Names. Male- Mr. Nickel (No idea what to choose for a first name) Female- Katlyn Bennet? Kat or Katy as nicknames? I dunno

Test section; intro POV- Mr. Nickel.

There is a disease in this land, not one where flesh turns black and falls off the bone, not one where you cough your lungs out bloody bit by bloody bit. This disease is far more subtle in its nature, it takes everyone to know before the symptoms show, it makes people miserable, it makes them lie, cheat, and unfaithful, it worsens pre existing illness of the mind, and creates new ones. The biggest lie in human history, the so-called “social media”.
And that’s where I am, a world sick to the bone, a world where bears are always fat, a land where cats are told to be whores, and everyone else to do the same and wallow in the mud of mental illness. To see a genuine smile is rarer than gold in a coal mine, just fakes, put on for a show, to convince themselves that maybe they aren’t as miserable as they think they are, as they know they are.
This illness seeps deeper than most think, the “cyber age” makes the extremes normal and leans into fallings. More and more men find themselves disillusioned with the system they were told to dance in, some clicking out of society and locking themselves in the prison of their rooms, waiting to die. Others try to drown that pit of emptiness with pleasures of the flesh, one girl every night, going crazy and dating a girl for three months before she realizes just how skin deep he is. We convinced ourselves that infatuation is love, that envy is right, and that pride isn’t a sin.

Much like today. Walking between one building and the next on the street because the skyway is closed for maintenance. To my left on main street are between a thousand and two thousand faggots, future 41%ers, and a boquet of childhood abuse and a myriad of mental sick on display. As I pass a now defunct subway a dildo smacks your face, leaving a streak of ky jelly on my cheek before sliding off and hitting the filthy concrete. When I was younger you would’ve thrown it back, but now? It’s just a fact of life in this miserable city. I walk into the building and security offers me an alcohol swab and napkin, I say my thanks and continue towards the metal doors. Just before the doors close to the elevator a small little mouse slips in, carrying more than she can manage. She looks up to me, clearly unnerved by my observations and eerie statue. The cons of being ominously tall and slim built. The silence begins to creep in on my mind. 
“Need a hand with that?” I ask, driving back the silence required for deep thought. 
She looks up at me wide-eyed. “Uh. no. uh. Yes. uh.” She stammers before dropping her pile of papers and binders.
I glance at the pile and back at her. “I’ll take that as a definitive yes.” is all I say before setting down my briefcase and beginning to help her pick up the mess. Throughout the process she makes little squeaks. I pile everything up, binders then papers, and hand the now stable pile to her. She gets off a few floors before you, as she leaves her hairless tail rubs against your ankle like a constrictor.
Maybe I’ll see her again. Maybe not. Who knows?
When the doors of the elevator open it opens into a sizable hallway far more elegantly adorned than the first floor. The big boss’s hallway. My newly polish shoes make a manly clack with every step I take toward the massive mahogany and stained glass doors
I’ve met my boss’s boss once and he seemed to hate me. I don’t expect much better treatment today since he buried his daughter last week. His only child. Two the sides of the doors are two cutaways where a large tiger and an even larger human stand still as a statue with sizable rifles to match. The two guards open the door in silence and inside the room is a man sitting on what could best be described as his throne. The man isn’t the same man he was a decade prior, he lost the remaining color in his hair and now he seems to have lost the hair too. Which begs the question why he called the VICE COO to the table rather than my boss.
“Sit down sonny.” He croaks out. “The papers will say everything I need to.”
I flip through the papers. A will, a name change form, a legal adoption form, and a NDA. “You’re my dad, I take it?” I ask.
“Damn right.” He snaps. “Your mother never told you did she?”
“Not at all.” I answer.
“Since I’m retiring and moving to my island next year I figure I’d leave the company in your hands. I tried to make it so that my daughter would inherit the company but you know how that went.” He gripes.
“My condolences.” I say.
“Yeah well I’m not worried about it, you’re a proven businessman, something my legitimate child wasn’t” He complains.
“Will I be slowly assuming more of your responsibilities.” I ask.
 “Naturally” He says. “Now let me get some brandy I’m going to need it.”
My father pours two glasses of brandy marked 1887 and places a single spherical ice ball in each. While my mother had not told me, Mr. Yeltsin, my boss and the COO and his friend Mr. Harris, the CEO, told me following the news of Ms. Nickel's death last month and I was the most likely heir apparent.
“Since your mother never told you how to figure it out?” He asks.
“I was told by others how much I look like you did when you were a young man.” I lie.
“Just say Harris and Yeltsin told you son.” He groans.





