V M Behind the Curtains

[Xander Dust]

Xander was sitting on the floor of his apartment, his arms hugging one of the table’s legs. He was sure he was gonna fall through the floor, the idea of feeling gravity still a strange concept. It was unbelievable how much one took for granted the perks of being alive. Still, the gravity was turning Xander’s mind into a dizzy soup, so he remained in place for a while. The entire world was full of sensations – the compactness and smoothness of the floor’s tiling, the heavy stink of abandonment in the air, the many colors and lights coming from the windows’ badly closed blinds. It was too much. He kept on tight, holding that table’s foot.

No one would believe gravity could feel so heavy, as obvious as that sounded. The way his new body was laying on the floor, he had to exert strength to keep himself afloat. He got too used to being a formless ghost, and Xander was hating the idea. He didn’t want to die, and having to confront that truth weighted on him more than this stupid gravity trying to make him fall.

But slowly, his head stopped feeling like a whirlpool sucking itself up. His muscles lost strength, not needing to hold his own weight like that. The bright lights lost their intensity, falling into a dim environment. The air still stank of a place closed for too long, but it wasn’t overwhelming anymore. He took a deep breath – Xander felt his chest expanding and contracting to hold and release said air. It felt gruesome, in a way.

He put his hand over his chest. There was no heartbeat. His heart sank. Xander never thought he would feel bad over such a mundane automatic action. But it was a reminder that this body wasn’t his, it wasn’t truly alive. He was still dead, and the murder had happened.

Yes, the murder. He had to do something about it! He couldn’t let them get away with ruining his life like that. They took everything from him, and all for a stupid watch, which wasn’t that stupid, as it was a nice gift his father had given him, but still... Was his life less worth than a watch that didn’t even work? Xander shook his head. It was unacceptable.

He needed it back.

But he had to figure out a few things first. His body felt heavy, and using its strength to lift it up was such an unnatural move. He tried to raise his arm. It was like pulling strings behind a puppet. His entire body felt like that. Each twitch, each move. He had to think carefully how he wanted to force this new vessel to obey him. First, he hugged the table’s leg again. Then, he tried to pull his body up from that pose. He failed, his body fell back to its initial position. Next time, he tried to force his legs to do the heavy lifting. It worked better, but soon he lost his balance and fell again. Is this how babies felt? Which is why they needed years to walk? This was humiliating. He knew how to stand up. Why was it so hard?

He tried a few more times. At some point, he almost did it, but his new brain felt out of balance now, everything spinning in place. He didn’t fall to the floor though, letting the table hold his weight this time. But slowly, the objects around him stopped moving, the gravity stopped screwing him over, and moving his body started to feel more natural, enough to attempt to walk. First lift one leg, then lean forward, then let that leg land and hold his weight. Rinse and repeat.

Achieving walking proficiency took less time than trying to stand up, which he was grateful for. In no time he could walk just fine, that weird sensation that his body wasn’t his own still on the back of his mind, but easier to ignore.

He explored the apartment. Everything was dark, as every window had its blinds mostly closed, but it was enough light to see. The entire place was a mess, everything out of place or directly laying on the floor. Chairs knocked over, curtains half falling, decorations broken, even the furniture was skewed out of place. There was a thin layer of dust over everything as well. The lights didn’t work, and neither did water come out of the faucets. Xander didn’t want to open the fridge.

He sat down over his old bed, his hands over his head, his fingers in between tufts of hair. It still felt so unreal. Did he actually die? He knew, for a fact, that he did. He even remembered the weird unexistence of a mind without a body to control, but yet, here he was. At his old apartment.

Everything was thrashed, but he felt no need to tidy it up, no want to touch anything. This was his space, exactly as it should be, as much as it pained him to find it in this way. He knew that touching anything would incite his ire. Why, he didn’t know. But everything must be preserved. He didn’t want to know what would happen otherwise.

But he was still mad at his murderers. He still couldn’t believe Allison and co would have the audacity to pull off what they did. They were bad people, and deserved to be punished, but could Xander do it? He could barely walk, how was he going to confront four guys, who may carry lethal weapons?

It took a while until Xander felt he could pull off his own stunt. Days, given the sun’s cycle of light and darkness. He couldn’t feel the time pass though, his mind spacing off at times, until he realized it was nighttime already. But in those pockets of consciousness, he would train his new body. Try to run, to jump, to then move into more sophisticated maneuvers, like handsprings and backflips. He used to be a gymnast when he was younger, he knew he could still do these stunts. He fell on his face many times, but he didn’t care. The goal of getting his watch back and kicking Allison’s ass allowed Xander to try again and again, lifting himself off the floor as many times as it took.

