Springer’s arms were numb, and he thought lifting the crates was tough. It had only been a few days of working out, and he swore he saw a noticeable difference in his figure. Zack was a hardass, but he sure as anything knew what he was doing. Springer’s diet had been changed up a little, now his breakfast was made up of eggs and different types of bread and a little baggie of jerky. Cartridge said that the jerky was for after the workout, a high-protein snack to keep you going throughout the day until dinner, which now had a side of salad which was made up of high-protein veggies like leafy greens and sometimes sweet potatoes. He finally felt his energy return since the meal changed, though he still had meat somewhere in his meal. He had gotten so used to it, he didn’t even notice any difference, but he hoped he would have a usual rabbit diet soon. 

    Sterling had kept his word and Springer got to see Wilson every week. The serval had said that Sterling told him it was because the rest of the week was too busy for daily visits, but Springer didn’t buy it. The golden hare couldn’t even look Wilson in the eyes after what happened during the last harvest. The look of awe and amusement on his face made his throat tighten every time he thought about it. Cartridge said it was because he’s a carnivore, and their brains are wired differently than herbivores’. Whatever the reason, Springer felt like prey around him, like he did with Sterling. Fortunately, Wilson didn’t seem to pick up on it like Sylvester did, but he would rather Wilson know he was scared of than that psycho knowing. 

    At least Cartridge was nice. He’d been very affectionate lately, always waking him from night terrors and staying with him until either Springer fell asleep or he did. After a little talking, they decided that the couch was too small for either of them to sleep on comfortably, so they shared the bed now. Oftentimes, the jackrabbit would wake still in the roo’s arms, and this day was one of those days. 

Springer’s eyes fluttered open, smiling and closing them once again. He lay on Cartridge’s chest, hand on his clavicle and one leg wrapped around his hip, the red kangaroo’s hand on Springer’s shoulder. He didn’t care how this would make other people think, he was comfortable, and it was the easiest time he’s had falling asleep since he’s been here. After what happened with Wilson, Cartridge was the only one he felt like he could trust. 

    Sterling’s voice came over the intercom, signaling it was time to wake. Cartridge stirred, eyes opening slowly. He smiled at Springer in his half-asleep haze. 

    “Mornin’, you.” he said, sitting up and stretching. 

    “Good morning.”

    “How’d ya sleep?” 

    “Good, actually.” 

    “Good.” the roo yawned, stretching his arms and arching his back. They both stood, Cartridge being shirtless due to the tropical heat. The combo of clothing and Springer’s body heat made sleep near impossible, and the humidity made it worse. Oftentimes, when it came to tropics, a humidity spike meant a storm was well on its way, but it had been like this for weeks. It was either a huge storm, or it had passed the small island, but cyclones didn’t hit the isle very often for whatever reason. Maybe the isle was too small for the conditions to be right, but whatever the reason, the residents were grateful. 

Springer dug around in his drawer, glancing over his shoulder at the red roo as he took off his shirt. This was the next step to building trust, right? He knew he could trust Cartridge, he just needed to prove it to himself. Cartridge gently placed his hands on Springer’s waist just below his ribs, causing his ears to stand up. 

    “W-What r’ ya doin’?” he asked. 

    “Nothin. Just saying ‘good morning’.” he said, lowering his head to Springer’s neck. His warm breath triggered something, and Springer squealed, and squirmed out of the roo’s arms. Cartridge gave a blank and mildly confused look. 

    “W-We should get breakfast,” he muttered. 

    “Oh… uh, yeah. I’ll get it.” he said, hobbling out the door. Springer stared at the door, looked at the ground, then sat on the bed. He held his face in his fingertips and sighed. What the hell was that? It was just a hug, why did he freak out? He overreacted, that was unnecessary. What the hell was wrong with him?

---

    Zack told the young fighters that he expected them all to stand stiff like they were in the military, but the unnatural heat caused everyone to slouch and sway in their stance. Springer, being a desert mammal, was the only one who wasn’t struggling. The thin skin on his ears allowed the little breeze to cool his blood that circulated throughout his body, keeping him at a more comfortable temperature. It was a trait that all desert mammals had, so Cartridge and, hell probably Railroad too, were striving in this heat. It was easily ninety degrees out, and for November, that was odd. The isle had to be close to the ecuador, but even then, it was hot for autumn. 

    The week they had of endurance helped a little, but it wasn’t enough. A week of endurance training doesn’t go nearly as far as a week of weight lifting, and it was showing. Zack had given out thermoses for them, but a lot of people seemed to forget theirs today. The weasel had yet to show, but Springer could see his silhouette talking to someone in the window of the room under the weight room, which he presumed was where Zack lived. After a few minutes, he emerged from the room, duffle bag tucked under his shoulder. 

