The subway tunnel stretched on forever.
The air felt heavy, thick with damp and the tang of rust. Flickering lights buzzed overhead, casting jagged shadows that danced like wolves on the walls. Paris stood in the middle of the platform, surrounded by the others—girls she half-knew, faces flickering like static on an old TV. Their murmurs echoed in the cavernous space, a blend of panic and snide remarks.
One of the domestic girls clung to the back of her seat, bleating softly about how her parents were going to kill her for being out so late. Another wild one scoffed, adjusting her earrings like the blackout was a minor inconvenience and not the start of something much worse.
The lights above cut out completely, plunging them into a darkness so absolute it felt like a physical weight.
"Of course," Paris muttered under her breath, but her voice sounded far away, muffled by the pressing dark. She felt her hoof stumble against the edge of the platform and stepped back, her pulse quickening.
"Do we stay here?" one of the others asked, her voice high and wavering.
"No way," snapped another. "You think the trains are still running? We'll get pancaked down here."
A hurried consensus followed, and they began moving, Paris trailing behind. Her ears twitched at every sound—the distant drip of water, the shuffle of hooves against concrete, the low, guttural growl of something that might have been the wind.
They reached a service ladder that led up into the city. Climbing was chaos: muttered curses, misplaced hooves, someone losing their balance and nearly toppling back down. When they finally emerged, gasping into the open air, Paris wished they'd stayed underground.
The city was in flames.
Buildings burned, their silhouettes glowing orange against the night sky. Crowds surged in the streets, an unholy mix of panicked bleats and triumphant howls. Wolves, goats, and deer clashed in the chaos, their faces distorted by firelight. Paris caught glimpses of signs, slogans she couldn't read in the chaos.
"The blackout!" one of the girls screamed, pointing to a smashed display screen looping static. "It wiped out the votes!"
Paris frowned, her heart racing. The votes. The new species recognition bill. It had been all over the news: whether or not to split the sheep further into more subgroups, granting them additional representation in Parliament. A move designed to solidify the herbivores' political dominance while fracturing their voting bloc.
She tried to focus, but the dream began to fracture. Faces shifted into masks, masks into shadow, and then—
She jolted awake, her room bathed in the dim blue glow of the TV.
The news was still playing, the anchor's voice flat and relentless:
"...finalized last night in a blackout-affected vote, the Species Recognition Bill has sparked outrage among other hoofed representatives, with antelope and deer accusing the sheep bloc of overreach. The blackout delayed several key electronic votes, but parliamentary procedures pushed the bill through at the last moment..."
Paris rubbed her eyes, her pulse still thundering from the dream. She reached for the remote but paused as the screen shifted to footage of protests.
Thousands of herbivores crowded the streets of Parliament Square, signs waving in the air. Some read "Fair Votes, Not New Species!" while others proclaimed "Representation for All!"
A smaller faction had counter-signs: "Divide the Bloc, Unite the People!"
The anchor continued, her voice clipped:
"Opponents of the bill argue that it disproportionately benefits domestic sheep, who make up the majority of new subgroups, while wild sheep and other herbivores are left marginalized. Parliament officials have denied claims of bias, citing long-overdue recognition of underrepresented groups..."
Paris leaned back into her pillow, her eyes narrowing at the screen.
The parliamentary chambers appeared next, footage of hoofed representatives arguing across long wooden tables. A sharp-looking antelope leaned forward, her cloven hoof tapping the desk for emphasis.
"This bill is a blatant manipulation of our system!" she shouted, her horns gleaming under the overhead lights. "By recognizing these new subgroups, you are consolidating power among domestics who already dominate the sheep bloc. This is not representation—it's gerrymandering!"
Across the table, an elderly domestic sheep adjusted his glasses, his wool freshly trimmed for the cameras. "We're simply acknowledging diversity within our species," he said calmly. "Wild sheep and domestic sheep are not monolithic. This bill gives voices to communities long ignored by the broader herbivore coalition."
"But only certain communities," interrupted a young deer with a sharply cut suit. "What about the mouflon who were forced to align with the pigs? Or the argali moved to the cows? The fragmentation is arbitrary at best and divisive at worst."
The debate dissolved into overlapping voices, hooves thudding against tables for emphasis. Paris turned the volume down, her thoughts racing.
Her dream hadn't been far from the truth.
The blackout had wiped out the digital votes, forcing the council to use an emergency procedure to pass the bill before the budget deadline. And just like in her dream, the chaos hadn't stopped there.
Out in the city, riots were spreading. Not just herbivores—carnivores had joined too, though their motivations were unclear. Wolves marched alongside goats, some calling for unity, others just reveling in the chaos.
Paris stared at the screen, the anchor's voice now muted. Her heart still pounded from the dream, her mind replaying the surreal moments in the subway, the flickering shadows, the endless dark.
The dream might have been her imagination, but it wasn't wrong.
The city was burning. And she wasn't sure what that meant for her—or her fractured halves.