Myla & The Bad Guy's (Mr. Wolf x OC)

Prison Life With The Ferocious Four

TW⚠️: Mentions of inappropriate touching are used.

     "Well this tastes like shit."

     "Yeah, no shit, we just got a new chef," Ryder Landry replied.

     The anthropomorphic bear nodded to the prison cafeteria where Mr. Croc struggled to bake beans and cook fish Pattie's in the kitchen along with the other cooks. The large bear winced as he hesitantly swallowed a spoon of distasteful beans. 

     "Any sign of Badger?," an older wolf named, Seth, asked impatiently.

     As if on cue, an average, stubby sized anthro badger, stomps over to where his boss and second-in-command sat.

     Mr. Badger slammed his tray on the table with an angry huff. He excessively snatched a taco, and gobbled it in his mouth. He harshly chewed his food before swallowing. The whole time, his jaw clenched shut, and his narrowed eyes stared at the wall ahead of him.

     "The hell's wrong with you?," Ryder asked.

     "Achievemephobia," he grumbled.

     "What?"

     "I couldn't get the damn job done, alright?!," Badger hissed through his teeth to the wolf and bear in front of him, his spiked fur rising up.

     "What do you mean you "couldn't get the job", done?," Mr. Landry growled back, a warning for him to quit raising his voice.

     "I couldn't steal one of the guard's clothes!!!," he spat.

Badger carefully let out a couple deep breaths to gather his calm, neutral bearings. "Plus, there was mail for me delivered by one of my cousins, so that was nice I guess."

     "What'd the letter say?"

     "Nothing, just along the lines of, "I hope they serve cat piss drinks in prison.""

     Seth let out a long sigh of disappointment. He brought his paws to his forehead, and rubbed his temple. He brought one of his paws down to slowly scratch the table. His claws eerily scrape the metal surface by creating a high-pitched noise that's unpleasant to the ears and jaw. Exasperating, he says, "Badger . . . do you realize how significant that plan was?"

     Mr. Badger rolled his eyes. He knew full well of where this starter question of shame is going to go.

     Seth leaned his head across the table, close enough so only Ryder and Badger could hear his low, daunting voice. His dark, ominous eyes gave the stubby-legged animal a death glare. He counted his fingers as he said, "If we can't snatch one of their work suits, their ID, store them in a toilet, dress like we're one of the watchmen, escape this hell hole of metal bars, then there's no chance of going back to the city to finally get revenge on . . . you know who."

     Mr. Badger blankly stared at Seth. Not at all affected by his boss's words.

     "Well that's rough, buddy. Life goes on." He shrugged, mentally preparing for what's to come.

     The brawny wolf held no hesitation as he promptly reached his paw across the table, grabbed Badger's head, and rammed his nose on the table. Hard.

     Mr. Badger held back a cry as pain shot right through his snout. "Why the fuck do I work with you?!," he shouted, barley touching his face as blood oozed out of his nose. He cradled it to hopefully force the merciless pain away.

     "Because I pay you. Was the nineteen years worth of occasional head massages not enough wage for you?," Seth retrieved his paw back. He ignored Badger's pain like it was nothing as he continued eating an evening hotdog, which consisted of a dull flavor that left a bitter taste in his muzzle.