Happy recently-passed five-year anniversary of BtBW! Better acknowledge that while we have the chance because BtBW as a whole will most likely be complete by this time next year, an exciting prospect in itself! This drabble is perhaps the closest we'll get to our main timeline while still being a prequel. Enjoy this next edition in the series of "Wow, Simon had it a bit rough, huh?"
Drabble 23: Procyon's Tremendously Sucky Day
The Meadowlands
2:53 AM
Simon continued to have the dreams long after he'd lost the home where he first grew familiar with them.
They had changed quite a bit over time, however. Instead of walking into a dark room, Simon was standing on a sidewalk in the middle of the brightly lit city. Instead of going in alone, he was surrounded on all sides. Instead of the reptiles he had fought in the Cold-Blooded War, every one of the animals around him was mammalian. His physical appearance almost remained a constant, dressed in his old soldier's uniform and equipped with the same basic gear. The only difference there was his lack of a normal left leg, as if even his subconscious mind could no longer remember what that was like.
He was ready for a fight as always, but as always they made him wait. The mammals around him just chattered away incoherently as they went about their day, passing him right by without paying the raccoon any mind. If one didn't know any better, they might think this was a safer alternative to his old dreams.
But there were still enemies hiding away from him. Now they were just hiding in plain sight.
A goat talking on a phone abruptly turned away from the rest of the meandering group and came for Simon, his phone now a knife. As Simon blocked the attack, he could see that the goat's eyes, instead of the usual horizontal slits, had tilted 90° and turned green, becoming distinctly reptilian. So was the hiss that emanated from his throat as Simon pushed him back and disarmed him with a swift strike before stabbing him in the gut. Blood poured out of the wound, the sky turning red with it.
Before he could so much as say "Next", a wolf lunged for him, Simon jumping and landing on the lupine's back as he hit the floor. He would've finished him with a downward stab, but then the wolf's tail attacked, growing a snake's mouth and fangs. Simon dodged its strikes and sliced the false serpent in half, the wolf host dying with it.
He was grabbed from behind and lifted off the floor by a bulky grizzly bear, his paws large enough to pin the raccoon's arms to his sides and forcing him to drop his knife. As if this weren't frightening enough, the bear's jaw unhinged and opened wide, lined with crocodilian fangs. Simon knew from experience that those teeth would be a particularly gruesome way to go.
He also knew that he was equipped with every weapon he'd have at his disposal in a real fight with the reptiles. That included one inspired by them, as Simon managed to kick off his peg leg to expose the second, bladed leg underneath. He stabbed it into the bear's chest, which might not have been enough to bring him down if it weren't for the cobra venom that coated its surface. The bear gurgled and collapsed, releasing his hold on Simon and allowing him to scoop up his knife again. He held it at the ready, knowing that the fight had only just begun.
Simon took a blow to the side of the head and fell to his knees, looking up at the enemies that now began to grow bolder, approaching from every side. They looked less mammalian by the second, scales rippling beneath their fur before bursting through completely. Pelts fell to the ground, the reptiles slipping out of what remained of their mammal skins and leaving them behind like used husks.
This was not the war anymore. War had a certain sense of predictability to it. You had intelligence on your enemies: how many they numbered, what they were capable of, where and when they would strike. Not here. No matter how much they investigated, no matter where they looked, they had hit a wall in their fight against Crypsis even after a good twenty years of struggle. They'd been playing this cat-and-mouse game longer than they'd actually fought the reptiles in the Cold-Blooded War and still the most they had to go on was what they themselves had told him on that fateful day.
"Try as you might, but you will not find us." The words came from the mouths of all the surrounding reptiles, so deeply ingrained into his mind that he himself almost felt like a puppet to their whims. "You will not expose us." Simon got back up, parrying the blows of lizard claws until he took a kick to the chest. "You will not stop us." He almost fell again until he stabbed both his knife and his bladed leg into the floor, pivoting on the former to lash out with the latter. His leg caught a croc at the front, who staggered back and fell onto some of his compatriots. "You will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder and jumping at shadows, knowing that your end is coming but not knowing when."
And now they became those shadows, their jumbled forms coalescing together into a single dark mass that loomed over him. Multiple pairs of red eyes appeared across the mass, arms, claws, and snake heads of many shapes and sizes protruding from it. In its center, one more eye appeared, large and reptilian with a jagged red C wrapping around it. "Not until the day you die, or the day Zootopia dies. As far as revenge goes, that will suffice."
This was the scope of his enemy. For no matter how many of them there were, they were all just pieces of one functional whole. A creeping blackness that threatened to swallow his city and every mammal that lived within it.
But for now, it would settle for him. It advanced on Simon, its attacks impossible to predict and even more hopeless to avoid. It sometimes didn't even appear to attack at all, yet he took blows anyway, finally collapsing to the ground.
Simon wasn't even sure if he really was in control of these dreams anymore. On some subconscious level, it made sense that he would force himself to face these opponents night after night, and he remained lucid to it all regardless. But perhaps that was just the illusion of control. The only thing worse than fighting and losing every night was already knowing the outcome and being forced to fight on anyway.
That was the true nightmare, and it was one he couldn't escape even in the waking world. The enemy was unpredictable, but there was only one way this could end. The only variation left was in exactly how it happened.
A few shots rang out, striking the eye of the formless mass and causing it to back away with the screeching of many voices. Karen stood beside him now, lowering her gun and extending a paw down to his level. Simon knew what happened next, but took her paw anyway, tired of fighting the inevitable.
The gun was leveled at his head, Karen's eyes turning to slits as she smiled. "To your health."
She pulled the trigger.
Simon snapped awake.
Another key difference between his dreams then and his dreams now? They didn't used to get combined with his sleep-diving habit. But these days, the raccoon found himself physically and metaphorically down in the dumps more often than he'd like to admit.
His current locale was the inside of a large, green dumpster. Though the lid was closed, his night vision allowed him to clearly see the depths of his shame. He was surrounded by piles of trash ripped to shreds, and he was pretty sure it hadn't been shredded to begin with if his own appearance was any indication. While he was only wearing a light t-shirt and boxers at the moment, both had been dirtied by garbage stains. His physique had improved greatly now that he was focused on getting back in shape again, despite his increasing age, but he was obviously growing restless for a real opponent to test his skills on. He even spotted what appeared to be a 2-liter bottle of Pawpsi with its neck violently snapped. While his current enemies could be hiding anywhere, he could confidently state that they were not amongst the garbage.
The lid opened with a loud creak and Simon squinted at the bit of moonlight that crept inside his self-made prison. It was the only light he could see right now, having not even gotten a full night's sleep out of this.
Well, he supposed the face of his loving wife made for a light all its own, even if there was clear concern written all over it. "Honey? Again?" There wasn't even any biting sarcasm attached to that, which would've contrasted quite nicely with the frilly pink nightgown she was wearing. "It's getting worse. This is the third time this week."
It was Tuesday. "You should see the other guys," he said bitterly, gesturing to the torn trash around him.
"The usual nightmares?"
"The usual dreams, yes." He was not afraid of them.
"Against you-know-who?"
"Who else?" He slumped up against the metal wall. "My subconscious doesn't bother to throw anyone but them at me now. It always seeks to challenge me, and I have faced no greater challenge than Cryp-"
"Our mutual friends."
