Only once before in his life that he could recall had Leodore Lionheart felt such a twisted and roiling mix of conflicting emotions—creeping terror, growing desperation, simmering anger, and above all, unreasoning fear—all of it making his stomach sink and writhe with nausea. And as he peered from one side of the darkened corridor to the other, his night vision letting him see deep into the cloaking shadows of the stadium's backstage, flicking his gaze from one piece of costuming, pyrotechnics, mechanical contrivance, and colorful decoration to another…as he did so, the feline reflected that it was only fitting. For that time in his life had revolved around the same thing as this moment in time did: the undeniable and deeply upsetting danger to the life of his beloved Bucky.

Sighing heavily, he shook his head, still torn between incredulity and relief. After how long he had kept Bucky's condition and location a secret, trusting to Dr. Honey Badger to keep him safe and well until a cure was developed; and how carefully he had hidden his identity and the nature of their relationship, once the opportunity to save him had finally presented itself; after this, it was startling and frankly amazing how easy it had been to confirm Judy's suspicions…and how good it had felt to let it all out.

Secrecy regarding their love affair had become second nature to him by that point, so continuing to keep it concealed throughout the Pred Scare had been simple logic and common sense; he was, after all, being given the best care and treatment medical science could offer at Cliffside, so what good would revealing the depth of their connection do, or just how and why Bucky had fallen prey to savagery, and Lionheart had been on hand to take him into custody…? And it wasn't as if knowing his fate would have helped anyone figure out a cure, then or later; by the time the rabbit and the fox had infiltrated the abandoned hospital, Honey Badger had concluded that Bucky's succumbing to the same thing as fifteen predators was a fluke and aberration, hence her decision to focus only on predator biology as the causal link. (As good a researcher, pathologist, and immunologist as she was, Madge had had no way of knowing of something which had its origin in the rural countryside or that it was able to affect all mammals equally, and botanical analysis was not exactly her forte either.) So there had been no need to tell anyone where Bucky was or what had happened to him, not until a cure could be found, after which point he would put into motion a plan to bring it to Honey Badger and restore the deer with no one the wiser.

But after that, once they had found him kidnapped? He could argue that it was because of the unknown nature of their enemy, who they were or what they wanted him for…that until they learned this and could move in to stop them, knowing the truth about Bucky was not only unnecessary, but dangerous. Revealing to the public at large that Night Howler could afflict prey as well? Letting them know their own beloved, mild-mannered, deeply respected District Attorney had also been a target? It would have caused yet another panic, not to mention given the various criminal elements in the city free rein to act as brazenly and decisively as they liked.

Yet he knew the truth. While all of this reasoning was accurate, valid, and irrefutable, the real reason—or at least the most compelling—had been the same as it was all along. Fear. Fear of what the truth would do if it came out that two public figures, two strong and intelligent and trusted mammals, were involved romantically with one another. Even he wasn't sure which had worried and distressed him more…that the fact two males were involved would engender hatred, prejudice, and condemnation among those who believed it unnatural and immoral whatever biology said otherwise—and that this could genuinely endanger their lives and those of their families—or that it was two highly-ranked members of city politics. The first would ruin their personal lives, the second their professional; the first might ensure they could never be happy together again, while the second could destroy everything they had worked so hard to build and ruin Zootopia's prosperity as well.

Despite these very real dangers, looking back now he wasn't certain it was really worth it. If he had kept Bucky with the others, what would have happened? Considering all that she'd had on her plate as Mayor, and that the continued predator "attacks" had kept the citizens so terrified and desperate for someone to protect them at any cost that they wouldn't have cared about anything else, would Bellwether really have bothered with exposing the stag and Lionheart, no matter how much she might be disgusted by it or want personal revenge? And once she was removed from power and a cure was found, wouldn't everyone have been so grateful to have peace and order restored that they would just have been pleased to have their District Attorney back? There might have been some fallout still, particularly for the Barbary, their families might still have been upset…but at least he would already have been saved. At least he wouldn't now be in the hands of depraved monsters ready to unleash yet more horror and evil upon the city, just to get the power and satisfaction they craved.

He couldn't have known though. He couldn't have known of Dawn's final plan, or of her brother and his willingness to carry it out—whether as payback, family loyalty, or desire for advancement in the mafia. If it hadn't been for this, the delay would not have mattered...once he had realized, to his growing horror, that Bucky had not been released and taken into custody with the other mammals to there be given the cure, and he had then begun putting plans in motion to rectify the matter...all still would have been safe. Even though Judy had continually put off coming to visit him in jail—he suspected, now, because she had wanted to wait until she had Nick at her side for extra protection and to parse his story for deception and subterfuge—even though this wait had been so long he had become frantic in his worry, had been on the verge of simply confessing all to the warden, sending the authorities to Madge at Cliffside with the cure and some other means of getting past the security lock, and letting the chips fall where they may regarding himself and Bucky...even though all of this was true, if no more had occurred once the rescue operation had begun, all still would have been safe. He had to keep telling himself this, even as a voice growing louder and more insistent in his mind told him these were lies, or at least false reassurances he gave to himself to excuse his own folly and failures.

