"'Maybe…what spoke to me consisted of a part of my own mind.' He would probably never know. Perhaps it didn't matter."

-Philip K. Dick, Counter-Clock World

Pallid, long contraptions devoid of fur. They fell open, like wings, but no flight took place. The creature- it had to be a living thing, breathing faintly, its last moments before oblivion- tore through the void in what felt like but wasn't cinematic silence. The blue coat flapped against the roaring wind, and underneath, the impression of a shirt peered through. Clothing that, within seconds, would be rendered useless.

They say that, when you dream of falling, your own brain shocks you into waking up. But there was no waking up from something like this. Panic surged through his body, vibrated in his every cell. System after system, he was about to be shut down- permanently, and the wild fight-or-flight reflex pulsing within his veins swirled around itself with nowhere to go.

A would-be scream wheezed its way out of his mouth. His mind skimmed frantically through lists of incoherence, trying to latch onto a slither of meaning. Wasn't the last thing you think of, the image you take with you, supposed to be significant? Why was it that nothing came to mind, no words, no faces, no nothing? Who was he? What was it that he loved? Was anything about this world worth keeping all the way to a possible afterlife?

Wait.

Eyes. A pair of eyes, glassy and almost unreal. Their otherworldly color was reminiscent of something important, which calmed him down a bit. This seemed like a good choice. Whoever the eyes belonged to, they had to mean something to the man he was while he still stood on that roof. It probably didn't matter, anyway.

This is the end, after all, his numb mind registered.

But had there ever been a beginning?

~Lesser Gods~

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a simulation run by A.M. Palmer

This may or may not be your wake up call.

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"What about your dreams, Mr. Wilde?"

"Yeah, what about them?"

The tigress didn't even bother to look at him. Her fur was slightly dishevelled, like she had had a rough night. Her eyes glared, an almost fluorescent teal against the surounding redness. Restless, Nick thought, but then again, who isn't?

"Is there anything particularly off-putting about them? Any recurring nightmares? Something embarrassing, or worth discussing whatsoever?"

His brow furrowed of its own accord. He looked down, at the sweaty stains his clutching paws had printed on the leather chair. Nicholas P. Wilde hardly ever dreamed. During his days of hustling mammals on the streets and living like the homeless, he'd been too tired to; as soon as his head touched the grass there would be only blackness. After meeting Judy Hopps, the city's first ever bunny police officer, he'd been too content with life to need dreams.

Lately, however, something had shifted in this routine.

It begun the night after Judy, now his most valued friend, had pinned the badge on him in front of the entirety of the ZPD. Amidst thunderous rounds of applause and dozens of onlooking cameras, he'd become, at thirty-three, the first fox to join the police force. The valedictorian of his class at that. It'd been a full and stupidly happy day, so much so that a smile would creep to his features whenever it came to mind. But the moment he'd slipped out of consciousness, an indecipherable tiny something had been set into motion.

Something seemingly innocuous, but inexplicable nontheless.

"Not exactly, doc. But there is a strange recurring dream that I might have failed to mention last time."

"Bad?"

"Nah. Just, weird, is all."

"Okay. Let's discuss it. Go on."

"It's a bedroom."

Her eyes shifted from him, to her notes, and back to him. She was phenomenally uninterested. He'd make fun of the therapist afterwards, with Judy, at his usual bolthole: their brand new apartment. But right now he felt like it wouldn't hurt to tell a specialist.

"Yours or someone else's?"

"I dunno, never seen it in my life. Buuut, keeps popping up whenever I sleep."

"Somebody in the room with you?"

"Nope", Nick said, popping the "p" between his lips for effect. "Just me, and-"

The tigress' eyes found his. She was probably as bored senseless as he was by this arrangement. "And?"

"A bunch of creepy looking stuffed animals, piled on the bed. Toys." he shivered, if slightly. "I see them every night. For months now."

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"So, did you tell Dr. Bored Mc. Indifferent? About the stuffed thingies I mean." Judy told him, her mouth full of Chinese takeaway food, eyes dancing behind her glasses. Nick had known she was short-sighted since they'd met, given the way the rabbit squinted whenever she thought nobody saw. It had taken him months to convince her to wear them, at least when they were alone, at home.

"Yup."

"Unfff wuddfffff shay?" Her cheeks were stretched out of shape due to the enormous bite she was talking through. Nick couldn't help but snort.

"Can you please abstain from speaking with your mouth full? Just because you're cute doesn't mean your half-chewed dinner is, Carrots."

Judy swallowed, and flinched at him comically. She put the empty box away and readjusted herself on the couch. The TV droned on in the background, forgotten. "Here, sourpuss, I swallowed. I said, what did the therapist tell you?"

He shrugged. "She believes it is a projection of my childhood. But don't they always say that when they have no other idea, the loony docs?"

"You don't know that. Maybe she's onto something."

