Springer groaned as the ear-piercing squeal of the rusted door swinging open snipped through the cold walls. He parted his eyelids, avoiding the blinding light that was allowed in, a figure stood in the way of the sun rays. He heard muffled words coming from this tall, muscular figure, but couldn’t make out what was said due to the fact that he was still more than half asleep. He sat up, rubbing the sleepy from his eyes when a firm hand grabbed his wrist. 

    “Did you hear me?” a full, gruff Australian voice snapped at him, “Congratulations, y’ bein’ upgraded t’ an actual room. Skinner’ll see ya in a bit.” he repeated. In the light, his form looked similar to Springer’s, but with one major difference; a long, muscular tail. Springer was practically tossed out and fought to his feet as the red kangaroo kicked him forward, nearly sending him to the ground. 

    “Keep movein’!” he ordered, threatening to do it again by leaning back on his tail. Springer power-walked down the corridor, the roo getting impatient and just grabbing him by the wrist like he were a child. The streets were busy, not with cars, but with people. Some carried crates or bags, some with wheelbarrows and carriages. Two of them, a lynx and an antelope, walked side-by-side dragging someone else to the very building Springer had just been taken from. Some wolf or large fox, his eyes were wide and he struggled in their grip as he was dragged into the building. Most walked around with covered crates and boxes, the smells coming from each one was so different, the golden hare couldn’t focus on one. They all seemed to have a place to be, and they were all in a hurry. 

    The roo dragged him to a smaller building across the street from the tall one he’d been dragged up before, the young jackrabbit gazing up at it with a knot forming in his stomach as they passed the large structure. He watched as his captor lean back on his tail and kicked open the door to the building, the loud noise of the wood door slamming into the wall turning everyone’s heads towards them. It looked like a gameroom, 8ball, darts, poker, and even a bar with a bartender who looked ready to serve anyone who came in. 

    “Cartridge!” one of the canine figures at the bar turned around, “how many times have you been told t’ stop doin’ that?” the dog hissed with yet another southern accent. 

    “Oh, stick it up yours, Railroad. Don’t talk to me like ya got any authority over me.” Cartridge said, the coyote standing up and getting in his face. 

    “Skinner’s gonna be mad, he told you t- ACK!!” Railroad cacked as the roo gripped his throat with his free hand and lifted him off the ground. 

    “What did I just say?” Cartridge hissed, then dropped him and continued dragging the golden hare to the other side of the room and up the stairs. Springer looked back at the coyote, seeing him kneeling on the ground with his hand on his neck, glaring at them. 

    “You’re on th’ second floor, eh? That’s the good one, heh.” The roo put on a friendly face. He parked him right in front of the third door on the right and dangled the heys in front of his face. 

    “Here ya are.” he said, Springer hesitantly took the keys and turned to unlock the door, still processing everything that happened. He opened the door, allowing them both in. 

    “Oh, wait,” the Aussie said, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him back around, “you won’t be needin’ this anymore.” he gripped the green tag in his ear and yanked it out before he could stop him. Springer screamed, holding the side of his face as a little bit crimson dribbled out onto his paws. 

    “Oh, hush. It heals over real quick.” the roo said, putting his hand behind his own ear to show off the huge nip taken out of it. The young hare whimpered, feeling a bit queasy at the sight of his own blood, as little as it may be. 

    “Welp, your breakfast outta be here any minute, I just wait here with ya ‘till then.” Cartridge stated, leaning forward over the couch. Springer held his arms like rabbits often did; folded tightly against his body with his paws flopped over, as he leaned against the wall with his ears down. His ear stung, the wound throbbing. He hoped the wound wouldn’t get infected. The roo picked up a TV remote, clicked a button, and the TV sparked to life. 

    “Ay, it works! Lucky bastard…” he muttered, hobbling around to the other side of the couch and sitting down, one ear turned to the TV, one towards Springer. The hare timidly approached the couch, then perched on one of the arms, keeping his distance. The roo’s ear twitched, then there was a knock on the door.

    “That’s him.” he stood and answered the door, Sterling standing tall with a smug grin on his face as he stepped into the room. His scent made Springer nervous, until he smelled food. A lioness followed him in, then set a plate with a cover down on the table. She hastily retreated back behind the brown hare, standing still with her hands folded in front of her, looking down. 