"-our mutual friends," he repeated, hissing the words through his teeth. "Wish I never came up with that damn name. They take our home, my leg, our peace of mind, and we can't even refer to them properly!" He slammed said leg into the floor, creating a loud clang that reverberated up his body and made him wince.
He had never gotten entirely used to the prosthetic. He didn't want to get used to it either. Complacency was what had gotten them into this mess.
"Don't lose your head, Simon. You know that's exactly what they want," Karen warned, leaning over the lid. "And don't forget, there's still Kyle's lead."
He hadn't forgotten, per se, he just wasn't that good at being optimistic. Hell, he wished he could be more excited just at the fact that his son was now Prosecutor VanDal. While he had his doubts at first, Kyle had successfully become a prosecutor just like he'd always wanted and already had a string of won cases under his belt. As his father, that was the sort of thing Simon should be immensely proud of. And he was, but the accomplishment had sadly been buried under the knowledge that he could still get sniped by a reptilian infiltrator any day of the week.
That was precisely what Kyle was trying to deal with now that he was an established public official. He was finally in a position to help his family and friends himself and was already looking into a possible lead to root out Crypsis agents within the ZPD. He wanted to be optimistic, but… "Any more progress on that?"
"He says he might have a list of potential candidates soon," Karen replied, resting an elbow on the lid as she put her chin in her palm. "That's really the best we can hope for. Even if it's mostly false positives, all we need to do is capture one of their agents and we can finally get some answers."
He'd heard that line before far too many times. "How? By demanding to speak to their manager?"
Karen closed the lid on him. He probably had that coming.
3:06 AM
New VanDal Household
In order to keep pursuing the truth, some sacrifices had to be made. After their original home had been blown up by a bomb, and later documented as a gas leak before being erased from the records completely, the Mammalian government had granted their request for continued residence in the Meadowlands. The apartment complex they lived in now was relatively nice, for it was still the Meadowlands after all, but was nonetheless a significant downgrade compared to what they had before. And they'd been living in the middle rung of luxury to begin with. Forget having a hot tub on the roof; now they couldn't even get one on their back porch.
Simon didn't want a hot tub anyway. Relaxation led to complacency.
"You doing alright, Dad?" Unlike his wife, Kyle was already dressed and ready to greet the day. Being awake at 3 AM wasn't a huge accomplishment for a nocturnal mammal, even one shifted to a diurnal schedule, but it did show a certain pep for his job that Karen honestly lacked. He sported a royal blue collared shirt and grey tie, both crisp and polished, but the look wasn't complete without the black suit jacket he wore over top of it. Simon had given it to him the day he returned from the war and yet it still held up well after all this time, a sense of fastidiousness that made it clear why he'd become such a successful prosecutor.
He was also walking with a noticeable limp now, one he needed a cane for. Kyle's life had been a long string of physical misfortune for longer than he could remember, and yet Simon was undoubtedly in worse shape. Their family was nothing if not stubborn.
"Your mother had to pull me out of the dumpster again, so about as well as you'd expect." And she hadn't exactly "pulled him out" this time. Karen wasn't even around, having gone into the kitchen to fix up a sandwich for herself as a personal reward for staying vigilant.
"Yeah, you definitely smell like it," Kyle noted, pinching the edge of his gold, wire-rim glasses. Not that raccoons, even ones without a father afflicted by sleep-diving, were going to be too bothered by the smell of garbage. "Want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to discuss that we haven't already," he sighed, almost sitting down on the couch before he remembered the kind of wrath Karen would bring down on him if he got it dirty. "I'd rather hear more about this lead of yours. You're working on a list?"
"A potential list. Don't get your hopes up too much."
"Believe me, I'm not."
"Though I did have to work outside the scope of my office a little," Kyle admitted. "By which I mean using the resources of said office to get in touch with an underworld contact of some renown."
Simon didn't need to be covered in filth to convey the foul look on his face. "Are you sure you can trust them?"
"They're an underworld contact, so no," he said flatly. "More to the point, they're a mammal not within our very narrow cone of trust, so no."
That actually got a little smile out of him. "Good boy. You've learned well."
"I've learned what I can," he said with a shrug. "Including our lack of success pursuing other options. You knew we might have to rely on the criminal element for this. I mean, haven't you been trying to get in touch with Piers Narwhalter?"
"For years," he spat. "At the risk of sounding specist, I wish we could just throw a line in the water and reel that reclusive old bastard up."
"Right. And not to show you up or anything, Dad, but I've got a meeting with my contact this afternoon," Kyle countered, only sounding a little smug about it. "But don't worry, I'm not an idiot. We're doing it in a bright, public place: Hamwood Memorial Park in Savannah Central. I'm not even meeting them in person. I'm going to be wearing an earpiece and talking to them through that, okay?"
"...Okay," Simon said begrudgingly. "But I still don't like it."
"I know you don't, but we're not going to get the upper paw against our mutual friends without taking some risks." Kyle straightened his tie. "Maybe you should get out a bit too. You could probably use something else to occupy your mind."
"Like an occupation!" Karen finally called out from the kitchen. "You know, get a job to support your family like the rest of us!"
She had a point. He wasn't exactly a stay-at-home dad, but his pursuits had been pretty exclusive as of late. "I'll see what I can do."
"After you shower!" Karen said.
"After I shower."
After his shower, Simon got dressed again and stepped back out into the den. Karen, having just downed her fourth cup of coffee and thus finally being fully awake, rolled her eyes at his appearance. "That getup again?"
He was now in a pair of jeans and a brown aviator jacket worn over his orange Delta Fox t-shirt. Naturally, he had his old Silver Centurion revolver on him as well. "It may be a relic of the past, but it fits all the better in the present."
"And how appropriate to be worn by a relic as well," Karen snarked. "I guess that's a 'no' on upgrading your crappy flip phone anytime soon."
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
"Hmm. Maybe the next time you lose a limb, I'll replace it with a cardboard tube. See how long that attitude lasts."
Kyle just stood there in the middle, looking back and forth between them. "Mom. Dad. Please stop bantering."
Karen managed to reel herself in. "Sorry honey, your father and I are just under a lot of stress."
"Kinda been that way for a while now. No need to apologize for it."
"No, there is," Simon insisted, placing a paw on his son's shoulder. "Because we're putting a lot of that stress onto you as well. I know this lead of yours is important, but don't feel pressured to get something big out of it right away. This is a patient enemy we're dealing with. In order to best them, we must be patient ourselves."
It was slight, but he could see Kyle's shoulders releasing a small bit of tension as he smiled. "Thanks, Dad. Good luck to you too."
"Now that that's settled," Karen said, stepping up to the counter. "Who's up for some breakfast?"
Savannah Central
7:14 AM
Simon knew his reassuring words to Kyle were a lie as soon as he stepped outside again. He couldn't wait a minute longer on this, not that he had any choice in the matter.
No, he did have a choice. He could choose to carry on with his day and do what had been asked of him. Karen had been his mission control during the war and she often was in their family life as well, for good reason. She knew what she was doing, so if she wanted him to go job hunting, then it was time to hit the papers.
That was still how it worked, right?
In any case, he wasn't even going to bother trying it in the Meadowlands. The place wasn't exactly pred-friendly, not to mention he was both a borderline senior citizen and technically disabled. At best, he might get a job as the pool cleaner to some rich cottonball and he wasn't quite willing to settle that hard yet.
So he left the district, Karen driving him a good way into Savannah Central before dropping him off and taking the car for her own errands. Simon's new job might require a bit of a commute, but it was still closer to home than the jungles of Giraffrica.
