April 19, 1985

The Zootopia Tribune

"Deceased Rivermouth CEO Death Under Investigation"

By Nigel White

The death of former Rivermouth CEO Mufasa wa Mwamba-Kiburi and son Simba is being investigated by the Zootopia Homicide Squad, a division of the ZPD, an inside source has revealed.

"Our arson expert has found that the gas valve in the cabin showed evidence of tampering," Chief Bogo released in a statement on Friday. "We are interviewing all animals of interest, but this case is now being considered a possible case of arson. We do not believe the fire to be accidental, nor do we believe it was a case of murder-suicide. The lack of physical evidence left at the scene will prove conviction difficult, but we're doing our best to serve justice. Right now, that's our main concern."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss details," Dodger Joel, Zootopia PD Arson Investigator, stated. "But, I'll be happy to explain what we found, why it was dangerous, and how folks at home can prevent a disaster from improper valve maintenance. Never try to alter, repair, or replace any part of your home gas system without a license to do so."

This story will be updated as more details emerge.

May 23, 1998

Instantly as they stepped into the dim home, Nala felt cooler. The small dwelling was cluttered, but not messy, as there wasn't any place to store belongings but along the wall, with a few scattered pieces of clothing in different sizes hung from the three hammocks. It was a modest structure with an uneven tiled floor, adobe-clad walls, and an exposed corrugated tin roof. One area made up the kitchen, with little more than a chest for food, a fire pit with a wood stove, and a basin for water that had no spigot. The rest served as both sleeping and communal space, with one table in the middle, where a deck of cards sat next to a few empty beer bottles. She and Nigel stepped inside cautiously, watching as Simba hung the machete on two nails driven into the wall above the largest hammock.

"I'd offer water," Simba began to rummage through the chest, "but uh, I don't have any bottled water and you'll get sick from the well water."

"We're good," Nigel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms skeptically. "So, you're 'Red?'"

"Guilty as charged," Simba stood, a bottle of rum in his paw. "Is that why you came here? Looking for me?"

"Sort of."

"Why?" He popped the cork off and set it on the chest, swirling the bottle, staring intently at Nigel with a look of clear mistrust.

"We're investigating the port."

"What about it?"

"I think business talk can wait a minute," Nala gestured to Simba. "I have some personal questions for my friend."

"I actually need to know how you found me," Simba spoke quietly. "Kind of a safety issue to have foreigners snooping around the town looking for anyone. So," he looked at Nigel. "The port?"

"Well, on paper," Nigel easily moved back to task, scratching his nose, "it's supposed to be all but abandoned. None of the big fish are paying any tariffs or fees to indicate that they're using it, but nevertheless, it is clearly being used. We want to know what companies are using it, and we couldn't help but notice some very nice Ell-O water filtration devices in the area, and we heard tell that a lion named 'Red' knew some more about that."

"Who snitched?" This was the only question Simba seemed truly invested in.

"Can't reveal that. Journalistic integrity prevents it."

"Right," he nodded, tapping his claw on the glass bottle. "Of course."

"Well?"

"Well," Simba took a shameless swig of rum before answering, "those ships are paying to use the port, they're just not paying taxes to the government."

"Who are they paying?"

"Local shipyard owners. It's all under the table, but it's enough money that we're motivated to keep things quiet."

"'We?'"

Simba shrugged. "I don't ever go near the port, but...I may or may not be part of some of the activity that goes on there."

"Does your local government know about it?"

"On paper? Probably not. They're paid enough to play stupid."

"I'm going to take a moment to stress that everything you tell us is confidential and we will not implicate you," Nigel cleared his throat, "but, we're talking billions in missing goods that are going untaxed. Does the local government not realize how much tax and tariff money that international entities will eventually go looking for?"

"They know, they just don't care," Simba took another drink. "Ships show up at the port, they pay a lot of money to stay for a few days. They pay even more to refuel, some of the workers spend money to eat local. Some supplies makes it off the ships and..." Simba gestured vaguely. "Who's to say what happens to it? Catch my drift?"

"Certainly," Nigel nodded. "Off the record, can I ask what your part is in all this?"

"Sure," Simba shrugged. "Rivermouth's a big company, who's going to miss a few water filters?"

"That's your definition of 'a few?'" Nigel gestured outside to the pile of boxes.

"No, each one of those is incredibly valuable to the animals here and further inland. A lot more valuable than to whatever soda bottling company in another country ordered it. I did pay attention when my dad talked about his job, I know that those are industrial filters, I'm not taking anything from anyone who doesn't already have more than anyone in this country could ever hope to have."

"So, a lion Robin Hood, then?"

