There was no catching him.
His blazing fast reflexes could not be matched.
Certain things were expected from the son of Zootopia's Chief of Police, a rabbit, just like him, and his mother. His parents had only ever asked him to do well in school, so he did, though reluctantly.
He was a Wilde, definitely — James Wilde, to be exact, and his father was a fox.
Although, he fit in exceptionally well with his cousins, the hundreds of them on the Hopps side of the family, and he always enjoyed any chance to show off his natural athleticism around them. For a nine year old rabbit, he gave even the teenagers a run for their money, with his sharp blue eyes, his stone grey fur, a tufty white chest, and an equally fluffy tail; many said the resemblance between him and his mom was uncanny, almost like it was by design.
And he relished that thought. He had always respected his father, but his relationship with his mom was different—
"I got you, Jim!" yelled a young rabbit.
"He's mine!" said another.
There was a stampede of rabbits.
The football was his, taking a ride on the grey bullet that went racing through the night.
At least twenty of his cousins swarmed around him — attacking more like leopards than rabbits— and they would need every single one of them to stop him. He clutched the ball tightly to his slender frame. His own team was left in the dust — he plowed ahead, juked out three of the closest rabbits, bobbing from side to side like a rabbit joystick, zigzagging, his paws dug in, gripping the grass and dirt beneath him. His eyes darted between all of them, searching for the path of least resistance. But there would be resistance.
"You can't get me!" Jim laughed at them, his floppy ears and track shorts flapping in the wind as he ran, panting, breathless, bolting through the tiniest of gaps in the defense, his voice full of youthful intensity.
They were closing in on him — he simply jumped over his smaller cousins. "I'm gonna' score!" he yelled.
The tallest rabbit among them, also the oldest and fastest, got ahead of the pack and leaped, lunging for him, and threw his tanned hide into his side, grabbing his shoulders — Jim yelped as they both fell, hitting the earth with all of his weight as they tumbled onto the turf — and the ball tumbled out of his paws, bouncing off into the grass.
Stripped. For the first time that night. He was humiliated.
A pile of rabbits frenzied like piranhas over the fumbled ball; his glory was lost forever.
"— ngh —no!" he grunted, lurching on his side.
His tallest cousin got to his feet quickly, a tan colored rabbit with grey eyes, wearing dirt-covered gym shorts and nothing else, and stood over him, offering to help him up.
Jim begrudgingly accepted. "Just wait, X," he struggled to breathe, the wind had been knocked clean out of him. "Next year ... no one will get me."
"We'll see, bud," the older rabbit coolly replied. Xavier was Judy's oldest nephew, and he walked with an overly confident swagger for a seventeen year old.
The team captains watched the mountain of fluff disseminate, and Xavier laughed. His team had recovered the ball. It was game over.
"Thirty-three to twenty-eight," Jim told him.
"Nope. You were two yards short," the taller rabbit retorted. "You're still at twenty-seven, time's up, and we got the ball back. That means we're done here."
"B-but," he sputtered. Jim secretly clenched his teeth in frustration, grumbling.
"Anyways, I think your mom wants you," he added, pointing off the field.
The small rabbit turned, feeling the fur on his neck stand up. He had almost forgotten she was even on the farm.
But she was indeed there ... standing half a field away, without his sister. Her arms were folded, too. Her icy glare could freeze an army in their tracks, and it was aimed directly at him.
A chill creeped up his spine, to which he reflexively gulped.
"I'll leave you to it," said Xavier as he walked away, rejoining the others.
Abandoned. Left to die at the paws of his mother. Learning a trick from his dad, he casually brushed himself off.
He donned his trademark mask of stoicism as he approached her, smirking, sauntering like nothing in the world could bother him. It always seemed to work for his father.
But it was not working now. His mom's expression remained unchanged. He aborted the mission.
"Jim, I thought you were going to help look for her," said Judy, her words oozing with venom; her presence dominated even the enormous house behind her. She stood about twice as tall as her son. His dad nearly quadrupled him.
"I-I ... um —" he muddled his words, rubbing his paws together nervously; her son was horrible at lying. "I was just asking anyone — i-if they saw a fox running around. But they didn't — so I'm gonna' go keep looking over there—"
"— no need," she cut him off abruptly. "Your father already went to look for her."
"... oh," he uttered, shrinking in his grass-stained tee shirt, trying to make himself look small, desperately trying to avoid her eyes. His long ears fell behind his head. He had hoped his dad would not find out.
"When you see her next, you're going to apologize," she scolded.
He winced, peering up at her. "M-mom, I just wanted her to come play with us. She never plays with us — she never plays with me."
"You know she doesn't like roughhousing, Jim," she said, shrugging. "You want to be an officer someday, right? Then you should probably learn what extortion means. Taking her book away isn't going to magically fix her fears."
He lowered his head, looking at the grass beneath his furry feet. "I'm sorry, Mom, I just ... didn't know what to do. I didn't want her to leave. I swear. "
Her paws rested on her hips. And she stood there, shaking her head; she could almost smell the guilt radiating off of him.
She sighed at length, rolling her eyes at nothing, and moved silently towards him. Taking a tip from her husband, she hugged him, and the small rabbit went quiet, like a dog that lost its bark. He withheld his normal, over-exaggerated protests to public displays of affection, instead holding his head calmly against her flowery purple shirt.
The only noise, besides the outdated printer running at full capacity, was that of clacking keys.
The office of Zootopia's Courthouse was jammed.
Occupying nearly every chair in the waiting room were an assortment of mammals, most trying to appear professional, some even wearing suits and ties. A line formed at the front counter, while a clearly uninterested lioness sat behind it, clacking away on her keyboard.
A rabbit, decked in full police gear, along with his standard black vest, tapped his foot impatiently. He was now first in line.
"Hello, M'am," he said, peeking over the counter; his voice was young, but mature. "I have an appointment with the DA for 2:30, so, if you'll kindly just point me in the right direction, I can be on my way."
The lioness moaned, plainly very annoyed, and pointed her talon down a random hall.
The rabbit simply nodded, walking off without anyone's notice.
He was already late.