At least that had been a mostly private affair though, and anyone he encountered there he knew for certain was an enemy. Now though? Now he found himself walking along the sidewalks in a scenario far too similar to the dreams he'd been experiencing. Even this early in the morning, there was no shortage of pedestrians out and about, drinking coffee, chatting with friends, plotting the downfall of mammalian society...
No! The mission. Focus on the mission.
Easier said than done.
The worst part about all of this wasn't even their difficulty finding any solid leads on Crypsis. It was the fact that Crypsis hadn't done anything to warrant their attention for the past twenty years. If it weren't for the dreams and the big hunk of metal attached to his leg serving as a constant reminder, he'd almost be willing to dismiss the entire experience as an elaborate hallucination. But he would never forget they were out here, and they knew that. They were playing the long game alright, and if their eventual success meant letting him and his allies endlessly chase their tails until they were finally ready to strike again, then so be it.
He understood that mindset, almost respected it even, but damn was it frustrating. Especially after the recent Night Howler Incident. At long last, they had finally thought Crypsis was making their move, turning predator and prey against each other in an effort to eventually purge mammalkind itself from Zootopia and take it for themselves. But no, that was just another widespread conspiracy and it got shut down mere months after it had begun.
Though he'd likely get punched for saying so aloud, he honestly wished that had gained a bit more traction. Because whether or not Crypsis had any involvement in the Night Howler Incident, he had no doubt they would've pounced on it if given enough time. It was like watching a snake slowly creep out of its den, fangs bared and poised to attack, then getting spooked and retreating back into the darkness before they could wrap their paws around its neck. What were the odds that an opportunity that good was going to come again anytime soon? At this rate, he really would die before Zootopia did.
Perhaps that was the intent now, in which case their fight was hopeless. The one enemy he could never hope to conquer was time.
As pessimistic as he felt right now, the last thing Simon wanted to do was read the news, but he stopped by a local newspaper vendor regardless and picked up a copy of The Savannah Central Hub, leafing through some of the headlines as he looked for the job listings.
"First Fox Officer Joins the ZPD: Nicholas Wilde Receives His Badge!"
"Little Rodentia Still Refuses to Lift Restraining Order Against Officer Hopps"
"Second Fox Officer Joins the ZPD: 'Wow, That Was Fast!'"
"Savanna Isn't Spelled With an 'H', Experts Say"
Simon took note of all the ZPD-related headlines, wondering how quickly the Hub would change its tune if Kyle's lead successfully exposed the reptilian agents within it. Not that he would want that getting out. In the best-case scenario, the city of Zootopia would be cured of this plague without even knowing it had ever been infected. But the best-case scenario stopped looking like a real possibility a long time ago.
"Free sample, sir?"
Simon turned, seeing a female antelope standing near the newspaper kiosk. She was dressed casually and holding out a tray of what appeared to be small granola bars.
Appearances could be deceiving. "What are these?"
"Our newest healthy snack, sir! Good for the mammal on the go, whether it be through the city streets or on a lovely hike! Would you like a free sample?"
How on Earth could she possibly look at him and think he was up for a hike? Yes, he could do it easily, but she shouldn't know that. He slowly took one of the granola bars, keeping eye contact with the antelope the whole time, then sniffed at it. His eyes narrowed. "Is there chocolate in this?"
"Why yes, sir! Only our finest-"
He practically threw the bar back onto the tray. "Don't you know chocolate is toxic to my species?!"
The antelope's customer-winning smile faded instantly, replaced with a look of sheer horror. "I-I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't know! I knew that was a thing with canines, but-"
He let her trail off and left with his paper, keeping an eye on her until the distraught mammal was out of sight. That was a close one. Good thing he'd kept his senses so sharp or he might've been poisoned. Perhaps that retail worker had just been ignorant. Perhaps there was more to it than that. There wasn't enough evidence to say for sure.
And that was not the mission regardless. He forced himself to go back to the paper until he finally found what he was looking for. A local construction company, "Leave It to Beavers", was hiring part-time workers for some manual labor. The load seemed appropriate for small to medium-sized mammals, so as long as they didn't take too much issue with his leg, he should be okay. Karen had already prepared a government-sanctioned and government-censored résumé for him to help get his remaining foot in the door.
His journey took him through Downtown, where he spent his time definitely not thinking about how much the curled skyscrapers looked like giant reptile heads looming over him. The construction company was not within walking distance for most sane mammals, but Karen had the car and he wasn't about to rely on public transportation for reasons other than the standard ones. He could make it there just fine on his own, proving that he could indeed manage a hike.
Which didn't stop some mammals from pestering him about it anyway. "Excuse me, sir. Would you like some help crossing the street?"
He glared down at a red squirrel wearing a Junior Ranger Scout uniform, a symbol of being brave, loyal, helpful, and trustworthy. He would be the judge of that. "How old do you think I am, kit?"
The squirrel expertly dodged the question and smiled, extending a small paw towards his own. "It'll only take a minute."
Simon glanced at the busy crosswalk, having already traversed several of them on his way here, then down at the eager child again. "I'll do it myself, thanks." He headed off across it, just wanting to get away from this suspiciously helpful kit.
"But, sir-!"
"I said I'm fine! Leave me alone!"
"But it just changed to red!"
Simon froze for a second, then quickly dove out of the way of an approaching car, doing a few combat rolls to reach the other side of the crosswalk. That was careless. It must have been just about to change when that child approached him, distracting him from the signal with his kind's inherent cuteness.
He looked back across at the now panicked squirrel, wondering what would have happened had he accepted his offer. Would he have led him safely across as he claimed, or straight into that danger he'd only narrowly avoided? But if he was trying to kill him, then he wouldn't have given him the warning, right? Unless he was trying to cover his tracks in case he survived.
Dammit Simon, you're overthinking this. He's just a child.
Am I? Is there really no possibility that they could have arranged this?
The other side of his mind couldn't rebuke that. Unfortunately, that was the rational side.
He left it be and continued on. If he kept getting distracted like this, he might be too late in being able to apply for that construction gig.
Leave It to Beavers
8:10 AM
No one stopped Simon as he entered the lot, the workers hardly giving him a glance as he moved with purpose towards a small building in the center. He suspected this was where the foremammal would be if he weren't currently supervising the other workers. So after pushing open a door with an attached ad about their "dam fine rates", Simon entered the office.
Inside was an especially muscular beaver sitting at his desk, a clear ringer for the foremammal. Before the blue-collar worker could even get over the shock of the raccoon's sudden appearance, Simon strolled up and dropped both the newspaper advertising the position and his own résumé on the desk, smiling confidently. "I would like you to consider me for your job opening, please."
Five minutes later, he was walking back out of the office, stunned. "I have to apply online now? For construction? What is the world coming to?"
About halfway across the lot again, while contemplating if reptilian influence was somehow behind this as well, there was an unsettling snapping sound from above him that he only just registered in time.
One of the workers had been using a crane to lift a wide pane of glass overhead, and that pane had just snapped free of its supports directly over Simon. The raccoon didn't have time to roll out of the way again, so he instinctively did the next best thing, withdrawing his Silver Centurion from the inside of his jacket and firing upwards, piercing the center of the glass and causing the whole thing to shatter. Its pieces fell all around him like reflective rain, creating a spectacle that attracted the attention of pretty much every worker on the lot.
