Chapter 1: A New Message
Jaaaaaack.
Jack Savage's eyes opened to darkness. He was stomach-down on his bed, his night stand coming into focus to his left.
Saaavage.
The voice was deep, and sounded like gravel being poured. It echoed.
Jackson-
SAVAGE!
We've been waiting-
Long time-
Jaaack-
He gripped his sheets with an outstretched paw. He couldn't move, and something was pinning him to the bed. His legs wouldn't respond, a paralysis injection?! The voices were coming from all corners of his room, some much closer than others, of all different volumes and tones.
Fucking kill you-
Worthless hare-
We know what you did-
Who you are-
NO! DON'T, PLEASE! One of the voices screamed. It was female.
Jack tried to shout, to call for help, but he found himself unable. All he could manage was a feeble croak. A figure came into his limited view. It was darker than the shadows cast by the ambient light of the city through his window. It craned its head down sideways to glare at him with burning red eyes.
Hello again Jaaaaack, it said, unseen lips pulling back to reveal rows of stark white, dagger-like teeth. It's ears were flattened against its head, hackles up.
Did you miss us? Another voice said directly into Jack's ear. He suddenly felt the pressure of another body on top of his.
Jack tried in vain to buck or swipe at whoever it was, but his body didn't respond. Tears of rage and frustration blurred his vision.
He'll never forget, came a new voice. Jack recognized it immediately: Mr. White. I beat some semblance of sense into him.
Suddenly his entire body lit up with pain. Every injury he'd ever received was suddenly made fresh, the scars across his back and shoulders ablaze, various gunshot wounds and broken bones throbbed anew, and his heart. It felt like one of the figures had reached inside his chest and was wringing all the organs like a wet towel. He choked on his sobs, hyperventilating, adrenaline tearing through his body. Desperation took over his senses. He cried out in sheer terror.
Bleeeed, you animal, BLEEEED!
And he did. Jack could feel his blood staining the sheets, dripping from every re-opened laceration. He was slipping back into darkness.
"N-no...no," He gasped, struggling for air, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry!"
Sorry doesn't save anybody, came the female voice from before.
The room was growing smaller, the shadows and continuously echoing whispers and voices becoming more and more oppressive by the second. It felt like there were forty animals in his room.
Jaaa-
Jaaaaaaack Sava-
Jack Savaaage-
JAAACKSON-
Saaaavaaaaage-
JAAA-
Two dings from his phone ripped him out of his state. Jack thrashed and rolled over, flinging the covers off and tumbling to the floor. Shadows flickered on the edges of his vision, figures evading his gaze and disappearing around corners and behind furniture, their voices and menacing threats still echoing in the darkness. He scrambled backwards into his other nightstand and immediately fished his revolver out of the drawer. Gripping it tightly with trembling paws, he scanned what he could see of his room, pausing for a length of time on his open bathroom doorway.
Everything was so still. He could hear the wind gently rustling outside, and the rustic ticking of his antique wall clock. His heart still raced, thumping in his ears. Sweat rolled down his shirtless form.
He could feel it coming, like the rumble of a distant train. With shaking hands he set the revolver on his bed before breaking into violent sobs. All of those emotions he had to keep under the surface were suddenly breaking free, like prisoners who suddenly notice the gate is open and bumrush it. Anger, terror, self-loathing, frustration, self-pity, horror at what he had done, all flashed through him in a matter of seconds. He buried his eyes in clenched paws, quivering with the echoes of adrenaline.
It was so very lonely here.
After a long time, he dared to glance at the digital clock beside his bed. 3:47 AM. He took a shaky breath and hauled himself upright. Trying to sleep again was out of the question; he could never go back to sleep after any of his episodes. He needed some comfort.
Donning an old, worn hoodie, he stumbled through the darkened hallway to his sitting room. He didn't need to flick on the lights; plenty of ambient illumination filtered through the "wall," which was really a giant window overlooking the city of Zootopia. The lights of the nightlife provided some small measure of amenity.
Tonight, I wear a hat. Leopard: wears a hat. And James? Wears a hat!
Jack smirked to himself as the opening credits of an episode of Top Gear filled the apartment with noise. He set the remote of his DVD player down and began to hand-grind some coffee beans. The episode was one he'd seen before. He'd seen them all before, but he used his favorite TV show to ground him and remind him of home in Greater Britannia, far across the Atlantic. In this one, the trio of Jeremy Clarkson (a donkey), James Bay (a bloodhound), and Leopard Hammond (a particularly short predatory cat) attempted to build motorhomes that were both cool and easy to use for the everyday road-goer.
He lent his ears and found himself calmed as he made his coffee, glancing up on occasion to chuckle at the antics of the presenters. He sat on the couch his television bathed in ambient light with crossed legs. The coffee was rich and dark, meant for sipping slowly. The trembling in his paws had eased up, but it was still there.
