Alright guys, sorry for another late update, but here is another chapter.
This chapter is solely backstory for a character, which is something I've never really dedicated an entire 10k word chapter to.
Please let me know if I did a good job.


For Harry Clawhan, his life as far as he was concerned was divided in before and after. His wife Isabelle, a young snow leopard with icy blue eyes and her black spots contrasted beautifully against her white fur. They had known each other since high school, but they never really started dating.
It was when he was in the Academy, the gruelling physical training and all the studying made him want to quit that love blossomed.
He knew that the Academy would be difficult, but this was just…
He felt worthless, a pushover, he had never imagined becoming anything else other than a cop all his life. But now he had to accept that he just wasn't cut out for this...

It was when he decided to start packing and sign his way out when the rhino drill sergeant came into his room with a letter in his hand. The letter was from his then best friend, Isabella the snow leopard.
She had written to him from her University from which she strived to become a Uni teacher herself, asking him how things were. She wrote how she was so profoundly impressed with his ambition to make the world a better place and put his life on the line.
She jokingly recalled how he kept boasting to other feline girls how hard he trained, which earned him fake high school romances that never lasted more than two weeks.

It was then, when he imagined her disappointed face upon him quitting that he realized how superficial he had been.
It was because of her that he finally got to work. He quickly boosted his way through all the tests, her sincere words of encouragement being all he needed.

It was one month later when he had a small vacation that he met the white-furred angel that saved his dreams. He kept asking himself why her words had such an effect on him, why did he care so much if she was disappointed in him that he quit, heck, there wasn't even any way that she could have found out that he quit if they remained separated, which was the most likely scenario.
It was when he saw her face, months after being deprived of it, her beautiful slender frame somehow being the first thing he saw as he entered the corner café that he got his answer: he loved her.

Before was his wife's scent being his wake-up call.

Before was returning home with content in his heart, the grisliest murders being nothing but forgotten details as the smell of dinner hit his sensitive nose.

Before was his white angel with black spots and icy blue eyes.

Before was having something to return home to.

Before was reading her love letters as he was giving all he had in The Academy while he was still in training.

Before was seeing her blue eyes fill with tears of joy as he got down on one knee and proposed to her during the graduation party.

Before was hearing all his fellow cops root for him as he did this, yet simultaneously he heard nothing as he was hugging his beloved snow leopard after slipping the ring on her fuzzy finger.

Before was thinking how lucky he was to have someone as sweet and caring as Isabella be his other half, his difficult and at times horrific and even potentially fatal job seeming trivial with her to come back home to.

And then, just after he finished the seemingly trivial case of a couple of hyena gangbangers being shot to death while getting high in their "home" that his life also split into "after".
The killer was one Lamar Spottington, one of the leaders of a small-time ghetto hyena gang, and the two victims were members of a rival gang.
His experienced mind had no trouble figuring out from the ballistics report and placement of the shells that the weapon had to be a custom-made UZI.
Harry couldn't believe how dumb Lamar had been: murder with a custom gun, bought locally using a real name when he killed someone as often as he brushed his teeth (actually, probably even more often judging from hyenas' general state of hygiene)

But only a week after the execution of the killer, was when his life turned into the dreadful after.
It was a day like any other.
His house was on the outskirts of Tundra Town, deciding to appeal more to his wife's preference of the cold rather than his own natural instincts, he had never been very picky about weather anyway, though the cold had made him adopt the habit to almost always wear a heavy trenchcoat, which his wife and colleagues always laughed that it made him look like straight out of a Deer Tracy cartoon.
With their combined incomes, they had a house built in a slightly East-European style, befitting the style of the district, with at least a drizzle of snow always present on the front lawn, but it did nothing but to give the house further character, looking as if it truly came from the Tundra.
The towering, icy structures of the district were to be seen in the distance, and even though he was a mammal more used to the humid heat of the Rainforest District, this winter wonderland alongside his snow leopard mate made him feel at home.

In that day, even his body told him there was something deathly wrong. He woke up with a killer headache, a groan being the first thing which escaped his lips. Not even the feeling of his wife's soft naked fur pressed against his own was enough to soothe it.

"Honey, are you alright? You look mighty pale, and with your fur, that's really saying something!" she teased, rubbing his jet-black pelt. He cradled her head and planted the best kiss his weakened body would allow. After that, she quickly grabbed his phone.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked as she punched a few buttons and put the phone to her ear.

"Yeah, Chief Bogo? This is Isabelle Clawhan speaking. Yes, my husband is quite unwell, fever, headache, couldn't lift him off the sheet. Could you give him a day off? I think he needs to recover after that hyena gang case." She said, smiling at her husband as he was staring slack-jawed at his wife while he was trying to pop open a bottle of aspirins in his daze.

"Yes, sir, I'll be sure to… tell him…" she said, her smile growing into a devilish grin, her sharp teeth making his angel look like a succubus about to strike… and who was he to oppose?
She hung up the phone and approached the bed slowly.
He had no time for this and pulled her in with much more energy than a sick mammal should have been capable of. But she had a surprise of her own and twisted his arm by planting her left paw on his elbow and twirling him so she was on top.

"Looks like those self-defence moves you taught me finally found some use…" she purred. And then she began to literally purr.
As someone who had plenty of girlfriends both in high school and the year in which he got prepared to enter The Academy, having his partner purr wasn't something he wasn't used to.
Except that his wife did it out of love. All his other feline girlfriends merely activated it mechanically as some sort of ancient mating ritual, but Isabella did it from the heart, as she was with her real mate, not some pointless fling.

"See, darling? I don't complain about migraines now, even though I have them!" he laughed as they began what they had craved for ever since Harry had been working overtime and undercover at the precinct for nearly a week. This comment earned him a slight angry scratch on his forearm.

"Be careful, detective, don't anger a… known serial criminal… who also chooses the same victim every time…" she purred as she bent over for a kiss…


Hours later, he woke up at the latest hours of the morning, his headache now something much worse thanks to the heated intimacies with his wife.
Not only that, but he felt sick, much worse than when he woke up.

Still, the panther didn't regret what he did with his wife one bit…

He groaned as he stood up, clutching his forehead in a vain attempt to cease his headache.

"Honey, are you okay?" asked his wife.

"Yeah, don't worry, let me go make breakfast." He said, trying to get out of bed as quickly as he could, but his wife caught him and felt his forehead. She retracted her paw instantly.

"Harry, you're… burning up! Dammit, shouldn't have pressured you into-" she began apologizing.

"Don't worry, Spots, a blistering headache and a little fever is always worth the price of having you for…" he glanced at the clock.

"Two and a half hours, including the ten minute nap." He said smiling, earning him a gentle claw into his shoulder, just enough not to pierce his tough hide, but enough to feel her touch in the way only she knew how to do.
It would be the last time he ever felt it...

"Alright, detective green-eyes, stay here, I'll go buy some aspirins. And don't you dare start smoking again, I hid your cigars." She said jokingly, starting to get dressed.

