"Dare to dream, then decide to do." - Annette White
8:57 P.M ; Zootennial Stadium, Sahara-Square...
It was only a few minutes until the first of the three major debates was to begin. Everyone was behind the stage and the scene was a study in controlled chaos as twelve candidates and all of their support staff went over last minute revisions and pep talks. Sammy, Judy, Olivia, and Niel were in a half circle around Nick as they marshalled for the looming challenge.
Sammy was taking the lead, as was her way, and was getting Nick ready. "You have your notecards, right?"
Nick nodded and patted his breast pocket. "Of course. Not like I need them. We've been over it so many times I have them memorized word-for-word!"
"Trust me, you'll be glad you have them later. Now, remember-"
At this point, she was repeating herself. Nick and Samantha had been over every bit of advice she could have possibly offered three times by now. Not the Nick wasn't grateful for the effort, but he didn't need to hear it again. His attention began to wander across the room to his competition.
Of course, he noticed Bradley first, who he hadn't seen since that night at the cafe. The stately buck was surrounded by a team of about a dozen mammals, all various prey usually found in the Meadowlands - mostly sheep, a few rams and a couple smaller deer. One of them stood atop a stool to reach his antlers, polishing them with varnish. A shiny button of Zootopia's flag was pinned on the lapel of his deep blue suit. Bradley's face was relaxed, almost cold, and his blue eyes stared ahead at nothing in particular. Nick quickly looked away before his attention could be noticed.
Continuing his mammal-watching revealed some stranger sights. There was an honest to goodness tank of water in another corner, propped atop a large wheeled dolly. Something swam inside. Nick stared at it until he figured out what he was seeing. It was a dolphin in a light blue suit! The fox knew that they could spend a short amount of time on land, shuffling with their flippers, but Nick couldn't actually recall ever seeing it himself. Only marine mammals such as seals and walrus could be on land for any significant amount of time, and sure enough, several of each surrounded the tank, wiping it down with rags and reciting advice from clipboards to the dolphin inside. The water tank was an interesting idea, and Nick wondered if they were going to roll it onto the stage for the debate. The fox smirked at the mental image.
Nick's gaze continued to wander, but the rest of the mammals were much more mundane. The ones that stood out to Nick were a group of bats hanging from one of the support beams, and another group that contained various bears, including the polar and grizzly varieties. The only other group that matched them for sheer size was a squad of hippopotamus on the other side of the room.
Before he could finish analyzing his competition, a paw grabbed Nick's chin, yanked his lower jaw down and sprayed something into his mouth.
"Ack!" Curiosity now well and truly quashed, the fox hacked a surprised cough and whirled on his aggressor. Samantha stood before him, looking pleased with herself, while everyone in their little huddle was failing to suppress laughter. Even the reticent Niel had an amused smile.
"What was that for?!" Nick barked. "What even-" The fox stopped, then licked his teeth. "Breath freshener? Why?! I'll be on stage, no one is going to smell my breath!"
Samantha nodded sagely as she slid the spritz bottle into her purse. "Trust me. When you're on stage, you are going to feel every little flaw like a red hot iron on your skin, even the little things no one could possibly notice. It'll be one less thing to worry about."
Nick compulsively licked his teeth again, then rolled his shoulders in a little half shrug. "Sure. Whatever. Thanks, I guess, but a little warning next time!"
One of the stage crew yelled out over the crowd, "Two minutes until stand ready!"
They'd been warned about this. 'Stand ready' was when the candidates would line up to go on stage. The previously rowdy room grew subdued as everyone realized there wasn't enough time to do any more preparation, so most candidates took the chance to collect themselves and their staff wisely let them do so.
Nick wasn't so lucky.
"Oh, Nicholas!" Overcome with emotion, Olivia tried to step forward, arms raised to give her son a hug. "This is really it! I'm so proud of you!"
Sammy stepped between them. "Hang on, we can't-!"
Nick interrupted her with a paw on her shoulder and declared, "I'll be a polar bear's bottle brush before I'll let someone stop my mother from hugging me." Then with the paw still on her shoulder, Nick gently pushed Samantha aside so he could step into his mother's arms.
Samantha huffed at the pair of embracing foxes, then turned to glance at Judy, who was staring longingly at the pair and remarked crossly, "What, you wanna hug him, too?"
Judy didn't even bother to reply before she stepped forward and hopped up to throw her arms around the pair's necks. There was a startled laugh as the trio threatened to tip over from the sudden weight before they corrected themselves, then the foxes both adjusted their arms to go around the affectionate rabbit.
Accepting her defeat, Samantha rolled her eyes in annoyance even as she gave up on her professional insistence, stepping forward to add herself to the growing group hug. Nick accepted her easily and lowered an arm to drape around her shoulders. Neil stood to the side, allowing himself a smile of his own at the display.
There was a long moment of quiet as everyone enjoyed the embrace, gathering strength and comfort for the ordeal ahead. Niel stood alone to one side, arms crossed and looking faintly uncomfortable as he glanced away.
Samantha, keenly aware of the literal ticking clock, was the first to break away. "Okay, okay! That's enough! We have to get ready!" She insisted to the others.
After one more squeeze, Judy let go and gracefully dropped to the floor. Olivia was a little slower, but she did pull away. Without wasting a second, Samantha stepped in front of Nick and yanked him down by the lapel with one paw while a lint roller appeared in her other paw. She frantically rolled him down, determined to get every loose hair. When she was done with that, the lint roller disappeared to the same place the breath freshener did and she hurriedly straightened out Nick's black tie and trademark beige suit, and smoothed over any disturbed fur. Nick was quiet and compliant, patiently letting his advisor have her way.
The call came. "Stand ready!"
As the candidates began to walk to the front of the room, Samantha pushed Nick back up and straightened his jacket with a few quick tugs. "All ready! Now get out there and show 'em what you're made of!"
Nick smiled and dipped his head in thanks. Fearing further delays, he simply flashed a departing grin at Judy, Olivia and Niel before he turned away to join the other candidates. The group of twelve diverse mammals were quickly arranged into a line ordered by last name, though the dolphin was allowed to go last due to the obvious difficulties he would have hobbling across the stage. Nick would go second to last. He was intrigued to note the candidate that stood a couple places before him was a hybrid: specifically, the offspring of a polar bear and a grizzly. A grolar bear, with offwhite fur on his head and dark brown fur around the paws and feet. His black suit had been tailored to his massive size. He was easily the tallest of the candidates by a wide margin - even taller than Bradley, the thought of which comforted Nick for a reason he couldn't place.
Less interesting but still noteworthy was the candidate directly before Nick: a mottled brown rabbit wearing a dark green suit, a head taller than Judy, but with much smaller ears and paws. Nick's recent experience in the Marshlands informed him this was a marsh hare. He even had a ball of moss pinned to his chest like a rose on a tuxedo. Nick also couldn't help notice the hare was frequently glancing at him from over his shoulder. Though the buck managed to maintain a neutral expression, it was obvious that being this close to a fox made him nervous.
Nick had to fight a grimace. Instead, he did the polite thing: looked away from the frightened prey and pretended not to notice.
An amplified voice came through the curtain, loud and clear, interrupting Nick's thoughts.
"Ladies and Gentlemammals, please welcome our candidates! Our first is representing the Nocturnal-District: Brian Batley!"
The second shortest mammal present, the brown bat candidate that caught Nick's eye earlier, stopped nervously fiddling with his suspenders. After letting out a calming breath, he adjusted his thick black rimmed glasses and waded through the thick curtains.
"Representing Sahara-Square: Charlie Chuckles!"
A striped hyena in a sharp black suit and bright yellow tie rolled his shoulders as an easy smile came over his face, and with an ease that spoke of practice, he slipped out through the curtains without so much as ruffling his distinctive fur crest.
"Representing Outback Island: Alma Dillards!"
One of the smaller mammals present, an armadillo in a fashionably cut western themed suit complete with a wide brimmed stetson hat and bolo tie, straightened up, schooled her features into a friendly smile and pushed through the curtain.
"Representing the Canal District: Howard Humphenson!"