"Nah," Simba took another drink. "Just, you know, balancing the scales a little."

"Is that why you came here?" Nala asked quietly. The question caught Simba off-guard.

"Not exactly," was all he said.

"Well," she looked at him softly, "I think what you're doing is good, and I think it's really admirable that you're doing all of this to help." He simply shrugged in reply.

"It's interesting that Rivermouth isn't admitting to using the port," Nigel observed. "Do you have any idea how long this has been going on?"

"At least thirteen years."

"Really?" Even Nigel was surprised.

"Yeah, I was surprised, too!" Simba chuckled darkly. "Probably longer, to be honest."

"Can I ask a sensitive question?" Nigel asked.

"No," Simba turned his attention to Nala. "Nala, you alright?"

"I just," Nala pressed her paw to her mouth as her eyes grew damp. "I'm just still processing it."

"Hey," Simba set the rum down and approached her with open arms. She accepted his hug gratefully. "It's okay."

"I just really missed you," she forcefully wiped her eyes.

"I just really missed you, too," he half-heartedly quipped, squeezing her tightly before letting her go. "So," he leaned against the chest, "you're what, a reporter?"

"Yeah," she smiled through damp eyes. "I got a degree in journalism and I work for the Tribune."

"Hey, that's neat. And they seriously sent you guys all the way out here to figure out why some ships aren't paying the right tolls?" He looked between them. "Sounds like a question the police should be asking, or FBI or something."

"It is," Nigel grunted. "But, they've got a few more layers of denial and red tape than we do. Calling attention to the issue would cut through a lot of that."

"It's not really an issue of trying to catch anyone," Nala clarified.

"No, it is," Nigel argued.

"It's about the money that these large companies owe being given to the right governments so that that money can be spent on infrastructure and social programs instead of lining pockets," Nala explained patiently.

"Well I can promise you it doesn't matter here," Simba answered easily. "The people here don't see a scrap of help from the government, we'd prefer the money go to the dock workers."

"Really?" Nala was puzzled.

"Yeah, I mean, what do you think the government is going to do with it?" Simba snorted. "They're just going to go buy shit for themselves from other countries and bring that shit back and defend it with more guns. At least the dock workers eat locally, you know?"

"I...didn't realize the corruption was that ingrained," Nala admitted.

"Oh, we're all corrupt here," Simba didn't seem bothered by the statement. "This house isn't permitted and we haven't paid a cent in taxes, it doesn't even have a real address. None of the houses around here are technically legal. During tax and census time, we all cough up a few francs to the police and they leave us alone, everyone's happy."

"No rules, huh?" Nigel observed.

"Oh we have rules, chief among them is 'don't turn each other in,'" Simba sighed in irritation. "I'll figure that one out later." He picked at the rum bottle's label until a realization hit Nala.

"How are we going to get him back?" She turned to Nigel. Nigel rubbed his chin in thought.

"Wait, 'back?'" Simba looked up.

"Simba, don't you want to go back?" Nala was shocked. "Don't-don't you want to go home?"

"I mean..." Simba looked away. "I...I can't, alright?"

"Nigel," Nala kept a calm voice. "Could you give us a moment?"

"Right," Nigel stepped past her. "I'll be just outside."

When they were alone, Nala stepped closer to her friend. "Simba, what do you mean you can't go back? Of course you can."

"You wouldn't get it," he rubbed his face. "I know your whole thing is that you're usually right, but this time you're not, alright?"

"Will you at least talk to me about it? You know you can still tell me anything."

"I can't, I'm sorry, I can't, and I can't tell you why I can't."

"Is it something you can tell your mother?" She asked softly. He bit his lip, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Simba, she deserves to know that you're not dead."

"It's easier for her that she does."

"Simba," Nala put her paws in her face, rubbing her temple and tired eyes roughly, "do you seriously expect me to go home and eat dinner with Sarabi knowing that you're back here alive and never say anything to her?"

"You have dinner with my mom?" His question was almost a whisper.

"Yes," she wiped her nose and looked away. "She's like family. So are you."

"How is she?"

"I'd rather you give her a call and find that out yourself."

"I literally do not have electricity."

"We have a satellite phone back at the hotel, you can come with us and call her there."

"If-if I could, she wouldn't believe it's me. I mean, marshmallow fluff out there," Simba jerked his head toward where Nigel had gone, "sure as hell didn't."

"He's a skeptic, it's what makes him so good at his job."

"He almost got you killed."

"You wouldn't have killed me, you don't have it in you."

"I killed my dad," Simba blurted. The air in the tiny dwelling was suddenly cold and thick.

"You-" Nala stared at him blankly. "...No..."

