Mick felt like he could have slept for hours, and if it hadn't been the sharp ringing of his alarm blaring in his ears, he probably would have. His head pounded, a dry, tacky taste filled his mouth, and he felt nauseous.
How much did I have last night? He thought, racking his brain for a semblance of a memory, as his actions the night before rushed to him, leaving the cold strike of guilt in his chest. Clutching his head in his paws, he sighed, muttering out only one word:
"Damn."
He just wanted to lay down and cry, both from the headache and the fact he may have just alienated one of his closest friends over the course of twenty minutes in a drunken argument he never should have picked. Taking a paw, he placed it on his abdomen, just near where he was stabbed, and began massaging it, trying to see if he could feel the scarred organ under his muscle and flesh. As he sat there, on the cusp of tears, shirtless and nursing a hangover, Mick decided he had ought to prepare for work today, not that he particularly wanted to. As he slowly got changed into his work attire, he stared at himself in the cupboard mirror as he did his tie, watching the dishevelled mutt butcher multiple attempts at getting it right. Giving up on doing it now, he walked past the kitchen, only to remember the times he had with Fangmeyer, the pair sitting on the couch, eating his food and sharing their days with each other. Just the thought of potentially never having that again made him nearly throw up. He couldn't let himself think about that now, so he quickly picked up his briefcase and headed out the door as fast as he could.
His ride was largely uneventful; even if he had paid attention. All he could do was think about Fangmeyer and focussing on not breaking down in front of the carriage of passengers simply going about their day.
You'll be fine, Mick, he thought to himself.
Normally the walk from the train station to the University campus would be a relaxing time for Mick; wandering between the sandstone pillars of the courtyard, lined with trees of many kinds from across the world with students studying, talking and eating beneath them. He didn't notice them this time as he shuffled along the external hallway surrounding the courtyard, heading towards the Biology Block. As he reached the glass door barring his way to the laboratory, he fetched the key card swinging from a lanyard around his neck and tapped it to the electronic lock, making it flash green. Making his way down the white hallway, he was greeted by a little ewe, walking up to him, clipboard in hoof.
"Goodness, Warre, you look like a dag! Bit too hard on the sauce last night?" she asked, ticking something off on her clipboard.
"Ah, yeah you can say that Charlotte," Mick said with a weak smile on his face.
"Are you sure? If you're feeling a bit rusty I could let you rest today? Can't have you off your game." Shaking his head, Mick sighed.
"I'm alright, Charlotte, I'll just have some coffee and I'll be fine in no time." Bidding the ewe farewell, he made his way to his little corner of the lab, setting down his briefcase and releasing a sigh. His headache was back in full force, and Mick could only wonder how he was going to get through today without having a fit. Suddenly Mick felt something touch his shoulder, making him yelp in surprise, turning around to see his 'attacker'.
"Whoa there," said Kirk, a look of surprise and curiosity on his snout. "You look wrecked, Mick. Everything alright?"
"Yeah Kirk I'm f- I'm Fi- I'm… not fine, Kirk. I feel like shit and I may have just lost a good mate last night." Kirk was taken aback. Mick not being fine? This was not a situation he was used to.
"Shit, Mick, I-I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?" Kirk asked, patting Mick on the shoulder with a hoof.
"I can't remember much but I think it was because I tried to convince her I was fine," Mick mumbled, fiddling with his briefcase in a weak attempt to open it.
"Wait, aren't you?" Mick shook his head.
"I've got a feeling my liver will fail sometime sooner than expected. Doc confirmed 35% or so of my liver is covered in scar tissue. It's… not in a good place."
"Damn Mick! Why did you get blasted last night then?"
"I don't know, really. Maybe I don't want to let go of being in control of me? Fuck Kirk I don't know; I just want Fangmeyer back…" Mick sighed, pinching the bridge of his snout, grimacing.