    “Alright, you useless bags of meat, today we start with combat technique. I will teach you how to punch without breaking your fist, block a blunt attack, when it is a correct time to kick your leg, and how to use a weapon to do your bidding.” he dropped the duffle bag, then fished out a role of leather, opening it to show dozens of small folding knives, “Fresh from the metal workers down in… whatever that old bear’s society was called. You lose it, you don’t get another one from me.” he walked row-to-row handing them out, the first thing everybody seemed to do was open them and see how sharp they were, “They are sharp, don’t do anything stupid. A blade has to be at least two-and-a-half inches to be useful, however, a blade that small is near useless in a fight. To the point you are almost better off with your bare fists than a knife so small. These are not for combat, but for utility. Skinner himself ordered these for us, and gave me the simple command of handing them out, so you better not make me look like an idiot and lose it within a day.” he snapped, stopping at Springer, who was the very last person. He handed him a knife and examined him, like he hadn’t noticed there was a hare in his group. 

    “What the hell happened to your eye, son?” he questioned, the hare curling his lip up at the smell of cigarettes emanating off of the weasel. 

    “Oh, It’s just a scratch. I fell.” Springer replied, believing it was better if he didn’t tell the trainer that he got his ass kicked. 

    “That’s more than a scratch, boy.” Zack laughed, “That’s gonna be there a while, if it even goes away.” he chuckled, moving on. Springer reached up and touched the scar on his face, going mid-way up his forehead and down his cheek. Was he really gonna be stuck with this hideous scar forever? 

    “I’m gonna assume most of you know how a knife works, but if you don't; you hold the blunt end and stab things with the pointy end. There are many different types of knives, some folders like those, and some are fixed-blade knives. A fixed-blade knife is not a dagger. A dagger has two edges, and is typically around six inches long, a fixed-blade knife typically has one, and commonly a sawback.” he stepped back up on the pedestal. 

    “Clip those to your pockets and find a partner. Take one of these poles, pick an end, and stick to your handle.” he smirked, a few people in the group giggled, most everyone groaned. Zack pointed to a pile of wooden rods, most everyone else doubling up. Springer looked around, but he didn’t know anyone here. He knew Mott, but he had friends. 

    “You, Scratchface,” Zack snapped, “You’re with me.” he grabbed him by the shoulder and walked him to the front of the group, picking up two rods. One for him, one for Springer. 

    “One thing- QUIET. One thing I know for sure is that all of you need better reflexes.” the weasel shouted at a group of boys still bickering, before suddenly swinging his pole and knocking Springer square in the head, “Case and point.” he muttered. Springer groaned, a few in the group wincing for him, “How should have he reacted?” he asked. 

    “Blocking?” someone replied. 

    “That would work, but I was thinking he should dodge, but blocking would also work just fine.” he said, kicking Springer gently so he’d stand, “Like this,” he showed the hare, and everyone watching, how to hold it like a sword, dominant hand above non dominant hand. 

    “A weapon is nothing if you don’t know how to use it, but anything can be a weapon. You can kill someone with nearly everything, from a simple stick, to a knife, to a shotgun. If you take them by surprise, a small knife like what you all have now can prove more powerful than an AR. The best weapon is the element of surprise.” he spoke, taking another swing at Springer, the hare now holding it up like the weasel had shown him. He still winced and closed his eyes, but he blocked it.

“Case and point.” the weasel said proudly, the group ‘oooh’ing at them, “Practice with your partners, my accomplice will walk around and monitor you.” he said. Springer was about to hop off the stage, but Zack stopped him. 

“No, no, you’re with me. We got a little extra work to do. DAN!” he snapped, a bull bursting out the door to the room Zack was in before, “Watch the kids, I got work to do.” He pulled on Springer’s arm, calling over another kid. A young… elk? He still had spots on his face, despite having stubs of antlers on his head. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Zack demanded. 

“Sam.” the fawn said. 

“Both of you come with me.” the weasel ordered, leading them both up the stairs and into the weight room. Springer rubbed the side of his face, still sore from being hit. Zack unlocked the door and flicked on the lights, the scent of dust, sweat, rubber, and some strong deodorant being as horrible of a combo as it would sound.

“How much have you boys been lifting?” Zack asked, wiping down the dumbbells. 

“I’m a girl.” Sam said, hooves on her hips. Zack paused, then turned to face her. 

“But… you have-” 

“Female reindeer still have horns.” she hissed. 

“I thought you were an elk.” Springer chuckled, not paying attention, then the grin fading as the keribu rolled her eyes. 

“Anyway,” Zack said sharply, “how much are you both benching?” 

“Around 60.” Springer said, Sam nodding. 

“How much ya start out with?” 

“Just the bar.” 

“Not bad, but not enough. I want you both doing, say, 80 by the end of the month. What about curls? How long can you plank?” 

“I can plank for 90 seconds.” Sam said, “And I can curl 30 pounds.” 

“Okay, what about you?” the weasel asked, Springer gave him a blank expression. 

“I’m not the best at planks…” he said, shyly smiling. 

“Not a big deal, but I want you to focus on your core. If your core is weak, you’re weak.” Zack nipped. 