The hippo candidate, the largest of those present by weight by far, harrumphed irritably. "It's Howard Humphenson the Sixth," he griped at the nearest stage crew, who could only shrug helplessly in reply. Seeing that he wouldn't get his way, the hippo raised his chin imperiously and smoothed his stubby arms down the front of his blatantly expensive suit before pushing through the curtain.
"Representing the Rainforest District: Sonny Livingston!"
A capybara in a dark brown suit that complemented his light brown fur jumped as though he was shocked to be called up, but he quickly rallied and forced himself through the dividing cloth.
"Representing the Meadowlands: Dolly Lovejoy!"
A plump ewe in an eye-wateringly bright magenta skirt suit smiled dreamily as she glided through the curtain.
"Representing Savanna-Central: Bradley Stagnew!"
The well-dressed buck needed no extra preparation. He simply held the curtain up with one arm and ducked his antlers through, careful of snagging the sharp points on the cloth, and disappeared.
"Representing Little Rodentia: Ralph Templeton!"
A dark furred rat, large for his species but still the shortest candidate, drew himself up, straightened his jacket, and walked purposefully through the curtain. The cloth barely rustled as he passed.
"Representing Tundratown: Theodore Tucker!"
The tall grolar bear chuckled deeply, a sound Nick could actually feel vibrate the floor beneath his feet. Then he said, "Let's do this," in his deep voice and stepped through the curtain.
"Representing the Marshlands: James Thumper!"
The buck hare that Nick had been politely ignoring was the quickest to leave, nearly running through the curtain. Nick studiously ignored the little pang in his chest for being feared by someone that ought to have been considered a colleague.
Then Nick realized he was next. He had to fight the compulsion to fiddle with his tie, knowing it was as perfect as Samantha could make it and that he could only make it worse. Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out.
"The first time representative of Happytown: Nick Wilde!"
The smile that was almost his default expression came as easily as ever. He was ready. Nick stepped toward the curtain and pushed through. Though he barely even noticed, for the first time in nearly a year, it felt as if his leg had never been injured.
The light nearly blinded him, but he'd been on stage before. Even as his vision adjusted and he spotted his dais, he never let his smile falter, and as he walked - not hurried, walked, just like Samantha and he practiced - he raised a paw and waved to the spectators, who clapped with an enthusiasm only slightly less than he was used to from the few rallies he'd done so far. High above, the wavy blue rim of Zootennial Stadium encircled a crowd of thousands, opening at the top to reveal the starry evening sky. It was massive, filling the entire stadium to the brim with colors and shapes of every mammal in existence. Somewhere out there, be it in the stadium or watching from a TV, Nick realized that every supporter he'd gained was watching. Friends, family, perhaps even enemies. But he didn't let that thought slow him down. Before he knew it, Nick was at his dias, and to his pleasant surprise, it was one fitted for him, so there was no need to step up on a box or steps.
Once he was settled in, the final candidate was called. "Representing the Docks: Mr. Snowflake!"
That got a raised brow from Nick. No first name? Or was it no last name? Snowflake?
There was an unusually long pause, and Nick swore he heard a thump and splash come from behind the curtain. Eventually, the dolphin in the blue suit pushed through the curtain and was greeted with polite applause. Clumsy and slow, the dolphin hobbled along toward his dias on his back flippers, and even with alien aquatic features that Nick had little practice in reading, he could tell Snowflake was uncomfortable to the point of pain. This didn't surprise the fox, knowing how most marine mammals were bound to the waterways in the Docks. But they could still come on land for brief periods of time, as evident by Snowflake's efforts, even if some of them were better suited for it. By the time the only-barely-not-literal fish-out-of-water made it to his own custom podium at Nick's left, the polite applause had faded into an awkward silence.
Regardless, this was finally it. Nick was one step closer to making his dream a reality. All his supporters - from Samantha and Judy, to the Police Union and their volunteers in the Marshlands - were there to cheer him on for the final stretch. But as the fox stared out over the diverse competition around him, he wondered how easy it would truly be.
9:02 P.M ; Fangpyre Family safehouse, Nocturnal-District...
Music had always held a special place in the heart of Vladzotz Fangpyre the III.
Before the fall of Castle Fangpyre, he would spend days worth of hours in the manor's organ hall. With its ancient, ornate atmosphere, and the extravagant organ that gave the room its name, a cultured lover of the fine arts such as himself could be endlessly entertained. Whenever he closed his eye and concentrated, Vladzotz could still visualize the massive pipe organ, and the beautiful sounds he could spawn from it. Taught from a young age to play, it was a skill that Vladzotz had honed all his life.
The music rack before him supported no sheets. He didn't need them; he'd long since memorized all of his favorite pieces. Vladzotz sat calmly atop the bench, staring down at the pristine ivory keyboard. He had ordered this organ constructed in one the safehouse's many rooms, though both the organ and the room it called home were far smaller than Castle Fangpyre's. The crime-lord gingerly glided his clawed wingtips over the keyboard, producing a scale from high to low. The pipes rising from the dark wooden mantle rumbled with the action, filling the room with song. It was a powerful instrument, but still a far cry from the one Vladzotz had used for the majority of his life thus far.
As soon as that thought registered, Vladzotz shook his head and sneered. Enough comparing, he mentally declared to himself. What I have is all I need. And what I have, I am grateful for.
The crime-lord inhaled deep through his nostrils, closing his single red eye with indulgence. At the precipice of his breath, he began to play. The song that followed was modest in tempo, simple and clean - exactly what he needed to clear his mind right now. As the war raged on, he suspected he would be spending a lot more time in this room. It was one of the few things that never failed to calm him. Vladzotz was granted a few minutes of peaceful solitude, that was, before a rapping at his chamber door broke his concentration. The ears of a vampire bat were powerful enough to hear even past the deep throngs of the organ, after all. Ceasing his performance, Vladzotz rose from his chair, swept down the front of his midnight black vest and slacks, and turned to face his guest. A portly badger in a tuxedo was panting heavily in the doorway, face twisted with anxiety.
"Uh, s-sir! You should come see this!" He requested in a shaky voice.
The crime-lord narrowed his single red eye. He hadn't even been awake for three hours, and a problem had already found its way to his feet, judging by the badger's frightful demeanor. Alas, there was little a leader could do in such a situation but examine the damage. "Show me." Vladzotz ordered, pacing toward the door.
He followed his minion into a nearby living room, where a flatscreen television mounted to the wall illuminated Gothic furniture and potted mushrooms in a hazy blue glow. A small amalgamation of badgers, moles, raccoons, and other bats were huddled around the screen, many looking shocked or even nervous as Vladzotz entered the room. He frowned at the sight of so many mammals huddled around that noisy device. Vladzotz never much liked television, viewing it as a waste of time and energy.
"What is this?" The crime-lord growled. "Television usage is restricted to off-duty employees! We're in the middle of a war!"
Then the crowd parted, revealing the source of their attention, and Vladzotz instantly understood their confusion. Across the screen, a bold white headline from ZNN read: LIVE COVERAGE OF ZOOTOPIA'S PRELIMINARY MAYORAL DEBATE. On screen was a colorful cast of mammals standing behind a row of podiums, and among them was…
Vladzotz's pupil dilated into a pinprick of darkness. His breath faltered under a sudden heat flooding his being, muscles tensing with growing fury. "That wretched fox…"
Standing proudly at one of the podiums in a clean beige suit, Nicholas Wilde smiled into the crowd, green eyes sparkling with a charming innocence that drove Vladzotz mad. The bat stepped forward, wings clenching as he shouted at the television. "HE'S CAMPAIGNING FOR MAYOR OF ZOOTOPIA?!" He turned his furious glare to the mammal closest to him. "HOW DID I NOT KNOW OF THIS?!"
The raccoon he was yelling at shrunk with fear, even though his boss was half his height. "I-I-I don't know, sir!" He stammered. "This is the only TV in the safehouse, and-"
"What's going on?" A feminine, high-pitched voice piped out from nearby.
All eyes turned to face Lucy Sang, standing in one of the connecting hallways with one paw propped atop her hips. Lester loomed behind her, having been drawn by the commotion as well.
