"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." - Lord Acton
10:00 P.M ; Capricorn Tower, Downtown Zootopia...
Ding!
The elevator doors smoothly slid open, revealing a motley quartet of mammals. Rupert Clovestone stepped out of the cabin, white lab coat fluttering behind him as he took lead down the hall. His hoofsteps clopped against the corridor's glossy white tiles, echoing all the way to the opaque glass doors that he marched toward at the far end of the hall.
Arms folded calmly behind his back, he groused to the three smaller mammals walking behind him, "I spent millions constructing this hidden floor. Try not to dirty the marble."
"Oh, I do love a good secret lair!" An albino flying squirrel fawned, beady pink eyes filled with glee as he admired the dark gray walls. "The Felidae Infernum had an awesome one in the Nocturnal-District! At least, before my little protégé destroyed it." His shoulders slumped, wrinkling the fabric of his skintight black bodysuit. "And now I made myself sad…"
"We use this floor for special meetings, when our entire operation convenes in the event that adjustments need to be made to our agenda." The markhor elaborated in his snide, feathery voice. "There are no cameras, and I ensured all the construction documents were destroyed. We're safe to freely discuss our plans here."
"Well, if we're going to be using this lovely place for meetings from now on, I'm just happy we don't have to ferry you around in that hideous black van anymore. And did you say entire operation?" Peter repeated curiously. "As in we only use this room when-"
Beside him, a stout boar with matted brown fur chuckled gruffly, shoving his meaty hooves into the pockets of his gray trench coat. "Consider yourself lucky, punk," he gave the flying squirrel a crooked smile, showing teeth as yellow as his tusks. "You finally get your wish of meetin' the boss."
Peter perked with interest. "Oh? Is that so?"
"Just try not to piss him off." Warned the blasé voice of a black rabbit walking beside him. She tugged at the sleeves of her oversized white blazer as though trying to make herself look more presentable. It served well to hide the scars on her arms, but nothing could be done about the ones on her paws, face, and her missing left ear. "He's not exactly the forgiving type."
Peter chuckled whimsically, tugging on the edge of Rupert's labcoat. "Funnily enough, when we first started working together, I actually thought you were the boss!"
The elderly markhor growled and yanked away his coat. "My genius lies in a different caliber, thank you." He haughtily retorted. "Now quit your childish aggravations!"
With Rupert averting his attention, Peter turned his own to an easier target to prod.
"On another note, I've always wondered," he mused to Mr. Boarton, earning a raised eyebrow from the burly boar. "What does T.U.S.K stand for, anyways?"
"Tactical Urban Security Korps." The boar replied. He nodded one of his tusks toward Rupert. "Old Goats Gruff here actually funded us, you know, before we got shut down."
"A history lesson for another time." Rupert insisted.
"Hang on. T.U.S.K ends with a K. Isn't corps spelled with a C?" Peter asked, tapping at his chin.
Mr. Boarton shrugged. "Well, yeah, but I thought it'd be cooler to make an acronym that-" He shook his head with a growl. "You know what, it doesn't matter! Save your stupid questions for the boss."
Peter stared up at the boar's broad shoulders and harsh face. I? Did he say I? His mind recalled, and a smirk spread his lips. Oh, I see now. You weren't just another mercenary, were you? You were the founder. What a juicy reveal! Yet here you are with the rest of us. I wonder what led you to this merry little band? Hmm. Questions for later.
Knowing he wouldn't get any good conversation out of him anymore, Peter turned to Virginia with a smile. "Say-"
"Don't even think about it." The rabbit growled before he could even start, effectively silencing him.
Upon reaching the end of the hall, Rupert pushed open the opaque glass doors, revealing a long conference room furnished with sleek black office chairs around a perfectly ovular glass table. The dark gray walls and white marble floors seemed to blend together in the dim lighting, drawing attention to the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the office. Through them, the nighttime cityscape of Zootopia glimmered with a colorful miasma of lights, from the crisp fluorescents lighting up the streets of the inner city, to the radiant neon pulsing against the dark sands of Sahara-Square's casino district. Across the Zootopia Sound, the full moon cast shimmering ripples along the waterfront. The doors closed and locked automatically once all four mammals had entered. At the head of the table, the largest of the black chairs faced the window.
"Thank you all for coming," a strong, clear voice spoke from the dark. "The view kept me entertained, but we have much to discuss."
A pair of polished ten-point antlers sprouted from behind the chair, seemingly boxing the moon within their jagged grasp. The chair swiveled, facing the quartet. In it sat a lanky deer in an impeccably tailored black suit and tie. His face was lean and stern, with a twinge of gray highlighting the aging fur around his intense blue eyes. A single button bearing the design of Zootopia's flag was pinned to his left lapel. With indifferent command, he nodded to the pair of chairs on each flank of the table.
Rupert, Mr. Boarton and Virginia all seated themselves, but Peter remained standing, wagging a finger at the deer with an amused sort of confusion.
"You're the big bad boss?" He asked with disbelief. "The dandified deer that's campaigning for mayor?"
Said deer crossed one leg over the other and thoughtfully laced his hooves, elbows propped by the arms of his chair. "Oh, Mr. Ishini," Bradley mused. "I am so much more than what meets the eye. And Mr. Stagnew will do just fine, please."
"Now wait just a minute!" Peter fussed, crossing his arms in a time-out gesture. "All this time I was expecting some kind of mob boss, or maybe another overly villainous CEO stereotype," he tossed one paw in Rupert's direction, causing the markhor to scoff indignantly. "But you? The former election chairmammal? A politician no one even knew existed until yesterday's debate? I admit, this is a surprise to me!"
Bradley shrugged. "I've been around power all my life. I've come to realize that power isn't spectacle - power is security. A string from the shadows, with all the influence but none of the spotlight. I cannot respect someone who doesn't see the difference."
"Oh, I understand the difference all right," Peter assured, taking a slight bow. "I am a professional thief, after all. Working from the shadows is what we do best. But I still don't understand! What is this motley crew of yours trying to accomplish by starting a crime war? What could you gain from all this chaos and destruction?"
"Me? Nothing." Bradley claimed, looking as calm as ever in his chair at the head of the table. "But Zootopia has everything to gain." He nodded to the vacant chair beside Rupert. "Take a seat, Mr. Ishini. You've been a part of our operation for long enough. I believe it's time that you were given the full picture."
Grinning excitedly, Peter lept into the air and glided into the seat. It was a bit big for him, but he made himself comfortable lounging back in it as though it were a hammock.
Once he was settled, Bradley leaned forward over the table and explained, "Our operation aims to preserve the fundamental values that have made Zootopia the beacon of wealth, innovation, and progress that it is today: order, peace, and prosperity through maintaining the current socio-economic institutions between prey and predator."
"So, you're a bunch of speciests trying to keep prey on top." Peter bluntly assumed, nodding a thumb toward Rupert. "With the company you keep, why am I not surprised?"
"Regardless of my colleagues' personal feelings, this isn't about predators, or prey, or the divide between them, Mr. Ishini," Bradley insisted. "This is about the legacy of Zootopia. Thousands of years ago, the ancestors of predator and prey alike set aside their differences to make a better world. It's a story that's fascinated me all my life. Ever since, our society has played host to some of the greatest technological advancements in existence," he swept one arm back toward the beautiful cityscape behind him. "All this was possible because the founders of this great civilization understood the importance of a strong, clear hierarchy. That was their choice, and although the predators of this city have suffered because of it, all mammals have benefited from it. We don't seek to keep prey on top, or predators on bottom, or anyone, anywhere. We simply seek to protect the status quo, because the status quo is what has allowed us to come this far - what has allowed Zootopia to become the greatest, most powerful city in the world."
"We have been actively pursuing this vision for almost fifty years," Rupert added. "Each of us playing our parts to influence the city from behind closed doors."
Bradley nodded. "Mr. Clovestone and I founded this operation together when I was just an intern at City-Hall. We made a pact, the day we met: to do everything we could to ensure Zootopia continued to grow, while maintaining its status quo. He would fund our operations, and lobby for legislation to build Zootopia in our image-"
"Quite literally!" Rupert claimed, patting his brown vest with pride. "Clovestone Industries has built modern Zootopia from the ground up! I arranged for the Prioritization Policy, and through it our greatest opposition - the rebellious, violent predators - remain corralled within the city, in places where we can watch and control them."