Ahead, echoing through the cathedral-like heights of the stadium's nearly pitch-black backstage, he could hear Gazelle's voice coming to him, intoning into her microphone the words of a different song than the one she'd been performing when they entered…and the lyrics made him flinch as if they were lashes striking his bare back, since they were from the pointed and rather pensive piece, "Spotlight."

The chorus of the song, that was what everyone thought about him—the limelight, prestige, notoriety, fame and fortune—that he wanted it, needed it, would do anything to secure it and keep it. And while such things had been good for his ego, and also aided him in making reality the various plans he'd had for the betterment of the city and everyone who lived in it, he had to admit privately that perhaps he hadn't been able to handle the spotlight after all… Even more aptly, the bridge matched perfectly what lay in his heart. Everything he'd had to go through to become mayor, and then weather once he'd achieved the office—Bucky had made it worth it. Bucky was what he was missing, and what he needed. He would die before he gave him up…and despite everything, even though he knew it was rash, irresponsible, illegal, and wrong, even though it had left him wide open to a frame-up and public disgrace, even though it had put Bellwether in power and nearly toppled the city and society itself…if he had it all to do over again, he would. For Bucky.

I should never have been let close to the levers of power. I am such a fool!

More so, he reflected with wry bitterness, because in the end it really had all been unnecessary, even pointless. He'd been so determined to save the city, protect the predators, prevent a riot and chaos, and instead he'd helped make it come to pass. He'd wanted to find the cure…and the only way he could be said to have done so was because one single police officer who had benefited from his Mammal Inclusion Initiative—plus a con artist fox she'd happened to encounter along the way—had had the insight and bravery, the determination and stubbornness, and the right information at the right time, to both discover the cause of the "outbreak" and bring down the one responsible. And he'd kept anyone from knowing Buckley Stagmire had been a victim too, and was his mate in every sense of the word he could be, to keep the criminal underworld under control and his life free of bigotry and rejection. But now Cyrus might be well on his way to wresting leadership away from both Corlione and Big while the Department of Justice was in limbo…and while he couldn't be sure yet of anyone else, the three who been willing to help him this past day and night knew now about him and Bucky—and had all given him their unconditional support, acceptance, and approval.

And that felt better, filled him with more joy and gratitude, than he could ever put into words…or had a right to.

Lionheart let out his breath slowly. Judy hadn't really been a surprise in the end, her idealistic and kind-hearted nature made it next to impossible she would reject someone for whom they loved—if anything, she'd be more likely to react with scorn and anger at how someone did or did not show their love to another. Nick had been far less likely to embrace the stag and lion's private dedication to each other, he'd believed…but whether the argument he'd witnessed between the former mayor and Delgato had encouraged him to see things more from Leodore's perspective or for some other reason, the vulpine had seemed amused more than anything by it all, nor did he seem bothered by the idea of such a relationship existing in the halls of power. As for the leonine officer himself…it was an open question which was more startling and heartening, that Lionheart's confession had gotten Manuel almost fully on his side at last, or that the reason for this turned out to be the younger lion's own same-sex relationship.

The Barbary managed a small smile in Delgato's direction, though the other feline was so focused on the cloaking shadows around them he didn't even notice. It was certainly a fortuitous coincidence, and while he'd like to think the revelation all of this had come about for the sake of love and devotion would have swayed the cop no matter whom it had involved, he couldn't deny that both lions having such desires and life-partners in common had definitely made it easier in the end. What he did know was, seeing that harsh distrust and resentment crack, hearing those words of solidarity and dedication, receiving sympathy and understanding from Delgato rather than the negativity and cold dismissal he'd thought would never leave…it had been overwhelming. He knew why the young lion felt as he did, and believed he had every right to do so; knowing this might now be a thing of the past, that this knowledge had allowed Manuel to let down his guard and give him a chance, so there was a real possibility now of truly making amends…well, it was no surprise he'd had to turn away and gaze out the car window to keep the others from seeing the tears flowing through his cheek fur.

So he had plenty of reason, even apart from his enduring love and faithfulness, to have his thoughts ever and always returning to Bucky. While Bogo and the other ZPD backup were mostly here to protect Gazelle, her dancers, and the public, as well as to finally bring in the last remnants of Bellwether's plot, the three with Lionheart were genuinely ready and willing to aid in rescuing the deer for his own sake. And after the circumstances of Bucky's original succumbing to the Night Howler, and the situation where his kidnapping had now placed him, the former mayor couldn't drive the cervine from his mind even if he wanted to. All of them were focused on finding him, all of their thoughts were bent upon him, but while having such loyal companions at his side was crucial and something he had never dared to hope for, Lionheart knew that at this point, nothing would hold him back. Everything else was secondary. Others would concern themselves with the rest of their objectives, and while he would aid them if he could—he'd certainly take the chance to…remove Cyrus from the picture one way or another if it presented itself—only keeping that promise and saving Bucky mattered to him now…

Time passed. Minute after minute slipped past as the four of them in turn crept through the darkness, every sense focused on detecting anything unusual about their surroundings, and hopefully pursuing such anomalies to the criminals they were seeking. The near-constant beating of drums and the enthusiastic strumming of guitars and other instruments, as well as the antelope's singing and the crowd's cheering, were growing louder as they moved through the building, to the point that he wasn't certain any of them could hear each other even if they shouted. In a strange way, the thick wall of sound was growing so heavy and oppressive that it was almost the same as a blanket of silence.

