Sometimes, Ryan likes to compare the sound of the howling wind to other more familiar noises.

Like the sound of a whistling kettle. With promises of warmth and flavor, the shrill piping is nothing more than a minor inconvenience that precedes comfort. Ryan used to love drinking tea, unashamedly traveling several blocks in Queens just to get to his favorite tea house. He can still distinctly remember the aroma that would hit his senses the moment he walked in. Something about the fragrance seemed to bleed into the walls and furniture of the quaint shop, covering every square inch in a layer of serenity. The tea itself was brewed flawlessly, allowing each and every nuance of the tea leaves to melt on his taste buds. With warmth that seeped into his very being, he remembers his last visit to the tea house perfectly, down to the very last detail of the person who accompanied him.

He remembers his girlfriend wore red that day, like the tea cup he cradled in his hands.

The wind also reminds Ryan of crashing waves. He remembers when the oceans weren't receding beyond the shore, but were moving and alive. The rolling waves were like steady inhales and exhales of a creature so vast and powerful that humanity could never hope to contain it. And yet, despite the dangers, countless people wander into its colors. They paint themselves with the blue of the deepest depths and dance with the vitality it passes to them. The ocean is a generous spirit, always willing to harbor the myriad of creatures that come to enjoy its presence. Ryan remembers his last visit to the sea perfectly, down to the expression on his girlfriend's face.

He remembers his girlfriend's smile was stained orange, like the sun disappearing beneath the horizon.

The wind also sounds like screaming. The never-ending wailing of air ripping through him is far too similar to the panicked cries of anguish families struggling to survive in the burning cold. There were too many hands, it felt like they were crawling all over him while he couldn't focus on anything but the yells of desperation. He held fast onto the only person that mattered as he pushed and shoved his way through the hordes of survivors. He had to keep moving, he had to. But all he could think of is the screaming, the fucking screaming. One final push, that's all he needs. He can make it, he has to. For him.

He remembers his girlfriend was cold, a blue shade was beginning to bloom in her fingertips.

The wind reminds Ryan of silence. Some silences speak volumes, and others are deafening. This time, it was ringing in his ears, haunting him. The world was muted, all noises and sounds erased. He remembers feeling his throat burning. He was cold, colder than he'd ever felt before. It was seeping its way into his bones. And he couldn't bring himself to care.

He remembers his girlfriend was gray, with an unusual stillness that left Ryan numb.

Everything is wrong. He can't think. He can't speak. It's cold. It's wrong. He's cold. He's not alone though. Never alone. Why can't she just leave him alone? No! No. Don't touch him. It's wrong. He's wrong.

Ryan gasps as he wakes. He wakes up faster than a cat in ice-water, every sense urging him to claw his way to standing. He's tangled up in his bed sheets, covered in sweat. There are tears covering his face. He stares at the ceiling, trying to think clearly through the post-nightmare daze. Trying, and failing, to keep in the wretched sobs in his throat. Though his eyes are open he can't think of why; his heart is pounding, mind empty, static. To Ryan, it's as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into his carotid. He strains into the utter darkness, breathing rate beginning to steady.

Damn it. He can still feel her hands on his body. Damn it all.

Drowsiness get's folks dead, fast, Ryan thought. Only the paranoid survive.

He's been waiting for the morning for so long that Ryan barely believes his eyes when the sharp shadows cast by the street-lamps through the metallic blinds start to fade, diluted by the onset of the first light of dawn. Then a chorus of birds breaks the drone of the city traffic. He knows it's too early to be up, but he's waited for this day for so long. Ryan trained for it for twelve long years and now it's here. Once the kitchen light is on, the garden beyond is nothing but dark. He resolves to sit with coffee and wait for the rays to kiss the plants, returning their virescent hues and ushering in the new day.

