Darkness covers the lightly populated, vastly spread-out city of Serenityville. The lights of the city’s hub are tiny in the distance, and a lone, sleek black car with fat headlights lighting its way quietly travels along a private road. There are no trees or buildings for the mile leading up to a walled off villa on a hill. It is all grassland.

  The vehicle slows to a crawl and then stops just a few feet away from the gate. It is twelve feet of ornate wrought iron crowned with gilded spikes. Security cameras swivel to track the vehicle, and two guards step forward from the gatehouse, their hands resting on holstered weapons.

  The driver door window lowers, and the guard leans forward while his partner checks under the vehicle with a mirror on a stick and then sweeps the vehicle with an EMF detector for signs of unusual electronics. Both inspections come up empty.

  “He’s clean,” says the partner.

  “She’s waiting for you,” says the first guard.

  The window rolls up, the gate opens with a series of squeaks and groans, and the lone vehicle drives through. The car winds through immaculately maintained grounds. Old oak trees stand in rows, their gnarled branches casting long shadows across manicured lawns. Marble statues of figures trapped in eternal combat or ecstasy gleam in rings of small spotlights, and a round mausoleum with a skeletal angel overlooks the villa on an artificial hill. Red lights illuminate the structure and statue.

  The villa itself is a Mediterranean-style mansion with warm terracotta walls and a red-tiled roof. Balconies are on the second floor, their wrought-iron railings matching the design of the main gate. Light spills from tall windows, creating pools of gold on the dark lawn.

  A melody drifts from hidden speakers embedded in decorative rocks along the driveway. Sweeping strings and a driving beat create a melancholic yet urgent atmosphere. The music follows the car as it approaches, growing neither louder nor softer but remaining persistently in the background, like a film score accompanying the driver’s arrival.

  The car parks at the circular drive before the main entrance, its tires crunching on gravel imported from some distant quarry. A uniformed chaperone approaches as the driver exits the vehicle. The driver is a lean jackal with dark gray fur, light gray hair, and dark blue eyes. He is dressed in a loose-fitting dark suit with a red tie, and a pair of khopesh blades are sheathed on his hips.

  "Mama Bear is expecting you, sir," says the chaperone with a slight bow.

  The driver quietly hands over his keys and approaches the grand entrance. The doors open from the inside, and the driver steps through, passing two guards who close and lock the doors after he is a few paces in.

  The music continues to play from speakers hidden within the walls. The music bounces off the empty, decorative walls and tiles, and his polished shoes click against marble floors, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the entrance hall. He follows the familiar path to Mama Bear's office. The jackal’s stride is calm, and his expression is settled on a stoic look.

  The music swells slightly as the jackal approaches a guarded office door, the bittersweet symphony building toward a crescendo that is stuck in a musical limbo. The music grows louder as the guard opens the office door, revealing Mama Bear’s office. Unlike the rest of the villa's Mediterranean opulence, Mama Bear's office resembles a child's hobby room. Popsicle structures line some shelves, dioramas of various scenarios from wild west to space exploration populate others, and collector toys still in their boxes are locked in cases. And in the corner, on a raised platform is a shrine of melted candles and numerous pictures of bears, old and young, all smiling.

  A massive desk dominates the center, its surface cluttered with financial reports, weapons catalogs, and craft supplies. Behind it sits Mama Bear herself, hunched in her wheelchair, her frail brown form covered by a simple white dress, and her dark eyes fixated on the popsicle structure taking shape with careful placements of glued popsicles from her steady hands.

  The jackal steps inside, and the guard closes the door, creating a metallic thud that sounds more like a prison door shutting than an office door. The music emanates from a vintage record player in the corner, the needle traveling across vinyl, and the device propped next to an intercom system. The air smells of glue, wood polish, and old blood and rot.

  The driver eyes track the stench of death, finding a male rabbit sprawled across the oriental rug near the window, which is reinforced by metal bars and coated with dried blood. The body lies in a congealed pool of dried blood, its business suit torn and stained. Dead for days, judging by the stiffness and the bluish tint to the exposed fur. A Bliss Town mayoral pin glints on the lapel.

  Mama Bear does not look away from her popsicle building. Her scrawny fingers, incongruously delicate, apply glue to another popsicle stick and places it on the structure. It is a house with perfect symmetry, and near it is a family of miniature figurines waiting to move in.

  “Thaddeus, I’m glad you’re here. What do you think of my house?” asks Mama Bear.

  The jackal, Thaddeus Yap, approaches the desk and studies the model. A quick look inside and he sees Mama Bear even made an interior with steps, separate floors, a fireplace, and glued in furniture made from cut up popsicle sticks.

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  “It’s nice, ma’am. Better than I could do,” says Thaddeus.

  “With that attitude, it’ll stay that way.” Mama Bear carefully places another stick on the roof. "Turn off the music, please. I've heard enough for today."

  Thaddeus lifts the needle off the record player, thus ending the symphony, and shuts off the intercom. The sudden silence adds heavy weight to the room, and his steps are slightly slower when he returns to Mama Bear’s desk.

  "Tell me what happened in Bliss Town," says Mama Bear, placing tiny dollops of glue on another popsicle.

  Thaddeus clamps his hands in front of him. "The Bliss Town operation has been compromised. The safe house was raided by Derrick Marlow and his team, including the Hobo Warrior Bunny and Bazooka Bunny."

  Mama Bear applies the new popsicle stick to her house. "Casualties?"