"Meanwhile," Bradley continued, eyeing Rupert with a mote of disapproval, but otherwise not refuting him. "I gradually worked my way up the ladder at City-Hall, to a position where I could subtly influence elections. A couple missing voting booths here, a few miscounted votes there, and I can change the course of history. The right mammal in the right place can make all the difference in the world."
"We brought on Mr. Boarton and Virginia in recent years to assist in our endeavors." The markor elaborated, gesturing to the boar and rabbit across from him. "Together, we've directly or indirectly orchestrated most of Zootopia's major political events of the last half-century."
Mr. Boarton cleared his throat. "Though Virginia and I have only been with the team for less than a decade. We're not that old."
"I hope you're not suggesting that age has dulled Bradley and I's efficiency!" Rupert hissed, glaring at the boar across from him.
"Of course not." Mr. Boarton insisted, raising his hooves defensively. "Gees, talk about self-conscious."
"That's rich, coming from you. You've been an alcoholic washup ever since your precious T.U.S.K was swept into the dustbin of history."
"And whose fault is that?" The boar shot back. "Your 'research grants' got us audited and shutdown!" He scoffed, crossing his arms against his burly chest. "Sometimes I think you planned it all along, just to get me here."
"Quiet, the both of you," Bradley ordered, instantly silencing the two debaters. "Give our guest some peace to think."
While they argued, Peter blinked, digesting all that information. He'd rubbed elbows with influential mammals and criminal organizations before, but from the sound of it, these guys took it to the next level. He wondered how a mammal as stubborn as Rupert Clovestone came to take orders from a younger mammal like Bradley, and how all these mammals came together in the first place, but had a feeling he'd be finding out that story sooner or later.
The normally verbose squirrel could only mutter, "A secret cabal…" And all the mammals in the room quieted and turned to face him. "This is… a lot to take in. I always knew there were mammals in power that wanted to keep it that way, but this is something else entirely." He swallowed, briefly thinking over a new question that reached him. "Did you conspire with Mayor Bellwether during the Nighthowler epidemic?"
The deer lightly shook his head, antlers twisting through the air. "No. Our operations were completely independent. As far as I know, she wasn't aware of our existence."
Peter shuffled his weight nervously in his chair. These guys are on a totally different level, he thought to himself. "I hope I haven't paddled into waters too deep for me."
"On the contrary, your assistance was warranted," Bradley assured, leaning back in his chair. "We needed additional aid to expand our operation. We've been happily pulling strings from the shadows for all this time, but last year, we nearly lost control when Al Catpone staged his attempted uprising against the city government. He would have exposed us all, and thrown Zootopia into total chaos had he succeeded. His defeat was a firm reminder that even with all our efforts, the system we've spent decades building is still so fragile. Criminals and radical predators like him have looked to increasingly violent ways to instill change."
"A little rebellion breeds compliance," Rupert interjected. "So long as they think they can cheat the system, they never try to break it. However, Al's scheme almost led to mass insurgency! What good can our work - our system - do if any radical predator with a grudge can flip it on its head? We must grip them tighter. Snuff the oxygen before it combusts."
Bradley rose from his chair and folded his arms behind his back. "If Zootopia is unbalanced by any major disruptions to the current institutions, our very way of life will be threatened. All the peace and progress this city has made will be totally reversed. We cannot allow them to overturn the status quo. That is why I decided to campaign for mayor. Once I'm in office, we'll have the power to maintain our vision, and expand it to new heights."
Peter opted not to ask what the boss meant by 'new heights,' figuring that might be pressing his luck. "I see. So our goal this whole time has been to get you into office. But how does the crime war play into all this?"
Mr. Boarton chuckled knowingly. "Never let a good crisis go to waste." He remarked.
Exhaling gently, Bradley stepped away from his chair and approached the window, quietly admiring the lights outside. "I intend to capitalize on the crime war in my campaign. As it inevitably escalates, Zootopia's stable system will tilt into chaos. Civilians will be caught in the crossfire. They will demand solutions from City-Hall. Demand peace, and order. Protection from crime and from themselves." His impeccable posture somehow seemed to straighten even higher. "And I will give it to them."
"Are you seriously telling me you started a war just to have another talking point in your platform?" Peter asked incredulously.
The deer kept his gaze trained through the window as he spoke, "It's not just about the politics. Zootopia needs to learn how truly horrible organized crime can be - the death, the destruction, and the sheer hypocrisy. The war will show everyone the same horrors I have seen…" His commanding voice hesitated for a moment before continuing, "And when they do, once I take office, I'll be able to enact legislation to smother out crime for good. Helped by the weakening of the warring criminal syndicates, all I need is to simply deliver the coup de grâce. They will fall, and Zootopia will become a safer city. A better city."
"This is what we've been working towards for years," Mr. Boarton added, nodding resolutely at Peter. "You should be honored to have a part to play."
"What makes you so sure that Zootopia will agree with your ambitions?" Peter inquired.
"Demoralize, destabilize, crisis, normalize." Bradley flatly listed as though tired of thinking it. "Our operation has seized opportunity from that process for decades. The Nighthowler epidemic demoralized the foundations between predator and prey. Al's insurrection destabilized the systemic power of City-Hall. I've just been waiting for the right crisis to come along. The war is perfect. Citizens will beg for the security only we can provide. Make no mistake, Zootopia will agree with our ambitions. And when the dust has settled, we will rebuild a better society, and normalize the values we wish to instill."
Peter stared at the deer in shock. "You're diabolical!" He spat, only for a grin to spread his lips. "I love it! I thought you all were just a bunch of petty criminals with chips on your shoulders, but this is SO much more interesting! Count me in on your plan! I want to see every juicy drop of drama along the way!"
"Then we'll be of use to each other." Bradley concluded. "But our goals aren't so easily attainable. Those foolish enough to challenge the current system stand in our way. Some of my opponents in the debate are putting up more of a fight than I anticipated. And they must be dealt with. Our plans will be for nothing if I lose the election to any of them. Thankfully, I've been preparing contingencies." His head tilted in Virginia's direction. "Miss Virginia, please share your findings with us on Nicholas Wilde."
Virginia straightened her posture in her chair. "Boarton and I talked to his old neighbors in Tundratown, and interrogated a mobster we captured. They all said the same thing: he's a former member of the Tundratown Mafia."
"Are you sure? Even the ZPD wouldn't be so foolish as to hire a former mobster." Rupert grumbled.
"Perhaps it slipped their mind?" Peter whimsically offered.
"It's more likely that they simply didn't know. We'll need more information." Bradley deduced. "I'll leave this to you, Miss Virginia."
"More information?" The rabbit in question repeated incredulously, spreading her scarred paws. "Are you serious? We confirmed from two sources that this guy's a former-"
"It's not enough."
"How isn't it enough? Can't you just spill the beans on the debate stage and get this stupid fox out of our way for good?"
"If Mr. Stagnew spills the beans on stage without any proof," Rupert interjected, sneering at the phrase he'd repeated from Virginia. "It will be he who is questioned."
"We operate off of fact," Bradley sternly reminded the room. "Not hearsay. Not rumors. Not lies. Pure-indisputable-fact. And when we have it, there will be nothing that glorified little activist can say to save himself."
"What if he wins?" Mr. Boarton proposed.
"He won't." Bradley replied without hesitation, as though it were a fact he alone would ensure.
"Yeah, but what if he does?" The boar pressed. "You'll be too busy with the campaign to play your usual games at City-Hall. This is one election you can't manipulate."
"Then we blackmail him, assuming he really was a mobster. I'd hate to slander an innocent mammal." The deer siphoned a brief sigh through his nostrils. "The matter is settled: Miss Virginia will continue to investigate the opposition until we have more tangible proof. And what of our situation with Lucy Sang?" Bradley kept his stony gaze trained out the window, but his words were clearly directed at Peter. "I want her terminated before the election concludes. If she communes with the ZPD-"
"Not to worry, I'm on it." The flying squirrel insisted. "I have a friend in Sahara-Square's Small Mammal Penitentiary that I've been sourcing information from." He smiled wickedly. "And I have a feeling that my little protégé has as well. I'll pay her a visit, and see if I can learn something to lure Lucy into just the right trap."
