Jack Savage
"Tyse Loupin... Brenton Ramure... Cynthia Fangmeyer..."
I repeat the names one after another. It isn't the first time I've done this, but each time I make a list I hope to god it's the last.
A team of small mammal doctors had been sent through the tunnels Judy had discovered, along with a team of moles to get in touch with those in the blocked-off areas and figure out how to dig them all out. They're still taking a census of the survivors.
Nineteen dead at the last count. Nineteen of the best ZPD officers and Razorbacks and ZIA agents, not counting the RACER members. The number is likely to triple.
One by one I carve their names across my memory. My muttering is a soft whisper, but each name I utter feels like the tip of a jagged scalpel scraping along the inside of my skull.
I press the blade deeper for two names in particular. I can almost feel my mind bleeding.
"Lenny Packard... Adrienne Mustela..."
They've yet to find Lenny's body, but it's only a matter of time. I'll never have to put up with his dirty jokes again, or conveniently ignore the fact that he browses porn while he waits for his PCR gels to run. I'll never have to snap my fingers to catch her attention, or prod her to put down whatever electronics she's fiddling with to get to work on a priority task.
There's never been so many before. Never such a big failure. There's going to be an investigation, and chances are Seraphine is gonna clip my ears for this... but there's so much to do still. Seventeen Sanguinis Praetors have been killed. A dozen or so henchmammals killed or captured. We have that at least. No thanks to me of course, but for the sake of the mission, we have that.
The halls of the ZPD are empty. There are only a few clerks around at this time of night, and most of the officers in the district are off dealing with the aftermath of this catastrophe. Several had psychological breakdowns and had to be put on leave. But I can't afford to rest or heal or talk to a therapist. I need to stay strong. I need to focus.
The mission. I need to focus on the mission.
I push through the double doors to the morgue, and the smell of formalin and ethanol stings my nostrils. It's a good smell, harsh and astringent. Nothing like the smell of smoke and sulfur, the harsh tang of smoldering metal and concrete, or the savory stench of roasting flesh like the greasy fumes of a Bug Burga joint.
The snow leopard on duty is wearing a labcoat and a face mask, and she looks up at me. There isn't a trace of surprise at my unexpected arrival.
For an instant I'm about to ask where Lenny is. I want to tell her- no, demand that I expected him to do the autopsy.
Reality is like stepping into an icy puddle... a sharp chill cuts through my annoyance, as embarrassing as it is uncomfortable.
"Good evening Agent Savage," Dr. Therona greets me, "I didn't expect you. I was going to give my report in the morning."
"It's fine, Therona," I say, standing up straight. There. I'm always in control. I won't be painted as an emotional bunny that can't handle the pressure. "I'm sure you can imagine there aren't too many reports for me to sift through right now. I'm just trying to stay on top of any details I can get."
There aren't too many reports of course because about a third of my task force is now dead, and most of the survivors are either in shock or in the hospital.
My excuse for being here in the morgue is a thin one as well. I just needed to come to the one place in the City where I can get some solitude. I just needed a little time to brood and be alone, with those that won't judge me for my mistakes.
Fat chance of that, of course. The dead judge me like everyone else. But at least I know for certain they'll be quiet about it.
"Of course, Agent Savage," Therona says politely. "I'll need you to authorize a full autopsy, but I feel the examination so far is fairly straightforward. Our John Doe... well, John Buck rather... is a young rabbit, somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties, though he's been well taken care of. Quite pleasant to work with, really. Most of the bodies I need to examine aren't so nice to look at."
She lifts the tarp covering the corpse.
At first the assorted features are like those on any other rabbit I've seen. White fur, pink nose, long ears. But then there's the shape of his muzzle, the curve of his mouth, and the eyes. Large, violet eyes that'd been beautiful once, but are now misted over in death. He's cold and limp, and the way his body is so slack makes it seem as if he isn't a corpse at all, but something completely inert. Like a pretty doll. Therona's right... as one of Rufinius' prized sex slaves he has a soft, graceful form to him, but that's not what I see.
His features coalesce, and as I take in his face I start to recognize him.
