Hello, it's me, I'm not dead (yet). I've been absent and away on a quest to re-calibrate my life, and in that time, I've also decided to take writing stories as serious as I can be in the midst of life's chaotic events.

After a long period of brainstorming, pre-writing, writing, deleting, having existential crisis, writing, and editing, I am humbled to present the first chapter of my new "serious" project.

Note: Pardon me for my inability to write in proper grammar, occasional misspellings, and incomprehensible contents. English is a beautiful language, but it's not my native language, though I'm still striving for further improvements. Feedback is always greatly appreciated, and I'm excited to hear any thoughts, comments, questions, or ideas, and will try my best to reply to all of them.

Rated M for: strong language, suggestive themes, use of violence (and excessive violence).

Chapter 0: Prologue

The ocean.

Probably one of the places on the entire planet that he'd loved the most. He just loves to sit at the end of the pier, dangling his bare feet just above the splashing water while staring out into the far end of the dancing water. He would take his family there sometimes on the weekend, too, or whenever they could afford it.

"It" being the weekend.

He loved the ocean for many things, but one of them holds a special place in his heart: It has nothing to say. And it's needless to say anything. It doesn't judge, it doesn't discriminate, and unlike him, it doesn't lie and break promises. That's its nature, how it was created. He loved it just the way it is.

But. after what happened last week and today, he could never wander into the serenity of the sea again. He couldn't love it anymore for that love was tainted. With blood.

"Hey, Al!"

The bark broke his private, fragile room of thoughts and snapped him back to attention. The fox swung around to see the hound sitting at the end of the speedboat with a curious look on his face. A smoking cigarette hung low between his set of fangs as he went on with more questions.

"What ya doing sitting there staring at your hands? Got hit or something?" The Northern English accent always managed to fool him into thinking that the one-eye fox is the sort of a laid-back mammal. Even the look on his face plays the part. But, after running with the crew for almost a whole month, he knew that Joey was precisely the opposite of an easy-going creature.

"Um, no. Just…"

"Sure a stray bullet didn't hit you?"

The fox looked over his shoulder at the badger on the other end of the boat manning the watercraft. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Melvin Kingsley was the head of their little gunrunning crew. He had always been the one to look out for everyone, whether it was financial or just simply sitting down at a bar to talk over things with a cup of tea. The Englishmammal is not to be taken as a softie, however, as he could be as ruthless as he is caring. Though the red fox had never seen the badger acted out of his usual classy manner, he certainly didn't need to see that ferocious side of the crew's mastermind and negotiators.

"Are you?" The mastermind asked again. This time, he was looking ahead of the ship instead of facing the fox.

Alan wasn't sure if he was fine like he said. He wasn't sure if any of what they did and were doing was "fine." Maybe some of the things they had done in the weeks before could be comfortably fit into that "fine" zone, but what had just happened an hour before was something else. To the fox, it wasn't "fine" at all.

Mugging tobacco shops and liquor stores might be alright with him, but this whole "operation" crossed the line that he'd drawn.

"I… I don't know," the red fox paused as he stared back down at the pair of bloody hands.

"We've just killed someone, Mel."

"So?"

The indifference in the badger's tone made Alan contorted his brows and slightly held his maw open as the fox looked at the chocolate-fur mammal.

"Someone just died by our hands! It wasn't supposed to go like that."

"You're shell shocked."

"Nobody was even supposed to get shot at!" Alan burst out.

"Yeah, you go tell that kid and his buddy. That slimy scumbag of a buck pulled his gun out first." Joey said, taking the cigarette in between his fingers and letting out a cloud of white smoke that barely lasted against the wind.

Alan followed up with nothing in response. Joey was right about the kid and his friend. He understands that when somebody tries to hijack a deal, it isn't going to end on a pleasant for all parties. In their case, it didn't end well for the other guys.