It certainly didn't change the eeriness of the place as they continued to carefully yet tensely explore it. In one direction, he could see the strange, ambiguous silhouettes of costumes and animatronics rising up toward the ceiling, and he had to keep doing double-takes, narrowing his eyes, and staring for long minutes at a time to be sure they weren't moving, that there weren't living figures hidden amongst and behind them, shadows which did not belong. In another direction loomed what looked like pieces of amusement park rides and other novelties that had either been actually part of stage shows past or else set up in the stadium's parking lot for further entertainment, for children and adults alike. Streamers and ribbons hung in great lengths from hooks high above, stirred in ghostly undulations by the wind which had come through the back door or the breath of their passing. Piles of masks and lights, speakers and old instrument cases, music stands and canvas backdrop flats, ladders and pulleys and various machines for either moving equipment around or actually operating the various sets Gazelle (and performers before her) required. Doors appeared, opening into other corridors, stairwells and ramps to other levels, and empty dressing and prop rooms. Some were dusty and dark, while others showed recent usage and held things like giant fans and harnesses with lamps for the flying squirrels act, confetti grinders, rocket boots, black lights and the ultraviolet paint to go with them, makeup kits, and more.

Finally, when they had passed (and peeked into) the clean, freshly-painted, and sparklingly-polished dressing room nearest the stage, which bore a star on its door marked "The Asmita Brothers" (and yes, the interior had numerous bowls and buckets of glitter as well as several pairs of purple, sequined shorts lying about), they came down the last curve of the hallway and found themselves on a wedge-shaped platform, one that was concealed from the arena floor and hemmed in by both a towering half-circle of wall and several gantries and scaffolds extending out above their heads. The latter had spotlights affixed, their wires woven about the metal like ink-black serpents, but the ones that were lit were all aimed toward the stage and so left this area still in darkness. An identical side wing was dimly visible across the way.

But between them was the stage itself, and just as it had the attention and adoration of the cheering, screaming, clapping fans in the stands and on the stadium floor, so too could Lionheart not tear his eyes away. For somehow, despite everything, the singer and her troupe were still as entrancing and exciting as ever.

The song was building up to its climax—accompanied, naturally enough, by twin spotlights shining down to make the antelope's dress sparkle and shine all the more brilliantly—and Gazelle was milking it for all she was worth. Strutting…twisting…long limbs flashing, horned head tossing to make her hair flip and bounce over her eyes, hoof sliding up and down her body to accentuate every curve and clinging bit of cloth. She was beautiful, a true and natural performer, and if his interests lay in that direction he would most certainly be salivating…but since they did not, he found himself simply charmed and in awe of her skills, clearly a technical master of dance and choreography but also with the heart and soul to give them life and meaning. And all around her, her four backup tigers were moving in perfectly synced harmony—posing, flexing, arching their backs to act as sculpted statues, glancing over their shoulders to gaze sultrily into the crowd, shifting to press back-to-back with Gazelle before moving on as if on an endless carousel. Both their shorts and fur glittered and winked in the light, and they remained the same supple, talented, and frankly arousing sight they had always been…and every one of them not only clearly enjoyed being the center of attention, but also performing with she who had launched them to stardom.

Lionheart let out a long, slow, shuddering breath; the emotions they engendered were such a contrast to what still churned inside him as he desperately sought out Bucky, and fought to keep from charging back into the shadows to find his odious kidnappers, that he had to place a paw on the stage wall to keep himself from swaying. Past and present met and eclipsed; there was so much here to protect, so many innocents, yet at the same time the one who mattered most to him was still nowhere to be seen. Where? Where is he? And where is Cyrus?

Something shifted in the shadows of the far side stage, and then he heard a faint crackle behind him as Judy's Bluefang picked up a signal. The rabbit pushed the button, listened, nodded, then spoke into her mike. "We're in position, Chief. We can see you too. But we didn't find them either."

There was a long pause, as all of them stayed pressed back in the darkness, peering about…staring back the way they'd come, out into the crowd, onto the stage…waiting for any sign that the rams might be appearing, about to make their move, and otherwise staying tensely on guard. Beside the rabbit, Nick stood against the pole of a stage arc light, giant tail swishing and twitching nervously, even as his gun was aimed steadily and unwaveringly into the silent darkness; against Lionheart's shoulder, he felt the warmth of Officer Delgato, heard the click of one of his sidearms as he too held it ready and waiting for whatever might threaten.

And just as Gazelle's song was winding down to its final bars, one last chorus belted out as the music shifted into the driving, somewhat jerky backbeat that had begun the piece…just as she and the tigers were coming together for a twisting, gyrating, passionate dance that kept them all moving under the main spotlight…there came another sound behind him. A faint clanking of machinery, the rattling movement of wood and metal, a sense of something quite heavy shifting in some manner. He heard a low, rough snort that became a deep, ominous grunt. He heard Judy gasp softly.

Carefully, making no sudden movements, the lion turned and looked behind him.

