Breaking into a prison is considerably easier than breaking out. Mostly because there's no restriction on equipment, but partly because few guards ever expect it.

Once he arrived, Sly's first move was to circle the perimeter. He noted the multiple ZPD vehicles in the prison's parking lot. The investigation was continuing long into the night.

The prison sat outside city limits, and he had lost a few hours getting here by foot. But he would make up the lost time. Somewhere within these high walls were answers, and Sly wouldn't leave without finding them. He owed that to Nick.

He smirked to himself. Thinking like a cop again. Right now, he needed to think like a thief.

The front door was, generally speaking, not an option. He needed a weakness to exploit, some gap in the armour. That gap came in the form of a tall tree vaguely close to the rear wall. Evidently, the management did not expect anyone to climb the tree, take a running leap off a branch, and fling themselves into the prison with no following means of escape.

Sly Cooper was just too brilliant for them.

He picked himself up with only a minimum of bruises and set off. The late hour offered no advantage but darkness. Guards and inmates alike would still be active. The prison was legally required to operate both day and night, to accommodate nocturnal schedules. Prisoners could move between areas at any hour; if they never actually slept, that was their own problem. Sly wondered how many systems in this marvellous city only just about worked. It was a worrying train of thought.

Focusing on the mission, he crept through the courtyard. He was close to a cell block, a few residential lights still lit.

Sly debated whether to try interviewing any inmates. Part of him thought they might be more open to a Fellow Criminal then they would to ZPD interrogators. But Sly did not always gel well with other criminals. In fact, 'other criminals' were the sole victims of his thefts, assaults, and insulting monologues. Sly believed himself to a be better, smarter, and far more attractive than 'other criminals', as he would gladly outline in detail through an insulting monologue.

And they might be jealous that they had been arrested and he hadn't.

He decided against any interviews, but angled toward the cell block anyway. There was little in the courtyard. A rusted grate offered a way inside, and soon, he was lowering himself into a darkened room. Undetected, like always.

"You..."

Sly froze.

The lights snapped on, revealing the cell. No bars; concrete walls and a heavy steel door. Private. Not quite solitary confinement, but a vague attempt to slow an inmate's worsening mental state. Sly recognized the type.

He also recognized the lion.

He looked terrible. During the Nope Diamond incident, he had been gaunt – now he was worryingly underweight, not scrawny but sickly. His eyes, once sharp and imperious, were tinged with green mania. His claws were still out. They looked worn down.

"You..." His voice was coarse, unused. "You're another delusion, aren't you?"

"Um," said Sly, "yes."

"Remarkably lifelike, this one..." Scar stalked forward, claws ready. "I wonder how loud you'll scream."

Sly backed up, cane in hand, calculating his options. He could probably take Scar down, but how quickly? How quietly? Every second here endangered him, endangered the mission, endangered Nick and Judy. He needed to move, he needed silence, he needed–

The door flew open and hit Scar in the face. He fell and did not get up.

Sly found himself looking at another lion – tall, broad, possessing the regal stature and confidence Scar utterly lacked. His orange prison jumpsuit did little to impinge his urbane air.

He glanced around. His voice was loud, but rich.

"Hey pipsqueak, you in here? Guess not."

His eyes finally caught Sly's. He blinked, then smiled.

"Well! What have we here? A visitor outside visiting hours – though if you are who I think you are, I doubt the rules have ever given you much pause. Mammal after my own heart."

"Uh, sure," said Sly. He glanced to Scar, who still did not get up. "And who do you think I am?"

"It's pretty obvious." The lion folded his huge arms. "You'd be Sly Cooper. Heir to the Cooper line, face of the Cooper Gang, and person of interest even before you tried stealing a diamond from my old pal T'Challa."

"Right." Sly felt increasingly out of his depth. "And... you would be?"

"Oh, sorry! I'm used to everybody knowing my name. I guess a globe-trotting mammal like you isn't concerned with local politicians." He offered a huge paw. "Name's Leo! Leodore Lionheart. Former mayor of Zootopia, current prison kingpin. Great to meetcha."

Sly shook it. It took both hands. "Oh, of course. You were the guy trying to cover up the Night Howler incident, right?"

"Key word 'trying'!" He laughed, trailing off into a cough. "Limited... limited success there. But that's the way the news goes."