"You didn't have to do all of that first aid thing, either. Hardly anyone lives after getting a bullet sliced through their throat." The one-eye mammal added.

Having isolated himself from the others in an invisible sphere of solitude once more, the last words from Joey slipped through Alan's ears as his thought was occupied by nothing more than the guilt from what he didn't do.

He was expecting the usual kind of deal, where he and the crew deliver the crates of guns to the buyer, receive the payment, and then walk away like they had always done. They would then split the money evenly, and Alan would take all of it and send it into an offshore account that was under a pseudonym. He needed that money, but not for him.

It was for home.

Home. So close that you can see it, yet it's so far that you can't reach it.

"Outback coming up, boys." Came the voice of the captain.

Home.

-Years later-

"You said he worked at a tailor shop?"

"Most of the time."

"What'd you mean?"

"Well, he… had a lot of different jobs. Running from one place to another to make a buck. Anything that could get him an honest day's pay, he'd go for it."

"Sounds like a busy man."

"He was. He considered the tailor shop to be his favorite, though. Even thought of opening one."

"But he never had the chance to, huh?"

"Yeah."

The silence between the two mammals after one of them answered made the air even more morbid than it already was. Thankfully, the midnight chirps of the critters among the grass and the distant sound of water sprinklers spouting fended off the grim stillness of the night, and those little, indistinctive chitter of the marble town turned that uneasy absent of life into something more... tranquil.

For him, it was.

They've been standing there for almost a solid half an hour. The crisp autumn wind lightly brushed over their fur and touched their skin, yet it sent shivers down one of the two visitors as he wrapped himself with both arms.

The brows on the dingo's face contorted into a slightly agitated frown. He wasn't used to getting out in open fields this late at night. The comfort of his bed and the confinement inside four walls were his accustomed habitat.

If he had to describe himself in three words, James Diaz would not hesitate to blurt out something similar to nerd, city-dweller, and brunch. Going out to socially interact with other mammals wasn't on his list of "things should be done," nor it was his preferred after-work activity, and his job barely needed him to interact with anyone, so, therefore trying to maintain a normal, non-awkward conversation was something of a skill that he desperately needed to hone and preserve. Thankfully, he didn't need to do any of that as the other mammal next to him had been the one to strike up conversations and sailing them to shore without wrecking them like James would have if he were to take the wheel.

A security analyst for a small company and a ZPD detective. It's not an odd pair-up but isn't a customary one, either. James had known the fox before the street hustler got recruited and became a ZPD officer. Back then, the dingo himself was still an intern at a tech workshop, fresh out of college and oblivious to the city. Years later, one landed a job that can pay for a fancy apartment uptown, and the other got promoted to Detective.

He looked thinner and thinner with every meeting that was called; It was quite evident as the charcoal-colored blazer he adored so much was becoming somewhat loose on him. Lack of sleep was the dingo's first and best guess. After that, loss of appetite would be the likely follow-up.

Drugs wouldn't fit in any part of the narrative as he knew the red fox. He was a cop. Not the kind that takes bribes and boasts about his or her career to the whole city, or the trigger happy that pulls out his or her loaded gun and points it at a shoplifter. He wasn't the sort that would do meet-and-greets with every mammal at the station and carry an overly optimistic view on justice, either. No, Nicholas Wilde was more of the mammal that dabbles in the gray zone between the "good cop" and the "bad cop." He was the kind that would occasionally slack off on paperwork, but wouldn't let a potato thief get away.

He'd changed quite a bit, both appearance and personality wise.

"So, why are we here of all the places?" James spoke, hissing afterward and rubbing his arms as another breeze rushed by. He wished he had taken the jacket with him instead of leaving it on the rack at home.

"The files," Nick replied before bending down on one knee and laid down the bouquet of assorted dandelions and other flowers that he didn't have much of a clue on. "And because it's his birthday."