One of the moles in the crowd pointed to the TV. "That fox we kidnapped is running for mayor!"
Lucy narrowed her large green eyes. "You mean…" She trailed off, gaze falling on the screen. Sure enough, the same fox that she'd fought over a year ago in Beaverdam was on stage among the other mayoral candidates. "No way."
"This cannot be accepted," Vladzotz snarled harshly. "He must suffer the consequences for his impudence!"
Seeing this, Lucy knew it was only a matter of time before he started on a downward spiral again. She flapped over to his side and gripped one of his shoulders. "Hey, it's okay. Just calm down. This isn't a bad thing."
"But he was the one that-"
"Vladzotz," Lucy interjected, using his true name for emphasis. After a short pause, she continued softly, "I know. But remember what we promised. Mr. Big is the one we want. Not him," she briefly glanced to the TV before looking back to her husband. "He was just a tool, and he was tricked as much as we were. He isn't worth the effort."
The crowd surrounding them was completely silent, watching as Lucy - with almost magic-like ability - calmed the furious crime-lord. His breaths slowed, and ears dipped with weariness. In the corner of the room, Lester nodded approvingly. Before Lucy had started hanging around the Nocturnal-Mob, no one could stop Vladzotz when he was in a rage. She made it seem so easy. Her high-pitched voice could be quite soothing when she put in the effort.
Vladzotz sighed. "Yes. Of course," he agreed softly, straightening his spine and staring at the TV. "He was… never anything more than a tool."
Seeing Nick's smiling face on TV disgusted him. But Lucy was right. Vladzotz had long since moved on now, to the point where vengeance didn't matter to him. His gaze fell to the floor. And yet… the crime war still raged. If he truly didn't care about vengeance, would he be waging an entirely new crusade in the name of it? Before the thought could consume him, the crime-lord returned his gaze to Lucy, silently grateful that she'd managed to catch him before he'd gone too far off the deep end.
"You're right." He admitted. "Thank you, my dear."
Lucy nodded. "Someone's gotta keep your eye on the prize." She smiled warmly, gripping his shoulder a touch tighter. "Can't be getting distracted with so much else on the line already. Besides, if he wins the election…" That warm smile twisted into a sadistic grin that left no fang unseen. "Just imagine what we could do to him." Her clawed fingers slowly ran down Vlad's shoulder. "All the juicy blackmail we could use to control him. The mayor of Zootopia bent to our whims."
As the idea sprouted deeper into his mind, Vladzotz allowed himself a tiny, knowing smile, even though he had no idea how exactly they'd accomplish such a feat with no hard evidence. "Now that sounds interesting. A crime-lord hasn't had a mayor in their pocket in quite some time. And who knows?" His gaze fell upon the TV once more. "Perhaps retribution will find its way to that wretched fox regardless. A mammal like him has many enemies. I wouldn't be surprised if another seeks his humiliation. Or death."
"Yeah. And if he sends his precious rabbit cop after us," Lucy's long tongue moistened her lips. "I can finally drain her dry."
The surrounding crowd of mobsters nodded their approval. Upon noticing their anticipatory smiles, Vladzotz inhaled deeply and announced to the room, "Excuse my earlier demeanor. Let us not be distracted by fantasies, though. As Lucy said, what matters most is the secure conclusion of the war. Only once that traitorous shrew in Tundratown is dealt with, will we turn our attentions to other affairs. Now all of you, back to work! And someone turn off that waste of power on the wall."
As the crowd disbanded and Lester reached for the TV remote, Vladzotz stared into the smiling face of the fox that he had hated for so long. Though he never could have said it aloud, three words entered his mind moments before the screen went black.
I… forgive you.
They felt pitiful, echoing in his mind, as though thinking them were more of a test than anything. Vladzotz couldn't have even said if he truly believed it. But there were more important matters on the horizon. Pushing the thought of that fox from his mind, Vladzotz wrapped his wings around his body like a leathery cloak, and retreated back to the organ room. When he shut the door behind him, he breathed in deep, and then sighed bitterly. The silence that followed was his respite for but a moment, before a rustling sound from above registered in his sensitive eardrums. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.
"I heard you this time," he announced to the room, still facing the door. "You haven't grown rusty after such a short time recovering, have you?"
A feminine giggled emanated from the ceiling. "Who says I didn't let you hear me this time?"
Vladzotz smiled, and turned around to face his wife. He spotted her hanging from the ceiling just above the pipe organ. "I knew you'd slink off here after that," Lucy remarked as she flapped down to the floor. "You'd always spend so much time in Castle Fangpyre's organ room, back when you…"
Vladzotz grimaced, yet chose to finish that sentence himself anyway. It needed to be said. "When I was hunting that fox."
Lucy noted the way her husband's expression hardened with that statement. She hopped over, directly in front of him, and placed a paw on his chest. "You okay? Like, really okay?"
Vladzotz exhaled softly, and gently pat the paw atop his vest. "Yes. I am," he gave her a reassuring smile. "Now that you're here."
The female bat smirked. "Good. Wouldn't want to regress on that all-important character development, now would you?"
"As if I'm simply a page in another's story," Vladzotz teased back. "And what of yourself? You seemed quite enthused by the thought of drinking the blood of your rabbit rival, in spite of your insistence upon curbing that side of yourself."
Without missing a beat, the thief cocked a hip to one side and replied, "I like to think of drinking her blood as somewhat of a cheat day on my new diet, which I have been completely and wholeheartedly following," she swiftly reminded him. "Waning off fresh blood isn't easy, you know. A little treat here and there helps with motivation."
Vladzotz nodded. "Fair enough. You can devour her to your heart's content, if you cross paths again, so long as you're careful. I don't want a repeat of last time." His allowed himself a smile. "And in the meantime, we can… work together to better one another, yes?"
Lucy's answering smile showed every sharp fang in her mouth, but the look in her eyes was as heartwarming as Vladzotz had ever seen. "Sounds good to me."
The two bats kissed, and in that moment, forgot about their troubles of the outside world, if only for the moment.
9:05 P.M ; Zootennial Stadium, Sahara-Square...
Once everyone had occupied their podium, the moderator - the familiar anchor from ZNN: Peter Moosebridge, looking sharp in a neutral gray three-piece suit - cleared his throat and leaned toward his microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemammals, we are ready to begin Zootopia's Preliminary Mayoral Debate. I would remind the crowd to be quiet and respectful while the candidates speak, and please hold any applause until they have finished speaking.
"To the candidates, I remind you to please be courteous to your fellow candidates and do not speak over or interrupt the others' answers. If you wish to address a question to one of your fellow candidates, please wait until you are called upon to ask. You must also keep your reply within the stated time limit. Those who fail to adhere to these rules may have their microphones silenced.
"Now, we shall begin with opening statements. Due to the large number of candidates, everyone will be allowed ninety seconds. Mr. Brian Batley, we begin with you. Tell us, if you became mayor, what would you hope to accomplish?"
The bat pushed up his thick rimmed glasses and dove right in. "There's much I'd like to accomplish, Mr. Moosebridge. For too long, the government of Zootopia has been ruled by foolish emotion, and not logic. Logic dictates that treating predators poorly leads to them acting poorly. The obvious solution is to pursue equality and equity. Once all citizens are treated fairly, these wasteful protests and riots will end. Another issue is the blood shortage currently plaguing the Nocturnal-District due to a lack of willing donors from the surface world, forcing desperate families to rely on black market alternatives - a shortage that could easily be remedied if not for the fear of ignorant officials. These problems and countless more could be solved if we could act rationally as a society. I believe I can lead this city down this clearly superior path."
The response from the crowd was mixed. Most could agree with what the bat was saying intellectually, but most felt at least partially insulted. The applause was best characterized as hesitant.
For his part, after a short pause where he blinked bemusedly at the brainy bat, Peter Moosebridge turned to the next candidate and asked, "Mr. Charlie Chuckles, if you became mayor, what would you hope to accomplish?"