    “Cartridge, Mary, you can leave.” Sterling said, staring at Springer with the grin not moving. The lioness left before a second passed after he finished speaking, but Cartridge hesitated. 

    “Now.” Sterling snapped, the roo recoiled and lumbered out as well. 

    “So,” Sterling inhaled sharply, sitting right next to Springer,  now with an empty room, “I noticed you didn’t eat your sausage yesterday. What’s that about?” he smiled, bearing his fangs.

    “I, uh… don’t eat meat.” Springer squeaked, averting his eyes to uncover the plate of food, which unfortunately, consisted of only meat. His ears flattened back a little and his eyes widened. 

    “Someone had to die in order for those to be made. Didn’t your mother ever tell you about wasting food?” He said in a weirdly joking tone, leaning back in his seat and kicking one foot over his knee, “Fortunately, food doesn’t go to waste here. It’s eaten by the dogs, who you’d better get acquainted with because you’ll be feeding them from now on.” 

    “Dogs?” Springer tried to change the subject. 

    “Yes, descendants of those who were sent here because they lost their minds and went feral. Only really dogs and a few big cats because smaller animals and herbivores have been eaten long ago. Besides, there’s no grass or trees for them. I’ve been trying to teach them a little English, but they don’t seem to be picking it up, unfortunately. They stay here, I have several packs of them. They keep intruders out of the important buildings and in return, I feed them. Well, you’ll be the one feeding them. You may have seen them on your way in.” his grin widened, “Any and all scraps are either fed to them or used as fertilizer, and with over 300 plates worth of scraps divided up a day, they eat very well. 

“At the end of the day, when the voice comes over the speaker, you stay here. Your food will be delivered to you until further notice and you will either eat that, or eat nothing. However, if you play your cards right, your diet will be balanced out again, so I suggest you hold up to your promise you made me the other day.” his tone lowered to a growl, his eyes seemed to focus right on Springer’s throat.

    “Y-Yes, sir.” he lowered his head and reached for a bit of meat, held his breath, and took a bite off his fork. Sylvetser’s ears perked, surprised, but pleased. 

    “How is it?” he purred. Springer held up his finger, then gagged a little as he forced himself to swallow it. 

    “It’s… d-delisous.” he muttered, fighting his cracking voice. 

    “Good, good. You’ll meet a striped hyena named Feral behind this building, he’ll show you the route and where to get the feed. I expect you to do your job, because if you don’t, you will be the one on that plate. If you run, you will be tracked down, killed, and eaten. Do I make myself clear?” 

    “Yes, sir.” Springer squeaked. 

    “Excellent. Well, I’ve got products to sell, people to talk to, a society to run, I shall see you around. Doing your job, yes?” Sterling stood up. 

    “Yes, sir.” Springer murmured, Sterling smiled, then turned to leave.

    “Good. If you have any questions or concerns, come see me or give a written note to a Mastiff, you’ll see them with a blue badge over their heart.” 

    “Okay.” The younger hare said, “What happened to Wilson?” he asked timidly. Sylveter stopped, then sighed dramatically. 

    “He’s in my building now. I really must be going.” he tried again. 

    “I wanna see him!” Springer said, raising his voice. The brown hare inhaled, irritated. 

    “I’ll see what I can do.” he hissed through his teeth, then dipped out the door before Springer questioned him again. The golden hare looked down at the plate again, considering leaving it there, but his stomach growled at him. He whimpered, then braved another bite. If he played his cards right, he’d get veggies, right? Like a rabbit was supposed to eat, this could actually make him sick. Rabbits couldn’t throw up either, so once it was down, it was down. At least he’d never have to see it again. 

---

    Most of the day was spent watching two-bit knockoffs of shows back home. Made sense, it’s not like companies would let their shows air on the isle, so it looked like people improvised. Copycats of sitcoms, movies, other shows, and even a few commercials popped up. The sets looked cheap and like they were for a musical play rather than a TV show, and not to mention the horrible acting, but it was better than nothing. He wondered how they managed to get the whole thing set up, getting it to air on TV. He hadn’t seen any of these shows before, the isle really had its own cable system. He was almost impressed, people even advertised one-man-operated businesses. Food, weapons, storage, people here really seemed to have their own lifestyles here, it was just like back home. 