"How dare you!" he said in mock-indignation.

"Honey, I'll let you know that those things help me concentrate better." He said. His angelic leopard smirked.

"In that case, you should smoke better cigars, cloud-head!" she laughed out.

"Touché, Spots!" he chuckled.

After one last passionate kiss, Isabella left. Harry decided to open the window to allow the frosty Tundra Town air cease his headache. He sighed in relief as the biting cold cut into his hide, something which usually made him close all windows turn up the radiators and bunker in his house with whiskey, cigars and 50s movies as much as he could, but this time, the icy air entering his nostrils and piercing his jet-black coat made him lean against the window frame and drink it all in despite the fact that he was wearing nothing but boxers and a white tank top.
The outskirts of Tundratown had its houses arranged suburbia style, yet it looked nothing like a Downtown sub. The houses all had curvy edges on the roofs and stained glass, giving them the aspects of mansions even though they weren't very large.
There wasn't that much snow where he lived, a thin coat of white occasionally intercut with dull green grass and small Tundra flowers. However, he could see the true Tundra Town just a few miles away. T
owering, circular towers covered in a thick layer of frost, the traditional Tundra architecture complimenting the winter wonderland better than any modern megastructure ever could.

He could see the massive Tundra Town Cathedral watching over the entire district, its towers ending with massive, onion-like, round domes, the vibrant colours contrasting against the light blue ice in a way that it could be seen for miles.
Right next to the Cathedral was the main square, where the massive Frozen Bank was located.

Despite the quaint East-European feeling the district had, the hustle and bustle of Zootopia was present here as much as any district. Polar bears, moose, snow leopards, Siberian tigers, walruses, arctic wolves as well as smaller mammals such as penguins or arctic foxes.
The visitors from the other districts were so wrapped up in many layers of clothing in an effort to combat Tundratown's artificial cold that it was impossible to discern which species they were.
Even on their quitter street, the neighbours leaving for work were generating quite the bustle, a polar bear in a business suit leaving for work, kissing his wife and cubs goodbye. Harry smirked as he thought of the phrase "Papa bear", in fact, that's what he called his neighbour, Harry Clawhan got along with everyone in the small suburban neighbourhood of the district despite being the only panther in there.
His wife leaving the house as she smiled at him from down there, an arctic vixen going to work, her professional business suit and attitude destroying any fox stereotype someone may have thrown at her. A hyena in a leather jacket standing near the corner-

Wait a minute… What was a hyena doing here? And why wasn't he wearing any thick clothing?
Hyenas were Savannah animals, they could hardly stand to come in this district without enough clothes to make them look like giant wolves with winter coats. He was looking at the houses his way…
And even though he was hundreds of yards away, the panther detective was able to notice evil intent and lack of emotion in the canine's eyes. His thug-like leather jacket looked… familiar…

His wife entered the car. As soon as she did this, the hyena started running in the opposite direction.
Harry's heart dropped to his stomach.

"ISABELLE, GET OUT OF THE CAR!" he yelled as soon as he realized… It was in that very moment, when the explosion's shock wave made his insides vibrate, shattering the house's windows and his very soul, that his life turned into after


She was buried in the Tundra Town Brother Bear Memorial Cemetery. It snowed heavily on that day, despite the winter still being months away.
The cold was irrelevant.
Most of the other animals present were from Isabelle's family or neighbours, therefore their white fur contrasted from their black mourning clothes. It was only he who was completely pitch-black…
His wife's corpse had been arranged by Bonasera the Honey Badger, a funeral parlour owner contracted by Mr. Big.
Usually, Harry hated the fact that the ZPD had to work with the crime boss, but now, he had to admit, his wife almost looked like she was napping, he was grateful for Mr. Big's assistance. He half expected to hear her tiny purr-snores at which he would wake her up by nuzzling her…
The several colleagues from the ZPD that had showed up saw Harry's face as stone cold, his eyes as emotionless as when he scanned a gruesome crime scene and made observations no one else could, yet they could see straight through his mask.
Clawhauser had to fight hard not to break down himself. He could hardly imagine that the cheery leopard with snow-like fur would no longer come into the precinct to pick her husband up, she would no longer come and crack jokes with the other officers, she would no longer cheer up the toughest, no-nonsense cop in the precinct, she would no longer make "Stone-Cold-Harry" smile…

The plump cheetah didn't even want to imagine what was going through his ex-partner's mind… Harry and Benjamin had both been partners back when Harry was still a patrol cop.
The panther was as by the book and robotic as anyone could be. Always spoke like a cop straight out of a ZPD afterschool special (except less cheery), never showed any emotion when jumping into firefights…
One would think that being partnered with the then slightly thinner ZPD cheerleader, Clawhauser, would be a recipe for disaster. Nothing could have been further from the truth. During their time together, Harry learned to be more lenient and Clawhauser learned to be a better cop. T

hey were separated when a few years after their partnership, Harry was promoted to the Homicide Detective squad and Clawhauser was "promoted" to a full-time receptionist and dispatch manager, deskwork being much more his speed.
But even then, his friendship with Harry Clawhan continued. It was even worth trekking all the way to Tundra Town to see his former partner and discuss everything from football to cases, Clawhauser offering his help multiple times.
Despite his attitude and occasionally dumb deductions, Ben was far from a dimwit, at least when it came to knowing which cases connected to which and Harry was often surprised when Ben gave him the files to other cases which he didn't even know were connected.

And Isabelle was one of his best friends. He had to fight his own tears, he didn't want to think what his friend was going through…
Harry didn't even listen to the service, he simply looked at his wife as much as possible, as this was the last time he would see her in real life.
He ingrained every single detail in his brain. The exact placement of her black spots, how thick and rich her snow white fur was despite two days passing since her death, not even the fiery explosion being able to affect her beauty.

Slowly, after his police friends had paid their respects and encouraged Harry, they left the freezing cemetery.
Then, it was her relatives, still in tears, leaving their in-law, Harry, telling him that he was still part of the family.
Finally, it was only Harry Clawhan, staring at his wife's stone cross that was already covered in a thick layer of snow despite only being erected for a few hours. Slowly, he touched the freezing stone and grasped it like it was his mate's warm paw.

"Goodbye, Spots…" he whispered, the tears finally making their way past his stone mask, now that everyone was gone…


Harry still expected to wake up from a bad dream. It had been a couple of days since the car bomb, and yet her smell was still strong in the house, especially in the bed.
For once in his life, he cursed his strong sense of smell. Her smell was already fading, he noted with horror as he got up from the empty bed in the morning.
He took the sheet and sniffed it. Still her.
While he wasn't canine, he still perceived everyone differently, and his wife's scent still brought him joy and comfort, even though he knew that he would never see her again. Slowly, he went downstairs.
He thought of fixing himself breakfast, but he wasn't hungry.

