If this were mainland Zebrica, I would enjoy the storms quite a bit. On Farasi, however? The rooftops were downright dangerous to run across when wet, and gang members and police forces would prowl the streets in force even during the rain, making travel all but impossible for a zebra as universally hated as me. A shame, too: some of our victims from today—mares and stallions alike—were quite fetching, and some were even eyeing me up when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. I’d have rather liked to bring one of them to a hideout, and have them do nothing but scream my name and beg for more the whole night.