    Springer averted his gaze from the TV for a moment, then sat up. He figured he would look around the room, there being a separate door he assumed was the bedroom. He stood, opening the door and he was correct. A mattress that looked like a queen - or whatever was just smaller than a queen - lay on the floor, light blankets rested over top of it. A crate next to an end table he assumed was a laundry basket of sorts was in the far corner. A window on the left wall let a little natural light in, Springer parted the thin curtains and grimaced as he revealed bars outside the glass locking anything in or out. He backed away, spotting a small, tree-drawer dresser pressed against the same wall as the door, Springer opened it and found it stocked with hopefully clean clothes, mostly of a solid color. He wondered where they got them, but he feared he already knew. Before people were brought to the prison building, most of their clothes were confiscated, maybe that’s what the boxes in that back room were full of. 

He shook his head and moved to what must have been the bathroom, and was met with a grimy old sink, shower, and tiles. At least the toilet looked clean. A bathmat and gray towels hung over the drying rack, and there was a fresh bar of soap by the sink. So, this was like a cheap motel. The wall paint looked like it was once a baby blue color, but the building’s age had bleached it, another tiny window lay high up on the wall. Springer flicked on the lights and two of the five bulbs above the prison mirror were burnt out. It let enough light in, so he didn’t really bother looking for a few spares. 

He stepped back into the bedroom and considered just taking  a nap. It was daytime and he was out of that creepy prison with the screams echoing through it, so maybe he’d have an easier time. He sat down on the bed, pulling back the covers and lying on his back, staring upward. This was okay, it was quiet at least. He closed his eyes and the image of that leopard popped into his head and he gasped quietly, eyes open again. He couldn’t get that leopard out of his head, why was he spared but she was killed? Not that he wasn’t grateful, but wouldn’t a leopard be more beneficial? It also bothered him that he never said goodbye to Crosshatch, but he probably wouldn’t have wanted to see that. Passing out was like a defense mechanism, like his body knew he wouldn’t like it. He must have stayed out for a while, there were nearly 50 people there, and when he woke up, there were less than a dozen. That had to have taken a couple hours. 

He sighed and rolled over, just scanning the room. The look in her eyes just wouldn’t leave him. Maybe taking a nap wasn’t such a good idea, but he could barely hold his eyes open. 

---

    Hard knocking woke him up. He groaned again, shifting in the blankets as the knocking continued. He sat up and rubbed the sleepy from his eyes, then groggily stood up to answer the door. A little deja vu crept up to him as he did, gripping the doorknob and swung it open. The kangaroo from earlier stood in the doorway, holding two plates and having a stupid, kind of guilty smile on his face. 

    “Hi.” the kangaroo said happily. 

    “Uhh, hi.” Springer replied, mind still cloudy. The roo towered over him, but of course, rabbits weren’t exactly huge. 

    “You gon’ let me in?” the Aussie asked, the look in his eyes being different to this morning. 

    “Uhhh, yeah.” Springer buffered, then stepped aside for him. Why was he letting him in? Why was he here? Were both plates for him, or was he inviting himself to a dinner party? The outfit the roo was wearing was different, as well, he didn’t get a good look this morning, but he knew it was different. Whatever he was wearing this morning, it definitely wasn’t the Tee and cargo shorts he wore now. 

    “So, what job ya’ got?” the roo asked, sitting on the couch, it being the only place to sit, “here you are by the way.” he handed Springer the other plate, “Skinner made it very clear that one was yours.” he said as Springer took it, once again, only meat. 

    “Did he now?” he sighed, picking up a sausage, “this is some kinda message isn’t it?” he rhetorically asked, sitting next to Cartridge. 

    “I don't’ know ‘em that well. All I know is, you really shouldn’t piss ‘em off.” he said before taking a large bite of his leafy salad, “whatcha’ got on the TV?” 

    “Oh, just a bunch of rip-offs of shows.” 

    “Ah, well we don’t have any good shows, people were bummed they wouldn’t watch ‘em anymore, so they improvised. Hey!” he picked up the remote and flicked through the channels, “Skinner just formed an alliance with a guy who owned a fighting ring and made it into a show. I think it’s called ‘Taken Out’. He said he’d be taking over since the original guy died.” He stopped flipping through the channels when two people sitting like news reporters at a desk came onto the screen, both Canines. 

