare her. It will hurt her. But so might The Stranger. He can’t let them hurt his mother! Even if they have big claws and big teeth that will catch him by the throat! The little fox’s right foot stomps forward. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

And when he reopens them, The Stranger stands a couple feet away. And their claws rake the side of the mailbox. Once more, the little fox screams and runs. And once more, The Stranger pursues with that horrible growl.

He kicks a loose piece of cement and jumps over another crack. The footsteps keep coming. He readies to dive around another corner, when claws swing far too close to the back of his head. The little fox flails his arms and shoots ahead, nearly tripping over the curb. The footsteps stop. He risks a look. The Stranger throws their claws into the air. He turns back to the sidewalk and stops just after another tree. Putting it between him and his pursuer, the little fox leans into the bark and tries to steady his heartbeat.

His paws shield his eyes. Rainwater slides down his palms and chill his eyelids. His backpack slips. He doesn’t bother to catch it. The little fox forces his paws down and peers around the tree. No sign of his pursuer. He presses tightly against the bark, ignoring points digging into his right ear and cheek. Despite his heart tightening like a vice, he narrows his eyes and watches for that monster to reappear. But The Stranger doesn’t come.

The little fox sighs and pulls himself from the tree. A chunk of bark peels off and hooks onto his damp cheek. He flicks it away and looks down. His backpack lies with the faded cartoon fox facing up, his disintegrating face darkened by rainwater. Remembering the precious baggie of Pup-Tarts, he grabs the backpack and drags it over. Quickly unzipping it, he roots around and finds it trapped beneath his red shirt. He tugs it up.

The baggie snags the photo and pulls it to the top. It slips free and drifts towards damp concrete. He immediately drops the baggie and claps his paws together. The photo sticks to his wet palms. He frowns and peels the photo off, placing it atop his backpack while he wipes his palms dry. He looks down. One of the Pup-Tarts snapped in half. His muzzle bends into a frown, which worsens as his settle on the photo.

His past self stands with his mother, her smiling face next to his left shoulder. He wears the crisp Junior Ranger Scout uniform proudly, his right arm hooked in a salute to the camera. An ugly white crease cuts across his throat. But his past self smiles determinedly, unaware of what will happen. And his mother also smiles. Her paw warmly pats his cap, while her other paw smoothens his bandana. Another white crease hooks her wrist. But she still smiles.

The little fox shuts his eyes and presses his chin to his chest. For a few seconds, her paw lightly squeezes his right shoulder. He shudders and clutches his head. His tail coils around his ankles. No, he can’t go back. A low growl escapes his mouth, as his paws slam hard against his legs. His tail uncurls and stiffens. No, he can’t go back. He can’t forget why he’s going, in the first place. He can’t scare her, ever again.

And with this resolve, he stuffs the photo back into the pack and seals it. As he fits it over his shoulder, he looks to the corner. The Stranger doesn’t reemerge, claws drawn and head enshrouded by darkness. The little fox nods and resumes walking. And then groans, when he returns to collect the fallen baggie of Pup-Tarts.

No, he can do this. He has to do this. He has to.

His Pup-Tarts secured, the little fox glances over his shoulder. The Stranger still doesn’t come back. He smiles a little, until a thick raindrop breaks right between his eyes. He groans and wipes it away. Still, he can’t complain. The Stranger finally gets the message and is gonna leave him alone. He considers retrieving the baggie. No, better wait. He spots another streetlight sputtering orange-yellow a couple blocks ahead. He nods and runs towards it.

Still no cars. Still no one looking for him. His smile grows a little more. He expertly avoids another crack and keeps his drooping backpack from snagging on the curb. Everything works out so well, until his muzzle twitches and cracks in a sneeze. The little fox groans and runs the back of his free paw across his nose. And takes a moment to rub the wet snot onto a nearby fence. The rain will surely wash it away, right?

He stops just outside the stuttering orange-yellow aura and looks back. The Stranger still hasn’t returned. He moves to next tree, and then nearly drops his backpack as he breaks into a sneezing fit. His paws fly up to clamp his muzzle. Bits of saliva and snot spatter against his palms. Sliding the backpack off, he leans near the tree and tries hard to stifle the sneezes exploding behind his closed paws. Soon, he peels them away and reaches for a leaf to wipe away the gross stuff. Once he’s clean, he opens his backpack and pulls out the baggie.

That snapped Pup-Tart might as well be eaten. The little fox pulls out one half and sits at the base of the tree. He takes a bite and glances to his right. Down the way, the houses stop before the entrance to a tunnel lined with warning signs and white sawhorses. UNDER CONSTRUCTION, DO NOT ENTER. A long strand of yellow tap sags in the rain. A single amber light blinks like a distant eye.

He considers this discovery. A Predator like him can see in the dark. And tunnels always led to other parts of the city. And being in a tunnel would keep him out of the rain. (No more stupid sneezes.) And there’s no way someone like The Stranger would be brave enough to follow him inside. He polishes off the Pup-Tart piece and licks the crumbs from his fingers. Yes, this will work. This has to work. Things are finally looking up!

The little fox tucks the baggie into his backpack and fixes the good strap in place. He checks behind. Still no sign of The Stranger. He smiles and looks back at the tunnel. But his right foot freezes. There isn’t anything in the tunnel, is there? He blinks and leans forward. There’s still nothing but the warning signs and sawhorses and blinking amber light. But what if…?

He growls and whirls around, snapping at the air. The Stranger isn’t there. He whirls back towards the tunnel. Nothing comes screaming out, throwing the signs aside with large claws. No, he can do this. Anything stupid enough to follow him into the tunnel will pay dearly. Just like a real Predator, and not what those stupid Junior Ranger Scouts think!

The little fox resume walking. Around him, everything remains quiet. Still no cars. Still no mammals leaning out their doors. Just the rain, which seems a lot softer, now. A sneeze threatens to dislodge. He clamps his right paw over his shout and chokes it back. Yes, he can do this. He raises his left arm to shield his head and continues on to the tunnel, where he’ll surely–

Footsteps thud behind him. He slowly turns.

The Stranger breaks into a run down the sidewalk, swiping their claws at the nearby fences and houses. Without screaming, he throws himself forward. Puddles break around his feet as he flees for the blinking amber eye. But no matter how fast he gets, the footsteps are still too close! And then comes the hideous, low, heavy breathing. His mind projects lips prying away to reveal teeth that clench around his throat. The little fox is merely one block away.

Claws shoot out beside his left ear and grab his shoulder.

Without thinking, the little fox slides off his backpack and swings it. The Stranger steps back, barely avoiding a shot to the gut. He growls and swings, again. This time, the backpack strikes their stupid, ugly face. Their claws reach for his shoulders. He raises the backpack as high as he can, and brings it down onto their head. The Stranger groans and hits the sidewalk. The little fox laughs triumphantly.

