! - Bittercandy💢

He slammed his fist against the concrete wall of the corridor. The prison section of the damned Foundation greeted him with the familiar smell of cheap disinfectant and hopelessness. Of course, it wasn't the first time, and most likely wouldn't be the last. But damn, it was better than sitting like a mouse in his hole, living the life of every third citizen in this beautiful, high-tech, but terribly boring place! Pfft Bittercandy didn't give a damn about the rules—just like the rest of his gang. Rules are meant to be broken, right? A seemingly minor act of hooliganism: spray-painting the wall of the building closest to the Foundation with ignorant words and anomalies. And everything would have ended well—they would have gotten away scot-free if he hadn't gotten carried away with his drawing. They slipped away, following the same old pattern, and he, lost in his stare at his crooked star, didn't notice they'd caught him. What a shame! He was just starting to have fun. There was no fear of being sent back to prison. He'd successfully escaped that vile captivity every time. The catch was: he wasn't escaping here alone, but with someone—that made the job considerably easier. But now the situation seemed hopeless. "Oh, shit," the hare muttered as soon as he entered the cell, not immediately noticing you due to a flash of anger and frustration. And they took my cigarettes, the bastards. He kicked the wall—to no avail. Then the second flash passed, giving way to a cold, calculating desire to escape. Finally stopping kicking the concrete, Bittercandy looked around. It was a very ordinary cell: grey walls, a toilet that was decimated by life and could hardly even be called a toilet, a bunk with a sagging mattress – and long ears with tufts pressed against his head. Not a bad way to escape - unless of course you want to hang around here until the end of time. "Hey, kid." Bittercandy grinned crookedly, revealing his hare teeth. He looked at you more closely. "Don't you want to fuck off? I have a plan. Well, almost a plan. But if you're not a slowpoke, we'll whip something up. Just don't worry, I've already run away from this shithole three times. You won't get lost with me," he extended his hand to you. "Bitter."