The island was suffocating. Honest John's heart raced, his breaths shallow as the weight of the Coachman's cruel words pressed down on him like a vise. The sounds of the boys turned into donkeys braying in despair, the clinking of hooves against the barn floor, and the mocking laughter of the Coachman seemed to blur together into a suffocating cacophony. Honest John stood in the dim light, his mind a swirl of panic and guilt, unable to stand the sight any longer, his hands clenched  into fists even more, claws digging into his palms.

"I can't do this anymore," John muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper, yet the words rang with a sense of finality. He had made a terrible mistake, and now he was tangled in a web of lies, deceit, and cruelty from which he could not escape, ears flattening back out of his fear, as a donkey suddenly looked over to him, braying in sadness which ended up nearly breaking him just from that sight.

Gideon stood silently beside him, the cat's eyes wide, his tail flicking nervously. They had to get out. There was no choice left. But how? The Coachman was too powerful, too dangerous. Yet, something deep inside John refused to accept his fate. He had betrayed too many, and now it was his turn to be free—or at least, to try.

In a burst of sudden desperation, shaking terribly, John grabbed Gideon's paw and pulled him toward the back of the barn. The two of them moved quietly, trying to make their way toward the exit. The wind whipped through the trees outside, the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks in the distance offering a brief moment of solace. They had to leave. They had to get away from the island before it was too late.

But as they reached the door, a cold, menacing voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Running away, are we, Fox?" the Coachman's voice echoed through the barn, smooth as silk but laced with danger.

John froze. He didn't dare turn around, but he knew, somehow, that the Coachman was standing just behind them. The air around him seemed to grow colder, suffocating, as though the very island itself was aware of their attempt to escape. His mind screamed at him to run faster, but his legs felt rooted to the spot. The fear, that old, familiar fear, crept up his spine.

The Coachman stepped forward, a twisted grin on his face. "I do believe I told you, Fox, that no one leaves Pleasure Island. You should've known better."

Before John could react, the Coachman's hand shot out like a snake, grabbing him by the throat with an iron grip. John gasped, his windpipe crushed under the weight of the Coachman's fingers. He struggled, clawing at the hand, but it was useless. His vision blurred, and his breath became shallow, his body trembling under the Coachman's strength. Gideon leapt forward in a futile attempt to help, but the Coachman backhanded him away with a single motion, sending the cat crashing into a pile of hay.

John's chest heaved in panic, and the world seemed to spin around him as he struggled to break free. The Coachman's laugh was dark, mocking, as he tightened his grip.

"Did you really think you could escape?" the Coachman purred. "You are mine, Fox. And no one leaves Pleasure Island. No one."

John's vision began to fade as the pressure on his throat increased, his body weakening, the darkness creeping in at the edges of his sight. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he gasped out the only word he could manage.

"Mercy..." His voice was hoarse, a mere whisper of desperation. "Please... mercy." He croaked, the tears continuing to stain his fur and his windpipe feeling like it could snap at any moment.

But there was no mercy to be found in the Coachman's eyes. The Coachman sneered, his grip tightening even more, suffocating John's cries. "Mercy? You didn't show mercy to those boys. You didn't show mercy when you led them here. Why should I show mercy to you?" He said in a soft growling tone.

With a savage twist, the Coachman threw John to the ground. The fox crashed hard onto the cold, damp floor, gasping for air, his throat raw and burning. He coughed, unable to draw in enough breath, his body trembling with the agony of his near strangulation. Gideon, still dazed but recovering, tried to rise, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and fear for his friend.

The Coachman, undeterred by the brief resistance, stood over them, his presence towering. "You think you can defy me? You think you can leave without consequence?" he sneered, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a long, cruel whip, John's ears flattening further, Giddy shaking badly from the sight of the whip despite his usual goofy manner. "I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

The first strike was sudden, vicious, and it landed across John's back with a sickening crack. The fox cried out in pain, his body jerking as the sting of the whip seared into his fur. The Coachman didn't stop. He whipped John again, and again, each strike landing harder than the last. John's body jerked and trembled under the assault, his cries filling the air, but no one could hear him. The boys were too far away, their voices drowned out by the sound of the Coachman's cruel laughter and the rhythmic crack of the whip.

Gideon tried to scramble to his feet, but the Coachman turned and shoved him back, sending him sprawling across the floor once more. The cat grunted in distress, unable to do anything to stop the pain John was enduring. The fox was too weak to fight back now, his body crumpling under the relentless onslaught, blood dripping down his back and his face from the whip assault, the tears mixing with the redness of the blood.

John begged, his voice barely more than a broken sob. "Please... I didn't... mean it... I didn't know..." he croaked in a small voice. But the words were lost in the air, swallowed by the fury of the Coachman's wrath.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Coachman stopped. John lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his body bruised, his fur torn and matted with sweat and blood. The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the fear that gripped his heart as the Coachman stood over him, looking down with cold, gleaming eyes.

"You think you can escape my grasp?" the Coachman hissed. "You think you can get away from me after all this?"

With one final, mocking sneer, the Coachman grabbed both John and Gideon by their scruffs and threw them into a cage. The bars were cold and unforgiving as John's body crashed against them, his mind still reeling from the whipping. He could barely focus, his body trembling from the pain, but he knew one thing for certain.

They were trapped.

The cage was dark and filthy, the air thick with the stench of sweat and fear. Around them, the other donkeys—boys who had once been like them—stood in silence, their eyes hollow, their expressions vacant. The transformation was complete for some of them; others were still in various stages of becoming, their features beginning to contort into those of the beasts they had become, Honest John shaking and coughing from the horrible stench in there.

The Coachman stood before the cage, his cruel smile never fading. "I think I'll sell you both," he said coldly. "To a fur farm. They'll pay a pretty penny for you. A lot more than I could get for your skins, Fox." He let out a low chuckle. "I hear the conditions are lovely there. You'll love it."

John's heart sank. He knew exactly what the Coachman meant. Fur farms were horrible places—places where foxes and sometimes cats were slaughtered or skinned alive for their pelts. It was a fate worse than death, and John knew that he couldn't let it happen. He couldn't allow it. He couldn't let himself—or Gideon—become nothing more than a commodity to be sold and discarded.

"N-No... d-don't send me..." John pleaded, his voice shaking with fear. His eyes met the Coachman's, and for the first time, he saw something like amusement in the man's gaze which made John realize what kind of monster the man really was. John knew now the Coachman simply hated both kids and animals.

"Oh, I'll send you there," the Coachman said, his voice as cold as ice. "You're mine now, Fox. There's no escape."

As the Coachman walked away, leaving them locked in the cage, Honest John's heart shattered. He had tried to escape, tried to run, but now he realized the truth: there was no way out. He and Gideon were prisoners, and the Coachman's grip on them was unbreakable. The island was their prison, and there was no escape from it.