"Not-not on purpose," Simba ran a paw roughly through his mane, unable to look at her. "I mean, I'd never ever do something like that on purpose, ever. But...it's still my fault he died. And I can't go home and face my mom, especially not after hiding from it this whole time. I've screwed up beyond repair, it's better that she thinks I'm dead. There is no going home for me, I need you to understand that."

"There's nothing you could have done to start or stop that fire, Simba," Nala was unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. "The firemen said that the gas valve was tampered with, that stove was a death trap and it wasn't your fault."

"It worked fine the first few times we used it," Simba shook his head. "I thought I turned it off, but...I guess I didn't turn the knob correctly. Then, I guess he went to turn it on."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Nala looked towards the door. "Nigel, can you come in here please?"

"Come on, I don't need his-"

"Simba, he reported the story, he was there at the cabin after it burned down, he can tell you more details than I could."

"What's wrong?" Nigel came in, glaring at Simba, who returned a look of equal hostility.

"Nigel, Simba said they used the stove several times before the fire, how is that possible if the gas valve was tampered with before their arrival?"

"Uh," Nigel exhaled sharply, looking at the ceiling as he thought, "well, let me think back, it's been over a decade since I covered that, the details are a little rusty."

"In an article you wrote that I read as recently as last year," Nala prompted, "several weeks after the fire, you interviewed an arson investigator after the department was unable to pin down anyone legally who said that the gas valve had been intentionally tampered with before the family's arrival to the cabin and that gas had begun accumulating in the air, so that the first spark to turn the stove on would have caused a reaction, right?"

"That's right."

"How is it that Simba used the stove several times without a problem? Wouldn't there have been even a smaller fire if the gas valve had already been tampered with?"

"I'm no expert, but, that's what the fire department implied at the time, if I recall correctly."

"So now we have evidence that the gas valve was tampered with after their arrival," Nala narrowed her eyes at Nigel, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"I didn't do that!" Simba insisted. "I swear!"

"You couldn't have," Nigel dismissed. "Kid like you wouldn't have been strong enough even with the right tools, the sealing on the valve mechanism was stripped. Whoever did it intended to start a very big fire."

"I'm not following," Simba frowned.

"Askari was with you two the whole time, wasn't he?" Nala looked back at her friend.

"Yeah," Simba shrugged. "Why?"

"Simba," Nala spoke carefully, "is it...possible that he ever had time to tamper with the gas line?"

"I don't know!" Simba was appalled at the question. "I mean, why would he do that? He wouldn't do that!"

"Money," Nigel shrugged indifferently. "He inherited quite a lot from both of your deaths."

"What about my mother?"

"Sure, she got more, but he got a lot. The only solid suspect anyone ever had was Askari, but the jury couldn't disprove his alibi of being gone fishing when the fire started and there wasn't enough evidence left at the scene to nail him in court so he walked free."

"He never went fishing," Simba rubbed his face. "He hated fishing."

"Interesting," Nigel rose an eyebrow.

"Yeah, real fascinating!" Simba shot back.

"I'm sorry," Nigel rose his paws and seemed genuinely remorse. "I shouldn't have said that, you're right. I'm in your home discussing something tragic and personal to you, and I was insensitive."

"The important thing is," Nala tried to recover the conversation, "Simba, it wasn't your fault."

"Oh no, of course not," Nigel agreed somberly. "Couldn't have been."

"But you're saying if it wasn't my fault, it was my uncle's fault," Simba wasn't comforted. "And he wouldn't do it any more than I would. I mean, kids make mistakes, you know? Things...happen, alright? Can't we just leave it at that?"

"With all due respect," Nigel treaded the waters carefully, "you're overlooking the fact that there's proof that somebody used tools to alter the gas system with the specific intention of causing a major gas leakage, right?"

"Maybe it was a bad repair job."

"No, the actual seal on the valve had been cut away with a tool, that's not a step to repair anything, it was done only to destroy the part and make it dangerous. There's no question in anyone's mind that that fire was started by an arsonist, there just wasn't enough evidence to prove who it was. You, ah..." again, he weighed Simba's reaction before speaking further, "you...say your uncle wasn't fishing when the fire happened?"

"...No," Simba admitted. "He was on the shore of the river drinking coffee, the boat never left the shore."

"Is that something you're sure of?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I ran past it when I..." he sighed heavily. "When I ran away."

"Askari told the police he'd left to fish at dawn and didn't return until the cabin was in ashes," Nala said solemnly. "He didn't call the police until the building was nearly ashes. What was he doing during that time if he wasn't fishing?"

