Disclaimer: I do not own Zootopia or its related characters. All is the property of Walt Disney Animation Studios, Clark Spencer, and Byron Howard. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.
Silent Civil War
Chapter Eleven: How We Cope Without the Ones We Know
'Ya know, you'd actually make a pretty good cop.' She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest and cast him a sideways smirk.
He would be lying if he didn't admit -at least to himself- that the comment kindles a spark of pride in him. Small, tentative and wary, but there all the same. After all, the city police were supposed to be a grown-up version of the Junior Ranger Scouts.
'I, Nicholas Wilde, promise to be brave, loyal, helpful, and trustworthy!'
But he knew it was impossible, so -in keeping with his vow to 'Never let them see they get to you', he put on an appropriately offended and scoffed. 'Ugh. How dare you.'
'Nick, please, fight it!'
But then at the press conference, right before she got up on the podium, she had to pull a paper out of her belt. Unfolding it slowly and tentatively, staring up at him with those giant amethyst eyes that he wanted to fall into. She was almost hesitant when she handed it to him and he saw that it was a blank application to enroll in the police academy. 'It might be nice to have a partner.'
She wasn't just teasing. She honestly and truly thought he would have a pretty good cop. Not just any cop -her partner cop. She wanted him as her partner. A bunny wanted a fox to watch her back in the line of duty. A bunny -his ancestral natural prey- trusted him with her life.
'I, Nicholas Wilde, promise to be brave, loyal, helpful, and trustworthy!'
He filled it out with the carrot pen he'd finally earned while she hopped up to the podium. She was so nervous. It was adorable. He smiled at her, prompting her to try the answering their questions with questions of her own technique. She did well at first. She was a natural. He was proud of her and -sort of- proud of himself vicariously through her.
Then things sort of tilted sideways.
'Predators reverting back to their Savage ways...'
'Nick, please, fight it!'
'Nick, stop it. You're not like them.'
'You're not that kind of predator.'
His pulse pounding in his ears. A pain on his neck. Sand between his paws. The sound of a frightened bunny. The scent of meat. Young, supple, fresh flesh. So close to him. Already weakened. Easy. Prey. He was suddenly so hungry.
'Nick, please fight it.'
'He can't help it. Its in his nature.'
The taste of blood in his mouth. Warm, metallic, thick.
'What did I do wrong? Tell me what I did wrong?'
'I, Nicholas Wilde, promise to be brave, loyal, helpful, and trustworthy!'
So much blood!
'I'm sorry. Goodbye, Nick...'
For the second time, Nick Wilde woke up from a strange and terrible nightmare.
He lay in bed, panting, and trying to remember where he was and why. Bed with rails on it. Paws strapped down so that he didn't hurt himself or someone else. Collar around his neck. Bars on the window. Locks on the doors. Hospital. Savage wing of Zootopia General. Because- Nick stifled a sob as memory and comprehension returned- because he had gone Savage and attacked Carrots. Attacked Officer Hopps.
Had his paws not been strapped down, he would have put them over his eyes in despair. He attacked Carrots. He proved himself to be every terrible he was so mad about her saying about predators at the press conference. She trusted him and he... and he... he tried to eat her!
The indicator light on his collar flashed yellow, warning that if he allowed himself to be worked up anymore it would turn red and shock him. Nick remembered the shock from the previous night. He did not want a repeat of that. But he also had to know what happened to Carrots. Was she alive? Was she alright? Was she in the same hospital just a different ward? Could he see her? Would she even want to see him after he... after he... Nearly ate her...
He took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. Nick did not want to get shocked again.
As he inhaled, he was assaulted by a cornucopia of scents and smells. Far more than he was used to smelling in hospitals. Somehow, his mind came back to its civilized self, but his nose remained as sensative and keen as it had been that night at the museum. His nose remained Savage.
There was scent of antiseptic, of course. But it was more acrid that usual. Stronger. More caustic to his nose. But also, the scents of the other Mammals on the ward. The door was closed, but he could clearly smell the slightly salty scent of a marine Mammal -an otter. The woodsy scent of perspiration -a jungle cat, possible a jaguar. Something in the back of his mind told Nick to be hostile and on the defense. So close to other predators, they might infringe on his territory and poach his meals. But he squished that not-quite-voice down. It was that kind of primal instinct that had attacked Carrots -and he still didn't know what happened to her.