He had a week off for "mourning". It was freezing cold, as he hadn't had the time or the energy to replace the shattered windows and therefore just nailed them shut with some planks, making his home from the outside seem abandoned. He opened one of the cabinets and retrieved a whisky bottle.
Upon doing this, a box fell from the top. Frowning in confusion, he picked it up. It was a box of his favourite cigars.

"I hid your cigars." She said jokingly.

"How dare you!" he said in mock indignation.

"Honey, I'll let you know that those things help me concentrate better." He said. His angelic leopard smirked.

"In that case, you should smoke better cigars, cloud-head!" she laughed out.

"Touché, Spots!" he chuckled.

After one last passionate kiss, Isabella left...

He picked up the box, tears forming in his eyes once again. This smelled like her as well, even though it was weaker…

He opened it and alongside the few mint-flavoured cigars that were left, was a note.

"You'll get these back when you're a good boy, detective." In Isabella's handwriting followed by an overly sappy kissy-face.
He took the note and studied it like it was some sort of ancient tome. He didn't know why, but he stared at the piece of paper for at least half an hour.
Eventually, he carefully folded it into his pocket.
He sat on the couch, which still had her scent strongly in it. Just a few more days, and even this last bit that remained of his beloved spotted cat would be gone…
Slowly, but surely, he started pouring whisky down his throat and smoking cigar after cigar, not even him sure to what end.

What would he do next? Well, it didn't take a genius to realize that a few hours later he would wake up, probably crashed next to the toilet with a killer hangover.
But maybe this is what he wanted? To be transported to another world, just for a few hours, a world in which perhaps he could see Isabelle, even if it was just a figment of his drunken imagination… With that thought, he put the bottle to his lips and pointed it to the roof.


Later, he woke up beside the couch, empty bottle still dangling from his paw. He had thought many times to just get on the couch as it would have been more comfortable, but he realized it would actually involve getting up, so he just got drunk on the floor. The image of his wife danced cruelly in front of his eyes. He swiped a paw as if to catch her, but even in his drunken stupor he knew that it was all a vision.

"Isabelle?" he slurred, trying to get up, tripping over the many empty whiskey bottles.
God, his chest… He had never felt such heartburn in his life and his head felt like it was about to explode. He threw up on the floor, his stomach finally tired of slowly killing itself with booze of differing qualities.
He tried to lessen the haze by focusing his eyes on one thing in the room.
But how do you focus when all you can see is your wife? He tried focusing his eyes on the stove.
The very stove at which he and his wife cooked together, his wife teasing him at his horrible cutting skills at which he'd retort that he's good at grilling, then they'd kiss and talk about how much better everything will be when they will have children and cook breakfast for them, packed lunches for school…

He let go of a sob, trying to approach the kitchen counter. The ghost of his wife was gone, a small smile and a compassionate blue gaze being all he could catch.

"Spots?" he slurred again, as if he expected an answer.

Actually he did, in his drunken haze he went from knowing that his wife was dead to thinking that she was just out for shopping in the next. He thought for a second how angry she would be when she returned and found him drunk on the floor. He chuckled as he thought of the many clunky ways he'd try to hide the fact that he's drunk from his wife. She always noticed everything, it would be useless…
The chuckling turned into sobbing as he once again remembered. Isabelle was gone… His literal white to his black was gone…

But… why? His half-melted brain searched why this had happened. Then he pinned it.

That fucking hyena… The other brother sought revenge…

After arresting that gang-banging hyena, he received a threat in the form of a piece of paper stuck to his car. It read "RELEASE HIM" and next to it was a poorly scribbled panther skull hung from a rope with his eyes covered by big bold "X" signs. He merely laughed and trashed it, he had received countless threats in his career. He had received threats from powerful crime syndicates, people who could have actually done something to him, but he had learned to have a sort of immunity to threats.
He knew how to defend himself and the one time someone tried to gun him down in the street found out the hard way just how quick the panther's draw was with his Magnum.

And now, a small-time street gang took away what was most precious to him… why couldn't it have been him in the car? Why did he have to wake up with that headache and his wife to have the good soul she had and offer to go shopping? His sobbing then turned into primal roars of rage.
It was as if some primal switch to turn him savage, forgotten for thousands of years had finally been turned on. He kicked down the plywood that was covering his window, the merciless cold instantly biting into his fur used to heat and humidity, but he didn't care. T

hat street gang… "The Spottington Bros Royals" were worse than any crime syndicate…
He couldn't just sit here and drown in his own misery… his wife hadn't hurt a soul in her life and died just because that bastard's brother, a murderer, who was also suspected for dozens of other homicides and robberies, got what was coming to him…
He needed to punish them…
Not through some bureaucratic red tape bullshit, but cold hard justice… and make sure that what happened to him would never happen to anyone else ever again…


"What the hell do you mean, not enough evidence!? My wife was fucking murdered!" he yelled, slamming his fist down Bogo's desk. The buffalo tried maintaining a compassionate gaze, but it was obvious that he was losing his patience.

"Detective-Inspector Clawhan… you say you saw a hyena fleeing the scene. That is not "evidence". Give me a few more weeks and we'll crack down on these guys. Understand that this cannot be turned into a vendetta and that-" Bogo tried to finish.

"I don't understand shit!" Harry yelled again, the stoic detective, the stone face of the ZPD losing his cool completely. Bogo stood up from his seat. While Harry was incredibly tall for a panther, being even taller than some of the tigers within the precinct, the top of his head barely came up to Bogo's chin, not to mention that Bogo was three times broader in the shoulders.

"You think I don't feel for you? You think I don't care about what happened to your wife?" he asked through gritted teeth, glaring at the smaller feline. Harry was famous throughout the precinct for his blue-green gaze that could freeze the blood of even the toughest of criminals, and Bogo had to admit that he was good… but not good enough…

"This is the police, detective Clawhan, and you've clearly forgotten who you're talking to!" said Bogo, bending forward, trying to intimidate the panther. Harry didn't even blink. He then, to Bogo's surprise, smiled widely.

"This is the police, Chief? You have to always be by the book you say?" he asked, still smiling the same cruel smile.

"What about Mr. Big?" asked Harry Clawhan. For the first time ever, Bogo lost a staring contest and nearly gasped.

"Detective you know that Mr. Big is-" he tried to explain, looking away from the panther's gaze.

"I know that Mr. Big is the biggest scumbag in this city. I know that he literally freezes people to death, I know that he holds half the rackets in this city and that I can hardly pass a restaurant that isn't a money-laundering front for his godless business." He snarled.

"You exaggerate!" said Bogo. "If I were to take him down, put all the weight of the ZPD on him, what would happen? All the other gangs in the city, who are ten times worse, would start a war to take everything that he left behind! He is like any other mammal with power, only that he is someone who can keep everyone else in check. Mr. Big is no worse than anyone else who has power, only that he is not hypocritical enough to not admit it! Now replace someone like him with the gang who killed your wife. What would happen? Zootopia would be in chaos!" explained Bogo.

