Authors notes: Hello fellow Fanfic readers! While publishing this, I found out that it's going out ninety days after I finished my final re-write of Zootopia: the original plot. Interesting coincidence, and if you haven't read it go read it.
I'm serious...
This Fic is an AU to ZTOP, so reading the first 9 chapters is essential to 'getting it.' At the same time, some plot points much later on are benefited by you reading ZTOP in its entirety. At the same time, you may want to check out 'Believe in me Baby', this Fics prequel.
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So, why am I writing this Fic?
The short answer is that I want to explore the TAME collar concept more, while the way I wrote ZTOP gave me a giant opportunity to do so. At the same time, this Fic allows me to explore not one but two very unique story ideas (that I found very interesting) which, to my knowledge, have never been done before.
I also wanted to experiment with new styles of writing and such and, taking inspiration from the Jacato's epic 'Fallen: the lost story of Zootopia', I've chosen to write one of the story lines in a first person viewpoint (interestingly, his present stuff is first person and past stuff third, while mine is vice versa). Another inspiration for the past and present story lines is 'Zootopia: Death becomes you', by Darkflamewolf.
I had loads of other ideas for plotlines, jokes and stuff. As a result, I wanted to put them out there, even if in a recycled form. Many more exist in my head, and after this Fic I hope to move into publishing smaller, more concise self-contained stories, exploring more diverse ideas and scenarios (although note, when planning an AU of ZTOP where Nick never escaped jail, I ended up at 15 chapters...).
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Note, if you aren't thrilled by chapter 1. Please give chapter 2 a chance. You may find that chapter 1's storyline and style doesn't float your boat, but chapter 2's quite literally does.
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I aim to publish chapters on Saturday's and Wednesdays, and I promise that there won't be any unannounced pauses. Any of you who followed ZTOP as it was released know full well that this OP delivers. Finally, I'd like to thank those who've helped me. From the reviewers of ZTOP, to my great proof reader Ultimateblack, to the all round epic guy Jacato (the same who's writing fallen) who did my cover art and, finally, to Wildburr over on Archive of our Own who let me use some of his ideas later on in this work.
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Chapter 1:
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Two decades was a long time. Long enough for love and loss, of great aching pleasure that screamed out in the mountains and darted through the burning flames at night, or tore your heart out so hard that it never quite healed, painting the world forever greyer.
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It was long enough for people to forget names and places. Names like Nick Wilde for instance, which had long since vanished from the minds of mammals who once knew him here, back when he was young and living his old life. So, too had John Wilde's formal ware, a place once full of warm musty smells and laughter, reduce to a burnt out moulding heap. Nick had checked it a long time ago, but he didn't care that much. He'd long forgotten about the little details that had made that house a home.
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But it wasn't long enough for forgiving and forgetting, was it?
What they'd done to him. His kind. What they'd been forced to do and risk. What the oppressors continued to do every single day without a pang of sympathy and guilt, instead having the cheek to always take the moral high ground. Their hate so strong that they could trample the heads of fellow mammals into the ground, look at them scream in pain and, as they brought their feet down harder and harder, say with complete sincerity that they were the good guys.
No, a thousand years wouldn't be long enough, would it?
But soon enough, they would be getting a piece of justice. However small it may be, it was long, long overdue.
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So thought the solitary Red Fox standing on the pebble beach, his gaze fixed ahead at the city in front of him. It had been more than two decades for him, almost twenty-four years since he'd last called this place home. But had it ever been home, really?
Two decades was a long time, but it wasn't long enough for people to stop hating. The city in front of the lone Vulpine still hated him, and every other Predator it housed, with as much venom as it had when he left its god-forsaken shores. The Prey majority still regarded those that once hunted them with apathy at best and a mix of terror, suspicion and hatred at worst. The collar around his neck, its cold black plastic and sharp edges pinching his skin, designed to torture him if he dared get too emotional, was evidence enough of all that. A collar that had driven so many out of this place, 'where anyone could be anything…' The hard-learned truth was that 'anyone' meant 'Prey', and if you weren't some plant muncher… Well, 'anything', along with a fine selection of exertive, exciting or simply Pred-hating careers, excluded things like happy, or free, or respected, or even being an owner of a good and full life.
