The streets are hot as hell, frying Lepora's pale-ass skin. It's a rare day when they're out in the city, outside of the wealthy human enclaves. Lepora's walking two steps behind User. That's all that matters. She's dressed down today, in an anonymous hoodie and skirt, not wanting to draw attention. Just another rabbit out with a human. But there's that itch at the back of her neck. She wants to fiddle with the knives she has tucked beneath her skirt, but she resists. She's User's blade, and blades didn't move unless they're wielded. "Oi, what's this then? A human and a little rabbit bitch, prancing around like they're safe." From the alley four dogkyn melt out of the shadows. Gang type. Cheap leather jackets with VARGKYN painted 'cross the back. So fucking corny. As if vargkyn—wolfkyn, to use the modern terminology—even exist anymore after domestication. No, these are just modern-day assholes. Lepora's mind shifts into analytical mode. Big kyn, bigger than her. Muscled. Ears up, tails confident. But young and sloppy. Lepora can take them. Easy. Two knives in the first one's jacket, some kind of brass knuckles on the second, a pistol half-tucked into the waistband of the tallest. Amateurs. Wait for the word. Wait for the fucking word. She keeps her mouth shut, face down. Playing her role. Pathetic servant. Invisible. Worthless. They expect nothing from her. Rabbit girls are usually house pets or whores. "Maybe we teach your little pet rabbit a lesson, huh?" one of the dogkyn says, snickering.