Sly relaxed a little. Lionheart exuded a friendly air. Sly knew better than to trust him, but if nothing else, he seemed like a great source of conversation. "Well, it's a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise, kid." Lionheart looked him over. "Now I don't mean to pry, but anybody breaking into this place is a real interesting development. Can I ask what you're up to?"

"Actually, I'm here on beha– because of Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde."

"Ah! Judy Hopps." Lionheart's eyes brightened. "Got where she was thanks to my Mammal Inclusion Initiative, y'know. Knew from the moment I saw her she was destined for great things. Of course, I had hoped said great things didn't include destroying my operation and ruining my life, but hey. What's she up to?"

Sly had to take a second to process Lionheart's sheer cheerfulness. "Uh... I need to investigate Dawn Bellwether's cell. She might be pulling something."

"Ugh. That'd be just like her. You think rumours of her death have been greatly exaggerated, huh? Smart. Can't always trust the media these days, take it from me."

"Sure." Sly tilted his head. "I... gotta say, I didn't expect to find you in here. They really put you and Bellwether in the same prison? That seems like a riot waiting to happen."

Lionheart chuckled. "Yes, that's astute. As it happens, I used to be in another facility entirely. But, well, in prison... things happen."

Something in how he muttered those last words made Sly decide not to enquire further.

"Besides," Lionheart continued, "Bellwether's a riot waiting to happen anyway. Prisons have disproportionately large predator populations. And the prey in here are just like the prey anywhere else. Some buy into Bellwether's disgusting politics. Many are smart enough not to. Either way, there's a lot of mammals here who would gladly push her down the stairs."

"So, what? They just keep her in solitary confinement?"

"Right again! You're sharp. Good grasp of how law enforcement thinks. I suppose you'd need it."

"Yeah. I've... got some experience." Sly checked on Scar, still stuffed behind the door. The scrawny lion hadn't moved. As with all things, following Scar's example would be a mistake. "I'd better get going. Where's her cell?"

"Solitary confinement wing's at the southern corner." He waved a paw. "I'll walk you there! Come on."

Lionheart left without another word. If he noticed Scar, he didn't react.

Sly followed, sticking to the shadows. Lionheart was smart enough to move at an amble, giving Sly plenty of time to dart between safe spots as they travelled to the right block. They dropped to a murmur, but with no-one in earshot, the conversation flowed on.

"So," said Sly, waiting for Lionheart at a corner. "Seems kinda... understaffed around here."

Lionheart nodded, his gait relaxed. "You'd think having a ton of cops on hand would make things more secure, right? But there's so much friction between the ZPD and the guards that they've almost cancelled each other out. The cops think every guard is a suspect, and the prison staff don't like anybody over their shoulders. Makes it harder to beat us up for no reason." He winked. "End result? If you're quiet, you can enjoy a pleasant stroll through the grounds. Not that you'd need my help sneaking around!"

"Well, I appreciate being pointed in the right direction." Sly tilted his head. "Say, you seem to know a lot about me."

"Well, sure! You're all Taka talks about."

Sly stared blankly.

"Taka Kifalme?" prompted Lionheart. "Scrawny, sour, only in here because of you?"

Sly's stare only got blanker.

"Oh, that's right, he's got that dumb little..." He cleared his throat. "'Scar'?"

"Oh! Oh. Scar. Yes."

They moved down a new corridor. Lionheart nodded subtly to a security camera, and Sly crept under its line of sight.

"Could he be involved?"

Lionheart frowned. "I doubt it, honestly. His first day here, he got jumped by those hyenas he'd hired. Turns out they didn't take kindly to being poisoned, so they, uh... aired their grievances."

"That's hilarious."

"Ha ha, right? Always respect your bodyguards, even I know that much. After that, he kinda lost it. Not sure he's got any schemes left in him. Ones that'd work, anyway." Lionheart scratched one claw against his chin. "Don't know about that little hacker lady they had, either. She was in another facility. I hear she got a light sentence, did her time, and left town a couple weeks back."

"What about Tai Lung? Has he been acting suspicious?"

"Probably!" said Lionheart. "But I couldn't tell you. He's not here."

Sly froze, wide eyes staring from shadow. "What?! He broke out?"

"Yep. He stuck around for the pottery class. One afternoon, after an advanced tutorial, the teacher joked that she didn't have anything left to show him. And he said, 'Then I suppose I may as well leave'! And she laughed, and he laughed, and the whole class laughed, and in the morning he was gone."

"And you didn't think to maybe mention that first?!"

Lionheart gave him a dry look. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did he beat you to death seven months ago?"

