Even with his insomnia, Wilson still had a good night's sleep. The blankets were a bit too light weight, but he found himself comfortably in his bed. The fact that he didn't know where Springer was partly affected why he stayed up so late, but Sylvester had come in the night before and explained everything. Springer was alive, and would meet no such fate as death, but they weren't quite sure what he'd be for. Most likely, he'd be assigned a job, like everyone here who played a part to keep the society going while Sylvetser did more important things. Right now, the only thing that the serval was worried about was breakfast.

He sat up, spotting some fresh clothes by the door. They reminded him of the one's Crosshatch wore, a bit ratty and torn, but who knows where these people got their clothes? He changed into his new outfit and poked his head out the door. Sterling had explained that this was his room, and he could wander the building freely with the yellow piece of metal he'd been given the previous night. The problem was, he didn't know where he was going. Not wanting to get lost, he just went back to his room and waited for some sign to tell him where to go. In hindsight, he probably should have asked Sylvetser where to go for meals. Unless they were delivered like his supper had been, he'd just have to wait and see.

---

Sylveter shifted in his sheets, eyes fluttering open. A yawn escaped his lungs as he sat up, cracking his back and rubbing the sleepy from his eyes. He was the one who determined when everyone woke up, having an odd internal clock that never failed to wake him up at exactly 7:00am. So on the weekends, everyone got to sleep in a little bit. He stood on his bed, gazing out the window above it, not bothering to put his clothes on just yet. He wanted the sun's warmth on his bare body before he got moving, his fur on his face and chest puffing out and letting the rays bless his skin. He was well built, thin and moderately muscular due to his workout schedule he did every other day about an hour before lunch.

He sighed, figuring he should get moving and got dressed in his usual outfit; dress pants with a purple or white T-shirt and with or without a tux coat, and always with his iconic cane. He dug around in that box Yoka had so kindly given him and found a gold ring with a blue gemstone embedded in it, and another silver one with the Russian word for love, любовь, carved into the band. Subtle, yet flashy. He put them on his right middle finger and left index finger, then adjusted the box and fitted it perfectly on the corner of the shelf, next to the other perfectly stacked boxes. He left his room, then pressed the speaker button.

"Good morning, everyone. It is currently 7:33 in the morning, you have until 9:00 to get your breakfast. Do note the heat, water barrels shall be posted at every block. Please try to hold onto your paper cups, but if we do run out, notify the nearest Phantom immediately." His voice echoed throughout the building, and projected into the streets and into other buildings that housed his members. His building had a middle chamber where the staircase was, then hallways surrounding it in a 'U' shape. His room was at the very top and by far the nicest, for obvious reasons. A lot of their power came from lighting, which was harvested via lightning rod, but with the lack of rain, solar power was now used for its reliability. Solar panels were one of the best things to happen to White Fang, but The Reminder was the best example of steam power. Four vents released at the same time as pistons worked everything but her "head" and two of her graspers, which was where the AI was. Everything else had to be started up.

Sylvester started down the stairs, checking on Wilson, but seeing as he was not in his room, he followed the small crowed of Phantoms leaving the building. He spotted the serval's coat and tapped his shoulder, startling him, but he relaxed a little seeing it was him.

"Oh, hi." he said.

"Hello. You're not eating with them," Sterling said, "come with me." He held his wrist, then guided the serval back up to the second to top floor, into the dining room with a long feast table.

"You're of far more importance than them. You'll be dining with us today, and hopefully from now on." Sylveter said, pulling out a chair to his right, then sitting at the head of the table.

"I am?" Wilson asked, sitting on the comfortable padded chair.

"Yes, you have a yellow card, but you mean more to us. You're the second Phantom to be joining us here." he said as the room filled with others, all taking a moment to stare at him for a moment before they sat down. The table could fit a hundred, but it looked like 70 or so chairs.

"This may not be permanent, however. I want you to meet me in my little room upstairs tonight, I have a proposition for you. But for now, I brought you up here to explain a few things. See, we all have simple rules here; you do your tasks, you get your rations of appropriate foods. Everyone has a job, and everyone has to complete that job in order for everything to flow smoothly. There is but a single hen working the kitchen, and one lioness incharge of food delivery to and from all the kitchens in this territory, can you cook?"