~Something was different. Something had changed.~

~After all that wild battering, all his desperate, savage attempts to get out, get away, the metal holding him had retreated. Something had dragged it back, away from the light and sound, and then something had lowered before him, some sort of length of wood. Blocking his sight. Trapping him once more, keeping him away from his freedom. Away from the terrifying hunters, but also away from the one he had to save. It had been enough to make him collapse, moaning, against the thin metal trees he had managed to dent and bend, yet not snap apart. There he had stayed, leaning, chest heaving, his musk cloying as it soaked his body and hung in the air.~

~Listening. Waiting. Panting and gasping and growling. But always listening. There had been something, something that made those who had put him here go into hiding, and pull him with them. Footsteps?~

~And now…~

~He jerked his head up, staring blearily into the darkness as he heard something. More sounds, something he knew he should know. A…voice? And there was something else. A scent. A very, very familiar scent. One that made him want to sob and grunt, one that caused a stirring below as another desire briefly made itself known, the desire to rut. But it was swiftly squashed. There was too much fear. Too much anger. Too much hate.~

~Only one thing mattered. And as the wood blocking his view was suddenly lifted again…slowly but surely, creaking upward as it was raised by something he could neither see nor understand…he saw it again. Her. Them.~

~They had stopped moving, stopped circling, but they stood all around her. Pressed close, so very close. He could smell them, smell how they wanted her, how they viewed her as theirs. And she was still blind to it all, standing there unprotected, weak, easy prey.~

~He had to save her. Stop them. Kill them, if he could. Nothing else.~

~But as he once more rose to his hooves and knees, tossed his antlered head, and prepared to slam and smash and batter until he could finally break out to fulfill those irresistible urges, he couldn't help but sense the other animals nearby. Scents he didn't know, though all of them smelled as afraid yet determined as he was. And one…one other scent. An important scent. One burned into his brain forever. One that made him let out another low, keening grunt as he peered up toward the massive figure looming above him.~

What? No…couldn't be…could not be…how did he…why did he leave him, leave him alone so very, very long, only to come back now…?

Mate. MATE. MATEMATEMATEMATEMATEMATEMATE!

Leodore Lionheart stared…mouth hanging open, throat dry, eyes so wide they felt as if they'd stay permanently bulging out of their sockets…the sinking feeling from before growing stronger, heavier, more and more unsettling as his stomach twisted and rolled, while his heart pounded painfully in his chest. One of the walls behind them had not been a true and proper wall at all, only another piece of wooden scenery painted to resemble the bluish stone of the stadium—to better disguise a hidden performer from the audience until they could emerge and join the show, he supposed. And as a pulley and rope system raised it upward, revealing the shadowed niche that it had concealed, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

A cage.

He didn't know why it was there—it must have been a prop from a previous concert, perhaps one where the Stripers had pretended to be wild beasts before Gazelle 'released' them, or some such roleplay?—but its reality was undeniable. It must have been left there and forgotten, unless it had been dragged and shoved into place by Cyrus and his rams…yes, he could see it now, as he flicked his eyes wildly to the floor and back again, scrape marks in the stone that none of them had even noticed. After all, that hadn't at all been what they'd been looking for…he started cursing to himself, and he wasn't the only one.

Because in the cage, of course, down on all fours, was Bucky.

So many emotions rushed through him, fought against each other in wild, violent conflict, that he didn't think he could move or act even if he hadn't been paralyzed. Rage. Relief. Horror. Worry. Aching longing. Sorrow. Confusion. Guilt, most of all guilt. Because what he beheld was so upsetting, so infuriating, that his voice was lost in an inarticulate growl.

The deer was much as he looked the last time Lionheart had seen him, at least the last time his lover had been conscious. His glasses were gone, likely smashed. He was still wearing a few remnants of the clothes he'd had on that fateful night, though they were much more soiled now and even more shredded after the violent struggle the Night Howler had driven him into. Parts of his slacks were still there; having ripped along the seams of both legs, they were mostly in tatters, while the main portion of the garment was now only the waistband, since Honey Badger had needed him free and unencumbered so that he could properly relieve himself...which meant he was nearly naked from the waist down. His shirt was also nearly gone, only the collar and cuffs left encircling his bullish neck and wrists…although, oddly, his tie remained in place, tossed back over his shoulder but clearly visible in the stage lights—a rather atrocious shade of paisley, one he'd given Bucky as a birthday gag but which the deer had always treasured. This meant, of course, that the stag's thick torso, powerful arms, and broad chest were also quite on display, their brown-furred muscles something that in other circumstances would have had the lion thinking much more pleasant thoughts. But now? All he could see was the sheer strength in them, and how each one was tense, bulging, and swollen…ready to unleash the beast within as he gave in to those inflamed instincts. This perfectly matched the heat in those reddened, maddened eyes…yes, the dark eyes he had known and loved for so long showed nothing in them still. No intellect, no thought, no personality…nothing but a flat darkness along with that bright glint of crimson whenever the lights hit the retinas just right.

Worst of all, however, was that he was strapped tightly, painfully, into a muzzle until it dug deeply into his flesh. Between the strips of leather, he could see the deer's teeth shining disconcertingly, bared and gleaming white. Saliva dripped from lips and straps, foam dried in the fur around his mouth and lined the metal fastenings…the grunts and growls that came from between them were ones of rage and hate, most certainly, but also pain, and there was fear in those wild eyes, too. As much as the sight of his oldest friend still locked in a hallucinogenic haze of primitive savagery had Lionheart rather terrified, he also couldn't fight back the wave of despair and grief.

