Chapter 32

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Emergency update:

Finnick overheard Dominic Bellwether talking with Kurt Wassermaim. Stop.

Seem to be very familiar with each other. Stop.

No overt discussion of evil doing. Stop.

Lots of seemingly deliberately vague and open to discussion discussions about potentially evil stuff. Stop.

Dominic worried about exposure of his family and risks to Maisy, saying he's already made her do things she does and doesn't want to do and that he wants to fulfil Dawn's final wishes. Stop.

Kurt claims that the 'quote-unquote' 'media under Murana Wolford' have made this a smear campaign against common sense, and that he originally wanted to use this to show predators their true place. Stop.

Kurt says that he thinks he'll lose the case, but carry on under principle, and that things coming up might change. Dominic said that he was inclined to act. Stop.

Mention of 'PSC'. Stop.

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Judy looked over Nick's shoulder, taking it all in. She looked up to the fox, who looked down at her, and asked the first question that came to his mind. "So, Carrots? Any idea why Mr Fox ends all of his texts with 'Stop'?"

Though wide awake and alert thanks to her caffeine intake, Judy was stymied by the query, drumming her right foot for a couple of seconds as she tried to figure it out.

"I'll just ask him," Nick said, shrugging before texting back. 'Why do you end all texts with stop?' "And send."

"Still," Judy said, musing it over. "Lots of interesting things. Maybe the whole Duke thing is a wild weasel chase. Has Ash come back with anything?"

"No," he said. "They don't like you texting in class, remember?"

"I…" she began, before carrying on tapping her foot again. "Still. They're close, and 'PSC'… Honey might know some stuff about it. I'll text her."

"And it might be wrong though," Nick added a bit pensively, stepping aside as a bunch of Lang wolves began walking past, this time carrying some heavy duty speakers and amplifiers. "It was a lucky coincidence the first time…"

"But she has looked into this more than anyone else," Judy said, putting a finger up. She reached down to her phone and texted in. "Any lead is a good lead, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "As long as we treat it carefully."

"I mean, we'll be doing cross checking and due diligence and all of that," she said, pausing as she got a reply. She looked around and then turned back down to her phone, typing in. "She'll be coming over to talk it through too!"

"I was talking more about her, and…" Nick began, trailing off as he saw Judy's ears go down. She turned to him, her nose twitching.

"You think we might trigger a relapse," she said, her voice hushed.

He nodded. "Dr Amy was worried."

"She contacted you?"

"Yes," he said, "initially to ask me WTC I was doing. Then, when hearing how she'd helped us so far, saying that I could use this to guide her into 'safe, controlled outlets' for her urges."

"Right," Judy said, glancing away. "Now I'm hoping it's Duke again. I mean, she spent all that time being taught that sheep were not evil… Only to find out that sheep were evil! I mean, what do you even call that?"

"Irony, Fluff."

"I…" she began, before pausing. Then snickering. Then laughing. Then gasping for breath. She recovered, wiping her eyes. "Thanks for that," she said. "I'll also try and keep all that stuff in mind when she gets here."

"Yeah," Nick replied, pausing as his phone beeped again. He looked down at it, his ears going back as Judy leant in to have a look.

Counter point. Why did you end your text message with stop on the end? Stop.

Nick frowned and, ignoring a newly humoured Judy, typed back in. What, like now?

"That fox," he said, rolling his eyes. "Why did I ever agree to be his kit's godfather… Does that make us god brothers in law? God…"

Judy chuckled some more.

"Yeah, and don't you forget which one of us is the funniest," he said, as Mr Fox replied back.

Naturally, now that I pointed it out, you've stopped ending your texts with Stop. Stop.

"Oh, I won't," she sassed, only to pause, her ears springing up and swivelling around, homing in on something. Immediately, Nick's carefree demeanor switched off, his ears going back as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

"Stat report?" he asked, claws digging in and calf muscles tightening.

"Cymbals."