Nick shook his head dismissively. "Nah. If she was correct, then why now that my life is finally in some sort of order? She's as dense as a brick wall, I tell you. Kinda hates me, too."

He felt the pillows shift underneath him as Judy pushed herself to a standing position. With brisk movements she picked up their leftovers from the table and disappeared in the tiny kitchen. Her cheerful voice reverberated through the walls. "I believe you are overreacting a bit there, Slick. She seemed nice enough to me. Very professional. If it helps, though, remember, only two sessions to go and you never have to see her again!"

Nick reached for the remote, sighing. "I certainly hope so. You know, οut of all the perks of being a cadet- the tons of paperwork, the parking duty, Bogo scaring the living daylights out of me- these mandatory sessions were the cherry on the sundae" and then, hearing the trickle of tap water and the clang of kitchenware, he added "Hey, need any help with these?"

A small silence followed. Nick, raising his voice a notch, repeated the offer. "Hey, Carrots, need any help?"

"Nope. Tomorrow's your turn anyway. Don't fancy listening to you whining about how you do all the housework!"

"Har har, Fluff." Nick flipped through the channels. The news were fauning over Gazelle's new boyfriend. An otter was practically engaging in hand-to-hand combat with a racoon over some burnt blueberry pies, courtesy of the millionth season of MammalChef. He turned the appliance off without further ado.

"Hey, wanna watch a movie on NetFox or whatever? Nothing interesting on TV."

She appeared behind him, sashaying toward his field of vision. Wedging her body between his knees and the table, she slid sideways and right into her usual spot on the couch. Nick momentarily wondered whether all bunnies swayed their hips that way. He'd been in Bunnyburrow only once -for a family gathering, the occasion being the engagement of one of Judy's younger sisters- and still had no answer to that question.

"As a matter of fact, Nick, I wanted us to talk about something."

Light from the portable lamp behind them seeped through the edges of her fur, outlining her small figure in a bright halo. She was frowning.

"Okay, Carrots. I'm all ears. Pun obviously int-"

"Nick."

"Okay. So it's serious. I can be serious. Adult to adult. Try me."

"It's not terribly important or anything. I just had to tell you. I must leave the city for a couple of days."

He tried to remember. As far as he knew, it wasn't her parents' anniversary, but then again she had three hundred siblings whose birthdays remained a mystery to him. Normally, he wouldn't have given those words a second thought. Fluff's life was hers. But the tone of the sentence was baffling. It was almost like an apology, like she was trying to tranquilize him for something that had yet to happen.

He sighed, running a paw along the fur between his ears.

"Judy, I swear, if this is about a guy- "

"What? No, no, you mis-"

"No, let me finish here. You look like a kicked puppy and your ears are drooping. Now, I am not saying this isn't adorable, because it is, but I don't want you to think you owe me anything. We're roomies, we're partners at the ZPD, we're best friends- it's not like you hardly get enough of this guy." He pointed at his chest. "You are being apologetic, and that's silly. You can't possibly spend the remainder of your life with me."

"What? No." Judy waved her hands before her face in frustration. She looked sadder than before, her usually straight back contorted to a slouch. "It's, ugh. It's cute that you want me to meet the lapin of my dreams but, if I'd found him, you'd kinda know."

"Then what-"

"It's my family", Judy said, a little too quickly. "My brother-you know Raymond. It's his birthday. And I figured I could stay a few days, to see how everyone's doing."

"Okay." He only said it to eliminate the awkward pause. Raymond's birthday hardly qualified as an issue worth discussing. It didn't explain her somber countenance. "When are you leaving, then?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Tomorrow morning. Which meant it'd been arranged at least a few days prior. Chief Bogo had obviously been informed about her upcoming absense, which meant, more or less, that Nick was the last person to find out. He tried to think whether he'd done or said something wrong lately. Things had been normal. They'd go to work together, hang out with other officers after patrol, take turns cooking and doing housework. They trusted one another with their own lives, every day. And yet, there they were, Judy obviously letting just the tip of the iceberg show, and Nick having the distinct impression he was being conned.

"You know, if you'd told me earlier, maybe I could have come with you."

Put into actual words, the thought sounded pathetic, illogical even. He wished it back. Judy's ears receeded further towards the back of her head. She clasped her hands and looked away.

"I would have. But there is a problem."

"A problem."

"Yes. Promise you won't be mad at me."

Disbelief etched onto his face, Nick let out a breath he had no idea he'd been holding. "I doubt I was ever capable of being mad at you, Fluff. You can tell me anything, I hope you kn-"

"It's the tabloids." She said it so fast the consonants nearly merged together. "I know you don't really mind, but the allegations are everywhere, and I wouldn't want any of this to hurt our friendship or our careers. So no, I don't think we should feed the gossip by-"

"I've met your parents before."

"Yeah, because that went well. You remember Bogo's face when we told him we wanted the exact same days off? Better yet, remember the headlines after we were spotted at the train platform, together?"

