Note: this story takes place in a Zistopia universe.

Bedtime Stories

When I was a kit, my mother used to come into my room at night and tell me stories.

There were the adventures of the brave Sir Wilde, fox-in-shining-armor extraordinaire; there were the missions of astronaut Nicholas P. Wilde and the voyages of Captain Wilde and his intrepid band of miscreants. Chances are, you name the genre, there was a story about it.

All the stories were great. Mom just had this way of telling them that mesmerized me; I could see the tales come to life before my very eyes.

Sitting in bed, I could see the dragons and spaceships; I could feel the heat from the flames, and I could see the stark beauty of space. Those stories lit up my childhood.

Well, up until they didn't.

It's normal for kits to grow out of bedtime stories. It's not like you grow out of stories altogether, but kits just move on from them and into comic books, television shows, and all sorts of other things.

That wasn't the case for me. I didn't "grow out" of bedtime stories.

I never got the chance to.

If you were to ask any chomper (predator) what their strongest memory was, I'm sure you'd get a lot of happy ones: their first kiss, fuck, or whatever romantic memory they hold dear, and I'm sure you'd find some chompers with some great achievement or something along those lines.

However, I'd be willing to bet that a large chunk of them would name a different event; an event that all predators experience.

I'm talking about a chomper's Taming Day.

For most chompers, a Taming Day is usually a large party held on the recipients ninth birthday. Friends, family, and relatives you've never seen and probably won't see again all show up with gifts galore. For mine, my parents rented out the Bite Place, a local arcade that was the place when I was a kit.

To this day, I have no idea how they paid for it, but my nine-year-old-self didn't care. The static music, jingling machines, and violently-neon lights grabbed ahold of my friends and me and refused to let us go. Oh, man, it was awesome. I won so many tickets that one of my friends decided to wrap my tail in tickets; I still have the picture Mom took of it.

The grin of utter joy that's plastered across my collar-less face is fantastic, but there's a reason why I keep it locked in my dresser:

It's one of the few things in my possession that will make me cry.

I don't look at it often, but when I do, a few tears seep out from my green eyes. I can't help it. It's the only picture I own that captures that unrestrained, unrestricted, uncollared smile that Mom used to go on-and-on about; the smile she wanted me to give her when she made the one-way journey into the great beyond.

Shortly after that picture was taken, my dad came up to me and removed the tickets.

Not gonna lie: I was pretty annoyed at that.

I gave him a little bit of the patented Wilde snark, but there was something in his eyes, something in everyone's eyes that made my young heart skip a beat: sadness wrapped with unbelievable amounts of guilt. It's a look I can't describe to you but one you would know the instant you saw it.

I should've known something was wrong, but I never got the chance to ask.

Dad squatted down and gave my head an affectionate scratch. "Having fun, Nick?"

I remember responding with a confused "yeah." I thought it was obvious I was having the time of my life.

"That's good." Dad's arms wrapped around me in his best impression of a bear hug. It was tight; too tight. I heard his breath become labored, and it quickly dawned on me that he wasn't letting go. His body wasn't warm; it was icy cold.

I felt the cold spread across my own body. I tried to move my head to see my friends, but all of them had left. The only mammals around me were Mom and Dad. "Dad, is something wrong?"

He didn't respond; he didn't need to. The moment I felt my shoulder dampen, I knew what was happening:

Dad was crying.

Dad never cried. Never.

I looked up at Mom and saw the same thing: tears.

It was at that moment I realized why my parents took me to Bite Place: they needed the static music, jingling machines, and violently-neon lights just as much as I did.

I wish I could tell you that I didn't remember what happened next.

But, I do. I remember every fucking detail about what happened next.

I remember Dad pulling away from me, the tears in his eyes twinkling as bright as the collar wrapped around his neck. I remember that look of indescribable guilt because that look will haunt me until I die.

"It's okay, Nick. It'll be okay," Dad said. "It'll be okay."

It wasn't okay.

"You need to come with us, please?" Mom said, reaching down and grabbing my paw with strength I didn't know she had.

"Okay," I said, the smile gone from my face.

My parents took me through the main party area.

There wasn't a party anymore.

Everyone's eyes were locked onto me. All the adults radiated that same guilty feeling: guilt.

Guilt over what was about to happen to me; guilt that they had failed to stop this from happening to them and their kind.

I saw a couple of them turn away, but most had on this horrible mockery of a smile; the smile you give to a kit to try to reassure them that everything is okay, but all the smile does is scare the crap out of said kit (me).

My parents ushered me into a room in the back of the arcade. It looked like an office, with papers strewn about, and a smell I distinctly remember being an unholy mix of oil, paper, and smoke mixed with air fresheners.

A table had been cleared beforehand, and two mammals, an elk and a bunny, stood near it. Both were wearing official-looking uniforms branded with the city's insignia, but the bunny's looked more like a doctor's outfit. They gave me a warm smile and motioned towards the table. I looked at my parents, who tried their best to smile back, and slowly moved towards the pair.