"Oh Bucky…Bucky…"

For a moment—a brief moment of flickering hope—something shifted in those eyes, his choked voice seemed to bring about a tiny sense of recognition. The red faded, the brown became predominant again…the tapered head lifted toward him, and tears began to flow, running slowly through his matted cheek fur… But then with another sobbing grunt, it was gone, and he had sunk back into the morass of feral instinct his mind had become, wary distrust vying with fierce hostility on his maddened face. His antlered head lifted warningly.

"That's quite close enough," a familiar voice growled, with an undertone of a bleat, and Lionheart realized two things—without even realizing it, he had approached to within only a few paces of the cage, and there were figures surrounding it, emerging from the alcove alongside and behind. Three of them were rams he had never seen before, but the one in the front was Cyrus Bellwether. The mafia sheep strolled forward as if on an afternoon promenade, and when he stopped his suited form stood loose and casual, but the way his jaw clenched and his eyes gleamed in the darkness very much belied this. As did the gun he held trained on the former mayor's chest.

Very slowly, Leodore raised his paws and backed a few steps away again. Beside and behind him, he heard a whimper and a soft cry of indignant fury from Judy, followed by twin growls—but when he dared to glance at his companions he was shocked to see that while Delgato's tense shoulders and bulging arms looked ready to rip the seams of his jacket, and his gun was pointed right back at Cyrus, it was Nick who was making the deepest, ugliest, most vicious growl of the two. Oddly, his green eyes which almost seemed to blaze in the shadows were fixed unerringly not on the ram's weapon, but on the cage—or more specifically, the muzzle its occupant was wearing. Teeth bared, lips writhered back, ears stiff and pricked high, every muscle taut and frozen, the fox was so changed from his usual amiable, relaxed self that if Lionheart had not spent the previous day and night with him, he would never have recognized him. What…what in the world…?

Another grunt from Bucky. A faint scraping of metal as Manuel's finger slowly depressed the trigger another inch, and the spring of his gun creaked. The incredibly incongruous sound of cheering and applause from the audience as the song ended and Gazelle, still blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding backstage, took her bows and thanked her fans in both English and Spanish. Then Cyrus said, with quiet menace, "I don't know how you figured out where we would be, or how you got here in time, but it matters not. You're still too late. We arrived in plenty of time to hide our special patient's gurney in all those mounds of junk, once our passes got us inside. It's ever so helpful when VIPs are allowed to go anywhere, without anyone accompanying or checking up on them. And now that we have Mr. Stagmire in position, all we have to do is take off that muzzle and open that cage door. He's already otherwise loose and eager to…perform." He nodded toward the floor of the cage, and Lionheart saw several lengths of severed rope as well as an undone pair of shackles.

Silence. Behind them, another song began—a light, lonely bit of piano work—and Gazelle began to sing again, soft and gentle, a yearning ballad that only added to the surreality of the situation. Then, just as softly, Judy spoke. "You really think we're going to let you get away with this?"

"Or that we're the only ones here?" Delgato said, his voice silken and menacing. "Everyone's onto you, Bellwether. We've got Bogo and a bunch more backup right here with us. If you know what's good for you, you'll surrender and come quietly. While you've still got the chance."

The ram paused, then lifted his chin imperiously; his gun never twitched. "So? They're not in evidence at the moment. By the time they make their way to us, this will have been decided, one way or the other. And unless my ability to count is less than yours, it is four against four here."

"Three of us have you in our sights," the rabbit said firmly, tightly; and indeed, at some point when he hadn't noticed, she too had drawn her gun and was part of the threatening tableau.

"And so do three on my side," Cyrus observed smugly. Besides himself, one of the rams held a military-issue sniper rifle with laser sight, and held it with competence and steady calm; another of the ovines also held a weapon, though what kind Lionheart couldn't see. As if the mafia thug had read his mind, he continued, "One of us carries tranqs, for emergencies, one of us has real bullets, and one of us bears a gun loaded with Night Howler. That's only one chance in three that you'll make it out of this alive and in full possession of your civilized faculties. Would you really care to test those odds?"

Judy bristled visibly. "Well, we're all crack shots, you have to be to pass police academy. I'm sure at least one of us will hit our target."

"Possibly. But my men will still get their shots off, too…and even if they don't, there's just as much chance Mr. Stagmire will make it out onto that stage during the struggle. I genuinely have no idea what he'll do, wild instincts are hardly my forte, but I'm very curious to find out, aren't you?" The sheep smiled coldly, a wicked glint of eagerness in his eyes. "Whether he tries to take on those striped buffoons, makes a grab for Miss Gazelle, or simply charges out into the crowd—someone is getting hurt, no one will be safe anymore, and everyone will panic. If you leave here quietly, head out into the arena, you might be able to save some lives, establish some semblance of order…what little good it will do you. But if you stay here, I guarantee you won't even manage that much."

The antelope's voice rose loud and clear over the stage, throbbing with emotion and lifting effortlessly into the higher registers. Lionheart dearly wished he could appreciate it, but all his attention could only fix upon their adversary…and Bucky, still crouched inside his cage, his expression shifting rapidly between fear and fury, one moment cringing back, the next lunging forward with lowered antlers and snorting breath.