"Cymbals…?" he asked, only to pause as the same set of Lang wolves who'd carried up the amps earlier moved past with all the parts to a drum kit carried between them. "Cymbals," he said, before sighing. "Ah crap, they're going to play protest music, aren't they?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Judy. First, protest music," he began, one finger up soon turning into two fingers up. "But not just that. Angry biker wolves with parent issues' idea of protest music. And then," he began, raising a third finger. "Angry biker wolves with parent issues' idea of protest music playing that protest music."

"Oh, that's what's wrong with that," the bunny realised, her ears going down as she tried to imagine the end result. She paused though, as her eyes glanced at the heads of two guitars sticking up, held by a mammal that decidedly wasn't a biker wolf. She tapped Nick before pointing over. "Well it seems they've got an outside musician playing for them."

"My ears are saying thanks already," he said, as they watched the guitarist slip out of the crowd and turn to face them, his eyes suddenly locking onto the pair. An act matched by the two mammals in blue in return. He was a silver fox. Not, as Judy mused on the spot, a Silverfox in name like Will or Kris, nor in the shade of platinum fur that the two had. No, this was a true silver fox, black furred with white interspersed within. His limb tips, front, face and the main body of his tail were all a dark black, while his back and sides, upper arms and legs, tail tip and the border of his face were the two toned colour, looking like old well worn silver. What drew her attention most though were his eyes, a vivid amber not that uncommon among foxes, but startling when placed within his black borders.

It reminded her of two things. The first was the ancient Efrafan song that William had sung, or at least his translation of it. Bright eyes, burning like fire. The other one was courtesy of her friend Sharla who, unable to become an astronaut, had instead graduated in astronomy. Though working on a different site and on different projects (mainly the HiLLEOT: High Latitude Long Exposure Optical Telescope, up in Bolvangar, Svalbard), she'd been super excited and talked to Judy at great length when that first ever picture of a black hole had been produced. An incandescent orange halo glowing around a black pit; this fox had a look about his eyes, like black holes in the sky.

Nick meanwhile took note of his other features. He was dressed in a more recent subculture style that some of the youth out there called 'celt', but he'd best describe as folk-punk with a splash of hipster in there too. He had full length baggy cargo pants on down below, held up by suspenders that were mostly hidden below his tan cargo vest. A long red Purrsian style scarf was wrapped around his neck, while a brown apple cap with holes roughly cut out for his ears was on his head, a (presumed) decorative black fur braid inlaid with gold thread hanging off of one side. Meanwhile, he wasn't holding two guitars; he held a double headed guitar in his paws.

But the big thing that he noticed though was that, despite being tense and lean and well seasoned, he was around Ash and Kris' age. Arguably, he should have still been in school.

"Hey, Nick Wilde, right?" he asked, coming forward. Nick smiled and relaxed a bit.

"Some call me that, yes," he said, liking where this was going.

"Conor," he replied, "Conor Lewis." He held out a paw and Nick shook it, subconsciously noting how hard and rough both his pads and knuckles felt. "It's pretty cool to meet you. You're kind of an inspiration."

"Well, I had some inspiration myself," he said, gesturing down to Judy, the bunny pulling her paw up and waving. He smiled and pulled his paw into a fist, holding it out for her to bump, which she did happily. Nick, meanwhile, was thinking a little. Oh sure, many impressionable local foxes saw his role in the ZPD as a big thing, but then again this kit was a bit of a sharper knife in the box than one Jimmy Frost (no offence intended to that lovable snowball). "The Lang's hired you to play for them?" he enquired.

Conor's ears ever so briefly flicked back, before returning to their normal positions. "Well, I sort of decided to come here after seeing that video. It's kind of personal, kind of hit me hard," he said, a paw going back to scratch his nape. "You follow what I'm bringing out?"

"I guess so," Nick replied, overstating the truth for the sake of diving deeper. "Silver fox for a Silverfox, correct?"

"Yeah, kinda," he said, giving a wide muzzle open smile. Nick blinked a few times as he glanced inside his mouth. His teeth were generally all in good condition, but it was impossible not to notice that his premolars on both sides were all gold, as if someone much bigger had once come along and sideswiped his muzzle. Suppressing a cringe, Nick remembered his rough paws and how he, now standing there with a guitar in his paws, saw the fox cop as an inspiration. The fox cop couldn't help but smile.