The striped hyena's grin grew, flashing his perfect white canines. "I'll tell you what, Peter: a whole lot more than the last guy! Ha!" The hyena guffawed theatrically, as though he expected the audience to laugh with him. There was a small response, low and nervous though it was, but with the warning to be quiet fresh on everyone's minds, it rose no higher.
The hyena recovered from his gaff with a smoothness that spoke of experience. "Ah, that is to say, I know that everyone has been real tense these last few months. Seems like there's nothing but bad news and worse news, and plenty of blame to pass around. I want to bring a little joy back to Zootopia, ya know? Laughing in the streets again. The government's response to these problems has been, well, what response, really? I want to get the government involved in improving citizens' lives again. Increase citizen outreach, social programs, increase spending on public arts and performances! I want to remind everyone that Zootopia is the most vibrant, beautiful city in the world!"
At this appeal to civic pride, the audience erupted into enthusiastic applause. Even a few of the other candidates smiled and nodded along, Nick being one of them.
Once the audience quieted, Moosebridge quickly went around the stage, posing the same question to every candidate. The next to go was Alma Dillards, who extolled the virtues of job creation and the boosting effect it had on the economy and how many of society's problems would fade away once every mammal had a higher paying job. How to make more jobs, you ask? Well, just as an example, petroleum extraction and processing would bring in lots of jobs and wouldn't you know it? There were huge untapped oil reserves under the forests surrounding the Zootopian peninsula. She finished with a catchphrase so perfectly delivered it must have been practiced for hours: "Thar's black gold in them hills!"
The citizens applauded her politely enough, but the average Zootopian was too aware of the ecological damage such proposals could cause to the city. The only candidate that seemed intrigued by her proposal was the wealthy looking hippo, Howard Humphenson VI, who went next.
"Zootopia would not be the magnificent city it would be today if not for the great mammals of commerce that built it," the hippo began imperiously. "By granting business incentives and lowering capital taxes, we will attract even more businesses and increase Zootopia's wealth and prosperity!"
He said more, of course; in fact he nearly went over his time and was only stopped by a firm word from Moosebridge. There was some more polite applause, but the room was even more stoic than after Dillards' short speech.
The capybara, Sonny Livingston, was next. The large rodent had to read his opening statement from his notecards nearly word-for-word, and even then had trouble being understood over how often he had to stop to catch his breath or lick his dry lips. Still, he had an agreeable message of increasing programs like the Mammal Inclusion Initiative in an effort to soothe the inflamed tensions in Zootopia, which most mammals could agree was a good idea. When he finished, he gasped like he'd just surfaced after nearly drowning. The audience applauded him more enthusiastically than Humphenson or Dillards, and there were even some encouraging cheers. Nick and a few other candidates even applauded along. Sonny, embarrassed by his less than stellar performance but buoyed by the crowd's enthusiastic reaction, smiled bashfully.
Once quiet was restored, Dolly Lovejoy was called upon. "It's obvious that mammals' current lack of spirituality has caused the current strife. If only we could see our fellow mammals' souls, we could bring true harmony back to Zootopia, as the founders intended! Naturalist ideals show-"
The rest of her statement was more of the same. The crowd's reaction varied from confused to incredulous, a sentiment that was reflected by the candidates' expressions. Several shot bemused glances at each other and into the crowd. When the confounding speech ended, it took several long, awkward moments for the bewildered audience to begin clapping, and that didn't last very long.
And then it was Bradley's turn.
The deer didn't immediately respond after Moodebridge's question, instead pausing for a brief moment to look out over the spectators. "My fellow Zootopians," he finally began, making good use of his powerful voice. "The way forward is clear. For convenience's sake, unsavory, disruptive, and criminal elements have been allowed to grow unchallenged thanks to the ineptitudes of City-Hall, and now these elements pose the greatest threat to our society since its very foundation. It's time all of Zootopia stood against these dark forces and declared in one voice, 'No more!'" He lightly thumped one hoof against his podium for emphasis. "As mayor, I will seek to reforge a secure city - a safe city. A city without organized crime. A city where the struggle between prey and predator will come to an end once and for all!"
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. Even the other candidates looked impressed, and a few clapped along. Nick was a notable exception. The fox stared at the side of Bradley's head, and couldn't help but wonder if any of that speech and the platform it represented was stolen from his own campaign. It sounded a lot like his, after all - just more vague, which concerned him more than it probably should have. He felt an ugly scowl coming on, but was quick to remind himself where he was and how many eyes were watching. It took a considerable force of will to tear his gaze away and keep a neutral expression.
The applause eventually died down, and Moosebridge moved right along to the unfortunate rat that had to follow Bradley's speech. His slightly annoyed expression showed how aware he was of his situation. Still, he gave it his best shot.
"Zootopia is famous across the world as the most inclusive city yet in existence, and I would agree. This amazing city has been the first major city in the world to adopt many inclusive practices, but just because it has done well so far doesn't mean more can't be done! There are large swathes of the city where the average rodent would dare not go for fear of being stepped on, literally, of course, and figuratively! More must be invested into rodent access and living accommodation!"
A high pitched cheer from all the rodents in the audience echoed throughout the stadium. That platform could prove tough to beat with the rodent vote, given how vast their numbers were. Consequently, most of the regular-sized mammals in the audience didn't seem too enthusiastic about Ralph's proposals, but clapped politely anyway.
Theodore Tucker was next. As Moosebridge's question concluded, the grolar bear gripped his podium with two huge paws and rumbled, "If I hold the honor of becoming Zootopia's first hybrid mayor, I will make it the focus of my administration to strengthen the rights and protections of inter-species citizens. My father was a polar bear and my mother was a grizzly, and seeing my family struggle against injustice all my life has encouraged me to seek the justice that all inhabitants of this great city deserve. Even species capable of hybridization face inexcusable intolerance. Zootopia is a place where anyone can be anything, as the saying goes, and I think it's about time we made that saying true for the first time in this city's history!"
The applause that followed was almost surprisingly substantial. Theodore nodded, pleased by their enthusiasm. At his podium, Nick smiled approvingly, happy to see such an inclusive platform. Even after all the strides that he and Judy had made in increasing awareness and acceptance of inter-species couples, there was no denying that they still faced heavy discrimination. Nick had no doubt that somewhere backstage, Judy was nodding with approval. The fox then glanced at the faces of the other candidates. Some of them smiled encouragingly, such as Brian Batley and Charles Chuckles, but there were a few notable exceptions: Howard the hippo and Alma Dillards both noticeably frowned, and Bradley's face was a professional mask of neutrality. Once again, Nick felt tempted to sneer, but forced himself to maintain his grinning visage.
After the clamor had subsided, Moosebridge repeated his question to the marsh hare at Nick's right.
"Now that's a good question, Mr. Moosebridge," James Thumper began in a rural, smoky accent. "And I can't think of a better answer than giving more amenities to the hardworking mammals of the Marshlands!" He pointed to the sky with one finger. "I represent the disgruntled blue-collar workers that are fed-up with the city government's lack of appreciation! We siphon your swamp gas, and don't get squat in return! If you wanna improve the industry that drives this city forward, don't be a lump," he shot out a thumbs-up and gave the widest grin he could manage. "And vote for Thump! Heh!"
A light smattering of applause from the audience betrayed their lack of enthusiasm. At his podium, Nick had to resist chuckling. That verbal gimmick was the worst marketing tactic he'd ever heard. He may have been biased, but Nick thought his 'partner in City-Hall' was hard to top. While the fox could agree with the idea of making life better for the citizens of the Marshlands, something about Thumper's attitude seemed a bit too forced to be genuine. Many in the crowd seemed to pick up on his sleaziness as well, judging by the lackluster clapping.
"Mr. Nicholas Wilde," Moosebridge's voice resonated throughout the stadium. "If you became mayor, what would you hope to accomplish?"
Despite knowing it was coming for all this time, the question still almost felt surprising to Nick. But as he stared out among the crowd of citizens he hoped to lead one day, knowing that so many of them hoped to see the same, he found his words with as much ease as ever.