"...yeah, kinda." Wilson said, "I can cook simple things and follow a recipe. I can bake, the college Springer and I went to focused on technology, but, I am- I was a chemistry major."

"Really? I was a technology major myself. Did you say you and Springer went to the same college?" the hare asked.

"Yeah, that's how we met. We were roommates. Will he be joining us?" Wilson's eyes smiled.

"No, I'm afraid. I don't exactly know what to do with him yet- Envar!" he exclaimed as the half-metal horse sat beside him. He examined the serval, the shudder on his right eye constricting. Wilson's ear twitched, when a hen he presumed was the one Sterling mentioned pushed a cart out over to the table. The smell of the food hit Wilson's nose like the rogue softball in highschool that one time. She parked the cart next to Sylvester and set his plate down first, then a huge plate of oat hay, apples and carrots for Envar, then set the same dish as Sylvester in front of Wilson. The serval stared down at his plate with hungry eyes, but didn't touch it until he saw Sylvester take a bite first. Eggs and bratwurst with golden-browned toast, so simple, yet so much better than his breakfast at the college. He took a bite of the over-medium eggs, seasoned perfectly, being far more satisfying than the food at the school, or any meals he's had over the last several years. They were rich, richer than chicken eggs, and crisped slightly around the edges that added texture. He wasn't paying attention when Sylvester started talking.

"Chyenne dear," he said, the hen looking up at him while she handed out the rest of the plates to the other carnivores, "you've got help." he outstretched his hand to Wilson, who had momentarily forgotten what he was talking about, looking up with a blank expression and a mouth full of buttery toast. He prematurely swallowed, then gave a shy smile. She smiled back and ditched her cart, approaching the serval.

"Hey!" the silver wolf she was in the middle of serving complained.

"Aw, shut up! I haven't fa'gotten aboutcha!" she snapped with a harsh Brooklyn voice, "who's this?"

"This is Wilson, and he shall be aiding you from this point on. Just follow her into the kitchen after meals, Dove." he said, resting his hand on Wilson's. He swallowed a little, trying not to acknowledge it.

"I've got a few errands to run, including informing our new allies of a rather unfortunate... event, but that's nothing for you to worry about, Dove." His tone sent a slight chill down Wilson's arms. Was that really his new nickname? He smiled again, Chyanne turning back to finish serving the rest of the impatient carnivores at the table.

---

"Sooo... where do you guys get the food?" the serval asked the hen.

"Well, I'm sure you know where de' meat comes from, but de' veggies' come from a greenhouse dat one of our allies had. Okay? Sucks she got hit by a bus..." she hung her head a little, "Das where I came from. We was pretty docile, there was only seven of us, and we looked after each otha'. Like a family." she trailed off. Her voice was soft, yet gruff, like if a pillow had random patches of sandpaper glued to it.

"You... cook all this alone?" Wilson asked, scanning the mess of carnivores leaving the room.

"Sometimes..." Chyanne sighed, "There's supposed to be a lioness helpin' me. Sometimes she shows up, sometimes she don't. Prolly why you're helpin' me now." she spun around, rummaging around in the cupboards.

"Where is the greenhouse?" Wilson asked, his soft English accent corresponding harshly with her very different voice, as he finished with the cart and started on the dishes.

"Ah, it's a little- honey, ya need an apron." she handed him a white apron before continuing, "It's a little bit away, a few blocks down south, ya know? I used ta' work in it. I heard dis society gets most of its members from othuh' groups dat form alliances wit' Skinner." she scraped scraps down a chute, Wilson cocked his head, "Fawh da dogs, ya know? Dey gotta eat, too, uh?" she said.

"Dogs?" Wilson questioned.

"Yeah, de dogs. Day've been here a time, okay? Like, befawh de Isle of De Damned was a prison, yuh got me? Skinner says dey lost deir minds and went feral. Don' unnerstand a word o' english, but do understand where food is. Guy named Feral feeds 'em. Ironic, ain't it?" she laughed, dumping more scraps down.

"Skinner?"

"Yeah, Sterling goes by a lottah names. Skinner, uh, somethin' else, and uh... somethin' else I dunno."