"Well, as long as your music's good and your school knows you're here, that's fine by us."

"Cool," he replied, nodding and making his way off, holding a paw up for a quickly matched high four.

Judy looked on smiling. "Two inspired foxes in one day," she said.

"Hey, it's what I do," he shrugged, smiling. "I make jokes and I inspire younger foxxo's."

"Fenneko's one was better."

"Yup. Entirely. One-hundred percent," he replied, glancing back only to frown a little. A bunch of the Lang wolves were helping the kit up onto the rock where they'd set up their equipment, acting quite a bit more personally than he'd of thought were he just a travelling musician. His ears went back, remembering all he knew about them and their affinity for lost and hurt children. Still, the Lewis kit didn't seem like a mad biker, and knowing what he thought of the fox cop, it seemed that his chosen path would only take him further away from that kind of lifestyle as time went on.

Any further discussions were cut short though as a shadow fell over both him and his partner, her nose beginning to twitch. Looking up, he realised that he wasn't so much looking at a giant biker wolf with parent issues, but the giant biker wolf with parent issues. "The name's Felix Dire Senior," he said, a massive callused paw held out. "I'm here to talk business."

.

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Meanwhile, off by the side of the protest, Honey was walking around. It was something! Lots of mammals, all turning up. She was a bit concerned by all those wolves or…

Well, no, she reminded herself.

If sheep weren't evil, then these guys were certainly not brainwashed dumb-dumbs.

At most they were just regular dumb dumbs! With big bikes, and flashy chrome, and they just looked pretty pawsome if she was honest.

Eh, she told herself, shaking her head. They weren't causing any problems, they were good.

Her phone buzzed and she read in the text from Nick and Judy, thinking for a second or two. Being on the mailing list, she'd naturally got the one straight from Mr Fox, with all that interesting news about their bad DA. Now, she knew that they and the wider Bellwether family had met before, on the campaigns and the like, but as for what they were actually working on (now that she knew her old theories were pretty much bunk)?

She didn't know.

Well, kind of.

PSC was something that she'd heard them, particularly the hippo, mention a few times in private conversations that she may or may not have been snooping on. She'd speculated on it, of course, but her various theories were just 'self reinforcing theoretical constructs' or 'houses of cards in your mind'. So not really anything useful.

It seemed that these new friends had just started to do the same thing, she…

She paused, looking around before sitting in a nook between two rocks. They were doing the same thing that she'd been doing, hadn't they?

Well, no. No, actually! She'd never done anything as ballsy as Jack's thing with the teacher or the mega hustle with Duke's room. And they were doing it for a good cause. An actual good cause, to save a real mammal against a real threat.

It was okay.

They knew what they were doing.

And maybe they were dipping into the kinds of things that she'd been doing, but they could control it.

They were good mammals.

They could control it.

And if she followed their lead, so could she.

She stood up, ready to walk over and help them, only to freeze as she heard some screaming and hollering going on. "I am a political prisoner! This is speciesism in action! I spoke the truth about prey supremacy and they arrested me for exercising my rights!" It was a ferret in a trenchcoat, currently being hauled out in a small mammal prisoner transport cage by two massive rhino's. Already they were beginning to draw the ire of the crowd, a mix of different mammals, both pred and prey turning to them and shouting them down.

"We all have rights!"

"You wouldn't do that to a prey, would you?"

"Stop oppressing him!"

There was a clamour as a few prey mammals stepped out, blocking the way. "Move," one of the rhinos ordered.

The leader, an okapi, stood tall as he ignored him, the horse sized brown and black and white striped forest giraffe stretching up as if he thought he could grow into one of his lofty savannah cousins. "Prey silence and oppression against predators has gone on for too long."

"There is a good prey!" the caged protesters shouted. "There is an ally. See that, wool lickers, he's on the right side of history."

His captor ignored him. "I said move it."