"Carrots, I-"

"Do you want us to be separated by the Chief? Or worse?" She threw her tiny arms in the air, a gesture so overwrought it hit him as entirely out of character. The Carrots Nick was used to was a generally composed and all-around easygoing individual. Whenever she was mad at him there was a discernible reason. He thought that maybe he ought to be angry at her mannerisms, but found he was too flabbergasted to.

"Judy." he pronounced her actual first name with a slight tremor. "I don't think Bogo believes any of the rumors, and I have a hard time imagining any person worth my time reading a tabloid. If there is another reason you don't want me with you, I am sure I'm old enough to understand."

She looked around furiously, as if the answer to the question was hidden somewhere over Nick's shoulder. We breathe the same air for so long now, he thought idly, and yet there are sides of her I ignore.

"My parents, Nick. My dad. They watch the news. They read those tabloids."

A pang tugged at his insides. He could picture it, heavy and slimy, an ugly precipitate in his gut. My parents. My dad. They read those tabloids. Judith Laverne Hopps had been the first person after his mother with whom -he believed- he could unabashedly be himself. There had been no secret code to their communication, no pitfalls to be wary of. And yet Judith Laverne Hopps was clearly ashamed of being perceived -erroneously, even- as his girlfriend. It hurt, but in a special kind of way he could not put into words.

Nick was walking on a tightrope.

"I didn't know your parents had an issue with who I am." Foolishly, maybe, but after that first meeting he'd felt at home among them. Sure, they had welcomed him as their daughter's friend and partner, and not her lover, but still. The distinction itself implied there is a line that, once crossed, renders a fox a shameful burden.

"I never said there is an issue, Nick. I just- I don't know how to explain it."

Nick balled his paws into fists, to stop the shaking. His voice was thick with a sudden rush of emotion, so the avalanche of possible replies was distilled into the first available three letters. "Try."

Judy took her glasses off, folded them and left them on her lap. She pinched the bridge of her nose, as if to keep a developing headache at bay.

"Just let me go alone, Nick. Just this once."

A loud thump resounded in the tiny living room. An ambulance passed by, somewhere outside, and the red light bled through the open window, illuminating her face for a fraction of a second. Her eyes were glassy and alert, pinned upon him in an unfamiliar fashion, her hackles raised. With his own heartbeat buzzing in his ears, Nick looked down and saw his fist, showered in blood, driven right through the glass pane of the table.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Thumpthumpthumpthump. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Is this..." he hissed, "is this because I am white trash?"

She was standing upright now, taking steps backwards in horrified disbelief. Her cheeks and muzzle were covered in tears, chest heaving. Her lips moved, but the only two words she uttered were drowned in sobs.

"Judy." he breathed, but he didn't have the energy, or the mental clarity, to run after her. She had already stormed out of the apartment, her loud steps haunting the empty hall. With robotic moves, Nick trudged his way to the door, left ajar. Viscous drops of blood went plop and flattened against the yellow carpet.

He shut the door, took his tie off. This was just a misunderstanding. Surely, Judy would never feel ashamed of him. There was something else, and they would talk it over like responsible adults once she was back. The green and white stripes of the tie were tinged a dark red hue, but at least the bleeding would be less profuse. She would never feel ashamed of him. He'd wanted to ask her whether all bunnies swayed their hips that way, and whether she was so deeply disgusted by the idea of a fox and a bunny being an item. Maybe a towel would stop him from drying out in the living room. Yes, he thought walking towards the bathroom. If he had asked those things instead of yelling and breaking the table, she would still be here. Maybe she'd even consider taking him to Bunnyburrow. How many litres of blood are there in a vulpine body? Hopefully he won't find out tonight.

Nick rested his head against the bathroom window, relishing the silence, the city breathing into his ears ever so slightly. Clutching the towel tight against the open wound, he felt hysterical laughter gurgle through his entrails. He let it all out, right there, next to the goddamn shitter, he laughed so loud he ended up coughing.

It wasn't until much later, until the bleeding had stopped and he was staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, that the punchline of the joke occured to him.

..What the fuck is a "white trash"?

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Right across the street from Nicholas Wilde's apartment condo, is a small playground, complete with rows of planted trees. The trees are close to one another, their branches interweaving like open arms, their dense foliage a uniform mass of green. In the undergrowth, shadows oscillate back and forth with the speeding cars. In the shadows, stands a group of five individuals, dressed uniformly in dark, loose clothes.

They are unnaturally still and unnaturally tall, and their heads are craned backwards, but you can't tell what they are gazing at, because they wear shades on their eyes. But if you ask them, and if they answer, they will probably tell you it is the open window, right there, across the street, on the third floor of that condo, over there.

The one with the cracked paint.

Yes, it is that specific window they are staring at, or rather, the male living inside.

But if you were truly there, they would stay hidden, and you would never have the chance to ask, and if you asked, they'd never reply.