    “Gooood evening folks, and welcome to Taken Out! We regret to inform you that the original host has met a terrible, terrible fate.” one of them said lightly. 

    “Thaaat’s right, Travis. Old bear leader has been hunted and murdered by assassins, BUT, they have been caught and dealt with by the new owner of the show; Sylvester Sterling.” the other said, a picture of the brown hare popping up on the screen. 

    “But that's not the point, is it Colton?” 

    “No, it is not. We are your hosts, Tarvis Mogue and I am Colten Harris, and hopefully you can understand us just a little bit better.” Colten winked. They sounded like sports announcers, from the voice to the energy, to the way they were dressed. 

    “What are the rules?” Springer asked. 

    “I think the people fighting are people who are being punished, like what Skinner does with The Reminder- do you know what The Reminder is?” 

    “Yes.” Springer said sharply. 

    “Well, I think the winner gets the loser’s food rations for that night, then they fight the winner the next week. There ‘r four fights a week, the winners of the first two rounds fight, then the last two fight, then the winners fight and that one the week’s winner. Like a pyramid, but with a lot of blood. But, for the last one, there's a 50/50 chance it’s a death round.” Cartridge explained. 

    “Well, I’d love to stay and watch, but I gotta meet someone behind the building.” Springer stood up. 

    “Who?” Cartridge asked, not looking away from the TV. 

    “Uh, Feral I think?” 

    “Feedin’ th’ dogs?” 

    “Yeah. Uhm, are you just gonna stay here?” he said after the roo didn’t move. Cartridge looked over his shoulder. 

    “Did he not tell you? We’re roommates.” he said, turning back to the TV. 

    “We are? But there’s only one bed!” he argued. 

    “Yeah, one of us sleeps on the couch, why do you think the pillows ‘r so soft?” he chuckled. 

    “B-But the bathroom.” 

    “Yeah, there’s not really anything we cn’ do about that one, eh?” the roo sighed. Springer stared at him, then just turned and left the room. 

    “Roommates? With him? Was that why he was nicer?” Springer thought. Rooming with Wilson wasn’t bad because the bathroom wasn’t attached to the bedroom, and at least they had two beds. 

    He hopped half way down the stairs and froze. He had kind of forgotten about the huge gameroom, and it was packed. Everyone was staring at him, and almost every pair of eyes belonged to a carnivore. No, every pair of eyes were carnivores’. The coyote from this morning stood up, his name was Railroad, wasn’t it? 

    “Well, well, not many rabbits end up in this hellhole. Whatcha’ do?” he stopped right in front of Springer, grinning with a toothpick in between his teeth. Springer’s gut told him to keep quiet, but he ignored it.

    “Arson.” he spat coldly, hoping if they thought he was an actual threat, they’d leave him alone. Unfortunately, the opposite happened and a few other canines stood up as well. 

    “Pyro, eh? Whatcha gon’ do? Burn the place down?” the coyote teased. 

    “Ain’t you a bit old t’ be a bully?” Springer teased back. Railroad scoffed, still grinning. 

    “Smart mouth on this one, boys.” he chuckled to his pack, “whatcha gon’ do if I was?” he tilted his head. Springer’s brow frownd a little, pondering if it was a trick question. 

    “Nothin’.” he said. Railroad cocked an eyebrow, then swung his arm and punched Springer squarely in the nose. The hare stumbled back onto the stares, the coyote then brought down his other hand on his face, leaving a two-mark scratch over the hare’s right eye. Springer cried, holding his hands to his face as blood oozed out onto his paws once again. Everyone else in the room looked concerned, some stood like they would help, but none of them did. 

    “Guess he wasn’ kidding.” The coyote sounded disappointed, then turned away. Springer’s ears rang a defining squeal as he shakily rose to his feet and hobbled out the door. He whimpered and leaned against the wall while holding his paw to his eye, ears down against the back of his neck. 