"The other guy's real name is Feral?" The serval started drying a few dishes.

"Well, his real name is uh, I dunno. But we all call 'em Feral 'caus he feeds de ferals. Can ya open dis?" She put a jar of home-canned tomatoes in his hand. He twisted the lid and heard a pop, then set it down on the counter, then she handed him a bowl and fork, "Just mash 'em up for meh."

"What are we making?" he asked as he started mashing.

"An old family recipe o' mine fawh spaghetti. Everythin' is homemade, even de pasta." she got out some flour, eggs, basil, and salt, Wilson beginning to smush the tomatoes into a sauce, "Well, I guess de flour ain't homemade..." she shrugged, "Das probably good for de tomatoes, okay?" she said, unhooking a pan from the hook and lighting the stove, putting a slab of butter in it along with basil, a pinch of rosemary, and a splash of rum. Her movements around the kitchen were so smooth and almost mesmerizing.

"Here, ya wanna make de Fettuccine?" she asked.

"I don't know how..." Wilson recoiled.

"Oh, it's easy. Oh, it's so easy, you'll laugh. I'll show ya."

---

Springer lay half asleep in his cell, almost too exhausted to even breathe. The sunlight helped soothe him, but not a lot. He perked up to the sound of the door opening, a figure standing in front of his cell, holding a plate of food. They knelt down, opened a little slot, slid the plate in, closed it, and then walked away. Springer crawled over to the plate, scrambled eggs and false sausage. He picked the plate up, he wasn't even given a fork. He scooped some of the egg up and dropped it into his mouth, no salt, no cheese, just egg. Well, food was food, so he kept eating. He finished the eggs and moved to the false sausage, taking a large bite but pausing at the odd texture, then froze. This was real meat, wasn't it? He didn't want to spit it out, but he didn't want to swallow it either. He held his hand to his lips, held his breath, and forced himself to swallow it. He whimpered, setting the half-eaten sausage back on the plate. He was still hungry, but he couldn't stomach the idea.

---

Yoka's clan knew Sterling by a different name; Skinner, so that's what they referred to him as. He stood at the lectern facing the crowd, being accompanied by two Mastiffs on either side of him. The bear's clan wasn't nearly as big as he thought it would be, there only being a max of 100 adults. But, if that's all that was necessary to produce metal goods, then this was fine by him. They all seemed to be from the same nationality, Russian accents and words flying everywhere. Skinner brought his two index fingers to either side of his lips, then whistled loudly, silencing everyone in the room.

"Thank you," he said, "I appreciate you letting us into your cinema, and I'm sure you all know what happened to dear-old Yoka." he hung his head. The others muttered, confused expressions on everyone's face, "If it hadn't been for that group of assassins, he would still be with us. I didn't know him too well, but I heard he was very good at what he did." he trailed off.

"He's dead?" a female voice shouted from the crowd.

"Yes, I'm afraid. But, we know who the assassins were and have dealt with them appropriately. A shrine has been posted outside on the curb where he was murdered, if you wish to pay respects, that is where you'll find it." he paused, a silence present in the room as everyone processed it.

"What happened to his body?" the same female voice called. Skinner paused, a knot in his stomach forming.

"...we are currently looking for soft dirt for him. It may be a bit far away, but that's why we put up the shrine." he relaxed, they seemed to buy it.

"Anyway, I've come to offer you all a trade," he waved Envar over, the horse holding a silver platter, "to honor the promise I made to Yoka, I offer you all a small portion of our monthly harvest of..." he lead on, Envar pulling off the lid to the platter, revealing perfectly cubed chunks of flesh, "real meat." he finished, smiling, the bears muttered and a few gasped as Envar approached them with the platter, everyone skeptically taking one of the toothpicks and passing the plate around. The same lady who spoke took one, examined it and smelled it, then ate it.

"You'll get meat with every meal, as should be your right as carnivores, all I ask in return is metal goods and mechanics. I have plenty of scrap for you all to use and have the means of getting almost anything you would need." Skinner said, Envar offered him one of the many leftover cubes and he took one. He quite liked bear meat himself, it always had a natural smokey/sweet flavor, and the older the bear, the richer the taste.