No one moved. Then at last Nick spoke, and while he clearly seemed to be trying for an insinuating, snide tone, the rather strangled and harsh way his voice sounded told Leodore the fox was still as unbalanced as he had been since seeing the cage, extremely on edge and ready to burst into action. "You really don't care about anyone, do you, woolly? Well maybe you'll care about this: your boss. Remember him? Big poofy mane, wall of muscle, looks a lot like my friend here?" He nodded toward Lionheart without taking his eyes off Cyrus. "Yeah. We were telling the truth about him, back at the Palm. He's been helping us. He knows we're here. And just what do you think's going to happen when he finds out just what you've been doing behind his back, what your twisted little plan is?" A pause. "He knows, muttonchops. Did you think we were just twiddling our thumbs all day? He knows everything. If you come quietly, we can protect you from him, in a nice cozy jail cell. But if you don't?" Wilde bared his sharp canine teeth in a wide, nasty smile. "I rather think you'll find out if a pred can go savage on your furry ass without one of those blue pellets of yours. I wonder how you taste…?"

For the first time, Bellwether looked worried…perhaps, if it wasn't wishful thinking, even scared. His weapon still didn't move, nor did he, but several of his rams shuffled, shifted, and rather looked as if they wished they could sidle into the shadows and make a run for it. Hearing this, the huge ram stomped a hoof on the stone authoritatively, letting out a snort of hot breath, then snapped, "If any of you even thinks of running, I'll shoot you myself!" As the two rams without the sniper rifle froze, Cyrus jerked his gimlet gaze back to Nick. "You're bluffing." Which he was, as far as Leodore knew, but…

Nick's smile didn't waver, or lose an ounce of its predatory cruelty. "But you can't be sure, can you? Besides…I never bluff."

Several more very long moments passed, and dimly Lionheart became aware of the words Gazelle was singing behind them. He didn't know whether to laugh in disjointed hysteria, or square his shoulders with pride and determination…because they were not only so very appropriate, they were from a song he had always privately considered his song, his and Bucky's: "I'll Stand By You."

As tears stood in his eyes, the former mayor gazed down at the trapped form of the deer, and he knew without even having to think about it how true those words were, now more than ever before. As he had known from the beginning of this desperate quest, he would do anything, absolutely anything, to save and protect the mammal he had given his heart to. No matter what it took. No matter what Cyrus said or did. Hopefully it would allow Nick, or Judy, or Delgato to do something decisive, something that would turn the tables and bring this nightmare to an end for Zootopia. But regardless…he would do it anyway. He had to.

Are you a craven cat or a true king? Do you really have the heart of a lion?

Bellwether broke into his thoughts with a nasty, furious bleat. "It doesn't matter! None of that matters. If everything goes according to plan, he'll be one of the first to fall—whether a mammal I've darted rips him apart or I just plain shoot him dead myself. And even if it doesn't…as long as this city goes down, I won't care what he does or what happens to me." Again that maddened fire burned in his eyes. "Both of you are finished here, you and that insufferable little Miss Hopps! After what you did to my sister, I'll make certain of that. If it weren't for you, she'd still be Mayor…we'd both be ruling Zootopia between us. Order and chaos. Justice and vengeance. Law of the state and law of the jungle. Two sides of the same coin, as it was meant to be."

At his shoulder, Delgato let out a sound between a snarl and a choke of disgust. "You're crazy. Absolutely nuts, you know that?"

"Am I?" Cyrus growled, then let out an unhinged laugh. "I'm just trying to put things back the way they should be! We never should have left the wild! At least there, all the death and killing made sense, it was the way the world worked. No more of this pretense, just instinct and hunger, survival of the fittest, every mammal for itself. Purer. Simpler. No more comforting lies. That is where we belong!" He snapped his free hoof at the ram without a gun, and with a look that somehow mingled rebelliousness and trepidation, he reached into the cage from behind Bucky's line of vision and swiftly undid the buckles and straps holding the muzzle in place.

As the deer shook his head, pawed at his face, and finally tossed the offensive restraint aside, Lionheart felt his heart leap; even though he knew what this meant, what Cyrus intended to happen next, it was such a joy to finally see that terrible thing off of him… But then he noticed Judy—although she was shooting a look of righteous anger at the ram, there was something about her stance, her features…something oddly satisfied. She smiled, slowly. "Well, if that's your final word on the matter…you get all that, Chief?"

There was a crackle over the Bluefang, and then Bogo's voice came over the line, more harsh and deadly serious than he had ever heard it. "Every last word, Hopps. I'm quite sure there are any number of mammals…judges, reporters, city councilors, even his compatriots in the mob…who would love to hear it, too. I'll be right over to make sure he gets the chance to repeat them."

As the truth sank in that the wire had been active the entire time, Lionheart started to grin slowly—and Bellwether's face turned a deep, nasty scarlet beneath the wool. "Not if I have anything to say about it!" His free hoof grasped at a lever along the side of the cage, pulling it down with a sudden jerk—and with a creak of gears and chains, the bent and battered front of the cage lifted upward…leaving a wide, empty opening for Bucky to come through.