The Stranger rises to their feet. His smile immediately dies. He readies the backpack for another swing, when their claws catch it mid-swing. They tug it towards them, almost dragging the little fox off his feet. He valiantly grunts and pulls back, just barely freeing the backpack from their grasp. The stupid strap tears off, curling uselessly onto the concrete. Frustrated, he growls and lifts it high into the air. When The Stranger reaches for him, he throws it directly at their face.

Bull’s-eye! They’re down!

The little fox thrusts his paw excitedly into the air. The Stranger groans and tries to push themselves back up. The little fox considers a kick to the head. But, instead, he turns to the amber light. He nods and breaks into a run for the warning signs and sawhorses. The Stranger still lies there, beaten and humiliated. He did it! He could do it! He can do it!

At least, until he reaches the tunnel. As soon as he passes the amber light, his feet freeze. A bitter cold surges over his damp clothes and fur. A horrible scent strikes his nose, pushing images of wet dirt and rusting metal and the scary apartment basement. His paws slowly rise to his face. He blinks and tries to see through the darkness. He can’t see a thing, beyond another sawhorse just barely visible a few feet inside.

Something taps the back of his head. He yelps loudly and clamps his paws over his mouth. His yelp echoes softly into the tunnel, dying a few seconds in. His ears fold against his head, and his tail once again coils around his feet. And just now, he remembers he’s missing his backpack. The little fox closes his eyes and swallows a frustrated, frightened snarl. When he reopens them, he spots a strand of yellow tape collapsing near his left foot.

Footsteps pause a couple feet behind him.

The little fox slowly turns. Sure enough, The Stranger stands there. Their low, heavy, horrible breathing picks up. They step towards him.

He holds back a scream and darts into the tunnel. The Stranger cries out towards him. The little fox ducks under the sawhorse and glances over his shoulder. The Stranger extends their claws towards him. He turns back to the darkness of the tunnel ahead, just in time for the ground to break under his feet.

Description
His left foot hesitates over the threshold, until he remembers her teary eyes and her paws slowly covering her face. With a deep breath, he crosses over.

But he still pauses. Behind him, he feels like she’s watching. But that’s not true. She’s fast asleep. She’s asleep in her room, with the door closed. She doesn’t have to see him go. It’s better she doesn’t. Not after that night. Her face…no, he can’t cry. He has to be strong. He has to go. He can’t hurt her, ever again.

The little fox inspects both ends of the street. Aside from the pangolin sleeping at the bus stop, the sidewalks are completely deserted. He sighs and rechecks his patchwork backpack. Two changes of clothes, a secured baggie of blueberry-flavored Pup-Tarts, an a folded photo. Everything he needs, right here. He smiles grimly at the disintegrating happy face of the ironed-on cartoon fox, and then looks over his shoulder. She’s not there. Good.

Taking another, heavier breath, the little fox slips the backpack over his shoulders and quietly closes the door behind him. He forces his feet down the steps. And then groans as the clouds finally break into rain. But there’s no turning back. Not after…no, he can’t. He just can’t.

A noise pierces through the rain. The little fox worriedly looks over his right shoulder. The pangolin slides forward, his snoring head dipping into his chest. Sighing with relief, the little fox resumes his journey with his left arm raised, to shield his head from the rain. And, of course, that stupid strap starts to slide off his left shoulder, again. With a growl, he moves it back. Of course, it slides down, again, making him accidentally look back at the apartment building.

No, he can’t look back. He has to keep walking. That way, she never has to worry about him, ever again. That way, he doesn’t have to see her frightened face, like that night…his claws dig into the stupid strap. No, he can’t think about that. Instead, he turns from the apartment building and the bus stop with the snoring pangolin. No turning back.

He makes a left at the corner, and yips when his left foot hooks a crack in the sidewalk. The little fox barely stops himself from falling with a stomp of his right foot. The backpack threatens to slide off and spill. He growls and shoves the strap back over his shoulder. No, he isn’t going to be tripped up by a stupid crack! He can’t!

But angrily stomping the crack doesn’t help, either. As his aching right foot attests.

The little fox grabs the nearby brick and mortar wall. He swallows a whimper building in his throat. No, he won’t be tripped by a stupid crack. The little fox tenderly rubs his sore right foot. No, he can’t cry. Not here, not now. Someone will hear him. Someone probably already has heard him. The little fox’s eyes clench and paws clutch the sides of his head.

Tires crunch over the cracked road. Someone’s coming! Someone might see him!

The little fox’s eyes shoot open. A dark green car approaches, its headlights dimmed and windows blackened by the faint light. He leans into the wall. Maybe his red fur will blend in with the bricks. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The car comes to a stop. He risks a look.

No one steps out of the car, or asks him why he’s walking outside this late at night. No one even looks out the window (he thinks). The green car just pauses at the Stop sign, and then disappears to the left, away from the apartment building. And it doesn’t return.

The little fox peels himself from the wall. And then groans, when he remembers the Pup-Tarts. He prepares to check his backpack, when sharp and cold raindrops strike his muzzle. With his left arm back in the air, the little fox looks down the sidewalk.

No more cars. Good.

He walks a few feet down, until he reaches a dark blue awning. Spared from the rain, the little fox slides off his backpack and carefully opens it. A red shirt unfurls. The secured baggie is unharmed, aside from a few more crumbs lining the bottom. Should he eat one? No, better not. He has to keep moving. He zips up the backpack and fits it over his shoulders. Time to go.

But he freezes a five steps from the awning and looks behind him. Something dips back around the corner. No, it can’t be her. She’s still asleep. She doesn’t know. The little fox bares his teeth and softly growls. Whoever it is, they’re not showing. Good. He turns back towards the sidewalk stretching into the rest of the city.

And his feet freeze, again, when he sees just how little light there is ahead.

Why should he be scared? He can see in the dark. Nocturnal mammals like him are made for the dark! He’s a Predator! Predators bite! Predators fight! He has teeth! He has claws! He can fight! He will fight! He will…

One of the streetlamps burns out. A frightened yip escapes him before he can choke it back down. He spins around, just in case they…that Stranger came back. But The Stranger doesn’t come back. Good. He can do this. He has to do this.

Colder drops strike the back of his neck. He angrily waves his left arm above his head. The streetlight creaks back on. The little fox smiles and triumphantly runs towards it. He can do this! The streetlight holds long enough, to reveal a tree reaching towards the street. His eyes adjust perfectly. This is going to work!

The little fox lowers his cold, wet arm and settles under the tree. The concrete is nice and dry, if a bit chilly. He smiles, until his face drifts back to the street, towards home. He sees his mother, still sleeping peacefully. She’s happy. She’s not hurting or scared, not because of him. And that’s why he can’t stay. He can’t turn back.

But where is he gonna go?