“Why is it just the two of us?” Sam asked, ears pinned. 

“Because you’re the youngest and he’s the weakest. I want both of you to meet me up here every day after training, we won’t start today.” 

“Then why separate us?” The reindeer asked again. 

“I see you were taught to question everything. Keep that up, it could save your life.” Zack complemented, “I separated you because if someone not in training or god forbid not a part of White Fang knew of two individuals who were the weakest, they’d be a liability. Sterling’s logic, not mine. In my opinion, he’s got a few screws loose.” 

“You’re tellin’ us.” Springer muttered. 

“Anyway, go back down and train. I’ll be down in a minute.” The weasel said, both young mammals leaving the room. Springer stopped on the last step while Sam rejoined her partner, who was a pronghorn. The golden hare watched them practice, most wielding the wooden rods like swords. The bull walked around, then spotted the lone hare standing by the stairs. 

“Where’s your partner?” He shouted with a deep, booming voice.

“I-I don’t have one.” Springer timidly replied. The bull looked around, then called over one pair, a spotted hyena and painted dog. The hyena was bigger, in both height and muscle, and his expression was colder than stone. 

“You’re now a group of three, take a stick.” The bull ordered, walking away. The two dogs looked at each other, then at Springer, who picked up a rod. 

“Uh… I-I’m Springer.” he stammered, holding out a shaky hand. 

“Devon.” The painted dogs said, taking his hand. His voice was much deeper than anyone would expect from a smaller dog, but his tone was friendly enough. 

“That’s Francis, but I call him Frankie.” 

“And I hate it.” Francis said coldly, his voice even deeper. “Yeah, that’s why I call him Frankie.” The small painted dog

giggled. Francis reminded the golden hare of Axle, if Axle were a hyena. Similar build, similar voice, same piercing glare, a brawl between them would be near perfectly matched. 

    “Well, uh, should we-” Springer started. 

    “Yeah, Frankie, let’s go!” Devon said excitedly, punching Fransis in the arm playfully. A low sigh came from the hyena as he followed the small dog back to where they were practicing. Springer followed them and just watched them for a moment, Francis standing still while holding his stick with one arm, the rod not moving an inch as Devon struck it with his own stick. The small painted dog put his entire body weight into his strikes, but Fransis didn’t even flinch.

They switched after a while, one swing from Francis snapped the rod that the painted dog was holding. He swung his rod like it were a baseball bat, both of them stopping to watch the other end of the stick go flying. The three of them stared for a moment, then turned to each other. 

    “… I need a new rod.” Devon called, a few others chuckling as he held up the splintered remains. Springer smiled. Was it sad that this was the most amusing thing that’s happened since he’s been here? Probably, but, what have you? It was a small form of amusement, Springer figured he should enjoy it while he had it. 

---

    Members of White Fang were rarely permitted to enter Sterling’s office when he wasn’t there himself, but there were a small handful of exceptions. Feral, the striped hyena who was formerly a modern-day pirate, sat alone in the small room, tinkering with the old radio. He had said that his old crew used radios not just for music, but to distract coastguards from their posts and interfere with other ships communications so actual pirating was easier to get away with. They rarely got caught, Feral was the only of his crew to be found out, and that was because he allowed himself to be caught so his group could get away. He was a distraction, and that kind of loyalty was exactly what Sylvester Sterling was looking for. 

    Feral shifted in his spot on the floor, his legs beginning to fall asleep. He fiddled with the knobs and dials, the sound of static occasionally being cut off by music. He was trying to cross the radio waves of his crew with theirs, but he’d been trying for hours. Sterling was itching to get back to the mainland, but he wasn’t going anywhere without a ride. The hyena growled in frustration, right about ready to throw the damned thing out the window. Maybe they were just out of range, but they never entered the waters surrounding the isle, typically staying in the waters all around Europe. They did occasionally stray outside into the Atlantic to evade the coastguard, but that was if they were desperate. They usually patrolled the east side of the Suez Canal, considering that thousands of ships passed through it a day. Perhaps the isle was just too far outside of their territory. 

    Tapping of Sterling’s cane caught the hyena’s attention as it neared the room. Feral let out a frustrated sigh as the brown hare opened the door to the office. 

    “Any luck?” the English hare asked, standing right behind the sea dog. 

    “Nay, sir. Been trying f’r hours!” Feral complained, resting his hands in his lap. 

    “Try again.” Sterling ordered, the hyena once again tinkering with the knobs. Sylvester walked away, the tapping of his cane being the only sound he made as he moved. He stopped by the widow, gazing out at the sky. Feral turned his head subtly to look at him, an emotionless expression showing in the faint reflection of the window. He winced, looking back at the radio and silently pleading for it to work. Full minutes passed of silence other than the radio, the striped dog feeling the pressure build more and more. 

    “It’s getting late,” the brown hare said abruptly, feral flinching, “perhaps we should try again tomor-”

“Wait!” the hyena exclaimed, Sterling turning to face him. 