Even though they were silent nods, the dingo guessed that the fox probably knew the gesture of acknowledgment coming from him as the kneeling mammal followed up with more words on the deceased. "I know he liked dandelions. Didn't have much of favor toward roses, though. That's Ma. She likes roses."

The fox grabbed a patch of mixed, overgrown dried and green grass lumping by the headstone and yanked it out of the ground. He continued weeding out the invasive plants to tidy up the small monument.

On the stone tablet erected among the thick foliage were words etched into the rough, chipped surface.

Alan P. Wilde

June 18, 1960 -

Mentor, Husband, Father

There was no date of death inscribed on the small headstone like every other grave around it, and it was entirely intentional. His mother insisted that it should be left out when they brought home the news that his car had been found at the bottom of the Green Palm bay, near the highway that connects Savanna Central and Sahara Square.

"When the crane fished the Fourd out of the sea, we knew that he was very well gone. The entire front was crushed in, the windshield was hanging on at a corner, and the right front wheel was somewhere else." Nick recalled the detail of what he could remember about the day where his life began to turn for the worse.

James had only known that the old fox supposedly passed away in a violent car accident. Nick never told him the details, until now.

"That's…" The dingo wanted to complete his utter with something fitting but found that there was nothing he could fit in.

"But Ma had hope. She hoped that he was still alive, maybe he would step out of the car and called it all a little mischievous prank. But everyone knew that it was pretty hard for a mammal to ram through the barrier, plummet head first into the sea, and survive like it's in the movies."

He took a pause to reach to the other side, kneeling on his knee without much care for his pair of jeans getting dirty, and resumed with the story as his hand started working again.

"When the car was finally out of the water and onto dry land, they found no bodies in it and quickly conclude that the waves and currents must have washed him away. At that point, Pop was concluded dead. But Ma? Ma still held her hopes. You know what she said?"

"What?"

"'Maybe he's stranded somewhere out on the sea.' That was what she thought. She still thinks that he's somewhere out there, maybe on an island, trying to find a way home." The fox chuckled at the last part. "Even when her memory started to fail the following years, she still somehow clung on that."

James pressed his lips into a line, not knowing what to say, or should he say anything at all. It would be awkward and impolite in the analyst's mind for him to just stand around doing nothing while his friend his was working away to clean up his dad's grave, so he decided to give a hand as well. He picked up the withered bundle of flowers - from a prior visit from someone - that was leaned on to the side of the headstone and scouted for a garbage can to throw it away. Taking a few steps to get to the sleek metal bin, the dingo dropped the dead flowers into the disposal container and made his way back to Nick.

"The cops found no evidence of foul play, so they ruled that out and reported it as accidental."

"Was it?"

"Who knows."

"But what do you think?"

Nick didn't answer the question that he put out, so James thought that he might have hit something rather sensitive and immediately wished that he had not blurted it out. However, the weight on his chest was slightly unburdened as soon as the fox changed the subject.

"So, did your CEO say anything at all?" The orange-furred mammal inquired as he dusted his hands off and rose up.

"Well," James reached into the knapsack that hung by his hip and pulled out a blue paper folder. The standard letter-sized organizer was held together by one-inch binder clips on the top and bottom. "He was very compliant with the order and said nothing more. Pulled all that the company had on the guy and squeezed them into this neat-o here. Addresses, phone numbers, P.O boxes, work schedules, too."

Nick took the file folder in his hand and removed the clips so he could take a peek at the papers. There was barely any light around them, and the closest lamp post was about four yards away, but he was going to try anyway.

"Scary to know that the moose you work with turns out to be some sort of sicko, degenerate rapist," James commented as he looked around the field, squinted his eyes at the far distances of the starless horizon as if he was trying to spot something, or someone, out of the darkness.

There was barely anyone else there except for the graveyard caretakers living in their post down at the entrance. Yet, it still felt like there were watching eyes hidden among from the graves and the bushes.