The side of Bradley's mouth twitched as those last four words registered. "I dearly hope that this plan works better than your last trap."
The flying squirrel shrugged, wingflaps dangling from his arms like curtains. "What can I say? Accidents happen."
"Let's say I actually believed any word ever to leave your mouth," Bradley swiftly retorted, stern voice rolling over Peter with disgust. "And I didn't suspect that you let her go to fulfill some wayward fantasy you have about killing her on your own terms… would I be wise to trust that you could get the job done? That you wouldn't become…" Bradley's gaze swiveled slowly, glaring at Peter from over his shoulder. "A liability?"
Picking up on their boss' cues, Virginia and Mr. Boarton both placed their paws on their firearms. For once, Peter looked unable to find his words. His pink eyes darted cautiously around the room before settling on Bradley. "How did you-"
"Know that you let her go? I didn't," the deer insisted, turning to face Peter directly. "But you did just tell me."
Peter swallowed, completely out of clever quips and excuses. He'd walked - no, talked - right into Bradley's trap, just by falling for his bluff. It was hard enough believing this lanky deer was the leader of the cabal, but seeing Bradley so easily threaten him was something else entirely. There was something so uncompromisingly authoritative behind his piercing blue eyes that it could almost be described as downright evil. Peter shifted his weight in his chair, wondering if he could possibly overcome and escape them if push came to shove. Bradley kept his stern gaze firmly on Peter, tense seconds ticking into the void of silence around them.
"You're a wild card," Bradley finally spoke, soft pitch somehow filling the room. "And there's nothing I hate more than uncertainties. I refuse to tolerate unpredictability. Our operation wouldn't exist if we didn't rely on hard, verifiable data." The deer began to slowly walk toward Peter. "I suggest… that the games you play remain short. Find Mrs. Sang, and kill her - before the election is over. That is your one and only priority. Do this, and you can have as many sadistic fun and games as you please. Betray our trust again, and I promise you there will be no filthy crevice, no run-down hideaway in this or any city that will keep you safe from me."
Peter chuckled dryly, trying to mask his apprehension. "If you let me kill her on my own terms, I promise that you'll have her head before the end of the month."
Bradley forced an animalistic snort through his nostrils, as though asserting his dominance. "Don't disappoint me." He then turned his glare to Rupert. "His failures led to the investigation at your heels. Tell me: is the matter resolved?"
Across the table, the markhor cleared his throat and leaned forward. "My restraining order against the ZPD is a temporary one. It's stopped their investigation - at least officially - but will expire in six months. After that, if you're not in office…" He trailed off as though not wanting to finish that statement, before readjusting his glasses and forcing himself to continue. "There will be little to stop them from picking Clovestone Industries apart. And from there, it's only a matter of time before we're compromised."
The weight of that conclusion blanketed the meeting with a tense layer of silence. While Rupert glared at Peter as if to say 'this is all your fault,' Virginia gave an irritated sigh.
"We have to get the boss into office," she declared. "Otherwise, we all go down with the ship."
Bradley settled back into his chair at the head of the table. "Then our plans remain unchanged."
"Save the squirrel's negligent-" Rupert growled, but was cut off when Bradley raised one hoof.
"That's enough," he said firmly, tone leaving no room for argument. "We wouldn't have come this far if we weren't prepared to handle contingencies. I understand your frustration over the ZPD's attention to your company, but we don't have time to shuffle blame around. Once I'm in office, I'll ensure that Chief Bogo and Officer Hopps are properly dealt with. For now, we need to focus on maintaining the integrity of our operation."
His gaze fell to Peter. "Continue your search for Mrs. Sang, and confirm her death to me before the end of the month."
Then between Mr. Boarton and Virginia. "You two will continue to stoke the flames of the war, and gather information on anyone who threatens our goals, particularly Nicholas Wilde."
Then to Rupert. "And you will continue lobbying at City-Hall, and funding my campaign. But your work doesn't stop there. You must do all you can to guarantee the security of Clovestone Industries, and the development of Project Everest as well."
Each mammal nodded their understanding, save Peter, who perked at the mention of those familiar last few words. "Now, I've heard those words before," he remarked, pink eyes looking to Bradley. "But the old codger hasn't budged on details. What exactly is Project Everest?"
"Old codger?!" Rupert snarled, balling one fist and rising from his chair. "You-"
Bradley let one hoof slap against the table, overshadowing Rupert's shouts enough so that he wouldn't have to raise his own voice. "Mr. Clovestone, please, compose yourself."
The markhor ground his teeth, but otherwise settled back into his seat without a fuss. Bradley then turned his gaze to Peter.
"And Mr. Ishini, show some respect. If you stir discord again, I'll have Mr. Boarton dock your tail."
Peter quizzically glanced between the boss and the aforementioned boar, wondering if that threat was true. Said boar chuckled gruffly. "Wouldn't be the worst I've done. You should probably listen to him."
The flying squirrel innocently raised both paws. "Don't mind me! Just getting it all out of my system, as it were. But you didn't answer my question."
"I don't have an answer for you," Bradley flatly admitted before gesturing for Rupert to continue.
"For security purposes, it is safer if only Bradley and I are aware of Project Everest's details, for now. I can't risk information leaking, if one of you were compromised. However, I can assure you that Project Everest will be of great benefit to us. It will ensure that the changes we make to Zootopia remain intact for the long-term. That is all."
Although not entirely satisfied with such a vague answer, Peter just shrugged, content with knowing more now. "Fair enough. That sounds helpful to me!"
"Back to the topic at hand," Bradley's firm voice broke in before the conversation diverged even more. "Maintaining the integrity of our operation is paramount. You all have your assignments. My wrists are tied with my bid for mayor, but that doesn't mean I can't contribute in other ways." He looked to Rupert. "Did you bring the file I asked for?"
The markhor nodded, retracted a manilla folder from inside his labcoat, and slid it across the table. Bradley stopped it with a few fingers before opening the cover and examining the documents within.
"What's that?" Peter asked curiously, sitting up a bit in his chair to get a better look. "More info on Project Everest, perhaps?"
"No," Rupert clarified. "As part of the cease-and-desist, my lawyers have compiled information on the officers behind the investigation."
"What for?" Mr. Boarton piped out, scratching at the thick brown fur on his chin.
"For insurance." Bradley replied matter-of-factly as he continued to flip through the folder. "Do you honestly believe that the injunction will stop the ZPD from investigating? No; Chief Bogo is a stubborn one, and Officer Hopps is even worse. They correctly assume they've discovered a conspiracy, and won't stop until they find something to charge against Mr. Clovestone. We can't let them do as they please… not without us keeping an eye on them."
Virginia narrowed her hazel eyes with suspicion. "Do you have another assignment for me, boss?"
"While this kind of work is best suited for you, no; I'm afraid I don't. Infiltrating the investigation would be too difficult." Bradley finally settled on a page. "What we need is a mammal already on the inside. Someone to source information from. Someone agreeable, weak-willed, and easy to persuade."
The deer's stern blue eyes traced over the citizen profile, and the picture of a diminutive ewe in ZPD blues smiling back at him. "I could always use a new pawn in the rotation."
9:00 P.M ; One week later, ZNN TV Central, Savanna-Central...
"Going on in five minutes! Get ready, mammals."
Nick brushed down his suit and stood up, getting out of the dressing room and making his way down towards the assembly area. This was it; the second debate, round two political boogaloo!
"Remember Nick," Samantha piped up, scurrying alongside him with a clipboard in paw. "All you need to do is to stand up and make a totally relevant and insightful point that will make everyone stand up and clap, and win the election. Simples!"
"Ha, ha," Nick said, looking down at his meerkat running mate. "Don't worry, I have those cards up my sleeve that we practiced, and if they're not getting played tonight you can bet they'll be played at the big finale to bring this home for us."
"Yeah, but don't hold so many cards back that you don't even get there," she warned.
