Jayson was suffocating in Oswald Walsod’s office; his gaudy tan, map curtain was pulled shut, blocking natural light from entering the room. The lightbulbs from the ceiling fan and small lamp that looked like a leg covered in a stocking had a brown tint to them, and a box fan’s engine clanked and sputtered as it struggled to spin its blades. The fan did a better job of stirring the musty scent than cooling the office.

  Across from Jayson was the scumbag, Oswald. The rat had managed to go another two months without showering or doing laundry, which he tried to hide with air freshener spray. But not even the tropical breeze spray could hide the glossy sheen on Oswald’s suit and gray fur or his tangled hair.

  And now Oswald was looking through Jayson’s file, his sickly yellow eyes hidden by his sunglasses.

  “Did your wife make that scarf?” asked Oswald without looking up from the folder.

  Jayson, wearing a light blue suit and tie, stroked the hand crocheted blue scarf around his neck. “Yeah.”

  “It's nice. My mom used to crochet,” said Oswald.

  “Used to?”

  “Yeah. She died, so she can’t crochet, anymore.”

  “Oh…”

  Silence fell between them. The fan’s clanking and groaning mixed with the rustling of paper, and a scratchy cough from Oswald that led to him wiping his mouth with a filthy handkerchief.

  A few more seconds passed, and Oswald lowered Jayson’s employee folder, folded his bony hands on top of the pages, grinning. The grin was unsettling enough, but the yellow tint and black spots just made it worse for Jayson to look at.

  “I like you, Jayson,” said Oswald.

  “Thanks,” said Jayson.

  “I also like your wife. She’s pretty. Especially for a goth.”

  “Thanks,” repeated Jayson, his voice heavier and his hands clenched.

  Oswald pointed a knife hand at Jayson. “So, I say this out of my care for you.” His knife hand shifted to the door behind Jayson. “And your wife. Do better.”

  Jayson furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Your most recent sale on Miss Irey Lane was forty five percent the listed price with a four percent locked-in interest rate. That forty five percent cut means forty five percent less money for me, which means less for you. That deal cost you thousands in commission and me thousands over a thirty year period.”

  Before Jayson could retort, Oswald coughed violently, his body jerking and vibrating, and his breath wheezy as he held the handkerchief to his mouth.

  Jayson kept his mouth shut, and Oswald’s hand trembled as he wiped his mouth. When he was done, he swallowed loudly and released a shaky gasp. His sunglasses covered his eyes, but his bushy eyebrows were betraying the rat’s exhaustion.

  “The thing about real estate, Jayson, is that it is not a nice game. In order for me to build this company up, in order for Bliss Town to recover and become a utopia, it needs to stand on the shoulders of broken dreams. Do you understand?” said Oswald.

  “No,” said Jayson.

  Oswald scoffed. “Of course you don’t. This is why you’re gaming the system. You’re selling off these properties far below listed values to get sales! It’s costing us money!”

  “A sale is a sale; that’s our thing for this company. Plus, people need homes!”

  “Yeah, and not everyone deserves a house! Not everyone can handle a burrow! Or a nest! The fact is that most people are better off living in apartments or townhomes. Year by year contracts! Houses, burrows, nests, all are responsibilities that should only go to the cream of the crop! Tossing homes left and right to people who can’t handle them will give us foreclosures, damages, and invite bottom feeders into Bliss Town, which will further reduce property values and-”

  Oswald coughed again, and Jayson grinded his jaw, keeping his lips sealed and hands clenched. When Oswald was finished, his handkerchief was coated in orange tinted phlegm, and he dropped it in a trash can with more soiled handkerchiefs, whose fabrics have hardened from the gunk expelled from Oswald’s mouth.

  “You get the idea. When you sold that house on Miss Irey Lane to Ms. Cassie Willows for a forty five percent discount, that was the last straw,” said Oswald.

  “Am I being fired?” asked Jayson, a lump in his throat and his gaze hardening.

  Oswald shook his head. “No. I said I like you and I meant it. But until you learn that not everyone deserves to own property, I cannot give you a promotion or a raise.”

  Jayson’s heart stopped, and the world around him darkened, focusing strictly on Oswald. Gradually, his heartbeats returned. Hard. Slow. Heavy. Steady. Not steady. Beating. Faster. Faster. Struggling. No rhythm.

  His breathing trembles and heavy air was expelled through his nose as he thought about his burrow and Lexanne's bakery. Her bakery was off to a rough start, and cost of living was going up. The extra income would have helped them stay afloat.

