FSE

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"E-sports," Baxter said with a heavy sigh. "That's what it's come to."

"Mm?" went Fib, only vaguely paying attention.

How long had Baxter been sitting there? Five minutes? Ten? Didn't he have anything better to do?

"'It's the wave of the future, Baxter! Young people will love it'!" the brown-furred river otter said, mimicking Arnold, one of the station's managers. The wolf was always concerned about luring new viewers.

The morning and noontime sports anchor, Baxter lounged in front of an unoccupied desk in the newsroom, his sturdy rudder-tail jutting through the tail-gap in the back of his chair. "Young people don't watch the news. Everyone knows that."

Fib and Baxter were workplace ... rivals?

Adversaries?

Fib didn't hate him. The harvest mouse didn't really hate anyone, really. But something about Baxter really got on his nerves ...

Baxter began tossing an apple up and down like a baseball. It made a light 'smack' each time it hit his webbed paw. "So, I gotta cover all this fake stuff seriously. Virtual events! I have to put together _highlights_packages ... "

"The unheralded tragedy of this pandemic," Fib announced sarcastically, not looking up from his computer. His dishy ears lowered closer to his head. A desk over, the weatherman was studying a storm front developing out West.

Trying to, anyway.

"At least it's E-racing, though," Baxter said, studying the apple. It was a big, red Evercrisp. "Hey, you like fruit?"

"Why?"

"Got this thing at 'curbside pickup' at the market near my place. They told me it's locally grown. Been in storage for _half_a year. Can you believe that?" The otter gave it a sniff before chomping into it. His eyes lit up and his little, round ears seemed to perk. "Mm, not bad ... still crunchy. And sweet!"

"Never had an apple before?"

"The only apple Idaho is known for is Idared," Baxter said, referring to his home state. "Tart as hell." He made a face before getting back on track, quite literally. "E-racing. Now, see, if someone didn't know_the races weren't real ... " He chewed, his mouth full. "And randomly tuned in?" A few more chews and then a swallow. "They _might be fooled for a minute." He took another bite, his whiskers glistening with juice. "I mean, I wouldn't, cause I'm an expert."

"You'd never been to an auto race before you moved here," Fib said.

"Yeah, but I've been to half-a-dozen, now."

"That many, huh?"

"I'm acclimated." Chomp! Chew-chew-chew. "But this simulated stuff? Maybe someone would be fooled. Maybe you would," the otter told Fib.

"I don't think so," Fib said. He did live weather reports from the Speedway during all their events.

"Can't say that about NBA2K. Everyone knows that's fake."

"You're six feet away from me, aren't you?" Fib asked, nose and whiskers twitching.

"Yeah." Baxter wiped his muzzle with the back of a paw.

"Just making sure."

Baxter smirked. "I haven't been keeping six feet away from Dotty," he said, unable to help himself. He had a competitive streak. Probably why he was so into sports. But it also made him prone to 'kissing and telling.'

"She must be really bored," was Fib's retort.

The chipmunk had a segment called 'Dotty's Destinations,' where she did on-site previews and interviews from social events around the city. But with all public gatherings cancelled due to the virus, she had nothing to cover. Management had temporarily reassigned her to the newsroom.

"Still counts," the otter insisted playfully, finishing his apple.

"Don't you have a huge crush on her?" Fib reminded.

Baxter bristled, sitting up straighter. "Why do you care?"

The otter had mentioned it to Fib a few months ago in a rare 'heartfelt' moment between them.

Dotty didn't share Baxter's romantic feelings, however.

This place was emphatically not in the chipmunk's long-term plans. Who wanted to spend their life in Indiana? She wanted to get promoted to a bigger position in a buzzier city, preferably on the Coasts, while she was still young enough to experience the most out of life. Chicago was probably more realistic in the near-term, though.

Whatever the case, she didn't need serious attachments. That would complicate things.

She'd just rather have fun while she was here ...

"Wish we could do this ... mmf. Naked," Baxter said, last Friday in an empty conference room. The lights were off. Door was locked. But they were half-dressed so they could get covered in a hurry (should they need to).

"Your penis is naked," Dotty replied, bent over the conference table, her brushy, striped tail raised. As petite as she was, she was almost standing on tiptoes. She was wearing a smart, green dress, one that matched her eyes and big-framed glasses. The skirt part of her outfit was hitched up to her back.

"Well," the otter drawled, his loins flush to her behind. "It's kinda, sorta ... wearing your vagina right now."