"I won't," he assured, cracking his knuckles and flexing his head. "And anyway, what comes up will probably be totally different and completely random. And that's when my foxy instincts are at their absolute best."
"Uh-huh," Samantha huffed, waving him off. She planted her feet on the floor, breathed in, and then out. "Do us proud Nick."
He smiled and flashed a wink. "Oh don't worry, I will."
"Oh, one more thing. Open wide?"
"Wha-?" Opening his mouth to make any words at all proved to be his big mistake, as the moment he did Samantha spritzed a bottle straight inside without hesitation. "Ack! Again? Seriously?"
He pulled back, sucking at his newly minty fresh tongue and frowning as Samantha pulled away her bottle of breath freshener. She gave him a wink, and saluted him off.
Nick just sighed with exasperation and gave her one in return. And with that, he entered through a door and joined the others in the pre-assembly area: a clean, but clearly backstage room at ZNN TV Central. Much like the first debate, his eyes couldn't help but single out Bradley Stagnew first. The stately buck was sitting across from him at a large conference table, looking professional in his crisp, dark blue suit and tie. Their eyes briefly met, though no words passed between them. All Nick cared about was proving that liar wrong with his actions, instead. However, the fox was unable to ignore that Bradley's antler rack was growing, a whole new pair of tines opening up near the back. Thirteen in all, giving the stag a fairly regal look.
A bit to his side, hanging off an adjustable stand, was Brian Batley, slowly working through some cards and limbering up. His bowtie was half the size of his head, and he wore a small chain around the back of his head to keep his thick glasses from falling off while he dangled upside down. He'd narrowly come in at fourth place, as Nick recalled. And then, to Nick's right, a noise earned his attention. Sitting down on the chair, his bulk making it creak, was Teddy Tucker, the massive grolar bear.
"Feeling ready for today?" Teddy asked, looking down at the fox.
"Oh, I was born ready," Nick smiled, folding his arms and shooting a smirk at his friendly rival. "Let the best mammal win."
"Yeah," he said, hushing his deep voice down to a whisper and leaning closer to Nick. "About that." He gave a glance over to the two on the other side. "We both want what's best for Zootopia, right? I mean, you and I probably have the most progressive platforms here."
"Of course," Nick said, scratching his muzzle. Where was this going?
"And if I lose out in this debate, you're the one I most trust to carry that. Followed by Batley. And I get the feeling it'd be the same in reverse, right?"
"Right," Nick said, nodding along. "So, we're talking, what, some sort of political alliance?"
"Unofficially, yes," he said. "If neither of us pass this round, which I think is unlikely, I could pool my campaign behind yours or vice versa and get us in the next. It's a moot point if one of us gets in and the other doesn't, or if both of us do."
"But if it's just one of us getting in, it also depends on who we're facing," Nick said, sparing a brief glance at the other two, neither of which seemed to notice the conspiring fox and bear. "Doesn't it?"
"Exactly. So my plan is that we leave Batley alone, and focus on bringing Stagnew down. He's the current frontrunner, and the biggest threat to either of us, so it'd be of benefit to us both to beat him out."
"Well," Nick said, nodding along, ears raised up. "I might have a few secret weapons I was planning to save up for later that might help with that." The smile across his face was palpable.
"Good," the bear said, relaxing a little. "And if I get that bat onboard too-"
"I wouldn't," Nick cut in, causing Teddy to pause. "Listen, I know mammals, and mammals know when something is going on. If all three of us gang up on Stagnew, they'll see that, and there's a good chunk of them out there who'll like the idea of siding with the underdog."
"Stagnew?" Teddy chuckled mirthlessly. "An underdog?"
"If it looks like everyone's bullying him, he could pull it off," Nick assured. "Trust me. The dude's practically an actor. Besides, having Batley take the odd criticism of our stuff would make him stand out as more his own mammal. And could help him pull away some Stagnew voters."
The bear nodded along. "Okay, I think I see that. That's pretty clever. Chances are, he's got his own plans anyway."
"Yeah," Nick agreed, looking on as the bat adjusted his glasses and ran through his cards. "And oddly enough, Brian doesn't seem like the kind of mammal that's good at making things up on the fly."
There was a long pause, and Teddy's big hazel eyes narrowed. "Really?"
"The fox pleads the fifth," Nick said, giving an innocent look up at the hybrid bear.
He chuckled a little. "Anyway, best of luck. And at the very least, seems like you inspired a dumb thing on the internet, which is more than you can say for most mammals."
"Internet you say? Dumb thing you say?" The fox asked innocently.
The bear chuckled. "My daughter sent me this," he said as he brought out his phone. He pressed play on a video, a scene from the Marshlands on display, a title up on top saying 'Tell me you're from an unprioritized district without saying you're from an unprioritized district.'
Nick watched as a giraffe in a business suit got off one of the hovercraft buses that shuttled around the large district, standing up on a long wooden jetty, before looking over to see a bunch of local mammals sitting down on a bench across an open area of low lying grass. They waved him over and, straightening his suit, he walked down the steps and onto the ground, where his legs immediately sank into the mud, burying him up to his hips and sending up a fountain of squelchy residue to cover the rest of him.
Nick smiled, folding his paws. To think that his campaign had helped inspire something to trend on the internet gave him an odd sense of pride. He was about to thank Teddy, but any other conversation was cut off as the call to the stage came through. It was time.
"May the best mammal win." He said instead.
"And may the second best have his back," Teddy agreed, giving a wink, and with that done they all walked out through the curtain and onto the stage, taking their places up at their podiums as the crowd in the stands applauded their arrival. The host, a ram, brushed down his wool and cleared his throat.
"Okay everyone, ten seconds," a producer called out from behind the stage, just loud enough for the candidates to hear.
Nick glanced at Stagnew, and for a second their eyes met once more. An electrifying spark of determination shot through Nick as he gazed into the deer's cold, critical eyes. And judging by the way Stagnew straightened his spine and hardened his expression, he must have felt one too.
"T-minus five, four, three, two, one!"
There was a pause, before a camera on a track began rolling forward, pointing at the host as he spoke. "Good evening. Tonight, the four leading contenders for the Zootopia mayoral election make their case as to why they are best suited for leading this city. From left to right, we have B-Brian Batley…"
Nick blinked at the slight flub, before looking closer toward Brian and realizing that some intern somewhere had just earned their Z-45. The little card under his podium didn't say Brian Batley, and instead spelled out Brain Batley. Well, there was an easy joke to roll with at the very least, though the host was carrying on swiftly and professionally. "Nicholas Wilde," he said, the fox nodding. "Followed by Theodore 'Teddy' Tucker, and last but not least, Bradley Stagnew." The deer nodded as a round of applause came up, the sheep looking back into the camera. "I, Andrew Baa, will be your host tonight, fielding questions both about our candidates' policies and forwarding those selected from the audience. First off-"
"Uh, excuse me!"
Nick turned to look at the source of the noise. Brian.
"Excuse me!" he exclaimed again, louder and with a growing frustration in his voice. "You messed up my name."
"My apologies," the host said, looking back. "The producers have said they'll be fixing that as soon as-"
"No, I want it fixed now," he said tensely. Nick cringed a little. "That's my name, and this… this isn't funny." There was a squeakiness to his voice, pointed out and sharp, that made Nick's ears go back. Scratch rolling with the joke and having a laugh, this was going in the opposite direction.
"You do realize how upsetting this is?" he asked, pointing at himself.
"I do…" the host began.
"You could have at least proof read it before. This is my name, it's not even hard to spell, and…" There was a click as the spelling error was corrected, the bat deflating a little. "Thank you…"
"My apologies for that mistake," the sheep repeated before carrying on. Nick couldn't help but look at the bat though. Sure, he completely understood how upsetting it could be, but the way he'd taken it and reacted… well, a lot of the feedback from the first debate had talked about Brian being unsociable and uncharismatic, and the fox sensed that that hole had only been dug deeper right now. The exact opposite of what he and Teddy wanted.