"We know we have prey privilege, and we will use it to block this act of prey supremacy!" he spoke, holding up his hoof high. "We know that we are not at risk of being muzzled, of being condemned as aggressive or savages, we know that the institutional prey supremacy means we're at less of a risk of being arrested and charged and…"

He was cut off as the rhino shoved the cage fully into his partners hooves and brought out his cuffs, grabbing the okapi hard. "Let me prove you wrong. You're hereby under arrest for obstructing an officer doing his legal duty."

"Let go of me!" he shouted, almost immediately met with a clamour of shouts from the surrounding protestors, demanding that both the ferret and okapi be let go.

"You know why!" the ferret shouted. "They're wool lickers! They're sheep! You're against them, they think you're all as filthy as each other! But they can't arrest you all! Resist! Resist!"

"Shut up," the rhino holding him said, jolting as a cougar made a lunge for the cage. He shifted his body mass to hip-bop him back hard, forcing him down onto the floor while throwing his captive around hard. A bunch of mammals were helping their fallen comrade off the floor as he cradled his head, all while shouting out about police brutality, about oppression, about speciesism. The rhino meanwhile was snarling at them, shouting at them to get back, calling for assistance as the scene got more hectic.

Honey was looking around, panicking as she retreated into her nook again. Stay outta trouble. Stay outta trouble. Don't let 'em all down…

"I said let go of me," the okapi shouted as he fought back. The rhino had finished cuffing him and pulled his heavy hoof up hard.

"Why, you asked for it?" he said, smiling. "It's called karma."

"Wool licker!" the ferret shouted, banging on his cage. "All of you wool lickers! Your true enemy is the sheep, they look down on all of us, but you can't let go of being above some, can you?"

"Yeah," the okapi shouted, as the rhino began to lead him off. "You'd never do this to a sheep, would you?"

"If he was saying that I'd never arrest him as I was speciesist, I'd be as happy to arrest him as I am you. Now get going!"

"Well that's just a traitor sheep, of course," he said, as a bunch of other officers came in. "You really enjoy removing any of them that get a conscious!" Shouting, some with shields up or tasers out, the new cops surrounded the rhinos and drove away the screaming crowds. While they kept being verbal, there were no attacks, though Honey, still tucked away and observing from her nook, was pretty sure that the big elephant cop had something to do with that. Even when she was crazy, she wouldn't want to start a fight against a team with one of those.

Off they all went, the okapi and ferret making sure to shout and shout as they went. The formers captor made sure to take long strides, dragging and jolting the protesting forest giraffe along, while the other seemed to jolt and shake a lot whenever a protestor pushed forward and shouted a bit, his cage and its occupant jostling around hard as a result.

And then they were gone, the protestors trailing a bit as the captives were led towards Precinct One, but then disconnecting from it and springing back, like chewing gum on the floor getting stretched up by a hoof only to then snapping back down. They stood, mingling, arguing, shouting, until one glanced over at Honey. "You okay?" one asked.

She breathed out. "Fine, yeah… I'm fine," she said, as another came up and took her paw, leading her on. "Uuuhh, I thought I said I was fine," she pointed out, the mammal in question letting go as she walked up to a small crowd. Some of those who'd stood by the okapi were there, while there were plenty of preds who'd been shouting on the sidelines.

"Well, just wanted to make sure," the deer in question said. "After all, you're a mustelid, and as seen there the police have no problem stamping down on your kind hard."

There was an angry murmur of agreement from behind, a sea mink stepping out. "Yeah, just like with them. How long do you think they'll throw them away for, months or years?"

"You know how it works," a coyote said. "They let you out with no charges, but plenty of 'injuries sustained'."

The deer nodded. "Yeah. Or, if they're two troublesome to them and the sheep elites, they'll just disappear them! They've done it before, they'll do it again."

Honey blinked, a shiver going down her back. It was silly, sheep weren't evil. They didn't disappear mammals, or…

Maybe these ones knew something else?

Maybe, in all her nonsense, she did miss a nugget of truth, and they found it?

Or maybe not.

Maybe this was nonsense like her old stuff?

Or maybe not.

Or maybe…

Or maybe…

"Hey, you alright down there…"

"-Uh, yeah, fine. I'm fine, uhh…" she asked, though her increasing twitches and nerves seemed to suggest otherwise. "What do you mean by 'done it before?'"