"Wow, what don't I want to accomplish as mayor?" He spoke into his microphone, chuckling softly beneath his breath. "Zootopia's got a million problems, and I wanna be the one to fix them all, even if it breaks me in the process. I've been broken before, trying to make the world a better place," he shifted his weight atop the dias, and his leg twinged with an all-too-familiar pain. "But I was taught - and not too long ago - that some things are worth fighting for. Worth putting everything on the line for. I believe that I can make Zootopia a better place by fighting to overturn the Prioritization Policy, making the city government more transparent with its own citizens, and strengthening predator rights across Zootopia! And then, every citizen will have the chance to be who they want to be - to defy the stereotypes and expectations that we have placed on each other, and focus on what matters most: peace, progress, and prosperity. And I truly believe that if I became mayor, that dream could become a reality."
The crowd's response wasn't exactly a standing ovation, but it was close. The predators and sympathetic prey, which was most of them, clapped and cheered enthusiastically. If one looked closely, a portion of prey, notably those likely to inhabit the Meadowlands, were quite reticent, with expressions that varied from neutral to annoyed to scowling hostility. The total response was easily in the top three, something Nick noticed with a large degree of pride. He felt tempted to glance over and see how his fellow candidates were reacting, but decided instead to just enjoy the moment with his supporters.
The fox felt he hadn't nearly had enough time to bask in his well deserved adulation before Moosebridge forced things along.
"Mr. Snowflake, what would you hope to accomplish as mayor?"
The focus turned to the porpoise to Nick's right. The dolphin in question grabbed one of several water bottles off the top of his podium and spun the top off with a deft flick of a flipper. Then, somewhat surprisingly, Mr. Snowflake dunked a large portion over his head, and spewed a cloud of mist from his blowhole, a move reminiscent of a land mammal clearing their throat.
And then, he spoke: "ACKACK WEEEE KEKEKE YEEEEE AAAAH YIYIYIYI AH AH AH!"
Nick, the other candidates, and most of the audience stared at the dolphin with undisguised bewilderment. Then, even more surprisingly, an innocuous little black box that sat on Snowflake's podium sputtered to life, and it was only then that most recognized it as a speaker.
"For too long my people's trouble are ignorant by landdwellers," the tinny voice translated, and not very well if the choppy grammar was anything to go by. "Landdwellers choose not know seadwellers' trouble because deaf to Voice of Deep Water. Easy not hard because not of pod kin. I swim in your waters to bring you words, so ignorant gone until all oceans grow cold and hard not easy all rememberance for sake of seadwellers."
As his opening remarks came to a close, the silence that descended over the auditorium could best be described as deafening. Mr. Snowflake let out another slew of laugh-like cackles and repeatedly clapped his flippers together.
It took a long moment but, ever the professional, Moosebridge shook off his shock, cleared his throat and turned back to Brian Batley. "Mr. Batley, I'd like to give you the chance to expand upon your earlier remarks. You said you would bring a more logical approach to the way Zootopia does things. How?"
Looking quite ruffled, the bat turned to Moosebridge and blinked dumbly through his coke bottle glasses, looking almost as though he'd forgotten why he was there. "What? O-oh, yes, of course. The first logical step is increasing public spending on every level of schooling, but especially on higher education…"
Moosebridge's questioning went on for some time, singling out candidate after candidate in no particular order. Each was given a variety of topics to address. Brian Batley masterfully handled a slew of economics questions, while Howard Humphenson earned a few boos by suggesting that giving tax cuts to business executives would "trickle-down" to employees, to the point where Moosebridge needed to remind the audience to maintain their respect. Alma and Thumper squared off on energy dependence (all too fitting given their respective backgrounds), and Charles Chuckles debated with Mr. Snowflake on healthcare, at least to the best of their ability. Mr. Snowflake only managed to squeeze in a few words about insurance coverage for barnacle removal before he accidentally doused his translator with water. The device sparked and sputtered off into indistinguishable dolphin squeaking. He picked up the cube with both flippers and repeatedly banged it against his podium, but that only caused it to fall apart into steaming pieces. Meanwhile, the hyena on the opposite side of the stage couldn't stop laughing at the sight of it, even past the apologies he forced out in between wheezes. Both had to be temporarily escorted off stage.
And so it went for the first ninety minutes, with everyone receiving about the same number of relatively easy questions, allowing them all the chance to outline their individual political stances. As the three hour program passed into its final half, Moosebridge's questions became much more pointed. To borrow a phrase: the kid gloves came off.
Expression growing firmer, the distinguished moderator set his sights on Alma Dillards. "Mrs. Dillards, you propose to extract the petroleum deposits under the forests surrounding Zootopia. Other such projects around the world have been tried, and all of them have ended in ecological disaster, the true extent of which is still not fully understood and with consequences that may last centuries. How does your proposal differ from these other projects?"
The words were an attempted assassination of a political career; a knife thrust right into the heart of her campaign. Though her smile remained, Alma's eyes were sharp enough to cut as she stared Moosebridge down from over her podium.
"Those other projects were poorly managed, and using decades old technology," she ground out between smiling lips and clenched teeth. "My proposal would use the latest, safest, cleanest extraction techniques available. All negative effects to the environment would be mitigated."
Moosebridge pressed his attack. "I notice you use the word 'mitigated', and not 'eliminated'. So, would there still be effects on the environment?"
Alma's glare, if it were possible, grew even sharper. "Every major project has unintended side effects. However, those effects can be minimized through careful management. Just how do you think Zootopia came to be? The careful ecological balance of our city is maintained through similar methods. If any city can be said to be able to effectively manage its environment, surely it's Zootopia."
The amicable atmosphere from before was gone. Alma's hostility was palpable, while Moosebridge's flinty expression revealed he was ready and able to pick apart their political ideologies. Those aspiring leaders on stage had better be ready to defend their beliefs and reasoning, and they knew it. Alma's platform was merely the first to come under attack.
One by one, Moosebridge verbally attacked them, deliberately going after their weakest points and largest flaws, forcing them to defend themselves or risk having their campaigns figuratively torn apart. A few did poorly, but no one worse than Thumper.
"Mr. Thumper," Moosebridge began, causing the marsh hare to gulp as the steely gaze of the moderator landed on him. "You've claimed to represent the workers of the Marshlands. However, you own several swamp gas processing facilities, and it is a matter of public record that you pay your employees well below the industry standard. You say you wish workers were better appreciated, so why don't you show that appreciation in your own sphere of influence?"
The hare laughed nervously, his gaze dropped and he scratched the back of his head. "Ah hah hah. Well, you see, the workers- er, my workers, you see, we pay them based on what the company can afford. Heh. If we paid more…" he trailed off lamely.
Moosebridge didn't look impressed. "Your company is the second largest swamp gas processor in the region, and your quarterly reports show nearly record breaking profits. Tell me, where is all that money going, Mr. Thumper?"
If his slack jawed stare was anything to go by, the hare was truly stumped. "Uh-uh-uh, well, you see, well, it's a publicly traded company, you see, and there are investors, and… other costs…"
The crowd's reaction to Thumper's humiliation varied mostly between sympathy and disgust, but after the revelation of how he handled his business, no one could really say he didn't deserve it.
Moosebridge let the buck flounder until his time was up, and everyone was glad when it was over. Except Nick, because Moosebridge's steely gaze fell on him. Though the fox kept up his easy going smile, he gripped his podium as though he were bracing for impact.
"Mr. Wilde, you claim to represent the predators of Zootopia in general and Happytown in particular, but your permanent residence is well outside of that area. Why have you chosen to live separately from those you purport to represent?"
Nick had been expecting a question of this nature, but the painfully blunt delivery threw him for a loop. The urge to bark out a denial bubbled in his throat, but Nick bit it down. In spite of his limited time, he took a few seconds to center himself and pick his words carefully.
"Saying 'I choose to not live in Happytown' is wrong," he began, slowly, carefully. "My wife and I chose our current apartment because it was the best we could afford as close as possible to Precinct One, where I used to work and where she still does."
"So, you have no plans to move to Happytown. Why not?"
Nick masked an inner grimace. Moosebridge was trying to paint him into a corner, and they both knew it. But he wasn't about to let anyone question his resolve to help Zootopia so easily.