"Look Mick," Kirk began, "I know this is a bit shit for you now, but you'll feel better after you think of something else for a while. See how you're feeling after work today." Sighing, Mick forced his arms up and to the side, stretching his long neck in the process.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll do that. I mean, what we did yesterday was pretty amazing. It should warrant more work. Hell, we managed to significantly decrease the psychotic aspect of the nighthowler!" Tapping his hooves together nervously, Kirk cleared his throat.
"Well, while that's true, Charlotte ran some tests and found out that what we have now, while largely safe from psychosis, would likely cause extreme hormone imbalances, delivering a huge adrenaline rush that'll likely stop the heart of most smaller mammals. Well, that and some other side effects. Probably."
"Wait, honestly? What caused it? Actually, wait on..." Mick fiddled with his chin beads as he spoke, the gears in his head glad to be grinding at a problem with a knowable solution. "The psychosis component may have utilised the adrenaline to overwrite higher-degree thought; removing them may lead to disuse of the extra adrenaline. It's not much, but it's a start." Giving Mick a well-meaning punch to the shoulder, Kirk began to walk away before Mick called to him.
"And Kirk! Thanks, I'll see how I go," nodded Mick in appreciation. Nodding in return, Kirk went about his duty.
Hours had passed before Mick concluded his rough calculations. Contorting his back and neck, Mick let out a ragged sigh as joints popped and stretched under the pressure. While Charlotte had indeed figured out what caused the madness of the nighthowlers. There was probably no way of knowing what getting hit by one meant for the victim. Not that any of them would be willing to try it out. Rubbing his tired eyes, he scanned across the lab, seeking someone. Finally landing on a tired-looking wolf, Mick hopped up from his stool and made his way to the wolf, equations in hand before knocking on the glass door, catching the occupant's attention.
"Mick!" exclaimed the wolf, his tired eyes widening in surprise as he patted down his matted, grey fur. "You scared the pants off me! You could have knocked!" Rolling his eyes, Mick chuckled.
"That's what scared you, you dork. Did the pup keep you up last night? You looked absolutely wrecked, Sam." Massaging his muzzle upwards until he was rubbing the base of his ears, Sam released a long, drawn out yawn.
"Urgh, yeah. Delilah's been a headache since her flu. She's not used to being bedridden so she's letting all that pent-up energy loose these last few days."
"Kicking up a ruckus is she?" Mick asked, leaning in the desk, prepared for a story.
"That's one way to put it," Sam said as he began grabbing loose notes on his desk, sorting them into racks. "She won't go to bed on time and instead spends her nights either mashing away loudly at her keyboard or dancing in her room; also very loudly. I can barely get shuteye without barking at her to sleep."
"I bet she'll be famous one day," mused Mick as he chuckled at the exhausted father's rant.
"Oh I hope she will be. And she'd better keep her father in a lifestyle he could, say, 'become accustomed to'." The canine pair shared a tired chuckle before Sam noticed the envelope in Mick's paw.
"Anything you have for me, Mick? Looks like you've got some work there that needs doing." Shifting himself off the desk, Mick passed his package on to the wolf nodding in agreement.
"Yeah; Charlotte pretty much killed the mood surrounding last night's success. I need to know if the adrenaline factor of the Nighthowlers is caused by anything, and if it can be safely removed."
"Yeah," said Sam, fishing out the small stack of papers detailing chemical compounds and cellular constructs. "I reckon I could help out a bit. Could take some time though; it was hard enough to identify the psychosis factor."
"Awesome mate, I'll leave you to it." As Mick stepped out from Sam's cubicle, He noticed a large Ram loitering outside the entrance to the lab.
"Hey Sam?" called Mick, confusion evident in his voice. "Were we expecting any University faculty tonight?"
"Not to my knowledge; why?" replied Sam, poking his head around the corner.
"Seems like someone's mucking about outside for some reason." Mick grumbled.
"I'm sure security will shepherd them off if you call them," Sam said, waving the situation off before returning to his station. Peering out the glass one last time, Mick hesitantly walked back to his own station. Picking up a clean slide, he sighed before prepping another portion of nighthowler bulb onto it. Just before he had the opportunity to peer into the plant, a sharp crash of broken glass reverberated around the polished walls of the laboratory. Jumping in surprise, Mick rushed to the source, only to be greeted by a group of heavy-coated sheep stepping through the shattered doorway. Snapping out of his stupor, he dashed back to his station as fast as his paws would carry him, ripping his work station's phone off its cradle, he almost punched in the emergency number as he brought it to his ear.