Either way, it was onto the first question. "Trust in the leadership of Zootopia is at an all time low," Baa narrated. "Our last mayor failed to lift things up and was beset by events such as Al Catpone's attempted uprising and the Ratsputin scandal. Before that, both Mayor Lionheart and Mayor Bellwether were arrested for scandals relating to the Nighthowler case. With media cover-ups and a history of corruption, what remedies do our candidates have to get mammals to buy back into politics? What radical solutions do they present in order to solve this great malaise? First off, Brian Batley."
"Thank you," the bat chirped. "From my travels, it's clear that many mammals feel that 'the good life' is beyond their grasp. More than that, they feel invisible, overshadowed, brushed aside. And, looking at the other candidates, I can see why." He paused, waving a wing at them. "The smallest candidate there is still larger than two thirds of all mammals, the other two larger than fourth fifths. There are millions of rodents, bats and other small mammals with unique struggles and issues, ones that these men and all our previous mayors can't understand or relate to." He paused, looking back at the camera.
"For the smallest mammals, Zootopia seems to be run by the largest. Not only does it seem we don't get any say or influence in how things are done, even now 'the good life' is more and more out of bounds for the newest generation of rodents. And that squarely comes down to housing costs in Little Rodentia, where an apartment can cost more than its wolf sized equivalent! There are lots of reasons for this, mainly to do with silly planning laws, but also to do with transport. Rodent housing outside Little Rodentia is ultra cheap, but unpopular due to long travel times and fears of being crushed or injured while walking to and fro. Recent advancement in drone technology could solve that though, but this is held back by out of date laws. As mayor of Zootopia, I will not only fund public drone bus services, but allow small mammals to apply and earn drone flying licenses, letting them fly around the city like bats such as myself, and like how larger mammals drive their cars. This will allow far more opportunities for cheap housing and new employment, and in turn unleash the potential of Zootopia's unheard majority, the smaller mammals."
He finished off to light applause from the audience, except from a small box off to this side, a high pitched chorus calling out. Nick looked over and smiled. Having the nocturnal vote, it seemed Brian was trying to grab the rodent vote as well, and doing so rather well. Add some emotions and passion sprinkled into his speech, likely thanks to a bunch of feedback here and coaching there, and he was more than just back in the race.
"An interesting proposal," the host said, turning to Nick. "Nicholas Wilde, what solutions do you present for Zootopia?"
"Well, I'm glad you asked," the fox said, jumping into the answer. "Just like Brian Batley said, there's a lot of mammals who feel that Zootopia just doesn't work for them. Their voices aren't heard, they seemed ignored a lot, so no wonder they don't think politicians can help solve their problems. I am, of course, talking about the secondary districts across the city. The odd backwaters and little developed areas such as Happytown, the docks, and the marshlands, that are home to many hard working Zootopians. Zootopians, I may add, who want to pay their way and help make this the greatest city in the world, but are let down. Their streets crumble, there aren't many jobs, transport is poor, internet is slow, the housing needs repairs but they can't even get loans." He shrugged innocently. "Tell me you're in an unprioritized district without telling me you're in an unprioritized district."
Nick then leaned down, and pointed straight at the camera. "I want to give these areas a chance to rise up, to stand alongside their bigger brothers, and first off is adjusting the Prioritization Policy. You may complain that we're taking money away from the larger districts, but I like to see it as lending an unemployed baker an oven for a bit so he can get back in business. Soon enough, he'll have his own oven, be baking his own pies, and won't need any help anymore. And at the end of the day, for those in the larger districts, would you want to keep subsidizing these areas forever, or would you prefer it if they paid their own way? You see, that's what I want. It's about letting these areas guide their own destiny. Happytown for instance is made up of a jumble of wards in Savanna Central. My plans, for it and the other areas, will see it as its own mini-district like Little Rodentia. They get to choose where to spend their money, which repairs are most important, how best to fix things up. For once, they get to vote for politicians who have a chance to improve their lives. And in the end? If they feel they can improve their lives through that method, then dangerous mammals like Al Catpone will have no chance of ever tempting them. And who knows, we might even learn some things from what these districts try out, but we'll never know if we don't let them. Thank you."
He finished off and was met with a warm applause. He smiled, knowing that he'd set up a good foundation, and then turned to see Teddy give his pitch.
"Teddy Tucker," Baa introduced. "What will you do for Zootopia?"
"Well, I like to think that I'll talk softly but carry a very big stick." There was a round of chuckling. "Talk softly in that I don't want to change mammal's lives too much. Most of the time, I'll want to advise them on the important topics, but then let them go on their way. But, where I do see a big injustice, that's where I'll lever the power of the mayor's office to make a big change in turn. From a massive boost in funding for minority charities to better funding for the specialist food subsidies to help reduce the burdens on certain species that have to buy expensive food and are more likely to be in food poverty. Speaking of poverty, I aim to raise the minimum wage across the board, and put in a heavy boost in funding for the tax and pay commission. We're gonna root out mammals who try and avoid paying their fair share, and those who think they can get away with paying smaller mammals less than they're worth or larger mammals not enough to keep 'em fed. And then, well… as I say, I may speak softly, but I'll carry a very big stick, and those who seek to push down others for their own sake will find themselves on the wrong end of it."
He was met with a round of applause, and then the host finally turned to Bradley. "Mr Stagnew. Many new, diverse, dare I say radical plans have been fielded. But given the scope of what's gone on, you might have the most radical plan of all: more of the same. So, what exactly do you have to offer to the citizens of Zootopia?"
The stag smiled gently and nodded. "Mr Baa, you say 'more of the same' as if it's such a bad thing. But is it truly?" He raised his arms to the audience. "Look back to almost any time in history, and they'll have had it worse than we have it today. We have fewer mammals in poverty, more living older, more healthier, more in education and school, better representation for minorities, predators, and more. May I ask where those who disagree aim to make the cut?" He leant forward, eyes narrowing. "What we have settled on - what's evolved over hundreds of years - works, and works very well. Yes, there are areas it doesn't seem too. You might point at Happytown, or for that matter any poor district, but is a forest flawed for the occasional dead tree? There will be good neighborhoods, bad neighborhoods, rich and poor, and they will shift and change as time goes on. Many of the most expensive parts of Savanna Central were slum housing half a century ago. Who knows where Happytown might evolve to be if left alone without interference, from 'radical plans' on one side to corrupting influences like organized crime on the other."
He paused, straightening his tie. "After all, just because a plan is radical doesn't mean it will work. You're assuming there are no downsides, no unforeseen consequences. You could certainly try to give every rodent the right to fly drones, but who knows what chaos that might cause in the skies? Accidents, disasters, constant noise, invasions of privacy as drones fly past windows. Same for taking away funding from the major districts. At the end of the day, those who live in the secondaries can survive in the primaries, but not vice versa." He shook his head. "Mammals seem to forget that these radical plans were floated before. Once upon a time, Happytown was one of them: a subsidized district for the poor predators from across the city. At the time, it was a suitable solution to the city's growing population. And yet that radical solution did nothing but entrench poverty and isolation, in the end nearly creating a terrible cataclysm when Al Catpone used it to try and launch his own revolution. Just another mammal with another radical plan. Just like Ratsputin, or Bellwether, or Lionheart, and so on. Change should never be done for change's sake. Mammals want to be left alone to get on with their lives with no more grand plans and interference, and I aim to give that to them. So tell me, where's the radical thinking in that?"
A loud ring of applause called out, as Nick kept his eyes on the stag. Toughest question, met with potentially the best answer. But he didn't allow it to interfere with his smile. Much thanks to Olivia and Neil's research, the fox had an ace up his sleeve. Now it was just a matter of timing it right.
"An interesting response," Baa concluded. "So, do any of the candidates have anything to say to one another?"
"Yeah, I do," Nick said, paw up. "Bradley, you don't like radical things, right?" He leveled his eyes at the deer. "But is letting Happytown control their finances really that bad? Is a tiny little adjustment to the funding formula really that scary? I mean, I'm only asking for the same powers that Little Rodentia has. Is there something special about them that means they get it while Happytown, the Swamps and the Docks don't? Or are you going to take away their powers too? Or is it that you're super scared that Happytown might vote in some scary tax-the-rich radical? C'mon, you can tell me."