It doesn’t matter. As long as he’s far away, as long as he never scares her, ever again…he will be happy. Still, he catches himself taking another look towards the apartment building. With a resolved growl, he forces himself to get back onto his feet and continue walking.

***

Nick made one last bow towards the Conejillo house. The rain pattering the top of his head didn’t sway him, one bit. He stretched out his right arm over Judy, until they reached the Hopps Family Farm truck. She shook her head and waited until she stepped into the cab to laugh. Nick smirked and gave a little bow through the window. She waved for him to get inside and settled into her seat. “‘Raindrops of Heaven’?”

He curled his right arm atop the door handle. It smeared water, still damp from its valiant shielding of his partner from the sudden storm. “It’s called a sales pitch, my dear Hopps. As the daughter of merchants, I figured you’d be familiar with the concept.”

The gray rabbit started the ignition. “We were making a delivery, Slick. They already paid for it.” A smirk grew across her face. “But…‘Raindrops of Heaven’?”

He shrugged. “Could’ve gone with my original plan: ‘An Orgasm for Your Tongue’. But I decided to be a gentlemammal.”

Judy groaned and covered her face with her free paw. “Thank you.”

The red fox grinned. “I thought people around here were a little more…” He spun his left paw. “…frank about these kinds of things.”

“We are, kinda. But it woulda sounded a little weird coming out of you.” She frowned apologetically. “I’m sorry; that sounded horrible.”

“Relax, I get you. It’s like the C-word.”

Judy’s frown cracked into an embarrassed grin. “We’ve been over that. It’s okay if you call me “cute” in private, but please don’t say it around other rabbits.”

He raised his left paw. “I’m a good fox, Carrots. I know better.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“I try.”

After permitting herself to roll her eyes, Judy checked the rearview and started backing up. Ahead, the youngest of the Conejillo brood ran to the door and waved. Judy paused a moment to wave back. Nick smiled warmly and waved with her. The youngest Conejillo laughed and retreated into the house. Feeling content, Judy pulled out of the driveway and shifted onto the road.

Nick settled into his seat and looked out the passenger side window. Raindrops broke and trailed down the glass in long, sickly fingers. The red fox smiled, leaned closer, and breathed onto it. Much to his amusement, a white spot of condensation blossomed. He carefully traced the outline of bunny head with his fingertip.

“You’re gonna leave a smudge,” Judy warned.

The fox laughed and pulled his finger away. With a devious smile, he pressed his cool fingertip to Judy’s right cheek. She gasped, laughed, and swatted his paw away. The produce truck swerved a little to the left. Judy quickly steered it back into place.

“Watch the road, Carrots.”

She narrowed her eyes. A pot hole materialized near the far right, a few feet ahead. An evil smile curled on her face. But then came the better-not sigh, followed by the professional, neutral expression. Instead, she steered a hair to the left, to promptly avoid it.

“A chance for payback, and you missed it,” he chuckled.

“I’m not gonna mess up my parents’ truck, just to get back at you, Nick.”

The fox tsk-tsked and wagged his finger. “Now, Judith, we both know that’s not the real reason.”

Judy hiked the wheel sharply to the right.

Nick pressed into his seat, but couldn’t stop from laughing. “Okay, okay, you made your point. Your honor has been avenged.”

With a content smile, she steadied their course. “Good to hear, Nicholas.”

The red fox’s tail, bored of hooking around the top of the seat, settled between them, stopping just short of the gearshift. Moving her right paw from the wheel, Judy lightly stroked the tip. A strange, surprised, and adorable whine escaped Nick, before he could clasp his mouth shut. She giggled and retracted her paw. “Sorry, Slick. I should have asked, first.”

Nick peeled his paw away, revealing a suitably amused grin. “I understand. You bunnies lack self-control.”

“I can still slug you, you know.” Her fingers slipped down and curled, matching her equally amused grin.

“Again with the corporal punishment.”

“I have to keep you in line, somehow.”

“You attract more flies with honey, Carrots.”

Judy stuck out her tongue and groaned.

Nick nodded. “I know, that’s such a disgusting mental image. Besides, crickets are much tastier. Crunchier, too.”

The gray rabbit eased into a relaxed smile. And soon, her fingers slipped from the wheel and ran through his tail fur. Nick closed his eyes and slumped towards the rain-splattered window. A steady, quiet moan rose in his throat. Her smile grew and her fingers dug a little deeper. Nick’s left foot tapped the floormat.

Judy guiltily pulled her paw away. “Sorry about that. I don’t like to be so hard on you.”

The fox shrugged, tilting his face away to hide his disappointed frown. “I’m a jerk. Like you said, you gotta keep me in line, somehow.”

“Don’t feel too bad. You behaved yourself at the Conejillos.”

“If my bad boy attitude ruined your parents’ benevolent scheme to spread their wonderful blueberries to the rest of the world, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I’m glad you’re so considerate of my parents’ livelihood.”

“It’s good practice, for when they become my in-laws.”

Judy’s cheeks flared. And the fox turned and triumphantly grinned, before her drooping ears could cover them. She sighed, but then smiled back at him. “You better not talk like that, ‘til you can back it up with an emerald ring.”

Nick scoffed. “Diamonds not good enough for you?”

Judy briefly met his gaze. “Emeralds are nicer.”

A warm smile spread across his muzzle. “When you’re right, you’re right, Miss Hopps.”

Content, Nick leaned back into the seat. His eyes gradually returned to the window. Rain gathered into a paw shape that stretched down the glass. Through it, the grass and rows of the field warped into a melting pot of greens and browns. Beyond that, rabbit workers in bright yellow ponchos flanked a white pickup. And a Hopps Family Farm sign tilted in the rain. And a little fox kit ran into the–

He snapped up. “Stop the truck.”

“Nick, what’s wrong?”

“Stop the truck!” he repeated, stomping his left foot and unbuckling himself.

Judy quickly pulled over and killed the engine. Before she could reach over, Nick flung the door open and bolted out into the rain. “What’s going on?! Where are you going?!”

Breaking clusters of mud and grass beneath his feet, Nick ran for the bushes. The flash of orange-red, which surely took the form of a fox kit, surely disappeared among them. He shook off a thick wad of mud clinging to his right foot and pried the nearest two bushes apart. And…there was no one there? The rain beat down, sealing his trademark Pawaiian shirt against his back fur. He stifled an annoyed growl and carefully looked over the next two bushes. But before he could take another step, something dove into the mud.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

The third bush shuddered. Nick slowly reached over and pulled as many leaves and branches aside as he could. Once again, no one was there. The fox’s ears folded against his skull. His mind painted images of the poor, scared fox kit. They fell forward into the mud, sinking with each attempt to dig their way out. They violently coughed and sneezed. They cried for someone to help them. He shuddered.

“Nick!”