Halfway through his steaming beverage, he suddenly remembered that his phone had gone off; it's what had brought him back to the world of reality in the first place! He gingerly set his mug down on his coffee table and made his way back to his bedroom.
New Message, the screen indicated. He swiped to open it. Must be new orders from M.
The message was from an unfamiliar number, and definitely wasn't of M's pragmatic, minimalist style. He frowned as he read it.
There was once a time that you told me you were afraid of never being able to repay me. That may have been true in most circumstances, but now's your chance. You'll receive new orders soon. Find me.
"John?"
o0OO0o
Nick scowled at the helicopters orbiting overhead. The wash from their blades cast waves of gusting wind that ruffled ears, fur, and uniforms alike. Couldn't they fly a little higher? Wasn't the point of the news stations using their helicopters for this event to capture the enormity of it all?
It was a memorial service for fallen law enforcement. Nearly 8, 000 police officers, sheriffs, and detectives were present, some from as far away as Canada, all to honor the memories of those lost in the past year, including a partner pair murdered in broad daylight only two weeks before. The day had been full of standing, sitting, saluting, and trying to remain as stoic as possible. Far too many names were read off. Bells were tolled, salutes were fired, bagpipes were played - rather poorly, but the sentiment was understood. Nick was thankful for mild weather; his full kit, with its white gloves, stiff hat, and buttoned coat and medals was less than breathable.
"Isn't that a little rude?" Wolford asked over Nick's shoulder. They were in two immense lines that were two officers across, following the coffins of the recently slain partners to their respective hearses.
"The helicopters?"
"Yea, flying so low like that?"
Nick shrugged, continuing his stare of annoyance at the thundering aircraft. Then he sighed and snuck a glance to his left. Judy marched along in the other line, directly across from him. Her focused alternated between the ground and the officer directly in front of her, Fangmeyer. The ceremony seemed to have taken more of an emotional toll on her than it had Nick. He was sympathetic but unsurprised.
In the year since the abductions and debacle with Mr. White, he and Judy had began to spend more and more time living together. As a result, Nick had come to understand the differences between how the two of them came to process the usual tumult of emotions that came with such a strenuous job. Judy was much more fluid and open; she would allow herself to experience the emotions, then be free of them. Nick on the other hand maintained his walls. His castle was constantly under siege, and it fell every so often. But after his breakdowns, he would rise again, dust himself off, and continue on, waiting for the next overload.
Nick turned his gaze forward just as his nose buried itself in Delgado's lower back.
"Watch yourself there, detective," the lion whispered with a chuckle.
Nick simply cleared his throat and took a step back, casting sheepish look about him. No one seemed to notice.
Except for two grey wolves in dark suits and sunglasses, standing beside one of the trees lining the avenue, paws clasped in front, stoic as medieval sculptures. Their ears were focused directly forward, and their suits ruffled as a helicopter rumbled overhead. That was odd.
Nick shrugged; they were probably security for the event. Since the nighthowler incident, sheep had been increasingly cast in a negative light and discriminated against. Increasing incidents of civilian and police brutality had led to protests and some scattered terror attacks. A mass gathering of law enforcement was a ridiculous target, but one that would both hurt officers and gain the perpetrators substantial notoriety. One couldn't be too careful, Nick supposed, but the wolves seemed to be focusing on only him, and it was starting to make his skin itch.
"Officers! Diiiiiiis-missed!" Came the booming voice of Chief Bogo. The coffins had obviously made it into the back of their respective hearses at the front of the lines. The great lines of law enforcement turned ninety degrees to the right en mass, and stepped forward once before breaking ranks. Most of those present would accompany the two hearses to the graveyard in a great motorcade, but not Nick and Judy. They had given up the morning of their day off to attend this event, and so hadn't arrived in a police vehicle.
"Hey you,"came a small voice that was music to his ears.
"It's Officer Toot-toot!" He said, spinning to meet Judy's gaze. She gave him an amused smirk.
Though the previous year's bombing had left her scarred, the damage to her face was light. Despite what she said about it herself, Nick felt her marks in no way spoiled her looks. They were beautiful, in a strange, poetic sense.
"Ready to get out of here?"
"I am, my collar is getting tight and those security guys are giving me the creeps."
"What security guys?"
"Those wolves over...there." He pressed his lips together in a line as he pointed to the vacated spots the wolves were formerly standing. "Never mind, I guess they scattered with everyone else. Home?"
"...Sure," Judy said, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.
I'm baaaaack! I'm overwhelmed by the wonderful comments and fanfare I received for my last story, Bleeding Eyes, thank you all very much! This is indeed a sequel/ continuation of that story. Buckle up...I've got quite an interesting trek planned. :]
Also, this will be your one and only smut warning. Expect it at any time. As noted in Bleeding Eyes, I won't warn you at the beginning of a chapter because I believe it spoils the natural progression of things. ;P