"Little Rodentia is a safe haven for all the smallest mammals," Bradley pointed out. "Happytown is nothing more than a neighborhood that happens to be artificially home to a large predator demographic. Ones who have no shortage of opportunity to move somewhere else. After all, I believe you can speak from experience there, unless you think you don't properly represent your district's citizens."
Nick heard muffled agreements and hoots from the audience. That notion alone was practically a career-killer, and both Nick and Bradley knew it. Internally, the former felt a pang of disgust at Bradley's notion of opportunity being prevalent in Happytown. It was a lie, and this, too, they both knew. But Nick just wore his smile and let the practice sessions roll off his tongue.
"Experience? Oh yeah. I have experience living in a Happytown apartment, the windows rattling and leaking with every storm. Of coming home with grazed knees after tripping on an uneven paving stone. Or of having to spend all day making three or four bus transfers to get to the nearest hospital and have a tetanus shot after cutting myself playing on an abandoned streetcar that's the closest we have to an actual playground. I have the experience of seeing my mother work day and night to organize, fund, manage the soup kitchens that keep the old and tired and hungry fed. So what if I moved out to be closer to me and my wife's job? That's an option forced on lots of predators who want to rise out of there, but by bringing back some streetcar lines here, running some more buses there, we could avoid a lot of that. Have them stay in, be a positive influence, help lift the place up. Not instantly, but over time. Isn't that what you want?"
Bradley shrugged. "Who's to say I won't do that?" He countered. "A lack of systemic change doesn't equate to a lack of improvements. And I will improve Zootopia."
"Well, just saying, a lot of Happytowners have had a long history of being let down on even the small scraps they've been promised in the past," Nick said. "You could probably say the same thing about Swampers and Dock dwellers who, by the way, have a much harder time of moving to their primary district. I'd almost say that the Docks are a safe haven for all the marine mammals, just like Little Rodentia is for rodents, were it not for all the hardships they face there from lack of funding. By your argument they should get the same treatment too, right?"
"Lots of pinnipeds also live in Tundratown," Bradley pointed out. "For all Zootopia's issues, insinuating that entire districts are purposefully neglected due to the type of mammals they house is laughable."
"Yeah, but that just sounds like an excuse to minimize their voices," the fox said, smiling as he pulled out his ace in the hole. "Just the same with the predators in Happytown, though that's a long Stagnew tradition, isn't it?"
There was a surge in chatter from the crowd, the stag turning to face Nick with a glare that could have stopped a charging rhino. "Excuse me?"
Nick smiled through the silent threat. "Now, for all you folks at home, we'll have a nice shiny blog post up and ready for you to read through in a few minutes, but for those here? Well, have I got an interesting story for you. You see, Happytown is made up of the dog legs of a bunch of different wards, all built around and on the sites of some old factories. It means the locals never have one voice and tend to be forgotten, but, if there's a very close election they can really swing the vote in a certain way. For instance, when old Lionfart was up for the runnings, he was very popular with predators. He was very popular in Happytown too, so you'd expect a big swing in the district for him, right? Except, when the time for the polls came, turnout was historically low in Happytown. Strange, right? And, digging into it further, it turned out that lots of predators turned up near the end of the polling day, and didn't get to cast their votes as the polls closed too early. Now, who may I ask was in charge of running the polls back then?" He folded his arms and looked over to Bradley.
The deer snorted. "I manage the count and publish guidelines. It's completely ridiculous to suggest that I was on the phone telling them to shut down early."
"Oh I agree," Nick concurred. "Instead, looking through your regulations for that year, you allowed pollers after a certain time to close the majority, not all, but the majority of their polling booths. So they could help get things organized, rest up a bit, and help the count start sooner, so the logic goes. And most of the volunteers running the Happytown poll, from out of town mind you, were very happy to do that. It made sense. Only, half an hour after closing, you had a big surge in mammals coming from the remaining big few factories in the area to vote. And a certain rule subset said that once closed, those booths couldn't be reopened. Hence lots of mammals still waiting outside when time was called."
"Well, in that case I must apologize for that unforeseen consequence," Bradley said, waving it off with one hoof. "I didn't know that would happen, but I'd say it proves my previous point further. If a small, honest intention like that could cause such a big unintended issue, what kind of chaos could some of these big changes you're prattling on about cause?"
"Interesting thing about those factories," Nick cut in. "They were all bought just before the poll by a large organization: Falconeri Fabrications. They instituted a big shift change, pulling the start and end of the day back by an hour, just a week before the poll. Perfectly timed to mess with all this further, if I may say so. And, once the poll was complete, almost all of the factories were closed down and moved to different districts, creating a new unemployment issue still hitting Happytown to this day. And you will probably want to say you had nothing to do with this, Stagnew. But we looked into your funders. Lots of funders, with vague names, giving you all the money you need to pay for splurging that very expensive ad on that very expensive screen at the Watering Hole. But, looking into your funders, they all have funders. And then those funders have funders. And very cleverly, at first it seems there are more as you go down, but then it turns out there are less and less and less… Until you find just one. The Mountain Peak Foundation, funded anonymously as of now, but in the past they took on a very big donation. From all the money made by Falconeri Fabrications when it sold up the Happytown works."
There was a brief pause, Stagnew silent.
"So, let me recount," Nick said. "In an election where a candidate whose policies you historically disapproved of - policies that allowed my wife and I to join the ZPD and save the city a few times, mind you - you changed the rules so that the out of town volunteers could wind the voting capacity of their polls right back, but not back up again, in a place that would lean heavily towards said candidate. At the same time, a company pushed back the shift times of the local big employers so that lots of mammals arrived only after the polls closed, denying them their right to vote. A vote that would mainly go to those you didn't like. And then, that company shut down all the local big employers, and put that money in a trust that now funds your campaign. Now, I may not be a police officer anymore, but I don't think you even need to be one to see something very clever and very fishy going on there."
The fox crossed his paws and smiled a smile. Extra smug. "You're way too sly and cunning for that. I'd almost be tempted to make you an honorary member of my species. Except for the minor fact that we have standards."
The room was silent, before bursting into whispers and then a rising applause. Nick couldn't help but chuckle.
"These are very heavy claims," Bradley spoke calmly, crossing his arms. "I expect you to have very heavy evidence for them."
"All on the blog, if not now, then soon," the fox claimed.
"Either way, I completely deny any malpractice," the deer turned away from Nick with a dismissive wave. "I have no dictation over what a private company chooses to do with its shifts, or where they put their money."
"Well, we'll see," Nick said, "but I mean, if you did do it… all that just to shut some poor preds out… that seems pretty radical, doesn't it?"
Bradley flared his nostrils, but by then, the first timer clicked, and the show was forced to go on.
Meanwhile, in the Nocturnal-District...
Vladzotz Fangpyre had experienced loss before - more times than he cared to remember. Family, hopes, and now friends.
The crime-lord stared out over the property of his safehouse. Much could be seen from the balcony, though the view failed to comfort him. Gritting his fangs, he slammed one wing atop the black marble rails.
"Lester is gone..." he repeated softly. "And our warehouse in the desert is lost... all by the paws of those wretched Bigs..."
Beside him, Lucy stepped a bit closer. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but... that's what the scouts reported."
"What will you have us do, sir?" A raccoon behind them both asked softly.
"What you've been doing: finish tracking down the spa. Then scour them off the land." Vlad opened his wings with a harsh, leathery snap. "Get it done."
He was about to take flight when the minion voiced out, "Wait, sir. Once we find them... should we use the pellets?"
Vladzotz nodded. "Granted. I'd wanted to save Al's last gift for when we needed it most... but it's clear that time is now. Show them the meaning of justice."
At that, the crime-lord took to the air, flapping down to the rocky courtyard below. Lucy followed shortly behind, leaving the raccoon to his duties. She inched closer, looking like she wanted to say something, and fighting it back a few times, before finally forcing it out.
"The war is getting out of hand. I'm sorry about Lester... but is this-"
She suddenly stopped herself. For a moment, she could have sworn the ground shook. Her sensitive ears were more than powerful enough to detect minor quakes. Then it happened again, like footsteps from some enormous titan drawing closer. There was only one mammal Lucy knew who fit that bill.