The rich smell of mineral mud and algae waters drew nearer, superimposing itself over the scents of the other predators as it drew nearer. A hippo. What was a hippo doing on a Savage ward? The Savages were all predators.
Nick didn't have to wait long before he got his answer. The door to his room opened at that exact moment and none other than a female hippo wearing a doctor's coat over her yellow sundress poked her snout in and paused when she saw him staring at her.
Doctor Lakeson was making her round of checkups. She froze when she got to the fox's room.
Opening the door, she paused when she saw that he was not snapping and growling at her like he -and the rest of the Savages- usually did whenever she or Primal entered one of their rooms, the space their primitive minds probably thought of as their territory.
Instead, he was sitting up in bed. Had his arms not been strapped to the bed, he might even have been crossing said arms over his chest. Instead, his paws were gripping the restraints with tension. His verdant green eyes glaring at her as she entered the room. The warning light on his collar already glowing yellow.
"You the boss around here?" He asked. Actually spoke. Spoke! Like, with words and everything!
Lakeson blinked at him. At a complete loss as to what to think. Yesterday he was just as much of a mindless beast as all the other Savages on the ward. Now, suddenly and inexplicably, he was all better. Using complete sentences. Asking questions. Behaving like a Mammal again. "I'm the resident psychiatrist on staff here. If that's what you mean."
She entered the room fully and glanced at his chart to refresh herself with the details that hadn't been relevant to his care before this moment -like his name.
"How do you feel... Mr. Wilde?" She asked, taking out a penlight and checking his eyes. There was no pupil dilation and he had no problems tracking.
He frowned, as if considering her question. As if he didn't know his own feelings -either physical or emotional. "I was with a friend when- -when I changed. Judy. Judy Hopps. She works for the ZPD. What happened to her? She was right next to me when it happened and- and she's prey. Is she okay?"
Lakeson paused. Hopps was the name of the police officer he was supposed to have killed, right? She was his friend.
Clearing her throat, the hippo straightened. "Ahm. You were alone when they brought you in. If you want, I can ask if there was anyone else with you when you were caught."
The fox paused at that statement. Eyes narrowing slightly, head tilting to the side to regard her skeptically, nose sniffing the space between them almost as if he could smell the half-truth she'd just told him for what it really was. He nodded to the restraints around his wrists. "Clearly, you think I'm dangerous. I'm not stupid. You don't put these things on patients unless they tried to hurt someone and I know what happens when a predator goes Savage. So tell me straight-up, Doc, what happened to Hopps?"
Her eyes flicked to the yellow light on his collar, warning her that he was already emotionally riled up. Under any normal circumstances, she would not tell a patient they had killed someone first thing after waking. Now knowing she had been his friend, she especially wasn't going to tell him until she got a better understanding of his emotional state. The psychiatrist didn't want to have to deal with foiling suicide attempts -or at the very least, self harm- on top of everything else she and Primal were having to juggle all by themselves with the Savages.
But he would have to know eventually. The fact that something like that couldn't be kept secret aside, if no one told him he killed another Mammal he wouldn't be able to work through it and move past it.
Lakeson cleared her throat. "I still have a few other Mammals I need to see. We'll talk more indepthly after I've finished my rounds."
"That bad, huh." The fox's emerald eyes fell to the straps around his paws.
"We'll work through it together." She promised the fox, neither confirming nor denying whatever visions or scenarios were playing in his head. Lakeson hastily scribbled a long -very long- note on his chart before exiting the room.
And Nick was left along with his thoughts and his imagination.
The hippo wouldn't tell him what happened to Judy. That really could only mean one thing. After all, if she was alright, maybe a little injured but otherwise alive, then the doctor would have just told him outright that she was okay, or would be okay. Since she didn't... that meant... that meant...
The yellow light on Nick's collar flashed red and he was given a strong electric shock.
His body seized and he was thrown down on the bed by the force of his own body's muscle convulsions. What were these stupid collars anyway? They weren't collaring Savages back when the city first started to go crazy, after Carrots' horseshit press conference. Or... were these shock collars only being placed on Savages whom had... whom had... killed someone?