"You can call it whatever you want, Chief, I call it being a dirty cop. And I call it covering for the mob. Which I never questioned. I'm smart enough to know that being a cop is more complicated than a black and white vision on good and evil.
But I question: if you can cover for the mob, you can't cover for your own detectives?" he asked. Bogo tried to answer, but was cut off.

"Remember that time you asked me to drop the case of a wolf found frozen to death in the river? He was literally a block of ice. I never questioned it, hell, even Clawhauser figured out who froze him, but I took pictures and copied the case files…" he said, enjoying the buffalo's flabbergasted expression.

"You know, you're the most popular police chief in Zootopia's history. When you retire, that's all you'll have left, be the hero. I once saw an article which described you quite clearly "He catches the bad guys" and it sounds cliché as all hell, but trust me, in this city that is high praise." He said.

"So how about a regular detective steps up and shows the truth? 'Hey, remember that police chief that caught all the bad guys? Turns out he was a Mafia bitch.' They don't care what circumstances you were under, or what would follow if Mr. Big fell, all they care is getting their scoop. And I have some very different opinions about you now, you Mafia tool!" snarled Harry.

Bogo was breathing heavily the entire time and steam was coming out of his nostrils. He screamed in rage and swung a brick-sized hoof at the panther's face. Harry rolled away in the last second, getting into a fighting stance. The buffalo thought for a moment to charge the panther, but he could win this battle much easier than fisticuffs with ZPDs top martial artist…

"You're fired! Turn in your-" he began ordering.

"Shut the fuck up!" yelled Harry in disgust, throwing his badge on the floor and spitting on it. He stormed out without another word.
As he exited, many of the cops offered him compassionate gazes, wordlessly offering the doomed panther help with anything they could, but he didn't even glance at his comrades. He now knew what he had to do… Justice… He still tried lying to himself that this wasn't just for him, but this was also to prevent this from happening to anyone else.

Yes… just justice…

"Buddy?" came a voice behind him, sounding so resigned and sorrowful compared to how joyful it usually was that even with all his deductive capabilities it took him a full two seconds to recognize it. Clawhauser was glancing at him with what the chubby cheetah was trying to be a compassionate gaze to man him up, but it was clear that he was fighting tears himself over losing his best friend's wife.

"How did it go?" asked Ben, clearly having heard the shouts. "

As well as it could be expected…" mumbled Harry, looking at his feet, in the meantime, running the plan of the gang hideout, where each member was most likely to be, what defences they will have, what his approach would be…
From the few police reports he had read on them, he knew that their hideout was a long-abandoned mansion, they had kicked out the hobos that squatted there years before and this position let them establish some degree of dominance over the god-forsaken ghetto neighbourhood they "owned". However, they were disorganized as all hell and most likely barely had any kind of look-outs or plan should their "base" get invaded.
All of them used Uzis, large cheap pistols or sawn-off shotguns and occasionally coated in chrome, gold plating or cheap plastic jewellery, depending on each gang member's budget.
While these weapons looked intimidating at first glance, they didn't know even basic weapon maintenance and from the many shootouts he took part in against ghetto gangs, he knew that their weapons jammed like crazy.

During midnight they were all in there, sleeping on old mattresses like the filthy hobos they were, most of them drugged out of their filthy minds. That, with his night vision, an advantage they didn't have, would be the perfect time to strike…

"You're still selling your old car, Ben? Mine's obviously not usable anymore." He said to his friend wearing a blank gaze.

"Sure… why do you need it now?" asked the cheetah, noticing there was something in his friend's eyes other than the sorrow of the last few days, devoid of the spark Isabelle gave them, even the green in his eyes looking like that of a dying plant.

"Just need to run some errands." He said blankly, imagining what it will be like to get justice... He had stretched one of his paws and unsheathed his claws in anger, just waiting to dig them into the flesh of those killers… Benjamin's small eyes widened and he went to his desk drawer and withdrew an old set of keys.

"Here you are. Car's parked in front of my place, right next to the new one I bought." Said Clawhauser, avoiding eye contact. Clawhan snatched the keys and stuffed them in his trenchcoat, turning around without another word.

"Harry?" asked Clawhauser just before the panther left. The panther wanted to leave, but something told him to glance back at his friend. Clawhauser wore a worried expression that one had when their friend was sent to the death sentence.

"Be careful." He said. Harry wasn't surprised. Benjamin Clawhauser was far from the sharpest tool in the shed, but the bond they had formed over the years of their partnership meant there was no hiding behind words with each other, no matter how hard they tried.

"I will." He said simply, ruffling his coat, walking out of the ZPD building for what he thought was the final time…


Harry stood in Clawhauser's old hunk-of-junk sedan in the middle of the run-down neighbourhood. All the scum of society could be found here. It was like Zootopia's cesspool.

Not a wall in sight didn't have peeled paint or poorly drawn gang slogans in graffiti. This part of town had been left to die out and rot by City Hall, letting most gang violence run rampant in here, sacrificing a small district rather than letting it spread into the city, like some sort of twisted quarantine.
However, Harry saw many old buildings that attested the fact that this part of town wasn't always this bad. An old warehouse with trucks that had long been stripped for parts, several medium sized houses, now all abandoned and filled with junkies looking for their next fix. The streets were wide, allowing for a large flow of traffic, however no one in their right mind entered this neighbourhood anymore.
However, the panther wasn't in his right mind…
He glanced at the large structure that stood in the middle of the neighbourhood. An old mansion, acting as a tombstone to this district's former glory. The once immaculate gardens were now overgrown, the weeds even covering the large fountain that once throned the outside of the garden.

Burning barrels of wood and cardboard lit the night, several young hyena gang members occasionally coming to warm themselves, Uzis in their belts. Several used syringes were scattered around the front entrance, those that got out stepping on them without even looking back, they were that stoned.
Harry felt all the hatred accumulated into his soul for days coming together at this very moment. He would need it… Those bastards… scum of society! Lice! Everything that was wrong about this city in one abandoned mansion of decadence…
He took his wife's ring out of his pocket, glancing at it one more time. He sniffed it, eager to feel that his wife was beside him during his quest to purge.
He could hardly feel a whiff of her anymore.

He closed his eyes and struggled to remember her warm fur pressed against his own, her gentle smile and icy blue eyes… She was still by his side… No matter what would happen, he would never be alone… He brushed away at his eyes as he held the ring close to his chest.

"Be with me, Spots…" he prayed. He glanced back at the mansion.
Through the broken windows he could see several hyenas and a couple of wolves (while the gang was predominantly hyena, others were also "welcome") lying on stained mattresses, tongues lolled out, eyes rolled up into the skull, improvised tourniquets around their arms: drugged out of their minds.