    He stalled while he walked, thinking. Wasn’t the guy he was supposed to meet a dog? A hyena, right? Should he have a weapon or something to defend himself? He found a piece of PVC pipe and figured it was better than nothing so he continued around the corner and spotted a dog-like silhouette at the end of the alley. Springer swallowed as the hyena turned his head to look at him, his eyes like needles even though he was about a hundred meters away. He slowly took a few steps down the alley, the hyena watching him closely. 

What had Springer’s life come to? He was never afraid of carnivores, but now he hadn’t even met this guy and he was petrified. He didn’t look that big, and Crosshatch was nice enough. He grunted and dropped the pipe, he could at least give him a chance. As he got closer, the muscle-toned hyena sniffed the air, the long fur on his head and down his back slowly rested back down. 

“Uh, hello? Are you Feral?” Springer called, a few feet away. 

“Aye, r’ ya tat rabbit I been hearin’ so much aboot?” the gruff voice asked. Springer nodded and stepped closer, Feral stood up. His bagge coat was mostly covered with ripped and tattered clothes that reminded him of pirate costumes for Halloween. The way he spoke reminded him of a pirate as well, the two huge gold hoop earrings on his left ear adding to the effect. Springer had heard of modern pirates, but he could have just dressed like that. Other than his clothes, he had a few black stripes around his face and legs, along with the tip of his tail and long mo-hawk of a mane being a dark brown. His arms were much more muscle-toned than the rest of his body, to the point they looked disproportionate on him. A gold, upward-facing snaggletooth stuck out his mouth as his lips curled up in a grin. 

As he stepped into a beam of light, it reflected off of something next to Feral and flickered right into Springer’s eyes.

“Woah.” he muttered, then covered his mouth. Feral held up the shiny object, it turned out to be a robotic arm. Similar to Envar’s, but his was a fully funktional hand, and was more solid as opposed to the horse’s wiry prosthetic. 

“Aw, this?” the hyena lifted his sleeve, showing the metal going up to his elbow and wires going into his arm, “Killer whale got me arm, had ‘n old hook fr’ a while. Skinner made this fr’ me.” he said, different lights lighting up and the arm switched to a dagger-like blade, then the lights switched again and it swapped to an unlit blowtorch that serged twice as the blue flames poked out. 

“Wow.” Springer said. Feral flipped it back to a hand and waved for him to follow, then stopped and squinted at the golden hare’s eye. 

“What happen’ to ya face?” he asked, not looking away from the wound. 

“Oh, I fell.” Springer said bluntly. 

“What aboot y’r ear?” He turned and dug around in a backpack, pulling out a few cotton pads and a spray bottle of salt water, along with some masking tape. 

“Uh, green tag?” The hare watched him closely. Feral paused and glanced up at him, then continued digging around.

“Ye’ had a green tag?” he asked. 

“Um, yes? You’d think they’d have a better way of takin’ em out besides rippen’ em out.” he chuckled. 

“Odd tat Skinner upgraded ya. He usually keeps em’ in Th’ Corridor. Though, I suppose y’r a bit big for a cage.” Feral said, gesturing for him to sit down on a small crate. 

“The Corridor? Them?” Springer questioned, taking a seat. 

“If ya had a green tag, ya been in the' Corridor. There’s a room at th’ back, I never been there, but I ‘ear wild rodents r’ kept in tat room.” he said, Springer stiffened. The room they tagged him had the small animals in it, all in cages. What were they for? A massive machine like The Reminder would be useless for such a small animal. Unless they were processed by hand, it’d be difficult to… eat them. Some of the cages had a green marker on them. Cartridge hinted that he had a green tag, too, and he seemed to remember Envar having a similar nip in his ear as well. 

Feral sprayed the salt water on a cotton pad, then pressed it on the open nip in Springer’s ear. It stung, but not too badly. He tapped it to the surrounding flesh to keep dirt out and moved to his eye. What really stung was when the hyena covered the golden hare’s eye with a pad and gently sprayed the scratch. He whimpered, it made a hissing noise, only silenced by the pad being gently pressed on the wound to soak up the crimson blood. The hyena then exchanged the pad for a clean one and used a little masking tape to attach it to his fur. 

“There. Tat’ll keep it clean, don’t sleep in it.” he said, packing his bag back up. Springer’s eye watered and his ear twitched as he stood. 

“So, what card ya got?” Feral asked,kicking a wooden crate under a shute. 