The mammal both him and Nick was talking about was put on the ZPD's watchlist about two weeks prior. Less than four days later, Randy Ackmoose became the prime suspect for a twisted case of rape down in Sahara Square, and warrants started coming down on the mammal. After finding out that the suspect had fled his home, police then tried to locate him using any information about him through the places he had been associated with. That included the fugitive's workplace, the same place that James worked at. More frightening, the same mammal that was seated just on the other side of his cubicle.

"People tend to hide their true faces these days. Primarily, on the internet, for example." The fox clapped the folder close and held it close to the side of his waist. "Some use that as a mean of security, while others… others use it for things like what Ackmoose did."

A short xylophone jingle broke the unspoken tension of the conversation and alerted the fox. He dug into his jeans pocket to grab hold of the vibrating smartphone and slightly reared his head back to read the screen.

"Shit," Nick commented, not in an angered manner, but more in the way of someone remembering something important.

"What?" James raised a brow as he watched the detective shoved his phone back in.

"I missed dinner."

"You missed dinner?" It was a rather strange reply to hear from the fox, considering it was thirty-five past eleven - if his watch was accurate. "Not to be rude or anything, but normal mammals have dinner before ten, and-"

"I know. I was at the station with the paperwork." The fox said before drawing in a sharp breath.

"For how long? The whole day?"

"The evening. Anyway, I need to get going. Take care, James." Nick gave the dingo a parting hammer with his fist on the taller mammal's shoulder before walking toward the parking lot.

There was nothing else for him to do and none that he wished to in a cold place like the cemetery, so, James made a short of his stay at the burial spot and hurried down the same cobblestone path that Nick was on. Before he left, the dingo took a glance at the headstone as if he was going to give a solemn farewell to the lost. An unspoken goodbye.

Once the engine began rumbling and the door was sealed, Nick reached for the air control tuners and turned them in clockwise motions, positioning the indicators to the red and orange squares. As the temperature inside the car adjusted itself, Nick backed out of the marked parking spot before driving to the exit gates.

Since there was not a single vehicle parked in the lot, the fox made a quick cut across the empty asphalt-layered field to get to his destination. The car bounced unexpectedly as it ran over something and a loud pop rang echoed through the entire parking lot.

Probably a plastic bottle some moron tossed on the ground, he thought while driving on and not bother stopping the car to check.

The glossy black, mid-size, four-door Doge Courser was a vehicle from the ZPD that they assigned to him as a part of his bargain in exchange for a cut from his monthly salary. Nick thought it would be more convenient to have a flexible vehicle that could be used both on and off duty, whenever the department needed him. Plus, it cuts down the hassle of driving his own car to the station and then swapping out for the bulky-looking standard police cruiser that's twice his height. If he had his own car, that is.

With the deal, Nick was granted a vehicle that was appropriately scaled for mammals of his size, and perfectly designed for his line of work. He was a detective, not a highway patrol officer. Its appearance blended in fantastically with the ordinary traffic on the road, helping the fox maintain his incognito while surveying suspects, and its size was perfect for any sorts of pursuit. But, being a smaller vehicle meant that it wasn't guaranteed the fleeing suspect's vehicle could be stopped without the assistance from other officers with larger cruisers. Luckily for the detective, he had never had the need to be involved in a high-speed chase on the road.

He had set the scanner to off and filled in the empty silence with a playlist of songs from the eighties on his CD. It wasn't his shift anymore, so he'd figured to switch the communication system off and would only turn it back on once he's back on duty. He'd told himself to leave it to the other guys instead of keeping the scanner on and responding to calls when he didn't have to. Someone else had also told him the same thing.

Driven far from the burial ground and entered the near-empty highway, Nick drove for about fifteen minutes before taking the exit to enter Savanna Central district of Zootopia and continued on through the quietly sleeping area. All of it, except for a particular part of the region, was in a deep, peaceful slumber. Nick next destination was anything but quiet.