"Why should ve listen to you?!" the female voice again called, most of the others expressing their agreement with her in one way or another. Skinner noticed that she had a less of an accent than Yoka did, and the majority of them knew English, which was convenient.

"Because he signed a contract and agreed that should anything happen to one of us, the other should take over. Purely for hindsight, mind you. We were both powerful, and with great power comes great risk. It's a good thing we decided this, wouldn't you say? Or else you may not have a leader now to begin with. Would you like to see the contract?" he offered, snapping his fingers at another assistant, who brought it out immediately. A white bear with eyes of fury stood up and stormed up to the stage, the same scowl on her face that Yoka had the night before. She took the paper out of his hand and looked closely at it for a solid ten seconds, her expression softened as she recognized the way the 'K' was written. Yoka's scent was on the paper, along with the pen that was handed to her that he apparently signed with.

"I-" she stammered, then gave the paper back to Skinner and sulked back to her seat, the other bears muttering again.

"Now," he said sharply, "nothing here will change aside from me being in charge, and the first night of every month we have an event that shows how we harvest our meat. It also serves as a... reminder of what happens should I be crossed." He chuffed in amusement, "If you wish to report an event worthy of punishment of any kind, such as theft, you report to one of the guards with a blue patch on their shirt and they will investigate." he gestured to Envar, who pointed to the blue patch on his shirt, "Are we clear?" he asked. The room was quiet, a few muttered "yes"'s and nodded heads. Skinner's eyes narrowed, but his smile widened. Every part of this plan couldn't have come together more perfectly.

---

Chyanne loaded the heated cart, keeping the food warm and the cheese melted until dinner. Homemade linguine and sauce, with a few thin slices of what she believed was fresh fox meat. She sighed, finally having a chance to get off of her feet. Wilson was relieved, too, sitting on the chair by the door. She had done this all alone?

"Well," she sat next to him, "at least we get ta' eat it, too."

"It smells really good." Wilson said.

"My family been usin' dat' recipe fr' generations. We've perfected it ovea' da years, we cn' just eyeball how much is needed. Dat wine 'll also be served wit' it." She picked up the bottle and examined it.

"Yeeesh, it's dark out already?" Wilson peeked out the door and noticed the darkening skies out the windows. He's been in here all day?

"Oh, yeah, the recipe takes all day, especially for 72. You cn' go now, just be back fr' da dishes. Sterling should be back now, too." she said, Wilson nodding and leaving the kitchen. The dining room was empty, as to be expected, and it was eerie. The chandelier had yet to be lit, and the table was set expectantly, awaiting the 70+ people to come and eat. He stepped into the staircase and looked up the three flights, then down the remaining four. He started up the stairs, knowing that was the general area his room was. Did he mean his office or his room? He cleared one flight and spotted Envar in the hallway outside the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he was guarding something. The horse's mechanical eye locked with Wilson's magnetna ones immediately, scowling.

"Uhh," Wilson swallowed, Envar's ears twitched at his voice, "Sterling's room? He said to meet him and I think I'm lost." he squeaked, twiddling his fingers, tail tucked between his legs. Envar shifted his stance, his hooves clopping on against the cement floor echoed.

"Keep headin' up the stairs 'till there ain't no stairs left. His door is on the left-hand side." he snorted, Wilson shot him a smile and power-walked up the stories, his legs burning by the time he finally reached the top. Sterling had to make this trip every day? No wonder he was in such good shape. He rested against the wall to let his quads recoup a little before turning the corner and being met with yet more stairs leading to a wooden door and a window on the right side of it. Wilson let out an exasperated sigh, then huffed up the last few stepps, passing the window with closed drapes before he reached the door. He stood in front of it for a moment, then reached his hand out to knock, recoiled, then actually knocked. Faint clacking of claws on pavement was picked up by his sensitive ears, then the door swung open inwards. The brown hare had answered the door, greeting him with a friendly smile.

"Dove! Dear, come in." he exclaimed, stepping aside and allowing him in the room.