For several seemingly endless seconds, everyone was poised as they were, staring at each other, at the cage, or at the rams. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

Hurriedly glancing over his shoulder, Lionheart saw that the four tigers were now standing, kneeling, or sitting around Gazelle, each one gazing up with equally adoring, devoted looks, while the antelope extended her hoof out to the audience, emoting with the lyrics. Looking back, he spied Bucky narrow his thoughtless eyes at the group of mammals in the spotlight…and as the deer leaped forward, charging right out of his confinement with tossing head, furious grunts echoing and bellowing from his chest, and the sharp tines of his antlers (some whole, some broken) aimed straight and true, Leodore leaped as well to intercept him.

But he wasn't the only one.

Shots rang out from the side, spanging off the stone wall only inches from the rams beside the cage, and out of the corner of his eye he saw two of them leap out of the line of fire; he thought the one with a gun dropped it.

"Freeze! Hooves in the air!" This came from Judy, but similar words were echoing from Nick only seconds later, so he guessed they must have used the distraction of the large, shadowy bulks jumping between and past them to keep Cyrus or Doug from shooting them in turn.

He couldn't see what either of the rams might be doing though, because he had his paws full with Bucky—struggling, wrestling, bracing his feet against the stone floor and digging his claws in to keep from being shoved backward onto the stage. And Delgato was right there beside him, wrenching at the deer's other bulging shoulder.

"What…do you think…you're doing?!" he hissed, snarling under his breath; the music had picked up to a faster tempo, more instruments had joined in, and Gazelle was singing powerfully once again. There was still a slender chance they could keep this contained, with no one else aware of it.

"Are you kidding me…Leo?" The cop panted, gritted his teeth. "You're a big slab of beef…but so's he! You really think you can handle him by yourself?" He too braced his feet, veins standing out under the fur of his upper arms. "Besides…you're no spring chicken anymore."

"Who are you…calling old?"

Over Bucky's heaving, flexing back, through the jerking, tossing screen of his antlers, Lionheart could see Nick and Cyrus struggling as well, the fox having made use of his smaller, slender build and rapid-fire reflexes to once again get the drop on the ram, ducking under his reach and slamming into his barrel chest. Judy, he saw, was weaving and darting about, trying to use her own paw-to-hoof training, but the other sheep kept evading her. Only Doug wasn't moving, still standing cool and self-assured behind the cage, his rifle held at the ready; whether he was waiting for a command or a clear shot, it had the lion worried.

But he couldn't do anything about that. He could only keep his grip on Bucky—one arm wrapped under and around his chest in a wrestling hold, the other paw locking onto the back of the deer's head and neck to keep him from bringing his antlers into play. Even then he still had to keep twisting and ducking the bony rack whenever it came close. On the other side, Delgato was dodging similarly, and he had to privately agree that the younger lion's fresh, hardy muscles were coming in handy…because the combination of Bucky's natural prowess and that granted him by the Night Howler inflaming his primitive instincts was incredibly difficult to fend off. He's so…damn…strong!

Another sound, that of flesh connecting with flesh, came from the right, what he thought was one of Judy's large lapine feet slamming into an abdomen—and despite the fat and wool padding it, the sheep let out a very satisfying oof, staggering back and falling to one knee. But then the other sheep was there, barreling toward her, and she had to dart out of the way again instead of taking advantage of the opening. At least, from what he could see, the cage was between her and Cyrus, so the mobster couldn't get in a shot at her.

Not that he could truly pay attention to her, since at the moment the ram was instead pressed back against the wall, trying to bring his gun down—though whether to pull the trigger or simply pistol-whip Nick, he couldn't be sure. The vulpine was stronger than he looked, however, and was able to keep that hoof raised high, even as he evaded the other fist and aimed several fierce punches and kicks of his own toward his opponent.

Sweat trickled down the inside of his shirt, and Lionheart bit his lip until it bled as he struggled, harder than he ever had in his life. If he could, he would try to either wrap an arm around Bucky's throat to cut off his air supply until he passed out, or simply slam a fist into his temple to knock him unconscious; it would break his heart, but it was better than the alternative. Except the deer was gyrating beneath him so violently, and using so much brute strength, that he didn't think he could get an arm or paw free to do either!

There was, however, something he could do.

Taking hold of the stag with both arms, he managed a corkscrew maneuver that twisted him down and to the side…which not only sent his antlers down at a harmless angle toward the floor, but kept his other side up to the sky, exposed. Putting all his weight into the hold, all his strength, so that the other lion could afford to let up and loosen his grip, he growled, "Go…on! I've got him…for the moment. You know what you have to do!"

For a heart-stopping second he wasn't sure if Delgato understood him…or if he could get past the anguish that wrenched his handsome features. But then he nodded, and even as he still kept one paw in place to aid in the pin, the other moved, down and below…

And then, even over the music and the clapping, he heard it. Three soft, measured reports, the sound of projectiles hitting their mark, cutting through fur, flesh, and muscle.

The tranquilizers Bogo had brought were some of the best on the market, apparently, and also quite strong. After less than a minute, the deer began to sag beneath them, then to finally collapse in a boneless heap as he once again slipped into a drugged slumber. Shuddering in a mix of surging adrenaline and intense relief, Lionheart staggered back a bit, allowed Bucky to slump to the floor. Helplessly he stared down at his lover, feeling the tears welling up again. It had been the only way, but after so many doses, even over such a long time…? He would have to hope, and pray, that when they got him to a hospital, when the cure had been administered, he would check out in good health.