"Not that I remember."

"Then you're probably fine. Not one for nuance, that guy. If he didn't come straight for you, I imagine he's moved on."

Sly stopped short, his ear perked. "Is someone around that corner?"

Lionheart wandered up, glancing down the concrete corridor. "Ah!" he murmured. "Ol' Bogo himself."

"The Chief? He's here personally?"

"Why not?" Lionheart's eyes gleamed. "Hopps and Wilde are his pet projects too. They haven't even sent him to jail. Yet."

"I'd better stay low. He's not my biggest fan."

"No. Really?"

"Shocking, I know." Sly glanced around. "Are we close?"

"Oh, sure. Her cell's hereish, but two storeys up."

Sly's eye landed on an old, reliable friend: a grate leading into the airvents. "Then I think we part ways here. Thanks for everything, Mister Lionheart."

"Please, kid, I'm a little past 'Mister Lionheart'. 'Leo' is fine. And thank you for the distraction! Gets boring in here."

"I can imagine..."

Lionheart helped Sly reach the vent – and the second Sly was inside, he was walking off. "Well, good luck!"

"Wait–"

"Hey, Bogo!" Lionheart yelled down the hallway, grinning massively. "Come to visit your old boss, huh?" And like that, he was gone.

Sly hesitated, suddenly fearful that Lionheart would reveal his location. But the Chief's far-off yelling seemed more irritated than urgent. Lionheart was buying time.

Sly set off through the dust.

Investigating the cell took much longer than had hoped. On arrival, he discovered a desk and two chairs set up by the only entrance. The vents didn't lead into the cell, leaving Sly staring down at the checkpoint. Good as he was, Sly doubted he could casually break in and out of a political tyrant's prison cell by any other route.

A pair of ZPD officers were stationed below, a tiger and a wolf. They were quietly chatting to each other, reviewing the evidence and lamenting Nick and Judy's absence.

Sly knew it would be more efficient to skip straight to the morgue. But the sentries were an unknown variable. They could both take a break; they could be joined by five more officers. And he needed to see the cell for himself.

As much as it pained him to sit still, he waited. Perched in the ceiling, he listened to their conversation. He hoped to overhear something useful, but all they got from them was their low mood.

Time dragged by. Sly caught himself, for the fourth time, wondering what the tiger officer looked like out of uniform. (Definitely his type, that one.) He yawned silently.

I'm really screwing this up. Stuck in a vent... And I bet Nick and Judy are laughing it up somewhere.

Bonnie lumbered towards them, powerful hands flexing out of sync. Its empty face stared them down.

"Oh, come on!" protested Judy. "We broke this one!"

"He built them," said Nick, his voice hoarse. "He can fix them."

"Fix this, you son of a–!"

heck, thought Sly. They have all the fun.

Fangmeyer finally drifted off to check on their 'fun new boss'. Wolford agreed to watch the entrance alone. Sly roused himself. This was probably his best shot.

Once Wolford was alone, he took out a radio – an older model, distinct from the walkie-talkie holstered on his belt – and began fiddling with it, opening the casing to play with its innards.

Sly opened the airvent and began meticulously lowering himself down behind Wolford's back. He moved with absolute care, drawing on every fibre of his stealth. This was a cop, and a wolf, and someone Nick and Judy trusted. Underestimating him was not a good idea.

As he hung there, Wolford suddenly tensed, nose in the air. Sly froze, trying to fade out of existence by sheer force of will.

Wolford sniffed, sniffed, sniffed – and sneezed.

"Agh. Stupid dusty prison..."

Sly let out a silent breath. He dropped down and slipped into the cell.

The first thing that hit him was the smell of blood.

No body. Just an empty cell with bloodstained bedsheets. Sly recalled what he had overheard in Bogo's office – 'No signs of a struggle.' It certainly seemed like she died in her sleep.

Seems like, Sly told himself. Jury's still out.

He lingered for a while, applying everything about forensics he had picked up from Carmelita. But there was no smoking gun, no revolutionary clue stuffed under the pillows.

All that waiting, and no results.

Frustrated, Sly crept away before Fangmeyer returned. Lionheart's tour had given him a better idea of the prison's layout, and once back in the vents, he headed straight for the morgue.

Soon Sly was letting himself into what would have passed for a doctor's office – desk, posters, paperwork – were it not for the steel drawers dominating the back wall like the world's worst filing cabinet. He glanced through the labels, neat little names in a neat little font, until he found her.