Good, this would be easy…

Harry fixed the Kevlar that was underneath his trenchcoat and waistcoat and he checked his 44 Magnum once again.
All six shots loaded, twenty-four spare rounds on quickloaders.
He always favoured the Magnum for its stopping power, and with his experience, he was every bit as fast with it as an average cop with a standard-issue semi-automatic. Stopping power was the most important thing when you had animals like tigers and elephants turning to crime…
He continued to lie to himself that this was just justice, what he needed to do, to stop this from happening to anyone else, this wasn't just his own selfish revenge plan… He revved the acceleration several times as he aimed the car for the front gate...

A young hyena stood by a burning barrel in the derelict mansion, warming his paws from the cold. While having a mansion be a base of operations was something that gave him some real rep in the underworld, the lack of heating really upset his dessert preferences (that's where his ancestors lived, right? He couldn't remember)
The walls had lost all of the expensive paint it once had, instead being a hole-riddled white-grey mess, green mold and constant dripping. Bullet holes were everywhere from the gang's "target practice".
Yet the Spottington Bros gang was still called "The Royals" in the underworld, all thanks to their hideout.
The hardwood floor was now riddled with plants growing from beneath the floorboards, the humid stench combined with the smell of drugs from within the building was something that most animals would have gagged at, but these degenerates welcomed it as a smell of home…
A portrait of a family of wolves in expensive suits stood on a wall, humidity still not having completely taken away the colours of the family of three that never would have guessed what their home would turn into.

They seemed to be staring angrily at the intruders, begging for redemption…

He tried focusing his eyes on the barrel in an effort to counteract the effects of the shot of heroin he had taken earlier. One of his fellow gang members was standing in front of the door, holding his rusted Uzi close to his fake-gold chain covered chest, almost like a guard.
Yeah as if any rival gang would ever be dumb enough to attack them-
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of an old engine revving.

Huh, usually engines from the midnight street races around here sounded more powerful, what the-

The massive wooden front doors, weakened by years of mold and humidity broke into thousands of pieces as a large rusty car smashed into them, smearing the gang member standing at the door into mush. His mind jolted into action and he yanked the gun from his belt, nearly dropping it in his drug-infused stupor.
He started firing into car, shattering the windows, not really taking care what he was aiming at, instead he just hoped that the Uzi's auto fire would be enough to compensate his lack of skill.

"Alarm, brothers! Come quickly!" he yelled as loudly as his stunned lungs would allow. Several hyenas clad in leather jackets or tank tops and ripped jeans came from upstairs, guns at the ready, several stumbling due to being drunk or stoned or both.
They all started firing in the car. There was no way anyone in the car survived.

They slowly approached the car, guns still at the ready. The front seat was empty, and so was the rest of the car… There was a brick laying right on top the accelerator… Before they had time to process what that meant, a ticking noise from beneath the car became more and more insistent...

"Oh shit!" yelled one of the few that wasn't soned, diving away from the car just as it exploded.
A tremendous wave of heat and debris hit him as he was keeping his head glued to the floor, his paws around his scruff.
The dreadful sound of twisted metal and the screams of his few "homies" that weren't dead but horribly injured pierced his skull to the point in which he couldn't hear anything.

Wait a minute… an exploding car… wasn't that how their boss had killed that cop?

Before he could process another thought, he felt a heavy, merciless paw lifting him off the ground. His face was slammed against the moldy wall, covering the wall in cracks and his own blood. His head felt like it was squished inbetween the wall and the heavy paw.
He screamed in pain and tried swiping his claw blindly, but it was caught quickly and an immense force twisted and yanked it so suddenly that it was snapped instantly.
He yelled and brought his broken right paw to his face. His palm was nothing more than a useless, painful sack of meat and broken bone. He looked up at his attacker. He gasped when he realized how much bigger the panther was than him.
He was nearly twice his height. But his eyes… his small green-blue eyes frightened him more than when the car had gotten into the house, more than when he realized he was about to be blown to bits…

Not even in the eyes of the toughest killers of the gang had he seen this much pure hatred. His bared pearly white fangs shined in the dim light, every single one of them capable of tearing flesh.
He was snarling and breathing like he had only seen in the few documentaries about ancient savage predators. Only that this snarl was directed toward him…
The powerful paw grabbed him by the neck and held him in midair.
The poor kid flailed uselessly in the air, trying to swipe the panther's face with his good paw. He had never felt so deprived of air, so small compared to someone, so helpless.

He was thinking about everything that had let up to this moment, how he enrolled in the gang to raise money for his girlfriend and their unborn child, a result of too much alcohol and too much stupidity at the high school graduation party and too much love for each other, their foolish relationship having gotten them disowned by each of their families.
They had to live in poverty in the ghetto, but they did manage to barely scrape by, him keeping his "profession" a secret from his girlfriend. Just one week later he would be a father…

That was what was keeping him going while he was doing the gang's dirty work, extorting poor business owners, shooting at rival gangs for just being there… The way he imagined his son, the spitting image of him and his girlfriend was what kept his good soul going in a situation like this…

"Please… I… just want to see how my son looks like…" he tried to say, but the merciless paw held his throat so tightly that it only came out as a pathetic whimper, wasting more of his precious air.

"Come on, homies, let's get the fuckers who attacked us!" he heard from the other side of the mansion

. Yes! Hope! He never did care much about his "homies" since he despised that he had to live in the gang to survive, but he had never felt more grateful in his life to hear their raspy, drug-ruined voices. The panther didn't even blink as he heard them.
Instead, he saw that the claws on his free arm were becoming unsheathed.

Oh God, no…

"Don't worry, you'll see all your other gang-banging friends soon enough." Snarled the panther just as his claw went straight into the young hyena's throat…

Harry glanced down on the gang member and then on the blood on his paw. He had never killed anyone like this before… But hell, he was killing the gang that took away his Isabelle.
Shouldn't he be feeling… good? Satisfied? Happy? Glancing back at the other gang members smeared and dismembered by his poetic justice didn't change things much. He had come here to make peace with himself, yet he just felt… empty.
He didn't have time to ponder on this though, as the entire "Royals" Spottington gang was coming after him. He climbed the stairs and hid behind a decaying pillar. The double doors from the bottom burst open and just a second later, so did several doors from above.
Harry drew his large revolver, ready to do what he had done a thousand times before.

"Holy shit… look at this… just like that cop we killed…" said one of them, looking at the carnage caused by the exploded car.

"Hey, look! Eddie's still alive!" said one of them, approaching the hyena with the slit throat who was still choking on his own blood and gurgling.

"Nothing we can do for him. Damn… what kind of sick fuck would kill him like this? A bullet would have been enough!" yelled another.

Harry couldn't believe what nerve these bastards had! He was the sick one? He never killed without reason! He wasn't some thug with a false code of honour!
He came out of cover and quickly gunned down the three that were still upstairs and gawking at the massacre below.

By running his paw over the hammer after each shot, he was able to quickfire with the revolver, killing the last one before the first one even hit the ground.
The ones from below scrambled for cover and one of them started barking orders.
There were about six of them in total. He had three shots left.