"This is the Zootopian emergency line, what is-" began the operator before Mick barked:
"Zootopia University, biology labs; I think we're under siege or something!" Before he could say anymore, he felt the solid weight of hooves clasp his shoulder as he was thrown away from his station with an astonishing display of strength. Landing hard on his shoulder, he was greeted by the grinning face of an enormous ram bearing over him, before he delivered a swift kick directly onto Mick's ribs, leaving him coughing and panting for breath.
"Simple mutt," said the ram brandishing his firearm over Mick's wheezing body. "Panting like it's a hot day, aren't you?" In between his wheezing attempts at breathing, Mick could only let out grunts and curses as he tried to get into some sort of sitting position. Before the ram could land another hit on Mick, a booming voice echoed out from the main laboratory.
"Timmy, you daft bastard get over here!" bellowed a voice from across the lab. Taking one last look at the dingo, straining in the foetal position, 'Timmy' grunted and lumbered away towards the voice. As Mick rolled around the ground, clutching his stomach and trying his best not to spew, he could hear the hesitant but defiant voice of Charlotte reprimanding the intruders before it was reduced to muffled cries of defiance. Finally finding the will to stand, Mick steadied his shaking legs; one paw clutching his stomach, and the other clasped on the side of his desk, hefting him up. Thinking for a moment, he looked around the lab. University guidelines required at least 2 fire extinguishers stationed in all laboratories, and Mick was fairly certain one was nearby. Stumbling towards the red cylinder attached to the wall, Mick fumbled with the weight of the hunk of metal as he attempted to bring it to a position where he could swing at a moment's notice.
Were they armed? He thought. Surely they are; they took the time to rob a university for land's sake. Maybe they won't shoot me on sight. Maybe…
As he stumbled into the room with his captors, he saw Charlotte struggling against a pair of handcuffs, trying to hurl muffled curses at her captors. A loud banging brought Mick's attention to Sam's station as the black wolf managed to throw a small ram off his back, before blindly swinging a punch at the other, missing him entirely. Quickly getting back up, the ram hit Sam square in the gut, causing him to drop to his knees and groan in pain. Before the giant Timmy could reach the hunched Sam, Mick quickly dashed towards his friend and swung the extinguisher into the ram's woollen head, causing him to whip his head in Mick's direction before stumbling into a charge; but as soon as his horns came down to deliver a blow, the rest of his body followed, landing on the tiles with a hefty crash. With his tormentor unconscious by his feet, Mick let out a sigh of relief, only to be hit once again in the gut by another charging ram. Letting out a muffled bleat of dismay, Charlotte struggled in vain against the plastic ties binding her hooves behind her back. Wheezing at the absence of air in his lungs, Mick began to crawl towards his cubicle before getting kicked over onto his back by the smaller ram.
"Looking for this, mutt?" sneered the ram, holding up a pellet of purple fluid, similar to the Nighthowler pellets from the news. "Found this in that pred-loving ewe's office. It was like she made this stuff just for us, isn't that right Marlot?" The smallest ram that had been momentarily taken down by Samson was wheezing out his chuckle as he eyed the pellet.
"Why don't you test it out on the little Miss, Sherry?" Marlot said, a pained grin plastering his face, malice blazing in his eyes. "She's as much of a pred as these two mutts if you ask me." Stopping to think, 'Sherry' finally grinned at Marlot's proposal walking up to Charlotte as her eyes widened in terror.
"I- wait! N-no, no, no!" fumbled out Mick in between his ragged breaths as he rolled over, coughing.
"What do you want, pred? Can't stand to see your boss getting 'howlered?" sneered Sherry, walking over to the exhausted dingo.
