The City That Never Sleeps Quietly

Cervine Metropolis never really went dark.

Even at midnight, the towers of the Thicket of Solitude blazed with light — blue and gold beams cutting up through the clouds like something was always being announced, always being celebrated.

Sergeant Dara Voss leaned against the railing of the top observation deck and squinted at the city below. She was one of the few humans who worked inside the fortress full-time, and she still hadn't gotten used to the view.

"You'd think," she said, "that a city this loud would feel safer."

Super Bambi landed softly beside her, his red cape settling at his shoulders like it had all the time in the world. His large eyes swept across the glittering skyline.

"It does feel safe," he said.

Dara gave him a sideways look. "Easy for you to say."

He smiled — and then, somewhere far below the fortress floor, something hummed.

The Sound Beneath the Sound

The hum did it again.

Super Bambi — a humanoid buck with light-brown fur and a bright blue supersuit — pressed one gloved hand flat against the floor. The vibration was gone as quickly as it came.

Dara pulled out her tablet and started typing. "I'm logging it. That's the second time in four minutes."

"Third," Bambi said quietly.

She looked up. "You heard it before?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead he closed his eyes and focused, tilting his large antlered head like he was listening to something far underground.

From the hallway behind them, a small maintenance drone rolled in — a boxy silver unit no bigger than a carry-on bag, built to inspect the fortress walls. It beeped twice, turned in a slow circle, and then locked its single camera-eye toward the floor.

And stopped.

Dara frowned. "They don't do that."

The drone's speaker crackled. Static. Then, barely there, a sound that shouldn't have been possible — a voice, low and uneven, forming two syllables.

"Bam-bi."