He quickly fired his remaining three shots: one in the skull of one who was too dumb to take cover behind something solid, the other two into vases to scare the remaining ones into remaining into cover.

"Holy fuck! It's that dead cop!" yelled one of them. In the meantime, Harry quickly reloaded his revolver using one of the quickloaders, the process being no slower than if he had used a clip-based weapon.

"Let's put this fucker back in the grave! He took out Johnny K!" one of them yelled as a volley of bullets flew past him, some hitting the moldy pillar he was taking cover behind. He knew that while the one hyena was pinning him down like this, the others would try to flank him. He needed to-

He groaned as he felt a sharp pain explode in his stomach as a bullet hit his Kevlar. He instinctively fired back in the direction of the shot, the high-caliber bullet creating a finger-sized hole in the wolf thug's chest.

"Five-O's got good aim!" one exclaimed as he watched one of the few wolves of the gang falling down the stairs after trying to flank the panther.

"Circle around him!" the "lieutenant" ordered.

"I can hear you, you know, dumbfucks!" yelled out Harry defiantly. With surprising grace, one wolf and two hyenas flanked around him. One hyena met the quick end of a bullet to the stomach as he tried to dive behind an overturned desk.
The other hyena tried to stretch his paw out after his friend, but was pulled back by the strong wolf. Still, the fraction of a second he had his paw out was enough for Clawhan to shoot it off. A deafening roar of pain pierced the room as the bullet that was as larger than a finger for the hyena ripped apart his entire paw. He tried to hunker down, but the Magnum's immense power easily pierced the wooden desk, putting the hyena out of his misery quickly.

"Goddammit! If you want something done right, do it yourself!" he heard as he gunned down the other hyena. Before he could turn around to the source of the noise, white hot pain erupted from his left bicep. He screamed as he felt his flesh getting ripped by the automatic hail and cursed his stupidity at not wearing extra protective armour for the sake of mobility.
He dived behind a corner as another bullet struck his back, the Kevlar taking the brunt of the blow, but he still had all his wind knocked out of him. He heard another hail of bullets coming his way and then it stopped suddenly.

"Shit!" the hyena lieutenant exclaimed as Clawhan heard a telltale click. Harry smiled and slowly exited his cover. The lieutenant, large for a hyena, gasped as he saw the towering panther standing over him, while he only had a jammed Uzi in his paws.

"You know, you assholes would have done a lot better against if you'd have just shut your muzzles." He rasped calmly just before shooting the hyena right inbetween the eyes. Harry glanced around.
He had just killed practically every single able man in the gang, the rest were most likely too stoned to move. He still couldn't feel satisfied.
He felt… empty. He glanced below at the hyenas who had tried to flank him. Wait… wasn't there also a wolf?

Pain exploding in his ribs brought him to reality as he fell down from the blow. The wolf, wearing an all-black expensive suit rather than the thug garments the rest were dressed in, was incredibly tall for a wolf, the top of his head nearly reaching the panther's nose and his heavy build was definetely owed to strenuous physical exercise.
His completely white fur clashed with his dark suit. His small dark eyes showed little emotion as he twirled the fire extinguisher with which he had struck the panther.

Clawhan deduced what he could as he saw him. Not a member of the gang, most likely a hitman of sorts, but still loyal to the Royals Spottington.
The way his knuckles were swollen and the shape of his fingers indicated someone practiced in martial arts. The shape of his claws and the fact that he took care of them didn't hide the fact that they were chipped in some places: this wolf killed with his own claws often.
The callus on his fingerpad indicated a marksman.
This mammal was a true killer, more so than any of those thugs, he'd have to be careful. The wolf rushed to the now downed detective, looking to brain him with the fire extinguisher. Harry caught the object, headbutted the wolf and kneed him in the chest, knocking him backwards and the fire extinguisher out of his paws.
Harry threw the weapon away and charged at the wolf who was now getting up. To his surprise, the arctic wolf got out of the way and swept his legs in the last moment, knocking him down.
He heard his claws quickly retracting and he dodged at the last moment, the wolf's claws sinking into his shoulder rather than his throat. He hissed in pain and punched the wolf in the liver and quickly got up.
His entire body was hurting from all he had done before, his stomach and back were heavily bruised from the shots to the Kevlar, his left arm was shot, severely impending his movement and the blow from the wolf had nearly broken his ribs.
The wolf merely hissed in pain and got up, in spite of the powerful blow. This guy was used to pain, he was a true hitman, a veteran of the underworld.

Harry used his reach advantage to quickly throw a combination of jabs to the wolf's snout, ending with a powerful haymaker. To his surprise, the wolf dodged the final blow, grabbed Harry's arm and tried throwing him to the lower floor with surprising ease, as Harry was nearly twice his weight.
Harry grabbed the wolf's own paw and twisted it with his own technique, getting him back on the ground, the momentum making the both of them crash through the rotten wood railing and crashing on the ground floor.

Harry angled his body so that he could roll, but the fall still knocked the wind out of him. The wolf rolled as well with the grace of an acrobat.
Harry kicked him in the stomach and then in the muzzle, sending him backwards. Hitman or not, he stood no chance against one of ZPD's top CQC fighters.
Just a fraction of a second after falling, the wolf did a leg sweep, oblivious to the pain caused by the panther's powerful kicks. Harry fell down, the wolf pinning him before he could do anything.

The hitman started punching Harry with amazing speed while pinning him by keeping his knee in the feline's stomach, exactly where he had been shot. Harry's world was a blur of closed fists, blood and ringing ears. He had been hit by rhinos with less powerful punches, only that the wolf was ten times faster.

His instinct trumping his training, he stretched out his paw. In a feat of blind luck, this blocked one of the albino wolf's punches. Ignoring his pain completely, he headbutted the wolf, sending him backwards.
Clawhan buried his pain and got up, propping his paw on a rotting royal piano. The wolf got up, hatred in his emotionless dark eyes.
He put his hand in his suit and drew a large bowie knife, it's blade shining in the light of a dumpster fire. Harry cursed his stupidity at not bringing his own melee weapon.
From the way he handled it, the wolf knew damn well how to use it quickly and effectively, if he didn't finish him quickly, the knife would be to much of an advantage.

However, Harry had a plan. It would sting, but it would work…

The wolf began to swing the blade wildly, yet coordinated. Harry jumped out of the way of all the blows, until he saw his opponent lining the knife up for a killing thrust.
He just hoped his crazy plan would work… Harry stood as still as possible as the knife connected with his torso.
He nearly screamed as he felt the tip pierce his Kevlar. The wolf was struggling to push it all the way in, but failing. It worked…

Harry punched the wolf in the eye and sent a hand-chop to his throat, stunning him. He then yanked the knife out of himself, only the very tip being what pierced him. He grabbed the wolf by the throat and threw him across the room into a wall, surprising the canine with his strength.

"My turn." Rasped Harry as he threw the knife into the wolf's chest. He finally screamed in pain, his barrier of stoicism pierced. The wolf looked up with glazed eyes at his killer.