“Hello? Y’ there?” he asked, static forming intangible words, until a gruff, agitated voice came over. 

“Oi! Who be scroungin’ with me music?!” the voice hissed. 

“Aye! That be’ me! Baybeard, it’s me! it’s-” Feral cut off, glancing back as Sterling, who looked at him expectantly. The hyena winced, then muttered something into the mic.

“Was’ that, lass? Can’t ‘ear ya.” the voice asked, Feral letting out a frustrated sigh. 

“It be Cap’n… Bushybutt.” he muttered the last word as quietly as he could, but Sterling cocked his eyebrow and snorted. 

“Bushybutt?” he giggled, the previous cold expression being wiped away with amusement. 

“I… may be de only dog in de crew.” Feral murmured to him. 

“Dat dog took off years ago! How do I know ye’ be tellin’ the truth?”  The radio hissed. Feral thought for a moment, then took a breath. 

“‘Th’ sea is me home and th’ ship me steed, I kneel to no one but me Cap’n. I take what’s good an’ even what’s not, leave not’in f’r lads ‘r lassies. This d’ not mean I’m bad, I take from plenty and give to not’in. I’m a pirate through n’ through.’” The striped hyena recited fluently, as if memorized. The radio was silent, then soft words spoke. 

“Yeah? And whatdoya do with the drunk bat out back?”  he asked. 

“Keep ‘em out back ‘til he done.”

“Why?”  

“Keep th’ sails clean.” Feral replied without a beat of silence between them. 

“Holy shit…”  the voice scoffed, almost laughing, “I thought you were dead! Thought ye’ been eaten long ago!” 

“Nay, sir! I’m here!” Feral cheered, Sterling cleared his throat. The hyena’s smile faded slightly, and he coughed lightly. 

“Err, helova lot’s happened ov’r de years… I been workin’ wit’ another bloke on de isle. Name’s Sylvester Sterling’. He’s sittin’ ‘ere wit’ me, got a proposition f’r ya.” 

“Aye? What kinda proposition?”  The radio asked, the static beginning to hiss. 

“Talk fast, y’r breakin’ up.” Feral said to Sterling, who took the mic. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Sterling asked, “My name is Sylvester, me and a few of my associates need to get to the mainland, but we need a ride. I’d like to make you an offer.” 

“Aye? What kind o’ offer?” 

“Feral- or Bushybutt tells me that you and I are the same. He says that what I am on the isle, you are in the waters. I will conquer this island and found my own country, but I need to touchdown on the mainland first. Can you still hear me?” Sterling asked. 

“Aye, keep talkin’.” 

“The proposition is this; if you help me, I can get you pretty much anything you would need. I’m this close to taking over here, and I’m going to need a police force, both on land and in the water. Can you meet me at the northwest-most side of the Isle of The Damned?” 

“Oh, hell no! I know a trap when I see one!” 

“Cap’n, he’s tellin’ the truth!” Feral spoke up, “I wouldn’t have done this at all if I had the slightest doubt! He saved me life! I’d be eaten long ago, jus’ like you said if it wern’t f’r him.” he said. 

“…aye? Alright. Fine, I’ll meetcha. Tonight night, 0’700. You try ta ambush me, I’ll kill everyone o’ yus! All of ya!”  he snapped. 

“Of course. Thank you, what’s his name?” Sterling whispered to feral.

“Baybeard.” 

“Thank you, Baybeard.”

“Aye, just don’t be late.” 

“Of course. We’ll flash a light twice. If you see it, that’s us.” 

“Aye.”  his voice breathed, the static hissing again, louder. Either the waves got interrupted, or Baybeard changed the channel. Sterling hummed, patting his knee as he stood up, Feral staring at the radio, then at the floor. 

“Y’r not gonna do that thing ye do, ‘r ya?”

“Hm?” Sterling looked back at the timid voice. 

“That thing ye do, where ya make ‘em sign a contract then kill ‘em. Y’r not gonna do that, ‘r ya?” The hyena asked, gazing at the floor, looking up at the brown hare out of the corners of his eyes. Sterling shifted, then sighed. 

“Why would I? The difference between them and the territories I gain is we are on land. How could I possibly maintain leadership of both land and the surrounding waters? It’s simply too much for one man. No, they’ll rule the waters like they do now, so long as I lead them.” he turned to the window, watching all the little people scurry around, rushing to do their jobs like little ants. Watching them work was one of his favorite pastimes. 

“Good, ‘cause… ye know, they b’e like family t’ me… found me when I was a wee pup.” Feral started. 

“Mhmm.” Sterling muttered, fixated on one little golden hare by the curb, lugging his heavy crate around. His proud smile faded into a curled lip, the hyena’s voice being drowned out by ringing. 

“Care for a mouse?” Sylvetster said suddenly, cutting Feral off in the middle of his sentence. 