He groaned and squeezed his face. As much as ignoring Judy put his heart in a vice grip, he had to keep looking. He knew what he saw. There was a fox kit out here, somewhere. What else could it have been? That poor kit. Lost and alone. He had to find them, before–

Behind the third bush, something fell into a puddle with a soft splash.

Nick seized a handful of leaves and tugged. There was the puddle, with a large stick collapsed across it. He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. No scents. No footprints. Nothing. Come on, Wilde, you’re a cop. You know what you saw. Choking back another annoyed growl, Nick slid back and scanned the area around him. No frightened kid stumbled out of the bushes. No whimpers or cries reached his ears. No flash of orange-red shot for the horizon. No one…

Oh, God, you’re seeing things. And you’ve terrified Carrots by acting like a total nutcase. Great job.

“No…I…” He sighed and waited for a few seconds more. Surely, the fox kit was still hiding? All this yelling, that would scare any little one. “It’s okay; I’m not gonna hurt you. You don’t have to hide from me. It’s okay…”

A fox kit flickered before his eyes, flashing worry in their green ones. He took a step back and held out his right paw. But the fox kit quickly disappeared. He blinked. That couldn’t have been…no, it couldn’t have been. There had to be an actual fox kit here. There had to be.

His Pawaiian shirt froze to his back, like a cold layer of dead skin. He blinked back the raindrops sliding into his eyes. Still no fox kit emerging from the bushes. But there had to be one. He wasn’t just seeing things. He…he couldn’t have just…he wasn’t seeing things. He couldn’t be. There had to be a fox kit, here, out in the rain. There had to be…

Forget it. Get back to the truck, before Carrots catches pneumonia dragging your crazy ass out of the mud. You’re not gonna endanger her over a stupid flashback.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” Nick groaned and clutched his face. “I’m so sorry…”

A ball of water broke free from his collar folds and chilled the top of his spine. The fox permitted himself to growl and turned back towards the produce truck. “I’m sorry…” And before Judy would come after him, he ran.

***

This time, he expertly avoids another crack in the sidewalk. What a clever fox! Those Prey kids didn’t know what they were talking about!

He chuckles and rechecks his surroundings. Home…no, her home is about…seventeen, maybe eighteen streets back. It’s still raining, but he can handle that. Predators like him can see in the dark. Predators like him can walk for hours. Predators like him can do anything.

Except join the Junior Ranger Scouts.

His claws dig into his curled right fist. No, that’s not going to help. He relaxes his fingers and brushes his sore palm. Ducking another street-reaching tree near a chain-link fence, the little fox takes another breather. Walking this many blocks is hard work. He closes his eyes and kneads his palm a little longer. Feels nice, like the way his mother soothed some of his wounds.

No, he can’t think about that. He’s doing this for her, to ensure he never scares her, ever again.

Another pair of headlights!

The little fox crouches low, propping himself atop the thankfully dry cement. A dark blue car shoots out of the darkness and over a conveniently placed puddle. Cold, dirty water soars into the air and coats his backpack and head. He sputters and coughs. A thick, lightly dusted fleck of saliva hits the curb. He chokes back a growl.

Something ducks behind the tree across the street.

The little fox yelps and stumbles backwards. The stupid strap slides free, dangling his backpack dangerously close to the ground. He steps until the chain-link rattles against his back. The pack falls and lands with a far too loud thud. Across the street, something peers around the tree, before vanishing once more.

The Stranger is following him! He just knows it! But it can’t be his mother. Nor can it be that pangolin snoring at the bus stop. The Stranger coughs. The little fox pushes himself up and bares his teeth. It seems to work, since The Stranger isn’t showing their ugly face. The little fox snaps his teeth. The Stranger still doesn’t show.

Triumphant, the little fox collects and fits on his backpack. He quickly checks the house behind him. Despite the rattling chain-link, no one comes out, expecting to find some mean fox kit waiting for them. Probably some stupid Prey children, like those…jerks. The little fox clutches his face and shudders. No, he can’t be distracted by stupid stuff! He needs to keep walking!

After making absolute sure The Stranger won’t lunge, the little fox resumes. The rain pauses as he steps out from under the tree. Yet every five or six steps, he shoots a worried look over his shoulder. No, The Stranger won’t come back. No one wants to deal with an angry fox kit. No one wants to deal with those teeth. Not when they don’t have a muzz–

NO! HE CAN’T THINK ABOUT THAT!

The little fox stomps the cement, thankfully avoiding another crack, this time. He shoots a glare over his shoulder. The Stranger doesn’t come running. Good. He turns his attention back to the street. Where should he go, next? Maybe there’ll be another tree coming up, in case it rains, again. Which it does, as soon as he takes that next step. Stupid weather!

Frustrated, the little fox looks for something else to think about. Boring houses. Boring fences. More boring houses, with so few trees to shield him from the rain. Only about two streetlights that haven’t burned out. But why is he worried about that? Predators like him can handle the dark. And if anyone comes for him, one snap of his teeth will change their minds. Yes, that’s what they expect. And that’s what they’ll get. He’s sure of that.

Expertly avoiding another pesky crack, he pauses at another corner. A streetlight hangs nearby, flickering a sickly orange-yellow peppered by rain. He can do this. The little fox leaps for the pole. His paw slides free from the metal. He lands on the sidewalk sharp to the left. It takes everything to grit his teeth and cut off the pained yelp that wants to escape.

Footsteps!

The little fox throws himself onto his feet and bites at the cold air. But there’s no one there. He clutches his sore right arm and narrows his eyes. There has to be someone! He hikes his head up and tries to pick up a scent. Nothing but rainwater. He groans and clicks his teeth twice. Whoever it was, they’re not showing their stupid, ugly face. Like those stupid Prey–

He fails to stop a frustrated growl that echoes down the street.

A door, from a couple houses to the right, opens. The little fox dives out of the orange-yellow aura, scraping his knees on the concrete. He chokes back another yelp and keeps level with the ground. He can’t be seen here! He can’t be! If he is, someone will tell her! And then she’ll get scared and hurt, all because of him! After he said he wouldn’t do that, every again!

The little fox shuts his eyes and presses his face to the sidewalk. An unpleasant chill shoots down the back of his head, and then all the way down to his tail. But no one walks out. The door from a couple houses down, to the right, closes. But it could be a trick! He has to lay low. Even as barbs in the concrete dig into his eyelids and the bridge of his snout.

After what feels like an hour of rain sealing his shirt to his fur, the little fox stands up. The stupid strap almost slides off. He lifts it back into place and cautiously peers around the corner. No lights. No one stepping out of their house. Good. He looks up. His eyes shut tightly under the orange-yellow streetlight. The little fox covers his face and takes a deep breath. It’s okay. No one saw him. She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t have to be hurt, again. It’s fine.

