Night; an unending stretch of continual blackness, infinite nothingness in every direction as far as the eye could see - left, right, up or down.

The figure of a mammal paced onward through the never-ending dark. A fox. The pads of his feet settling on empty air, yet without falling, he made his way across the eternal, his eyes closed.

It began to snow, softly, about him. The fox did not feel the cold for there was none. A snowflake landed on the mammal's nose and he opened his eyes, revealing a pare of shimmering emeralds beneath his lids.

Looking up, the fox smiled as the small flakes of white drifted slowly down towards him. His tongue peeping out from his muzzle, he caught a flake on his tongue. It didn't taste very nice. But then, it was made from polystyrene, after all...

The plastic snowflakes began to settle on the invisible floor, giving it form and shape as the red creature continued to walk along it. Up ahead, a number of Christmas trees began to fade into existence, and the fox looked on with interest as they grew closer.

The fox stopped at the edge of the forest which had materialized in front of him and gazed at the trees. They were all of pure white, each baring ballballs on the tips of every branch and each looking identical to every other. They were also two-dimensional and made from cardboard-cutouts...

Yet the apparent strangeness of the scene was lost on the fox; he appeared not to notice and started walking on, once again, his footfall taking him through this polystyrene wonderland of cardboard-cutout trees.

Dressed in just a pare of boxers, the figure of the fox came across a clearing in this synthetic woods. He stopped and gazed at what was in the center of the clearing: a gigantic sack of colorfully wrapped presents, bound with bows of silk, with the sack itself positioned in the back of an even larger sleigh.

A look of awe on his expression, the red fox ran for the pile of gifts and sought through them like an excited cub for one with his name on. One bore a cardboard sign attached by a string to a very large box. Smiling, he turned the card over and read its address: 'To Nicholas Wilde.'

A grin spreading on his face, Nick hurriedly pulled the large gift down from the pile and lent it against the edge of the sleigh. It was several feet tall, a few feet wide and flat - the same kind of dimensions as a large picture frame.

True excitement setting in, the fox tore the paper away from the present, grin in place. The grin fell. It was a painted portrait of himself, stood in the middle of a wide forest wearing exactly what he was wearing now.

His vision blurred. Nick squinted and rubbed his eyes with the back of his paw. He looked at the gift again. Now, it wasn't a painting at all, but a mirror of Nick's own face.

His vision blurring a second time, Nick repeated the gesture. Now there was someone stood beside him in the mirror: a jolly-looking fat mammal, a hog, wearing a red outfit and a merry red hat.

Wilde turned to the real-life version to see, stood beside him, the same mammal he had seen in the mirror - or a close rendition of it, anyway - for the face was distorted and wasn't jolly-looking at all, and looked more like a hastily-put-on rubber mask than a real face.

Without a word, the vision of the Hogfather started to back away from the fox, gesturing for him to follow with a gloved hand.

Apprehensive but curious, Nick followed, and allowed this mammal in red to lead him through the cardboard forest.

The floor was now coated with four inches of polystyrene snow. Stopping for an instant, the fox bent down and brushed aside the tiny pellets of plastic. The infinite night beneath was gone now, and in its place, nothing but more and more pellets of white, plastic snow.

The fox stood up again to see a clearing in the forest which hadn't been there a moment ago. There was a bed in this clearing, through the fox could only see the foot of it. He paced closer; the Hogfather stood beside the bed, coaxing him to approach.

The bed was empty but for the duvet and pillows, but a pare of stockings were suspended over the foot of the bed and hung down to dangle just above the floor. The stockings were full with a variety of traditional gifts - tangerine, walnuts, and so on.

An unnerving noise emanated from just beside the fox. Turning, Nick gazed at the masked intimidation of the Hogfather as the sound of laughter bellowed from him. The lips didn't move, the belly didn't shake, and the sound was anything but jolly.

A scowl of suspicion on his muzzle, Wilde turned back to the stockings on the bed. The stockings weren't filled with presents anymore... they were filled with someone's legs. The fox's gaze traced upwards. The legs attached to a body, the body attached to a head, and the head bore a face which the fox recognized.

The Hogfather's cold laughter 'hohoho'ed on, and Nick gazed into the contorted face and vacant eyes of the brown-furred wolf on the bed - the corps - and then a hot, prickling sensation shot up the fox's side.

Springing away from the Hogfather, he tried desperately to pull out the knife which had been stuck in his side, spinning erratically as he made to grab at it, dissing himself and loosing his footing upon the tick snow... and falling with a hard thump against the wooden flooring in the dark confines of his bedroom.