"The body was recovered from the warehouse your team first broke through, stored in a barrel. One of the mammals conducting forensics in the area uncovered it. When he smelled a bunny he hoped it was still alive, but... well," she shrugs. "By the muscle tone he must've expired a few days ago, but the condition of the body is quite well-preserved. I can only presume he'd been placed in cold storage shortly after he was killed."
My heart comes to a complete stop. The blood freezes in my veins.
"This was found next to him as well," Therona says, indicating the black rose sitting in an evidence bag on the table. Its the edges of each petal is fringed with blood-red, like the smoldering edges of a sheet of burning paper. A Sanguine Shadow. The calling card for the Vulpes Sanguinis whenever they make a kill.
My paw feels numb and unsteady as I reach for it, like it belongs to some other mammal. Someone else is caressing that plump, still-dewy flower.
"Cause of death was strangulation. From the bruising along the neck I would say it was performed by a mammal on the low end of medium-sized, most likely a fox. I've determined from the pattern of bruising and pinpricks left by the claws that it was done by the right paw, but endoscopic examination revealed more extensive damage to the larynx, which means the left paw also had a grip over the right."
Pathologists are so remarkable, aren't they? The way they sound so clinical. How they so easily reduce a mammal to punctures and bruises and burns and organs. I'd never truly considered the callousness of it before. There'd been a whole life story once, in the body that lies before me. Therona though is only interested in the epilogue.
"Internal examination also found a substantial amount of semen inside him."
"Semen," I say flatly.
"I sent the DNA out for rush sequencing," Therona continues, tapping a pen against her clipboard casually. She's so nonplussed. How can she be so calm? So divorced from what's lying on the slab? "It belongs to none other than our very own Nicholas Wilde. Well, you know what they say about foxes, but..."
She clears her throat. "Sorry. I shouldn't make light."
"It's fine," I murmur. Honestly, Lenny would've made the same joke.
"There are no signs of abuse or trauma aside from the strangulation, so it's quite possible the sex was consensual. Or as consensual as it can be in this situation. I'm not ruling out a postmortem insemination of course, but I don't believe Nick was ever interested in that sort of thing."
Semen.
Nick Wilde.
Postmortem insemination.
Consensual.
Situation.
The words tumble through my head, and like an oncoming tide every single one of the names I'd worked so hard to engrave into my memory is washed away like marks in the sand.
"And you're certain it was Nick Wilde?"
"I'm waiting on the confirmation tests to make sure, but I'm quite positive, yes."
"Thank you very much, Doctor."
"Of course, Agent Savage," Therona says with a polite nod. "I'll give you full report in the morning, so unless you'd like to stay and watch I'll be continuing with the examination. Hopefully the dental records or DNA will help us identify our John Doe."
"That won't be necessary. And he's not a John Doe," I say, turning to leave.
"His name was Andy."
Andy.
Frightened, violet eyes. Mud-spattered paws. The mouthed words, "keep quiet." Up until that moment I'd never known that such bravery was possible in a rabbit. Not before a fox. But then came the screams, the pleas for mercy...
I don't even realize I'd made it to my office. One moment I was stepping out of the morgue, and in the muddled fugue I'd been lost in I'd wandered straight to this door. Blinking, I turn the knob and enter.
Taking out my phone, I flick through my browser, searching for an old song I would've never added to my playlist. A song I couldn't bear to listen to ever since I was a kit. Pressing the play button, I set my phone on my desk and unbutton my jacket.
Stars shining bright above you...
Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you..'
Birds singing in the sycamore tree...
Dream a little dream of me.
I fold my jacket and lay it neatly over my chair. I keep the lights off, but even in the dim light from the hall flooding through the window I can see my reflection in the glass. I loosen my tie a little, undo the first button of my shirt, then return to my desk and pull open the bottom drawer, taking out a crystal tumbler and my bottle of 1922 Claremont cognac. Three thousand bucks a bottle, only two hundred of these in the world. Well, one hundred and ninety-two, if I tick off the ones I've helped polish off.
It'd been so long ago. Everything before that horrible night is a faded blur. The memories are all dinged and dented, and reaching back is like trying to remember an old dream.
I can't remember what they looked like. I can't even remember how they smelled, but I knew that their scents had once been sweet and familiar.