In hindsight, carrying a gun around might not have been the wisest move for trying to get a job in the first place. He wasn't regretting the decision either. While the workers were all looking at him now, Simon focused his ire on the one who'd been controlling the crane, another beaver of a much scrawnier frame.
"Aw geez!" he cried, accidentally losing his hard hat as he ran towards Simon. "Are you alright?! I lost control of the load and didn't see you under there!"
"A likely story."
"Wha-?"
Simon stepped towards him, walking carefully around the scattered glass as he did so. "You just happened to lose control right when I happened to be there? Not very subtle, are you?"
Neither was the aforementioned gun, though he at least wasn't pointing it at anyone. Yet.
The foremammal came running out towards them. "Hey, do you have a permit for that?"
Without even looking at him, Simon reached into the same spot he'd kept his gun and pulled out some paperwork that he flashed at him.
The foremammal looked closer, beady eyes narrowed intently. "...Looks in order to me."
"H-Hey, I think there's been a misunderstanding here," the crane worker stammered nervously.
"Oh, I understand perfectly," Simon said, stepping closer. "Taking my leg wasn't good enough, so now you want to crush the rest of me too, is that it?!"
"Your leg?" The foremammal asked, looking down at the metal prosthetic. "What happened there, if you don't mind me asking?"
He most certainly did mind, but it would only raise more questions if he refused to answer. So he gave an answer that was technically a lie, but ensured he wouldn't pry any further. "I lost it in the war."
The workers all went silent at that, miraculously losing their fear and now just giving him sympathetic looks. Even the crane worker he'd just been threatening looked like he wanted to hug him now. Simon wasn't sure how to feel about that. "I'm sorry that happened to you," he said, conveniently forgetting the much greater bodily harm he'd almost caused. "Have you considered, you know, seeking help?"
"Help? For what?" he scoffed. "I've had this leg for a long time now. I know how to use it."
"Not that," the foremammal said, apparently on the same page. "Have you gotten any help for your trauma?"
"I don't have any-!" Simon almost snapped at them, to tell a lie so obvious he couldn't even finish it.
Damn right he had trauma. Anyone would in his situation. And there were so very few mammals who could even relate to it let alone understand where he was coming from. It might be best to just go along with what they were saying. Not to mention the alternative might involve them calling the police on him and he really didn't need that right now.
He put his gun away. "...You're right. Maybe I do need help. But there is no one else who can help with what I am going through."
The foremammal smiled. "Actually, I know of just the place."
Savannah Center for the Uncentered
PTSD Support Counseling
12:25 PM
How on Earth did they talk me into coming here? Simon sat uncomfortably in a metal folding chair, grouped into a circle with several other mammals. Hosting the group was a female coyote in a sweater, jeans, a grey scarf, and glasses, which she tilted towards the raccoon with a warm smile. "It's always good to see a new face here," she said softly. "Everyone, I'd like you to welcome Simon."
"Welcome, Simon," the others chorused, clapping a little.
Karen would never let him hear the end of this.
"Now Simon," the coyote counselor said, gently folding her paws across her lap. "Could you please tell us what brought you here today?"
"Honestly, I'm starting to wonder that myself."
"There's nothing to be afraid of here," she assured. "This is a safe place."
Simon looked up at the faces of the other PTSD sufferers. None of them had even been in the war. He'd thus far been introduced to such cases as Roger, a badger who had been in a serious car accident, Sarah, a llama who'd almost choked to death at a party, and Nigel, a mole that had lost most of his family in a cave-in he'd inadvertently caused. Tragic to be sure, but how much could they really understand about his situation?
He obviously couldn't tell them everything, but even so, perhaps it was worth a shot. Something had brought him here today, so he might as well try to play along.
"I am living in fear," he admitted, for perhaps the first time. With that one statement, it was like a floodgate had opened within him. "My nights are restless and my days are spent in a constant state of dread, afraid of the shadows of the past as they continue to haunt my every step even now. Though the war is over for most, I can never know peace. I force myself to hold on for the sake of my loved ones, because they need me...and I need them. But I am a danger to them as well. I can't pretend that everything is normal. Try as I might, I am slowly losing my mind, losing this personal battle I continue to wage. And...I have no idea what to do about it."
When he was finished, Simon found a long silence awaiting him. Followed by light applause. "Excellent, Simon," the counselor praised, joining in with them. "Thank you for sharing."
It was almost enough to get a smile out of him. I might just find some value in this after all.
"Hey, everyone. Sorry I'm late."
Another mammal entered the meeting room, a painted wolf with wiry fur who was also a veteran of the Cold-Blooded War. Simon knew this not just from the military camos he chose to wear to the event, but from the fact that he was fairly certain he recognized this mammal as a former member of Delta Fox. He just couldn't put a finger on his name…
Thankfully, the other attendees solved that problem for him. "Welcome, Timothy," they greeted.
"Timothy Houndsworthy?" Simon asked curiously. "Is that you?"
The canine looked at him, recognition instantly crossing his face as well. "Well, I'll be damned! Simon Maskovich?"
"It's Simon VanDal now," he corrected. "I took my wife's name after the war so I'd be harder to identify." With varying levels of success.
If anything, that surprised him even more. "Whoa, wait a minute, you don't mean Karen VanDal, do you? Krazy Karen? You married her?"
"We obviously have much to catch up on," Simon said with a genuine chuckle. He hadn't had a whole lot of experience with Timothy personally, but he'd been a good merc. There were a few like him, who had served with them in the war but had since retired to pursue normal lives again. It was tempting to try to recruit these mammals back into Delta Fox, and they could certainly use all the help they could get, but even these desperate times weren't enough for them to willingly ruin the blissful ignorance they lived in now. If anything, Simon wished he could join them.
The counselor smiled at each of them in turn. "How wonderful that you two know each other. Timothy, perhaps you'd like to share the topic you brought up last week with your old friend here."
He took a seat around the circle, albeit reluctantly. "Alright, but it's a little embarrassing having to admit weakness to a fellow merc." He glanced down at the raccoon's peg leg. "Though I suppose we've all had troubled times."
Simon could see the confusion in his eyes. Upon learning he was a veteran, most mammals were quick to assume that he'd lost his leg during the war, a misconception he'd taken advantage of just earlier today. But Timothy knew better, having seen Simon with a full set of limbs up until the very day they'd returned home. If he asked him about it, he'd have to make something up, for his own good.
Thankfully, Timothy seemed more focused on his own story for the time being. "You probably remember this incident as well, Simon. It's been declassified now, but it used to be known as Operation Intrude E404."
"I remember," Simon confirmed. "Delta Fox had uncovered records of an unknown Sauriet facility located in Slavulpinch, Ewekraine. We lacked information on the purpose of this facility, knowing more about how well it was hidden than what it was used for, so we sent in an operative to infiltrate the place and learn whatever he could."
"That operative being myself," Timothy finished. "Unfortunately, such an operation naturally carried a lot of risk. I went in with limited intel on the projected layout and ended up getting captured by the Scalies." The other attendees around them were listening intently, some even leaning in as if he were telling a campfire story.
"Let's try to avoid using slurs, please," the counselor admonished, pushing up her glasses a little.
"I mean the Sauriets," he revised. "They held me for a few weeks, during which time I was...tortured." He said it easily enough to show that it wasn't his first time talking about it, yet Simon could still see the tenseness in his muscles, the blank, listless stare in his eyes, the expression of a mammal who was vividly recalling those memories at this very moment. "Their methods didn't leave me with any physical scars, yet I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat just remembering it. The nightmares have been brutal, and they've only gotten worse over time."