“Green.” the hare said. 

“Makes sense, tat’s th’ lowest. Skinner must have a plan for ye, or else ye wouldn’t be here. Ya’ gotta be good at somethin’.” closely the hyena watched the crate. 

“I have a question,” Springer said after a pause, “what do the tags mean? Why was I the only one with a tag that night?” 

“Th’ night of th’ harvest? Green tag means ya’ ain’t gon’ be killed. No one else had a tag? Tat’s odd. Tags r’ in different colours for different reasons, just like cards. Tags usually tell what they did to deserve it, tis’ odd no one had one. Maybe they just ran out.” he muttered just as meat scraps plopped out of the shute and into the creat. 

“Ah, finally.” Feral said, picking it up and kicking another one under, “take this.” he said, handing it over to Springer, who was caught off guard and sort of dropped the crate while still holding it.

“Yeah, they’re heavy.” Feral said, looking down at him as he lifted it back up, “follow me.” he ordered. Springer felt the coarse and splintery wood of the heavy crate on his palms, the smell definitely not helping. It was mostly just food people didn’t eat, but the scent of cold flesh made him a little sick. 

He followed Feral for what seemed like minutes, but was really just around the corner. There was a platform that was stupidly high up, about six feet, with a lever sticking out the side. A low growl snapped the hare’s attention to the den inside the fence. Four large dogs emerged from the cave, a fifth massive one lumbered out and starred Springer dead in the eyes and snarled. The pen was clean, aside from a few bones that littered the ground. 

“Dump the crate out on the platform and pull the lever.” Feral ordered. Springer glanced at him with an, “are you serious?” look, then attempted to lift the crate up over his head and dump it out. The crate met the platform with a slam, then he managed to tip it over and pull off the crate, some of the foul-smelling food came back and met Springer’s face with a wet shlap. He groaned, Feral cackled at the rabbit wiping the crud off his face and frowning. The dogs’ snarl seemed to turn into more of a smile and their tails slapped the ground as if they were also amused by what had happened. 

“Good job, but tat wasn’t f’r you.” Feral remarked, “pull the lever.” Springer did so and the platform opened into a trapdoor, the food falling into the pen and the dogs rushed over, snapping up mouthfuls and growling at each other while retracting deeper into the pen. 

“C’mon, git th’ crate, we got nine more. Same thing, jus’ different place.” the hyena said, Springer picked up the crate and followed him back to the shute. The crate underneath it was full and ready to be delivered. Springer grunted as he lifted the crate, using his knee to hold it up while he stabilized himself. Once he was up, Feral led him across the street to the building that housed The Reminder. Springer felt his stomach turn as they neared the building, but he swallowed the feeling as they passed the door and turned behind the wall. There was another platform, dogs already out for their food. They followed Feral with their heads and lunged at the fence as Springer came into their view. The hare dropped the crate and leaped backwards into the stone wall of the building, tail sticking straight up and fur around his neck puffing up. 

“Aw, shut up!” Feral ordered, kicking the fence and silencing the dogs immediately. 

“C’mon, boys r’ hungry.” he said to Springer, who’s heart was still racing. The hare struggled to lift the crate a bit less, but Feral sighed and helped him. 

“I ain’t gon’ be here tomorroa’, so you’d better learn the route all good.” he said, pulling the lever himself, watching the dogs pile over each other to snap up the food. 

“C’mon, we’d better hurry up before it gits too dark.” the hyena said, ushering him back down the ally with the crate. 

    Cartridge’s ear twitched to the sound of the door opening, an exhausted Springer stepping in and leaning on the door as it closed. The hare’s entire upper body was numb, he hadn’t realized he was in such bad shape until now. He also didn’t realize just how massive Sterling’s territory was, no wonder Feral’s arms were so muscular, the platforms got further and further away as they went. 

    He slumped on the couch next to Cartridge, leaning his head back over the back of the couch. He sighed, kicking one of his legs up on the table. 

    “How’s work?” Cartridge asked, his accent a bit piercing. 

    “I’m tired. How big is this place?” he poked his head up. 

    “Pretty damn big, and it keeps gettin’ bigger. I used ta have that job, feedin’ th’ dogs, right?” he asked, Springer nodded, “Course, that was before he had so many. I dunno where he keeps gettin’ em, he keeps the sexes separate.” he pondered. The roo shifted in his seat, switching the leg that rested on the table. 