'So what are you going to do? Kill me?'
'Oh no, honey. He is!'
Nick's breath caught in his chest as the realization hit him. Really hit him. It was true! He did it. He remembered Judy's panicked voice and scared eyes. The taste of blood in his mouth. He killed her! She trusted him, asked him to help her, chose him over any of her reputable colleagues at the ZPD, and he- he-
He was shocked again by the collar as his increased heart rate triggered another red warning light.
Forcing himself to relax, Nick chanted his mantra of 'Never let them see they get to you'. Only with an amendment of 'It wasn't you. It wasn't you. It wasn't you.' Bellwether shot him with the Night Howler. He had no control over himself. It wasn't really him.
Except... if it wasn't really him, then how was he able to remember it? Not all of it. Just flashes and images. More sensations than actual, clear memories. The scent of fear, blood, and prey. The sight of wide amethyst eyes, an indigo so deep he could have fallen in them had he still been himself. The feel of sand between the pads of his paws. The taste- -the taste of blood in his mouth. And Judy's voice...
'Goodbye, Nick...'
"Carrots..." He muttered to the empty room, unable to cope with the realization. "Carrots, I'm so sorry..."
…
Mr. Big frowned, examining the collar around Ksolov's neck. Kevin and Raymond both sported identical collars. Each one with a green light indicating that they were stable and passive. The shrew did not like that.
Not that they were stable and passive. He didn't care much for their mental or emotional states beyond what was appropriate for any employer. What he didn't like was that the collective city as a whole felt there was a need for such an absurd and redundant indicator in the first place. Any Mammal with eyes could look at a predator and know their emotional state. Faces made these things called 'expressions' that could tell all but the most introverted of Mammals what the other was feeling.
The collars were not any kind of real warning of predator aggression. They were just silent way of widening the division between predator and prey. The city might as well have made them all hand signs around their neck saying 'Don't trust this Mammal!'
But they were required to wear them, and since Mr. Big was required to maintain at least the pretense of being a legitimate business Mammal, he had to go along with it.
That was really the only option any Mammal in the city had.
…
Finnick had moved his van to the alley behind Nick's place in an attempt to avoid the worst of the rioters. He stayed at Nick's place because it was more comfortable than his van and it wasn't like the red fox was going to be using it still -being Savagely insane and all.
He sat at Nick's kitchen table, pulling at his TAME collar in irritation while staring blankly at a needlepoint of Robin Goodfellow in a shadowbox. Marian must have made that. John was a tailer and great at sewing, but he had no talent for embroidery -and Nick certainly didn't either. His talents laid in other areas. Areas where Finnick's own talents also rested. It was the basis for their partnership and -by extension- their friendship.
The two foxes had grown up in the same neighborhood, but for the majority of their young lives never had much to do with each other. Nick was naive and idealistic, with a semi-stable home life, and parents who supported him. Finnick, on the other hand, was a ward of the state and bounced around a few foster homes. Only staying at each long enough for the foster family to decide they didn't feel comfortable with a predator in the house. Then he ended up with a mongoose family that lived just a few blocks down from the Wildes.
Nick ran with a completely different crowd when Finnick first met him. The goodie-goodies. The ones that always did their homework on time, respected their teachers, didn't start fights on the play yard, came inside when their parents told them to... ya know, the 'good kits'. Finnick was not a 'good kit' and he thought Nick was a dork and a looser.
Then something changed. The foxes were still pretty young. Eight, maybe nine. Nick showed up at school one day sans his optimistic smile and bright eyes. He sat at the back of the class and didn't talk to anyone. When someone did talk to him, he would pause, as if thinking and calculating his answer. It was like he just woke up one morning and was suddenly and inexplicably transformed into a real fox. Finnick decided he had slightly more respect for the red fox.
But they didn't have an actual conversation until about three years later.
They were twelve and John Wilde had just past away. The store had to be closed -since John pretty much ran the place himself- and Nick and his mother suddenly found themselves without a source of income, but no shortage of bills needing to be paid. In addition to the regular expenses of electricity, city water, gas, and food, there was also the funeral that had to be paid off -and funerals were not cheap.