"Hah… Why do you need to do this? We've not done anything!" Begged Mick, anything to buy Charlotte time. If that pellet was formulated off their preliminary findings, she'd likely die of cardiac arrest; her body was just too small to handle the shot of raw adrenaline. Thinking quickly, he fumbled around carelessly as he searched for something, anything that he could throw at the sheep. As his paw landed on a beaker, he recklessly threw it towards Marlot; the chipped glass bouncing harmlessly off the sheep's bulky wool.
"Did you peg that, mutt?" demanded Marlot, striding over to Mick, grabbing him by his collar with deceptive strength. "Why don't we just Howler you, then, if you're so damn rabid already? Sherry! Give me that damn gun!" As Marlot snatched the pistol from Sherry's outstretched hoof, he jammed it to Mick's temple and stared him dead in the eyes. "Thank you for your contribution to science, mutt," Marlot spat at Mick as he pulled the trigger; the barrel of the gun a mere inch off the dingo's head, making him flinch from the impact.
As Marlot released him and stepped back to observe his handiwork, as Mick's breathing picked up into a ragged pant as his eyes grew wide and panicked. He began to cough and wheeze as his heart demanded more and more oxygen as it beat harder and harder, leaving Mick a gasping mess, writhing in pain on the ground. Confused, Marlot slowly moved forward to poke Mick with the barrel of the gun, making him snap his head around to face the sheep, grinding his teeth, forcing saliva to spray out in front of him in his fevered breaths. Mick could say nothing but whine in pain as he moved.
"What the… how aren't you freaking out by now?" Marlot asked, shock evident in his voice at the dingo who could only flail about in front of him.
"N-nnnn-new fo-ooor-mula, sheep," wheezed Mick as his claws shot out at a blinding pace, cutting at Marlot's ankles, dropping him down, in front of Mick, who quickly got his bearings and stood up awkwardly. Shivering and twitching as he stood over Marlot, Mick took a wild swipe at his neck, silencing the ram's desperate bleating. As Mick tried to stand again to face Sherry, he fell to his knees and threw up, gazing at his bloodied claws, tears in his eyes.
"Damn stupid of you Marlot…" muttered Sherry as he raised a baton at Mick, who was beginning to stand up, a mixture of blood and the remaining nighthowler dripping off his head. Eyes wide with panic and energy, Mick dropped to all fours and ran away from his attacker. Considering the state the dingo had left Marlot in, Sherry was taken aback slightly, only to shake his head and cautiously take chase after the addled canine.
Mick had never felt as afraid as he was now. Teetering on the verge of death, while also claiming another's was sending his mind into a frenzied mess. They had told him he may one day need to take a life but he had hoped that day never came. As he awaited Sherry's arrival soon, Mick began dashing about the room he found himself in, trying to find ways to bludgeon the ram into submission; he didn't want to rely on his claws for a very long time to come. Despite his rage, he noted that the more he moved, the less he felt the tightness of his chest. Maybe if he could work the adrenaline out, he could survive the night? Before he could turn around and keep searching, Mick felt the solid blow from a baton slam into the side of his head, dropping him to the ground as his claws skittered across the ground, trying to find grip on the linoleum floor.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, mutt," rumbled Sherry, eyes trained Mick's claws with an intensity like smouldering coals. Mick didn't say anything besides growl as menacingly as he could and splayed his claws, waiting for Sherry to take a swing, but with a speed that once again betrayed his size, Sherry neatly placed two quick but hard hits to Mick's head, dropping him to the ground, eyes struggling to stay open under the intense pain enveloping his head and chest, but before Sherry could land any more blows to the dropped dingo, he began to spasm wildly, dropping the baton and then to his face, revealing two wired prongs sticking out of his neck, connected to a plastic, yellow gun wielded by a uniformed mammal. He could make out the sounds of another breach outside with the thundering of hooves and paws outside filing in. Judging by their commanding voices, it was probably their rescue.