The chipmunk giggled brightly, glasses sliding down her nose. She pushed them back up, buckteeth jutting as she panted for air.

"Perfect fit, too," Baxter added as he started to thrust.

The otter's trousers were around his ankles. His dress shirt was all buttoned up save for the top two buttons, showing off his cinnamon-sugar chest fur, which matched the color of his loins. His limbs, back, and head were notably darker, chocolate brown in comparison.

His cock throbbed with sensitivity and excitement as he slid it in and out of her. Nice and easy, savoring every second. Warm, smooth, and wet. Her sex was heaven.

"Less synchronized swimming, more one hundred meter freestyle," Dotty urged, dropping an otter-centric sports reference. Otters dominated the Olympic swimming and diving events.

"Heh. Right ... " He sped up considerably.

"Yeah ... that's it ... " The chipmunk squeaked her approval. Her tail flagged against the otter's shoulder, occasionally brushing against his face.

"Ah ... " Baxter turned his head to breathe of her. Her fur, her scent. Her. Beyond excited, he pounded Dotty's pussy, impulsively leaning forward to cover her back with his chest.

She moaned.

He slipped his webbed paws beneath her dress, sliding them upward until he was rubbing her belly. If she didn't have that bra on, he would've kept going until he reached her breasts. Riding a wave of affection, he hugged her with both arms, hips relentlessly motoring into her plush, tawny ass.

The chipmunk wriggled desperately.

Were one underneath the table, they'd see two pairs of stretching legs. And a rudder-tail slapping on the carpeted floor.

Baxter never wanted this to stop ...

When the pandemic developed, the otter and chipmunk had started having 'convenience' sex here at work.

It wasn't easy, or even possible, to find new dates or partners anymore with the virus floating around.

They already around each other every day, weren't they?

And they had an existing sexual history, right?

One thing led to another ...

She kept wanting more.

And Baxter kept giving it.

Dotty pushed her rump back against the otter, grinding, whining, her arms reaching desperately toward the center of the table. Her claws could be heard scrabbling at the hard surface. The chipmunk came. Her face scrunched up as she let loose her species-specific sound: "Chip-chip! Chip!"

Baxter gasped as she clenched, vice-like, around him. He barely had time to hilt before he went off. His cock jumped and jolted, shooting ropes of seed deep into her womb. He drooled, eyes hooding. "Oh ... oh ... "

After what seemed like minutes but was barely thirty seconds, Dotty adjusted her glasses again. She sighed with relief and then sniffed a few times. "You bring the scent neutralizer?"

"Um ... yeah? In my pants," Baxter said slowly, of the tiny can in his pocket. He was in a total daze, and it took him a moment to realize that was her way of telling him to pull out. "Oh."

He cleared his throat and reluctantly did so, stepping back from the table and bending down to pull his underwear and pants back up. He was still half-erect and twitching, not yet limp enough to retreat back into the safety his sheath, and the cotton fabric against his sensitive, post-coital member made him suck air with slight discomfort.

Dotty shimmied backwards, standing and stepping away from the table. "Where'd my panties go?"

"On the chair there," Baxter said, securing his belt. "You're, uh ... you're dripping ... " He nodded at the drops of seed she was leaving on the floor. The otter grabbed a paper towel and quickly dabbed them up.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Dotty said, retrieving her panties. She shimmied, bringing them up her legs and under her dress to her hips. "I can get it."

"I'm the one who put it there," Baxter told her, standing back up and spraying the air with scent neutralizer. He tossed the paper towel into a trash can.

"Heh." The chipmunk winked. "I'm the one who let you."

Baxter chuckled, feeling strangely bashful.

"That was fun!" Dotty declared as she bounced toward the door. "Thanks, B. You're so reliable." She flickered her tail at him. "You _always_get me off."

"Happy to help," he said, melting at the nickname she'd given him.

"I'll leave first," she told him. "You wait a minute, okay?"

Baxter nodded.

Dotty opened the door and peered down the hallway.

"See you Monday?" the otter said hopefully, voice almost catching.

"Same 'munk, different dress," she promised with a wink, quickly scampering away.

Baxter sighed when Dotty was gone, left with an internal ache. A yearning. It was very much related to sex but ... also went beyond it?

This didn't feel a simple crush anymore ...

He was in love with the chimpunk, wasn't he?

The otter closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his webbed paws.

"Dammit."

He knew he was--

"Going out on a limb with your emotions," Fib warned, shaking Baxter out of his memories.

Baxter, shooting his apple core into a trash can like a basketball, frowned.