Just to be sure, he waits a few seconds before taking his next step. With his left arm raised over his head, he searches for the next street-reaching tree. Success! There’s one about three blocks down, to the right. He quickly checks both sides and bolts across. The backpack bobs uncomfortably off his left shoulder and snags the curb. The stupid strap yanks him right back onto the tarmac.

Well, at least he misses that big, dirty puddle a few feet away.

The little fox growls and slams his fists. Rising before anyone can see him, he seizes and throws the backpack onto the sidewalk. The stupid strap almost completely tears off. Paws shaking, he clambers up and drags the backpack by its good strap towards the tree. Rain dips into his eyes and chills its way down his now-exposed back. Choking back another growl, the little fox settles. After retracing some steps, to collect his pack, snagged on another stupid crack.

Positioning it atop the mostly dry concrete, he checks inside. Clothes are fine. Photo is fine. And a few more crumbs pile around the bottom of the Pup-Tarts baggie. He sighs and rests against the bark. His paws fidget over the baggie. Why not? After all that, he deserves one. He cracks the seal and pulls out a crumb-dusted Pup-Tart. Dark blueberry filling breaks through the crust. He takes a big bite.

Someone’s coming!

The little fox quickly shoves the Pup-Tart back into the baggie. Down the sidewalk, someone shifts around in the shadows of the last block. His feet freeze. His unwanted pursuer peeks around the corner, their head perfectly cloaked in shadow. His face falters. No, he’s a Predator! Predators can do anything! A Predator wouldn’t run away from…

It’s The Stranger, isn’t it?! Why can’t they just go away and leave him alone?!

Instead, their sickly arm curls out. The little fox narrows his eyes and bares his teeth. The Stranger shuffles onto the sidewalk, their arms shifting and swaying. Their paws crack into long claws. The little fox’s eyes widen. The Stranger pauses and holds a sickly paw over their head. The claws bend and twist into the shape of a mouth. In the back of his mind, bones break and teeth gnash. He takes a step back.

The Stranger lowers their paw and points to him.

Forgetting everything Predators are supposed to do, the little fox throws the backpack onto his left shoulder. The top flaps open, nearly dropping the Pup-Tarts onto the sidewalk. He clumsily tugs the zipper up and breaks into a run. Behind him, The Stranger follows. He forces his eyes towards the sidewalk. No, he can do this! He can get away! He can do anything! Those stupid Prey children were just–!

Sharp claws seize the backpack.

The little fox yelps and releases the backpack from his shoulder. The Stranger grunts and falls. This is his chance! With a hopefully not too scared-sounding cry, he bows his head and quickens his pace. The Stranger lets out a throaty moan, like a monster that hides under the bed. But that won’t stop the little fox! He’s a Predator, and Predators can do anything! He can do this!

He ducks around the next corner and finally comes to a stop near a wooden fence, three houses down from the Stop sign. He leans into the wood, digging his claws in as he pants and coughs. After about the fiftieth cough, he looks over his shoulder. The Stranger is not there, waiting for him. The little fox quietly laughs. He got away. Predators can do any…

His face sinks, as his paw runs over his bare back. He shoots a fearful look towards the corner. The Stranger has his backpack. He let The Stranger catch it! The little fox shuts his eyes and growls, slamming his head against the fence. How can he be so stupid! Predators are supposed to be able to do anything! How can he be so stupid?!

Footsteps.

The little fox pulls his face away from the fence, just in time to see The Stranger down the corner. They turn to face. It takes everything not to scream.

***

Judy’s heart threatened to drill a hole in her chest. After calling his name for the fifth time, she unbuckled and reached for the door handle. But then her fox ran back. Her paw pulled away and settled over her heart. Nick Wilde, thoroughly soaked and with mud caked around his feet and pant legs, slowed to a walk and opened the passenger’s side door. He scraped his feet and slid inside. His eyes locked onto the road.

The gray rabbit took a deep breath and gripped the wheel. Her heart steadied to a more reasonable pace. She took another deep breath and slowly turned to face him. “Nick, what is going on?”

“I’m sorry, Carrots. I didn’t mean to run out into the rain, like a complete idiot,” he flatly replied.

Judy sighed, started the engine, and cranked up the heater. Her vulpine partner sank into his seat, still not looking at her. His tail shied away, resigning itself to curl behind him. After a few seconds, Nick’s eyes slowly drifted towards something in the field. Rain spilled over from behind his ears and atop his muzzle, making him shiver. The rabbit slowly extended one paw to his shoulder. “Nick.”

“You can stop blasting me with hot air, Fluff.” He tried to grin. “I’m a big, strong fox. I promise I won’t get the sniffles.”

She gently squeezed his shoulder. “Can you at least look at me, when you say that?”

Nick inhaled and turned his head to meet her gaze. “I’ll be fine, Mama Doe. I just got a little wet. It’s not gonna kill me.”

Judy frowned, but said nothing. Her paw slid from his shoulder and shut off the heater.

Nick groaned and angrily wiped away a thick raindrop trailing between his eyes. “Please, don’t start. I’m not in the mood for Twenty Questions.”

Judy’s face shifted into a glare, before easing into a more neutral frown. The fox’s attention turned back to the rain-slicked road. Another irritating drop trailed right into his left eye. He choked back a growl and wiped it away with the back of his right arm. His tail stiffened behind him, before falling lifeless to the floor. The rabbit set her paws into her lap.

“I’m sorry, Judy. I just hate it when rain gets in my eyes. And it’d be really rude, if I shook off all this water all over you. Then you might catch the sniffles.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t dive kick the common cold, Carrots.” A little smile worked its way onto his face, as he pushed himself to face her. “But I’m sure you’d find a way to kick its ass.”

Judy managed a little smile of her own. “Yeah, I would.”

His tail curled back towards the gearshift and resettled between them. She freed up her right paw to stroke it. Nick closed his eyes and leaned towards the window. They slowly reopened. A flash of orange-red darted through the grass and disappeared into the bushes. He growled and buried his face in his paw.

No, stop that. You’re just gonna scare her–more than you already have. You can hate yourself for going crazy, later. Don’t make things worse.

With a little nod, Nick forced his paw into his lap and his eyes to stare ahead. Judy resumed stroking his tail. The fur bristled unpleasantly under her fingers. She sighed.

His eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“This is the part where you start to interrogate me. Where you stomp that little foot of yours and tell me we’re not going anywhere, until I tell you what’s wrong.” He turned to her. “So, why aren’t you threatening to strand us, unless I spill my guts?”

“I’m letting you calm down,” she replied, softly. “It’s not gonna help either of us, if you go flying into a rage.”

Nick’s face softened. “I’m sorry.” A feeble smile twisted at the edge of his muzzle. “I’m just so used to your no-nonsense, immediate results approach.”

The rabbit lightly squeezed his tail. “We’re off the clock, Slick. If you wanna talk, we’ll talk. If you don’t, we won’t. But you need a moment. Take as long as you need.”