Simon could hardly say he was unsympathetic. Though the manner of their suffering may have been different, Timothy was a fellow victim of the same kind of trauma. He wished him the best of luck in conquering it. This secret war now waged by Simon and his allies was all so mammals like Timothy would never have to go through anything like that again.
"It was very brave of you to make it through all that," the counselor assured, accompanied by more applause. "Even braver to be so willing to talk about it."
"Thanks," Timothy said, getting almost sheepish again. "I guess I just feel a little silly, holding on to those old memories after all this time. I can only take comfort in my escape from that torment, but even that won't leave me be."
Simon looked back at him curiously.
The counselor kept her eyes on him as well. "That's nothing to be ashamed of. The end of your traumatic experience is still connected to it. Accepting that will only help you to move on."
"Tell us the story of your great escape again!" said Nigel. Or was it Roger? Simon had already forgotten, too focused now on what Timothy was saying.
"Calling it 'great' might be a bit of a stretch," the painted wolf chuckled. "All I did was splatter some ketchup on myself and play dead in my cell. That's more on the guard for being dumb enough to come in and check on me. After knocking him out, I even got lost a little trying to sneak my way back out of the place again. But I eventually found my way to an underground submarine bay and managed to ride one out of there."
"Don't be so quick to dismiss your accomplishments, Timothy," the counselor insisted. "It is very impressive what you did."
"Yeah, it is," Simon agreed, suddenly interjecting. "Good for you, Timothy."
The coyote turned away from her newest guest and gazed calmly at him instead, picking up on the tone behind his words. "Do you have a problem with his story, Simon?"
"A problem? No, it was a good story. Had cunning, bravery, and guards being idiots. I experienced much of the same during my own stint in the war." Simon, in turn, ignored her and looked hard at Timothy. "It's just a shame that none of it ever happened."
Timothy reeled, taken aback by the very casual accusation. "Huh? What are you talking about, Simon? You were there when I returned to base."
"Yeah. I was. Were you?" Simon asked pointedly. The other attendees were now just as confused, murmuring amongst themselves, but he tuned them out. "As I recall, and as the official reports state, you never escaped from that facility on your own. We got you back in a prisoner exchange. Viktor Krokomir, one of the Sauriet Union's finest soldiers, who had dozens of confirmed kills under his belt before we managed to subdue him. And we gave him up. For you."
"That's...not possible," Timothy argued. "I remember capturing Krokomir, but I remember my escape just as vividly."
"Really? Then what do you remember happening to Krokomir? Ever wonder why we suddenly didn't have him anymore?"
"I…" Timothy put a paw to his head and closed his eyes, straining. It was like a wire in his brain had just snapped off and he was trying to find a way to fix it. "I don't know. But I'm not lying!"
"I never said you were." Simon stood up in his seat. "As you pointed out yourself, I was there. Why would you lie about something in my presence that I could so easily disprove? No, I believe that what you say happened is exactly what you think happened."
"That doesn't make any sense…"
"Simon, could you please sit back down?" the counselor requested.
He did not. "You know, we never did learn what the purpose of that facility was. The Sauriets abandoned and destroyed it immediately following your release. You yourself reported that you'd learned nothing of substance during your stay there, and we believed you. Why wouldn't we? We didn't know any better at the time. Yet you didn't report any of this escape bunk."
"Of course I did! I had a sworn duty to!" Timothy stood up as well, yet despite being over a head taller than Simon, the raccoon wasn't backing down.
"And that's why I'm sure you remember it that way. If your captors had the opportunity, I bet they would have faked this fantasy escape for you as well. But the deal for the prisoner exchange was made suddenly, too suddenly for any last-minute changes. In order to remain a secret, they had no choice but to send back a walking contradiction and hope for the best."
He knew this would sound like nonsense to anyone else, the target of his ire included, but he didn't care. He'd uncovered a weakness in whatever mind-altering methods Crypsis used, at least with their earlier subjects. With Reina and those who came after, he knew they had gotten a lot better at ensuring that the subject's fake memories lined up well enough with reality. Delta Fox had twenty years' worth of dead-end leads to prove it.
"Simon, that's enough," the counselor said firmly, still remaining seated. The others were just watching the two in awe, completely forgetting their own issues for the moment.
"Seriously, what's your problem?" Timothy asked. "We're supposed to be brothers-in-arms but you're treating me like a criminal! Maybe you should just go home. Have a drink and try to calm down." His tone grew softer, now that of a concerned friend. "You know, to your health."
A concerned friend who was still an enemy. Before anyone could stop him, Simon launched himself at Timothy and tackled the painted wolf into his folding chair, collapsing it beneath them as he grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently.
"You're one of them! I know you're one of them, you bastard! Wake up! Tell me where the others are! Come out and face me, all of you! How long are you going to keep me waiting?! I don't care what it is, just do something already!"
He was still ranting by the time he was pulled off, and all the way up until the cops arrived to tase him.
Savannah Jail for the Criminally Uncentered
5:16 PM
That could have gone better.
Simon sat alone in his cell, which proved equally uncomfortable as being surrounded by PTSD sufferers except that now he had nobody to vent to. His Silver Centurion had been confiscated, along with the knife he had hidden in the back pocket of his jeans. They obviously didn't know about the one hidden under his peg leg, however, or that too would have been removed. Potentially killing someone in the process if they didn't handle it properly.
The solitude had some benefits too. No mammals around meant no mammals to take out his wrath on. On closer reflection, he should have been far more careful about tackling the issue of Timothy, as in doing anything other than actually tackling him. But he was definitely right about one thing.
Karen would never let him hear the end of this.
As if summoned by his own negative thoughts, Simon now found his wife standing outside his cell, arms crossed in a clear sign that he was almost certainly sleeping on the couch tonight. Or just skipping a step and tossing him straight into the dumpster until morning. "I paid your bail," she said coldly as a guard unlocked his cell. "Let's go." She barely even waited for his cell door to open before she stormed off. The guard shot Simon a sympathetic look as he gathered his effects and went after her.
She proved easy to find, literally grabbing Simon by the ear as soon as he stepped outside the station again. Then she dragged him back to their car, him struggling to keep his balance on his uneven legs. After being practically thrown into the passenger's seat, Karen got in as well and drove off.
He wasn't looking forward to a long, awkward drive in silence, and Karen wasn't giving him one either. "What the hell were you thinking?!"
Simon stared out the window, looking at anyone but her. He knew she was asking a rhetorical question, since she obviously knew enough about the situation to guess his thought process. She just wanted him to say it. "I suspected he was one of them."
"You suspected," she spat back. "Do you have any idea how many mammals I suspect on a daily basis? That doesn't mean I start picking fights with them. That's a sign of losing control and that means Crypsis wins."
"Our mutual fri-"
"I don't give a shit!" Karen swerved out of her lane for a moment, then jerked the car back in before a passing truck could tag it. "You pull a stunt like that and then try to tell me I'm not being secretive enough?! Goddamnit, Simon! The only reason I even got you out so easily was that Timothy chose not to press charges!"
Naturally. If he really was one of them, then the last thing he would want to do is draw attention to the incident. He chose not to voice that thought, but Karen had been married to him for too long not to pick up on it. "Let me ask you something. Did you even consider the possibility that a mammal might have false memories for reasons other than reptilian tampering? Like, say, some kind of severe trauma from his past that he needed a comforting escape from?"