Fib was such a dweeb! He didn't understand the situation. He wasn't involved. What gave him the right to butt in? Leave it to a weatherman to rain on one's parade.

The mouse added, "I'm just saying. You're letting your pe-"

"I know what you're saying," Baxter interrupted. Stung in a way he was genuinely afraid to show, the otter defensively turned the relationship question back on Fib. "So ... what's going on with you and Goldie? Miss seeing her around."

"Meadow's fine," Fib said, of his girlfriend. His whiskers twitched. Meadow had told him that Baxter had flirted with her before. "And you know we can't bring guests into work during the outbreak."

His focus slipping from the weather map, Fib remembered last night's conversation with Meadow ...

"Hey, Butterscotch!"

"Hey," Meadow said with a shy smile, ears blushing faintly. She waved a pink paw at him, fifteen miles away yet simultaneously appearing in his suburban abode. "It's not too late, is it?"

"I have at least an hour. You know I don't gotta be in bed 'til 8:30," Fib said, adjusting his laptop screen.

He typically had to be at the station by 4:30 AM for the 5 to 9 weekday newscasts. The lunchtime weather was quarter after noon. It was a forty-hour work week. "You in your bedroom, babe?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can you turn on the lamp? A little hard to see you ... "

"Oh ... " Twisting about and out of sight, Meadow turned it on. The screen lit up. "Is that better?"

"Yup! It's perfect. Thanks." Fib was sitting at his kitchen table, a mug of peppermint-vanilla herbal tea releasing steam into the air.

Meadow returned to her belly, dressed in a tank top and shorts. Gold elbows sinking into the mattress and pink paws cupping her whiskered cheeks, she looked directly into the webcam and went quiet for a moment.

"Everything okay?" Fib asked.

"Yeah. Just feels ... different."

"What does?"

"Talking like this? Like, it's ... I don't know," she stammered.

"Not the first time we've done it."

"I just feel self-conscious on video? Guess that's why I could never do your job." She paused and added, "Well, that and a bunch of other reasons."

Fib smiled at her. "Don't sell yourself short. You did fine when Roslyn interviewed you that one time."

Meadow had become a 'meme' after accidentally appearing in a camera shot during a live studio tour. The station had tried to milk the attention by having her come on and talk about the experience.

"Think you're a little biased ... "

"Heh. Maybe!" Fib blew on his tea and took a sip. "How'd you hold up today?"

"Oh, you know. Same as when you texted me earlier." Her prehensile tail snaked through the air behind her shoulders. "Did some spring cleaning. Dusted every room in my house."

"Every room?"

"Well ... not the porch. Or the kitchen. I was starting to sneeze. But all the other rooms."

"Always dustier in the countryside," Fib agreed. When he drove his car to her place, it always needed to be washed on the way back.

"And, uh ... watched some shows. Or at least I had them on in the background while I cleaned."

"Yeah?"

"Newhart, Corner Gas ... like, basically any older show about inconsequential, quirky happenings in remote, rural towns?" Meadow paused, licking her buckteeth. That was quite a tongue-twister! "That's totally my escape right now."

"Aren't you near a remote, rural town yourself?" Fib asked.

"Half-an-hour from a major city doesn't qualify."

"Ah, so what's the cut-off?"

"An hour away. At least," Meadow emphasized.

"Hour? Hmm. So, what constitutes a 'major' city, then?"

"I'll have to get back with you on that one," Meadow said. "This is starting to feel like a math equation. And I was always terrible at math."

"You'd rather live on Easter Island," Fib joked. That was the most remote place in the world, wasn't it?

"Those big stone predator faces would give me nightmares!" she exclaimed, only semi-joking.

Fib laughed.

"Anyway, remote or not, nothing quirky happens in this part of Indiana," Meadow said. "It's as boring as apple pie."

"Hey, apple pie is good," Fib said.

"Cherry for life," Meadow countered.

"Heh! Alright, so what's the quirkiest thing you can remember happening?" he challenged, taking another sip of tea.

Meadow blew out a breath, her buckteeth showing. "Well, um ... a hummingbird got in my porch once? I caught it with my paws and put it back outside. That's not really quirky, though ... and I didn't get a picture of it, so no one ever believes me."

"Just trying to imagine you holding a hummingbird! It's too much cuteness for a living soul to handle," Fib said.

Meadow giggled and blushed. "Stop it ... "

"It's true!" Fib beamed at her, leaning forward, closer to his screen. He stared at her for a moment before saying, "I'm so far behind on everything."