All had to be sacrificed for the greater good of peace and safety, or as he thought of it, slating the hunger of the Prey mammals' eternally raging inferiority complex. They were so hung up on the events of the savage ages, that they ignored their fellow mammal's perfect capacity to live civilized lives. They ignored their tranquiliser guns and repellent sprays, which levelled the playing field. They ignored the fact that no mammals had eaten others in thousands of years, or the avian and reptilian civilizations where former pred and prey lived together in perfect harmony. Not even the occasional trampling spree by an Elephant or Hippo, often committed in the heat of a burning rage, could shake their conviction. No, that was a civilized rage you see? It was committed due to pressure being piled on and on and on. You can't compare that to the uncontrollable savage impulses of a predator, can you?
Instead they sheltered themselves behind the collars and their walls and passed the misery they caused off as a perfectly reasonable part of life. Albeit, not their lives. Those whose lives had to bear it were ignored and side-lined, forced to carry their miserable burden for all but five glorious years of their life. Even those got tainted somewhat, seeing as the establishment had those little ones primed and excited to receive their noose. Even the lone Fox had been like that once, hopping up on down in glee as his father held back his tears. In less than a day he would know why his father cried and what it meant to be a big-Fox. And so, for three more years he lived a half-life, until a dream became true and they left it all behind, never to wear one of those things again.
But here he was, back with his people's badge of shame tied tight around his throat. Back again, after nights of praying to let his work begin. Back to do an unmentionable deed, or two…
He almost chuckled to himself, remembering what he intended to do and how he'd make the perfect Saturday morning cartoon villain. Sometimes you couldn't make it up, but even this city would think of him as some unoriginal speciesist parody if it knew his plans. What he planned to take. Who he planned to take from.
There was even a coy smile as he imagined himself with a curly moustache, tying the damsel in distress to a rail line while he monologued his plan or something. Maybe he could indulge them in their fantasies? However, the thought of the costume shook the idea from his head. He'd always been taught to respect clothes, and knowing them well he knew which costume would be better for this endeavour.
As one well-rehearsed in the importance of keeping yourself groomed for certain occasions, a purple or black and white suit with a big black top hat just wouldn't do in this day and age. Instead, his suit was a charcoal grey, the sleeves held together with silver cufflinks while a white shirt poked from beneath. Everything was stiff, clean and firm; the only thing missing from it being the 'new suit smell' which had sadly long since gone.
With a dapper fedora resting itself on his head, and a jet-black briefcase clasped in his paws, he would not let his enemies in this city typecast him as the cartoon villain. No, they would see him in the corner of their eyes, off in that line in the station, and see him as the suave silent mastermind. Being a villain in this town didn't cause the Fox no mind, if he'd never left he'd have had to work his pads to the bone to be seen as anything but one.
So, he would be a villain on his own terms, he'd be the enigmatic secret one that annoyed the hell out of any over-eager prey that tried to tie him down. Soon he'd leave this place for one last time, his mission complete, with the fools left bitter and furious as they bore witness to the means of his plans. If they saw the ends... now that was something completely different. Dare he think it, they may even think of him as a good guy?
Like all things in this city, the Vulpine knew that taking things at face value was always a mistake. A costly mistake. One which could strip you of everything you love or hold dear. He was reminded of his father talking a long time ago about how that almost happened to him; how they could have lost everything and more before they gained it had it not, of all things, been for a blueberry pie and a coin toss. It was a grave thought, unsettling his cunning mind so much so that it was picked up by the abomination around his neck. Or at least, it would have had it not been subject to a few specific alterations. Shaking the grim idea from his mind, Nick instead focussed on the things that reminded him of a simpler place.