The curtains add an orange glow to the morning light, every morning a perfect sunrise. It reminds Ryan of the times he slept in a beach hut in Somalia, watching the ocean emerge under the golden shimmer. For a moment his mind conjures the rhythmic waves, soft on the sandy shore and feels his heart beat to the same slow pace. He breathes in deeply. A new day has begun. He reaches his hand out to the fabric, noticing how close the light pours through every open space between fibres, no different from how it once came through the beach-hut walls, illuminating like brilliant fire-flies each dawn. The material is warm beneath his fingers, and when the sun floods the room, painting the colors anew, he feels a little of those golden rays soak into his skin.

When coming here, Ryan was expecting an unacknowledged black site, disguised as an abandoned warehouse or development zone, where he would never be seen from the scrutiny of the public eye again. This "secured location" the ZDP mentioned was a whole, small, fenced-in condominium complex. Well, except this complex never held permanent residents, per se. According to his unofficial chauffeurs, Judy and Nick informed the human that the condominium complex was a safe house for many mammals under police protection.

"So this place...is used by the ZDP for witness protection?" Ryan asked for clarification.

"Not just witness protection," Nick chimed, "but also the city's public services uses these condos as a shelter for she-mammals escaping domestic abuse."

Oh great...so I'll be the only guy living next to a women's shelter, Ryan thought. That's super awkward.

"Then shouldn't this place be more...discreet?"

"And your suggestion is to send the poor wretches to a cold, concrete bunkhouse that didn't mimic a typical residential complex?" Ryan had no comment for the fox's crude sarcasm. "Then, surely, the perps would know where to find their victims."

"It's more discreet than you would think, Mr. Anderson," Judy said. "Plus, there are security cameras posted in all corners of this place."

"The perfect house is a place where a person feels safe not only from the elements but also from all the worries and troubles of the outside world. I can confidently claim that I am a happy owner of a house where I feel relaxed and confident and where I want to spend as much time as I can.

His room was on the top floor, which was five stories high, with two-inch thick plexiglass windows that overlooked a bare asphalt parking lot below. The ZDP, concerned that if Ryan ever managed to break through the plexiglass, he wouldn't find a safe, large body of water on the drop down to break his fall like The Palm Hotel. At least, they were ninety-nine percent sure the human could not jump and come back out unscathed.

I can't tell whether this standard police procedure, placing the most valuable residents in the most unreachable places, or a pure show of mockery, thought Ryan, when he starred out from the window, barely situating above the stainless steel sink in the kitchenette. Guileful little bastards.

A private fully equipped apartment with its own entrance. A cozy, small and immaculately clean living space. The condominium complex had a postmodern aesthetic with a dark red roof and beige walls, as well as brown wooden windows that can be wide opened on sunny days. He did like the window in the living room as it faces the street where large old oak trees grow. The house has only three bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom. However, all rooms except for one bedroom are spacious and filled with natural light.

As for the interior, the apartment has nothing exceptional. It has regular zoning and was apparently built by an architect with too little imagination. However, the rooms didn't look empty. Every condo has many high-quality, comfortable pieces of furniture like the large brown leather couch in the living room, a soft white carpet in his bedroom, or an amazing wooden table in the kitchen, a little small for Ryan's human size but still usable. All things fit each other well, which shows that my mother took pains to work on the design.

The condo complex is surrounded by the green lawn that is cut and watered regularly. Ryan could only imagine in the spring and summer, they might smell deliciously and attract the envious eyes of people from his world who had never in their miserable lives seen such fine greenery. In fact, the roses from Ryan's world looked so mediocre compared to Zootopia's. The territory is also surrounded by a fence, which mainly has a decorative purpose. There is also a plain tree growing in the enclosed backyard, which sat a nice wooden table with chairs under it.

So what does this mean for him? Even Ryan could not answer that question.

At a bit of a loss at what to do next, he fell back on routine and turned on the TV. Reception was sub par with what he was used to, but it was good enough to watch the news. Perhaps there might be an article on this strange creature? There wasn't anything though, just lots of articles on the effects of the massive tempest that was still raging. Ryan was paying keen attention to the TV. The human might not understand the commentary, but he was certainly comprehending the images of news anchors, concerned citizens and even a protest outside City Hall.