"Woah." Wilson expressed as he scanned the room. A king-sized bed placed against the right-most wall with a short window above it. Another door on the wall across from him he assumed was the bathroom, and across in front of the bed was a wide doorway that led to a library and fireplace with a soft-looking sofa. Along the walls hung weapons; swords, knives, and axes, and the floor was covered by a wool rug. Sterling led the serval into the separate room with the sofa and library.

"Oh, my god." he chuckled, setting his gaze on the minibar completed with bar stools, a marble countertop, and all kinds of wine, vodka, whisky, and tequila.

"Would you like something to drink?" The brown hare gently rested his hand on Wilson's shoulder, "I've got an amazing prickly pear martini recipe, my vodka brand and fruits grown right here on the isle." he purred. Wilson was skeptical about alcohol right now, but he didn't want to seem rude, and he probably shouldn't offend this guy.

"Oh, maybe just a small one," Wilson said, "but just one." Sterling nodded in understanding, then stepped behind the counter and gathered the ingredients, leaving them in plane view. He retrieved the vodka and extract and poured them both into the cocktail shaker and shook, then took a chilled glass out of the freezer and dribbled a red, sweet, but otherwise flavorless syrup into the glass to make the design. The syrup immediately froze on contact with the cold glass, Sylvester making as little contact with the glass as he could. He poured the cocktail into the glasses and put a little chunk of what Wilson presumed was prickly pear on the edge of the glass. He handed one to Wilson and waved him over to the sofa and lit the fireplace with a match and dead grass. Wilson took a small sip of the drink and bit his lip.

"Wow, that's strong," he stated, clearing his throat, "it's good though."

"Why, thank you. I was bored one day and just craved something a bit different, you know? Prickly pear is rare here, but we managed." he said, sitting down right next to him, taking a sip of his drink.

"I... have a proposition for you, Dove." he stared into the fire with a serious and slightly nervous expression, no trace of that iconic smile. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, trying to be casual.

"You see, it gets... a bit lonely up here. People are allowed to come up here, but no one ever does. I was wondering if you would, uhm... if- if you ever wanted to come up here and hang out, or... spend the night, that'd be fine by me. Or if you...wanted to move in." he rushed over his words a little, then cleared his throat and took another big sip of his drink. Sterling glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye, the serval's silence making his heart pound. He placed his hand on the back of his neck, like he was scratching an itch. The warm glow of the fire hid the inner side of his ears turning a light pink.

"If you do move in, you could still go and sleep in your own room every so often if you wanted to, I-I think it'd be good to get a little space sometimes... but the majority of your time would be up here." he refused to face him, only glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes occasionally and taking a sip of his drink, tapping his foot on the table.

"...what's in it for me?" the serval asked. Sterling clicked his tongue, inhaling like he was going to say something, but bit his lip.

"Well, you would have the reputation as... the one closest to me. No one would cross you, or hell, even hold eye contact with you for too long." he chuckled, turned his body to face him, Wilson held his head up. After a moment of nothing, Sterling sighed.

"I suppose that's a no then..." he turned back to face the fire, pinning his ears, crossing his legs and finishing off his drink. Why did he bother? He knew it wouldn't work, Arora asked him-

"I never said that," Wilson said, Sylvester looked back at him, "I'll do it. BUT-" he held up his hand, stopping the hare as he shifted so he'd once again face the serval, "where's Springer?" he questioned.

"I told you, he's alive-"

"Yes, but where is he?"

"...in a cell. I can move him if you wish." Sterling muttered.

"Yeah, to a good room." Wilson said, pointing a finger directly at Sterling's nose. His heart sank a little, he had never gotten in someone's face like that before. Sterling inhaled sharply.

"Fine. It was never my intention to kill him. He'll be moved in the morning." he said, Wilson nodding in approval, "And for the record, I have no interest in intimacy, just a little companionship." he said. Chyenne's voice came over the intercom.

"Goooood evenin' everybody! Dinner is ready to be served, if you're not down there in ten minutes, you ain't gonna eat." the com hung up.

"Ah, dinner." Sterling said, "Shall we?" he purred, standing, reaching out a hand for Wilson to grab. The serval took his hand and the hare pulled him up.

"Sooo, we start tonight?" Wilson squeaked.

"If you wish, yes."

"I may need a night or so to process."

"... of course. My door's always open."