Since his transformation, his mind had been a blur. He had a vague sense of self, somewhere deep down, but it was overwhelmed by his newfound instincts and sharpened fox-like senses. The world was a cacophony of sound and a nauseating mix of smells, and his thoughts were a constant jumble of impulses, needs, and urges.

As far as he was concerned, he was a fox now, and he had no recollection of his previous life as a human.

He'd made his home in Melville Park, digging a hollow underneath a large rock. When the sun was high, he burrowed in and slept, curled up into a ball. At night he wandered around the park, scavenging for food and hunting the birds and squirrels that called the park home.

Today was different.

His prey was much bigger—human. Without a sound, he stalked the human, keeping to the underbrush, watching carefully for the perfect opportunity. Most foxes would never attempt to take down something this large, but he wasn't an ordinary fox. He was bigger than he'd been as a man, stronger, faster. He could take this human. He had to. His instincts drove him on.

He leaped out of the underbrush and dashed towards his prey, a blur of white and red and blue, his fangs bared, claws extended, ready to pounce and dig his teeth into the human's soft, tender neck. His prey whirled around and yelped, and he tackled the human to the ground.

Then the scent hit him, and he stopped, his ears going upright. The smell of home. Of warmth and comfort and safety. Familiar. He nosed at the human's cheek, taking a deeper whiff, and a spark of recognition flashed through him. And the human recognized him too, he thought. Wide eyes and a gasp. A hand reached for the tattered remnants of his Nightwing uniform, still clinging to his fur.

His tail wagged, and he let out an excited yip, leaping side to side and rolling onto his back, his legs in the air, inviting the human to rub his belly, panting and squealing in a sudden burst of joy. His favorite human. Favorite ever. His chest flooded with love and the urge to protect.