“Wha- oh, sure.” he said quietly. Sterling scoffed quietly, pressing the button to a microphone. 

“Chyanne, could you send a bowl of mice up?” he asked.

“‘Course, sir. Up in a jiff.” 

“Thanks, dear.” he took his finger off the button, folding his hands behind his back, continuing to gaze out the window at his little golden hare. 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay long, I’ve got something else to attend to. Enjoy your meal, I have high hopes for this.” he purred, stepping out of the room. 

---

Springer unlocked his door, closed it and sat on the couch. This repetitive cycle of waking up, going to ‘work’ doing the exact same thing every day, coming home and going to sleep, only to wake up and do it all over again was exactly the life he was trying to avoid. Although, according to what he’s heard from others, the higher rank you have, the easier job you get. So, at least he had something to look forward to. At least it got easier, right? It all got easier, right? Of course it did, or else no one would stay, or at least be so content about it. Skinner said it was all for the greater good, whatever that meant. 

If he was planning to take the group Zack has been training to the mainland, and succeeded, then maybe he could slip away. He couldn’t just leave Wilson, he’d have to take him with. Sterling might care about that more, though, and notice sooner. Wilson didn’t seem too unhappy though, even said he was sleeping better, but what if Sterling turned on him? Then he’d be alone. Alone on an island, stranded, constantly living in fear that Skinner would find him. That would be enough to drive anyone to madness, or even suicide. If Springer planned on running, then he’d have to take Wilson with him. He couldn’t be the reason something like that happened. 

It was odd Cartridge wasn’t back yet, dinner had come an hour ago, and Springer may or may not have had a few bites of the roo’s salad. He was never out this late, had something happened to him? What if he was attacked? What if Railroad wanted revenge for humiliating him by nearly killing him, and him and his gang jumped him? No, a red kangaroo could fight a coyote, even two… but… maybe not a whole pack of them. 

The sound of the door unlocking almost spooked him, he whipped around just in time to see the red roo enter, toolbox under his arm. 

“You’re home!” Springer exclaimed, standing up to greet him. 

“Yeah,” Cartridge sighed, Sterling stepping in behind him. The grin from Springer’s face fell as the roo moved out of the brown hare’s way, a young weasel following behind him.

“Springer! Good to see you again.” he said with a smirk. Springer stared at him, then looked at Cartridge, who hung his head. He swallowed hard, then stepped deeper into the room, Sterling shutting the door. The golden hare kept glancing from Sterling to the weasel, who leaned on the back wall with a duffle bag at his feet. 

    “What’s goin’ on here?” The golden hare asked. 

    “Well, Cartridge here was upgraded. He’s being moved, and since you’ve - ahem - bonded with him, we thought we’d give you another roommate so you didn’t feel quite so lonely, since rabbits are social animals after all. Cartridge has yet to be settled in, as you can tell, but when he does, I’m sure he’ll have you over. Anyway, meet Vito.” Skinner waved the weasel over, who cracked a smile and stood up. 

    “Aya, nice ta meet cha’.” he said with a… Brooklyn accent? And extending his hand. He had a gold ring on his middle finger that had to be new, because it was still cold in Springer’s hand. The long fur on his head was gelled back, and a little tuft of fur on his chin formed a goatee. His handshake was firm, and he felt him try eye contact, but the golden hare was more focused on locking eyes with Sterling. 

    “Uh, you, too.” the young hare said hastily.

    “Vito here is a pine marten, a member of the weasel family that is known for great climbing skills and living in tall pine trees, hence pine marten. Springer is a jackrabbit, right? A desert hare.” Sterling said, Vito letting go of his hand, “You two will be roommates, if I wasn’t clear enough.” he said. 

    “Wait a minute! Don’t I get a say in this?” Springer snapped. 

    “HA! No.” Sterling grinned, “Vito just got here and needs a room, and since Cartridge is moving to a building right across the street, it’d make sense to put him here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to, and Cartridge has to move in. Good day to all of you. Oh! By the way,” Skinner said, “I’m sure Zack has told you about our trip to the mainland, yes? It’s in two weeks. Be ready.” he said. 

“Two weeks? We’re actually doin’ that?” Cartridge asked. 

“Of course. Bags with name tags will be delivered to your rooms. I really hope I don’t have to teach you all how to pack…” Sterling said, Springer shaking his head, “Good. I’ll see all of you in a few days, we board at night after dinner. But, I’ll get into more detail later.” He chirped, standing up and escorting himself out of the room, Cartridge hesitantly following him. The roo winked at Springer as he passed, the hare giggling. He turned to Vito, who smiled at him, sitting quietly on the couch. 

    “So, eh… when’s food?” Vito asked. 

    “‘Bout an hour ago. Didn’t you eat?” the hare replied. 

    “Oh… no, when da bos-s says I jus’ got here, I jus’ got here.” 

    “The boss?” 

    “Yah, das what he is, no?” 