“And your parents aren’t gonna get worried, if we don’t get back before dark?”

She rolled her eyes and pulled Nick’s tail into her lap. Her other paw joined in, petting the now not-as-bristly fur. “I’m here for you, Nick. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He leaned over and caressed the top of her head. “I do.” As Judy stroked his tail, Nick’s eyes wandered back towards the grass. He sighed and gently gripped her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll talk. Your superior interrogation skills have broken me.”

“And I didn’t even have to play bad cop.”

He briefly smiled at her. “You’re all good cop, Judy.” The smile faded. “I just thought I saw someone, out there.”

She set her paws back onto the wheel. “Someone bad?”

Nick shook his head. “Not bad, just…” Spill it, Wilde. She’ll understand. Might be the only one who will. “I thought I saw a fox kit running through the grass, over there.”

Judy tilted forward and inspected the grass, mud, and bushes.

“Don’t bother looking, Carrots.” The fox sank into his seat. “I thought I saw a runaway kit. So, I bolted out of the truck and into the cold rain. And then I got my feet all nice and dirty. And there was no kit, there. And I could have gotten the sniffles. Pretty dumb, huh?”

“No, Nick, it’s not. That’s admirable.” She gave his tail another quick brush, before he could say anything. “Well, the part about trying to save a runaway kit is, anyway.”

“That’s just it, Fluff. There was no kit. I was just…maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe the Zootopian beat’s giving me a savior complex. I should get my head checked.” His paws weakly twisted his temples. “If I can unscrew my skull, first.”

Judy took his left paw and held it. “You’re not crazy. But, next time, tell me before you going running out into the rain. I’d hate for my big, strong fox to get the sniffles.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you, Mama Doe?”

She grinned widely. “Nope. Because I love my big, strong fox.”

Nick playfully nudged her away. “Okay, now you’re just being corny. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” His eyes shifted back to the grass. See, she doesn’t think you’re crazy. And you didn’t have to tell her…no, she doesn’t have to know about that. Yet.

Judy gave his left paw a final squeeze and regripped the steering wheel. “You love it.”

“Yeah, I do. Never change, Hopps.”

As Judy prepared to resume driving, Nick closed his eyes. Orange-red sparked through the darkness. A faded sidewalk trailed behind it. The concrete cracked away, revealing thick grass and heavy mud that threatened to swallow everything whole. A sharp pain shot up his right arm. The fox shook himself awake and pried his paw from the door handle. He didn’t need to look, to know she was watching.

Before she could say anything, Nick chuckled and rubbed his sore fingers. “Good thing I’m not very strong. I don’t think your parents would appreciate me wrecking their truck.” He pitifully flexed his right arm. “I’m fine, Fluff.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be…” Nick’s head snapped towards the field.

Orange-red flickered out of the grass and tumbled to the ground. The fox blinked. It was still there, and it was still shaped like a fox kit. His right paw grabbed the door handle, while his left paw moved for his seatbelt. But his arms locked. No, don’t scare her like that, again. You gotta stop acting like a damn lunatic. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Calm down. You’re not gonna scare her. Now, open your eyes and keep quiet. Everything will be–

The driver’s door slowly opened.

Nick reopened his eyes. The orange-red kit was still there; and they now tried to hide under the first bush. And to his left, Judy buckled her seatbelt and stepped out into the rain. The fox growled and followed suit, ignoring the drops that bombarded his eyes. So, I’m not crazy. And someone needs our help. Let’s go.

Judy paused at the edge of the road. Nick stopped to her right and took a cautious breath. Ahead of them, the kit kicked up dirt and sank into the mud. A flattened backpack collapsed against their spine. Judy took a step forward. Nick held out his arm to stop her. “Let’s take this slow,” he whispered. “We don’t wanna scare him. No more than I probably already did.”

She smiled and gave his arm a light squeeze. He smiled back. Together, they stepped into the field. Nick locked his eyes onto the kit’s tail, whipping around in a desperate attempt to shield them from the rain. Judy broke away from him and stopped a few feet from the bush. The kit froze, their tail stiffening over the back of their head. Nick cast a nod to Judy, who motioned for him to start.

The older fox sighed and crouched down. The kit’s tail lifted from the back of their head, revealing a worried pair of brown eyes. Nick eased his face into a gentle smile. “Hey, there. Kind of a bad time to be playing hide and seek, isn’t it?”

The kit attempted a feeble laugh. Their tail curled around the flattened, soaked backpack. Nick shuffled a couple steps closer. The kit looked between him and Judy. Their eyes widened at the sight of the gray rabbit. Before Nick could reach out to them, the kit dug their paws deep into the mud and resumed trying to crawl under the bush.

Nick carefully placed his paw on the flattened backpack. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. We’re just here to help.”

The kit snarled and flipped over, slinging a wad of mud at the bottom of Nick’s jaw. He blinked. The kit rose to their feet and stumbled towards the bush. They paused and looked back at Nick, their brown eyes sparking with alarm. Nick smiled and slowly brushed the mud wad away. “Nice shot.”

Judy fought the urge to walk towards the kit, even as those widened eyes absolutely broke her heart. Still, she smiled calmly and set her paws at her sides. “You’ve got great aim. Of course, he’s such an easy target.”

“Suppose that’s what I get for crossing the best mudslinger in the county,” Nick added.

The alarm faded from the kit’s eyes. Their tail descended to the soft, wet grass, spinning easily around their feet. Nick slowly rose and carefully walked towards the kit. The little one locked eyes with the older fox. Good, keep your eyes on me. He cautiously held out his left paw and brushed away a drop that landed squarely in his left eye. “That’s the bad thing about rain. It really likes to go for the eyes.”

It took a few seconds, but the kit let out another, slightly stronger laugh. “Yeah…”

Nick’s smile grew. “Yeah. It’s a pain, isn’t it? Makes our tails all sloppy, like we’re dragging a wet sack around.” He bent down and “struggled” to lift his tail into the air.

Another, slightly stronger laugh. “Yeah, I don’t like my tail when it gets really, really wet.”

Nick chuckled. “Smart kid. So, then, if you really hate it when your tail gets wet, why are you out here in the rain?”

The kit’s face sank. They shot another look towards Judy, who stayed where she was. Their muzzle quivered.

Nick calmly shook his head. “It’s okay; you don’t have to tell us. But I’m sure you’d like to get out of the rain, right?”

The kit took a step back. Their right foot hooked a rock embedded in the grass and mud. With a little yelp, they threw out their arms.

Right on cue, Nick deftly caught the kit by the shoulders, anchoring them to the ground. The kit shuddered a little at his touch. Nick pulled his paws away and nodded. “We really should get out of here. How about we go somewhere warmer and drier…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. I’m Nick.” He held out his left paw.