Nick wasn't looking for a partner, in fact, Finnick was pretty sure he didn't even know what he was doing. But somehow, the two of them ended up working a similar scam on the same turf. Needless to say, they got in each other's way. Almost got pinched by the cops because of it too.
After just managing to evade the fuzz, the two foxes rounded on each other for their first -and only- fist fight. Nick was the larger predator, but Finnick had fewer inhibitions. He wasn't afraid to fight dirty or use his sharp, needle-like teeth on an enemy. After deciding to call it a draw, Nick brought Finnick back home with him and the small fennec fox let Marian nurse his wounds and fuss over him, while she simultaneously scolded Nick for 'picking on Mammals smaller than him'. Finnick liked her instantly.
From that moment on, they were partners for life and from that partnership of convenience -and necessity- Finnick had to begrudgingly admit that they had also sort of evolved into friends.
At least, he assumed that was what it meant when Nick banged on his van the day of the press conference, all pissed off and ranting about 'never should have trusted a prey' and 'like the Scouts all over again'. That was when Finnick finally learned the real story behind Nick's sudden and inexplicable personality change back when they were nine -not that he had been particularly dyeing to know, but it was interesting backstory.
Sighing to himself, Finnick pushed the memory out of his mind and hopped off the kitchen chair. He was having trouble coping with like after Nick.
If the little rabbit was right -and the fennec fox still hadn't decided if he was gonna believe her or not- then all this trouble with the Savages was exclusive to Zootopia. The mayor's agents couldn't possibly also be operating outside the city, right? The best thing to do would be to leave. Everything he really needed to live was in his van anyway. It wasn't like he had put down roots or anything. The only relationship he had that could be classified as 'meaningful' was with Nick and he wasn't exactly himself right now, was he. Finnick had absolutely no reason to stay and absolutely every reason to leave.
All he needed was a little cash to help lubricate his exodus.
That was why he was still squatting here at Nick's place. It was worlds more comfortable than his van. But more importantly than that, somewhere in this building was where Nick kept the surplus from his cut of their daily scores. Two-hundred bucks a day, every day of the year, for twenty years. Even subtracting what Nick would have to spend for his daily needs and the occasional splurge on personal pursuits, there should still be an adequate sum to get Finnick out of the city.
If he could just find it.
The problem was, it was impossible to find anything in this stupid house. Nick never bothered to clear out all the old crap from when his dad was still alive and running the shop. It was full of racks of twenty-year-old clothing, twenty-year-old bolts of fabric, and twenty-year-old machinery. All of it covered in twenty years worth of dust and neglect. Then again, Finnick reflected, if Nick had hidden his money in his father's shop, there would be evidence in the dust -signs that it was disturbed more recently than two decades ago.
No, the cash had to be somewhere in the upstairs apartment.
The fennec fox looked in Nick's bedroom first. That being the obvious place. He found four sets of identical green tropical print shirts in the closet, a collection of gaudy ties, and a moving box that looked promising -up until Finnick opened it and was disappointed to find nothing more than a kit-sized Scout uniform.
Giving up on the closet, the small fox checked under the bed and was once again excited when he found a shoe box -Nick (like many residents of Zootopia) preferred not to wear shoes. But on closer inspection, Finnick discovered it was nothing more than his 'Lonely Bachelor Survival Kit". Tissues, personal lubricant, and a diverse collection of magazines catering to fetishes and kinks Finnick preferred not to examine to closely. He had no idea Nick was a preysexual. That was a detail he could have done without. He pushed the box back under the bed, wishing he could unsee what he'd just seen, while also wondering if that was the thing between him and the bunny cop. He was a preysexual and she was a predaphile? Could that be why she came banging on his van looking for him? Is that why Nick agreed to help her a second time after being burned the first? Deviants didn't make sense to Finnick.
He checked Nick's dresser next, but just found several pairs of the exact same pants. Well, that certainly explained why Nick worse the same damn thing every day. But no cash.
Before giving up on the bedroom, Finnick tested each of the floorboards just to make sure Nicky wasn't hiding his money under the floor. Finally, he had to give up on the room and admit that if Nick was hiding his surplus cash in the house, it was not in his bedroom.