Stopping and parking his car next to one of the white-marked lines painted on the curb, Nick turned the key and unplugged it before stepping out into the warmer atmosphere. He sucked in a large breath to completely fill his lungs and take in the familiar scents before letting it all back out through a sigh. His ears perked high in the sky as they absolved the sound of the nightlife, and his tail swayed side to side.

"Mannkee's Midnite Pub," it said on the bright neon sign screwed on above the single door. The bar was only a part of the entire one-story building, taking up about a quarter of the land. The other quarter next to it was leased to a small-time, newly established pharmacy. Behind it, taking up the rest of the space, was a supermarket. Two of the businesses were owned by the same mammal.

A couple of drunks busted through the door as they chanted and sung along to the muffled music behind them. Each mammal in the trio was crossing his feet from one side to the other as group dragged on down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of another bar not too far away. Nick waited for the noisy, booze-stinking party to move away from the door before he entered the lively place.

When he got in, nobody in the open room noticed his presence despite the jingle from a little bronze bell attached on the top of the door frame. It was until he was almost at the end of the serving counter that one of the two bartenders caught the sight of the fox.

"Niko!" The chubby grizzly exclaimed loudly as he threw both hands in the air, spilling a few drops of liquid from the cup in his hand. "How are you, eh? It's good to see you, my man!"

"Good to see you, too, Roman." Nick greeted back in a less than eager manner, stopping his head-bobbing motion and temporarily closed his ears to the bluesy-rock tune playing from the speakers.

He had to step back in order to look up at the mammal. The bar was designed for mammals that range from a lion to anything smaller; therefore, almost everything in the room was at least twice the size of Nick.

"Hey, you and me, we need to hang out more man. Bowling, heh? Yeah?"

"When you stop calling me 'Niko,' then yeah, maybe. Seen Mannkee around?"

"The lion? Right over… there."

Nick followed the direction of the pointing finger and scanned the room for his target. In the far corner of the room stood a maned mammal chatting with his patrons with arms crossed. A short, white towel hung from the belt of the heavily built lion, almost blended in with his white t-shirt, but wholly contrasted with the murky green shade of his cargo pants.

Nick was about to walk across the room to get the lion's attention, but then the mammal from far away turned his head to look around the crowded room, so Nick stuck up a waving hand instead. That got the owner's attention, saving the fox from cutting through tables and squeezing in between backs and buttocks.

"Wilde, got the night off?" The approaching deep baritone voice was just at the right volume that Nick could hear the sarcasm in his words.

"You know how it is." Nick followed up after a short chuckle.

"So, here for a drink? Or to get on that stage with a guitar and wow us all? It's been a while since your last," Mannkee said, nodding toward the raised wooden platform. There was no one on it, but the spotlight was still shining down on the makeshift stage and the burgundy curtains that hid the gray brick wall.

"Another time. Here for groceries, actually, and I noticed that the store is already locked up."

Mannkee DiArggio owned both the bar and the supermarket behind it, and the two buildings were connected by a single dividing brick wall. There was a door that leads back and forth from either of the two places, making it extremely convenient for the lion to manage his business. In the day, he would be over at the market, cashing out customers. In the night, he'd be running the bar and serving drinks.

"Ah. Late night shopping? Hungry for a midnight bite?" The lion dug in his hand into the back pocket of his pant to retrieve the keys. A frown came upon the old mammal's face as he dug into the pocket with his other hand, After finding nothing except for a few dollar bills and a corkscrew, he proceeded to pat his body from top down, searching for the bundle of keys in mild confusion, all the while mumbling to himself. "I can't be that old… Ah."

"Dropped the keys somewhere?"

"No, I had them over at the cupboards and totally forgot about that. Jenny!" Mannkee called out to the other bartender, a lioness who looked like she was in her twenties.

"Yeah, Dad?" She replied almost immediately, not looking up to meet his eyes as she was busy pouring a bottle of gin for a couple at the counter.

