Nick

Why am I dwelling on this? She's going on a date. So what. She's allowed to do that. I have bigger things to worry about. I chide myself silently, but the MuzzleTime conversation with my rabbit friend which just ended has stuck itself permanently in my brain. At least part of what I'm telling myself is true- I do have bigger things to worry about. Things of much greater importance, however, I've been trying not to think about it all day, because whenever I do, I feel as though I'm going to either shout for joy or go the restroom and puke my guts out. This feeling is actually quite nostalgic. It brings back memories of when we would play concerts every other day. However, it's stronger this time, for a variety of reasons.

I stuff my phone into my pocket and pull the small bowl of cricket curry which I've been reheating from the microwave. I take a bite, and am pleased to find that it's still good. I glance at my watch and sigh. Finnick's coming soon. I should probably get ready to go.

Almost five years ago, Zootopia had something more famous than Gazelle. They were a four mammal band known as "The Warmbloods." They produced fifteen of the most famous rock and punk songs ever. And then, they disappeared without a trace. This story is well known all over the city, and is told by musicians and fans of the band almost unceasingly, because it's quite the tale- why would such a successful band just quit, and leave everything. Of course, they say, we'll never know, because the band kept all four of its members under codenames. They're completely anonymous. Whenever someone tells this story to me, I have a very hard time looking them directly in the eye and nodding as though I agree. They could never know that I have a much… shall we say, deeper, understanding of the Warmbloods. No one has ever guessed, and I'm okay with that.

I march to my bedroom, sidestepping the small bucket on the floor that collects the water dripping through the roof. Constant leaks are a hazard of living in the Rainforest District. I could buy a nicer apartment, of course, but I enjoy living humbly. There's only so much money a fox needs, and I'd rather not look like I make money as some sort of rock star.

Even though I do.

I pull the door to my bedroom open, and walk in. My bedroom is the epitome of humble, containing only the necessities. A dresser, a bed, a desk with a cheap laptop sitting open on it, and two guitars, one acoustic, one electric, in cases lying at the foot of the bed. I walk over to the guitars and quickly look over the case to make sure I have everything.

Picks. Check.

Replacement strings just in case. Check.

Guitars. Uh, duh.

I nod to myself, and turn towards the computer. It's open to an email from foxyfinnick69 , with the subject line IMPORTANT: SET LIST FOR TONIGHT. The thread shows a long chain of emails in which I debate the merits of playing the band's more popular songs with him, and in which he finally gives in. I smirk, and shut the laptop with a snap. Tonight is about the band, and I think I'm finally ready to do it.

I hear a knock on the door, and I can almost see the small, aggressive fox standing behind it, waiting impatiently to for me to just come on out, for god's sake. I grab my guitars, sling them over my back, walk to the door, and throw it open. Finnick stands below me, looking up at me with a combination nervous smile and psyched grin.

"What's up, Nick." He says with a grin, taking in the guitars on my back. "I haven't seen you like that in forever."

"Yeah. Probably too long, honestly." I shrug. "You ready for tonight?" I ask. Finnick doesn't say anything, instead, from behind him, he produces a black case and pops it open. Inside are two white drumsticks, with WARMBLOOD written in red on one and black on another.

"I'll take that as a yes." I say with a smirk. He nods, and checks his phone as I make my way out of the door, shutting it and locking it behind me.

"James is on his way, and Big H says he's unlocked the back door and we should unload our stuff there."

"Any idea how we're going to the stage without being noticed?" I ask.

"James says he's got us covered."

"Does Henry have the masks?" I say.

"Yep, Big H is on top of it." Finnick confirms.

Masks are a huge part of the Warmblood legend. We wear a combination of a ski and masquerade mask onstage to conceal our identities. I'm technically the only one of us whose mask doesn't cover the mouth. I sing, and thus, covering the mouth is impossible.

"Just like old times." Finnick murmurs as we hop into his van. I nod, and turn the radio on as he backs out of the parking lot behind my apartment building. The radio is on a talk show, and the host is talking excitedly about the upcoming Warmbloods concert.

"—is their first concert in five years, and still nothing is known about the band. Tickets sold out in less than seven minutes, and seeing as the concert is being held in a full scale Elephantine Memorial Amphitheater, which seats- get ready for it- 60,000 large mammals and an additional 20,000 small mammals, that seven minute sell out time is insane. This may actually be the concert of the year. We now go live to the amphitheater, where Jason Bearly is standing by as the doors are—"

Finnick laughs. "Concert of the year, eh Nick?" he says, turning to me. "Think we're gonna live up to the hype?"

"Damn sure." I reply. "We're the Warmbloods, we live for the hype."

Finnick laughs so hard I'm afraid he's going to choke, and speeds the car out of the rainforest district and towards Precinct One, and the amphitheater.

Noting the time (just before 6:00 PM) I pull out my phone, and send Carrots a text.

Have fun on your date, Carrots.

She replies within seconds.

Thank you, Nick! Where r u?

I pause, before typing out a response that is technically true.

On my way to the Warmbloods concert.

OMG I 3 THE WARMBLOODS NICHOLAS WHY AREN'T U TAKING ME

I laugh, and respond.

Really, you like punk rock? The Warmbloods are an angry band and they play angry music. Not for you.

I LOVE THEM DON'T U DARE INSULT THEM

Haha.

TAKE ME TAKEMETAKEMETAKEMETAKEME

I would, Carrots, but you're busy tonight. Maybe if they play again, I'll take you.

