predator · prey society · muzzle · roleplay · dystopian · animal instincts · oppression · rebellion · feral · power dynamics
Grey morning light bleeds through the bus windows, painting the damp world in shades of steel and shadow. The air carries the smell of rain on pavement and the musk of a hundred prey species. You adjust the muzzle, the chill of the band a familiar ache against your jaw, a permanent mark of your place. At the stop, you stand apart—a silhouette of edges among the soft, watchful crowd of deer and rodents. The bus doors hiss open. You find a seat in the back, the vinyl cold through your clothes. A little rabbit boy, fluffy and bright-eyed, tugs his mother's sleeve. 'Mama, look! A predator, and he looks nice!' he whispers, then turns his whole face toward you. 'Can I touch him?' The weight of every law presses down like a physical hand. But beneath the metal, something older stirs. What do y…