"As I said, my wife still works at Precinct One," the fox repeated, making sure to keep his voice an even, agreeable tone. "And we've done quite a lot of house hopping to keep our address safe from criminals - all on a police officer's budget. We can't afford another big move, even to Happytown. Besides, Happytown isn't s-"
Nick silenced himself before the words could leave his mouth, but it was too late. Moosebridge pointed his pen at the fox on stage. "Hold on, can you finish that last sentence? Happytown isn't what, Mr. Wilde?"
The paws gripping his podium tensed nervously. Nick swallowed, doing his best to remain calm. "As a police officer," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Happytown wouldn't be the optimal place to live."
"So you're saying Happytown - your district of representation - isn't a safe place for a police officer such as yourself to live?"
The crowd muttered amongst themselves. Though Nick couldn't see it, across the stage, Bradley Stagnew allowed himself a minuscule smirk.
Nick raised a paw, trying to ignore how warm his suit suddenly felt. "No no, that's…" He briefly sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that Happytown was a dangerous place to live. "That's not the driving factor. Happytown has a large population, and needs all the housing it can get for mammals that actually need it. And they're overpoliced as it is. My wife and I feel no desire to contribute to their feelings of oppression."
"Because you'd be unwelcome?"
"I grew up in Happytown," Nick replied, voice taking on a firmer hint. "My wife and I saved the entire district, Happytown included, from a capital-C crazy crime-lord last year. It's not that we wouldn't be welcome. It's that… we simply don't need to be there."
Hearing those words echo out into the stadium made them feel a million times worse to Nick. In that moment, he felt like he'd let down the very mammals he hoped to represent. Moosebridge stared Nick down for a few tense more seconds before turning his gaze to the dolphin at his right, who had since returned with a new translation device. "And Mr. Snowflake, could you clarify your stance on marine mammal representation?"
While Mr. Snowflake sputtered more squeaking sounds, Nick let out a tense breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, nearly slumping over his podium. He'd flubbed those answers hard, and he knew it would come back to bite him. He felt tempted to be angry - at Moosebridge, at himself, at Bradley for some reason - but knew that anger wouldn't get him anywhere. This was a problem he needed to fix himself. The fox only hoped that Zootopia would be more forgiving than Moosebridge.
11:30 P.M ; Savanna-Central...
The Cloven Hoof had seen better days.
It was a hive of the worst kind of scum and villainy: the kind looking for employment. Mammals as diverse as they were terrifying crowded the patchy booths, huddled around tables lined with scrimshaw and stains from every kind of fluid in existence. A mysterious trio of suited rats stood atop one, each speaking into an earpiece in hushed voices. A heavily tattooed hippopotamus in a raggedy white tank top and jeans stood near the entrance, arms crossed against his muscular chest. A raccoon with a peg leg and aviator jacket sat slouching at a booth in the back, fiddling irritably with a burner phone in one paw. There were studs, spikes, chains, and stray knives clipped to the belts of every other mammal in the establishment. This was a place where mercenaries came to work, and where Mr. Boarton had met some of the best and worst mammals in his life.
Staring around the grimy brick walls, Mr. Boarton could still see it as the same bar where he and his fellow T.U.S.K members would come after a successful job for a well-earned drink. The Cloven Hoof used to be a nicer place, filled with seedy, but still regular mammals, even if most were prey. But after T.U.S.K's dissolution, the bar had quickly turned into a place where the most deplorable of the city's underworld congregated to make money. After all, a rough-around-the-edges mercenary bar turning into an illegal mercenary bar wasn't so much of a stretch, once the city-government's infamous private army had been disbanded. Now, no one was afraid to slink here for dirty work.
Mr. Boarton growled beneath his breath, flat nose quivering as the memory returned to him. He raised the clear glass of liquor in his hoof and took a swig without so much as wincing, before slamming the container atop the bar counter, next to his gray fedora. The irony of shifting from a welcomed hero to just another one of the sleazy customers he once defended this place from didn't escape his notice. What had once been a safe harbor from the dangers of work - a place where the best of friends could gather for a cold refreshment - had devolved into a nest of criminal activity.
Get off your pedestal, the boar's mind snarled at him. You're as much a criminal as any one of these lowlifes… and even more of a killer than the half of 'em put together.
He stiffly, repeatedly nodded his head, as though silently reassuring himself. His gray trench coat hung unbuttoned from his frame, revealing the identically colored cargo pants, and pure black bullet vest he wore beneath it. In a place like this, he could afford to show his true self, rather than hiding it behind the curtain of a spy's getup. It had been his go-to outfit for almost every day since T.U.S.K had disbanded ten years ago. Mr. Boarton used to think that it was kind of cool, but now, it smelled and looked as old as it was. And he hadn't exactly aged much better from his glory days. He scratched at his naked scalp, where a balding patch felt a little bit wider every time he touched it. His brown fur wasn't getting any lusher, and his tusks had seen cleaner days, though he knew that was his fault, for living such a squalid lifestyle. But where his personal health failed, Mr. Boarton could at least take pride in the work he did, and his trench coat, squalid as it was too, was the representation of his life's mission to aid in the boss' plan.
What did the boss call me, the day I was hired? His Gray Ghost? Tsch, he mentally scoffed. Dramatic dirtbag. But I suppose he's right. Ten years, and I'm still throwing his punches. Ten years, and we've never once been compromised… A sigh whistled between his yellow tusks. Ten years, and you're still a sorry drunk. Virginia was right… you haven't changed since the accident…
Staring down into his drink, Mr. Boarton could do little to stop the memory from overcoming him - particularly since it too had started with a drink.
Nothing better than a warm drink in a climate so cold.
Mr. Boarton guzzled deep from the silver flask, relishing in the bitter taste of the liquid. He pulled the container down with a satisfied sigh and then wiped at his snout with the sleeve of his thick gray trench coat. Beside him, a black-furred rabbit in an oversized white blazer scoffed with disgust as they walked down the snowy neighborhood sidewalk.
"Do you have to drink on the job?" She chided, blasé tone simultaneously indifferent and irritated. "If the boss finds out-"
A hearty, wheezing chuckle broke through the boar's teeth. "The boss knows. Heh heh. I tend to do the eh, rougher parts of my job better with a bit of mead in me," he claimed, typically gruff voice taking on a hint of whimsy. "Just you watch, Virginia. Besides, it's freezin' out here. You can't blame me for bringin' somethin' to warm me up."
"Riiight. If you say so. I'm just glad you actually took my advice for once and showered beforehand." The rabbit groused before briefly eyeing her phone. "Your part comes later. Just try not to drink too much while I do my part. Stand watch."
Without waiting to hear his response, Virginia approached the snow-dusted cottage and rang the doorbell. Thankfully, this part of the neighborhood was sized for small to medium mammals, making it within her reach. It didn't take long for the door to open, revealing an elderly sea otter in a red sweater and khakis.
He adjusted his glasses as he stared at his guest. "Hello? Who are you?" He asked in a frail voice, glancing warily at the boar standing at the edge of his property.
"Hello Mr. Monterey," Virginia greeted with a forced (albeit pleasant) smile and a cheerful tone. "I'm a private detective hired by the Homeowner's Association. We're looking into an old case involving criminal affairs in that house right over there," she turned around and pointed to a cottage across the street. "It's our understanding that a red fox used to live there, around seven years ago, before moving out of Tundratown. Did you ever happen to see any suspicious activity during that time?"
The otter perked up. "Oh, that was a long time ago, but I remember the fox that used to live there. Surprisingly young to be owning a home. Never really socialized with anyone in the neighborhood, but exactly every other day I would see a limousine arrive to pick him up. He always wore a suit. Must have been quite the mover and shaker!"
Virginia's fake smile grew as a hint of a real one spread her lips wider. "Thank you for the information. That will be all."
The instant she turned around, her cheery grin melted away, though a residual intrigue could be seen livening her expression ever so slightly. Once the door had been firmly shut behind her, and she knew it was safe to speak and act as she desired, Virginia punched Mr. Boarton in the arm upon reaching his side. The stout boar didn't even flinch.