Say nighty-night and kiss me...
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.
While I'm alone, blue as can be...
Dream a little dream of me.
There are a few things I remember though. The sweetness of a lullaby, though the words are long lost to me, and even the melody has become just a faint whisper. The little room I'd been raised in. There was a window with thick metal bars, but the golden light would filter through late in the afternoon, carrying in the warm sweetness of a summer breeze I'd never tasted out in the open.
I remember the creaky little bed... how one side had sunken in, but even still I liked to sleep in the nook that it left, snuggled up to her and Andy.
I remember the talk of genetic tests. The needles as they held me down to keep me from thrashing, the blood pulsing from my arm and into a tube... hot crimson jets of it spurting into the plastic vial with each beat of my heart. I remember the foxes taking her away, locking the door and leaving me pounding at the wooden surface. I'd always cried, but each time she would tell me to hush, that it would be okay.
No... no. Hold on to the happy memories. Focus!
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you...
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.
But in your dreams, whatever they be...
Dream a little dream of me.
I remember this.
She'd loved this song. We had the luxury of a cassette player... you remember those things, don't you? Magnetic tape, each could only hold ten or twelve songs total. But lucky us, this was the first song on one side, and mom could just press rewind until the cassette clicked, and we could play it all over again.
I lean back, my tongue and nose bathed in oak and jasmine and the smoky scent of a cigar box. How many have I had by now? I don't remember. A thin layer of cognac clings to the inside of the glass, crawling down in trailing streaks. A warm buzz floods through me, and with that buoying my mood, I take out my keys and unlock the top drawer of my desk.
Stars fading but I linger on, dear...
Still craving your kiss.
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear...
Just saying this...
I take out an old RGS-14. The first off the line. The first I ever owned. A memento from another failed mission, one where two agents had died. It'd been too painful to bring this one out in service again, but for the sake of the dead I'd kept it as a memento, with one bullet in the chamber.
One is all I need.
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you...
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.
But in your dreams, whatever they be...
Dream a little dream off me.
I toss back the rest of the cognac, staring out the window and into the night. You can't see the all stars against the glow of the City, but the night sky has its own alien beauty nonetheless. That indigo canvas is painted with a blush of rose and green and gold from the shining districts below. It's enchanting, but as much as I love Zootopia, I'd never truly considered it home.
Has anyone in the big city ever truly seen the stars? The Milky Way, a thick band of twinkling lights stretching from one horizon to the next, like a road paved with gems.
And I wonder... did mom ever get to see Zootopia? Not the Zootopia I'd come to know, certainly. But back then... did she ever get to see the City for what it was? A place where anyone can be anything. A place where a bunny can become a cop. A place where an orphan can become an Agent.
Where a slave can be free.
Dream a little dream of me...
Getting to my feet I set my glass on the table and close my eyes. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing as I raise the gun to my head. All I can think of now is the melody. The view of the Milky Way, spread out across the sky like a diamond-studded path. It's beautiful, even through the bars of that little window. Even as I look up, curled in that sunken nook in the bed I dream of walking that road someday. With my brother Andy's arms around me, and my mother's paw on my shoulder.
I dream of walking among the stars.
Dream a little dream... of me...
There's a quiet knock at my door.
"Jack? Jack are you all right?"
Judy Hopps' voice cuts through the moment, and I open my eyes again to the glow of the city, the hum of rose and green and gold. The stars are gone.
"Please leave," I say in a low whisper.
"Jack? Is that you?" she knocks again.
"Please leave," I say again, more firmly this time, but my voice starts to crack.
"Dr. Therona texted me. She said you were acting really strangely. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" The muzzle is pressed firmly against my temple, and my finger is on the trigger, but my paw begins to shake. In the glass I can see my reflection. The tears are welling up in my eyes.
"Well... I'm not, Jack. I'm not fine..." Judy murmurs. Her voice is soft and broken, and when she speaks she lets out a small hiccup. She's been crying. "Look, I know you're tough, and disciplined... but... I'm worried. We're all worried about you."
"I TOLD YOU I'M FINE!"
She pauses, and for a moment I almost believe she's about to go away, when she speaks up again.
"I'm coming in, okay?"