"Yeah?"

"Shows, I mean."

Meadow nodded.

"I still haven't seen the new Star Trek. Or that Star Wars show."

"You should start a podcast called 'Geeks and Squeaks,' where you talk about the nerdy stuff you're into."

"Is the weather nerdy?" Fib asked.

"Sometimes."

He gave her an 'oh, you!' look.

"I miss going to the movies," Fib told her. All the theaters were shut. And even if they weren't? He probably wouldn't feel comfortable going for a while. "We should stream a film together, sometime! Over the weekend. The old screwball romcoms. You like those."

"We could do that," she agreed.

"Uh-oh."

"What?"

"I can see your whiskers twitching," he told her.

"It's nothing."

"No, it's not," Fib said gently. Meadow was a _terrible_liar.

"I'm just ... I'm keeping busy, and I'm grateful to not be sick or dead. Obviously." She took a few breaths. "But, inside, I'm so restless, so ... "

Unable to keep still, Meadow shifted positions on her bed, moving onto her back. Her old bedframe creaked.

Fib associated that creaking with sex.

Whenever they made love in her bed, the bed would rival them for noise. Sometimes, he'd tease her about it, and Meadow would tell him he was exaggerating.

'It's not that bad,' she'd say.

'Only cause you're used to it. Bet you've had that same bed for ten years. Mine doesn't make noise like that.'

Once, Fib suggested that they record themselves and find out who was right.

Meadow's ears had turned beet red.

Getting her head comfy on a pillow, Meadow moved her laptop to her belly. Her blue eyes started to glisten. "Fib ... "

"Mm-hmm?"

"I don't want to be alone right now."

"You're not," Fib whispered.

"You know what I mean ... "

Fib nodded. He knew. Yes, he knew ...

"I just ... I wake up at night, and I'm too scared or tense to get back to sleep. Then I worry: is the stress on my mental health making me more vulnerable if I do get sick? Like, is it weakening me? Then I just spiral and ... an hour goes by, and I've done nothing to calm down." She swallowed. "You're my anchor. You keep me from floating completely away."

Feeling a lump in his throat, Fib said, "I want you all the time, Butterscotch."

"I want you, too."

Fib reached out to touch his screen, as if touching her by proxy.

Meadow touched her screen, too, and continued, "I just ... honestly, I wish I could at least go to work. Not that it's the world's best job." She made a face. "I mean, it's average. But it makes me feel useful and productive, you know? Pays the bills ... "

Meadow was out of a job thanks to the lockdown. The dental office she worked at was shuttered for the time being. She expected to be asked back when they reopened, but who knew when that would be?

Fib had let her know, a few days back, that he'd give her money if she needed it. He'd provide for her.

Meadow, at the time, had muttered something shoegazing like, 'I wouldn't want to be a burden or anything ... '

'Like I'm going to leave you hanging when I could help?' He paused before saying, 'Maybe, when this is over ... this whole crisis? We should finally, you know ... '

He didn't say it out loud.

Didn't have to.

It was the elephant in the room between them.

Moving in together. Getting married. Whatever the next 'step' was.

When would they take it?

Fib was ready.

But Meadow had been badly hurt in the past. She struggled to control her anxiety. And making a life-changing commitment? That required a level of self-confidence she didn't feel she had.

Fib knew he didn't want to spend his life with anyone else. He'd patiently give her as much time as she needed. But he'd be lying if he said her hesitation didn't give him fleeting worries that maybe he was doing something wrong and she was just too afraid to tell him.

'They say there won't be a vaccine for eighteen months,' Meadow had replied. 'How can one even plan for anything anymore? What if ... I mean, what if one of us gets it, and ... '

'That's why we gotta stay apart right now,' Fib reminded. 'I work in a very public job, in the city. I'm way more exposed than you are out there. I don't want you to get it.'

'But what if you do?' she asked. 'What if--'

'I'll be fine, okay?' How many times had he told her that over the past few years? Hundreds? Thousands? Fib wanted so badly to convince her, even if she never would be.

'I'm sorry.' Her whiskers twitched. 'I'm frustrating you ... '

'You're not.' He sighed. 'It's just--'

'I know you're afraid, too.'

'Wouldn't be a mouse if I wasn't,' Fib lamented with a nod. He just hid his fears a lot better. He had to, working in the media. It wasn't easy, though. It took a lot of mental energy.

In the present, Meadow said, "I heard there's going to be a protest tomorrow? Downtown?"