The fox panted and sat up slowly. He looked about at himself - at the sheets tangled on the floor beside him - and up at the bed he had fallen from. Sliding a paw across his back in the cool air, he felt his smooth fur where the knife went in. No sign of any injury of any kind.

Still panting, Nick Wilde pulled himself to his feet, threw the covers back onto his bed, slipped into a dressing gown, and drew open the curtains. It was a bright, clear day - dawn - in the city of Zootopia.

Taking another deep breath, the fox turned away from the scene, took a fresh towel from his wardrobe, and made towards his apartment's bathroom to have a shower.

The fox stripped from his boxers and showered quickly - trying his best not to think about his night's adventures - before drying himself and dressing again into his daywear.

Soon after - not long after Wilde had finished his shower - there was a soft knock at the door. Wilde appeared from inside the bathroom - dressed now, but with his fur still wet - and crossed his roomy apartment towards the front door.

Doing his best to put a welcoming smile over his exhausted appearance, the fox unlocked the front door, and pulled it open.

"Morning," said Judy, her face as bright and cheerful as ever, "merry Christmas, Nick." Reaching up with a paw, the rabbit pulled the fox's head down and stood on tiptoe to give him a playful kiss on the cheek.

"Well, merry Christmas to you, Carrots, but isn't that tomorrow?"

"It is," Judy said, mildly, "but maybe I just wanted the kiss."

Nick smiled and tried to make a witty response - possibly implying he didn't mind the kiss and if she ever wanted more all she had to do was ask - but failed in the attempt after the first syllable, and he winced and rubbed his eyes with his paw instead.

A touch of concern played across the rabbits face; then she smirked and crossed her arms, playfully. "Well, looks like someone decided to start there Christmas celebrations early."

"Yeah," Nick said, still wincing, "what fun. Well, come in," he said, making back towards the bathroom, "make yourself at home. I'm just gonna have a shave."

Nick paced away and Judy stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Smiling pleasantly, she made towards the kitchen - more than at home in the fox's apartment - and pulled up a stool (which was kept just for her, so she could reach the kitchen counter without straining) up at the kitchen sink.

"Speaking of early celebrations," Nick called from the bathroom as Judy made a start on making tea, "how did your party go last night?"

"Oh," Judy called back, "alright, I guess. I prefer spending Christmas quietly and, as you know, there isn't a lot of that to be found at the Hopps Family Farm. Besides," she added, "to be honest, I'd much rather be here with you then with the rest of my family."

Wilde glanced to the doorway fondly, then called out: "Your parents' didn't mind you coming away early?"

"No," she said, lightly, "I still don't think they really understand us, but they're accepting at least. Mom sends her love, by the way; not sure about dad, though."

"They'll understand one day," Nick said, pacing back in from the bathroom - his muzzle bearing just as much hare as before he had a shave - and made a start on making toast while the rabbit put the kettle onto the boil.

Sighing, Judy faltered in making the tea. "It's just unfair, is all. They've all known about you for well over eight years now, and yet when I go over to visit I still hear them whispering behind my back."

Stood behind her, the fox let out a big sigh. Judy turned to look, seeing the fox lent forwards over the toaster, his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands.

Judy's expression fell. "I'm sorry," she said, "it's Christmas; it isn't the time or place for this. I didn't mean to bring you down."

"No," Nick said, "it's not you, it's my head."

"What's the matter?"

"I just feel crappy, is all."

"Oh. Up partying all night I guess?"

"Huh, no such luck. I had jut the one friend over last night. He's seventy-three years old. We had half a bottle and that was all."

A look of concern crossed Judy's face. She stepped down from her table and stood beside the fox, placing her paw on his back reassuringly.

"Don't worry about me," Nick said, "I'll be fine."

A thin smile crossed Judy's lips. "Come on, Nick, don't be stubborn. Have you been overworking recently?"

"No, I've been taking it easy; I've been given the week off."

"If you haven't been overdoing it, and didn't stay up all night, then... what's the matter?"

"I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping well at all."

Judy stepped closer. "You're having nightmares again?"

Nick nodded.

"But, I thought we put an end to those years ago?"

"So did I; this one's different. It's the same dream every night: a Christmas nightmare. I'm standing in a forest of Christmas trees, and I find a present addressed to me. I open it, and it is me - a photograph of myself - and the dream ends with meeting the Hogfather in a very bad sort of way."