Finnick tried the bathroom next. Obviously it wasn't in the medicine cabinet, but he check that any way. Then the cabinets under the sink. Even in the toilet tank. For all he knew Nick could have thrown his money in a double plastic bag and hidden it in the one place other Mammals would be hesitant to check. It wasn't there either.
There was only one room left.
John and Marian's bedroom.
Truth be told, Finnick had never actually been in the room. He'd never even seen inside it. The door was always closed the few times Nick had invited him over. Hesitating slightly, the small fennec fox took a deep breath before turning the handle and letting himself in.
He didn't know what he was expecting. But the room was remarkably neat. Oh, it wasn't clean. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It also sported its own later of twenty year dust. But the bed was made and the floor was clear of debris -unlike Nick's room which looked like a small hurricane had breezed through it even before Finnick tore it apart in his search. There was a bookshelf shoved against one wall displaying 'The Tale of Robin Under the Hood', and a collection of different folk myths about Robin Goodfellow.
Finnick shook his head. If Nick hid his cash in here, there would have been signs on the dust -just like downstairs. The small fox backed out of the room and returned to the kitchen to brood.
He glared at the embroidered portrait of Robin Goodfellow hanging in its shadowbox. Why would a Mammal even put a needlepoint in a shadowbox anyway? Embroidery was mostly flat, it could go in a normal frame. It didn't need the extra depth of a shadowbox.
More on a whim rather than actually expecting to find anything, Finnick plucked the shadowbox off the wall and turned it over. Listing the cardboard over the of shadowbox, he was gifted with the sight of bundles of one-hundred buck bill, all arranged in neat stacks so that they'd lay even and inconspicuous inside the frame. Smiling to himself, Finnick turned the shadowbox over again, emptying it of all its contents, the pile of money -and the portrait of Goodfellow, his puckish grin staring up at the small fox.
"Don't you look so smug." The fennec fox said to the portrait. "It was really an obvious place. You trickster gods aren't as clever as you like to think."
The portrait did not reply, of course. It was just a bit of embroidery and, in fact, could not talk. It figured Nick would hide his emergency cash behind the image of Robin Goodfellow. He was the patron deity of foxes, con artists, and juvenile pranksters. Nick was all three of those things. Of course he would subscribe to the old superstition.
Finnick snorted. Nick probably believed in Robin Hood, too.
Grabbing a garbage bag from the cabinet, Finnick gathered up all the cash. He was about to leave when he paused. Looking back at the needlepoint portrait of Robin Goodfellow. It was stupid and superstitious. But he was the patron deity of foxes, con artists, and juvenile pranksters -and Finnick was all of those things. He grabbed the portrait and shoved it in the bag with the money.
Then he left.
That was how Finnick coped with like after Nick.
…
Nick wasn't the only one Primal gave the untested, experimental antidote to. Before he ran out of the serum, the gorilla administered doses to Renato Manchas, Barry DiCaprio, Rodrigo Colmillo, and Emmitt Otterton.
They still hadn't deemed Nick stable enough to have his straps taken off yet, but some of the others were. Mr. Otterton was one of them. Nick smelled them before he saw the small predator passing his room -accompanied by a thick panda orderly- on a walk to help stretch his legs. Seeing the otter sparked something in Nick's memory. From the first time he tried working the case with Judy. Manches said Otterton was raving about the 'Night Howlers' and Mr. Big said he was a florist. Aside from himself, Otterton was probably the only other Mammal in the city who knew what was actually going on! -Apart from the mayor and her little gang, of course.
Nick called to him. "Hey! Hey, Otterton! Emmitt Otterton! C'mere."
The otter paused, glancing in the direction of Nick's room in confusion. He poked his head in the door. "I'm sorry. Do we know each other?" A pause. A frown. Then a friendly smile when comprehension finally dawned. "Oh! You're that Pawpsicle salesman. The one with the adorable little kit in the elephant costume."
Nick found himself suppressing a grimace. It felt like forever since he'd sold that one random Pawpsicle to Otterton, and even longer still since he'd pulled a scam where it was necessary to pass Finnick off as his son. "Yeah. That's me. Listen, can we talk?" He glanced up at the orderly hovering over them. "Alone?"
The panda looked down at the fox suspiciously, crossing his bi-chromatic arms over his chest with his skepticism.