"That's what they're calling it. But as your friend Petra would say, it's gonna be more like a 'honky holler.' It's all for show. And the station is half-a-mile from the Statehouse," Fib assured. "I won't be around any of it."

Meadow admitted, "I, uh, convinced myself I was getting the virus, today. Had trouble breathing when I was outside doing yardwork, and ... then my eyes started to itch and my nose was running. I realized it was just my spring allergies."

"You taking your medicine?"

"Medicines." Plural. "Yeah. Three pills a day. Allergies, anxiety, birth control ... if I start taking two more, I might get a Bingo!"

Fib giggled. "What's the prize for that, then?"

"Maybe numbing myself to getting older?" she said. She was going to turn thirty-six in the fall. Fib was still twenty-nine. His thirtieth birthday was this summer.

"You're not old. Don't start that again," Fib told her.

"Alright ... whippersnapper."

"Heh ... "

"I gotta pick up my refills soon. And get more groceries. And supplies and stuff." Meadow rubbed at her cheeks. "But I'm a little afraid to go by myself. Being a rodent these days ... out in public ... "

"Can Petra go with you?"

"Probably. I guess I could ask ... "

"Do it. Bet she'd be glad to!"

"I'll text her when we're done talking," Meadow promised.

"Speaking of Petra," Fib said, "I still get the impression she finds me annoying." He and Meadow had gone out to eat with the polyamorous rat and some of her partners before, several times, and Petra was always teasing or rolling her eyes at him. "She calls me 'Fibster'."

"Aren't rats annoyed by life in general?" Meadow said lightly.

"Non-conformists usually are," Fib reasoned.

Mice were more-or-less desperate to be accepted by society, using their inherent cuteness to create a more flattering image. They viewed rats as their cynical 'cousins.' Rats, in return, found mice to be painfully naïve little siblings. They felt you shouldn't cater to anyone. If you didn't like it, that was on you.

"You and Petra are sorta like me and Baxter," Fib said.

"I don't see how? She's my best friend. You're always complaining about Baxter."

"Well, we're both pairs of 'opposites,' is what I mean ... " What made opposites attract in some situations but bounce right off each other in others? Was it random chance? Chemistry?

"Petra likes you well enough to claim she set you up with me," Meadow said. "She wouldn't brag about if she thought you weren't 'worthy'." After a moment of silence, Meadow, said, "Fib ... "

"Mm?"

Meadow blushed, eyes darting, a furless paw sliding down her belly. "I wish you were with me right now ... "

Fib knew where this was about to go. He felt his pulse quicken. "Me, too."

Not five minutes later, they'd both removed their clothes and were camming for each other in the fur.

Meadow, on the screen of Fib's laptop, could be seen on her bed, on all fours, candy-gold rump to the camera. Tail raised, front end down. A paw reached back underneath her to rub at her clit and her petals. She spread them so Fib could get a better look.

"Beautiful," he sighed. "If I was there, my tongue would be all over it. I'd eat you out before I took you."

Meadow gave a submissive whimper at the thought.

Fib scooted his chair back and stood up, one paw planting on the tabletop. The other was wrapped around his stiff cock. He used his thumb to spread his pre around. "Mm." He pointed the shaft toward the webcam. His huge, golden balls swung beneath it. "You like this?"

"Y-yes ... " Her head on the bed, Meadow could see the screen by looking back underneath her body and through her open legs.

"How much do you want it?"

"More ... more than anything," she squeaked.

"Use your tail ... put it inside you, pretend it's me ... " Fib began to stroke himself.

Meadow's prehensile tail arced around, the tip zeroing in on her passage. It poked, prodded, and eased inside, several inches before pulling back.

It wasn't the same as actually being taken, but ... her eyes closed, Fib's voice in her ears? It was the next closest she was going to get for a while. She wasn't going to complain.

"Oh, Meadow ... "

Fib's paw was blurring over his cock, now. He was really getting into it.

As Meadow tail-fucked herself, that paw reached back to continue rubbing at her clit.

"Fib ... " She laid a cheek on her pillow, breaths whistling past her buckteeth.

They squeaked as they masturbated together.

"Ah ... c-close ... "

"I'm gonna ... I'm gonna ... !"

Fib rose to his tiptoes as he came, arcs of white seed shooting into the air. "Ah!" he shouted in ecstasy. The first spurt landed _all_the way at the far end of the kitchen table. It hit the wooden surface with a splat.

Each subsequent shot launched a shorter and shorter distance from his body. Frantically, Fib yanked his laptop to the side, saving it from taking a shot or two of semen at point-blank range.