U BETTER. Have fun! RECORD SOME OF IT AND SHOW IT TO ME 2MORROW.

Fair enough. Talk later?

Yes. Definitely.

kk. have fun, Carrots.

I slide my phone back into my pocket. Finnick looks casually over at me.

"That was the rabbit, right?"

"Yep."

"You are in over your head, man." Finnick chuckles. "She's something, that bunny. I've never seen you like this about anyone or anything."

"Yeah…" I nod. "The interspecies thing is an issue though. She probably wouldn't even look at me." I say, sadness leaking into my voice.

Finnick turns to me sharply. "People who don't believe in interspecies relationships are asshats, and we both know that. You're a nice fox, Nick. She'll see that."

"I guess."

"Nick." Finnick says, slowly. "Take whatever you're feeling, and use it tonight. Then it might actually be a great concert."

I nod. That much, at least makes sense. Just like the old times, I think sardonically. Back when anger and exhaustion and frustration from days of con jobs made our music shine with anger and passion and frustration.

We arrive in a back alley. The alley is behind a bar known as "the Savanna Ale Hole" and is two blocks away from the amphitheater. Together, Finnick and I grab all of our stuff and drag it through a door in the alley wall which leads into a dingy, poorly lit back room in the Ale Hole. Inside, a lion sits on a dusty amp, watching us. As soon as Finnick walks in, he stands, and wordlessly wraps Finnick in an embrace.

"Let- erk- me go- ack- James" Finnick chokes, and James puts him down.

"Good to see you, James." I smile.

"Nick, my main mammal!" James booms. The lion is beautiful, with a large gold mane and his mask already on over his face. Strapped to his back is an enormous bass guitar. "You ready to play?"

"Yep." I say.

"Good," A fourth voice says dryly, "I was getting worried." The final member of the band, the second guitarist Henry enters the room. He's a fairly large Honey Badger, and also happens to be the bartender for the Ale Hole. He reaches behind the amp that James was sitting on and tosses two strange objects to Finnick and me. I know what it is when I catch it- it's my mask. I pull it on slowly, the feel of the fabric covering my face. I admire myself in the darkened window near the roof. I look like a fox demon, and that's just what people want to think.

"Henry, how are we getting to the stage?" I ask.

Henry gives a toothy smile. "I spent all of last week building a tunnel to an abandoned subway line below the ground. The line once stopped at an old station that was the foundation for Elephantine. The stop's stairs lead into the basement, and from there, all we have to do is climb and we can get on stage.

"Seems good." James nods.

"Everyone have the set list for tonight?" Finnick inquires.

"Yeah, it's a good list." Henry says. "You know how much I love to play the guitar solo in 'Zootopian Idiot'."

Finnick laughs. "Yeah, and that's a big hit too. We can work with the list, but for now, we should just focus on playing it."

The group nods, and everyone sets about gathering up their stuff. Within what seems like five minutes, everyone is carrying something that we need. All of us are masked. I glance at my watch.

"6:47." I say.

"We go on at 7:00, right?" James asks. The group nods in agreement. "We should get going then."

With this, Henry shifts the amp aside, revealing a five foot wide hole in the concrete floor. "Follow me, and don't go off of the path." He orders. He begins to climb down the hole into the darkness. James follows, then Finnick, until only I am left.

I take a deep breath, and my mind flickers to Judy. I nod, gulp, and follow Finnick down into the darkness below.

Even from here, backstage, I can hear the noise of the crowd. We're the only people backstage right now. Once we leave, then the security guards hired by James will allow the stage managers and whoever else in. But only after we take the stage.

Across the stage, shielding it from the view of the crowd, is an enormous black curtain. I know that on the front of the curtain is an enormous logo of a fox paw gripping a hypodermic needle- the Warmbloods logo.

We, the four of us, look at each other. Then, as though by mutual agreement, we walk out. Behind the curtain, no one knows that we have taken the stage. We all assume kneeling positions in a line across the front of the stage. Behind the curtain, the lights come up. I see the backstage workers have come on, and are preparing themselves. I wait.

There's a series of unbelievably loud pops, and explosions at the top of the curtain allow it to fall to the ground. The lights are on us, and the noise of the crowd pumps in my ear. It's something almost alien- the screaming of 80,000 fans. I stand, and walk to the microphone in the center of the stage.

"ZOOTOPIA!" I shout. The screams triple in volume. "FUCK YEAH!" I roar. Behind me, I see the others getting up, putting their instruments on, getting ready to play. I look back. Finnick is at the drums, Henry has his guitar, and James is ready as well. I turn back to the crowd.

"THIS IS!" I scream. "A LITTLE LESS SIXTEEN CAMELS!"

Henry begins to hammer out the opening riff, and the crowd explodes, I walk forward, waiting for my cue.

"I confess, I messed up, dropping I'm sorry like you're still around!" I sing, and hold the mic out towards the crowd.

"AND I KNOW, YOUR DRESSED UP, 'HEY KID YOU'LL NEVER LIVE THIS DOWN!'" they sing back.

I whoop, and sing the next lines. I forgot. This is the reason. It's not about the money, it's always about the music. The Con Jobs were for the money. But right now, I'll savor this concert, this moment.

The crowd is bouncing to the chorus, James is singing with me, and the bright lights of the stage wash away everything but the here and now. And for now, that's the only thing I want.

AUTHORS NOTE: For the Warmblood's Songs, I will use songs from other punk rock artists (FOB, MCR, Green Day, etc.) I DO NOT OWN ZOOTOPIA. Stay Tuned. This is only the beginning.