A comforting...escape. "Do you really believe that?"
"It doesn't matter if I believe it or not!" she snapped. "That's my point! You decided for yourself what the truth was, then just went ahead and acted on it!"
"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I admit it, I screwed up. But we can still get something out of this. Let's at least put a tail on the guy, try to see if we can bring him in more discreetly. I know how it sounds, but if I am right-"
"We can't."
"Why not?" Simon challenged. "Look, you can be mad at me all you want, but you know damn well this is about more than just us!"
"And you think you need to tell a mother that?!" She shot him a disgusted look before turning back to the wheel. "We already put a tail on Timothy. We tried to follow him back home, but then he walked into the middle of the street and got run down by an elephant truck."
That's what he got for daring to hope. Simon slumped back against his seat. "Was it…?"
"Intentional? No idea. He was definitely acting erratically before it happened, looking over his shoulder, jumping at shadows. Could've been Crypsis-related. Or maybe he was a little on-edge and not looking where he was going because his old war buddy just assaulted him in the middle of his one safe haven. We don't know. And now we never will."
That was that. They'd once again hit a dead end. Not only that, but he'd failed to save a friend. Maybe even gotten him killed instead. With friends like me, who needs cyanide capsules?
"We'll still need to do some coverup, of course," Karen continued, barely looking at him now. "We're not letting you get a criminal record on top of all this other shit. Do you even know why I wanted you to get a job in the first place?"
"To...support my family?" he answered, unsure where this was coming from.
"Yes. Your family, who aren't just left to their own devices all day. We have to keep up appearances, still working normal jobs and functioning in them well enough to be successful. Because someone in this family has to not look like a raving lunatic in order to get the kind of influence we need to investigate!" she said firmly, before suddenly growing softer. "I honestly thought...that maybe it would help you, Simon. To have something else to take your mind off of things. But it doesn't even matter now…"
Karen abruptly pulled over to the side of the road, preventing him from replying even if he wanted to. He was used to his wife's mood swings, but her demeanor had completely changed, screaming at him one minute and now hunching over the steering wheel and crying silently to herself. Simon reached out slowly to touch Karen's shoulder, but retracted it at the last second, knowing that nothing he said or did could truly comfort her now. It was only at this moment that he felt truly helpless.
Desperate to provide some kind of reassurance, he almost brought up Kyle's lead, but that was when it hit him. Why hadn't she brought it up yet? The creeping dread he'd been feeling all day long now started to gather in his chest. "It's...not Timothy you're really upset about, is it?"
"No…" she admitted, resting her head against the wheel and taking a deep breath before she could continue. "It's Kyle. He's gone missing."
There it was. Simon felt like he'd been the one tackled now. Twenty years since Kyle had almost been taken that first time and it had finally happened again. But his father wasn't there to save him this time. He was too busy sitting in a cell, paying the price for his recklessness. If only he'd known how steep that price would be. "...What happened?"
"We're not sure yet," Karen said quietly. "We know that he went to Hamwood Memorial Park, as he said he would. There's security footage from a nearby store that captured him sitting on one of the park benches for a while. Then he suddenly got up and left."
"Think he got in touch with his underworld contact?" Simon asked, gently probing for info. The last thing he wanted to do was interrogate his own wife at a time like this, but he still needed to know.
"Probably," she sniffled. Though she was barely keeping it together, he could tell that she too was desperately trying to remain professional. "The footage wasn't clear enough to tell if he was talking to someone, but he could've been speaking over that earpiece he mentioned. He did seem like he was in a hurry though. As soon as he left the park, he got in his car and drove into a tunnel, but never came back out."
He didn't insult her by asking if she'd searched the tunnel. Knowing Karen, she'd all but torn the place apart by now. "Anything else?"
"For now, just this." Karen managed to pull herself away from the wheel and reached under her seat, pulling out a familiar jacket and tossing it over to him. "It was the only thing Kyle left behind."
"His jacket…" Simon held the garment as if it were as precious as Kyle himself. His scent was still fresh on it, for as much good as that had obviously done. "You found this in the tunnel?"
"In the park," she corrected. "He left it on that bench before he left. And I know what you're thinking. He wouldn't have done that…"
"...unless he knew he was in danger," Simon finished grimly. "It was a message for us."
"I just wish it was more of one," Karen sighed. "Nothing to do now but keep looking and hope it isn't too late…"
"Right. Then we'll head back out there and-"
"You have done enough!" Karen's fire suddenly flared back up, hot enough that it could turn her tears to steam. "Go home, Simon. You're not even a member of the police. I need to investigate this myself and...I just can't deal with you too right now."
The message was clear. Simon stepped out of the car and watched numbly as Karen drove off again. She needed the space a lot more than he needed a ride. Too bad the only thing he really needed was no longer available.
Time to find something to replace it.
Rainforest District
The Rain Barrel
8:41 PM
It was amazing the kind of distances one could travel when they'd lost all sense of direction. Simon was pretty sure he was heading for home at some point. Then he found himself in the Rainforest District. Then he found himself in a bar. Not a particularly good bar, but he was anything but picky right now.
There were only a few other patrons at the moment but he could hear what sounded like a small party erupting from the second floor, which was all-but-exclusive to members of the Lang Family and special guests. Even if he qualified, he wouldn't have been interested. The only thing that interested him right now was his next shot of Rainy Day.
"Sir, I think you've had enough," said a shaky okapi bartender. He looked like the type who was prepared for retaliation, and not in the sense that he would fight back.
But while Simon was tempted to give him an "I'll tell you when I've had enough!" and possibly pull his gun on him, he just didn't have it in him at the moment.
"I believe you're right, my friend," said a new voice. "He has had enough. Of life keeping him down!"
Simon didn't know who this was, but for some reason, just the sound of his voice put a sense of dread in him almost greater than that of Crypsis. Anyone who could do that had to be either exceptionally dangerous or exceptionally annoying.
"Hello there!" A grinning fox in a black suit hopped onto the stool next to him. "I'd make a joke about a fox walking into a bar, but I get the impression you're above that sort of introduction."
"Which isn't stopping you, is it?" he asked, clenching a paw around his empty glass and wondering if he could get away with smashing it over his head. The bartender certainly didn't look like he was about to prevent that.
"Sorry, I just have a certain flair that is hard to keep in check sometimes," he replied, grinning directly at him now. "You'll get used to it."
"I sincerely doubt that. What do you want?"
"It concerns a private matter," the fox said, outright shooing the bartender away. He actually listened too, proving that the Langs had pretty much hired him to be a doormat.
A private matter? Who the hell was this guy? He was nowhere near subtle enough to be one of his fellow agents, even including Jack Savage, which meant that he was either Crypsis or trying to sell him something. He'd be fine with gutting either.
"I have a little something to offer you." Simon reached for the knife in his back pocket. "But first, a proper introduction. I'm an aspiring crime lord. You can call me Count Reynard."
He reluctantly left the knife be. "And what does a crime lord think is important enough to bother me with?" It's not just the drinks, right? He really IS that stabable?
"It's about your son."
Simon no longer had to consider the option of smashing his glass over Reynard's head, for it already shattered in his grip. "I would choose your next words very carefully."
Reynard chose not to use words at all, instead plopping a manilla file folder on the counter and sliding it over to him.