When he'd emptied himself, he let go of his cock. It gave residual twitches and throbs, seed dangling off the tip. He hunched forward, both paws on the table, head bowed. His tail hung in the air and to the side. "Oh ... "

Meadow was still moaning, her rump swaying. She couldn't keep still.

"Hah ... ah," Fib panted, flopping into his chair again. He leaned back and pulled closer to the table's edge, readjusting the screen and seeing Meadow heaving for air. "Did you cum, babe?" he asked, knowing the answer full well. He just wanted to hear her say it.

"Y-yeah ... yeah," she answered, voice shaking. "I did."

"Was it good?"

"Mm-hmm." The female mouse rolled onto her back, resting her paws on her creamy belly.

Fib smiled happily. "If I were there in person, I'd hug you tight and whisper 'I love you' into your ear."

Meadow slowly sat up, her white breasts jiggling with gravity. She crawled toward the camera and replied, "And I'd whisper back 'I love you, too'." Abuzz with afterglow, she had a big, bucktoothed smile on her face.

"Then you know what I'd do?"

"Kiss me?" she guessed.

"That's right." Fib gave her bedroom eyes. "Oh, you know, it's--"

"Fine, huh?" Baxter said, suspecting there was more.

Clearing his throat, Fib avoided eye contact. Ears blushing, he shifted in his chair. "Yup."

The otter nodded slowly and squinted. "Well ... whatever. I'm gonna hang out by the set. See ya."

"Mm-hmm."

When Baxter was gone, Fib looked around and discreetly reached under the desk to adjust his pants.

It was 8:10 in the morning.

Opal the Jersey cow, dolled up to emphasize the doe-like aspects of her species, sat behind the studio desk and batted her big eyelashes as she looked directly into the camera.

"A local World War Two veteran, age ninety-nine, has raised millions for his community's medical costs on the north side," the cow announced, "after hearing how those around him were unable to make ends meet with hospital bills associated with the pandemic."

The monitor showed an old raccoon looking out of the window of his house.

"Unfortunately, he could not personally meet the people he's helping due to being in the at-risk category."

"If only everyone had that can-do spirit today," JR quipped. The dapper coyote, Opal's co-anchor, took the figurative baton from her and touched his pointed ear as if getting a 'breaking news' alert. "We now go to the Statehouse, where a protest is forming this morning against the 'stay at home' orders. Sakona?"

"Hi, Opal and JR," said the reporter on site, a female skunk. She was wearing a white protective mask over her muzzle. "This is 'Sakona on the Scene.' And, yes, dozens of people are already here, and we're told there may be a few stragglers. In a state of six million, they say they represent the overwhelming will of the people, and as Indy's trusted news source, we at Channel 13 will of course be covering _every_minute of it."

The camera turned toward the protesters, who were engaged in a mass chant.

"No rodents, no bats, stop the virus in its tracks!"

"No rodents, no bats, stop the virus in its tracks!"

"No rodents, no bats--"

"Let me see if I can get close enough to get an interview," Sakona said, inching toward an especially irate fox. The skunk held her microphone at arm's length, saying loudly enough to be heard, "Sir, what do you hope to accomplish with this gathering? Are you aware that, without a vaccine or proven treatment, social distancing is the only way to currently stem the impact of this extremely contagious and potentially deadly virus?"

"Now, this isn't about politics," the fox insisted emphatically. "It's about freedom."

"I didn't mention politics," Sakona said plainly.

"But since you're determined to bring it up, the President said rodents were super-spreaders and bats were patient zero. Why punish the rest of us? Just quarantine rodents and bats!"

"No rodents, no bats, stop the virus in its track!" the crowd kept chanting.

"Sir," Sakona repeated, "you do realize that _everyone_is able to catch and spread the virus, not just the groups you mention?"

"If you're so sure about that, let's see you kiss a rat on live TV!" was the fox's third-grade comeback.

Sakona had a 'what?' look on her face.

"We just want everyone to get back to work. Our economy is the most important thing. You can't have Main Street without Wall Street."

"Isn't it the other way around?" Sakona asked.

"That's not what CEO's are saying. And if you can't trust billionaires, who can you trust?"

"No rodents, no bats, stop the virus in its tracks!"

The camera moved, following some of the marchers and zooming in on their homemade signs.

There was a poster of mice with X's through them and one that said 'This is nuts! Squirrels suck!' Also, a drawing of a 'vampire' bat spewing out enlarged coronaviruses, as well as a sign that read 'No isolation without representation!'