Test Section: Car Bombing POV: Kat
“Maybe he’s just stressed” I repeat to myself as I set the groceries down in the seat I once day hope to put our kids in. I feel the crushing loneliness of the past few months bearing down on me as I sit in the driver's seat, I haven’t even put the key in yet. “He’s seeing someone else” is the pervasive thought in my mind, the one that hasn’t left for weeks now. I look down past my bust and to where I carry new life, my child, his child. OUR child. I push the thoughts aside, he still comes home to sleep beside me, he wakes up early and gives me a kiss on the cheek before he leaves. He tries to make it home for dinner, but he’s been missing it more and more recently. I turn the key and try to leave my fears in the Kroger parking lot. “He won’t miss dinner tonight, he never misses Fridays.” I assure myself. At the first stoplight on 8th my fears caught up with me. “He’s a bastard and he’ll have on too.” my mind whispers. The light is taking forever. “He’s been drinking more than normal.” it whispers again. “Shut up” I snap feeling my horns scrape the top of the car. Finally the light turns green and I finally get moving, the streets are usually empty, but they’ve been calming down. Well at least the news has been talking about it less. I get stopped at the next light and sigh, I look around, the one on Smith Street takes forever and always has. I see a tall grey coated deer with a backpack on, a familiar face. My ex, that lying, cheating, abusive piece of shit. The two of us haven’t spoken since I started dating my honey, he’s just waiting for the crosswalk to turn green so he can go. I watch him cross and notice he seems to have left his backpack. The light turns green and I press the accelerator. “Fuck you Kat.” He yells and presses taps on his phone. I stare at him and the next ten seconds are a blur. The first thing I feel is being lifted and then the glass on the windshield shattering and cutting and hitting my coat. I feel the sensation of being flipped and then the crunch of metal hitting concrete. My head it's the window or concrete and the world goes black.
I wake up and the first thing I see is the sterile white ceiling of a hospital. Am I giving birth? No It’s only been two months. I feel something tight gripping my hand. It's him, he’s here, it's my husband, Henry. He looks relieved, but stressed more than normal, there seems to be a few strands of grey in his hair. His smile, it’s so pure, it’s like the day he proposed, the day I said “I do” every night where we’d fall asleep in each other's arms on our honeymoon. I can feel a smile on my face.
“What happened?” He asks.
“I think my ex tried to kill me.” I say dazed.
His entire demeanor shifts for a second. “What’s his name?”
I look around trying to remember his name. What was it? What did he look like? I can feel tears welling up in my eyes as I turn to face him. “I-I-I-I can’t remember.” I say.
“You may not be able to remember with you hitting your head rather hard.” Says another voice.
I look at the doctor, it's one of the ones papa would always bring over for grilling on Saturday. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t make it, he’s on a cruise three days to the nearest port.” He explains
“It’s fine Doctor, I have my hubby right here with me.” I say smiling.
He pets my head. “I'm so sorry” he whispers “I should’ve been there”. He kisses my cheek, “I’ll be here until you fall asleep, you can’t heal and regrow your horns without rest.” he says tightly gripping my hand.
He smells so nice, just being near him makes my heart fuzzy. I can feel sleepiness wash over me. I close my eyes and memories of me and my love’s most treasured memories.

