1947 – Two years after the second World War, upon a stage.

"Due to recent events here at home, it has come to the attention of this administration that predators are not capable of handling shell-shock on their own. They need our help, protection, therapy... they need something to stop them from killing their families in fits of uncontrollable rage. Even the slightest noise can set them off and ruin their entire lives in a moment of weakness and savagery. Therefore, I present the Tame Collar." The crowd ogled the device their capybara mayor held forward for them, the white glow of the light on the collar indicating it wasn't active but still had power. "These lovely devices will respond to the adrenaline that courses through a predator's body in times of distress, shocking them back to reality before it's too late."

1954 – In a recording studio.

"Doctor," asked a zebra mare of a giraffe bull, "now that the demand for tame collars has increased and all predator veterans are wearing them, Zootopia wants to know: what is it that makes them so great?"

"Shock therapy has always been effective in private sessions, but it can't permanently cure chronic mental illness. The tame collars have solved this issue."

"Shock therapy, you say?"

"Yes, a sudden jolt of electricity can unscramble a warped mind. War warps minds, and now this can be applied at every moment when it is needed."

"If war was our only problem then we would want tame collars on our prey veterans too, wouldn't we?" Her tone of voice made it clear that she held no such belief, her delivery merely acceptable enough for the cameras to keep rolling while the doctor straightened his tie.

"Predators are more predisposed to violent outbursts and aggressive behavior. It's in their biology. We can't stop it entirely, but we can help them to function in our diverse society by giving them a..." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words, and then smirking imperceptibly when he found them. "A reminder to be good."

1960 – At the peak of escalation in Vernam and the start of the war for the South Seas.

A rabbit in camouflage fatigues and a small flak jacket stared down at the pile of dog tags in his helmet with a far-off look in his eyes, the rhino beside him shaking his head dismally. "War is Hell. Why did they have to go and draft a bunch of bunnies?"

"War might be Hell, Berns, but at least I don't have to wear one of those damn collars out here." The helicopter they were riding in lurched as they were hit by a wave of turbulence, the majority of the mammals looking about in concern as they wondered what was happening. It took them a moment to process that they weren't under attack from the Vernamese or the Vern-Kong, and once they did they returned to their conversation. The wolf smiled at the rhino as he continued. "I'd rather die out here than spend the rest of my life unable to enjoy sex."

"What the fuck, Hopkins?" The rhino seemed both appalled and confused, the cheetah of the squad chuckling to himself.

"Not all the Vernamese hate us, Hopkins. Maybe you can fuck some of the villagers."

"I can't believe I have to fight with you freaks."

"The collar takes away everything, Berns. My wife wants pups, but she can't enjoy getting them." The rhino snorted at that, but kept listening. "If she likes what I'm doing too much then her collar shocks her, it's plenty strong enough to kill anything trying to become a life in her loins. I have to stroke myself and slide in when I'm almost there, and I use breathing exercises to keep my own heart-rate down." by the time Hopkins was finished Berns was appalled for a whole new reason, even the mourning rabbit looking up from the sea of dog tags to stare at the wolf.

"This is your first war, and your wife isn't a soldier, is she?" Hopkins shook his head for the rhino. "Then they can't make you wear the collars in private. That's bullshit!"

"Not since '57," the cheetah interjected, idly checking his M60 machine gun. "There was a massive spike in domestic violence in the previous year, and now only the cops can remove collars." A look fell over the rabbit's face as if he knew he was going to die with absolute certainty, the helmet filled with tags hitting the deck and drawing the attention of the other soldiers. "You okay there, Hopps?"

"I'm sorry," he said vaguely to both of the predators in the helicopter.

"At least we don't have to wear them to war. A few months of freedom ain't bad, and dying after is a nice bonus too." Their sensitive ears perked to the distinct sound of a rocket being launched, but by the time they processed that they needed to warn the pilot they were already hit. The helmet Hopps had dropped was gone.

"Brace for impact!"