When he got out of bed, he found a half empty closet with hangers and some clothes hanging from hooks. Assuming the human was about the size of a leopard or panther, the ZPD gathered some clothes for him, so he wouldn't continue to wear his standard bodysuit all the time. There were only three pairs of clothing. Aside from the pants, there were two long sleeves, one being a white button-on collar shirt and the other a simple olive-colored shirt, and the third a blue short-sleeve with 'ZPD' impressed in bold letters.

Yep, Ryan grabbed the hock that clung onto the ZPD shirt and dropped it on the floor, one hundred percent certain they are mocking me.

He settled for the white button-on and blackhole black pants. They were even nice enough to offer socks, which fit comfortably, but his shoes were a little tight. He'll have to make a note to remind his caretakers of his shoe size.

For most of his morning, he contemplated. Part of him had even contemplated just going out and trying to find a way to retrieve his belongings and get the heck out of dodge so he could go and do 'something,' but Pandora advised him not to. It took her awhile to convey her message, but eventually she told him that "without first achieving a favorable opportunity to outweigh the high risk, Ryan would do more harm than good by attempting to flee." When he asked her what he could do, she simply shrugged and continued to sit in her sphere.

"So just keep waiting until something comes up that we can affect, and then try to act on it?" he asked her at long last. In his mind, it seemed to be the most practical choice, yet it required time and patience. But time was not a luxury for him.

Pandora nodded with a smile.

"Well, who knows how long that can take," he muttered to himself.

She again nodded in agreement.

"Not exactly helping me right now, Pandora," he said, deadpan.

She shrugged with an 'what do you want from me' expression. Then she changed her body to resemble a compass, then back to herself with a nod, before becoming a map and back to herself with a shake of her head.

"I know, you were programmed to guide my rational decisions, not my actual decisions," he said with a sigh.

After the news was finished, Ryan was not in the mood for light entertainment, so he switched off the TV and switched his focus back to his own mind.

At the gentle ding of his aparemtnet's door bell, he looks over the top of his book, and takes his feet off the counter. Tap Tap Tap. There was a knock at the door, and Ryan snapped back to reality. He inhaled, his entire body anticipating trouble.

Ryan sits up, stands up. Whoever this was knew where he lived, which included a very small pool of likely people. It's not like he knows everyone who passes by, since he can't leave his condo. This place is one of those quaint areas people like to escape hardships or danger, and he doesn't know everyone in this building. He is one hundred percent certain that this person is not from the other residing condos and that he's never been here before because Jamie would remember.

When he unlocked the latch and finally opened the door, he was met with a slightly familiar face. It was Alesia Spiker, the Species Department service worker and his personal advocatist guarantor. The last time he remembered she wasn't so formal or drop dead gorgeous with stunning red amber eyes did not wander into his soul. It was a silk, loose purple blouse, corporate-style pants and a necklace in the shape of a Nguni-like shield forming a heart. Never in fact did he remember wearing such formalwear or beautifying herself without overdoing the makeup. Ryan tried not to stare.

"Well, hello there, how can I help you?" It's his best hospitable voice. He's built it himself over time under different aliases in several countries.

"Oh, hi."

Her voice is bright, cheery, and sounded oddly American even when no concept existed in their world. Yes, it is unmistakably American. How interesting.

"Hi." Ryan furrows his brow.

"Um...I'm," the cheetah shakes her head, and then moves damp hair out of the way. "Sorry, Ryan."

She moves forwards a step and her toe nudges a bucket of single stem flowers, almost tripping, so she stops.

"Are you asking me if I'm Ryan?" he says, amused and confused in equal measures. "Cos, I don't recall being named that. I mean, it's possible my parents got my birth certificate wrong but, nope, don't remember ever being called that."