The view returned to Sakona as she stiff-armed her microphone toward a masked rabbit doe, asking, "As prey yourself, how do you feel about demonizing other prey species?"

"Why does the media have to label everyone?" the doe complained. "Rabbits ... we're not even ... hell, we don't belong in the same category as rodents and bats. Those guys have been spreading plagues since the Middle Ages, yeah? Now, some of my best friends have been rodents," the doe qualified, "but, like, facts are facts, y'know? They spread shit. And us rabbits are family oriented. We have mouths to feed and lives to lead. I have four kits! Won't anyone think of the children?"

"What are you proposing?"

Looking directly into the camera, the rabbit yelled with a crazed expression, "No rodents, no bats, stop the virus in its tracks!"

The camera cut back to the studio, where Opal said, "Our apologies for the cursing. As you know, this is live TV, and we can't always plan for such things. Stay safe, Sakona! We'll talk to you later in the morning." Opal turned to face another camera. "But, for now, the forecast with everyone's favorite weathermouse, FIB: "

The camera cut immediately to the harvest mouse.

Normally greeting viewers with a bright, bucktoothed smile, the golden rodent was shaken. He had seen the entirety of Sakona's segment while waiting for his cue.

At a loss for words, he could only stammer, "Hello, um ... yes ... "

Whiskers stiff, he paused to take a breath. Only, he couldn't breathe! His chest was so tight. He felt dizzy, mind racing, heart hammering. Everything was suddenly numb.

"Yes," he whispered.

Three seconds.

That's how long it took the showman in him to wrest back control from his base prey self. Dead air just wasn't an option.

Fib's familiar, winning smile returned to his face.

"Good morning, Central Indiana! Fruit trees are blooming and tulips are coming up all over. Red, pink, orange, yellow. Yes, it finally looks and feels like spring! It'll get up into the 60's this afternoon. High of 66, to be exact."

Fib stepped aside to show a 'current conditions' chart, which was overlaid on an image of the Indianapolis skyline.

"Today's is a 'Golden Guarantee' day, friends! Plenty of sun. A dry, pleasant afternoon. Now, remember, go to our website and enter our 'Golden Guarantee' contest. If I'm wrong and it rains before sunset? You could win a station prize pack!"

Fib stepped back in front of the chart.

"Got a light breeze going right now. Five to ten miles per hour. Could pick up later in the day, but it shouldn't pose any hazards. Right now, it's only 54, but as you see the hour-by-hour tracking, that'll change."

The chart was replaced by a weather map.

"There's a system developing to our west. You can see it pushing through the Plains here." He used his prehensile tail as a pointer. "It's likely going to impact us. Now, we're still working on the timing, but it should be well after dark, maybe even after midnight. In addition to bringing some rain and the potential for severe weather, it'll also cool down the temps for the next few days."

A 'seven-day outlook' popped up.

"Tomorrow, we'll be back down in the high-40's/low-50's ... "

As soon as the camera was off Fib, his shoulders sagged. An intense wave of fatigue washed over him. He felt faint, like he had low blood sugar. He started to twitch, paws opening and closing.

He felt like everyone was staring at him.

Were they?

Or was that paranoia?

The mouse walked off the set to the refreshment cart and fumbled for a granola bar. He roughly tore open package with his teeth, heartily nibbling it down. He also opened a bottle of water, taking several hearty gulps. Water dripped off his chin and whiskers.

Baxter, who'd been waiting nearby, couldn't help but notice the mouse wasn't his meticulous self. "You look beat ... "

Fib couldn't even muster a response. Was that supposed to be an insult?

"Seriously ... you okay? At the start of your segment, I coulda sworn you were freezing up. Not like you."

The mouse gave him nothing.

"You, uh ... have a panic attack or something?" Baxter pressed.

Finally, Fib gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Oh, wow. Man." Baxter shook his head. "Can't believe you pushed through it like that! You should really--"

"Baxter!" snapped a stagehand, a grumpy goat. "Thirty seconds!"

"Right, right," the otter muttered, giving Fib a lingering look before quickly bounding off to get mic'd up.

"With major sports still in limbo, the big event this weekend was ... virtual!" Baxter declared to the camera. "That's right, E-sports has become all the craze lately, and particularly E-racing."

The camera shot of the otter was replaced with a highlights package. The one he'd complained about having to splice together.

"This weekend, the E-IndyCar series was at virtual Twin Ring Motegi in Japan, a track the real-life series hasn't raced at since 2011."