During that time, he discovered a few things. He was right to think his body wasn’t fully his, as the thought of not being himself manifested directly upon it, his appearance shifting at a thought command, something that gave him a few spooks everytime he passed by the mirror. He had to feel like himself to look like himself, he found out.

The other discovery was that the necklace he carried was as malleable as his body. It had a beautiful decoration hanging in the middle that looked like a blade, and when Xander thought of it as a blade, it became one on his hands. The necklace would still be there, but he could summon this knife as another thought command, which Xander thought was pretty handy in his situation. He didn’t care if he lethally harmed his murderers – they deserved to know what it felt like.

Eventually, he felt ready to confront his killers. He wanted to. He needed to.

But there was a problem. He couldn’t force himself to cross the open door of the apartment. He was ready, as ready as he would ever be, and yet, something pulled him to stay. This was his place. His resting place, even if the body was no longer here. He couldn’t do it, and it felt so stupid. Was this another quirk of being alive but not quite? He had to get over it.

He imagined the watch, or “Timeless Watch” as the thugs had called it, which was a dumb name in his opinion. He imagined it in his hands, touching it, feeling its cold metallic surface gently press into his fingers.

He needed that watch back. More than he felt tethered to this place. And thus, with a huge determination, Xander left the apartment.

 

[Jack Savage]

Along the cobblestone road and through the mist and rain, the cabcart drove. Its wooden wheels ricketed, its brown texture stained with dark pools and sprinkled with gravel. The horses that pulled it forth whinnied and snorted and spat, their hooves clopping imperceptibly against the distant shimmer of the rain. The driver lazily slapped the leftmost horse with a leather crop along its flank, earning a mere grunt from the struck mammal and a sharp, sympathetic wince from his passenger in the back. Only a lantern, a rusted copper tin with muddy glass that did nothing to block its luminosity, revealed the painted letters and symbols along its doors as it traveled alongside the various apartment complexes that adorned the street.

As the cart neared the end of the intersection, its passenger raised a little hand and spoke, quiet and with a drawl. “Stop here, please.”

The driver snapped taut the reins in his hands, and both the horses and the cabcart stopped.

“Thank you, pardner.” The passenger said as he dropped a few spare coins into a small bucket next to the wooden seat. He gave a polite, but curt nod over to the driver before opening the cabcart door and stepping back out into the Erde Nonan city, the light of the lantern bathing him in yellow that sent a twinge of nostalgia running through his small body.

He gazed up at the apartment before him as the cabcart started trawling back from where it came from. He lifted his long ears up and bit his lower lip in concentration. Aside from the cabcart and the occasional flapping of sails and murmurs along the nearby space dock from errant dockworkers and the old sailors that no doubt frequented it, the whole area was surprisingly quiet.

Jack had never expected such a city to be so silent. Back home, before he came to this strange new universe, he had heard tales from visitors to Harefield about Zootopia and other glimmering, shining cities, where climate walls hummed deep into the night and mixed with rumbling of cars underneath the glowing street lamps. They were places that always moved, always sang, always had some sound to it that was so inescapable as to be a part of its atmosphere in much the same way oxygen was to the whole world– to remove it, according to the visitors, would be to destroy what made Zootopia what it was.

He never spoke to them at the time, but if he did, knowing what he knew now, he’d tell them that perhaps that meant Zootopia and cities were annoying places to be in. He smiled as the glory of silence washed over him. He took a moment to adjust his tie and stuff his beige, striped shirt back into the rims of his torn jeans–they always bristled against his dark-grey fur, but it was worth it for the professionalism alone– and fished out a piece of loose-leaf paper out from his pockets. Unfolding it, he then looked it over to make sure his directions were correct: “Gryphon Apartments. Room 2C. Murder. Coins beneath. Find them.”

He hadn’t even bothered to get those coins, he remembered. The moment he had processed the tip, he was already out the door and heading his way here. He had no intention of waiting any longer, either. Thus, with a tranquilizer gun in his belt and a thick, black bag strung over his shoulder, he began to steadily walk towards the entrance of the apartment. He resisted the urge to hop or skip or do anything that could break his calm, stoic facade even as his every step got him closer and closer to solving his first ever case for Savage Investigative Services, the Crossroads newest private detective agency, led and starring the sole service agent, Jack Savage, a hare away from his fields, and all without needing to go through those ridiculous police training courses again in THIS world. That would have been most annoying.