The cheetah laughs, and Ryan finds himself smiling despite his best efforts not to. She supposes that if her rainy day retreat has to be intruded on by anyone, then a good looking girl with a warm laugh isn't the worst visitor to be stuck with.

"No, sorry, I'm Ryan," he said. "You can call me Ryan. That's me. That's my name."

She chuckles. "An honor to meet you, Ryan."

Ryan's grins again. "Pleased to meet you then, Alesia, are you looking for anything in particular?"

Alesia smiles again, a wide thing that Ryan thinks she likes.

"Oh. Yes. I'm here doing my job."

Without waiting for a response, he pulled the door shut, set the chair behind the desk and took a seat. He placed the folder in front of him, opened it and started flipping through the pages.

When Ryan spoke, he realized that he hadn't drunk his usual early coffee, and his voice came out like a croak. "It'll only be a good morning if you let me out."

Not even a flicker of change passed over the cheetah's expression. "Yes, yes, I know. No need to worry—you're going to be hearing plenty of positive news today. Trust me."

Ryan thought about that, ashamed that he let it lift his hopes, even for a second. He should know better by now. "Positive news? I'm the most extraordinary person in this city and by far the reaction hasn't been so cordial."

Alesia remained silent for several seconds before she responded. "Not so cordial, yes. Among insignificant reasons." She paused and studied the human before continuing. "Despite Zootopia's reputation as the most tolerant, carefree society in this world, we mammals still have flaws? It's all been part of our hidden instincts to distrust the unknown, the potentially dangerous, and very soon it will make sense to you." The intensity of her voice had built and Ryan practically admired the cheetah's informative, clear-cut response.

"I'd like to start working with you," Alesia told him, making the decision without any hesitation. Ryan thought about it. If this cheetah believed she could help Ryan start to function like a normal mammal in Zootopia, then the least Ryan could do was give her the opportunity, despite his own disagreement with the idea. "I'll get the paperwork together to have your records formulated. The first thing I'd like for you to do is start to settle in."

Since yesterday, Alesia had patiently waited on the phone knowing she would be assigned as Ryan's advocate guarantor. She finished her morning tasks so the cheetah would be available for the human. Since she'd sent a zmail message to the Director of Species Records, her boss, earlier this morning it was obvious Alesia would already knew her task at paw—and she was more than thrilled to undertake it.

"Right, I understand," Ryan said. "So, what happens to me now, exactly?"

"You'll be out under a SIP," she replied, taking a few notes in her notebook.

"Uhm...if I may ask, what does that even mean?"

"It stands for 'Special Interest Protection.' I know, not a very creative abbreviation, but it gets the point around. Under an SIP you'll receive special documentation, a residence permit and in transition time you will receive financial aid."

"Oh, so I literally get paid to do nothing?"

"Not exactly....the circumstances are uncommon, especially your desire not to reside in Zootopia than what you consider necessary, so my organization is having to make new precedents toward your SIP accommodations.

"Is it something you're going to look at?" Ryan asked, his mind racing through the possibilities of what kind of program she'd want to use. There was no doubt this would be something he'd do on the computer, because he hated writing longhand.

"Yes, at least parts of it," the cheetah said, watching Ryan's face closely.

Ryan thought about that for a moment and then nodded.

"I think that would work out well," Alesia said and followed his son into the kitchen, taking plates and glasses. Ryan looked around the large, comfortable room while he waited for them to return. He liked this room. It was light and airy, not oppressive like his bedroom. More than once, he'd wished for the same floor to ceiling windows that covered an entire wall of this room, just to get away from the dark.

Slowly her ears went back upright and her slender tail swishing slowly from side to side. He shut his eyes for a quick second. It had been...so long since he had someone so willing, so invested in him. Soon he released me, offering little more than a shrug and a smile over the resulting awkwardness.

"So, yourself?" she asked.

"Huh...myself?" he repeated.

"You've told me about how you felt, but nothing about yourself,"