    “Well… I guess. I’m sure he’ll deliver you somethin’.” Springer said, sighing. 

    “Cool, cool. Mind if I look around?” the marten asked him. 

    “Knock yourself out.” Springer dismissed him. Vito turned to the bedroom door, glanced back at the hare, then entered. 

    “Ey, nice! We got a showoi!” He called from the other room. 

    “Yeah. You didn’t have a shower before?” Springer asked, flicking on the old TV. 

    “Nah, te las’ place I lived in was a wood box.” he said, poking his face back out the door, then gazed curiously at the moving pictures on the TV. 

    “Woah.” he muttered, Springer looked back at it. 

    “What?” he asked, Vito stepping out. 

    “I don’ t’ink I ever seen one th’at works.” he said. 

    “Really?” Springer turned to him, then back at the TV, “Come sit.” he waved him over. Vito glanced at him, then sat down next to him, right where Cartridge used to sit. 

They sat in silence for a while, Springer zoning out while Vito watched with glimmering eyes. The golden hare looked over at him out of the corner of his eye, examining every inch of the pine marten that he could see. The gold ring, a horn necklace, a hoop earring on his right ear, and two bars in between the folds of his left ear. Not to mention the silver snaggletooth that stuck out of his mouth, pointing upwards, how could he have missed that? All jewelry standing out against his dark-chocolate-brown coat, the white patch on his neck and chin giving him an iconic crest. Thick whiskers spread out from his nose, occasionally twitching at a slight breeze from the open window. 

    “There’s so much metal on his body…” Springer thought, “He lived in a box? He smells clean, must’ve had a bath, he’s too clean. His fur looks soft, fresh clothes, hair gel can't be easy to find here, he must have had a bath… He can’t be much older than me. I wonder what he’s in for. He doesn’t seem too violent. I wonder if he was wrongly brought here, like me and Wilson.” he thought to himself. Rabbits and hares were usually pretty good at reading emotion, coming in handy if you were being watched by a fox, and you weren't sure if he was staring because he wanted to eat you or because he thought he recognized you. But, he couldn’t pick anything up on Vito, but that could be because he was so fixated on the TV.

    “So, where you from?” the pine marten asked suddenly, bringing Springer back down to earth. The hare buffered, then failed to register the question. 

    “W-What…?” he stammered. 

    “Where ‘r you from?” Vito repeated, turning to him innocently. 

    “Oh, well I grew up in Texas, in the U.S, but I moved to Europe a few years ago. Parents didn’t really say why we moved, and why so suddenly, but it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” Springer explained, Vito nodded. 

    “How’d you get here?” he then asked. 

    “Uh, arson.” 

    “Oh, wow.” 

    “No, it was a false claim. We didn’t actually do it…” 

    “We?” 

    “Yeah, me and a friend. It’s a long story.” 

    “Oh…” Vito turned his head back to the TV, Springer examining him again. 

    “What about you?” he asked, turning his body to him. 

    “I was born here.” he said, not looking away from the screen. Springer’s jaw dropped a little, eyes widening. 

    “Really? Wow. Do you… do you have family here?” 

    “Not anymore. Disowned me, lost my first fight a few weeks ago.” he looked down at his lap. 

    “First fight?” 

    “Yeah… dad’s a gambler, brought here f’r running a fight club. Had kids so he could bet on ‘em. Tat’s where I got all dis,” he gestured to himself, to his jewelry, “I was his champion ‘till a few weeks ago. Ev’rytime I won, I could take something metal. Mostly jewelry. But I did get this,” he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a shiny, gold-colored pocket knife. 

    “Wow, that’s… flashy. I got one, too.” Springer retrieved his little pocket knife Zack had given to him.

    “Yeah, got my name, eh… ehh, was’ the word? Written, on the blade.” Vito stammered, then opened the knife. His name was carved into the spine of the blade. 

    “Oh, carved? Engraved?” Springer said. 

    “Yeah! I-I f’rget words sometimes…” The marten hung his head a little, folding the knife back up. 

    “It’s okay. You’ll learn.” the hare said, Vito nodded. Springer pondered the weasle’s accent, a subtle vowel sound at the end of most words he spoke. 

    “What accent is that?” he asked. 

    “Eh? I’m Italian.” 

    “Oh! I dunno why I thought y’all were from the U.S, heh.” he chuckled, Vito cocked his head, “Do you… know what the U.S is?” 

    “I t’ink I heard of it… I heard a'bout a lotta things. It’s a place?” 

    “Yeah, a country. Big country, like, the top five biggest countries in the world.” 

    “What's it like?” Vito asked with an eager smile. 

    “Well, as far as looks go, the part I lived in was mostly desert. Sand, dirt, dead plants, I haven’t been there in a while. The cities had huge buildings, kinda like here, but cleaner and had big trees, but they only survived ‘cause they were watered every week. As far as the whole country, you could go anywhere in the world and there’s bound to be somethin’ like that in the U.S. Grass, beaches, desert-” 

“Snow?” Vito asked. 