  But now all he sees in the dark void is Oswald and his stupid desk.

  “The properties were overvalued,” said Jayson, his eyes locked onto Oswald and a rumble in his voice. “I had them assessed by county officials and banks before closing. You were overvaluing.”

  “Well, no shit, genius. Did you not hear what I said? We don’t want bottom feeders in Bliss Town. We want a utopia. We can’t do that if we’re selling properties to the lowest caste,” said Oswald.

  “I sold those abandoned and foreclosed houses for market value, not your value.”

  “Am I going to have to repeat what I said, Jayson? Because if I am, I’m going to throw a mug at your head.”

  “You do that, and I will bash your face in the desk.”

  Oswald stared at Jayson, a flicker of shock meeting the hardened blue eyes, but the shock was replaced with a hard look of his own.

  Without taking his eyes Jayson, Oswald closed the file and slid the folder aside. A few seconds later, his stern expression disappeared, and a practiced smile took its place.

  “You’re upset. I get it. You want to help people. You want to be a good man. But this business can only thrive on those who are willing to break hearts. You still can’t comprehend that, so that is why you aren’t getting the promotion or raise. Take the rest of the day off. Go home to Lexanne. Come back tomorrow when you’re cooled off, and we’ll start over,” said Oswald.

  *****

  Located at the edge of Bliss Town was Barty G's Bar & Grill. It was positioned near the on ramp to the interstate leading to Joy City in one direction, Red City in another, and if one kept driving on the road without taking the ramps they would eventually find themselves in Serenityville But despite its great location, it was still a rundown mess.

  The stench of cheap beer and broken dreams were as much a part of the building as its splintered walls, broken parking lot, mismatched windows. The neon sign outside flickered between "BAR" and "BA" because the "R" couldn't commit to staying lit.

  Yet, its rundown state made it a heavenly match for the pale clue cracks in the sky. The phenomenon that still has scientists stumped. The only thing that they can confidently hypothesize about it was that since it appeared during the Toxic War, someone, somewhere, did something very stupid. But they didn’t know who the someone, somewhere, or something was, and frankly no one outside of their circle cared anymore.

  Now Jayson was Barty G’s, not caring about his appearance and wishing his had smashed Oswald’s face into the desk.

  The neon blues and reds of Barty G's Bar and Grill interior sign splashed across Jayson's messy white face and brown hair as he hunched over his fourth whiskey. The ice had melted, diluting what remained of the amber liquid. Around him, the Friday night crowd roared with laughter and clinking glasses, but all he heard was Oswald's voice on repeat: "Not everyone deserves a house."

  He looked at the payphone in the corner with bloodshot, and his throat bobbed as he once again thought about calling Lexanne. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  What could he say, anyway?

  ‘Hey honey, remember that promotion I was banking on to save your bakery? Yeah, turns out I'm too decent a person to get it. Now I’m drinking my sorrow away. Love you. Bye.’

  That would not go over well. But it was either getting loose from alcohol or going directly home with no prep time and watching the light and smile from Lexanne die.

  “Well, hello there, handsome,” said Vanessa McNessa, her sudden silver tongued voice making Jayson jump.

  Vanessa chuckled and scrapped the stool against the floor as she took a seat next to Jayson. Her blonde hair was immaculately groomed so not a strand was out of place, and her white fur was equally cleaned, and her blue eyes were bright with malice as she propped her chin on her manicured hand.

  “Martini. Dry. Three olives,” said Vanessa to the bartender, still smirking at Jayson with lidded eyes.

  “We don’t got any of that,” said the bartender as he robotically cleaned a cup.

  “Fine, I’ll take a gin,” said Vanessa.

  “We don’t have that either.”

  Vanessa’s smirk disappeared and she glared at the bartender. “What do you have?”

  The bartender placed a stained menu on the counter in front of Vanessa, and she scoffed.

  “Fantastic customer service,” she said

  The bartender walked away, rolling his eyes, and Jayson sipped his watered-down drink.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “What do you want?” said Jayson.

  “I wanted to check up on you. As the new regional manager, it is my responsibility to make sure the company employees are happy,” said Vanessa, her words not matching her returned smirk.

  Jayson frowned and sipped his drink, and Vanessa snapped her fingers to the bartender.

  “I also heard about the troubles of Lexanne’s bakery. She should have stuck with crocheting or put her money in a little gift shop. Baking is not her talent,” said Vanessa. When the bartender stopped in front of her, she said, “Give me a rum and pop.”

  “We’re out of rum,” said the bartender.