An in-car view of the green flag was shown.

"With a record thirty-one drivers entered, it was last year's Indy 500 winner Simon Pagenaud who emerged from a thrilling late-race duel," Baxter said, pausing for effect, "to claim the victory."

The monitor showed three cars going side-by-side-by-side, one of them veering into another and ripping its front wing off. This allowed the third car to pull ahead.

Then it cut to a pre-recorded network interview with the winner, a French hare, who was in a home gaming rig in his racing suit and wielding a bottle of champagne.

As the clip played, Baxter looked off-set at Fib. He was still standing there, holding that water bottle. He'd barely moved!

Putting a smile on his face as the clip ended, the otter re-greeted the camera and said, "Not everyone was as happy as Simon, however ... "

The monitor showed two contenders colliding, their cars flipping end over end and over the fence, disappearing into apparent oblivion. The game had 'reset' them to pit lane.

"The E-officials had to warn drivers to watch their language on their live-streams after some rather testy exchanges," said Baxter.

The monitor cut to another interview, this time with a wrecked frontrunner calling another driver 'a BLEEP! wanker, plain and simple. When you're a lapped car, you get out of the way of the leaders, man. Common sense.'

"Hopefully," Baxter said, "cooler heads prevail when actual racing returns. It was Simon's second straight E-victory, and he now leads the E-points."

Baxter turned to face another camera.

"In other news, the NFL draft is just a week away, and who will Indianapolis pick? All signs point to a wide receiver, given the team's lack of depth in that area. Mock drafts have Indy taking a cheetah out of Alabama, but the need for another pass-rushing defensive end has people wondering if the team might take a wolverine out of Louisiana State ... "

After his segment ended, Baxter left the set, walking back to the newsroom. He had a half-hour 'til his next bit.

His phone buzzed in his pocket on the way.

A text from Dotty: 'meet at 10, B? I'll tell you where closer to'

Baxter texted back: 'right, sure thing!'

The otter almost added a heart emoji but caught himself. His cheeks burning, he put the phone back in his pocket.

He kept walking, trying not to dwell on it. And also trying not to get an erection.

Both were difficult asks.

"Yo, Fib," the otter called, seeing the mouse at the end of the hall that connected the set and the newsroom. He, too, was on his phone. No doubt Meadow had noticed what had happened and was checking on him.

"What do you want," Fib said dully, putting his phone away.

They stopped talking as Roslyn, the prissy tabby, left the newsroom and cut right between them on her way past. She didn't say 'hello' or 'excuse me' or even offer a polite nod. Just said, "No loitering, boys."

When she was out of earshot, Baxter told Fib, "She's _such_a b--"

"She's sleeping with the boss," Fib reminded privately. "Don't get on her bad side."

Baxter made a face but knew the mouse was right. Roslyn had more power in this station than any of the other on-air talent.

"What was so important that you had to chase me down?" Fib continued.

"Huh? Oh. I didn't 'chase you down'," Baxter said, rudder-tail steering through the air behind him, as if performing evasive maneuvers. "We just happened to cross paths."

Fib tilted his head and waited, not buying it.

"Don't let those protesters shake you, okay?" the otter blurted, looking angry. "Those people are crazy, man! It's just a small group of malcontents on the wrong side of history. You're better than them."

Fib blinked.

"I mean ... " Realizing he was getting quite 'friendly' with the mouse, the otter cleared his throat and said, "Cause, like, if you start moping? You're gonna kill my ratings."

"Your ratings?" the mouse echoed.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm on right after you."

"Yeah ... "

"So, if you drive viewers away with your 'woe is me' routine? They'll change the station and won't be watching me." The otter gave a huff and crossed his arms. "You'll hurt my chance at a raise during the next staff review."

"Right ... "

"Right," Baxter repeated, uncrossing his arms and standing as tall as he could. He was a good head higher than the mouse.

The frenemies looked at each other for a moment.

Is that what they were, now?

Frenemies?

That almost sounded like ... progress.

The mouse said softly, "For a second, I thought ... maybe you actually cared about me?"

There was a pregnant pause.

Finally, the otter waved a webbed paw. "Nah."

Fib nodded. He took a deep breath. "Well!" He shrugged and squeaked. "Your ratings are going down anyway. I mean ... E-sports?" the mouse taunted with a snicker. He shook his head in pity, turned, and went into the newsroom.

Baxter, biting down his smile, followed Fib through the double doors and insisted, "Hey, didn't you hear? It's the wave of the future!"