“Sometimes, yeah.” Springer smiled, the weasel looking at him with a wondrous smile. 

    “Wow.” he breathed. 

    “Ya know, Italy’s a country, too. It’s a lot smaller, but it’s part of Europe.” the hare said, the pine marten’s ears twitched. 

    “Yeah, the boss guy said somet’ing about t’at! Is th’at where we’re goin’?” 

    “I really don’t know… but that’s what I’d guess, Sterlin’s british. I have no idea what he wants to do there. Can’t imagine he’d wanna move.” Springer thought aloud. 

    “I’ve never been on a boat… I heard he’s workin’ with… pirati.”

“Pirati? Do you mean Pirates?” 

    “Yeah, pirati!” 

    “Sterlin’s workin’ with pirates?” Springer exclaimed. 

    “I t’ink da’s what he said…” 

    “Why?” Springer asked as if Vito, the pine marten who barely knew English, knew the answer. The weasel shrugged, head cocked to the side, the golden hare sighed.

    “I gotta go to training tomorrow…”

    “Training?” Vito asked, Springer now on his feet. 

    “Yeah. It’s pretty much just weight lifting and self defense. We haven’t done much hand-to-hand combat, just how to block and… get ‘em off you. I-I’m sure you already know most of what we’re doin’. Do you have a job?” 

    “T’e Boss said he’d talk to me when we get back. Said somet’ing about, eh, boxe.” 

    “Boxing?” Springer raised his eyebrow. 

    “Yeah. I’m gonna fight again!” he exclaimed with a wide smile. At least he looked excited. 

    “Wow… good for you.” 

    “So, eh, do I take t’e couch?” the weasel asked.

    “Yeah.” Springer said abruptly, “If you need the bathroom, just be quiet, okay?” 

    “Sure, sure.” Vito said, looking back to the moving pictures on the TV. Springer followed his gaze and leaned back on the couch. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. 

---

    Skinner and the Mastiffs stood by the shore, Feral being the only one who wasn’t a high rank. The smell of salt from the Atlantic was so prominent that Sterling could almost taste it, sand somehow getting in his dress pants, despite him never actually touching the beach. Feral managed to distract the guards with the radio trick, saying that there was an incoming attack to the southernmost side, but they didn’t know how long the guards would buy it. It had been ten minutes and there was no sign of the ship, or any boat, from the thick nightly fog. 

    “Do you see them?” Sterling asked the hyena. 

    “No…” he said quietly. 

    “How good are pirates at keeping their promises?” 

    “…uh…” 

    “There!” Envar exclaimed, pointing to the deep fog to the right of them. Three or four old-style pirate ships emerged from the cover, one giant one behind them. All in the same style, they looked like they had sailed straight out of a Johnny Depp movie. Their sales were red and black, a chill running around Sterling’s body as they came into view. More and more of them showed themselves, a dozen or so smaller ships surrounding that one huge ship. Feral had mentioned that Baybeard owned several ships, but Sterling wasn’t expecting a whole fleet. 

    “Did I hear you say you were the captain of one of those?” Sylvester asked the hyena. 

    “Aye. The Mayrose, that one on the far left I think.” he replied. Sterling nodded, a greedy smile smeared across his face. 

    “Give the signal.” he ordered, Envar flickering the large flashlight twice, then paused, then flashed again. A lantern at the top of the mast of the biggest ship flickered back, catching the signal. Moments later, small rowboats broke the fog, four of them, all with six men. The light was dim, Sterling had ordered the Mastiffs to keep the light off so they weren’t given away, but they could make out figures. The boats docked, dark figures scurrying off, lumbering around and hopping on their fists towards them. Most of them were male and topless, some having a bandanna on their heads. They wore baggy and light clothes like Feral did, but one was particularly dressed up. He stood, not only wearing a shirt, but a coat and expensive-looking belt with a cutlass hanging off of it. A tricorn hat with gold trim and a big, black feather rested atop his head, that had to be Baybeard. 

    He stepped into the flickering light of the fires on the wall of the isle, showing a chimpanzee with cold eyes and a grim smile. Other pirates stepped forward as well, all other members of the primate family, all staring at them with hateful eyes. Sterling smiled back at Baybeard and stepped off his concrete pedestal and into the sand, Axle stepping right next to him.   

    “Let me guess, you’re Baybeard?” Sterling purred. 

    “Aye, ye b’ tat Sterlin’ fellow I talked ta?” the chimp said.

    “Yes, few know my real name. Only leaders call me by name, everyone else calls me Skinner.” he hissed, tilting his head, Baybeard chuckled. 

    “Ha! Ye’ ‘ear tat, lads? It’s Skinner to ye!” he bellowed, the crew behind him cackled and chattered. Sterling scoffed at them quietly, grinning. He extended his hand to shake, the squeal of a sword being drawn stopped him. 