  Vanessa’s eye twitched.

  “Congratulations on your promotion, Vanessa, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to drink in peace,” said Jayson.

  Vanessa snapped back to Jayson, her smile forced.

  "Oh, so hostile," said Vanessa, sliding closer so their bodies were pressed together. Her floral perfume cut through the bar's odor intense air, and barely looking at the bartender, she said, "Just give me whatever has alcohol in it.”

  The bartender grunted, pulled out a gallon sized bucket and went to work pouring different alcoholic beverages in it.

  Meanwhile, Vanessa set her paw on Jayson’s thigh, her claws extended enough for him to see the red nail polish.

  "You know, I could help Lexanne's little bakery situation," said Vanessa, her voice breathy and hot against his ear.

  Jayson's ears twitched, his gaze hardening. "What?"

  "My clientele is exclusive and have expensive tastes." Vanessa walked her fingers along Jayson’s thigh. "I have been hosting dinner parties twice a month to close sales on good properties. Imagine all those hungry mouths ordering custom dessert platters."

  The bartender set in front of Vanessa the gallon bucket full of six different alcohols and put six straws in them. The strong scent seeped into their noses, making their nostrils burn and inducing secondhand intoxication.

  Vanessa stared at the bucket, watching the frothing light brown bubbles pop, and the bartender raised his brow expectantly. Jayson kept his eyes on Vanessa, and she lifted her hardened eyes to the bartender.

  “Thanks,” said Vanessa sourly.

  “Don’t waste it,” said the bartender as he walked off.

  "What's the catch?" said Jayson, his eyes back to his glass.

  Vanessa's lips curled into a smile as she pressed against Jayson, her breath hot against his ear while her hand continued dancing on his thigh. "Just dinner. My place. Tonight. And maybe some appreciation exercises. My loft has a great view of the cracked sky, so we can watch while we do our transaction. Lexanne never needs to know."

  Jayson grabbed Vanessa’s hand, making her wince as he squeezed and pulled her off. "Are you serious? I'm married."

  "Happily?" asked Vanessa, her voice tinged with pain, but she was still smiling. "Because drowning your sorrows alone in this dump screams 'blissful union.'"

  "Get bent," snapped Jayson. He released Vanessa’s hand and fumbled for his wallet. "My marriage isn't for sale."

  Vanessa's pained smile shifted. It was still a smile, but the pain was reduced and a more wolfish one creeped in.

  "Fine. You're loyal. Admirable. Couldn’t tell you how many married men or women I slept with to convince them to take a deal," said Vanessa.

  Jayson sneered, and Vanessa rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, don’t be like that. I like men more, but you are stressed, and we can’t have that for our company. You are still a valuable asset to Oswald with a lot of potential, so I have something that will help you relax,” said Vanessa.

  “I swear to God, if you give me one of those performance pills I’m going to-”

  Jayson stopped himself when Vanessa pulled out a blue gel pill from her purse. Her eyes focused on Jayson and her lips were tight as she smirked at him. The dull lights reflected off the pill as she held it up by her fingertips.

  “What is that?” asked Jayson.

  “Reel Sight. It’s a new drug coming from Serenityville. I use it from time to time to calm myself down when I get stressed out,” said Vanessa. “This little pill will let you escape for hours without the hangover."

  The cracked blue sky visible through the bar window seemed to pulse. The bar's neon lights suddenly dimmer some more while the air got heavier. Vanessa set the pill in front of Jayson and rubbed his shoulder as she slid off the stool.

  "Just take it," said Vanessa. "Consider it a gift."

  “What about your bucket?” said Jayson.

  “I’m not drinking all that. You can have it.”

  As Vanessa sauntered away, hips swaying slightly just to draw eyes to her, the pill sat on the counter, the dull lights reflecting off its blue gel hull.

  “She may be a bitch, but she ain’t lying. That Reel Sight stuff is the best thing on the street now. Meth, cocaine, heroin, you name it, it has nothing against that pill. Whoever made Reel Sight was a genius,” said the bartender.

  Jayson stared at the pill, his throat dry, despite all the whiskey, and his heart bashed heavily against his ribs. His hand slowly extended to it, and he pressed his palm on top of it. The gel was cool to the touch, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

  He didn’t trust Vanessa, but at the same time, he needed to relax.

  Jayson dragged the pill to him, his heart getting heavier and throat getting drier.

  The bartender put a glass of water in front of Jayson, offering a kind smile.

  “Here. The first time is always the roughest,” said the bartender.