"There's no way he could have missed that smoke," Simba made a bitter face. "When I left, all of the cabin was still standing, it was just...on fire. I...I don't know what he was doing."

"I'm sorry," Nala whispered to her friend in the quiet little shack.

"I'll go check on our driver," Nigel stepped toward the front door. "And look, there's no rush, but we do need to figure out what our next move is."

"I think we need a few more minutes," Nala murmured as he left.

Silence settled between them.

Finally, Simba spoke.

"You hungry?"

"What?" Nala blinked in confusion. "Am I-"

"I'm hungry," Simba stepped out. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

"I-" Nala speechlessly watched Simba walk towards the car. "...Sure, I guess so."

The building looked like the rest of the town, dirt-streaked and sun-damaged, but the platters of food looked clean, hot and fresh. She couldn't identify the aroma of food, but it smelled pleasant.

He, Nala, and Nigel ended up sitting in a wooden booth in the back, receiving glances from the other patrons, who were mostly warthogs, antelope, and baboons. Simba seemed unbothered, and his calmness allowed her and Nigel to relax just a tad. There was no air conditioning, nor even a fan, so the area was warm, though all of the windows were open to the slight humid breeze. The menu had no pictures, and was entirely in French. She understood some of the cognates, but that left half the menu a mystery.

"Need help?" Simba asked, noticing their hesitation.

"What's this one?" She asked, pointing to an entrée's name.

"Sweet potato pancakes. They're pretty good, actually."

"I'll take that, then. So..." She studied his face. He looked...almost calm. Distracted, but on the whole, practically unbothered. She was still reeling from, well, all of it. Realizing that he was alive, that he seemed to be a very integral part of an underground crime ring involving players from his late father's company, and the realization that his uncle was facing some damning evidence as the key suspect in his father's death. The fact that Simba had been living under the impression that the entire tragedy had been his fault and the guilt had driven him to this corner of the earth. Simba, contrarily, was helping Nigel decipher the menu. "How long did it take you to learn French?" She inquired, trying to feel him out. She wanted him to lead.

"Um, less than a year. Six or seven months to be able to get by, I guess. After about a year I was pretty caught up."

"That's impressive.

"Nah, not really."

"What are you having?" Nigel asked.

"This really good spicy rice and bean plate they have, it's got like, a chili sauce."

"That's what I'll have, too," Nigel set his menu down. "You made a good case for the fried crickets, but I think I'll play it safe."

"Tea or coffee?" Simba glanced between them.

"Do they have bottled water?" Nigel asked, visibly uncomfortable with the temperature.

"The bottles they sell to visitors are known for being refilled with well water, so unless you want a parasite as a souvenir, you'll have to get something boiled," Simba advised.

"Is it something you can build immunity to?" Nala asked.

"Oh yeah, but it takes a few months. I've been drinking well water for years without a problem, but at the start it was rough."

"What did you do before then?"

"Lived on juice, and coffee. After a while I was sick of behind dehydrated so I bit the bullet. It knocked me on my ass for a good few weeks, but it was worth being able to drink water from the wells. Well water is actually pretty sweet here, it tastes good after it stops trying to kill you."

"Appetizing," Nala sighed. "I'll have tea."

"Same," Nigel nodded.

"Cool," Simba settled back in his booth, his expression mellow and his body language relaxed. Now that she was able to study him without scrutiny, she had to wrangle with the undeniable truth that he was attractive. His face was every bit as charming and shaped as his father's had been, but with a kindness and softness that had to come from his mother. And somewhere, under his casually guarded face, she could tell that he still held a playful charm. Whatever he had been doing, she couldn't help but notice, had kept him in very good shape.

Nala didn't have any idea what there was to consider, but she was able to recognize that Simba was still processing everything that had happened, and she suspected that he was harboring heaps of untold trauma. She knew pieces of his story were missing, but that it wasn't her place to pick at him and try to piece things together.

His sudden suggestion that they all find something to eat had been a very transparent move to stall any further difficult topics. Both Nala and Nigel were willing to accept it, as they were admittedly hungry.

The waitress, a petite herd animal Nala couldn't identify, approached their table.

"Bonjour Rouge, qu'aimeriez-vous boire?"

"Bonjour Nini," Simba answered easily. "Nous aimerions deux thés nature et un café avec beaucoup de sucre à part, s'il vous plaît. Prends ton temps."

"Bien sûr, je vais commencer pour vous," she smiled and breezed away.

"That's going to take some getting used to," Nala commented.

"What?" He looked confused.

"You speaking French."

"Oh, that," he played with a napkin. "Well, you know, had to pick up some skills."

"What's the schooling here like?" Nigel asked.