Judy looked up into the fox's face. He wasn't looking at her, just staring down at the toaster, lost in thought, his face an image of fatigue, with the toast slowly turning blacker and blacker under the watch of Nick's misted eyes.

Just then the kettle came to boil, so Judy turned sorrowfully away from the fox and poured them both a hot drink, glancing behind herself at the still motionless fox. She made the drinks and then moved back close to the him, trying to hand a cup over.

"Tea?"

Nick didn't react.

"Nick...?"

As though drawn from afar, Nick jolted back into wakefulness. He turned down to face her, smiling as he took the cup. "Thanks, Fluff," he said, "would you like some toast?"

"Ugh..." Judy's gaze flicked over to the two pieces of charcoal smoldering in the toaster, "...no thanks."

Nick turned back and spotted the state of his breakfast, sighed, and turned off the toaster at the wall. Mug in paw, he paced out of the kitchen and into the living room, all but collapsing into the softness of the sofa with his eyes falling instantly closed.

"Have you bought the Christmas dinner, yet?" Judy called through.

"No," Nick said, not opening his eyes, "not yet."

"I think it'd be best if you stayed here. I'll go out and get it after my tea."

In his mind, not wanting to put the rabbit to any trouble, Nick wanted to refuse the offer of kindness and go and get the food himself. He tried to refuse... but his exhausted body forced him not to.

Judy came in and sat down concernedly next to him on the sofa. Setting her tea down on an end table, she reached out across the distance between them and placed her paw on Nick's forehead - the fox's eyes opening with surprise as she did so.

"Well, you don't have a fever," she said, sitting back. "You haven't been feeling nauseous or anything recently, have you?"

Rubbing his eyes again, Nick shook his head. "Nothing of the sort, Hopps. Just the nightmares."

"You remember anything else about them?"

"Well... actually, now that I think about it, one thing was different about my dream last night. Frederick was in it. Frederick David Marshall, a very close friend of mine."

"Marshall... he works for the Ministry, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, as white as white, or so we thought. But, turns out, he's been selling secrets to the other side."

"You're sure it's him?"

"Must be. He and I were two of the only mammals privy to some of that information, so only one of us can be the culprit... and I'm fairly sure I'm not the traitor."

"I see."

"Shame, though," Nick added, "Freddy and I have been through a lot of tight spots together; I thought I could trust him with my life. He's been on my mind a lot these past few days, it shouldn't be a surprise he turned up in my dreams."

"Maybe it was your subconscious which killed him off? You know, you didn't like the assignment, so in your dream you had him killed. I should forget all about it."

"You know, you might be right."

"Hmm. Good track record?"

"Spotless," Nick said, standing, "I'll show you."

Judy stood also and followed Nick across the room to an old bureau in the corner. Nick opened it, took out a file with a photograph of a brown wolf on the front, and took out a few papers... it was the photograph which interested her, though.

The rabbit slipped the photograph on the front off of the paperclip and held it under the light. "Nick," she said, "is this him? Is this definitely him?"

"Yeah," he said, "why, what's the matter?"

Hopps turned towards him. "You haven't seen today's paper, have you?"

"No, why?"

"Wait here."

Looking on with confusion, Nick waited as the rabbit paced to the front door, took the newspaper out from his letterbox, opened it, and marched back towards him.

"Here," she said.

Nick's eyes traced along the scantily dressed female fox on the third page. "Very nice," he said, "thanks for showing me this, Carrots."

"Not that page, the other one!"

Nick winked at her with a charming smirk. Then he looked at the next page, and his smile fell as he read the headline: 'Mystery Death in Hotel Room', accompanied by a photograph of a brown wolf. Nick recognized the face - it was the one from his dream - Frederick David Marshall.

...

Miles from the city of Zootopia, a round table sat in a round room. Four mammals sat in four chairs around the round table, only their hands visible in the darkness.

Before the four hands at the four chairs, were four photographs of a brown-furred wolf. The four hands moved in unison, and tore away the four photographs of the wolf to reveal four photos of a fox.

"And now, Gentlemammals," a cold voice stated, "we shall begin."

A single hand reached out and touched the tip of a single metronome which began to sway slowly back and forth, ticking rhythmically a tick, tick tick.

Four unseen eyes focused intently on the photo of Nick - four minds thinking, four minds willing. The metronome ticks on: tick, tick, tick, tick,

...

Tick, tick, tick, tick, went the pendulum of Nick's clock, the fox watching it sleepily from his resting place on the couch, alone in his apartment - Judy having left to buy food.