"Where's Spottington?" asked Harry. The wolf laughed and coughed out some blood on Harry's shoes.

"You wanna take revenge on him, cop?" he asked rasping his words.

"You know… your wife is not dead because of him… I… handled this mission…" he said, coughing out blood.

"I gave the orders to that thug to wait for you, or your wife to enter the car until he blows it up. The wife preferably. That way, we still kill you… slowly…" he said, barking out laughter.

Harry's claws became unsheathed as he began to snarl like his ancestors when they saw a rival alpha male. Isabelle had never done anything to them, they practically killed for sport…

Letting go of a primal roar, he plunged his claw into the wolf's stomach. He would die anyway, but he could still make him suffer…

The wolf tried to scream, but it only came out as a choked ramble. Only then Harry realized how covered in blood he was, head to toe. His right paw in particular had blood and bits of flesh beneath the claws from the two mammals he had maimed.

"Who have I become?" he whispered before he thought of that. He blinked in confusion. Why had he said that? He was doing the right thing by ridding the world of these lice…

He retrieved his gun, reloaded and kicked open a double door that led further into the mansion. Splayed out over dirty, piss-filled matrasses were the remnants of the gang, who were too drugged out of their minds to even realize what was going on.
One of them was going on about how reptiles took his notebooks to another who was just staring unblinkingly at a decaying wall like it was some sort of God.
A few hyenas were screaming and running wildly from the hallucinations, others were just sitting on the ground, fast asleep, improvised tourniquets around their arms.

It was the very image of decadence. They didn't even try to run as Harry began gunning them all down.
This was it. The entire Royals gang was finished.

Strangely, enough, the panther still didn't feel at peace. In fact… he didn't feel anything… Hadn't this been what he had planned for?
What he was nearly smiling at while he was preparing for it? Maybe… maybe it was because the leader was still alive and somewhere… yes, preparing a trap…

There was a door past all the dead junkies marked "Office" with a poorly scribbled marker. Whatever this room was, it had been turned into a garage, poorly made chop-shop cars standing there and quite a few power tools hung up on a shelf and a garage door crudely plastered into the wall, the hardwood floor cracked underneath the weight of the cars.
Something wasn't right… Harry slowly approached the door, gun tight in his paws.
He was now more restless than he was fighting that wolf. Because he knew that what the leader was planning for a one-shot kill, somehow… But his only available course of action was going into the room.

Or…

Harry removed his trenchcoat and threw it into the room. A deafening boom which he identified as the discharge of a double barrel went off. Bingo, he bit the bait.
Harry dived into the room, straight behind a half-made scrap metal car. The gang leader fired again, hitting the car, sending debris of it into Harry, the heavy pieces of metal knocking him aside.
He could hear the mammal, clad in a slightly more expensive jacket than the rest and a heavy gold chain, opening the powerful 12-gauge to reload. Not wasting any time, Harry got out of cover and fired one shot below the car the hyena was taking cover behind, hitting his ankle.
As he fell down and clutched his leg, Harry fired once again below, hitting his sides, the bullet going straight through him.

This was it… the gang was finished… Harry rushed to his opponent's cover and kicked the sawn-off out of the leader's hands. He then grabbed him and threw him into a wall full of tools.
From the way he was bleeding, he wouldn't be alive much longer…

"Ugh… so you finally did it, huh, Inspector?" asked the leader, coughing blood on the broken hardwood floor. "Avenged your sweet wife… you know… they say who lives by the sword, dies by the sword…" said the leader as Harry was glaring at him.

"But you know what I like most about that saying, Inspector? Because the guy that… *cough* kills you… for living… by the sword… automatically… has to live by the sword himself… so he's doomed as well…" he rasped.

"You know… I always figured myself… as the guy who strikes down those that live by the sword… guess I am in a way… endless fucking cycle, cat… no way out…" he said, struggling to remain awake.

"We're not that different… I avenged my brother, and now you come… to avenge your old lady…" the leader said.

Harry's fury got the better of him once again and kicked the hyena in his stomach bullethole. The smaller mammal yelled in pain and clutched his wound.

"My wife never hurt anyone!" Clawhan snarled. "Your brother was a fucking lowlife gang-banging psychopath! My wife was nothing like him, just like I'm nothing like you!" snarled the panther, crouching next to the leader, staring straight in his eyes. His glare made the hyena's eyes widen, but only for a minute, as then, a morbid smile, accentuated by his sharp teeth, yellow from drug abuse.

"Wanna bet?" he asked, touching Harry's right paw. That paw was completely soaked in blood, bits of flesh beneath the claws, where he had literally ripped apart the young hyena at the entrance and the wolf hitman.

"You know… back when gunpowder was first discovered, nations that didn't have it called guns "coward weapons". It wasn't just because you could kill someone even though you were less skilled, but because killing face to face… takes a certain kind of cold-hearted shithead… all the little emotions, their cold eyes… their begging groans as they get ripped apart by your own paws…" the leader struggled to say. "I… I enjoy that fucked up shit. I'll take killing someone with a knife over killing with a gun anyday. Because I am one fucked sadistic piece of shit. Only that I am not hypocritical enough to not admit it…" he said.

Harry didn't want to listen to this bastard, he really didn't. But… he was right… He had no reason to kill those mammals like that… One bullet would have been enough…

"Tell me, panther, what was it like to kill them like the savage you were? How did it feel watching their blood and guts fly out of their stomachs as they screamed for the last time in their lives? How did it feel watching them staring at their own gore before they died the worst death possible? Say what you will about your blue-eyed sweetheart, but she died quickly and painlessly. Didn't even have time to realize she was gone…" He had mentioned his wife again… He took out her wedding ring from his pocket and tried to imagine her once again. Only that this time… she seemed to turn away from him. Her blue eyes avoided him, and they no longer shone, as if she was disappointed in him…
No! It was just his fucked-up imagination after having to live through… this…

This hyena didn't deserve just a bullet… Harry glanced at the saws and drills on the wall…

"You're right. They died horribly. But some deserve more horrible deaths than others." He snarled, going to the wall, determined to end the hyena's life as painfully as possible… The leader laughed, which when a hyena did so, it sounded like loud cackling, even when he was dying.

"Oh, fucking really? Alright then, take your time! Look at all those nice, sharp, painful tools! It's like goddamned candy store!" he said, laughing hysterically, something Harry doubted he would continue doing after his limbs would be cut off one by one.
The hyena continued laughing as the panther was looking over different power tools, pondering over which one would be the most agonizing end to the bastard hyena…

The hyena didn't stop laughing even as Harry settled on a large, rusty buzzsaw. Just as he was turning it on, however, an electronic beep began to ring in the next room.
It was a mobile phone. The hyena no longer laughed, instead just grinned sadistically, looking in the direction of the beep. It was clearly coming from one of the gang members he had killed.