"Grunt!" She gasped, pointing to the elephant's gas-mask obscured face as it rose over a nearby spallation of boulders. "We thought you might have been killed! Were you in hiding all this time?"
Lumbering closer, the elephant simply nodded his head. It would just about be the best response they'd be able to get out of him.
"Waiting for the heat to die down," Lucy concluded, grinning wide. "Just the way I taught you!"
"You've survived," Vlad added. "Good. We'll need your strength now more than ever." He then turned to Lucy. "What was it you were going to say?"
"Oh. I-"
A nearby shuffling trailed the end of her words as she looked over Vlad's shoulder to face its source. Curious, Vlad did the same along with Grunt. All three mammals stared down as a less-than-friendly-looking fourth approached from the shadows: a female arctic fox, panting heavily as one stained red paw pressed firmly against a makeshift cloth bandage covering her right eye, dried blood caking her snowy white fur and vest. She looked like an injured waitress. Yet Grunt shifted his weight, recognizing her as the fox from the attack in Sahara-Square that had helped kill Lester. She'd been tracking him for all this time!
Vladzotz quirked his head to the side. Yet another surprise interruption. He was just about to ask if she was alright when the fox lunged into her waistband and retracted a small black pistol. His heart seemed to stop, and with it, time slowed down as the sights settled across him until he was staring down a barrel aiming at his head. He barely even noticed as Grunt stepped between them in the moments before, tanking the bullet into one ankle as the shot echoed into the caverns around them. The crime-lord stumbled back, falling on his tail. With his life saved, he then instinctively looked to Lucy, only to see that she was already gone. A flash of leathery darkness brought his attention to Grunt's shoulder, watching as she flew over it like a pole-vaulter elegantly soaring over a metal bar.
The arctic fox failed to react as quickly. She was only able to stare up as a very angry vampire bat soared toward her with outstretched talons and fangs bared in a bestial snarl. Lucy collided into the fox's larger frame, and both mammals writhed and scrambled over one another for a moment, hissing and yipping before Lucy's jaws found their place around the fox's neck. Growling hard, Lucy sank her teeth in as deep as they could go before yanking back with a tear harsh enough to be heard. The fox flailed in the direction of the yank before falling to the ground with Lucy still gripping her. Both quickly stilled, and that's when Lucy pulled back, panting heavily, and then turned to her husband.
"Are… you… okay?" She asked tenderly, concerned green eyes clashing with the deluge of blood dripping down her mouth and chest.
A breath that Vladzotz didn't even realize he'd been holding began to siphon through his fangs. His jaw briefly rose and fell, unable to respond as he stared over the scene in front of him, before he locked gazes with his wife and ever-so gently confirmed, "Yes… I am. Thank you. Thank you both."
He slowly rose to his feet, eyes still trained on the dead fox. Yet another failed assassination attempt. Yet only one was needed to succeed. How many would it take? How lucky could he get? None were questions Vlad had the answer to.
Several minions from inside the house came rushing to the scene, encouraging them all to return to safety. Their requests were obliged, but both Vlad and Lucy couldn't help but wonder how safe their safehouse could truly be.
Meanwhile, at ZNN TV Central...
The debate still had a long way to go, and as they went through more questions, Nick began to feel a bit of a doubt working its way in. As they talked about healthcare, transport, crime and education they all gave solid answers, much as before, and the fox couldn't help but feel the impact of his put down start to fade. He grimaced, he'd seen his shot and took it, but had it been too early? Did it give Bradley enough time to recover, or rather pull out a final home run that redeemed him? He hoped most watchers had longer memories and attention spans, but he couldn't help but doubt. It didn't help that when it came to the bread and butter issues, Bradley knew his stuff. Meanwhile, it took every ounce of Nick's smarts to remember the finer details that he and Samantha had gone over in their study sessions.
As they moved into the final section, a Q&A from social media and the audience arrived. Nick and Teddy had put in their attacks against Bradley to keep him down, while Brian Batley had largely been holding his own. On healthcare there had been an impassioned speech about making sure out of date donated blood was all re-used and distributed to the vampire bats, and how it both made sense and helped redeem the city for the Blood Crisis decades ago. At times it was even moving, and Nick hoped that the emotions were a bigger tug on the heartstrings than the sensitivity and squeamishness of the topic was repellent.
A few interesting questions came up. Nick was happy to see Bradley questioned again about the whole voting fiasco by someone on social media who'd read their blog no less. It talked about their anger, and how he seemed to be more than letting things live and let live but actively trying to punch down the secondary districts. 'Tell me you're in an unprioritized district without telling me you're in an unprioritized district? I couldn't vote last time thanks to Bradley Stagnew.'
The deer kept a cool head and repeated most of his same talking points from early. Managing the issue, but not sending it away at all.
Teddy Tucker then got a question from the audience, an elephant standing up. "Way at the start you said you'd be increasing funding for specialist foods for specific species. I looked into your campaign and it talked about wolf apples for maned wolves, bamboo for pandas, eucalyptus for koala, blood for vampire bats and so on… but nothing for large mammals like myself."
"Correct," he said, "that's because these are specialist mammals who need these foodstuffs as a large, or complete, part of their diet. They're often expensive as a result, and so increasing the subsidy is fair."
"But I have a family of four to feed," she said, waving her trunk forward. "And we need lots of food, and it's expensive, and we get no help…"
"But you can choose what you eat, if something is expensive you can choose something cheaper…"
"It doesn't matter how cheap it is," she stressed. "It all adds up!"
"I know that," he said, pointing at himself. "I am literally the largest land carnivore, and so I too need lots of food. The majority meat and fish too, so it's more expensive. Ideally I'd want to subsidize those too, but after reviewing the budget I felt it most prudent to help those mammals with literally no choice. Where a change or flux in the prices could spell mass starvation."
"We're dealing with mass starvation," she sniffed. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Make sure your bosses pay you more, pay you enough," he said, resolutely. The elephant dried her eyes with her trunk and sat down, if not seeming too convinced. Nick looked over at the bear and shared the same thought. Not great, not terrible, but at the worst time.
"Nick Wilde," the host said, "This question is from social media. 'I live in one of the poorest parts of the Rainforest District. One where Al Catpone had the core of his operation, where predator and prey live in poverty. We're not that much smaller than Happytown, we have many of the same issues. But why does that predator-heavy neighborhood, and the Docks and the Marshlands for that matter, deserve the special treatment and funding while you plan to take away more funding from our district? The secondary districts aren't the only ones with poverty."
Nick cleared his throat and smiled. "Do Happytown, the Docks and the Marshlands deserve special treatment? Yes, yes they do. In many cases they have unique situations, environments, and populations that are very different from the districts they're lumped into, and need special representation to best work. They need mammals who know what's going on at the ground level to help improve it all. So you need a special solution for them. Does that mean your poor area needs and deserves help too? Of course it does. And a key thing with our little re-jig of the Prioritization Policy is a specific assurance that funding isn't cut from the poorest areas of the main districts. Moreover, there's a slight increase in funding. And, as these districts grow, develop, improve, we can see what works! And we can then go and implement it on these other poorer areas, giving them a leg up too. But I promise, at the very least, you will not be losing out."
"Thank you," the host said, as he turned to the final mammal. Nick watched on and crossed his fingers. He had the feeling that while Teddy Tucker would be coming in fourth and he first, it was a tight race between the deer and the bat. If Brian could score a solid win here, that might just see him through into the final debate. And of course, Bradley could still try and run if he didn't make it, but as Samantha had said that was super rare and very unusual. The kind of thing a conservative deer like Stagnew may well veer away from on principle, and would be ripe for the attack if he didn't.
Anyhow, fingers crossed as the cameras focussed in on a sniffing rat up in the corner of the rodent seating area. "Mr Batley," she said, standing up. "One year ago, my son was brutally attacked by a vampire bat while walking home at night. He was almost drained dry! He barely survived, and he's not alone. There has been an epidemic of attacks on rodents for years by your species, and it's only increasing. And many of the smaller victims never even make it to hospital. If… if you're going to represent us, what are you going to do about this crisis?"