His eyelids growing heaver as every moment passed, Nick watched the clock's pendulum as it swung rhythmically back and forth like a metronome, the room growing darker and darker - his eyelids heavier and heavier - until the light of the room had all faded into darkness... to night. A total, endless night which stretched on into the infinitive.

Nick wandered through the empty blackness. Polystyrene snow started to fall and he came across a cardboard cutout forest but - as is often the way in dreams - the fox was oblivious to all the oddities as he paced on through.

He paced through the black and white forest, surrounded by white snowflakes under a black sky, and came to a black and white manor with seven tall chimneys and seven steep steps.

Nick climbed the steppes and paced towards the front door. The door knocker was made from iron, which was rusted and green, shaped into the face of a grotesque hog.

The fox reached out a hand to knock on the knocker; then the face of the hog animated and transformed into the face of the Hogfather. It started laughing at him, demonically, with a series of cold 'hohoho'es.

Sudden fear taking hold, Nick reached out with both paws to try and smother the harshly bellowing mockery of the lovable childrens' character. He covered the mouth, but the laughter continued on, coming from nowhere and everywhere around the fox.

He pulled his hands back to cover his ears, and noticed that the face of the knocker hand changed again - it had changed into the face of Judy Hopps. Startled, the fox opened his eyes wide, finding himself laying prostrate in his sofa, with Judy Hopps stood on the floor beside him, holding several, large bags of shopping.

Judy smiled at him, assuming his expression of panic was just because she had startled him awake. "Hey there, sleepy," she said, making towards the kitchen and unloading her bags of food, "I got dinner in. There's fruit and vegetables, seeds, beans, rice, grapefruit..."

"Oh, joy..."

"Don't worry," she added, sniffing at one bag she held at arms length cautiously, "I also bought you your rations of fresh turkey, too - you won't believe the kinds of looks a rabbit can get walking into a butchers - and yes," she added, a sly smile on her face, "I did buy us a few bottles of bubbly. Oh, and there was another Christmas card for you just outside the door; I put it on the desk."

Nick smiled warmly as Judy returned and sat down beside him yet again, but then he caught sight of the photograph of Frederick, and his smile faded again. Judy spotted Nick's expression change; she didn't like it when his smile fell.

"Hey," she said, pushing the paperwork away, "stop thinking about it already. What you dreamed was just a coincidence, so just put it behind you, okay?"

"I phoned he doctor who lead the examination while you were out," Nick said, disregarding the rabbit's advice, "he said Marshall died of a brainstorm. A brainstorm!"

"A stroke you mean? Some kind of seizures?"

" 'A nervous breakdown exaggerated to enormous proportions until the brain couldn't take it anymore so that it, metaphorically speaking, exploded'. Well, that's how the doctor described it."

Putting her paw in his, Judy tried, again, to calm his nerves. "All the same, it's over now, okay? It's just a freak that you happened to dream about him dyeing right before he died, so don't trouble over it." Nick didn't seem convinced; Judy had an idea. "You know what you need?" she said, "A few days away from this apartment. Tell you what, I've been invited to a house party over Christmas - I was going to refuse and stay over with you - but if you want to get out of the house for a few days you'd be welcome to come with me."

Nick considered the proposal. "Whose party is it?"

"Brandon Storey's. The author?"

"I've heard of him. I didn't know you knew him, though."

"I don't, not really. I have met him a few times, and every time I meet him he brings up the subject of this rare first edition I've got - he seems quite keen to get his hands on it - I expect he only invited me in the hopes of being able to put in an offer for it."

"And you're sure he wouldn't mind my being there?" Nick asked, picking up the unopened Christmas card.

"I wouldn't have thought so - you are house trained after all - and if he's got a problem I'll just mention I've brought that first edition with me and I'm hoping to sell, and that should clear everything up. So, do you want to come?"

"Yeah," Nick said, distractedly, "alright. I think a few days out of the city'll do me, erm... do me good."

Nick stared down at the Christmas card he'd opened. There was no sender's name inside - just the words, 'Merry Christmas, Nick Wilde.' The fox turned it over and looked at the front. He didn't say anything, but his expression slowly slackened. It's too much, he thought, just coincidence, surely. On the front, was an array of black and white Christmas trees... set against a black and white manor with seven chimneys.

"Alright," Hopps said, heading to his bedroom, "you stay here and rest; I'll go pack your things and we can leave this afternoon."