    “What happened to your eye?” the roo asked.

    “Oh, I tripped and scratched it. Feral cleaned it for me.” 

    “Oh yeah, ya got your ear fixed, too.” Cartridge leaned back, “You know, ya never told me what ya did ta get here.” the Aussie said. Springer sighed, how many times would he have to explain this?

    “A false arson charge. It was a wrong-place-wrong-time thing. A shed just blew up right next to us, Wilson and I.” 

    “Wilson?” 

    “The serval I came here with. Apparently, he lives in that big buildin’ over there.” Springer glanced at the window. 

    “Falsely accused, eh? That bites.” Cartridge said. 

    “What about you?” Springer asked. 

    “Well, I was sittin’ at the bar and this bloke came up t’ me and he said, ‘You wanna fuckin’ fight?!’ and I said, ‘no, dude, I don’t fuckin’ know you.’ and he got all up in my face, ‘stop looken at me girl, ya cunt!’ and I said, ‘I don’t know ya girl, mate.’ and then he pushed me so I pushed back and then I beat the shit outta him. Long story short, bar fight.” The kangaroo licked his whiskers and tapped the claw on his foot against the table. 

“Did you kill him?” Springer asked. 

“I don’t think so, last I heard he was hospitalized. I did hear a rumor that he was also brought here, since he did start the fight and he was drunk off his head. Fuckin’ foxes, every one I’ve ever met has been a dick.” he lowered his head, then they both looked back up at the TV. An awkward silence filled by the chatter and occasional laugh track of the show interrupted by the golden hare. 

“What do you know about The Reminder?” Springer asked bluntly. Cartridge seemed to flinch at the question. 

“Lemme rephrase, why does The Reminder exist? Why go out of the way to build something like that for food? Okay, yeah, it’s also a message, but why bother?” 

“Lemme guess, you came from a really nice area. Not a lotta crime or anything? Bet they didn’t even teach ya ‘bout the Isle in the first place.” Cartridge hissed, “That tag you had on your ear, I had one, too. All I know is that few are spared from The Reminder, you and I are two of 'em. A friend of mine… wasn’t so lucky.” he trailed off, “I told the bastard t’ mind his tongue, but noOoo, he had t’ be a lil-” he cut himself off, then sighed. The golden hare saw his eyes well up a little. 

“You’re not mad at Sterling for that?” Springer asked, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

“A little, at first.” he said, then stiffened his back, “But, Sterling said that if I helped him, he’d get me back home. Back to my family, in a better world where the imbalance doesn’t exist. He said White Fang will rule the isle, he makes that promise every harvest. And with how quickly we’re expanding, I’m starting to believe him. He said he's gonna make White Fang its own country, and with him as the ruler, no one will stand in the way. I’m mad at him, but more so at the judges who think it’s fine to send thieves and people who were defending themselves to the same place they send murderers.” The sadness in his voice was replaced with anger. 

“What was your friend?” Springer asked. 

“A roo, like me. Damn little gray roos, think they’re on top o’ the world. I wasn’t close with ‘em, but I knew him.” he paused, “You've never heard of this place, have you?” 

“Yeah, I just heard it as an urban legend. How did you-” 

“The Isle was used for disposal of the mentally ill, hence why the dogs exist in the first place, and where it got its name. Now, as you know, it’s a prison. Have you ever heard of blood additcks?” he asked, Springer shook his head, “For carnivores, blood can be more addictive than anything, and since meat was outlawed, it’s gotten worse. Sterling serves blood in a few eateries around his territory, even the bar right under us serves it. He even allows outsiders to buy some, but for double the price. It's one way he gets more members, and how he keeps everyone loyal to him, and how he turns criminals into functioning people who can work together. That, and fear of being eaten.

“There ‘r very few herbivores here. Most get eaten, but herbivores aren’t brought here very often. There can’t be more than a hundred here right now, in White Fang. Some carnivores here can’t stand the idea of eating meat, they’re usually eaten as soon as they get to the isel, too. This place is a prison, Springer,” the roo paused, then looked up at him, “don’t ever forget that. You forget that, you die.”