04/20/2021 - Consistency edit

Foreword

2020 was a hell of year wasn't it?

December 26th, 2018

In a diner at the Southeast end of Savanna Central, the 3-7pm radio show played whilst two good friends shared a table, trying to unwind before a returning to work after some well earned leave.

"All in all, it's been one Hell of a tumultuous year. Bring on 2019! Less than a week to Zoo Year's Eve, let's make it a good one, folks!" declared Ronny, one of the 3-7 hosts.

"That's the biggest word I think I've ever heard you use," teased Ren, the other host.

"I've made a point of learning a new big word every week. This week: Disgruntled," declared Ronny.

"Here we go. Speaking of, I see those WattSec guys are still floating around," said Ren.

The sound of an enthusiastic table slap sounded briefly.

"Alright Renny, my friend, what is your oh so valuable opinion on Watterson Security, better known as WattSec?" Ronny asked, with forced gusto.

"Are we still on air?" asked Ren, cautiously.

"Of course, mate."

"In which case I'm staying quiet," Ren snapped, without so much as a single breath.

"Oh no, you're not getting off that easy," said Ronny with a victorious chuckle, "spit it out, my man."

Ren inhaled deeply: "So the ZPD had a bad run in the way of a terrorist coup d'état, so I get they needed a little leg up. That said, it's been a whole month since the hydro-plant incident and they are still here."

Insert awkward pause.

"And here's producer Gavin giving us the anti-political glare. Let's get some bloody music on," explained Ronny, audibly nervous.

A red fox named Nick Wilde scoffed and turned to face his partner in busting crime – the lithe Judy Hopps, bunny cop, the one and the only.

"With WattSec sticking around maybe we'll be ready for next time, huh Carrots?" Nick mused.

Judy's phone slapped down with a sudden thud, "Next time? What's this about a next time?"

"Well, you know," started Nick, "they say bad things come in threes. I figure maybe it's the same with power-hungry lunatics!"

"Ugh. Do not say that," Judy said, wincing. She then asked with a raised brow, "So if bad things come in threes, what do good things come in?"

Nick leaned in and said with trademark slyness, "Well Carrots, good things, come in small packages."

"Oh, you," said Judy, rolling her eyes and glancing across the room.

A thoughtful expression took over her features and her glance switched to a scan as she searched for a familiar face, "Hey Nick."

Nick hummed quizzically.

"Isaac not work on a Thursday night?" asked Judy.

"Last I heard he doesn't work any night. Ole Mister Beaver face fired him over last month's debacle." Nick explained dejectedly.

"But… Why?"

Nick shrugged, "He didn't want any bad press or some BS like that."

"Poor kid," remarked Judy.

After a pause Nick stood with something of a start and began to leave, saying "I'd better make tracks."

"Wha…? Why?"

With a slight look of guilt he replied "I need to make sure my laundry is done."

Judy scowled.

"I told you! What did I tell you? Get your laundry finished on the first day of your vacation," she scolded with an undisguised huff.

Whilst paying for the evening's refreshments, Judy quietly eyed Nick as he left the building. She pocketed her phone and debit card as she saw herself out too.

Nick cruised down Zootopia's nighttime streets with Judy in the passenger seat. Judy glanced at the red fox – he laid back in his seat with both paws firmly on the wheel.

Relaxed, yet also focused on the road.

A smile overtook Judy's features as she turned aside to once again watch the sights fly by. She felt quite pleased that she needn't even ask for a ride home. Then again, friends do that for each other, so no big deal.

Perhaps she thought too much about it. Was friendship all there could be to gain from that tenacious dog? I so, was that a bad thing?

As if sensing her thoughts, the dog himself asked "Are you quite alright there, Carrots?"

There it is again. His common means of addressing her is a downright slur. She should hate it, yet she loved it.

"Yes. I'm just fine. Why do you ask?"

"You've been utterly silent since we left the bar," he said.

"Okay, you got me," said Judy, "I'm not exactly looking forward to tomorrow."

She expected a record-scratch tier reaction. Instead, Nick gave a thoughtful nod and said "I know that feel, that is the real reason my laundry isn't done."

"Oh yes, yes. Yes indeed," Judy mocked.

"For real though," continued Nick with a distinctly more downtrodden tone, "Before November, I could contentedly take ups and downs aplenty. These days, nothing seems normal anymore."

That hit different. Judy fell silent again.

"Shit. Sorry to be such a downer. . ."

Judy put a paw on his shoulder, "Hey, don't be like that, I get it. I've avoided thinking about our return this whole time."

In between watching the road, Nick glanced over and smiled.

Spotting a familiar tower, Nick braked and deftly aligned his cherry red crisis-mobile with the kerb, with merely an inch between them.

Judy wasn't quite ready to go yet. She leant toward Nick and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, holding her close, craning his head back to gently kiss her forehead and make it a cuddle.

That's better.

Judy reluctantly let go and made her way up the steps. At the door she waved "See you tomorrow Slick."

"See you tomorrow."

Watterson Engineering and Development CEO and co-founder Walden Watterson, a middle-aged arctic fox, reclined in an office chair and spun idly in a dusty, unfinished corner office.

The cling wrap on the freshly acquired seat squeaked as the old dog reached out to fiddle with some loose cabling hanging from the ceiling.

"Those are live, you know," declared a buttery female voice.

The old fox's paw retreated sharply as he muttered "I knew that." He sat up straight to give the newcomer proper attention.

The vixen stepped forward and passed a written report to the old dog. He skimmed through, frowning.

The old fox tossed the papers aside. The resulting 'plap' of the stack hitting the floor startled him.

"There is going to be desk there…" He cleared his throat gruffly and said "look, I know you didn't come all this way through my brand new facility just to show dear old Dad what you wrote at school today."

Lilith Watterson silently swallowed her frustration. Her father, despite counseling and self-help, still reveled in being an evasive prick.

"We've still heard nothing," she said with a stern voice.

"From our clandestine expedition team? I should hope not!" scoffed Walden.

"It has been forty-eight hours since the agreed contact time," said Lilith sharply.

"And?"

Lilith had to press on her temples before she could continue.

"There is a storm rolling in from the South – if things have gone awry that inclement weather will be the final nail," she explained morbidly. She took a further step toward Walden and stressed with great emphasis "Because if they light up a beacon and we aren't the ones to collect them…"

Walden's snide look had long since waned, leaving behind a furrowed brow and an unsavory grimace.

"That's it then. Recovery team, A.S.A.P. The stakes are too damn high for any less," he declared.

"Hmph. Were it so easy… I've got the gear but no paws to take it. I'm dead in the water," she said, adding "That is why I'm here, Dad."

Walden gave her a curt nod as he gathered his thoughts "I'll get on the line to Cussler, get you some dossiers. Time is security, get moving."

Lilith strode away without delay toward the empty doorframe.

"Sweetie, wait," called Walden.

Halfway through the portal, the vixen turned back, gaze fixed on her aging father.

"I know we've no time to be picky in regards to choosing the team – be careful not to choose anyone who might turn their knife on us."

Visible confusion.

"Not everyone is going to agree with our decisions," explained Walden with morbid finality.

Lilith nodded slowly in solemn farewell as at last she left the unfinished complex.

End Notes

I regret that I did not have this done sooner. That being said, Deliverer One Lost's character arc's and plot beats diverged from the original plan to make a better standalone story. As such, I had to basically restart planning the sequel. This is the Empire to my New Hope and I really didn't want it to become The Last Jedi.

I'm not saying my writing is anywhere near Lucas, I just love analogies.

All constructive criticism is most welcome, as always.