The kit slowly held out their right paw to meet with his. “My name’s Mikey.”

Nick gave Mikey’s paw a little shake. “Good to meet you, Mikey.” He gestured to Judy. “And this is my good friend–”

“Judy Hopps!” the little kit yelled.

The older fox frowned. “Word spreads fast around here, doesn’t it, Carrots?” he halfheartedly quipped. “Yes, she’s a good friend of mine. You don’t have to–”

Mikey screamed and broke into another run. Nick shot a look at Judy, who already closed the distance between them. He rose to his feet and quickly moved around the bushes. Mikey was already several feet ahead, still screaming and trying to keep himself from falling back into the mud. Beyond the kit, Nick noticed the ground started to rise, leading to an uncomfortably high-looking ledge. A vice grip tightened around his heart.

The fox snapped back to reality when Judy grabbed his arm. “Come on, Slick. We gotta stop him before he hurts himself.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Are you insane, Wilde? He’s afraid of Judy, for some reason, and running after him is just gonna scare him some more!

The fox growled and shook away that thought, just in time to spot his lapine partner maneuvering around the mud and loose dirt left in the kit’s wake. He grunted and followed suit, ignoring the vice grip around his heart. Ahead, Mikey still ran towards the ledge, completely oblivious to the potential danger. Judy was only a few feet behind.

Come on, Wilde! Don’t be useless! You’ve been trained to do this! Now do it!

And yet, when Mikey looked back over his shoulder, with frightened eyes and a scream, Nick’s heart sank deeper into the vice grip.

***

He risks a look behind. The sidewalk stretches into the dimly-lit cluster of houses and fences. He turns back. The Stranger still stands about two, maybe three feet away. And, for some reason, his nocturnal eyes can’t see through the darkness that enshrouds them. He risks closing and reopening his eyes. The Stranger still stands there. And his backpack dangles uselessly in its extended claws.

The little fox tries to step away. He tries to yell. He tries to bite at the air. He tries to growl. But all he can do, is watch as The Stranger steps closer. His backpack drags along the sidewalk. The stupid strap snags and tears. The Stranger looks down.

He screams and runs backwards, almost colliding with the chain-link fence. The Stranger freezes. The little fox blinks and snaps his teeth. The Stranger takes a step back. A little grin crosses his face. As The Stranger moves towards him, the little fox stomps his right foot and snaps his teeth, again. The Stranger shudders, their claws slipping from the remaining strap. He looks down. The Stranger follows his gaze.

With an angry yelp, he rushes and snatches the backpack away. The Stranger takes another step back, their claws curling in retreat. The little fox laughs and slides the good strap over his shoulder. He can do this! Just like a real Predator! He opens his mouth wide and takes the biggest bite he can. The Stranger freezes. With a laugh, the little fox turns and bolts down the sidewalk. He’s done it! He’s–

The little fox’s enthusiasm dies the second he looks over his shoulder.

It starts with a horrible growl. Then, The Stranger leans forward, scraping their claws against the concrete and knocking a loose chip into the air. And then, after hiking their head towards them, they begin to run. The little fox forces himself to look ahead. Another horrible growl echoes behind him. He shakes his head and grits his teeth. At the back of his mind, large teeth sink into his throat and lift him into the air. And those stupid Prey children watch. And they laugh.

Swallowing a frustrated groan, the little fox dives around the next corner. A slightly rusted mailbox perches nearby. He slides behind it, pressing his right cheek against the cold, wet metal. His backpack nearly slides off. He pushes the strap back on and slows his breathing. A few feet ahead, The Stranger stops at the corner and looks around. Their claws grasp at the air. His ears fold, trying to shut out the sound of tearing flesh. He fights to keep his eyes open.

The Stranger slides back down the street. The sound of tearing flesh stops. The mental image of teeth fade away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he reopens them, The Stranger doesn’t reemerge, claws drawn and charging directly at the mailbox. He recloses his eyes and peels his face from the cold, wet metal. When he’s sure The Stranger won’t reappear, the little fox allows himself to laugh.

Until his mother’s face flashes in the darkness. He reopens his eyes. The images play out atop the ground.

The Stranger, failing to capture him, stalks down the sidewalk, retracing his steps back to the apartment building. With their claws drawn, they walk up the front steps and easily tear through the wooden door. No one steps out, either because they’re asleep or because they’re scared of footsteps thudding down the hall. The Stranger hikes their head into the air and follows the scent of a fox. And then they tear through the apartment door, where his mother wakes up–

His claws dig into his palms, and a low growl escapes him. The little fox starts to turn towards the street corner. But his feet freeze. His mother will wonder why he’s out here. Her eyes will widen, and her paws will cover her face. She will look exactly like she did, that terrible night. And he’ll scare her, after he promised he never would, ever again…

But he can’t let The Stranger get to her, either! He grunts and slams his right fist against the mailbox. And then pulls his aching fingers to his chest. His eyes start to water. No, going back will scare her. It will hurt her. But so might The Stranger. He can’t let them hurt his mother! Even if they have big claws and big teeth that will catch him by the throat! The little fox’s right foot stomps forward. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

And when he reopens them, The Stranger stands a couple feet away. And their claws rake the side of the mailbox. Once more, the little fox screams and runs. And once more, The Stranger pursues with that horrible growl.

He kicks a loose piece of cement and jumps over another crack. The footsteps keep coming. He readies to dive around another corner, when claws swing far too close to the back of his head. The little fox flails his arms and shoots ahead, nearly tripping over the curb. The footsteps stop. He risks a look. The Stranger throws their claws into the air. He turns back to the sidewalk and stops just after another tree. Putting it between him and his pursuer, the little fox leans into the bark and tries to steady his heartbeat.

His paws shield his eyes. Rainwater slides down his palms and chill his eyelids. His backpack slips. He doesn’t bother to catch it. The little fox forces his paws down and peers around the tree. No sign of his pursuer. He presses tightly against the bark, ignoring points digging into his right ear and cheek. Despite his heart tightening like a vice, he narrows his eyes and watches for that monster to reappear. But The Stranger doesn’t come.

The little fox sighs and pulls himself from the tree. A chunk of bark peels off and hooks onto his damp cheek. He flicks it away and looks down. His backpack lies with the faded cartoon fox facing up, his disintegrating face darkened by rainwater. Remembering the precious baggie of Pup-Tarts, he grabs the backpack and drags it over. Quickly unzipping it, he roots around and finds it trapped beneath his red shirt. He tugs it up.

The baggie snags the photo and pulls it to the top. It slips free and drifts towards damp concrete. He immediately drops the baggie and claps his paws together. The photo sticks to his wet palms. He frowns and peels the photo off, placing it atop his backpack while he wipes his palms dry. He looks down. One of the Pup-Tarts snapped in half. His muzzle bends into a frown, which worsens as his settle on the photo.