He kept a steely glare on the fox for a few seconds more before curiosity finally overtook him and he looked down at the contents of the folder. Contained within were several security photos of Kyle around Hamwood Memorial Park, likely from the same source Karen had gotten her own info from. "I already know the details of the case," he growled, almost slamming it shut right there. "Don't bring this up to me if you're just going to waste my time."
"Keep looking," Reynard encouraged, leaning on the counter without a care in the world. Kicking his stool out from under him was still an option.
But Simon turned a few pages, finally pausing on one series of images that looked familiar for all the wrong reasons. "What is this?"
"You're the vet. You tell me."
It didn't seem like anything of import at first. Just some pictures of an empty room inside of a nearby building, bordering the park if the view from the visible window was any indication. The window was suspiciously cracked open, and the small box sitting nearby was pretty conspicuous too. It looked like something else had been set up in here, and Simon had enough experience to make an educated guess. "A sniper's nest?"
"Perhaps." Reynard was currently trying to use his cane to snag a free drink from the shelf. "Not really my area of expertise, I'm more of an up-close and personal kinda guy, but I do find its location interesting. One could even say mind-blowing, as in what was likely to happen to your son if he'd stayed put. It'd be like-gotcha!" The mouth of the cane opened and closed around one of the bottles and he pulled it back over to him. "But if you don't believe me, feel free to investigate the area yourself."
"How do you know this?" Simon asked suspiciously. This wasn't even the paranoid drunk kind of suspicious, just the common sense kind. "More importantly, why are you sharing it with me? I'm guessing it's not out of the goodness of your heart."
"Hell no! I'm doing it to manipulate you into working for me." Reynard once again used his cane's mouth to pop open the bottle and took a swig.
He blinked a few times. "...That is refreshingly honest."
"And this is refreshingly refreshing!" Reynard replied, wiping his lip and slamming the bottle back down. "But yes, I've been keeping track of you and your situation for a while now. Like I said, I'm an aspiring crime lord, and I'm looking for someone who can take on a little job I have in mind. I know you've been looking."
"This doesn't exactly make me more inclined to trust you."
He waved a paw. "Who said anything about trust? Trust is overrated anyway! I'm only here to propose a deal, as a shameless crook with good intel." Reynard pushed the manilla file towards Simon a bit more. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours. And lemme tell you, this cane makes a damn good backscratcher."
"You're insane."
"Says the guy who just assaulted a veteran at PTSD counseling. Told you I've been keeping track."
This is a waste of time. "If your intel is so good, why don't you know who took Kyle already?"
"I never said I didn't." That got his attention. "Not specifically, mind you, but I certainly have an idea. I'll even give you that much for free. I suspect it was some sort of rogue faction within the ZPD, targeting Kyle for trying to expose them. That might seem hard to believe, but if you investigate for yourself, I'm sure you'll see that-"
"No, I believe you," Simon said, raising a paw.
Reynard seemed to lurch for a moment, his carefully prepared speech suddenly no longer needed. "You do?"
"Yes." It makes perfect sense, after all. Kyle was trying to root out Crypsis agents within the ZPD, so those agents struck first and abducted him. We should've known they'd try something like that. Yet this arrogant fox seems to know nothing of them. If he did, that would've been the first thing he told me. Short-sighted fool.
"Well, glad to hear it then!" Reynard replied, chuckling to himself. That was even easier than I thought. I guess his wife really was the brains of the duo. But his talents will certainly come in handy as I carry out my plans. And I'll have leverage over him even if he does discover the truth. Short-sighted fool.
"But if I may ask," Simon continued, "why me? There are plenty of other mercs around that you could've hired without all these theatrics."
"First of all, I happen to like the theatrics," he said, almost affronted. "Second of all, most of those mercs didn't have a name like 'Delta Fox' attached to them."
"So you wanted someone of prestige."
"More like someone named after foxes. Because I'm a fox too, so I thought it would be cool for my brand image to have a Delta Fox working for me."
"Working with you," he reminded. "And that had better not be the only reason."
"Of course not! There are other Delta Foxes around!" he pointed out. "But you're the only one with that badass peg leg. Really helps you stand out."
"And that's really counterintuitive these days, so whatever job you've got planned for me, which I still haven't agreed to by the way, it had better be discreet."
"It's nothing much," he insisted. "I just need you to help me assassinate all of Zootopia's crime lords."
Simon just gaped at him.
"I mean, not all at once."
"You really are crazy."
"Crazy like a fox," he said seamlessly. "Which also makes me crazy enough to pull this off, with a little help." He tapped on the folder again. "Keep that. It contains not only the info I already showed you, but some general information on my targets. I'd like you to gather a bit more before we begin, especially concerning the first: Mr. Big."
"I still haven't agreed to this."
"But you will," he said confidently. "Guys like you don't end up drinking their sorrows away unless they've got nowhere else to turn." He leaned over and filled another glass for Simon just to illustrate the point. "I can relate. You're not the only one trying to reunite with his son."
Simon only gave the glass a brief glance before looking back at Reynard, much more intrigued now. "Is that so?"
"That's right. I'm sure you understand that, don't you? Wanting what's best for your boy? Being willing to do anything at all to make him happy?" He filled a glass of his own and clinked it against Simon's. "How about we toast to the struggles of a father?"
"How about you tell me what that has to do with widespread criminal assassinations?"
"Everything! Also nothing."
"I don't know who your son is, but I already feel sorry for him."
"That information is included as well." Reynard picked up Simon's untouched glass and placed it on top of the folder. "All of that and more is yours, but only if you agree to help me."
"You are aware of how many different ways I can break your thumbs?"
"How about this?" He wisely lifted the glass. "Take this information as a good faith payment and investigate on your own, see what you come up with. I'll contact you again soon and you can decide then where you stand."
"Contact me how?"
Reynard placed a small, black object in front of him, though Simon wasn't quite sure what it was. "I'll call you on this," Reynard explained. "For security reasons, you understand."
He only partially understood. "This thing is a phone?" To him, it might as well have been an alien communicator used to hail the mothership.
"I'm gonna choose to ignore that. Just as you are free to ignore my offer when the time comes. I'll leave that to you. Will this be our last meeting, or the start of a beautiful friendship?" Either way, Reynard happily downed both glasses without him.
Simon looked down uncertainly at the two items he was now holding, but still took both of them as he slammed down some bills and hopped down from his stool. There was really no reason not to and the fox obviously knew that. He was clearly preying on his desperation, which Simon recognized immediately.
But it didn't stop him from being right. "Whether I help you or not, you don't have a chance in hell of pulling this off, you know. It's suicide."
"No, it's crazy like a fox."
He looked over his shoulder. "Are you going to keep saying that?"
"Maybe once or twice more."
"Hmph." Finally having enough of this, Simon headed away and left the bar.
Reynard watched him leave, foregoing the glasses now and just drinking straight from the bottle. "Alright, you can come out now."
A vampire bat scrambled out from below the counter, looking a bit intoxicated herself. "Looks like you didn't quite seal the deal on that one, Count."
"On the contrary, I suspect it'll take him less time to decide to join me than it will to figure out that smartphone. If anything, I was expecting more of a challenge." He swished the alcohol around in contemplation. "Either he's better at hiding his thoughts than I expected, or he really doesn't suspect that I'm the one who took his son."
"Technically, that was me," Lucy pointed out with a raised talon. "Give credit where credit is due after how much I had to listen to that guy. Made me wish there really was a sniper waiting to off him."