"Can you toss me the keys? The bunch that has the coconut tree hooked on."

"Where?"

"In the middle cupboard. Top shelf, I think."

"Alright, just a sec'." The lioness said as she moved on to fill the shot glass of the next mammal.

Nick stood and watch from afar as the young mammal slowly, but precisely pour the content of the bottle in her hands into the small glass without spilling a single drop. "She still goes to college, or is she helping you full-time now?" Nick asked while observing the scene.

"Taking a gap year. Did pretty well in her first year, so she decided to take one off and travel somewhere." Mannkee huffed as he crossed both arms in front of his chest. "She's heading on a plane to Spain next week. Can't tell you how excited she is. Been planning it for two whole months."

"Spain? She speaks Spanish?" Nick didn't know the lioness can understand the language, let alone speak it.

"No, her friend does. She's going on the trip with a few of her friends. Two of them."

"Catch!" Jenny shouted from the other end of the bar counter before hurling the ring of keys.

Mannkee perfectly caught the bundle in his hand without breaking a sweat. "Thank you!" He shouted back before both father and daughter went on their ways; Jenny got back to the patrons while Mannkee led Nick to the door that connected the place with the market.

"I miss playing baseball, sometimes. But I doubt a fifty-four years old lion can hardly sprint for the bases." The lion laughed as he turned the doorknob with the key in it.

All lights were off in the market, but the moment Mannkee flipped a switch on the switch box, lights of an aisle came shining down on the shelves.

"So, what are we looking for today?" The older mammal asked.

Nick pulled out his phone and swiped across the screen to unlock it. A quick tap on the letter icon brought up all of the recent text messages to the fox, and he tapped once more on the name displayed at the top of the list.

"Leah," it read.

He scrolled up a few texts until a short list came up. "So, I'll need a pack of salmon fillets, a bundle of parsley and green onions, a carton of soy milk, box of Fruity Hoops, a four-can pack of condensed milk, and Hawaiian bread."

"Milk is right here. Greens are over there, near the registers. Bread is on aisle four, opposite the soft drinks. I'll get you the salmon." After the quick instruction, Mannkee dashed off toward the frozen food section while Nick scouted for the other items.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, the two mammals met up at one of the registers by the entrances with the lion already waiting there long before the fox hauled his groceries in a sizeable basket to the checkout counter. The lion had picked the one with a suitable height for the fox among the many other stands of different sizes. Although it wasn't exactly a match, the desk was low enough for Nick to boosted the red basket up on the black conveyor belt and let it travel down toward the other end

"Frozen fillets will do just fine?" Mannkee held the sealed package of fish meat up between his fingers just before he hovered it over the scanner.

"No fresh ones at this time of the day, right?" Nick said as he retrieved his wallet and readied the credit card for use.

"They come around five in the morning. The leftovers from today are transferred to somewhere else for something else."

The scanner beeped each time an item went through, and after everything was checked-out and confirmed by the lion, a number of total costs popped up on a small display monitor, which was mounted on a metal arm with numerous joints that allowed it to be shaped however it was needed. On the right side of the screen were insert and swipe slots for customer's credit or debit card.

Three different trenches corresponded to the size of the card that was going to slide through it, and the card corresponds to the mammal that carries it. A tiny one made for mammals about the size of a shrew, a small one for mammals like Nick, and the last one was for creatures somewhat the size and height of a lion like Mannkee. "Standard size" was the preferred word for the last slot.

"Bag?" The lion raised a brow as he held up a plastic bag in one hand and used the other one to lowered the screen so it suited the fox's much shorter height.

"Sure. Gotta milk every cent out of the customers, right?" Nick joked before sliding his card along the middle slot.

Mannkee didn't say anything about it and followed up with something else as he placed the items in the bag. There were more than the bag can fit all in, so the lion grabbed another one. "So what's the occasion? I don't think I've ever seen anyone doing late night shopping, or early morning, except for you. Very early morning that is."