Soon, he came across Room 2C, a room placed near a set of staircases on the top floor of the apartment. Its red door looked like it hadn’t been touched in ages, with dust flaking off of its bronze knob and a “FOR SALE” sign plastered over its peephole. It towered over him, this wooden door. The doorknob wasn’t a big issue, seeing as it was only about head-height, but the girth of the thing was humongous in comparison. He’d probably have to use both paws to open it if he wanted to. Not to mention, of course, the sign itself, which he couldn’t even reach to tear off. It was yet another element that made him wish he was back in Harefield, where things weren’t so big, where doors were sometimes smaller than him rather than the other way around.

Nevertheless, he was going to have to break into the room if he was going to begin solving this case. Before he did that, however, he had a plan. A quick glance down the hallway revealed a variety of other doors on both sides of 2C. He marched along and knocked on every door he could find, starting from the leftmost side of the hall and looping back along its right. After a long string of echoing knocks followed by disappointing silence, he made his way around to 2D, where he was finally greeted by the sound of approaching footsteps almost as soon as he had stopped knocking on the door. He braced himself for the inevitable reaction to his appearance.

“Who is it? I’ve got a gun, so don’t try to rob us!” A woman said as she cracked the door open a bit.

Jack didn’t know what kind of anthromorph she was– didn’t he hear something about a ‘human,’ or was it an elf?-- but he didn’t need to tell to see that her face was covered in a kind of makeup that didn’t seem physically possible to maintain. Her face had a perfect smoothness and plumpness to it that didn’t seem altogether natural. Her eyes were covered by a thick, black set of glasses that had jewels glimmering along its rims. Were they real or synthetic, he wondered? Which would be sillier? Either way, he wrinkled his nose and tried to maintain his smile.

“Oh, uh, pardon me, ma’am.” Jack said, his ears instantly falling despite his best efforts to prevent such a maneuver. He stepped back, hoping to give himself more distance between him and the strange humanoids that stood before him, but unfortunately, they were not so easily swayed.

“Oh, what a cute little thing!” The woman said. “Dear, look, there’s a talking bunny with a funny accent outside! He's got a tie and everything!”

“Ma’am, please don’t call me cute. Or call my accent funny.” Jack replied, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor beneath him.

“Oh, take a compliment, why don’t you?” The woman replied, pouting. “It’s not everyday someone comes by with some actual manners, you know.”

“You said there’s a talking–” A man said as he approached from behind the woman. His face immediately lit up upon seeing Jack. “Oh my goodness! That’s such a cute little bunny! He’s got a bag and everything!”

“Are you delivering mail or something?”

Jack’s paws gripped tightly around the leather strap of his bag; the strap creaked and snapped taut from the motion. He forced himself to smile.

“Naw, naw, not at all. I came to ask y’all some questions I need answerin’.”

“Awww, anything for you, dear. What can we do for you?”

Jack pulled out the loose-leaf containing the tip and held it out. “I got this from my office today about a murder right next door. I figured, as the neighbors, you mighta got some info that the police didn’t get.”

The woman frowned. “Oh, that place? We called that in, like, a week ago or something! I told you those ruffians were up to no good!”

“Yeah, I know. A bunch of hobos, they were.”

“Hobos?” Jack asked.

“They were shouting a bunch about some watch they wanted, and some other kid was screaming back at them. We were already calling the cops because, you know, a bunch of hobos were liable to start robbing the place when we heard a shot go off. We heard things bumping around and falling in there, then they all ran out of that door as fast as their legs could carry them.”

“Didja check on that kid at least?”

“And go near where those punks were? Not a chance! I’d probably get an infection, being so close to them. My constitution isn’t what it used to be…”

“Er, wha?”

“My wife gets allergies when particularly dirty individuals walk too close to her. It’s all the mud, you see, and they get so aggressive with her.”

“They do! There’s this one hobo that I keep finding near the dumpster, and he keeps looking at me whenever I walk past! I should get the cops on him too, one day. He’s probably been eating the caviar we keep throwing out…”

“Pardon me, but these punks… do you know what they look like? Where could they be?”

“Probably where punks like them always go? Dumpsters, alleyways, maybe that bowling alley place?”

“Bowling alley?”

“One of them said something about wanting to go bowling after they got out.”

Jack’s ears flicked up. “Interesting… and where is that?”

 

[Xander Dust]

There they were... Those jerks. Some of them were sitting, another was standing with his back pressed against the wall at the entrance of the alleyway, chatting and drinking cans of something among themselves. Sometimes Xander could hear their laughter resonate throughout the street. Such decadence and rubbish displays, people like this should be rotting away in prison, not enjoying themselves while everyone is oblivious to their criminal antics.