At least they'd stopped him, though. At least he hadn't gored the tigers, or Gazelle, or gone on a wild charge through the arena—

Delgato's free paw, which had been resting on his shoulder after also letting Bucky go, suddenly stiffened, clenched tightly. He looked up.

Nick half-lay, half-sat on the floor where he had been tossed when Cyrus managed to overpower him; from the way he was holding a paw to his face, he seemed to be nursing quite the bruise and would probably have a black eye in short order. Although she wasn't on the ground, Judy was also frozen, paws half-raised, as the ram who had lost his gun had recovered it, training it on her—and hers was now the one on the floor.

More seconds passed, while Cyrus aimed at Delgato, who aimed right back, and Doug watched it all with a calculating, cunning expression. Then, when none of them moved, the massive ram let out another bleat…not one of distress or frustration but pure, ugly wrath. "You…you think you are so smart, so strong, so in the right…you've ruined one plan, but do you really believe…that was the only means I had to win? You may have stopped him, but…" He paused, then shot a deranged smile at his sniper, who returned a much smaller, colder version before shifting his gun slightly; the red laser light flashed, then disappeared as it shot off at another angle.

"There's more than one way," Bellwether whispered ominously, "to skin a cat."

Instinctively Lionheart whipped his maned head to look behind him. As he had feared, their struggle had finally drawn notice. Gazelle stood quite still, utterly silent as she held her microphone in a slack grip; her tigers had twisted and turned to look their way as well, their expressions turning to ones of consternation, resentment, and stunned shock; and all the musicians had ceased playing. Other than the querulous sounds of murmuring, grumbling conversation from the audience, and the hum of feedback through the speakers, all was quiet.

And the red dot of Doug's rifle sight was sitting, square and true, on one of the tigers' white-furred, upper pectorals.

The Barbary's heart jerked, his throat locked up—and as he saw Delgato out of the corner of his eye, rushing forward onto the stage and waving both paws vigorously (one displaying his badge), once again he was leaping into motion.

Time seemed to slow.

The glitter-speckled tiger widened his eyes at the sight of two lions barreling toward him, and though he didn't seem to be moving, he did instinctively reach behind him to make sure Gazelle was shielded by his striped body.

Lionheart finally found his voice. "No! Get out of the way! Get out of here, all of you! He's got a—"

Delgato seemed to be roaring too—or was that his blood, surging in his ears?—and without thinking, he twisted to the side, ramming his shoulder into the young cop, knocking him toward the shining blue wall of the stage curving up to rise high above their heads, out of the bullet's path.

He saw the lights of the stadium, and more lights flashing in the crowd as fans inexplicably took photos.

He saw the four tigers finally moving, leaping back, to the side, down, dragging Gazelle with them and pushing her onto the stage floor in the center of their huddled forms.

He heard the gun fire.

Then, as time seemed to speed up again, he and Manuel landed with a solid thud on the smooth, polished wood of the stage itself, rolling and sliding together until they came to a stop, halfway between backstage and the group of distressed performers.

Slowly, very slowly, Lionheart raised his head…stared down at the Hispanic cop pinned half-beneath him, chest heaving and face white with terror…and then as he felt a strange, burning sensation growing and building within him, he followed Delgato's gaze downward.

A very familiar ampoule had the entire length of its needle buried in the golden fur of his chest…right where his mane had shifted aside, and where both his hoodie and T-shirt had, unbeknownst to him, been ripped open by one of Bucky's antlers during the struggle.

And the bright blue liquid inside was draining rapidly into his body.

(A/N: The only thing really of note here is the concert. While the site's policy kept me from quoting the actual lyrics since they are not in the public domain, anyone who is a Shakira fan surely recognized that I had Gazelle performing three of her songs [two in this chapter, one in the previous] and implied what some of the lyrics were. Like most fans, I think Shakira's work is a great gold mine for Gazelle, though of course I commend anyone who picks other artists' songs or even makes up their own. While it would have been nice to find ones I could change to have more of an animal/Zootopia feel [particularly since this would have allowed me to quote them], the ones I did find were more representative of the situation and the emotions everyone is feeling in it, and also happen to be ones I really liked once I gave them a listen. Aside from being far too apropos, I have to say "Animal City" is far too upbeat and fun for some of its lyrics. I chose these three also because they were the most recent ones of Shakira's I could find that had appropriate lyrics; since I am assuming "Try Everything" came out in 2016 in-universe as well, I wanted something for the concert that wasn't too old [but might be considered favorites the fans would request]. So, look them up if you don't already know them, and see if you agree that they're fitting!

As for Gazelle's tigers, the name I've given to the backup dancers, the Asmita Brothers, is a Sanskrit name meaning "strong as a rock". Appropriate, eh? You'll get to learn their given names too soon enough.

Let me also apologize for the length for a number of the past chapters [and the ones that are upcoming!]. It comes from the fact I have a certain structure I wanted to maintain in the story, and that combined with certain scenes taking longer or having more depth to them than I expected has caused the chapters to grow enormously. Of course anyone who's already a fan of mine should be used to this by now. :P And my apologies for this awful cliffhanger I'm leaving you with, but you must expect that too by now. Merry Christmas, eh? R/R!)