Nick chuckled, "No, just forgot to swing by for the groceries earlier."

"Yes, but a normal mammal wouldn't be that bothered to drive to a store that is already closed, walk into a bar behind it, and then asks for the owner for privileged access."

The machine was still processing the card, and the little ellipses on the touchscreen panel kept on blinking steadily as the words "please wait" remained unchanged in its display.

By one twenty-eight in the morning, after a few more turns and "STOP" signs, Nick finally reached his last destination. The car pulled up a few inches away from the painted curb, just behind a large-sized minivan that was parked a little off onto the street. On his right was a six-story tall building that housed roughly more than forty apartments wall-to-wall.

The building was constructed about six years ago, squeezed between two other mid-rise apartments buildings rivaling in height and size, and didn't really stand out from the other buildings on its sides. There wasn't anything for people to marvel at, in terms of the dull color of the exterior. Even the small, framed marble sign next to the double-door entrance bearing the place's name looked unappealing. A typical look of apartments building in the Southern part of Savanna Central.

The monthly rent wasn't something to repulse mammals from living there, but none of the apartments were posted at low prices, either. The numbers were high enough to keep Nick hard at work to receive that end-of-month paycheck from the department. Living in a box under a bridge and surfing couches weren't exactly what one would expect a ZPD detective to do, and Nick had no intention of doing it.

Where he lived happened to be close to the ZPD headquarter, so it was sort of an added bonus to having a convenience store across the street and numerous dining places around the block. Parking could be a problem at certain times, but luckily, a multi-story parking lot wasn't too awfully far away from his building. A twenty-minute drive to the beach and an extra ten to get to Sahara Square wasn't too bad of a deal for living in an ugly building.

The only inconvenience that he could think of was the constant blaring of the fire trucks' horns from a nearby fire station whenever there was a fire. Sometimes, they would startle him in his sleep, cut off a conversation, or disrupt his train of thoughts while he is at the desk working on a case. Although he was glad of the fact that he wouldn't have to stress out if a fire broke loose in the building, Nick still regarded the nearby fire station as a minor inconvenience.

Speaking of the Devil

Overly loud whoops came from the distant just when Nick unhooked his seat belt and pulled the handle on the car door. He immediately jerked the door back to shut it as a train of two fire engines and an ambulance rounded a corner and swiftly rushed by him, breaking the sacred silence of the night as they sped toward an almost invisible column of rising smoke somewhere far away in the other side of the district.

"Another day, another idiot," the fox mumbled with a slight headshake.

Wedging the files under one arm and hauling the bags of produces in the other, he entered the building and strolled to the end of the hallway, where the elevators were. After punching the call button for the lift, the fox stepped back and waited as the heavy metal box whirred it's way down.

Nick had never felt comfortable taking the elevators and had had ideas about how many unfortunate scenarios could play out. It was partly because of how old and outdated the lifts were, judging by the clearly noticeable mechanical sound of the gears and belt laboring. The doors squeak every time they opened or closed, and that alone gave him second thoughts on stepping inside the confined, gapless metal cages.

But he wasn't planning on carrying all of that weight and march up to the top floor of the building. Today is just isn't the day for an after work workout. Besides, the ride shouldn't be that bad. Nothing wrong had ever happened from what he'd known according to his time staying at the place and also the neighbors who preceded him.

The reluctant fox stepped into the lift after the pair of thick, metallic door slid open, and quickly hit the topmost button. He wanted to get out of that cold, metal box as soon as possible.

The sooner, the better, the fox thought as the dim hallway gradually got closed up. He repeated the same words in his head until the lift had reached its destination and the doors slid apart again. He heaved a sigh of relief while stepping out.

His apartment happened to be the third from last down the corridor, on the North side of the building, the one with the unusual-looking door. By "unusual," like his neighboring mammal had described, it was because his was a glaucous-blue instead of the uniform chestnut-brown like all other households. The story as to why was a rather long and complicated one.

