York was seven years old the day his mind finally awakened.
That morning, with his brain having developed just enough to hold a coherent thought, he stopped his usual routine of chasing butterflies with drool dripping from his jaw.
Instead, he planted himself on a haystack, folded his little paws, and stared into the middle distance like a miniature philosopher contemplating the mysteries of existence.
And then, it hit him.
Everything came flooding back.
In his past life, he’d been an ordinary man.
One moment, he’d been lunging forward to push a child out of the path of an oncoming truck.
The next, darkness.
Nothing.
And now, apparently, he’d been reborn.
Rebirth should have been thrilling.
A second chance at life!
Who wouldn’t be ecstatic?
But York couldn’t muster an ounce of joy.
Because he hadn’t been reborn as human.
He’d come back as a dog.
A purebred Siberian Husky.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, there were no humans in this world at all.
Every single inhabitant was an anthropomorphized animal, walking on two legs, wearing clothes, living in houses, running a fully functional society.
He’d never considered himself a furry.
But now, living in this world day after day, he was starting to notice things.
Troubling things.
Like how the neighbor’s little female dog was starting to look…
kind of cute.
No.
Absolutely not.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
It’s this world that’s broken!
“Big brother!
Come chase butterflies with me!” A soft, syrupy-sweet voice drifted over from the flower field.
York turned his head and spotted a small husky pup bouncing through the tall blooms, tongue lolling, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive.
That was his little sister, Linda.
York’s muzzle twitched.
“I’ll pass, Linda.
You go have fun.” With his past-life memories fully intact, he simply couldn’t bring himself to play chase-the-butterfly like some mindless pup anymore.
__ Days passed in quiet rhythm.
Seasons turned.
And before York knew it, he’d turned twelve.
Today was a significant milestone, his and Linda’s elementary school graduation.
And heaven only knew how he’d survived six full years of this.
Sitting through class after class with little brats who still thought mud was a suitable snack had tested his patience to its absolute limit.
“Hurry up, York!
Linda!
You’re going to be late!” Their mother’s voice rang up from the ground floor, sharp with urgency.
“I know, Mom!
I’m trying!
I just… I can’t get this button!” Linda’s voice drifted through the wall from the room next door, laced with familiar frustration.
York sighed.
His little sister had always been hopelessly clumsy, a trait that hadn’t improved with age.
He straightened the tiny tie at his own collar and called out, “Need a hand?” “No, it’s okay, brother!” Linda’s voice wavered but carried a note of stubborn determination.
“I want to try doing it myself this time.
For real!” “Alright.
But hurry.” York stepped out into the hallway.
He paused outside Linda’s door, ears pricked.
Silence.
Then… a frustrated huff.
Then the unmistakable sound of fabric rustling and a small paw slapping a button in defeat.
York counted to three.
“Brother?” Linda’s voice came through, small and sheepish.
“Are you still there?” “I’m here.
What’s up?” York played innocent.
“Could you…
maybe come in and help me with this button?” She paused.
“Please?
This is the last time, I swear!
I mean it this time!” York’s lips twitched into a helpless smile.
He pushed open the door, walked over, and with practiced ease, fastened the stubborn clasp on the back of Linda’s dress.
“There.
All done.” He clapped his paws together, stepped back, and reached out to ruffle the soft fur on top of her head.
“Last time.
I’m holding you to that.” “Mmm!” Linda let out a pleased hum from the back of her throat, eyes half-lidding as she leaned into her brother’s touch like a cat seeking affection.
Whether she’d actually absorbed a single word of his warning, well, that remained to be seen.
They bounded downstairs together, scarfed down a quick breakfast, and set off for the school.
… The graduation ceremony was a whirlwind of noise and color.
They posed for class photos, exchanged awkward well-wishes with classmates they’d probably never see again, and then shuffled into the auditorium for the student performances.
The Rabbit family had apparently turned out in full force, which made the already cramped theater feel like a sardine can.
One particularly tiny bunny managed to wriggle its way to York’s feet, blinking up at him with enormous eyes.
York, taking pity on the little thing, scooped him up and settled him on his lap.
The lights dimmed.
The audience quieted.
“Fear.
Betrayal.
And blood.” A young voice echoed from the stage.
“It was a world where the strong devoured the weak…” The show starred a small rabbit named Judy and a young tiger cub.
Their acting was rough around the edges, wooden lines, clumsy blocking, but the message they were trying to convey hit York right in the chest.
It matched everything he’d observed about this world.
The fragile peace between predator and prey, the tensions simmering beneath the surface, the way everything could shatter in an instant.
“Someday, I’m going to be a rabbit police officer!” Judy struck a pose as she completed her costume change, and the audience erupted in applause and cheers.
But among the praise, there were sneers.
“Ha!
Hahahahaha!” A fox in the front row threw his head back and laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.
He elbowed his companion aggressively, pointing at the stage like he’d just heard the punchline of the century.
“A rabbit cop?
That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” York watched the loudmouthed fox with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
This guy has absolutely zero self-preservation instincts.
Doesn’t he see the entire Rabbit family sitting right here?
Is he trying to get mobbed?
But to York’s surprise, Judy didn’t cower.
“Only to the small-minded!” Judy planted her tiny police cap firmly on her head, squared her small shoulders, and fixed her gaze directly on the fox in the front row.
“I’m talking to you, Gideon.” Every head in the theater swiveled to follow her stare.
Gideon, suddenly the center of attention, shrunk so fast he practically folded into himself.
His ears flattened.
His tail tucked.
He opened his mouth, closed it, and wisely decided to keep it shut.
Judy held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned back to the audience.
The backdrop behind her unfurled with a dramatic swoosh, revealing a painted canvas of a sprawling, glittering metropolis.
“But 211 miles from here, there’s a great city, Zootopia!” Judy’s voice swelled with conviction.
“A place where everyone has infinite possibilities!” Another wave of thunderous applause swept through the theater.
The little bunny on York’s lap clapped so hard his tiny paws blurred.
… The performance ended, and the crowd began to disperse.
York was about to grab Linda and head home when his sharp ears caught something, a commotion from outside.
Voices raised in anger.
A familiar voice, and another familiar voice.
He frowned.
“Linda, wait here.
Don’t move.
I’ll be right back.” He slipped out of the theater and followed the sound, weaving along the side of a building until the scene came into view.
A rabbit and a fox stood facing each other in the field beside the school.
York recognized them both instantly, Judy, the star of the show, and Gideon, the fox who’d mocked her.
Behind a nearby tree, three smaller herbivores were huddled together, trembling like leaves in a storm.
York took in the size difference between the two.
Judy barely reached Gideon’s chest.
And yet, she stood her ground without an ounce of fear, her tiny paws planted, her gaze unwavering.
Respect.
That rabbit really was cop material.
If it were him facing someone that much larger?
His first instinct would be to turn tail and run.
No shame in survival.
Gideon bared his fangs, stepping closer with each word.
“We predators used to eat prey like you!
That killer instinct?
It’s still in our Dana!” The weasel behind him piped up helpfully, “Uh…
I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced DNA.” Flustered, Gideon shot a hand back and shoved the weasel without looking.
“I know that, Travis.
I don’t need you to correct me!”