It was almost whispered out, yet it spread a grim silence amongst the small group. They looked at each other gravely, Honey glancing between them, pausing as she saw some of their signs. 'Resist the Age of Wool!', 'Shear them till the rams bleet!', 'Destroy the Cudspiracy.' Others had shirts: sheep heads with red crosses over them, or sheep/alien designs with the caption 'know the truth.' The deer turned back. "A while back, one amazing mammal began uncovering the truth about the oppression in this city and the world. Preds, and to a lesser extent prey, are all oppressed by the same small, tyrannical minority. The sheep legion. They run the government and are all over the institutions, their wool gets into all aspects of our society and tangles it up in their threads of speciesism and oppression. Only one mammal, brave, intelligent, clever, a paragon of right, dared to uncover them for what they were and speak the truth, and they reacted by silencing her, without warning, a couple of months ago. It can happen again, but that's why we fight. So that Gruinard Gal's martyrdom will not be in vain!"

.

.

"-And yeah! I was like, that stupid kit gets what he gets! What's he doing with nighthowlers? He was here for that, wasn't he? But then the news report was talking about how they didn't think it was him and that evil judge or whatever threw him in jail, so now I know he deserves to be out! So why don't you just go down there and get him out! You're the police, why don't you just do that, or are you on the hippo's side, huh?"

…

Catano sighed. "Ma'am, we just want to know if you saw anyone talking to this weasel?"

She, again, gestured to the photograph, the apron clad vixen looking at him, her ears twitching. "Oh, he's the one who sells stuff. He's been gone for a while. Did he vanish? Are you looking for him?"

"Kind of," the cheetah said, her patience wearing thin. She was beginning to regret going to the first member of the catering staff that she had seen. The vixen, at the time, had been chucking some stuff into the bins at the back, and it seemed like it would be an easy yes or no question.

"Well I do hope you find him. Clever little guy, selling stuff to the students. You know, back when my little kit was at school, he'd bring sweets and stuff inside and sell them to everyone. Tchhh, can't do that now or the health and safety nuts will get you. It's like they want none of the next generation growing up with any business sense!"

"Maybe," the cheetah said, slipping the picture away.

"-I mean, it's all those herd mammals up in admin. Sheep and deer and all that, who like all their children working together in big groups, all the same! Dressing the same, and learning the same, and thinking the same…" Catano groaned, but stayed quiet. "And voting the same, and just being boring, always thinking as a group and never for themselves. I mean, all the interesting mammals are predators, right? Prey are nice, but if the world was all prey it would be boring, everyone all the same, doing their government job and getting their government wage…"

"-Just like all three of us here," Catano finally said, stepping away. "Thanks for all the help, Miss."

"That's Mrs. Mrs Wilde," she said, paws on her hips.

Catano froze. "Do you have a son called…"

"-Nicky Wilde! Yup, my little kit is a policemammal too. If you see him, give him my love."

"I will," the cheetah said, briskly walking off and away. Out of hearing range, she slumped down and sighed. She'd never given Nick Wilde's parents any thought but, thinking about it now, she realised that the fox cop could have been much, much, much more annoying. And speciesist too…

Or…

She groaned. The thing was, she'd always seen predators as more individualistic than prey. After all, that was natural, right? Predators tended to be solitary or hang out in small packs, whereas most prey tended to clump together in larger herds. It was a completely natural, unavoidable, fact of life, and pointing that out shouldn't make anyone feel bad. Except right there, that predator was insinuating that it made prey more 'boring', less creative, less business savvy and more… -socialist? Again, undeniably, prey mammals were commonly known to lean far more to the left side of the economic spectrum, and in the past had been the bulwark of the union and social protest movements. But saying it in the tone that she'd been saying it, it sounded like she thought it made them lesser. Less interesting, less noteworthy, less important. In any case, veering to the left economically prey herds may be, they tended to be all over the place on the social left-right spectrum, many forming the bulwark of the hard social conservative movements.

And did she, herself, consider prey, sheep especially, as lesser in the same way? Because they liked to hold together, because they valued strength in numbers, unity and solidarity. What about Nick himself, he didn't think like that, or did he?