The fox stopped at before the door, reaching to grab the silver knob, but then immediately paused as a confused frown formed itself on his weary face.

"Wait," Nick muttered.

Something wasn't right. He was standing in the right building, on the right floor, and at the right door, but he felt as if he wasn't supposed to go through that door, which led to his apartment.

Then, he remembered.

"Wrong destination," the reynard did a half-circle turn and stepped toward the door of the apartment opposite to his.

Before knocking, the fox made sure he looked as lively as possible and tried to hide the wariness that was evident on his eyelids. Then, he formed a knuckle and raised it against the door. Four firm knocks were all he needed. But, after a few short minutes void of any responses, he tried again. Sleeping, maybe? Nick pondered as he waited and stared at the closed wooden door. Still no answers, so he attempted once more.

The subtle sound of slippers against marble titles came from the other side and got a little more audible as it approached the door. Then, the flopping sound stopped. The metallic clinking of the door chain being unlocked rattled and a short click followed soon after, but the door was still shut closed. Being as patient as he possibly could, thanks to the now overwhelming sleepiness, Nick stood still at where he was and continued with the waiting game.

Another click and a slight crack appeared between the door and its frame, flooded with soft, golden light.

A snowy, furry face peeked out from behind the door.

He looked at her. She stared at him. He forced an apologetic smile. She returned it with unimpressed brows. He tried to keep that smile for as long as possible without making it look awkward or creepy, but signs of struggling soon crawl onto his face. Still, no changes in her expression. Finally, he gave up and let it all droop down - ears and all. It was only then that her face changed to something other than the deadly silent stare. With a little extra something.

"You're late, Detective. The burglar already got away with your dinner."

The vixen said in a jokingly dismissive manner after a short giggle, accompanied by a smug look. Her attempt at the typical elite British accent as seen in movies and TV shows made Nick smiled. Her sudden recent interest in British television gave rise to another accent of hers that he'd heard almost all day every day. Not something he would have ever expected, but he loved it as much as he loved her native Californian accent.

"No leftovers?" Nick said, raising the bags of groceries.

"Mm-hmm." She replied affirmatively and let the door yawned open as she stepped back. "No leftovers at all."

Nick closed the door behind him and went to set the bags and the files on the bartop, "Whoa, what kind of burglar steals leftovers as well?"

"The kind that waited for two hours, finished a season of TV show, and was about to fall asleep on the sofa." The white fox pushed the hinge lock to its secure position and reset the small chain.

He didn't expect that. Sort of, but not in that kind of response.

Nick spun around slowly as he formulated an apology in his head. He was figuring the words and how to put them together to rival the sassiness in her tone, but as soon as he turned around, she was already inches away from his snout.

Her slender arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pulled herself in and locked him in a warming hug. Her cheek pressed against his as she said, "I'm just messing with you." Followed up with that was a soft peck on the red fox's cheek as she leaned back. "How was the trip?"

Phew, the tod sighed internally. "Same as last year. Nothing different much. I bought him flowers, hung out with him for a little bit, you know, talked about things that dads and their son would talk about. A little chillier, though." He ended it with a chuckle that gained him another peck on his lips.

"He'd be proud to know that home came for him, Nick."

A sniffle came from the red fox that made his vixen raise a brow.

"It's chilly." He said, trying to hold his emotion in with the excuse and a smile.

"I've never seen you cried, Nick Wilde. But, I don't mind seeing it for once." She winked and gave him a nudge before pulling away to attend to the groceries.

"Not a single chance, Miss Houser."

Nick sucked in a long breath and let it out as he indulged himself in the heart-warming and welcoming air of the place. Of home.

Home.

You have questions, I can tell. Well, actually, I can't since I'm just an average homo sapien. But, if you do, then, fire away, my friend.