All eyes turned to the candidate as he adjusted his glasses. "Well, Ma'am, I'd first point out that this is hardly a crisis…"
"HARDLY!?" She shrieked.
"Yes," he said. "Compared to other forms of injury, even other forms of deliberate attack, vampire bat attacks are barely a rounding error."
"T-tell that to my son!" she yelled. "He almost suffered brain damage from the loss of blood."
"Almost," the bat scolded, "and-"
"Why are you defending this?"
"I'm defending my species against the kind of speciesist and baseless accusations that led to the majority of them to be starved to death by the city," he growled back. "And if you put away these emotions and feelings for a second and look at the facts-"
"The fact is mammals have died!" The rat yelled.
"Mammals die all the time, but-" he began, only to be cut off once more.
"And that makes it okay?"
"No," he firmly insisted, "And it also doesn't make it okay to stereotype and condemn an entire species based on the actions of what's believed to be one, one, rogue individual who's already on the city's most wanted list!"
"So if it is just one bat, why are you getting angry at me!?"
"Because I get angry at bigoted mammals who blame and demonize my entire species for the actions of one," he said. "Yes, I can understand that you'd be emotional over this, but the danger my species possesses to yours, or any of that size, is no more than a rounding error."
"So… so what are you going to do about that bat then?" she asked. "Are you going to give the ZPD more funding to hunt them down? To bring them in? To make them and those who support them pay?"
Batley paused, eyes narrowing. "So there's a 'those' now? How many bats are they…?"
"I don't know, isn't there a whole mob of them underground? Do something! Put a curfew on, or…"
"And I see, back to punishing all the vampire bats now. Or would it just be all the bats in general as, on the fly, it's very hard to tell the non-vampire bats, the vast vast majority of bats, apart from those of my species. So you'd have to ground all of them to enforce this…" He shook his head. "I think we're done here."
"So you'd put your own species ahead of the safety of mine? Of theirs?" She asked to the rest of the rodents, who looked back at him with very less than happy looks.
"I'd put the freedom and liberty owed to my species, as it's owed to all species, ahead of your invalid, scaremongering and speciesist concerns. Yes."
And with that, he was done. And as Nick would put it, in more ways than one. He could see the mice and rodents, and they weren't happy. Maybe if it had been the fox answering the question he'd have worked out a light win for both sides, but Brian had seen it as an attack on his own species and sided right back with them. Yeah, a lot of his facts and statistics were probably right, but after saying what he said to a rightfully emotional mammal…
He'd just lost the entire rodent vote that could have helped see him through to the mayor's office. He was practically out of the race.
And with that, the debate ended, the mammals heading off the stage.
Nick gave his tail a little wiggle, even as he felt a twinge in his bad leg.
"You did good."
He looked up to Teddy Tucker. "You too."
"Yeah… I'm not gonna blame Batley for what he did, but I kinda wish he didn't."
Nick managed to chuckle. "Strangely enough I feel the same way."
"Still," he said, "even though he's no longer up on that deer… I might be. I might not. But I know you are."
"Yeah," he said, feeling confident again. "Hey, best of luck. Meet you next debate, I hope."
"Right back at you," the bear said.
They shook paws, and went their separate ways, Nick more confident in his campaign than ever before.
11:30 P.M ; Southeast Small Mammal Penitentiary, Sahara-Square...
Peter Ishini hated prisons.
Not because they restricted freedom (that had never stopped him from pulling prison breaks for fellow Infernum members before), or because of close proximity to dangerous mammals (most of Peter's best friends were dangerous mammals). Of all the many traits to loath about prisons, the worst of all was that they were so damn bland. Bare cement walls, featureless concrete floors, beds made of cheap plastic and springs; there was nothing remotely fun or interesting about prison. And for a mammal like Peter, that's what made it so terribly difficult to endure.
At the two-way phone booth, the flying squirrel waited for the mammal he had come to see, perched atop a stool several sizes too big for him. Nervously fidgeting at his oversized black trench, he couldn't help but spare glances around his vicinity. Other visitors chatted idly with prisoners in orange jumpsuits, separated by walls of thick glass. None of the guards seemed to recognize him for the criminal he was, even after so many visits - a perk of having dwelt so long in hiding. But even he couldn't be too safe. He despised having to adorn himself with such thick, baggy clothing, much preferring the freedom of movement that his bodysuit provided for his nimble frame. Still, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for the information he was here to acquire. Gaining through sacrifice was something Peter understood well. After all, the Code of Hamsterrabi - an eye for an eye - was the foundation behind his quest for vengeance against his former student.
The mere thought of her caused his mouth to twitch. After so many years plotting his revenge, fantasizing about every creative way he would enact his justice, he still couldn't fully suppress the curious, frustrating pangs of nostalgia he'd get every time she popped into his head. The gloriously successful heists, the fierceness of their camaraderie, and the trust they had in one another was simply too endearing to forget. Peter sighed, absently flicking at the red phone laying before him like a keyboard.
Lucy hated the drabness of prison too, he somberly recalled from one of their many conversations. Oh, she truly was a worthy student. A shame she took her poor brother's death so personally.
A flicker of movement beyond the glass drew the attention of his beady pink eyes. He watched as a frail, elderly rabbit approached the opposite side of the booth. With painful slowness, she seated herself, wrinkling the orange jumpsuit around her bony frame akin to the aging skin beneath her fraying gray fur. She then pulled her phone to one cheek.
"Speak," La Bruja requested in a weak voice.
Peter nodded and leaned into his phone. They had done this enough times to know the drill by now. Information for information.
"I've encountered a bit of a roadblock," he began. "The crime war has made tracking Lucy frustratingly difficult. I know where she is, thanks to the little gift I left inside the painting, but her precious husband's security apparatus is on high alert. He has eyes and ears everywhere in the Nocturnal-District. It's become clear to me that my only hope for revenge is luring her out of the district. I've tried using my new associates' connections, but even they weren't prepared for this level of chaos - all because I missed my first shot at her - and they've stuck me with picking up the pieces. Turns out, they're some kind of secret political cabal, and they threatened to kill me if I don't bring them Lucy's head before the election ends. That's in little more than a month. Normally I wouldn't be so wary of such a threat, but…" he paused, remembering Bradley Stagnew's threatening words and cold authority. "Something tells me they're worth taking seriously. I need to end this. Do you have any information for me?"
La Bruja sat wordlessly, unimpressed, staring at Peter through the glass. After several seconds, she finally spoke, asking only a single question: "Precious husband?"
Peter blinked, bewildered. "Of all the gossip I just shared, that's what you focus on?" He grumbled quietly into the phone.
"This is news to me," the rabbit elaborated. "But not of any surprise. When Lucy came to visit me, I noticed a wedding ring on one of her fingers."
"Yes, she's married to the crime-lord of the Nocturnal-District, and had two pups with him. So? I'm not here to discuss some happy criminal hitching. I'm trying to kill her."
Shaking her head, La Bruja continued, "You misunderstand me. Think, Peter. Lucy is your student. You trained her well. Molded her into our weapon. What could compel a mammal like her - a thief, and a killer - to settle down and marry? To have children?" She leaned closer to the window, bending forward as though a ghostly breeze were pushing her. "She cares for them. Her husband is her pressure point. Her weakness. As is her family. Target them, and I guarantee she will do everything you expect her to. You'll have your lure."
The flying squirrel stared to the side as he pondered his former boss' advice. He stroked his chin, and his lips pulled into a smile wide enough to display his buck-teeth.
"Now that might just work."
And thus the leader of the Cabal is revealed at last! It's been a long time coming. Attentive readers may have noted that although it was revealed back in chapter 9 that Rupert was working with the instigators behind the crime war, never once did I or any of them refer to him as the boss. A shot-caller, sure, as this chapter reveals with his founder status in the group, but not the true leader. You can expect to be learning more about the Cabal, its origins, and its members in chapters to come.
Meanwhile, the debate unfolds, and with only one left remaining (expect that in chapter 16), it's anyone's guess who will come out on top! Stay tuned to find out! Chapter 15, "Broken Promises," will be arriving soon! Special thanks to J_Shute_Norway for writing most of the debate scene! :)