"What you thinking, Kii?" Wolford asked.

"Nothing," she replied, still trying to mull it over.

"Take two. What you thinking, Kii?"

She groaned. "What Nick's mother said just there," she began, gesturing back. "We can all agree that it's wrong, right? That prey mammals are just as intelligent and creative as predators, and aren't 'boring'…"

"Well I mean most of the big music acts are predators," he said with a shrug.

"What," she asked, paws on hips. "Like Bun-Jovey?"

He tilted his head. "Counterpoint: Prance."

"Jerry Vole…"

"-Is a predator," he cut off. "Just like Rod Shrewart. Bonus point, Al Shrewart."

Catano's eyes narrowed a little. "Okay then, but back to the rat pack…"

"-Ditto for rats."

Her eyes narrowed, further. "Unlike Frank Chinchillatra, you can't claim he's pred, can you?"

"Nope," he shrugged. "But my point still stands."

"Oh really? Then what about... -Kurt Cowbain?"

He rolled his eyes. "Matched out by David Growl."

"Pig Floyd," she countered. "David Gilboar, Roger Porkers, Nick Bacon and… The other one."

"-Richlard Wright," he filled in before smiling something dangerously smug. "But boars aren't herd mammals and love meat. If foxes… -and I just remembered that one concert I saw had a fennec guitarist backing them, I think his name was Tim… -If foxes are preds thanks to their diet, then I say so are boars. And with that, Jim Boarison, of The Boars."

Her fur stood up on end in response. "Let's be real, they're still prey," she insisted. "Just like…"

"-Def Leppard, Leopard Skynyrd, Leopard Cohen…"

"-That last one was a one-time typo and you know it."

"And what species was he?"

"I… -Gazelle!"

"Hyena Gomez!" Woford retorted, smirking a little as he began counting off his fingers. "M!nk. Katy Purry. Taylor Swiftfox."

"-Lady Baa-Baa," Catano cut back. "Uhhh -Ewe-2! Bruce Stingsteed… -Zebra-Zebra top!"

"The mammal," Wolford calmly said, "formerly known as Cat Stevens."

"Roy Orbsbun."

"Tom Puppy, Jeff Lynx…"

"-I thought it was Jeff Bin, the Binturong?" she asked, her head tilting.

Wolford's head tilted too. "I thought…" He shook his head. "Either way, still preds."

Catano blinked, before slapping herself. "Bob Dylamb."

"Direwolf Straits."

"Cage the Elephant."

"The Racc Keys. Alice Raccooper. Uptown Skunk."

"Warren Zebron."

"The Who: Pete Howlsend, Roger Donkey, John Anteaterwistle, Keith Moon-Moon the loon-loon."

Catano cut in. "Roger Donkey is prey."

"So twenty-five percent out of ninety percent," he countered. "Even the Beatles are statistically over pred represented. Paul McCatney versus John Lemming, George Hareison and Rhino Starr. And with George we now also have all the Travelling Willbillygoats, of whom none were billy goats. Two preds against three prey, four times over represented versus a third of the average."

"-But speaking of billygoats," Catano countered, her tail suddenly swishing around with excitement. "Dan Caproid and John Baalushi, aka The Blues Brothers. -And just because goats are the only species that's less fussy than pigs doesn't mean you can claim that they're preds."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging. "But what type made up most of their backing sets, may I ask? Ditto for most bands out there. I mean, even that Morongolian heavy metal band that went viral on Ewetube.. Mostly horses, but there's a wolf in there who makes it over pred'd. Roaring Stones: Mick Jaguar. Queen? Freddie Manatee…"

"-Prey!" she countered, smiling.

He closed his eyes. "Dammit, thought all those seal types were… -Still, Brian Margay. Which reminds me, Bob Margay! And from Led Zebrallin you had John Maul Jones. The Pretenders: Chrissie Hound… -Who was basically The Pretenders. Emersbun, Lake and Panther: bunny vs otter and panther."