"I think it's for you!" said the hyena. It wasn't laughter, but rather a sadistic joy as if he was going to somehow torture Harry. Harry tried to ignore the beeping, it was most likely just that guy's crack dealer or his junkie girlfriend.

But… there was something that drew him to the sound. Clawhan went out the room to the sound. It was the hyena whom he had ripped his throat out with his own claws. Only now was Harry seeing just how young that canine was… barely eighteen… His paw was to his throat as he had futilely tried to stop the blood flow and his eyes were dilated in fear and agony.
He had died, just like that, in that very image of someone facing death when he wasn't ready yet… Harry felt remorse claw at his heart. But still, he was a member of a drug-dealing, extorting street gang.

But he was so young…

Harry put his paw in the youngsters pocket and retrieved a small (well, small for him) phone. A small piece of paper fell together with the phone, but Harry didn't bother picking it up.
It read "Marie calling". Harry felt like a robot with no control over his actions as he pressed the green answer button. On the other end, was the agonized strangled voice of a young female.

"Darling… I know you're… working… but you need to come quickly… the doctor…" the young woman cried out in pain.

"He… he was right… it would be an early delivery… your… your son is coming, sweetie…" The panther now noticed that the piece of paper that came out of the hyena's pocket was a picture.
It was him and a female hyena of the same age, together. They were both wearing high school graduation robes… While it was an official yearbook picture, Harry was able to deduce from their proximity together and the way they were holding paws that they were lovers.
With his power of deduction, it wasn't a difficult thing to figure out: classic story. Gets together with a high school girlfriend after finishing the last year, too much alcohol, stupidity and teenage hormones and the girl remains pregnant. Parents disown them both and are forced to scrape by. This was the only way this boy was able to provide for his girlfriend and his future son…

Harry only realized that he had started crying when he saw his own tears staining the picture. He felt a sudden urge to claw his own eyes out.

"Hello? Honey? Hurry up, please! Who… who is this?" asked the poor girl inbetween tears.

"Call an ambulance…" said Harry, dropping the phone on the ground, letting it shatter. He fell to his knees, feeling completely devoid of life…

No, he was nothing like the gang leader…. He was worse… He had killed a kid, ruined lives, families…

Most of these weren't hardened criminals, they were misfortunate youths forced into this… Harry heard laughter from the garage and the leader was laughing once again, in spite of his injuries.

"Huh? Who was it? Was it his mom? His girlfriend, asking why he's late? Did you finally fucking realize that the only thing that makes us different is that you have a badge? Whatever, saw my fucking limbs off and-" he was cut off by a high-caliber bullet to his head.

Harry simply stood, unblinking, staring at his own massacre until the police arrived… He would never forget the way his comrades looked at him… they didn't even tell him to get on the ground, drop his gun or explain his presence…
They just stared at his blood-soaked form and at the mutilated bodies of the young gang members, a mixture of fear and disgust in their eyes. He responded by avoiding their gazes, staring at his own feet. Bogo stepped through the crowd of cops, towering over the panther.

"I'm sorry." The buffalo said.

"I made you do this…" he said, unsurely placing a hoof on the former detective's shoulders. He still didn't look up. The toughest cop from the ZPD, the legendary Detective-Inspector Harry Clawhan was cowering in shame in front of his comrades…

"I… believe you forgot this in my office earlier today…" he said, handing Harry his badge…


Harry jolted awake in his bed. He glanced around his now sparsely furnished bedroom with a single bed. The picture of him and his wife still stood on the end table. His small shack was located in the Rainforest District, among the many small houses up in the trees.
His small straw hut, bought straight after the incident consisted of a small bedroom, from which he could open both the door and window whilst sitting down, a kitchen with a mini-fridge filled mostly with cheap beer and insta-food, and the cabinets with strong liquor.
The entire shack had walls, floors and ceilings made of strong straw and the roof was made of strong, thick leaves mixed with solid bits of plaster, something which most occupants of this neighbourhood and this type of house opted for. It was a simple, some would call Spartan way of life.

But the panther didn't care for luxury, as this neighbourhood and house suited him like a glove. The smell of humidity and various tropical plants, the way the sun lit the rainforest floor just enough for visibility due to being obstructed by giant palm trees and even those goddamned mosquitoes which made him spend twenty bucks a week on insect reppelants made him feel at home.

Yet not even his natural habitat could match the home provided by Tundra Town...

He knew for a fact that after he had this nightmare in which he was forced to relive the most dreadful thing he had ever done as well as losing his wife he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep afterwards.
Not that it mattered, he was nocturnal anyway and he personally felt well-rested after just a few hours of sleep.
Might as well get back on the case. Harry went into the kitchen, poured himself some whiskey into a glass, took the bottle with him and went into the small living room, which consisted of a straw couch with cushions on it, two straw armchairs on either side of it, and a medium sized TV sitting on top of a tropical wooden cabinet, and a desk, isolated from the rest of the room.
Harry sat down at the desk and retrieved an ashtray, a pack of cigars and a metal lighter from a drawer. After his first drag, he opened the cabinet that was on the wall.
Inside it was something he liked to call the "deduction board".
A series of pictures, notes and map pieces all tied together with red string. Recently, he had tied the Growl Street wolf gang with the mystery zebra assailant. The zebra hated predators, so his business with the gang was most likely kept minimal, just to ensure that there won't be any gang members around when he'd pull that off to Nick and Judy.

Still, he most likely paid them kingly and gangs like that are usually suspicious, so they probably sent scouts after them, so they most likely knew at least enough to put him on the right trail. But how to get into the gang? It was a bit more than just a street gang, as the leader, Carl "Carnivore" ran an almost cult-like regime on his subordinates, preaching about how predators are superior to prey, so his "followers" were quite fanatical.
So far, he had one informant, a wolf called Zach "Alex" Wolfbane, a young timber wolf, dropped out of college to join the gang. Initially joined to raise money for his mother who suffered from cancer, gradually got sucked more and more into the gang's evil.
Just like that hyena kid he killed, just joined the gang to care for someone he loved…

Clawhan chased away the memory with another downed whiskey glass and by lighting another cigar. He had never truly forgiven himself, so he just tried not to think about it. But Zach was just a simple enforcer, just hired muscle, no real rank.
There was only so much he could provide alone. And it wasn't like he could come down there himself, he'd stick out like a sore thumb in that neighbourhood. All the other cops couldn't get involved, as it was a particularly busy month at the ZPD.
But maybe… two cops, off on sick leave officially, but going there off the record to investigate deeper? Maybe two cops who happened to be his best friends and personally involved in the case? Harry jolted upwards and grabbed his smartphone, the only modern appliance he actually owned and began sending a message to the power couple…

Now the case would start to really take off…


Alright, guys, after this I'm planning to write a oneshot for "Fox and Bunny Stew", so I'll probabl post a poll on what you'd like to see. (I'll update this story when I have the poll up on my profile)

Sorry if this was rushed, I am extremely busy, college is starting...