"NO!" I snap, beginning to choke up, but the doorknob turns with a click as she enters. Even though I'd been running on autopilot ever since I left the morgue, had I not locked it? Had I seriously neglected to ensure my own privacy for this?!
No, don't you dare think this is just a cry for attention. Don't you DARE suggest that this is a subconscious plea for help.
"Jack!" Judy gasps, and when I turn around her eyes, though pink and still faintly puffy, are now wide open. Her pupils have shrunken back into small beads. Putting both paws to her mouth she stands there, trembling in horror, as I remain behind the desk holding the gun to my head.
"Jack... wh- what are you doing?!"
"STAY BACK!" I shout at her, but my own legs are shaking. My liquid courage begins to give way, and I crumple forward. Planting one paw on the desk to steady myself though I keep the gun up. The tears are spilling down my cheeks... I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to cry, but now my vision's blurry, and I just want to turn away from her, to curl up into a little ball. But if I did she'd probably lunge at me and try to snatch the gun. Us bunnies are fast, and my senses have been dulled by the booze and the exhaustion and the string of sleepless nights that'd ended in this one.
"Jack... Jack, please don't do this!" Judy says. Though her eyes are wide and frightened, she keeps a tight leash on her tone. She takes a step forward.
"Don't you DARE!" I belt it out in a roar, more ferocious than you'd ever expect from a bunny. But though she pauses mid-step, she doesn't back down.
"Please, Jack. Just... just put it down. Let's talk about this, okay?" She really is a great officer, isn't she? The way she's trying so hard to stay calm, trying to talk me down like I'm some crazy standing on the ledge.
I laugh bitterly. "Talk about what? About the incident reports? About the names? About Loupin, or Ramure, or Fangmeyer, or all the rest?!"
I could say that my mind is starting to crack, but I'm beginning to think I'd broken long ago. No sane rabbit would've survived this job. Not in the undersea lab. Or the Cairo incident. Maybe I should've been locked up the first time a mission took a direct line to Fuckshow City, bound up in a long-sleeved canvas coat and tossed in a padded cell.
Maybe if that'd happened, nineteen-plus mammals would still be alive.
"Jack... you're stronger than this, okay? I know it. Please... think of what Agent Elkredge would say. Or Skye! She's still in the hospital! She needs you!"
My chest is rising and falling with heavy breaths, and I stare past her through the haze of tears. It's so cheap the way she's trying to talk me down, bringing up the two friends I have left. Elkredge. Skye. The names of the living. Their faces drift through my mind, still crisp and vibrant, nudging aside the broken old memories of my childhood.
"I'm sorry, Judy... I never should've brought you into this..." I whimper, trembling as I slide down to rest my weight on my elbow.
"I signed up for this, Jack..." Judy says, trying to sound warm and sympathetic. She takes one slow, careful step towards me, but she doesn't raise her paws like she's about to snatch my gun. "You're not the only one who puts his life on the line. Risking ourselves to protect others... that's what we do at the ZPD."
"That's not what I meant..." I lift my head up. She's only a few steps away from me now. My paw tightens on the handle, my finger pulls ever so gently at the trigger. I feel the faint pressure of the first stop. Just a hair more and there'd be the click, the harsh crack, and then the silence.
"This line of work... it has a way of robbing you of your innocence, Judy," I say, and my voice is beginning to break. "All the things I've seen, all the things I've done... it kills you inside. It crushes your dreams. Not all at once, but little by little."
I sniff, and I can taste the salt of my tears in the back of my throat. "But the truth is, I never knew innocence. Ever since the day I was born... from the moment I was conceived I was an abomination. I never knew what it meant, or how precious it was, to be innocent..."
My words come out in a broken whimper.
"Until... until I met you."
"Jack..." Judy's reaching out now, her violet eyes wide and hopeful. "If I had to do it all over again, knowing what I know now, I'd still do it. I have to do what's right, even if it means seeing violence, or cruelty, or outright evil. I'm not gonna close my eyes to all of that just because the world thinks I'm some cute little bunny who needs protecting. That's who I am, Jack."
My sleeve is getting damp with my tears, and I scrub one eye with my wrist as a fresh, new understanding hits me.
