In the midst of an exceedingly eventful city, there existed a character, lets name him Jerry, whose eccentricity was unmatched. His fashion sense was nothing short of antiquated, as he roamed the bustling streets dressed in royal purple Victorian-era attire, complete with a top hat and pocket watch. With his peculiar wardrobe and his penchant for quoting obscure literature, he was like a character...

Bob and Steve sat on a sturdy tree branch, their fluffy tails twitching with an air of casual indifference, their eyes darting around like detectives on a stakeout.

Bob nibbled on an acorn, his voice as smooth as honey. "Lovely weather we're having, Steve. Isn't it?"

Steve scratched his head, feigning interest in a nearby acorn stash. "Oh, absolutely, Bob. Can't complain. Sunshine and all that."...

Zed wipes her mouth. Wet rubber.

Looking down, squinting her eyes she sees black dancing across her fingers.

She smells them. Rubber scented.

Wiping her saliva stained cheek with her left hand, she feels relief from the itch that work her up.

Blinking a few times, Zed yawns and her eyes glimpse the black circular tube on the floor beside the couch.

‘That’s why my hand is black.’

Surveying the...