"Fleetwood Yak," Catano almost shouted, snapping her fingers as she did so. "Mick Fleecewool, Lindsey Buckingham, John and Christine McVenison, Stevie Pricks! Sheep, deer, deer, deer and deer. Prey! Prey! Prey! Prey… -and prey!"

"Former lead singer, Peter Yeen."

The cheetah was left slackjacked. "-I… -Hareosmith!"

Wolford's grin couldn't be any bigger. "Lead singer Steve Tyger."

"I…" she began. "The OTM girls."

"...Who?"

"A small trio I saw once," Catano waved off. "Uh… Deadmou5…"

"-That's EDM, right?" the wolf asked, his head tilting to the side. "Never liked it, but I raise you Acid Cat."

"-Garry Antlerson…"

"Who's always performed with Coywire."

Catano frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose before clicking her fingers with realisation. "-Elkis! Elkon John."

"Status Quo's classic lineup: Francis Roarsi, Alan Lancatser, John Moggylan, Rick Purrfitt!"

"The boomtown rats!"

"-Rats love bugs, we already went over this," he said, condescending enough to make each one of his partners claws reach new limits of extension. "They're basically Preds. Anyway, Joe Jackal, Paul Simba and Art Garfield, Genetsis, The Minks..."

"Ed Shearan," she cut in, closing her eyes and drumming her foot as she tried to think. "David Bunny…"

Wolford's muzzle began to wrinkle and his ears folded back. "Aretha Franklynx, Vera Lynx, Van Howlen, Jimmy Houndrix, Eric Catlan…"

Catano's ears also folded back. "Baa'd Finger, MC Hamster…"

"Kings of Leon, Don McYeen, Fleet Foxes…"

"Shirley Bunny, Gordon Lighthoof, Brian Ad'dams."

"Harry Catlin, Brian Furry, Richard and Linda Tomcat, Elvis Catsello, Dingo!"

"Justin Beaver!"

Wolford blinked. "One, the simple fact that you can't match me ten to one means that I'm right. Two, I go home every night to find a twelve year old racoon practicing hard on his drums, the most popular prey instrument, so I know that preds like making music. Three, do you really want him on your team?"

"I…" she began, before turning away and growling a little.

"Listen, it's a fact of life. Predators are more creative and take more risks, it's why you get more in big business and more in jail, and why mammals like sheep love to be public sector bureaucrats. It's nobody's fault, it's not worth getting in a fritz about, it's a natural part of life. You just deal with it."

"And it's just okay to think that about prey, about herd mammals like sheep, and use it to think that they're less important?" she asked.

"Hey, now you're putting words in my mouth," he countered. "Less important in the music business and creative arts, yes. More important in… in…" He glanced up, seeing her eyes narrow. "-In the boring stuff that makes society work, which is just as important."

"Right…" she said, sounding unconvinced. "Odd though that the prey stuff is the more boring stuff, isn't it?"

"Well, there's a difference in ability between having a single hard hoof or three hooflets, versus four or five fingers. It's why you also have so many preds as surgeons and high end mechanics and so on, hoofed prey simply can't do it. Look at organists and see how many bats there are, pred and fruit, playing the keyboards with their five toes and the… -'pedals' with their wing hooks. Look up any videos of professional concert piano players and you'll find they're often four fingered preds, with some bunnies and beavers and other pawed prey, a minority of prey, added in. Or, as is increasingly the case due to their five fingers, marsupials, which bar the odd opossum, Tasmanian tiger or devil, are all prey. Seriously, look up videos of professional pianists at work and notice how many big kangaroos there are. "

He shrugged. "Nothing speciesist about it, it's simply because they can easily reach from one end of a grand piano to another like a lion or wolf can, all while playing ten notes for their eight. You don't get many prey there as they're simply not as dexterous, it's a fact of life, nothing's wrong about it."

"Well," she said, her tail swishing a bit. "Maybe there is something wrong about it, because the way I hear it said, it seems like these things they can't control are used as an excuse for others to keep them down and view them as lessers."

Wolford blinked. "Is this about that vixen back there? You know she didn't mean it like that."

"No, I don't, do you know that she didn't?" she asked. "I mean, there was some pretty strong subtext going on there too. And, call me crazy, I'm hearing some lighter shades of that from you too."