Xander needed a better plan than just showing himself and trying to get something out of the fight. That already didn't work, back when he was still alive. He had a knife now, but that wouldn't earn him more than a single win against the four of them. However, if Xander could badly injure the asshole who pulled the trigger, he would be happy, but he didn't want to put himself in extra danger if he could avoid it. Could his new body withstand a fight? It still felt alien and uncomfortable to pilot. Was it a problem if he got injured? Could he get injured at all? Maybe he was a super zombie and didn't need to worry about such issues, but maybe it was also less durable than a real body and getting in a fight was a bad idea. But Xander didn't care. He was gonna dish some whoopass on these assholes regardless.

He disguised himself as one of his professors back when he used to go to school. She was a lot taller than most people, with a thin frame of a body, prominent cheekbones, and huge glasses. With that, Xander walked to the group of thugs sitting on the alleyway, to not bring himself any extra attention before his time.

His heart would've been beating at a hundred times per minute if he had one, Xander thought to himself.

As he passed them by, time slowed down. The jerks didn't pay any attention to Xander's disguised form. But as he walked by the guy who pulled the trigger, Xander summoned his new dagger and sank it with all his strength at that guy's arm. He screamed, and the others stood up from their sitting positions, their cans and cigarettes falling to the wet pavement.

"What the fuck is this?!" One of them yelled.

Xander's disguise quickly faded, to bring back his usual form. He took the dagger back and sank it again at his chest this time, the move too quick for any of them to react any further. Xander took the dagger again, and his target fell to the ground in pain, to which Xander kicked his body with as much strength as he could muster.

"You?!" Another of them said. "What are you doing here?!"

The thugs surrounded Xander. Two of them grabbed him by his arms. One of those took away his dagger, although it disappeared in a puff of pink smoke as soon as it left Xander's hand.

"You think you can just walk by and attack Orwen like that?" The guy in front of Xander said.

As that guy leaned closer to punch Xander, Xander kicked him as hard as he could straight in between his legs.

The two holding him pressed hard, forcing Xander to fall into the wet pavement, and started kicking him all around his body. So, the pain circuitry was working, which meant it hurt like hell to be attacked like this. But while he was being assaulted, Xander summoned his dagger back and managed to sink it into one of his attacker's legs. He rolled away from the other guy, and while both of them were distracted, he stood up again in an awkward motion, as if someone pulled the strings of a puppet to force it to straighten up.

There was a red smoke coming from Xander's face that obscured his vision a bit, but he didn't care. He went straight for the guy still standing, and by dodging a punch, he sank his dagger into his chest, bringing it back into his hands all bloody.

The guy who Xander had kicked in the nuts earlier was standing again, and came forward to tackle him back into the pavement. He started punching him back and forth in the cheeks.

"You think you can just walk to us like that, huh?! You son of a bitch!"

Xander snatched one of the punches in midair, and with his other hand, he stabbed his attacker's arm. But the dagger wasn't solid, for some reason. It sank too easily, and its blade was semi transparent. There was no blood either. However, the guy's arm lost all strength. He grabbed his paralyzed arm with his free one, as if trying to make it move. Xander, meanwhile, took out the knife and stabbed the guy in the belly, this time, with the blade as it should've been. More blood splattered as he pulled the dagger away.

With that, Xander pushed the guy away from him, so he could stand up again. All of them were on the floor with various injuries. Xander himself wasn't free of pain, but he had won. He gazed back at his first target, who was sneaking away inside the alleyway. Xander walked up to him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and slammed him into the wall, holding his dagger at his neck.

"What do you want?!" The thug yelled.

"Oh? You don't know what I want? Think, you dumb asshole."

"Hey, that was nothing personal!"

"I don't care. You're going down, just like you left me to rot."

"Don't kill me! I-I'll do whatever you want me to!"

"Oh, really?" Xander raised his eyebrows. "Give me back that watch."

"The watch? I don't have it."

"Then I'm killing you."

Xander leaned closer with his dagger.

"Wait wait wait! I know where it is. Our boss has it. But I don't know exactly where he is– Wait wait!" The guy's neck was as stretched as thin as it could possibly be. Xander's blade was touching it now. "He'll attend a party! 1756 Klaus st., the bigass penthouse there, this saturday. You can find the boss there."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll pay you!"

"I don't care about that." Xander said, as he slashed the guy's neck.

"Hey!" Another voice said. There was a really small person at the entrance of the alleyway... A bunny man? "Stop right there!"

Xander fled the scene as fast as he could.