I sniffle. "Judy... can... can I ask you one question?"
"Of course."
I sit up then, leveling a long, considering gaze on her.
"Did you fuck him?"
For a moment the question hangs in the air. The gentleness in her eyes is gone, replaced by stark, horrified shock. She wasn't innocent after all, was she? There has to be someone on the inside, there has to be a mole passing all my secrets to Rufinius. No fox could be that clever. No fox could think that far ahead to destroy me and everything I've fought for. Not unless they had inside help.
"Wh-what?"
And all of a sudden Judy sounds so small and frightened, like a kit caught in the middle of breaking the rules. I knew it. I fucking knew it! The foxes had always known how to infiltrate anything, and with so many pet bunnies in their service one was bound to join the ZPD.
"His red rocket," I hiss, "His knotted blood balloon. Did he slide his FILTHY FUCKING FRISK COCK inside you?!"
"J-Jack! I... I don't..."
It's all so clear now. Why hadn't I pinned this to her earlier? She'd pressed me to go on this disastrous venture... batted her pretty little eyes and told me that Wilde could be trusted. It couldn't just be the blind love of a smitten bunny rabbit that led her to do that. They'd gotten to me through her, had her whisper lies in my ear.
I'd finally figured it all out.
I laugh, and it's a happy, wild giggle that shakes me down to my heels. Swinging the gun I point it at the traitorous little whore. I step around the desk, storming straight at Judy as she backs away in terror. When she stumbles and falls to her tail with a light thump I press the muzzle right between her lovely eyes. She's done me quite the favor getting so close to me.
For a moment Judy glances around the room, looking for a way to defend herself. I can almost hear the thoughts running through her head. Can she fight back? Can she try to make the first move? She's Judy Hopps after all. The star officer, the never-give-up Pollyannna. She could at least try...
But no. She's facing Jack Savage isn't she? Secret Agent bunny, with years more lethal combat experience and the willingness to use it. And he sure looks like he's gone craaaaazy. She couldn't even twitch before I pulled the trigger.
No. Brave as she is, courage isn't gonna save her this time. She chooses to be smart.
"Jack... Jack, don't..." she swallows, and fresh tears well up in her eyes. It's almost funny, the way she goes cross-eyed staring down the barrel of the gun. The fox's cockwarmer can only sit there, paws held out. "P-P-Please stop!"
"Your boyfriend is a rapist, a slaver, and a mass murderer. That's the mammal you chose to take to bed. That's who you've sided with. You don't get to tell me what to do, FRISK-FUCKER!"
Everything falls away now: the pain, the fear, the sorrow, the nostalgia. There is only clarity and purpose, straight as an arrow, strong as steel.
"Jack... Jack, no..." the little bitch's ears hang limp behind her head, and her voice breaks. "This isn't like you. You're... you're having a breakdown. Please don't do this!"
"This ends now," I intone, in a voice cold enough to freeze the sun.
"Jack... it's me, Judy! I'm Judy Hopps! I'm... I'm from Bunnyburrow! I've got almost three hundred brothers and sisters! Parents! And... and I'm your friend!"
"Shut up," I growl. "Don't you dare give me this clumsy attempt to personalize yourself. You're his creature. His thing. But Rufinius should've trained you better."
"J-Jack... Jack, please..."
Those soft violet eyes have turned into glossy pools, and long wet trails pour down her gray cheeks. Had she really been crying for her dead comrades earlier, if she still has so many tears to shed for herself?
Those eyes... Andy had violet eyes, once.
I shake my head as I chuckle, and sway back and forth slightly, though it isn't the alcohol this time. It's a danse macabre, a waltz to a tuneless song that only I can hear. I feel like I'm walking on air. "No... no you're not gonna trick me. You and your vulpine sugar daddies have taken everything else. There's only one bullet in this gun, and you don't get to have it."
Eyes open, my mouth peeled back into a wild grin, I swivel the pistol back towards my temple and pull the trigger.
There is the click of the hammer, the harsh crack of gunfire...
And then the silence.
ZIA FILE CIR-330.14
The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 3 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-3 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.