"That settles it," she announced. "Nick Wilde was a member of the Tundratown Mafia."
Mr. Boarton blinked. "Huh. Well I guess the boss had a good hunch to make us investigate him. And here I thought that finding his old address would be the easiest part."
"Yeah, well, the hardest is yet to come. It's time for your part of the mission. We'll need more info if the boss is going to build anything from this."
"Right. Gonna need your help, though." Mr. Boarton said, slipping his flask into one of the large pockets on his coat. He smirked as they walked off into the sleet-covered street. "Have I ever told you that you're a brilliant actress?"
"Let's just focus on the mission," Virginia grumbled. "I didn't bring you along to make small talk."
"It's not small talk," the boar insisted. "It's a compliment. You may be Little Miss Grouchy, but I can tell you genuinely enjoy it when you act. Was it a hobby of yours, before the boss recruited you? Before the accident?"
Virginia shoved her scarred paws into her pockets and stared at the pavement. "Look, I'm not the same mammal I was before either of those things. And neither were you before your little accident," she growled, shooting a glare at the boar. "So why don't we just focus on the jobs we have in the present, and quit digging up the past?"
At that notion, Mr. Boarton's lips curled around his pointed tusks into a sneer. "Fine. If that's what you want. Excuse me for trying to get a little more familiar. You're always working with the boss while I'm stuck doing heavy lifting out on the streets, so I thought I might try to show some hospitality now that we're on a new mission together, but whatever floats your boat, lady."
"We may be colleagues, but we're not friends. This isn't T.U.S.K, Boarton - we aren't partners-in-arms that are supposed to know each other inside and out. We're just a couple of mammals working for the same goal. Nothing more, nothing less."
The boar sighed. "Just forget it, alright? Let's do what we came here for."
Both mammals walked in silence for the rest of their journey, eventually reaching a back alley bordering a brick tavern with frosted windows and uproarious laughter echoing from inside. This part of Tundratown was quiet and isolated, especially during this time of night, most likely on account of the fact that this tavern was a mobster hotbed for the Tundratown Mafia. Mr. Boarton paced deeper into the alley, out of sight, while Virginia positioned herself near its entrance, waiting for the right sized mammal to walk by.
"Did you hear what happened at the warehouse?" A booming voice asked, causing the bunny's spine to stiffen with shock as she lept into action.
Virginia quickly ducked behind the alley corner. Her left ear may have been a shredded mess, but it still functioned perfectly - tilting it in the direction of the voices and focusing.
"Yes! Ha ha!" A deep, brutishly accented voice that only could have belonged to a polar bear guffawed. "Of course they couldn't handle it! They always talked sooo big."
"Nocturnal-Mob was responsible," the other voice replied, cementing Virginia's suspicion that they were polar bears from Mr. Big's mafia. "Does boss have counterattack?"
"Ha! Of course! This attack will not go unpunished. Boss is preparing special plans for those little bats. Very special. Last shipment of pufferfish was delivered this morning. Soon our enemies will receive tasty goodbye present, and boss will be one crime-lord of Zootopia! At least if that meek little chef we blackmailed does his part."
Their voices faded as they turned a building's corner and walked away until they could be heard no more. Virginia stepped out from the shadows.
Sounds like the boss's plan is developing as intended, she thought to herself. Good. That puts us on track.
After a few more minutes of waiting, an arctic weasel in slacks and suspenders exited the tavern and walked by without a care in the world, that was, before Virginia jumped forward and shoved him over. While he was down, she grabbed his wallet and then ran off into the alley, making sure he caught sight of which corner she turned around.
"Hey!" The weasel yelled before hopping to his feet and chasing after her. "Get back here!"
As soon as the weasel reared the corner, Mr. Boarton grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall, clamping one hoof around his mouth and squeezing hard.
"Don't scream unless you wanna lose your teeth," the boar threatened. "I'm gonna move my hoof, and you're gonna answer my questions honestly. Got it?"
The weasel nodded, paying no attention to Virginia as she strolled up behind her partner, one paw propped on her hip. Mr. Boarton then lowered his hoof.
"Are you with the Mafia? One of Big's mammals?" He questioned. "Oh, I bet you're local scum all right. You look the part and everything. Are you?!"
"Y-Y-Yes!" The weasel confirmed in a shrill voice. "But I'm just an accountant! Please, you've got the wrong guy!"
"Oh no, we've got just the right guy," Mr. Boarton snarled as he raised one fist, warning his captive not to try anything tricky. "Mob accountants don't have a high turnover rate because you have yourselves a cushy desk job, which means you must've been with the Mafia for a while, huh? More than seven years?"
"Nine! J-Just nine, that's all!"
The boar grinned wickedly, happy he'd allowed himself that drink earlier. It just made this all the more satisfying.
"Perfect. You happen to know anything about a fox named Nicholas Wilde?"
Back in the present, Mr. Boarton sighed. It had been over two weeks since that mission, and he still couldn't get it out of his head. He always felt so powerful when he was on the job. Perhaps it was one of the reasons why he'd stuck with the boss and his team for all this time: because it was the closest he could get to replicating what he had once had with T.U.S.K. Mr. Boarton chuckled mirthlessly, and took another swig. It was a depressing thought, but at least he could numb the emptiness inside him.
He glanced to a grainy TV mounted behind the bar, where the Preliminary Mayoral Debate was finally wrapping up. Across the screen, the many colorful candidates stood at attention as Moosebridge continued his onslaught of inquiries. Mr. Boarton was quick to spot Nick Wilde in the crowd, with his tan suit and colorful warm fur. He looked professional, and charismatic, but past the outward smile, the boar could tell that he was rattled. No surprise there, given how stressful the debates could be. Mr. Boarton would have sooner shot himself in the foot than get on stage in front of an audience of millions, but perhaps shady mercenaries were a bit biased.
Mr. Boarton stared over the fox on screen. How'd he do it? How'd he bounce back from an injury like his without losing himself in the process? One hoof balled into a fist atop the counter, and the dull tension past the scars on the boar's chest took every ounce of his willpower to ignore. What did he do that I couldn't?
It was only when he heard his glass creaking in his grip did he realize his anger was getting to him. Exhaling heavily, the boar raised it to the TV, glaring at Nick with intense yellow eyes.
Enjoy the spotlight while you can, fox, he thought to himself, allowing a menacing smile to spread his lips as he finished his drink. Because soon, you'll wish you never had it.
Meanwhile, in Capricorn Tower...
Aging was a terrible beast.
Eighty-four years of life, filled with purpose and success, had taught Rupert Clovestone the value of time. It was, after all, the one, most important resource that could never be replenished. Making the most of every moment, and seeking to leave behind a better world were the purposes that drove most mammals upon realizing that fundamental truth. The tech and construction mogul himself felt similarly. To him, aging provided an opportunity to savor the joys of life, like fine wine, and gain more wisdom with each passing year. Yet each passing year was one less year he had left, and at his age, any of them could be his last.
It was a sobering, yet terrifying thought. And it was his single greatest motivator.
Time was of the essence, and Rupert knew that to achieve his grand goals, he would have to make the most of it. Though age had dampened his energy with time, as it did most, age did not stall the markhor's ambition. Late into the night he still worked, ever diligent, ever intent in his pursuits. Deep within the heart of Capricorn Tower, Rupert dwelt within his private laboratory. It was a large, pristine room, filled with heaps of scrap and soon-to-be engineering projects, and beakers of multicolored fluid bubbling beneath fume hoods - a mad scientist's paradise. Rupert may have been a successful businessmammal, but he always considered himself an engineer and a scientist at heart. In the center of the room, a large table supported something obscured beneath an equally large white cloth, and past it, atop a metal stool, Rupert sat before a clean white desk.