"You must be Nick," the bunny said, walking towards me. She was roughly the same height as me, but that didn't make her any less intimidating.

"Yeah," I said, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. "W-What's your name?"

She pointed at her nametag. "Jennifer."

Jennifer pointed towards the elk, whose antlers were brushing against the tiled ceiling. "And this is Mark."

Mark waved at me. "Hello, Nick."

Jennifer stopped in front of me, shifting the clipboard she was grasping from one hand to another. "Did you have fun out there? It certainly sounds like you did."

"Yeah," I squeaked out. "It was fun."

"You don't need to be scared, Nick." Jennifer must've noticed the look on my face and gripped my shoulder. She looked into my eyes, and I looked into hers. "We're not going to hurt you."

"I know."

I heard a noise come from my parents; a sort-of mix between a growl and a cough. Mark shot them a look, but Jennifer quickly grabbed my attention before I could discern what it was.

"Good. Can you follow me?"

I nodded my head and looked back at my parents. They smiled that mockery of a smile again. "Go ahead, Nick," Dad said.

I started moving forward but quickly stopped. My heart pounded in my chest, and Jennifer noticed my hesitation and let go of my shoulder.

"Do you want to hold my paw?"

I held her paw.

From there, we walked towards the table. A couple of chairs were strewn around it, and Jennifer motioned for me to get into one. I did as she asked, though I had to let go of her paw. I looked back at my parents again, hoping for some kind of sign or signal.

But all I got was that fucking smile.

"My, what a handsome fox you are," Jennifer said, trying to elicit a laugh or some kind of happy sound from me.

She didn't get one.

Jennifer grabbed the stethoscope that was hanging around her neck. "I need you to stay still for a moment."

Jennifer put the ice-cold piece of metal to my chest and listened. She didn't have a hard time; the room had become completely silent, with the faint sounds of the arcade echoing in a manner I found to be incredibly creepy.

Jennifer took the stethoscope away and scribbled a couple of notes onto her clipboard before turning to face Mark. "Make sure the collar is disabled. His heart's going a mile-a-minute."

Mark nodded. He motioned for my parents to come over, and they reluctantly did. They conversed in whispers, and I could only hear bits and pieces that made no sense to me.

"Jennifer," I whispered. Her attention turned away from the clipboard and towards me.

"Yes?"

I tried to say something, but all that came out was a squeak. I swallowed and tried again. "I'm scared."

Jennifer smiled, but it wasn't a smile. I could see the pity in her eyes and the remorse on her face. She put the clipboard down and held my paw, which was now trembling. "It'll be okay, Nick. It's not going to hurt. I promise you."

Jennifer was lying through her teeth. I may have only been nine, but I could see it. But, I did the one thing she knew I would do:

I trusted her.

I fucking trusted her.

"Okay," I said, trying to smile.

Jennifer continued to hold my paw. "You know what's happening, right?"

"Yeah, my mom and dad told me. I'm getting my tame-collar today."

That look of remorse glinted in her eyes again. "Yes, you are. And you are so brave for doing this. Say it with me: I am brave."

I said it, but I didn't believe it.

Jennifer turned around towards Mark. He and my parents had stopped their conversation, and the elk was now holding a black box emblazoned with the same seal sewn onto their uniforms. My parents weren't crying anymore, but the look on Dad's face as he stared at Mark sent shivers down my spine:

It was a look of complete and utter hatred; a look that perfectly captured the world I would soon enter.

Mark set the box on the table and opened it up. He hid the collar from me, but I knew it was there. I gulped and felt Jennifer tighten her grip around my paw.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wilde, do you-" Jennifer began, but she never got a chance to finish her question. The moment she saw the look on Dad's face, her expression turned to stone.

"Just do it," Dad growled. His collar gave out a muted beep, but if he felt the shock, he masked it well.

The time for joking, bantering, and failed attempts to conceal what was happening was over.

Jennifer looked up at Mark and nodded. The elk returned the gesture and passed the collar to her.

The collar didn't look scary. In fact, it looked kinda dumb. A single band of high-quality, black plastic with a green-glowing device built into it; identical to the ones around my parents' necks.

"See? Nothing scary," Jennifer said, putting the collar into my paw. It was surprisingly light, much to the curiosity of my younger self.

"Do I have to wear it?" I asked.

"All predators do," Jennifer said, taking the collar out of my paws. "Dr. Tusk went over it with you, remember?"

Dr. Tusk was my family's physician. A rather large pig, he was one of the few doctors that would see my parents and me.

One week before my ninth birthday, my parents took me to see Tusk. The pig was all smiles when he saw me, spouting off the same lines as Jennifer: "What a handsome fox; You are so brave; Are you having fun?"

Once the formalities ended, Tusk got to the point: in accordance with Zootopia law, I would receive my tame-collar next week. From there, Tusk went over the same things I'd heard on the news and from school:

Because of my "potentially violent tendencies as a predator," I would need to wear a tame-collar. The collar would deliver a "harmless" shock in the event of a "savage moment" to prevent me from hurting anyone.