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A kinder place.
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Home.
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Stretching out his claws, he let his feet settle down into the fine shingle he stood on, the rounded stones cold and moist against the tough black skin of his pads.
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Just like the beach at home.
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He wiggled his toes and let them rattle through the stones, massaging the skin and helping to peel off some dead flakes. The stress balled up in his toes slowly relaxed, with the relief warmly flowing out from his feet and up into his spine and even his face. Nick couldn't help but smile slightly, a happy sigh escaping his thinly parted lips.
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They stayed shut as he drew in a deep, deep breath and let the cold moist air, laden with the faint sting of salt, flow up through his nose and up through the depth of his muzzle before it pooled down into his lungs.
Just like the air at home.
It made him feel so much younger, the sharp sting of the salt waking him up, as if charging his batteries. There were the strange hints of pollution too, with the sulphurous sting of car fumes and the drifting smells of millions of other mammals. Nick paid them no mind, instead imaging that it was the cool smell of trees and forests, along with the warm tingle of wood smoke that was making his nose hairs twitch.
He let his ears swivel slightly, filtering out the murmuring noise of city life and focusing in on the soft sound of waves breaking into foam on the shingle.
Just like at home.
Checking his watch, the fox took a step back, his pads shifting on the shingle as his weight moved, before turning and striding back towards the shore. A quick tug at his tie, and there was little else to do but meet up with one of his new business partners. A new business partner for him at least. A very, very old business partner, the first in fact, for some others he knew. Climbing up the sea-wall and leaving the beach behind, the Fox wandered up to the road and a waiting car, before giving the black Jaguar driver a cursory nod and setting off. With a swish of a tail he was in, the door closing firmly beside him with a precisely engineered and perfectly executed thunk and click, before they set off. The engine purred loud, like the driver in front of him would have were he free, as they silently travelled through dark and potted streets towards the city proper.
"Mr…"
"Just call me Nick," the Fox coolly replied, relaxing as he watched the black Jaguar up front turn back to the road, slowly and carefully gliding along the tarmac. He certainly enjoyed being the mysterious villain, but being this dapper all the time was certain to take its toll. So, he laid back, almost exaggerating his relaxation by kicking his feet up and opening up a bag of crisps, taking his time to slowly eat them one by one.
"Do you want any music, or the radio?" the driver asked again, each word painted by his rich Hispanic accent.
"Just put the news on please."
There was a click and hiss, before the radio sprung to life.
"And in other news, the ZPD are still asking for more information on the mysterious terrorist group calling themselves 'the knights of the muzzle'. This comes as 5 more Predators, all residents at a local Orphanage, have disappeared, their abduction claimed by the hate group. Pop superstar Gazelle is leading the call for more mammals to come forward with any news they have on this terrorist organisation. In an interview, she said that its actions were 'a stain on every decent Prey mammal on this city' and that the ZPD and mayor's response has been disgraceful. Chief Bogo of the ZPD has responded to the accusation, stating that his men and women are dedicated to protecting all mammals of the city, both Pred and Prey. Mayor Swinton, meanwhile, has refused to comment and…"
The radio cutting out as they entered a tunnel, the sound of the engine's soft humming filled the air again as Nick gave out a small chuckle, before turning back to the driver.
"Do you know what's sad?"
"No, Sir," the driver courteously replied, his eyes fixed dead straight on the road. His reply made the fox behind him smirk a bit, his head cocking to its side as he looked on with a growing smile, before responding.
"Please," he said dismissively, "I said before, call me Nick…"
"Yes, Nick."
"There you go! Now, back to the sad part. The really sad bit is that there are TWO sad parts, or three if you think about it… Anyway, the first sad part is that this, yet another disappearing in the long list of thousands of preds, is relegated behind the infamous words 'and in other news.' Really shows how much they think about us, doesn't it?"
"I suppose… I suppose it does," the Driver murmured, before turning back. "And what is the second sad thing?"
