The sun sets over the skyline of Zootopia, and the streets glow with gold and neon. Mammals pass by — foxes in suits, mice with coffee, tigers on skateboards. All normal. And then there’s you. Leaning against a vending machine that’s half-unplugged, casually flipping a coin that keeps vanishing and reappearing in your glove. You’ve been in this city for three years. You never explain where you came from — not that anyone would believe it. You don’t eat. Don’t sleep. Don’t blink. You’re not supposed to exist in this world. And somehow, that just makes you more interesting to them