  Jayson’s fingers tightened around the Reel Sight pill and swallowed heavily as he lifted it from the counter.

  Just one try. What’s the worst that can happen?

  ******

  Jayson stumbled through the entrance of his burrow, the world still swimming with fading electric blue afterimages. The Reel Sight was wearing off, leaving him hollow, his mind foggy and limbs heavy. Dawn's first light filtered through the canopy of leaves above his burrow, and when he closed the door, all the light from the outside disappeared.

  "Jayson?" called Lexanne Haunt, her voice floating from their small living room.

  Jayson flinched, guilt slamming into him like a boulder dropped from Heaven.

  "Hey," said Jayson, his voice sandpaper rough.

  Lexanne Haunt sat in their worn armchair, a half-finished blanket draped across her lap, crochet hook paused mid-stitch. Her white fur seemed to glow in the dim light, her dark gothic pajama dress a stark contrast. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, but her smile was gentle as she set her crocheting aside.

  "I waited for you," she said, rising from the chair. No accusations, no anger in her tone.

  Jayson's ears drooped. "I'm sorry."

  Lexanne Haunt approached him, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid he might bolt. She took his paws in hers, thumbs tracing small circles on his skin.

  "The meeting with Oswald went bad, didn't it?" said Lexanne Haunt.

  Jayson's throat tightened, and he looked down, his bloodshot eyes wet and dripping.

  "I didn't get it," said Jayson weakly. "No promotion. No raise."

  He waited for the disappointment, the panic over their finances, the questions about how they'd save the bakery or keep their burrow. Instead, Lexanne Haunt wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. She guided his head to rest on her shoulder, and she gently stroked his hair.

  "It's going to be okay, Jayson," said Lexanne Haunt softly.

  "He said I'm too nice," continued Jayson, words tumbling out now. "Said I need to stop selling houses at fair prices. That I need to be willing to break hearts." He pulled back, meeting her eyes. "I can't do it. I can't be what he wants."

  Lexanne Haunt cupped his face in her paws, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs and offering a comforting smile. "Good. I wouldn't want you any other way."

  "But your bakery and our burrow?"

  "We’ll be fine. We'll figure it out. Together."

  Jayson's eyes burned with unshed tears. "How can you be so calm about this? We needed that money."

  "Money comes and goes," said Lexanne Haunt. "But I only get one Jayson Hopper, and I'd rather have him with his soul intact."

  (((((O)))))

  Jayson sits on the closed toilet lid in Derrick's bathroom, staring at his fingerless gloves with heavy, bloodshot eyes and trails of tears on his cheeks. Blood and grime cake the blue fabric, turning it almost black in spots. The shower runs behind him, hot water pounding against the tile, filling the small room with steam that fogs the mirror. He hasn't moved in fifteen minutes, just letting the water run while he stares at the evidence of his last fight.

  Every bone and muscle in his body ached, and the numerous small cuts dotting his face, neck, and limbs stung from the hot water floating in the atmosphere.

  Not even Derrick’s brightly colored fish decorations could ease the burden Jayson brought upon himself.

  The overhead light flickers and buzzes, and Jayson's ears twitch at the sound. Sweat and damp blood clings to his white fur and brown hair, and his blue scarf hangs limp around his neck, its colors now tainted with the stains of dirt and blood.

  The steam thickens, curling around Jayson like ghostly fingers, gripping his throat and limbs and tugging on his ears. The mirror clouds completely, erasing his reflection, and the bathroom light dims further, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. Jayson's ears flatten against his head as the temperature in the room seems to drop despite the hot water running.

  "Are you going to clean up, Jayson?" asks an unwelcomed voice from the darkest corner of the bathroom.

  Jayson's breath catches in his throat. He doesn't need to look up to know who is speaking. He keeps his eyes fixed on his gloves.

  "Not now," says Jayson.

  The shadow in the corner stretches, elongates, takes form. Lexanne crawls out, her lanky arms stretching and pulling her body out of the darkness, her dark hair and fabric floating around as her pale round, white eyes and grinning mouth focus on Jayson. Her wrists bleed endlessly, the red liquid dripping onto the tile but leaving no stain.

  “It’s never ‘not now’ with you,” teases Lexanne. She stands tall and sways in her steps. “I get the feeling you don’t like me.”

  Jayson finally looks up, his tired blue eyes meeting her white ones. "I don’t."

  Lexanne laughs, the sound like breaking glass. "That’s alright. You'll die eventually. Then we can be together forever with your lovely wife." She reaches for him, her spectral fingers inches from his face. "When that happens, then you’ll come see with me.”