"Oh, really?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Okay then, how on earth are you going to fix these facts of life, huh? Make a rule saying then nine out of every ten artists on TV are prey? Same for the cops. Same for the surgeons and pianists?" He gave a scoff at the idea, the cheetah blinking back.

"What's wrong with that?"

"I… Oh be serious for a second…"

"I am being serious," she said, her eyes narrowing. "I mean, without those kinds of things we wouldn't have Hopps here, would we?"

"That's different. That was giving her the chance to prove herself, not saying that we had to hire lots of bunnies. I mean, let's face it, she's exceptional for her species."

Her eyes narrowed and her tail swished. "And the rest are unexceptional?"

"Oh get off my tail! Most of them are happy living out in the sticks, farming their farms and having giant families, and if they enjoy that then who am I to say that that's bad."

"You could have called Judy unique then," she said, hanging on it for a second or two for emphasis. "And given how useful she's been dealing with smaller mammals, maybe we should aim to hire more of them?"

"Even if it involves lowering our standards?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Well, yeah. If that's what it takes."

He looked on for a second or two. "Fine, you make that decision. It won't be their blood on my paws. I presume though that you'll deal with cheetah elitism too."

"Cheee… -what?"

He smiled. "All the professional sprinters are cheetahs because they're the fastest mammal," he said, his grin growing. "Ergo all the other mammals are slower mammals, by your logic lesser, ergo you need to actively downgrade the cheetah races and maybe even handicap your own species, letting others catch up to make it fairer."

The big cat took a few seconds to think up a reply. "Now the handicap thing is putting words in my mouth. All species can sprint against their own and… -you know what, I'd be fine with them showing different species racing more often and less of the cheetahs."

"And what about in other team sports. Football, american football, basketball? Those teams all love to hire cheetahs because they're large and can run fast…"

"It's only non-contact we're in," she corrected. "We're too fragile for american football, it tends to be bison and big bovids doing the tackle sports, while in basketball you also get a mix of giraffes and cats like caracals who can pounce higher, along with us cheetahs. But… You know what, maybe it would be a good thing to let more mammals play!"

"Even at your own species expense?" he pressed.

She thought for a second or two before nodding. "Yes."

He gave her a long look before shrugging. "Fine by me if you really want to do that, handicap yourself for the sake of others. I mean, I'm happy watching the cheetah's sprint, horses do the mid distance, the hares and kangaroos box, megafauna wrestle, otters and pinnipeds swim, foxes snow dive and mixes of others getting a go at hockey, marathon, dance, cycling and all the rest. But hey, I guess I just look down on prey then." There was a long, hard, awkward pause. "Let's just interview the rest of the lunch staff," he said.

"Right then," she said, her tone still slightly barbed. They were broken off though as a mammal came running up to them, panting as he went.

"Heyooo… Cops… Right?" he asked. They looked down to see a chipmunk, about the age of the foxes. Wolford gave him a long hard glare, making him shy away, paws going up. "Hey, let's be cool. I heard you were here, about the weasel."

"Yes?" Catano asked, glancing at Wolford before looking down.

"I was there when they met him," he said, his worried eyes meeting hers. "My name is Beavis. I can help you."

.

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"This next number is a protest song... I've suffered for my music… And now it's your turn." -Neil Innes: 'The Protest Song', from Rutland Weekend Television.

Felix Dire Sr belongs to MindJack, and is a key character in Berserker's Born to be Wilde series.

Conor Lewis belongs to Merc Marten, started out as an RP character and then star of his own pre-2016 online story series, and post Zootopia's release is a major star throughout the entire Fire Triangle Saga. He's also my favourite Zootopia OC and is far cooler than I could ever hope to get across in this little cameo here. As said before, I know that Fire Triangle is a true monster of a story… But at the very least, give the prequel 'Escape from Zoo York' a go. It's a concise, gripping, rollercoaster of a story and should be enough to get the addiction going.

As for his appearance here… It'll be a little adjusted, and leans a bit on the pre-zoot stories to help him fit into this setting, but he'll still be him at heart.