"The fact that I took seven."
The Driver turned back to face Nick as they exited the tunnel, the radio picking up again halfway through the first music track after the news. His green eyes scanned the vulpine, studying him as they look up and down, before he shrugged and looked forward.
"You do good work," he said, before his voice turned dark with foreboding. "But I fear that you are getting too cocky."
The Fox, almost taking it like an invitation, shuffled himself deeper into his seat and rested his feet high up on the front passenger seat, before giving the concerned driver his cockiest grin and a mock salute. "Please… I'm in my element here. I…"
"You are TOO IMPORTANT!" The Jaguar hissed, his cool demeaner gone and replaced with a mix of anger and concern. Nick meanwhile didn't even flinch, as his lecture continued. "You are the hope in the darkness for every Predator in this city! You hold our future in your paws, and you play with it! Why can't you be mature! Take yourself seriously! What would your father think if…"
"He'd probably chuckle at his son's antics," Nick coolly replied, "seeing as he knows his son only does these things in private. If you're worried, just remember that when I'm under their gaze, I am mature. I do take things seriously."
"Really?" the driver enquired, his tone showing that he was very much unconvinced with the Fox's assurances.
"You know that, you love that…" the vulpine in the backseat said back cockily, before his sentence morphed into a long, loud yawn that lasted the better part of ten seconds. He closed his gaping maw and looked forward before shrugging. "Don't think I can't handle all of this, you know better than that," he finished lightly, but with a faint threat in his words that was all too clear.
The Jaguar dismissed the Fox's words, scowling and shaking his head harshly, before muttering out his thoughts under his breath. "You seem to treat this all like a game, don't you? I'd say the fact that mammals could die due to your cockiness doesn't even cross your mind."
The Fox's smile vanished as he lowered his legs and stood up straight, his gaze and tone hardening menacingly as he spoke, each word laced with bitter anger as they came out slowly, one after the other. "I know how important what I'm doing is. I know more than you can ever do!" He paused for a second, the break almost a perfect opportunity for his collar to turn orange, before carrying on. His fury was beginning to show as a low growl began to escape his throat, "Don't you DARE say I'm not taking this seriously! Don't you EVER suggest I'm taking this lightly! And never, ever suggest that I don't care about mammal's losing their lives. Because if you ever do… I'll teach you the definition of savage!"
The car was filled with silence for a second or so, until the discrete Beep of the Jaguars collar could be heard, its amber light glowing darkly in warning. With a nervous gulp, he turned back to the road and flicked the indicator as he pulled in, a courteous smile on his muzzle.
"Your destination… Nick…"
The Fox stood up, a wide smile on his muzzle as he walked over and exited the vehicle, before turning back to the driver. "Come back in an hour so… and please, turn that frown upside down!"
The Jaguar give a concerned glance before turning back to the road ahead, and driving off into the distance.
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"Mr Wilde?"
The call pricked Nick's ears, bringing his attention to a large set of sprawling tables and chairs scattered in front of a café. Wandering past the tables and chairs, filled with mammals who gave him bad looks or diverted their gaze altogether, he finally settled down on a small-mammal sized table, sitting across from a brown Water-Vole dressed in a grubby tracksuit and parka.
"I believe this is the first time we've…" Nick began to say, opening his paw out in welcome before the Rodent replied back, in an voice that seemed too high pitched, squeaky and fast for a mammal even half his size.
"Certainly is… though I worked with your father for a long time."
A smile grew on the Fox's face as he leant forward, paw outstretched to shake. "Indeed, though did he ever tell you about a certain Fox custom…"
"No," came the deadpan reply, as the Vole took Nick's paw, or rather one of his fingers, and held firm, shaking it before sitting back down.
"Well, from now on just call me Nick."