"But you did plant enough evidence to suggest as much?" Reynard asked. "And to suggest ZPD involvement?"
"What do you take me for? Of course I did!" She folded her wings. "Trust me, I have plenty of experience with frame jobs."
"Receiving, not giving. Slight difference there." He took another swig from the bottle and his grin returned right after. "In the meantime, we'll have to do something about Big's bears. I already have some familiarity with his head of security and I've been looking forward to trying some borscht."
"Gotta say, it's pretty ballsy to be talking about killing the crime lords in a place owned by one of the crime lords," Lucy noted. "Seriously, the Lang Family is literally partying right above us."
"I am nothing if not audacious," he said almost proudly. "It's not like they'll hear us anyway, so long as we keep our voices doooooooAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Startled, Lucy stumbled back and tripped onto the counter. "Holy guano! What was that about?!"
Just as surprised himself, Reynard finally read the label on the bottle he'd been drinking from. "The Tarzan? How interesting." He promptly chugged the entire rest of the bottle. "Oh ho ho, this is some good shiiiiiiiiiiAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
One Fateful Night
Simon walked down a long, empty hallway. Suspiciously empty considering where he was, but not surprisingly so after what he'd been told. All he had on him was his Silver Centurion revolver, a file tucked away into his jacket, and a grim sense of determination.
He stopped in front of a set of wooden double doors and withdrew the weapon, pausing to steady his grip on it for a moment. For as much as he'd been carrying it around as of late, it had been some time since he'd actually used it for its intended purpose. Something that was about to change.
Simon kicked open the doors. His arrival was unexpected and he used that brief moment of distraction to identify the six targets in the room.
No, make that five. One of them was on his side, a concept almost foreign to him these days.
Make it four actually, as Simon put a bullet between one target's eyes before he'd even finished that thought.
It had been an eventful few days since his meeting with Count Reynard. The first was spent investigating the scene of Kyle's abduction. He came back with a scrap of cloth torn from a ZPD uniform, perhaps that of the unwitting sniper as they hastily made their escape. He filled in the rest of the blanks shortly thereafter. Kyle had been warned of the supposed attack through his "underworld contact" and made a getaway of his own, only to be lured into the real trap.
The second target he took out was the first to draw a gun of his own. Before he could get a bead on him, Simon darted into his personal space and slammed a peg leg down on the bear's foot. While he roared in pain, Simon rolled around behind him to form a hefty meat shield against the remaining two targets that posed a threat. As for the one he was currently taking advantage of, he shot him too as soon as he looked over his shoulder, causing the bear to topple onto his side.
On the next day, he had a long and emotionally-driven argument with his wife. Karen had found that sniper's nest on her own, and when she noticed his scent there, Simon was forced to give up the scrap of cloth that he'd taken from the crime scene. It was a measure to keep anyone from destroying the evidence, but she didn't see it that way, and soon every grievance the two of them ever had with each other came pouring out. It was honestly the first chance either of them really had to vent in decades and the ensuing shitstorm was turbulent enough that they would've worried about exposing Kyle to it if he were still there. And yet, Simon hadn't told her about Reynard or his offer, which made his decision inevitable in hindsight.
The two remaining polar bear guards shot at Simon as he took cover behind their fallen friend. Needing only a brief opening, the raccoon grabbed onto one of the deceased bear's arms and kicked it upwards. The limp limb drew their fire like a waving flag, giving Simon the chance to pop up and shoot each of them in the heart. The bears fell into each other and then collapsed together. All four of them had been taken out with a single bullet each.
The day after that, he sold his soul. As much as he'd like to say he regretted that, it was barely a notch over the lost leg in his book. And they could take anything else they wanted from him so long as he got Kyle back. He was almost relieved by the knowledge that his attitude towards protecting his son had not changed after all these years. Perhaps the only thing surprising about any of this was that his nights had been more restful lately, no nightmares or forays into the garbage to be found. He wasn't sure exactly what that meant for him.
"Koslov, do something!"
Simon's attention was drawn to the shrill sound of Mr. Big screaming at his head of security. The massive polar bear was unmoved, both in disposition and from his current spot behind the desk. "Oh? You wish for me to do something? But I am so accustomed to being nothing but furry taxi service. I am not sure I know how to do more."
To the shrew's credit, he had earned his stripes as a crime lord and figured out what was going on pretty quickly. In his position, Simon supposed he got used to the idea of betrayal, even from close within the family. It didn't keep him from attempting to flee, however, knocking over his chair in the process. Koslov stuck true to his word and made no move to stop him, but it didn't matter now for Simon was already closing in.
If this were up to him, he would've simply shot Big right there, confident he could hit even a small, moving target. But aside from the mess that would make, he had been given very specific instructions about what was to happen next.
Simon swung his revolver, striking Big in the back with it. The shrew let out an undignified squeak and fell over, only to be quickly scooped up by the raccoon's other paw. Simon was careful to position his fingers close to Big's neck, high enough to keep him from being able to bite. He was clearly desperate enough to.
Koslov finally did something now, moving around the front of the desk to bend over and open up a familiar trapdoor.
"I'm supposed to say something to you," Simon recalled, looking over the squirming shrew as he held him above the ice water. He wouldn't have even bothered with the instructions at this point if one of Reynard's stooges wasn't around to tattle on him. For what he'd sacrificed to get this job, he wasn't about to compromise it already over something so dumb. "Revenge is a dish best served iced."
He felt another part of his soul die just saying that.
Even now, Mr. Big did not accept his fate, but not just for his own sake. "Please..I am a father…"
Then perhaps he would understand. "So am I."
Simon dropped him into the arctic abyss below and Koslov shut him inside. They both watched it in silence for a moment, though they knew it was unnecessary. If he attempted to escape again, they didn't even notice.
"And that is that," Koslov said with a satisfied nod. "I thank you for assistance."
I was not the one merely assisting. "Are you going to take care of the cleanup?"
"The Count wishes for bear bodies to stay. Sends strong message. As for Big's body, I take it later to send stronger message. Have good idea as to how if you'd like to hear."
"I'm not interested," he said, not even wanting to look at the trapdoor again.
"So be it. I will search around outside to ensure we didn't miss anything. You may leave when ready." Koslov gave him a nod, then turned and lumbered back out the door, leaving Simon alone in the office.
Not counting all the corpses. I may leave when ready? Does he think I WANT to spend any more time around this place? Simon shook his head and made to exit right after him.
Lost in thought, Simon had to stop himself as he almost stepped in a puddle of blood, left behind from the skirmish. Another close call. If he left tracks, then…
Then what, exactly? The ZPD could use those tracks to identify him as the culprit, especially if he left marks from his peg leg as well. And if the ZPD came after him, then Simon had the opportunity to lay an ambush. To capture whoever it was among them that took Kyle and interrogate them until his son was safe and sound again. And he was sure he could find out some other interesting tidbits as well. It would only require a little more patience...
Smiling to himself, Simon walked through the blood, making sure to leave clear paw and peg prints behind him.
Come and get me, ZPD. You and the masters you serve. I will save Kyle from you, no matter what.
And thus, we've come full circle on this thing. I even recall bringing up the possibility of finally showing the moment of Mr. Big's death way back in Drabble 1. Honestly, the hardest part of writing this one was having to look back and remember all the relevant details to not only Simon's backstory, but Kyle's abduction, Big's murder investigation, and even Koslov's recruitment as well.
Next up is another bit of overdue closure. So long delayed that one could even find it vexing.