As a soon-to-be nine-year-old, the only "potentially violent tendencies" I had were my snarky comments and occasional outburst over not getting dessert. You know, normal fucking things for an eight-year-old.

What Tusk actually meant was this: because I happened to be a predator, I needed to wear a shocker because society decided that predators were scary.

Yes, society actually considered a young fox a threat; a fox whose biggest worry in life was missing his Saturday morning cartoons.

And what a "savage moment" really meant anytime was that anytime my heart-rate got above a certain number, a very much harmful shock would punish me for being born a fox; I would be punished for getting excited over a video game; I would be punished for liking chicken over carrots, even though I can and do eat the same foods prey animals do.

What Tusk really meant was simple: the moment I put on the collar, I wouldn't be a kit anymore. I would become a predator. I would forever be restricted, restrained, and collared.

However, I didn't know that as a kit. As a kit, I just nodded my head and went along with it. I understood what was going to happen to me, but I didn't understand what it really meant.

After Jennifer went over the same things Tusk did, she grabbed the collar and put it around my neck. I watched my parents look away, but the wail that came from Mom was all I needed to here.

With a simple, precise click, the collar and I became one-and-the-same. I was now marked, tagged, collared. It was the defining moment of my life.

"See? That's it; you're done," Jennifer said, pulling away. "I told you it wouldn't hurt."

The collar wasn't tight around my neck, but the plastic wasn't as light as I thought it was.

While I fiddled with it, Jennifer and Mark wrote various things into their respective papers. She looked up from her papers and smiled. "You can go back to your parents now. It's all done."

I ran back to my parents.

They greeted me with a series of hugs, kisses, and reassurances that "everything would be alright."

I knew damn it wouldn't be.

It felt like an eternity passed before they let go of me, but when they did, they quickly motioned for me to leave the room. I turned around to look at Mark and Jennifer.

The pair had packed up their equipment and were staring at us. I saw that same look of pity in their eyes, and Mark opened his mouth to speak.

"Do you have-"

Mom whirled around and pointed a single finger at the door. I imagine the same look of hatred that adorned Dad's face was on hers. "Get out."

The room, which had been unusually warm, become icy-cold. Mark and Jennifer shuffled around, glancing at each other but refusing to even glance towards my parents.

"It's the law, Mrs. Wilde," Jennifer said, looking at the floor.

"Get. Out."

They ran out.

When we rejoined the party, my parents refused to leave my side. Even when I was surrounded by my friends, who all wanted to see, touch, and fiddle with my collar, they refused to leave me.

Perhaps they thought I was mad at them; I wasn't.

But, that didn't matter. The guilt never left them. I know it ate at them for the rest of their lives.

The car ride back to our apartment was silent. My usually joking Dad didn't say anything besides from, "it'll be okay."

When we stepped inside our home, I was exhausted, but my parents weren't. Guilt fuels you in ways coffee and caffeine can only dream. I wanted to fall asleep, but Mom insisted on reading me a story.

That was unusual.

The story she chose was new. Instead of picking off with the adventures of Captain Wilde, this story was about a fox who lived in a place where he didn't need to wear a shocker; a place nobody feared him, and a place where he could be whatever he wanted to be.

The story ended the same time I stopped being a kit and became a predator.

Right when Mom had gotten to the part about the fox running free, I heard the collar beep. What I felt next has and never will leave me:

A shock, not enough to be considered painful but enough to numb my senses, sparked out throughout my body. I sat straight up in bed and rubbed the collar, confused and scared. My eyes wandered toward Mom, and whatever she saw in them made her broken heart shatter.

Mom leaned in and hugged me. I hugged her back, my young self not knowing what to say or where to begin. I heard Mom start crying, and soon, I started crying too.

After a few minutes, she released me. The pained look in her eyes is an expression I cannot forget; It is forever burned into my mind.

"I love you so much," Mom said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

I didn't say anything back; I didn't know what to say.

"Dad will come in to tuck you in, okay?" she said through tears.

Mom shut my door, and I heard her walk into the living room. I heard her and Dad burst into tears, a sort of wailing, nightmare sound that haunts you as long as you remember it.

I never forgot it.

I didn't sleep a wink that night; I'm pretty sure neither did my parents.

After that night, there were no more stories. There were no more adventures of Captain Wilde, astronaut Wilde, or anyone else.

I wish I could tell you that I didn't let the collar get to me. I wish I could tell you that I didn't let the collar become what its creators intended it to do: a constant reminder of what you are, and how society views you.

But, I let it. And if you were in my place, the same thing would've happened to you.

In the years following my Taming Day, it slowly dawned on me that I would never have a story like the ones Mom used to tell me; a story with a happy ending full of adventures and freedom.

I would never be the fox running free, running unrestricted, unrestrained, and uncollared.

Life, society, and the world were determined to prevent that from happening.

However, it seems those forces didn't try hard enough.

Well, that's not exactly accurate.

Those forces didn't plan on something greater than them giving me an opportunity I didn't deserve.

Then again, everyone deserves a happy ending.

Right?