  "Total loss of personnel at the site, including Ramsey Prosper. The factory is destroyed. Production capabilities in Bliss County are gone, which means we now have a product black hole. We’ll have to supply the classic narcotics until we figure out how to make Reel Sight."

  Mama Bear's paws pause momentarily before continuing their work. "Mortimer and Claribel couldn’t handle a hobo and a cosplayer?"

  “They failed in every sense of the word,” says Thaddeus. “One of our spies said they were at the Bliss County General Hospital… having milkshakes with the Hobo Warrior Bunny and Bazooka Bunny.”

  Mama Bear is in the middle of adding glue to a popsicle stick when Thaddeus drops that news. Her response? A slightly raised brow and her eyes lifted while her head remains bowed, giving her wrinkled eyes a dark shadow.

  “I thought Mortimer didn’t like milkshakes,” said Mama Bear.

  Thaddeus shifts his feet. “With all due respect, I don’t think Mortimer’s taste in sweets is relevant. We have a major problem in Bliss Town.”

  Mama Bear sets the popsicle on the roof of her model. "You’re right. We do. Did we at least get rid of Rolland and his playmates?"

  Thaddeus swallows. "Our sources in the Bliss Town Police Department lost track of them after initial processing. They're likely in federal custody by now."

  Mama Bear selects a red popsicle stick, examining it critically before grabbing a pair of clippers and snapping it into pieces.

  "So they talked, and the people I pay to stop the talkers from talking didn’t do their jobs," says Mama Bear.

  “Yes ma’am,” says Thaddeus.

  “Kill them. And if they have immediate families, add an extra thousand for each one.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes.” Mama Bear finishes snapping the red popsicle sticks into pieces and works on gluing them together, her sunken eyes never blinking.

  “The financial ramifications are just beginning for the loss of Reel Sight production, and the ones who gave away that information were sitting in jail cells, waiting to be picked off. It was an easy task,” says Mama Bear.

  She finishes gluing the pieces together, making a chimney.

  "On top of that, I have spent a lot of time and money positioning influence within Bliss County's political structure. Bliss Town in particular has direct access to an interstate and a highway and is connected to two major cities. I made the mayor a millionaire and rigged elections for him to protect my assets, and yet he repays me with absolute failure," says Mama Bear.

  Thaddeus remains silent, and Mama Bear sets the chimney on the house and looks at Thaddeus as her fingers keep a firm press. Despite her frail body being stuck in a wheelchair, there is nothing weak in that gaze.

  "Do you know what my mistake was, Thaddeus?" asks Mama Bear.

  "I wouldn't know," says Thaddeus.

  "That is why you’ll never be a leader. You don’t know a mistake when you see it. Or you’re too cowardly to call it out. For me, I know what I did wrong. I underestimated the Hobo Warrior Bunny, Bazooka Bunny, and Derrick. I should have sent you to kill them instead of Mortimer and Claribel,” says Mama Bear.

  Mama Bear releases the chimney and leans back in her wheelchair, her dark eyes studying the completed model house. The tiny structure sits perfectly and pristine on her desk.

  "I treated the Hobo Warrior Bunny, Bazooka Bunny, and Derrick like pests when I should have treated them like threats," says Mama Bear.

  "What are your orders?" asks Thaddeus.

  Mama Bear grabs one of the miniature figurines, dabs glue on its stand and sets it in front of the popsicle house.

  "Kill them all. But not yet,” says Mama Bear. "First, I want to know everything about them. Their families, their friends, their favorite coffee shops. I want to know everything about them, so when we move, we make them suffer."

  “And the mayor? He’s become a major liability,” says Thaddeus.

  “He has. Another waste of money,” says Mama Bear as she carefully glues the plastic figures. She nods to the corpse in the corner. “See that body, right there?”

  Thaddeus nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s the mayor’s assistant. He came to deliver a warning that the Federal Marshals were looking into Bliss County. I invited him in for tea."

  Thaddeus glances at the corpse. "Would you like me to arrange disposal?"

  "No need. He's going back to the mayor’s house. In pieces. One delivered each day for the next week."

  Mama Bear finishes gluing another figurine to the house, and then leans forward, folding her dirty hands on the desk and focusing on Thaddeus.

  "Bring Bobbi and Fufu with you. I’ll send more discrete people to engage in scouting before you make your moves. Only move in when all the information is collected. They have declared war on me, so I’ll give them a war, and I intend to win this."

  Thaddeus nods. "Yes, ma’am. It will be done."

  “Another thing. Don’t kill Claribel. Kill Mortimer, but when you find Claribel, sell her off to the highest bidder. You can pocket the money. Snakes are hard to come by these days, so you’ll make good money. And I need to speak with the Taxus family at some point to discuss our treaty.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Mama Bear holds up her finger. “And another thing.”

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “Grab a juice box and a bag of leftovers on your way out. They’re in the fridge with your name on it.”

  Thaddeus hesitates. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Have a good night, Thaddeus.”

  “You as well, Mama Bear.”

  And with that, Thaddeus walks towards the door, his leather soles clicking against the office floor. The smell of death and craft supplies follows him as he crosses the room.

  The guard opens the door for him, and Thaddeus steps into the hallway and goes straight to the kitchen. In there, he goes to the refrigerator and finds a paper bag with his name scrawled on it and a grape juice box beside it. Thaddeus takes the meal and exits the kitchen. He’s got a long task ahead of him, and he cannot waste any time. The vigilantes think they have won, but they have no idea what is coming.

  They don’t know that the worst is yet to come.