His past self stands with his mother, her smiling face next to his left shoulder. He wears the crisp Junior Ranger Scout uniform proudly, his right arm hooked in a salute to the camera. An ugly white crease cuts across his throat. But his past self smiles determinedly, unaware of what will happen. And his mother also smiles. Her paw warmly pats his cap, while her other paw smoothens his bandana. Another white crease hooks her wrist. But she still smiles.

The little fox shuts his eyes and presses his chin to his chest. For a few seconds, her paw lightly squeezes his right shoulder. He shudders and clutches his head. His tail coils around his ankles. No, he can’t go back. A low growl escapes his mouth, as his paws slam hard against his legs. His tail uncurls and stiffens. No, he can’t go back. He can’t forget why he’s going, in the first place. He can’t scare her, ever again.

And with this resolve, he stuffs the photo back into the pack and seals it. As he fits it over his shoulder, he looks to the corner. The Stranger doesn’t reemerge, claws drawn and head enshrouded by darkness. The little fox nods and resumes walking. And then groans, when he returns to collect the fallen baggie of Pup-Tarts.

No, he can do this. He has to do this. He has to.

His Pup-Tarts secured, the little fox glances over his shoulder. The Stranger still doesn’t come back. He smiles a little, until a thick raindrop breaks right between his eyes. He groans and wipes it away. Still, he can’t complain. The Stranger finally gets the message and is gonna leave him alone. He considers retrieving the baggie. No, better wait. He spots another streetlight sputtering orange-yellow a couple blocks ahead. He nods and runs towards it.

Still no cars. Still no one looking for him. His smile grows a little more. He expertly avoids another crack and keeps his drooping backpack from snagging on the curb. Everything works out so well, until his muzzle twitches and cracks in a sneeze. The little fox groans and runs the back of his free paw across his nose. And takes a moment to rub the wet snot onto a nearby fence. The rain will surely wash it away, right?

He stops just outside the stuttering orange-yellow aura and looks back. The Stranger still hasn’t returned. He moves to next tree, and then nearly drops his backpack as he breaks into a sneezing fit. His paws fly up to clamp his muzzle. Bits of saliva and snot spatter against his palms. Sliding the backpack off, he leans near the tree and tries hard to stifle the sneezes exploding behind his closed paws. Soon, he peels them away and reaches for a leaf to wipe away the gross stuff. Once he’s clean, he opens his backpack and pulls out the baggie.

That snapped Pup-Tart might as well be eaten. The little fox pulls out one half and sits at the base of the tree. He takes a bite and glances to his right. Down the way, the houses stop before the entrance to a tunnel lined with warning signs and white sawhorses. UNDER CONSTRUCTION, DO NOT ENTER. A long strand of yellow tap sags in the rain. A single amber light blinks like a distant eye.

He considers this discovery. A Predator like him can see in the dark. And tunnels always led to other parts of the city. And being in a tunnel would keep him out of the rain. (No more stupid sneezes.) And there’s no way someone like The Stranger would be brave enough to follow him inside. He polishes off the Pup-Tart piece and licks the crumbs from his fingers. Yes, this will work. This has to work. Things are finally looking up!

The little fox tucks the baggie into his backpack and fixes the good strap in place. He checks behind. Still no sign of The Stranger. He smiles and looks back at the tunnel. But his right foot freezes. There isn’t anything in the tunnel, is there? He blinks and leans forward. There’s still nothing but the warning signs and sawhorses and blinking amber light. But what if…?

He growls and whirls around, snapping at the air. The Stranger isn’t there. He whirls back towards the tunnel. Nothing comes screaming out, throwing the signs aside with large claws. No, he can do this. Anything stupid enough to follow him into the tunnel will pay dearly. Just like a real Predator, and not what those stupid Junior Ranger Scouts think!

The little fox resume walking. Around him, everything remains quiet. Still no cars. Still no mammals leaning out their doors. Just the rain, which seems a lot softer, now. A sneeze threatens to dislodge. He clamps his right paw over his shout and chokes it back. Yes, he can do this. He raises his left arm to shield his head and continues on to the tunnel, where he’ll surely–

Footsteps thud behind him. He slowly turns.

The Stranger breaks into a run down the sidewalk, swiping their claws at the nearby fences and houses. Without screaming, he throws himself forward. Puddles break around his feet as he flees for the blinking amber eye. But no matter how fast he gets, the footsteps are still too close! And then comes the hideous, low, heavy breathing. His mind projects lips prying away to reveal teeth that clench around his throat. The little fox is merely one block away.

Claws shoot out beside his left ear and grab his shoulder.

Without thinking, the little fox slides off his backpack and swings it. The Stranger steps back, barely avoiding a shot to the gut. He growls and swings, again. This time, the backpack strikes their stupid, ugly face. Their claws reach for his shoulders. He raises the backpack as high as he can, and brings it down onto their head. The Stranger groans and hits the sidewalk. The little fox laughs triumphantly.

The Stranger rises to their feet. His smile immediately dies. He readies the backpack for another swing, when their claws catch it mid-swing. They tug it towards them, almost dragging the little fox off his feet. He valiantly grunts and pulls back, just barely freeing the backpack from their grasp. The stupid strap tears off, curling uselessly onto the concrete. Frustrated, he growls and lifts it high into the air. When The Stranger reaches for him, he throws it directly at their face.

Bull’s-eye! They’re down!

The little fox thrusts his paw excitedly into the air. The Stranger groans and tries to push themselves back up. The little fox considers a kick to the head. But, instead, he turns to the amber light. He nods and breaks into a run for the warning signs and sawhorses. The Stranger still lies there, beaten and humiliated. He did it! He could do it! He can do it!

At least, until he reaches the tunnel. As soon as he passes the amber light, his feet freeze. A bitter cold surges over his damp clothes and fur. A horrible scent strikes his nose, pushing images of wet dirt and rusting metal and the scary apartment basement. His paws slowly rise to his face. He blinks and tries to see through the darkness. He can’t see a thing, beyond another sawhorse just barely visible a few feet inside.

Something taps the back of his head. He yelps loudly and clamps his paws over his mouth. His yelp echoes softly into the tunnel, dying a few seconds in. His ears fold against his head, and his tail once again coils around his feet. And just now, he remembers he’s missing his backpack. The little fox closes his eyes and swallows a frustrated, frightened snarl. When he reopens them, he spots a strand of yellow tape collapsing near his left foot.

Footsteps pause a couple feet behind him.

The little fox slowly turns. Sure enough, The Stranger stands there. Their low, heavy, horrible breathing picks up. They step towards him.

He holds back a scream and darts into the tunnel. The Stranger cries out towards him. The little fox ducks under the sawhorse and glances over his shoulder. The Stranger extends their claws towards him. He turns back to the darkness of the tunnel ahead, just in time for the ground to break under his feet.