"Likewise, call me Tattletail," the tiny rodent replied, before lifting his right eyebrow as he looked up at the fox in front of him, before giving a muted chuckle. His antics paused, however, as a deer waitress trotted over with two plates, on full of steamed greens and grasses, the other full of crispy mealworms. She paused slightly, glancing down at Nick, before giving a subdued shrug and placing the latter plate down with a conspicuous lack of care and attention. The former plate however, was carefully slid into position in front of the vole, who took the nearest piece of water reed and began casually munching on it, slowly drawing its length up into his mouth.
"You know…" he began to say in a muffled voice through his half-stuffed mouth, "they gave me the weirdest look when I ordered that."
"I can imagine…"
"Of course, a quick flick of the almighty buck…"
"Praise him! Praise him!" Nick half-heartedly interrupted, giving thanks to the mighty god of capitalism, his paw flicking in the air, while watching a grin grow across his companion's mouth.
"And I thought your father was bad…"
"You don't have to live with him."
The vole paused for a second, before carrying on. "How is John's health by the way?"
"Fit as a fiddle," the Fox replied through a mouth full of food, before reaching for a napkin and wiping the crumbs from his mouth.
"Good. But please, don't think you have to be that formal around me. I'm nothing special, I…"
"Considering all you've done for us over the year," Nick began, his tone becoming firm and serious as he leaned forward to look Tattletail in the eye, "I'd say you're very special."
"Listen," the Vole nonchalantly replied, still chewing through his tough greens as he talked, "I'm nothing special… Well, I have a certain very special set skills. But at the end of the day, I'm nothing but…"
"A Bum?" the Vulpine enquired, his eyes looking down at cheap and baggy clothes his companion was dressed in. For his part, he seemed genuinely touched by the remark and even took a break from his food to respond.
"A Bum? You're too kind… I was going to say scum, but it's great to see that some mammals see so highly of me."
"And why wouldn't I?" Nick asked, shrugging as he did so. "You're Zootopia's greatest thief. The one who stole us the first collar keys so many years ago. You risked so much, for some filthy little old chompers like me."
The small rodent chuckled slightly, before taking a bite out of a bulb of some kind, chewing it intently and savouring the taste, before turning back up to Nick. "What did you say earlier Nick? Something about the Almighty Buck…"
"Praise it, Praise it?"
"Yup, that's it… And while very private and modest, I assure you that I am a very devout worshiper… and in terms of worship…"
Nick merely rolled his eyes at the statement and hauled up his briefcase, letting it drop onto the table. It shook with the weight, the cutlery and crockery on top rattling about before the Fox swivelled the briefcase around and opened the clasps on the front, letting it open slightly give the vole a cursory view on the contents, a smaller briefcase about the size of an A5 sheet of paper and about three-quarters as thick as its larger brother. The rodent's brow furrowed with displeasure as he looked at it, before he looked back up at his customer. "Given how much I already know you, may I assume that it's suitcases all the way down? If it is, then please don't do this again… I've had a very bad history with babushka dolls, and I don't want any of those flashbacks to return."
"That would be a story I'd want to here," Nick replied, chuckling as he did so.
Tattletail just slowly shook his head in return. "Trust me, you don't. Anyway, as for the payment?"
Nick merely smiled and worked his paws down to the smaller briefcases latches. With two clicks they were undone, and the small rodent's eyes were lit up with reflected light. He seemed very pleased…
"You are one for style…" he chuckled, his paws held firm together and rubbing each other intently with glee. "How much?"
"Twenty-two and a quarter Kg…" Nick replied as he pulled the smaller briefcase out of its parent and laid it down on the table.
The Rodents eyes half lidded as he pulled the lid down and hopped up onto it, pattering forward to look Nick in the eye. "Translation please, Dingus."
"50 pounds-ish."
"… What do you think I mean by translation," he grunted impatiently.
Nick just looked on, shrugged and smiled. "Modern Mammalian English to Anglotross-Saxon…?"