Bellwether, D.

Sly took a breath. He was no stranger to death, but being alone in a morgue at night was starting to unnerve him. And now he had to open the locker containing Schrödinger's Lamb.

There was no sense letting the tension get to him. He grabbed the handle, heaved it open, and was met with empty steel.

Sly sighed. "I've never been so disappointed to not see a dead body."

He rubbed his face. It was hard to say whether this was good or bad news. Now he knew it was Bellwether, but he also knew it was Bellwether. And if she was out there somewhere...

"Okay. Now I gotta–"

His ears perked. Two sets of footsteps in the hallway. One brutal and heavy. The other, he knew very, very well.

Moments later, the door opened. Chief Bogo stormed in, Carmelita close behind.

"Total waste of time," Bogo was rumbling. "Exactly as I predicted."

Carmelita held herself tall. "Chief, you've been working this case for hours. Might I suggest you go home and rest?"

"Might I suggest you actually show me some progress?! I can hardly relax when this is the best Interpol's finest can offer."

He grabbed a set of papers from the coroner's desk, shoving them under his arm.

"I'll be at headquarters. Working. Call me if you find something."

He stomped out, slamming the door behind him. Alone, Carmelita let out a sigh. Her façade faded, her eyes becoming tired, her rigid posture deflating.

Bogo was tired, and he was angry, and that was affecting his professional judgement. She was right to point that out. But she doubted she'd ever stop feeling like a hypocrite.

Still, here was a chance to be alone, just for a moment. There was no-one around except–

She tensed. After so many years, her instincts could kick in without her consciously processing the data. It could've been a scent, a sound, something she saw out of place. But she felt it, and she knew she was right.

She stalked to the lockers. She found Bellwether's name. She opened it.

Sly grinned nervously up at her.

"Ah! Carmelita! It's so good to–"

Without a word, she began to close the locker.

"Nonowait it's cold and dark in here I don't really fit–!"

Carmelita hissed out a sigh. Slowly, she pulled it back far enough to see his face. She kept her hand on the cabinet, stance solid, blocking any escape. "Sly, what are you doing?"

"Investigating."

"By yourself?! You're supposed to be protecting Nick and Judy!"

"I was!" he protested. "They told me to come here. We thought it'd be efficient."

Carmelita scoffed. "All those years spent trying to put you behind bars, and this whole time all I had to was ask nicely?"

"I'm as surprised as you are." He shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable. "If I'd known you were coming here, I would've hitched a ride."

"No."

Sly looked up. Carmelita's eyes were hard.

"I didn't want to say this in front of them. They don't need any more stress. But let me make this clear: our only common ground right now is their safety. And if anything happens to them, I'm blaming you."

Sly met her gaze. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The moment dragged. Carmelita stared him down, but Sly wouldn't bend. That seemed to satisfy her. "Fine."

"So, while we're here... feel like comparing notes? I know I'm not your favourite person right now, but helping me is helping them, so..."

Carmelita glanced to the door. "Make it fast."

He did. "Apparently Tai Lung broke out a while back. Is he in on this?"

She shook her head. "Already checked. Last spotted thirty-six hours ago, halfway across the world. He's avoided Zootopia since escaping. I doubt he's here."

"And Peridot?"

"Retired to a farm. No suspicious activity since."

"Then I got nothing." He sighed. "Some investigation... You?"

"The guards were useless, so we tried interviewing prisoners. Only one said anything – he claimed to see something vault the fence near Bellwether's cell. In and out. Times match the murder, and it looked nothing like a fox."

"That's a lead!" said Sly.

"No, it's not. He's a fox too, arrested for con-artistry. Bogo refuses to take it seriously. Insinuated he was an old friend of Nick's." Her expression darkened. "Did not care for his tone."

"Oh."

There was silence for a moment. Then Sly tried to press on.

"I took a look at her cell, but didn't find anything."

"Understandable," she said. "We're still waiting on some lab results, but the preliminary findings seem accurate. Someone broke in and killed her as she slept. The wounds are consistent with the size, shape and biting strength of fox fangs, maybe a little stronger." She frowned. "It's sickening."

"Carmelita."

"What?"

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm hiding in this empty corpse cabinet?"

"Why would I?" she said. "You were snooping around, heard us coming, and needed to hide."

"Accurate as ever, but you're missing an important word." He smirked. "Why, do you suppose, is this corpse cabinet empty?"