Papers filled the space in front of him, which he busily signed one after the other. Farther down the desk, an antique gramophone gently swirled a record around its frame, filling the lab with the soft, old-fashioned voice of a female singer from an older time. Beside it, a framed black-and-white photograph depicted a female markhor in a silky, showbiz-esque dress, smiling at the camera. Rupert paid no attention to what were otherwise the only outdated items in the room, instead focusing his full attention on the paperwork before him. It was tedious, but necessary. He'd removed his labcoat, draping it across a nearby table, choosing to expose the brown vest and identically colored slacks that obscured his thin body. He stroked at the fraying hazel hair of his enormous beard, trying to ignore how flimsy it felt in his grasp, and how heavy his gigantic, corkscrew-like horns felt atop his head. Eighty-four years of life had left its mark, but Rupert refused to let it slow him down - not when so much was at stake.
Still, paperwork could only demand so much brainpower. While his hoofs and pen cycled through each document, his mind wandered to more interesting places.
My lawyers better have made short work of Chief Bogo and his meddling officers. Those thuggish ignorami… All ungrateful and weak, the words hissed harshly in his mind. Scrambling to find a scapegoat to levy all their blames when I've given more to this city than anyone! There wouldn't be a Zootopia without me.
"Sir," a soothing, yet robotic feminine voice greeted from the loudspeakers in the ceiling, drowning out the music with each word. "There is a mammal outside your lab. Permission to authorize entry?"
Rupert sighed, briefly removing his glasses to wipe at his face with both hooves. "Permission granted." He acquiesced as soon as his glasses had returned to his snout.
Somewhere behind him, he heard the sound of the room's glass doors unlocking and sliding open. A slew of stiffly paced hoof-clops echoed into the lab, drawing closer before halting a respectful distance away. Rupert didn't bother looking over his shoulder, knowing exactly who had come to see him at this hour. He snorted disdainfully.
"Hello, Miss Hoover," the markhor grumbled, sounding none too pleased at her arrival. "I despise late-night briefings as much as you do, but it had to be done. These are decisive times for Clovestone Industries. So, what of the company's latest developments?"
The llama secretary smoothed down her business skirt and raised a clipboard, all the while trying to ignore the old-timey music playing in the background. "Your lawyers have delivered the cease-and-desist to the ZPD, and Chief Bogo has since given his signature promising the cessation of his unlawful investigation into Clovestone Industries." She cleared her throat before moving on to the next bullet point on her list. "The CFO has finished preparing the transfer account. Capital gains on liquidated properties and treasury shares sold have totaled three point seven billion, ready for use."
"Project Everest can finally begin." Rupert concluded, pushing himself to his feet and briefly glancing at the cloth-obscured table beside him. "Notify the engineering team: I want plans for the demolition at my desk by next Monday."
"Very good, sir. Would you like me to verify the status of the account's audit, while I'm at it?" Miss Hoover asked.
"No," Rupert quickly replied. "That won't be necessary. My contacts at City-Hall have ensured the process went… seamlessly." He slowly turned to face his secretary. "Have you chosen your new stock options yet? I'd hate for you to be, erhm, unrewarded for your contributions to the company's future. To Zootopia's future."
Miss Hoover blinked. This was the first time in almost a year that her boss had asked her anything that wasn't directly related to her daily briefings. She realized that the last time had been in this same room, as well. Her brown eyes flicked to the framed photograph on Rupert's desk, and the antique gramophone beside it, wondering if they were responsible for his slightly improved mood. It was only when her boss cleared his throat expectantly that she realized she'd been staring, completely silent, for far too long.
"Oh, y-yes, sir, I made my choice last night," she stammered. "They were… very generous. Thank you."
Rupert nodded his head, causing his massive, curved horns to swish through the air above him. "Hrm. Very good." He acknowledged, pausing for a moment to examine her demeanor before gesturing to the gramophone. "Do you like it?"
When she realized her boss had asked yet another out-of-character question, Miss Hoover quickly recomposed herself and nodded. "Yes, sorry. It's a bit eye-catching. I just… have trouble processing something so…" She considered her words carefully. "Antiquated, in a building like this, with all the engineering marvels built here."
"I see," the markhor murmured, stepping closer to the instrument and admiring it past his glasses. "It's over one hundred years old. It belonged to my older sister, Esther."
Miss Hoover took a moment to listen to the slow, sultry voice emanating from the gramophone. "Is that… her singing?"
For the first time in her eight years of serving as Rupert Clovestone's secretary, Miss Hoover witnessed her boss smile. It was a slight, fragile twitch of his mouth, and lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was unmistakably there. She swallowed nervously, wondering if her real boss had been somehow swapped for a clone.
"Yes. It's her." Rupert confirmed in a soft voice. He inhaled gently through his nostrils, enjoying the sweet sounds of the music. "Esther was a singer, seventy years ago when I was still just a kid. Different times, those days were. She's no longer with us, but… she did leave behind enough for me to remember her by."
Miss Hoover wasn't sure what to say. Her boss was normally such a cold figure of authority, that her brain practically couldn't devise any responses for when he was anything but. Yet as the sounds spawned from the grainy record filled her ears, a new thought suddenly reached her. She realized that Esther's voice sounded eerily familiar.
"That voice…" Miss Hoover pointed to the ceiling. "Is it same as the-"
"The announcer?" Rupert interjected, turning to face his secretary. "Indeed. I had it reconstructed as close as possible from her recordings. No one has a more soothing voice than her, wouldn't you agree?"
"She is an excellent singer." Miss Hoover admitted, opting not to comment her opinion on the A.I.
Rupert nodded approvingly, and then shuffled toward the gramophone. "The greatest I've ever heard. Immortalizing her voice into the A.I makes me feel as though a part of her is still here." He shifted the pin away and gingerly pulled the record out from beneath the bell funnel, cutting the song off short. His amber eyes gazed down at the polished black disc. "Still here singing…" He mused to himself. Staring at the item for a few more seconds, Rupert's longing gaze gradually twisted into confusion. "Curious. I… I can't remember when this was recorded. I…" He hesitated, confusion growing into frustration. "It was an important day! How could I forget?!"
Miss Hoover stepped back fearfully, recognizing this side of her boss all too well. "Sir, are you o-"
"I am NOT going senile!" Rupert roared, hooves clenched with rage as he directed his furious gaze toward his secretary. "I'm not! I-I… I…"
The markhor trailed off as he noticed Miss Hoover's frightened face, clipboard held up to him like a shield. His angry panting caught in his throat, and his eyes flicked to the side. All of his rage was quick to leave him from there. Rupert averted his front from her view, carelessly tossing the record atop his desk before using its surface to support his upper body atop frail arms. The horns sprouting from his skull seemed to weigh him down, hunching his spine and pulling his head and neck into an ugly, shameful posture.
"That will be all, Miss Hoover." Rupert spoke in a tone as soft as snow. It was barely a whisper, yet still the loudest sound in the room. "You are free to return home."
Without a word, the llama hurriedly clopped out of the room. The doors sealed shut behind her, and all was silent for nearly a minute, until a new voice filled the void.
"Your guest has reached the elevator." Esther's robotic reconstruction announced from the loudspeakers. "They are now departing floor ninety-seven."
For once, hearing his sister's voice brought him no solace. The markhor sighed bitterly, pinching at his brow. Then he slowly raised his gaze.
"Oh… yes." Rupert murmured into the empty room, staring at the picture frame atop his desk. I remember now. It was the day she died.
And the first debate ends with a dramatic conclusion! Wondering how Nick and company will recover from this? You'll see in the next chapter! WNF is now in its second (out of three) acts, and you can be certain that we're only scratching the iceberg of the drama, action, and twists to come! And yes, you heard me right: there will be twists. Prepare to have your expectations subverted, both for characters (and things they seem to want to do) and for the plot to come. I'm very excited to reveal what I have in store! In fact, chapter 13 will be even more impactful than this chapter, I believe. Big reveals coming. You won't want to miss it! Credit to Berserker88 and JackofMinds for helping design some of the debate candidates.
The next chapter, "Aftermath," will give some time for the other threads of the plot to catch up, given how front and center the debate was in this one. Harlan and Mary, Nick and Judy, the Tundratown Mafia, and Bradley Stagnew will all get some much needed time in the spotlight. And then in the following chapter, the second debate will begin, and with it will come some new revelations! Stay tuned for everything coming your way soon. :)