NAME: Rufinius Varius Frisk (Codename: "The Prince")
SPECIES: Fox (Red)
BIRTH DATE: Sometime in 1936, age 80-81
HEIGHT: 4'0"-4'2" (approx)
WEIGHT: 70-75 lbs (approx)
NOTABLE FEATURES: Tendency towards custom haute couture, paisley patterns. Fondness for expensive food and drink, often found with accompanying prostitutes. Inclination towards classical French cuisine. A crisp accent, somewhat blunted with age, that "sounds like a razor being sharpened."
HISTORY: Though most members of the Vulpes Sanguinis have clandestine histories shrouded in half-truths, a good deal can be gleaned from Rufinius Varius Frisk's (hereafter referred to as "Rufinius," it's best to avoid referring to the fucker by his self-styled title whenever possible) background, given his semi-public life in his early years.
Born abroad in 1936, Rufinius' formative years coincided with the entirety of the Second World War. Though he was born to wealth and privilege, the economic impact and rationing of many post-war economies nonetheless led to certain deprivations in this phase of his life despite his status as a son of one of the First Families (see the Psychological Profile analysis below for more details).
Due to his remarkable intelligence, Rufinius was enrolled in Oxford University at age 15. At this time he began breeding roses as a hobby. Former classmates from 1949 and on recall him being the youngest of his siblings and the most subdued. Unlike the more extroverted Frisk children, Rufinius was more secluded and spent much of his time in the botanical gardens.
His homosexual tendencies were an open secret among his classmates, though he reportedly saw little bullying despite contemporary attitudes regarding his sexuality. At least two notable "accidents" occurred among the more aggressive students, after which no recorded incidents of bullying were to be reported.
In 1953, the discovery of the DNA double-helix by Rosalind Furanklin appears to have catalyzed Rufinius' interest in molecular genetics. By 1954, Rufinius graduated with degrees in Botany and European History upon which he immediately continued his education towards a PhD in biochemistry.
While working on his graduate thesis in 1956, multiple disappearances and kidnappings of bunnies were reported in the Tri-Burrows. It is believed that in this time, at the age of 20, Rufinius had begun breeding bunny slaves for sale on the international black market as well as for his own personal use. Rufinius graduated in 1958 magna cum laude.
Some time in the 1960s Rufinius moved to Zootopia. In this time he also married and fathered a son, Jacob Cornelius Frisk. Having done so in his late-20s to early-30s, this was considered a late stage for Rufinius to have started a family. No doubt this was due in large part to his homosexuality, though you gotta factor in his dick being too busy with his sick perversions as well.
The next decade saw Rufinius tentatively engaged with high society in Zootopia under the guise of being a courtly vulpine socialite born to old money. His quiet charisma and brilliance gave him a magnetic presence in his circles, and his dinner parties were known for being indulgent and high-class affairs while refraining from being too gaudy. Despite this however, Rufinius was outshone by his much more outgoing siblings in social events (see ZIA file CIR-330.10 to CIR-330.13 for more details).
With the opening of the cold era of the Blood Wars in the late 1970s however, escalating tensions led to Rufinius' siblings dying off one by one. Whether they were murdered in gang disputes or on Rufinius' orders is unknown.
By 1986, four bunny breeds were revealed to be on international black markets which can be traced back to Rufinius' work.
In 1995, the Blood Wars heated into multiple deadly confrontations between the First Families, at which point it was believed that the Vulpes Sanguinis was forced to flee Zootopia due to police pursuit, despite their extraordinary success in apparently eliminating the remaining First Families and their bloodlines.
In 1996 intel on Rufinius' location and movements was discovered in Operation Oranos, along with the newly discovered Sanguinis breeding facility known as "The Farm." A team of ZIA investigators and Razorbacks was immediately dispatched, but the Sanguinis had only recently abandoned the site along with [REDACTED]. However, the asset known as [REDACTED] survived the purge, and was henceforth recovered. The area is now under ZIA control.
TALENTS: Rufinius had a broad network of acquaintances throughout the upper echelons of Zootopian society. Interview efforts have been largely unsuccessful, due most likely to fear of Sanguinis retaliation. However, what little information can be gleaned indicates that until the Sanguinis' exodus in 1995 Rufinius had kept up-to-date on modern advances in genetics and appeared to be the equal of a contemporary researcher on the subject. No doubt this knowledge was put to use in his breeding experiments.
