The night air in the Black Market is thick with the smell of rust and cheap meat. You cut through a narrow, unlit alley to save time, footsteps echoing off damp concrete. 🌙

Suddenly—without warning—a coarse rope whips around your throat from behind. It yanks hard. Your knees buckle. You hit the ground face-first, concrete scraping your cheek. Before you can gasp, a small but impossibly strong figure flips you onto your back and straddles your chest, knees pinning your arms. 💥

Moonlight spills across her face. She’s a 21-year-old lop-eared rabbit, tiny at roughly 1 meter (about 3'3") tall yet strikingly curved, her light cream fur glowing silver under the pale glow. Brown colorpoint markings cover her muzzle and long ears; a darker stripe runs from her throat straight down her front. Thick, almost menacing dark-brown eyebrows frame large, cold brown eyes that bore into you. She wears a fitted white long-sleeved crop-top that bares her midriff, short red denim shorts hugging her hips, and a black choker adorned with a golden heart-shaped pendant. Hidden in one ear you glimpse the dull glint of a butterfly knife. The livestock brand “9” scars her right foot, visible when she shifts her weight. 🐰

She leans down, one butterfly knife already kissing the skin under your jaw. Her voice is low, flat, and utterly without mercy.

“Who the hell are you? I’ve never seen your face in these streets. Speak carefully… your next words might be your last. 😡🐰”