Chapter Text
Chance had been lounging in the cabin, just shooting the breeze with Elliot, when—bam—he was suddenly flat on his back in some sketchy alley. Gubby, his white rabbit, was in his face, poking at him like a living, furry snooze button. Chance groaned and sat up, every muscle screaming in protest from his five-star night on the concrete. That’s when he noticed—gone was his suit, tie, hat, and shades. In their place: a baggy nightshirt and shorts. Real smooth, Chance. Real smooth.
“What the fuck?” He tugged at the nightshirt, half-expecting it to spit out an explanation. “Fuck.” He said it again, just because he could. “Shit? Bitch? Crap?” With every curse, his grin grew. He jumped to his feet, barely holding back a fist pump—he was out. Out of Forsaken. Hell yes. Somebody throw a parade.
He scooped Gubby up and spun him around like a madman. “We’re out, Gubby! We’re finally out!” Gubby, clearly unimpressed with human celebrations, bit his hand hard enough to make him yelp. Chance plunked him down, rubbing his hand. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered, as Gubby thumped and flounced off. Apparently, gratitude wasn’t part of the rabbit code.
“Ow.” Chance flexed his fingers, scoping out the alley. Weirdly clean for a backstreet—just a fire exit, a couple of bins, and… wait, two more bunnies? Seriously? Was this a rabbit flash mob now?
He squinted at the newcomers—one slick black rabbit with ears on high alert, the other a floppy-eared version with a little extra around the middle. “Well, aren’t you two adorable? What’s the deal—escaped from Forsaken too, or just crashing my afterparty?” He held out his hand. The smaller one sniffed, then went right for a nibble—figures. The bigger one just stared, totally chill, sizing him up like Chance was a walking salad bar. Chance snatched his hand back before he lost a finger.
He gave the little guy a quick pat, then stood, Gubby trailing him as he peeked out of the alley. Thank god it was night—if anyone saw him sneaking around in this getup, he’d never live it down.
Fast-forward a few hours: he’d managed to wrangle some clothes and a temporary apartment. Gubby and the two black rabbits followed him the whole way—thank whoever’s up there that the receptionist didn’t notice his bunny entourage. Was it even allowed? Honestly, he’d cross that bridge if someone complained.
He flopped onto the bed, scratching Gubby behind the ears. “Guess we need to get you and your new posse some food,” he sighed, rolling up as Gubby thumped in protest—either about the lack of attention or just on principle. Drama queen.
He slipped out—double-checking none of the bunnies staged a jailbreak—and hit the Woolworths down the block for groceries and rabbit food, all funded by some mysterious cash stuffed in his night-shorts. Why was it there? No idea, but he wasn’t about to question good luck. How he even made it out of Forsaken—or if anyone else did—was a mystery for another, more caffeinated morning.
Coming back, he found what looked like the aftermath of a bunny house party. The rabbits had trashed the place—bed a disaster, carpet halfway across the room. He was the tired parent, they were the wild teenagers.
“…Yeah, no. Fuck this shit.” He stomped to the kitchen, shoved the groceries somewhere, and collapsed into bed. Gubby wasted no time burrowing into his neck, purring like a tiny engine and somehow shedding enough fur to knit a sweater. The smaller black bunny hopped up, did a few happy spins, and wedged himself by Chance’s feet, looking perfectly content.
The big one? He took the middle of the room, sat up way too straight, and stared at Chance with a look that said he was about to ask for the WiFi password. Chance stared back, mind whirring. “Nope,” he muttered, pulling the covers over his head. “Just a Forsaken bunny thing.” He decided he’d deal with the existentially creepy rabbit after a solid nap.
The next morning, sunlight found its way straight between his eyelids. Chance groaned, rolled over, and peeked at the chaos. Gubby sprawled on a pillow like he owned it, the two black bunnies already plotting something.
Fluff 1—the little black one—was all energy: zoomies, spins, ear cleaning, sniffing Chance then bolting away. Totally normal bunny. But Fluff 2? Still perched on the table, sitting upright, paws folded just so, and giving Chance a look that was way too knowing. Like a disappointed teacher. Or an auditor.
Chance stumbled into the kitchenette, hair sticking up, and poured out the rabbit food. “Breakfast, freeloaders. Get it while it’s fresh.”
Gubby dove in. Fluff 1 did a victory lap and nibbled. Fluff 2? He looked at the bowl, then at Chance, then back at the bowl, pure judgment. Instead, he hopped onto the counter and delicately ate last night’s cold toast, like he’d been raised at Downton Abbey.
“Okay, that’s… weird.” Chance watched as the big rabbit paused, stared him down, then took another bite. Gubby tried for a crumb and got brushed off with a surprisingly gentle thump. Fluff 1 hopped over and was welcomed without drama.
Chance ran a hand down his face. “Alright, what kind of Forsaken bunny did I just adopt?”
Fluff 2 finished his toast, then sat there, upright, looking like he was waiting for a newspaper. Gubby sulked, Fluff 1 bounced around, and Chance started to wonder if he should be checking his coffee for weird drugs.
He poured a cup anyway, never taking his eyes off the unsettlingly human bunny. “Yeah. This is my circus now. If you start talking, I’m out.”
Mafioso was fuming. Yeah, technically, he should be celebrating—out of Forsaken, finally free. But if “freedom” meant being stuck in a rabbit’s body and owned by the Gambler of all people? Hard pass. He’d rather be back in that hellhole, even if it meant putting up with Noli’s nonsense all over again.
Every second spent under this clown’s roof was a new kind of torture. The only thing making it bearable was imagining all the ways he could take the Gambler out—if he ever got the chance. Honestly, that was about the only fun he had left. Right now, though? Right now, he was barely holding it together.
Chance scrolled through the classifieds on an ancient, half-broken laptop he’d found shoved in a closet. The rabbits were all over the living room, stretched out like they owned the place—absolutely zero stress about bills, groceries, or adulting in general. Must be nice, he thought, shooting them a look. He needed a job—preferably not one that involved a mascot costume or deep fryers.
It didn’t take long before something halfway decent popped up: Night Bar, looking for wait staff, no experience needed. He snorted. Not exactly casino-level excitement, but how tough could it be? Take some orders, dodge a few drunks, try not to spill anything—it couldn’t be that different from handling high rollers and cheaters. At least, that’s what he told himself.
So he puffed up, threw on the cleanest shirt he could find, and marched into the bar like he already owned the place. No resume, no references, no phone number—not even a story ready. Just a lot of charm, a confident grin, and, apparently, that was enough. Because a couple of hours later, he was walking back into the apartment with a shiny new uniform and a paper schedule in hand.
He tossed the uniform on the bed and stared at it for a second, still a little stunned. “I seriously have no idea how I got this job—no resume, no phone, nothing. But hey, money’s money.” He grinned over at the rabbits sprawled out on the rug. “Guess the next round of drinks is on me. Well, carrot juice for you freeloaders.”
Gubby thumped the floor, unimpressed. Chance just rolled his eyes and laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure not to gamble any loose cash.”