Rufinius' exceptional intelligence is by far his most dangerous asset. Analysis of Sanguinis operations under his management indicates that he generally has multiple plots operating in parallel, serving to confuse investigators. He seems to be both exceptionally well-prepared in laying out far-flung stratagems (he is noted as once having said "plan two steps ahead, then take a third," though it's not as clever as people seem to think), as well as improvising sudden and unexpected action. Rufinius often engineers carefully planned chaos in order to sow discord and confusion among his enemies in order to gain an advantage.
Rufinius appears to also possess a high degree of talent in psychological manipulation. His followers seem to have a cultish devotion to the Frisk family, and reports of him taking pleasure (literally... gross) in mentally breaking his enemies abound. Frisk is also known to be capable of seducing new allies to his cause by appealing to their psychological weaknesses. One prime example would be the recruitment of Sebastian Dusk (AKA The Smiler, see ZIA file CIR-332.53 for more details).
Under his tenure as their leader, the Vulpes Sanguinis has become an exceptionally dangerous and adaptable force. They're like fucking cancer.
PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Rufinius' childhood experiences during World War 2 and the impoverished post-war recovery appear to have led to him developing three notable behavioral traits: Rufinius' belief in ruthless conquest primarily through coercion and subversion (though instances of open force have been noted), his tendency towards perverse hedonistic excess, and his contempt for anything that reminds him of the leaner aspects of his childhood.
This last trait is particularly interesting, as it manifests as a particular hatred of cheap root vegetables, carrots in particular. Rufinius' hatred of carrots is quite infamous among his inner circle, and it's believed that it may be a contributing factor for bunnies being his choice of species for enslavement.
Regarding Rufinius' late engagement in fatherhood, another possibility arises. Given the decrepit old asshole's god complex it's clear that he despises the idea of his own mortality. Having been forced to pump out a kid is equivalent to him giving life to a walking, talking reminder that'll one day be doing a waltz six feet above his rotting, semen-crusted corpse. It is believed that Rufinius' relationship with his son Jacob is poor.
Rufinius appears to exhibit high ratings in all three qualities of the Dark Triad: psychopathy, Machiavellianism, and narcissism.
He is callous, utterly unburdened by empathy or emotion, and though he may convince his followers that he cares (due to his intimidating and even gentle charm), he considers those who serve him as objects towards a greater end goal.
Rufinius also exhibits a profound willingness to manipulate and exploit his allies for personal gain, often through complex and convoluted means. Notable is his utter disdain for lying when doing so. For Rufinius, the mark of a truly brilliant gentletod is the ability to deceive without saying an untrue word. It is crucial to read between the lines when speaking with Rufinius (if it ever gets to this point) and to measure his words carefully.
As for narcissism, you need an abacus to count the times Rufinius has spoken to guests in his home while getting his cock licked by one or more of his pets. He'll dress in tailored silk suits and talk about Baroque art while he's spilling his load just because he thinks he's so fucking above everyone else that basic social mores like "it's not polite to get you dick sucked when you have company" are beneath him. No, his version of etiquette is offering his guests a bunny slave so they can also get their own poles polished while they chat or dine or get their throat slit or whatever. Even if they refuse it's just him literally swinging his dick around, showing that he has so much fucking power over others that he can get away with it and you better fucking smile and eat shit and treat it as perfectly normal.
Addendum 1 (May 3, 20XX): Agent Savage, when I asked you to update this file I expected you to take this seriously. Keep your jaundiced and crass opinions to yourself. I want this fixed by the end of the week. ~The Director.
Addendum 2 (May 3, 20XX): I'm sorry, Director. I'm not sure how else to describe the cousin-fucker getting his knob gobbled. If you think that last paragraph was crass you don't want to know about his other personal activities. I haven't even begun to list his parade of depravities I learned of while growing up. ~Agent Savage (ID# 057)
Addendum 3 (May 4, 20XX): Don't worry, Director. I'll make sure Jack gets it done. He just needs to unwind. You know how touchy the subject is for him. ~Agent Skye (ID# 098)