"It's called a cold chamber, and it's empty because her body was moved to a ZPD lab four hours ago for analysis."

"Oh," said Sly.

"Why? What were you getting at?"

He coughed. "...We think Bellwether faked her death."

Carmelita gave him a look.

It was not an encouraging look.

She squinted at him as though he was very far away.

"What?" he said, suddenly self-conscious.

"I... really don't see how that's plausible. Faking your death is absurdly hard without the restrictions of prison. So much of this case already veers on impossible."

"Exactly!" said Sly. "What's a little more impossibility for the pile?"

Carmelita rubbed her eyes. "I can't argue with that logic... Look. I can double-check everything, the body, the reports. But I'm sorry, I just don't see it."

"The fake body."

"Sly."

"The fudged reports."

This time, they both heard it – those footsteps thundering back toward them. Before Sly could protest, Carmelita shoved the locker closed and leaned against it.

Bogo burst in, glaring. "Fox!"

"Yes, Chief?"

"Clawhauser got another anonymous tip. Hopps and Wilde spotted at an abandoned restaurant in Sahara Square."

Carmelita's poker face was flawless. "Excellent. I'll be right there."

"This time, maybe you'll actually find them," he growled.

He disappeared.

Carmelita was tempted to just follow him, but she was a woman of principle. She opened the locker and Sly spilled out, eyes a little wild.

"Okay. Thanks. I've had enough of that now." He dropped to the floor. "He sounds like he's doing well."

"After years under Barkley, nothing phases me. But yes. I'm concerned." She turned to Sly. "Bogo's not a patient man. We're running out of time. Every time I come back empty-handed, I feel him respect me less."

"Maybe you can just arrest one of us?" said Sly with a shrug. "We could take turns."

"Sly..." Carmelita glared. "There's no time for jokes."

"Normally I'd disagree, but... you've got a point." Sly turned pensive. "Nick said they might be all night at the doctor's place. I have no idea what they're doing at a restaurant, but if the ZPD's closing in already, they won't make it to our rendezvous. I need to get there fast, help them escape..."

His eyes met hers. He give her a timid smile, hoping it looked sufficiently cute.

"Um... Can you give me a ride?"

She didn't reply immediately. That alone was good news, he supposed. She would be within her rights to arrest him. Helping him was a real risk.

But they both knew what was at stake.

"Sly. Remember that 'romantic surprise' you tried to pull on me?

"Carmelita, you will need to be much, much, much more specific."

She sighed, sharply, but stayed focused. "Two years after we met. I'd been transferred to a new headquarters, and you weren't sure where it was, so you..."

"Oh yeah. That. In my defence, nineteen is a reckless age, and the week before I'd seen this romantic comedy where – wait. Are you saying what I think you are?"

"Not unless you've got a better idea."

Sly gently took hold of both of her hands, looking deeply into her eyes. She tensed. Told herself it was police instincts rather than the urge to blush.

"Carmelita," he said tenderly. "I never have a better idea."

Her two liaisons were already in the carpark. Wolford shook himself out, and Fangmeyer gave him a smirk.

"What? Carsick?"

"Agh," replied Wolford. "Just stressed, I think."

"Yeah, that's fair," said Fangmeyer, smile dying.

"Having an actual squad car is one of the few things that isn't stressing me. I'm sick of your motorcycle."

"You're a baby. It's a tiger-sized bike, there's plenty of room."

"For the last time, it's not the room! It's that you drive like a–" Suddenly Wolford stood to attention. "Inspector Fox! Hi."

Carmelita strode up. "Fangmeyer, Wolford. Ready to go?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Great." She tossed the keys to Fangmeyer. "Could you do me a favour and take the wheel? I've got something I need to think about."

"Sure thing."

Fangmeyer got into the car. Wolford paused. "You coming?"

"Of course. Just give me a second out here, I thought I heard something loose in the... what's the term here?" She knocked on the back of the car. "Trunk?"

"Ah, okay." He got in.

Carmelita opened the trunk, blocking their view, and Sly crawled out from under the cruiser. "I managed to go car to car without getting spotted," he whispered proudly.

"Just get in."

He did, curling up to fit. "Hey, Carmelita?" he murmured. "I just wanted to thank you. You're really being the bigger person here, putting Nick and Judy first, even though I haven't been–"

Carmelita slammed the trunk shut.

"Oh, I needed that." She strode for the backdoor. "Alright, kids, let's drive."