"Oh, come on! I'm strapped down." The fox groaned at the orderly. "What do you think I'm gonna do? Attack him with deadly sarcasm?"
Otterton gave the orderly an apologetic smile. "I'm sure he just wants to commiserate over the ordeal we've just been through. We'll be fine."
Still skeptical, the orderly nodded. Leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Nick could still smell the panda hovering close by and, sure enough, when he looked to the door he could see the orderly through the window, lurking just outside the door.
Once the door was closed, Otterton looked back to him, rubbing a paw over his whiskers. "I guess you must be anxious to get back to your son. I've got a wife and two pups of my own. I don't even know how long its been since I've seen them. I hope they-"
"Shut-up for a sec." Nick cut him off rudely. "Listen, Otterton, you're a florist, right? You know about Night Howler?"
Now it was the otter's turn to look suspiciously at the fox. His whole demeanor changing from friendly commiseration to hostile defense, and Nick found himself if the otter's instincts were also telling him to distrust every other predator in the building. That they would infringe on his territory and steal his prey. "I don't know anything about anything."
"Cut the crap, okay." Nick shook his head. He should have expected a reaction like this. After all, what else would a Mammal think when seeing a fox still tied up while most of the other Savage recoveries were allowed to move about? "Look, I was helping the ZPD officer that was working your case. Manches said you were raving about 'Night Howlers' before you went Savage, and I know Night Howlers are a toxic flower that can make Mammals go crazy. The officer and I had just busted open the bad guys drug lab before I- before I-"
Before he got shot, went Savage, and killed Judy. Nick found he couldn't finish that sentence. In fact, he found himself struggling to keep the contents of his stomach in his stomach.
"Then its over." Otterton breathed in relief.
Nick avoided his eyes. Truth be told, he didn't really know much beyond what was talked about here on the ward and that was just snippets overheard since no one would tell him anything directly. Not even what happened to Hopps. Although the fact that they weren't telling him anything about her at all spoke volumes. But the plain and simple truth was that if the crisis really was over, then there wouldn't have been any other Savages since him, but when Nick woke up, there was a brand new tiger on the ward -one of Gazelle's background dancers. Clearly, Bellwether was making good on her promise to 'dart every predator in Zootopia'.
The only thing Nick could do now was finish what she started -what Judy started. To atone for the life that he took and make sure that she didn't die in vain. Maybe by continuing her work and doing honor to her memory he could cope with the guilt of what he'd done to her. "If it was really over, we wouldn't have Stripes sobbing down the hall. Clearly, the ones causing this aren't done."
The suspicion was back on Otteton's face. He rubbed his whiskers again in nervousness. "So what do you want from me?"
"You and I are the only two who actually know what's really going on." He explained. "We have to go to the Chief of Police. Bogo. He's a stubborn bull, but he's not dirty. He didn't care that it might have been career-suicide when he arrested Lionheart."
"The mayor's in jail!" Otterton's eyes went wide. Apparently, no one had bothered to share that little nugget with him since his miraculous recovery.
"Stay focused here, Whiskers." Nick growled. His eyes flicked to the collar around the otter's neck. Nick tugged on a wrist strap and pointed to his own collar. "Thanks to all the Savage outbreaks, we got slapped with these. Do you think the new mayor is gonna stop there? No. The one who's doing this wants more power and control than just a few shock-collars. What do you think they'll do if we don't expose them?I already know Chief Buffalobutt doesn't trust me, but you he will trust. We have to stop this. Think about your pups."
At that last line, the defensiveness was back. "I am thinking about my pups! The last time I decided to tell someone what I knew, I was shot with the toxin on my way to see him!"
Nick's eyes narrowed. "You were gonna tell Mr. Big."
The otter looked startled, but quickly covered it up with an almost believable veneer of ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I assume you saw Renato Manches here too." Continued the fox. "I was there when they darted him. They got him because you told him about the Night Howlers. What about if they decide you might have told your wife?"
"All the more reason I should keep my mouth shut!" Otterton snarled. "And if you care about your son, you should too!" Then, in a quieter, more conspiratory tone, he added, "What do you think they'll do to us -knowing what we know- when they hear we're shaking off the toxin?"
…