    “OI! It’s a greetin’!” Baybeard shouted at a much younger chimp, who had been the one to draw the weapon, “Be nice, boy! Heh, me son, Danny. Never met land-dwellers bef’r. Put ‘er there, lad.” the Chimp said, then proudly shook Sterling’s hand.

    “Quite an impressive little band you got here,” he said, “never seen so many different kinds of primate in one spot.”  

    “Aye? It’s kinda our thing.” the chimp turned to look at his crew, all standing crooked and scowling. He looked back at the brown hare, all the Mastiffs standing straight with emotionless faces. 

    “Ye, too. Ye talked ‘bout this proposition over da radio. Said we’d discuss in person.” 

    “Yes! See, as I mentioned, I need a lift to the mainland, to Great Britain specifically, and I did recall Feral- or-” 

    “Cap’n Bushybutt.” one of the other apes said, pointing at the hyena, others in the band leaning to see better. 

    “Yes, Captain Bushybutt.” Sterling cracked a smile, some of the Mastiffs snickering, desperately trying to conceal their laughter. 

    “If I may continue,” Sterling said sharply, silencing all giggling, “I’m taking over this pathetic little piece of land, as I said, and every powerful country has a navy. If they want to be taken seriously, that is. Once my country is founded and isle is abolished, thousands will flock here, millions even. I can get you a brand new fleet - if you wish - and all I need now is a ride.” he purred. Baybeard narrowed his eyes, scanning the Mastiffs. 

    “Was in it f’r us?” 

    “Well, if you’re going to be my on-the-water-enforcers, then you’d be safe from being arrested yourselves. Keep this from happening again,” he patted Feral’s back, “Pirateering, I believe it’s called. Not so common anymore, which is a shame and a waste of potential. If anyone’s gonna know the laws of the waters, it’d be pirates, right?” he purred. 

    “Aye… that’s still a while off tho, eh?” 

    “Indeed, in the meantime, I’ve got a few offerings.” he snapped his fingers and one of his Mastiffs hastily came up to the front. Sterling took the bag she held, “Take a look.” he tossed it to the Captain, who caught it and paused. The rest of the crew looked over at him, some leaning over to get a better look. Baybeard glanced at the brown hare before he opened it, glancing at him again as he pulled back the flap. He looked inside and his eyes widened, just barely noticeable. He stammered a little, his son sneaking up and taking a peek for himself. 

    “Where did ye get these?” The captain asked after a few moments of stunned silence. 

    “It’s kind of our thing.” Sterling chuckled, “What are you waiting for? Show them.” he said warmly. Baybeard stuck his hand in the bag, and pulled out the bleached lion skull, the pirate crew all muttering to themselves. 

    “Isn’t it beautiful?” Sterling asked, “He was a traitor. A pathetic, ungrateful child. Valued the life of a prisoner over his own, White Fang is better off without that fool.” he hissed, the Mastiffs all grunting in agreement. 

    “You’re awful stiff… What’s wrong? Never seen a lion’s skull before?” 

    “No, I have. Just, never one so perfectly bleached.” The captain replied. 

    “There’s something else in there, too. White Fang’s specialty.” Sterling said, that grin never moving. Baybeard handed the skull to his son, who examined it with awe, and dug out the insulated pack. He set the first bag down, and pried open the velcro on the pack, then pulled out something soft and cold from it. He peeled off the plastic wrap, revealing the perfectly marbled steak. 

    “Ah,” Baybeard said, sniffing it, “Smells… different.” 

    “You do eat meat, don’t you?” 

    “Yeah, we eat the crud sometimes-”

    “No, real meat. Beef,” Sylvester purred, “by far the hardest meat to get. Not many cows show up here, let alone survive to get to my territory.” he said smugly. Baybeard stared at him, then smelled the steak again. He glanced up at Sterling, again, then took a bite. He chewed, then handed it to his son. 

    “Share that.” he ordered, mouth still full as he approached the brown hare. He swallowed, extending his hand, “Ye got yourself a deal, ye sick bastard.” he chuckled, Sterling laughing as well as they shook hands. 

    “Brilliant! Meet us back here in, oh two weeks. When it’s a new moon.” Skinner said, the ape looking to his right at the waning crescent. 

    “Aye, this exact time.” 

    “I'll bring enough meat goods for… at least everyone standing here.” Sterling said, letting go of the chimp’s rough hand. 

    “Ye better. We got some enemies in de water…” 

    “Bring them to me when we meet, and we’ll deal with them. We trade pelts as well-” 

    “Sir!” someone called from the gate, “The guards are on their way back! We gotta leave!” one of the Mastiffs cried. 

    “Two weeks!” Sterling turned back to the captain, the rest of the crew boarding their boats. 

    “Aye, two weeks! Bring y’r end!” 

“Of course!” Baybeard and Sterling exchanged, then the captain hopped onto his boat. Sterling and the Mastiffs all ran back into the confines of the isle, shutting the gate and running deeper and deeper into their territory.