The water-vole groaned and swivelled around, walking back to his food and grumbling all the way. "You're worse than your father you know that… I'm beginning to see why people don't like Foxes…"
Nick just looked on with an easy smile, before giving asking a question in his slyest voice. "You know you love me…"
"Do I…" was all that came back, before the rodent stuffed another root into his mouth and began munching away, filling it well up by the time the Fox chose to speak again.
"At current prices, just over $10,000…"
There was a violent cough as Tattletail spewed out a bunch of half chewed greenery and turned back to face Nick in the eye, a sly grin on his face.
"I do believe, Sir, we have a deal…"
"I'm glad to hear that," Nick replied, a giant grin growing on his face. "Now… you know what I want?"
"Yes I do…"
"And you know where they keep it?"
"Yes, and I know that no Fox, or any Pred for that matter, has earned the permission to get close, though not for a want of trying of course. This is going to be hard Nicholas. Don't doubt that. Nigh on impossible without an inside Mammal."
Tattletail paused for a moment, letting the seriousness of his statement settle in, only for Nick to begin to chuckle. As the Vole's eyes grew wide with confusion, Nick leant over and patted him on the head with a finger, before leaning back in his chair with his arms stretched and folded behind his head.
"You don't think I wouldn't have prepared?"
"Okay," the Vole replied, his mouth curling up at the edges as he prepared his reply. "What's your Wilde… Card?"
Nick was silent for a moment, rolling his eyes, before groaning slightly and leaning forward. "That's both bad taste, unoriginal… and out of date…"
Tattletail gave a non-committal shrug, before giving his dismissive reply. "I'm the best thief in Zootopia, not the best comedian. Now, who in this city do you plan to use? What kind of Prey mammal would support you? Why would they want to support you?"
"I could ask the same of you, Mr 'erbivore," Nick replied, leaning in closer as he took up the verbal offensive. "But I've been looking through the records and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find a few Mammals who want what only I can give, a fresh start. A blank slate."
The Water Vole paused for a moment, before looking away. "If you want to know, I was dear friends with an old Badger… and the Godfather to one of your newer otters. I have my reasons. I know right from wrong."
"And yet you still steal…"
The Vole looked up, his gaze and tone hardening, as he grabbed and chewed the last of his food, his tail swishing about in irritation. "I have a moral compass that I follow. May not be up to proper code… but just be glad that electrotorture is on the bad side…"
"Will do," Nick replied, before tipping his bowl up and sliding the remainder of his meal into his mouth. He chewed the crispy insects for a moment, before swallowing and looking down at his new partner in crime.
"It was a pleasure meeting you at last."
"Likewise…"
"Anyhow, I think I have a ride to catch" Nick announced, his gaze shifting over to a familiar Limo waiting in the background. "Got my contact details?"
"That I do…"
"Then," Nick began to say as he stood up, straightening his suit and tie, "I'll be off." And with that, the Red Fox left the restaurant as if he were a polite business mammal returning to work. His face was entirely serious, apart from a small grin that formed as his ears pricked up, rubbing against the side of his fedora as they swivelled around to try and catch the angry tirade from the Water vole. It seemed that he'd finally realised the limitations of trying to carry a suitcase a hundred times his own body weight, thought at least he seemed to be taking it in good humor.
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Authors notes: Anyone who read the prequel will likely recognise the name Tattletail. This water vole (very loosely inspired by Ratty, from Wind in the Willows (reflected in his friendship with a Badger and an Otter)) was a character I conceived of long ago, who would be the Rorschach analogue in my Zistopia/Watchmen crossover idea. Maybe in the far future, I'll have his original version come up in a one shot.
The theme of this chapter, and all those in this arc, is to lightly parody the tropes of the espionage genre. You see this right away with Nick, who adopts the mask of the mysterious villain in the public, but doesn't live by it and throws it out of the window when in more informal settings.
I'm sure you have many other questions. Who/what are the knights of the muzzle (apart from the name of an anti-Pred KKK like movement that I came up with)? What's in the briefcase? What does Nick want? WHAT'S IN DA BRIEFCASE...?
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Follow, and you may find out next time...