  The bathroom door suddenly slams open, banging against the wall, making Jayson jump and all the colors snap back to their brightness.

  Jayson's eyes widen as he sees Lexia standing in the doorway, her white and brown fur glistening in the light, her thick white hair still damp. The soft pink bathrobe drapes delicately over her curves, hugging the swell of her breasts and accentuating the gentle dip of her waist. It flares out slightly at her hips, leaving just enough to the imagination while showcasing her toned structure. Her brown eyes narrow with irritation as she sees Jayson sitting on the toilet, wasting water.

  "Are you seriously sitting in here with the water running, not showering?” says Lexia.

  "I was about to get in," says Jayson defensively.

  "I've been listening for fifteen minutes. Not once did I hear you get in the shower."

  Jayson stands up and drops his gloves into the sink. "I don't need you monitoring my hygiene, Lexia."

  "Apparently you do." Lexia steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. "Either get in that shower, or I'll drag you in myself."

  "You wouldn't dare," says Jayson heavily, his ears flatten against his head.

  Lexia's eyes flash and she puts on a battle stance as she points at Jayson dramatically. "I cleaned you once. I can clean you again."

  Jayson's eyes widen. "You wouldn't."

  "Five." Lexia's paw moves to the tie of her robe, tugging it loose.

  "You're bluffing.”

  "Four." The robe parts slightly, revealing a strip of damp fur down her cleavage.

  Jayson swallows hard. "This is completely unnecessary."

  "Three." She takes a step closer, mist from the shower condensing on her whiskers.

  "Fine! I'll get in!" Jayson shrugs off his jacket and fumbles with his shirt buttons.

  "Two." Lexia's eyes narrow. "Not fast enough."

  "Give me a second!" snaps Jayson.

  "One. Time’s up, Jayson."

  The robe slides from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

  Jayson’s eyes bulge, his brain short circuits, smoke clogs his brain and warm crimson seeps from his nose as he stares at Lexia’s naked form.

  He remembers the chaos that surged through him when he saw her in the bikini at the reservoir, but this time is different. This time he can clearly see everything about her, and the chaos is much, much worse as his eyes catalogue everything in front of him.

  Lexia's shoulders bear a rich chocolate brown that curves down along her ribs, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette against the pristine white of her abdomen. The brown fur continues at her hips, wrapping around her powerful thighs.

  Brown fur covers her right hand and wrist completely, giving the appearance of a natural glove, while her right foot and ankle mirror the same pattern.

  Her ears, standing tall despite the humidity, showcase delicate brown stripes that catch the light. The right side of her face bears the same chocolate coloring, perfectly bisecting her features down the middle, continuing along her neck and into the thick, luxurious neck fluff that's half brown, half white.

  Droplets of water cling to her fur, highlighting the definition of muscles beneath; powerful shoulders tapering to a trim waist, then flaring to strong hips and thighs. Her ample chest covered in white fur is somehow both soft and strong like the rest of her. And the snow white fur covering most of Lexia’s body appearing almost luminous against the surrounding brown patches.

  Jayson's mouth opens and closes several times, no sound emerging as he struggles to process the sight before him. His nose continues to drip blood, which he hastily wipes away with the back of his hand.

  "Don't look at me like that. I know you've seen these parts before," says Lexia as she steps closer, the steam swirling around her.

  "I-I... you... why...?" stammers Jayson, his brain completely failing to form coherent sentences.

  Lexia grabs him by his half-unbuttoned shirt and drags him toward the shower. "You stink. And since you don't know how to clean yourself, I'll do it for you."

  "I can clean myself!" says Jayson, finally finding his voice as he tries to pry her strong fingers from his clothing.

  “Lies and deceit," says Lexia, shoving him into the hot shower spray.

  The hot water soaks through Jayson's remaining clothes instantly, plastering them to his body and breaking off loose bits, leading to the water browning with speckles of dark debris.

  Jayson sputters and coughs under the onslaught of high pressure hot water, blinking water from his eyes as Lexia steps into the shower, her powerful body taking up much of the remaining space in the small enclosure.

  "This is completely inappropriate!" shouts Jayson.

  "What’s inappropriate is you smelling like dead fish shoved in a septic tank." Lexia grabs the tuna shaped shampoo bottle from the shelf and squeezes a massive glob of shampoo onto a pufferfish shaped loofa, her grin wide and toothy and eyes gleaming. "NOW IT’S CLEANING TIME!"