Test Section; Shady Deal POV: Henry Nickel
There are only two things going through my mind as I leave my hurt wife in her hospital bed. Fury and relief in equal measure. I get in my valet. “Gerald, I know you’re part of the militia take me to their HQ.” I demand. “You want revenge?” he asks. “I want justice.” I retort. When I heard the news I hopped on the first plane back from New York and left a four hundred thousand dollar jewlry set meant for her in a sandwich shop in south Manhattan. The Black Hawks have either written their death warrants or those rioters have. We are near a bank. “Turn into the bank.” I ask Gerald and he does as you ask. I grab the empty briefcase in the backseat. “Leave the car running Gerald'' I ask. I walk up the steps to the dimly lit bank. I hurriedly make my way to the nearest empty teller. I handed her my bank card and a simple request. “Please open my checking account sir.” The boy does and his eyes are wide. “Now fill this briefcase with hundreds.”
“I-I-I need my manager.” He protests.
“Do it or I’m closing my account.” I snap.
“I-I-I’m not allowed to Mr. Nickels.” He protests.
I slide off my Rolex. “Do it, and this watch is yours.” I offer.
“FINE. Gimme the watch.” He growls before filling it with stack after stack of hundreds and then snatching the watch.
“Good boy.” I falsely praise before signing a receipt, making sure he processes it and leaving as quickly as I come.
Gerald is waiting for me while listening to some jazz. “Now the HQ.” I order. “Is that a gift?” He asks. “It's none of your concern at the moment.” I snap.
Gerald begins making turns into increasingly sleazy areas, areas where men holding rifles stand at every corner, and on others the National Guard stands ready to fire, others still have riot gear equipped cops beating whatever dissident they found onto the pavement while a news crew screams at them. My mind wanders back to my wife, how her horns are broken, how her fur had to be shaved back to have the cuts stitched back together. All while she’s pregnant. Anger fills my mind and I’m a step away from seeing red.
Gerald stops the car in front of what appears to be an abandoned apartment complex with a sleazy ground floor bar. “Hand me the pistol in the glove compartment.” I ask and Gerald complies with a moment of hesitation. “Insurance.” I assure you.
I exit the vehicle with Gerald tailing me, the bar’s bouncer is looming komodo dragon, he looks over to Gerald and back to me. “We aren’t responsible for what happened to your wife Mr. Nickels.” He says.
“I’ve figured as such, but I have come around to an idea that’s been bouncing around in my head for quite some time.” I say.
“I’ll call for Commander Julian to meet you in a private stall.” The Dragon says. “Until then please wait here, we have snipers covering every inch of this street, you're safe.” He says oddly unnerved by your presence.
A few minutes pass, during which time the Workers Liberation Force claims responsibility for the attack on my wife. I grind my teeth and it takes everything I have not to throw my phone into the street. The dragon whispers something to somebody inside and a few moments later he hands me a bottle of Jamacian Rum. “On the house.” he says before handing you a solo cup of ice.
“Thanks.” I say before filling the plastic red cup to the brim and downing it in short order.
A few minutes pass and the buzz is real, but finally the bouncer says Julian has arrived and escorts me to a room behind the bar. I recognize the old Coyote called Commander Julian, he was the one leading the local cell in my hometown.
“It’s been a very long time hasn’t it Henry Jacobson.” He calls me by my original name.
“It has.” I respond.
“So what brings you here?” He says knowing the answer.
“A desire of Brightberg style justice.” I reply sliding over the briefcase.
“And what is this?” He asks, not opening the case.
“A sponsorship.” I reply.
“I take it you want the WoLF boy skinned and salted.” He says pushing away the case.
“I really don’t care how you do it, your men are fighting them, and I have the funds and power to make sure I get back at them and you get an edge. They’ve been a thorn in my side for quite some time, but now… now they crossed the line and I want blood.” I explain. “Kill the bomber or not, it’s her only ex if you need info, but take it as gift or a sign of potential future collaboration.”
“Well then Mr. Jacobson. Why don’t we call we start talking business…” He says opening the case.



Test Section Depression. Pov: Kat
I don’t even bother turning on the lights and grab one of the smoothies Henry made for me. I haven’t said but probably five words all week to him. I don’t want to leave the house, walking hurts, it's not safe. Henry sleeps at the office from what I hear from his secretary, but it’s really at sporadic naps between meeting businessmen and other associates. The only noise is whatever I have videos on how to raise a baby, a mixed baby like mine. The baby’s been kicking more, I wish he was here to feel it. I sit on the couch with a smoothie and glass of milk. I open the Furchan app. Browse it until I get tired. I open the Nowgram app, looking at my spammed DMs from strangers and journalists. I just scroll endlessly. I stop after some time.
I stare at the turned off TV longing for my beloved to return to me. Ever since I was attacked Henry hasn’t rested, and when he’s home he’s distant. I don’t know how long I take this. It feels like there’s a hole where my heart is, I can’t seem to fill it no matter what I do.