"Mick!" heard the weary canine, eyes widening as he heard the familiar voice of Fangmeyer. Rolling over onto his back, he saw a blur of orange dash towards him and clasp his shoulders with a gentle strength. "Mick, are you alright? Look at me, have you been exposed?" Was all Mick heard as he burst into strained tears, letting himself falling into her embrace, muttering "I'm sorry" before he felt a sharp and intense pain impale through his chest. It was blinding and as if the cold hand of Death squeezed his heart, ceasing it.
I stopped moving, was all he thought as he felt his eyes roll back into his head.
It felt like hours to him, endless dull, uncertain hours that Mick fought through like slogging through a fog-covered swamp. He wrestled to open his eyes, but lost. He thought he could hear Fangmeyer… and Rodney? People he knew; some he didn't too. It was all a mess to him; like a fever dream gone worse. Feeling like he had the fortitude to force his way into the world of the living, he tried using his voice box, all that came out was a grunt. After making a variety of noises, he opened one of his eyes a sliver, to let as little light as he could in, only finding it was pleasantly darker than he expected. Shifting his eye around, he decided to work on his other eye, then his mouth, head and finally arms (which were awfully shaky, much to his muted amusement). The effects of the altered nighthowler were quite different from what he had expected. Feeling a weight shift and purr to his left, he gently looked down, only to find an awfully mangy Fangmeyer resting her large head on the side of his cot. Cot? He looked around. This was a facility of some kind; probably a hospital. He sure hoped so. The sudden movement stirred the big cat as she yawned and opened her eyes to a weary-looking Mick smiling weakly at his companion and her awestruck expression.
"Fangy! Uh, he-" was all he managed before Fangmeyer's burly arms embraced him as she just silently kept him close as she kept her breathing in check. He could feel her emotion; she was open to him and it was only fair he opened up to her.
"I'm sorry Fang. I… stuffed up quite poorly didn't I?" he asked, voice strained, yet measured. "Seems I, uh, made a fool of myself last night; what with the rum and my…" was all me managed before Fangmeyer pulled back, and looked at him in the eyes with a moist and powerful gaze.
"You've been out for three whole days Mick. Please, just take it easy on yourself now," she asked him; her care for him showing.
"Fang, look. I made an arse of myself and I want to apologise. I nearly died yester- uh, three days ago and I really didn't like it," he chuckled weakly, Tears threatening to fall. "I won't give it up as easily as I did then. I won't let myself get near that level of danger and self destruction again, okay?" he said to his companion, watching her expression as it remained unchanged.
"Let me show you why I believe you," said Fangmeyer with a touch of glee in her voice as she threw herself forward, placing her lips on Mick's, using one paw to hold his head close as she kissed with a gentle passion. As she let him go, she could see the fiery blush radiate under his fur as he stuttered his way about what she did before stopping and taking a breath.
"I, uh, how does that help exactly?" he tried asking while keeping his composure. "N-not that I didn't like it! I loved y- it. I loved it! I mean, it- hrk…" Stammered Mick as he clenched his chest as it flared with pain.
"Easy there, champ," muttered Fangmeyer soothingly as she draped her arm around his shoulder. "Doctor said you'd best keep as calm as possible to keep you from having another heart attack." "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," he mumbled back, the reality of having suffered from a near-fatal heart failure still not fully sinking in.
"Look, Fangy, I'm still sorry about the other night. Would you let me make it back up to you?"
"Make me food for at least a month straight, do a few loads of my laundry and I could definitely do with some favors around the house," Fangmeyer rattled off with practiced ease.
"That was… planned a bit," chuckled Mick as the tiger's eyebrow raised expectantly. "You've got a deal, Stripy."
"Oh! And that brings me to another thing," stated Fangmeyer as she gave Mick a quick peck on the cheek. "My first name's Lahela. I've never heard you call me by anything but 'Fangmeyer'."
"I was starting to think it was your first name," chuckled Mick. As Lahela stood to leave the bedridden dingo, she briefly flashed her phone at him.
"I gotta work now Mick, so how about later when you're discharged I treat you to a nice dinner before you start your cooking service. Call it a date?" she asked, eyes hopeful.
"Sure, I'd like that," he said, beaming.