"Here, it's all private, and there aren't any good ones for like a hundred miles, most of us didn't go."

"Wait, what?" Nala leaned forward. "You didn't go to school?"

"Nope, I haven't stepped in a classroom since I left home."

"...Huh." Nala tried to take this in without judgement. To her, not even attending middle school, let alone high school, was unthinkable. But she tried to remind herself that here, this might be easier said than done. "What did you do instead?"

"Worked," he looked up at her. "Odd jobs, mostly, at first."

"What do you do now?"

"Logging, on and off. The guys I work with pay by the day so we all show up when we need money and don't when we don't," he shrugged. "I think most of the guys with kids work pretty much every day, year-round, though. But, you've seen my place, I'm able to pocket enough to keep things moving working part time, Timon and Pumbaa chip in their part. And, with the rest of my time..."

"Caped crusader by night?" Nala smiled.

"Crime, yeah. I'm sure my mom would love to hear all about that."

"She's not going to care," she assured him. "Trust me."

"Eh," Simba wavered his paw. "I think, a little, she might care, somewhat, a lot. If, you know, we get to that."

"How would we get him back?" Nigel turned to Nala, his interest in Simba sparked by the realization that Simba's testimony might be enough to convict Askari, an animal that Nigel had felt was guilty all along. This was an unspoken suspicion among many familiar with the case, but there had been other suspects as well, Askari had a lot of animals in his circle that did have criminal backgrounds, but if any of them had done it, it would have been under his command. Sarabi herself would never entertain the conversation, stating that it was too painful and a conviction wouldn't bring her family back, but the polite tolerance between them had been icy at best since the fire. Nala wondered if Sarabi thought he had done it, and if so, how she had tolerated him in her life for as long as she had. This wasn't a question for her to ask. "That's going to be interesting."

"We'll get him a ticket to come back with us," Nala shrugged. "We'll sort the rest out later."

"Simba, if I may ask," Nigel leaned forward, "are you a citizen here?"

"Ah, no," Simba seemed unbothered. "That would be a 'no.'"

"So you're legally dead in Zootopia and legally never existed here," Nigel nodded. "That's going to be very interesting."

"Oh my God, how are we going to get him ID to board a plane?" Nala's eyes widened. "This could take weeks."

"I could probably get an ID," Simba scratched the back of his neck. "Or, you know, a convincing fake, it's not like anyone in Zootopia will know what a real one from here is supposed to look like."

"If this were a vacation I would be tempted to try that route," Nigel admitted, "but this is a work trip for the two of us, and having false identification in your possession will certainly make the legal behemoth you face that much harder, we need to go about this legally, dot our i's and cross our t's. I have a lot of legal contacts, I'm sure there is someone who knows exactly what to do, I just...can't think of who that might be at this moment."

"Let's eat now and worry about that crap later," Simba dismissed as their drinks were brought.

"Fair enough," Nigel conceded. Nala watched as her childhood best friend placed their order, cracking a smooth joke that made the waitress laugh. Nala wondered what he'd said as the waitress, Nini, flitted away with a giggle, leaving the three lions to sit in silence.

"I'm afraid he's not going to come back," Nala admitted quietly, her arms crossed tightly as she sat on the small dresser. Nigel had a stack of legal papers and pamphlets laid out across his hotel bed, his reading glasses lowered as he scoured for anything that might help them. They had pieced together that Simba would need to go to the Ministry of Records, but they didn't know what he might need to bring. They very much doubted he had tax records or proof of residency.

"Well," Nigel sighed, "that would be his prerogative."

Their meal had been quiet, but not awkward. Pensive, somber, but not stiff. Simba seemed comfortable to sit in silence, and Nala and Nigel were starving, and not troubled with the task of focusing on eating. When they finished, Simba had stated that he was going home, and that he needed to think.

"I don't even know what the next step would be," she admitted. "Would there be another trial?"

"Fortunately, that's not our problem," Nigel flipped through some more sheets of paper. Seeing Nala's downcast expression, he removed his glasses. "I understand that he's your childhood friend," his voice softened, "and that you care about him. Frankly his decision to live in a mud hut and chop trees instead of coming home to a much nicer lifestyle makes even me a little worried for him, but he's a grown man, and this is all very personal. Whatever he decides, we have to respect. Our job is to try to get him extradited so that he can regain his citizen status in Zootopia and then do whatever it is he will do with that option available to him."

"I know," she fiddled with her pen. "I just think he's...I don't know. He's always been stubborn. Incredibly stubborn. It just bothers me that we're sitting here knowing that he's here, and that his own mother doesn't know he's alive. I know it's not my business to change that, but, it does bother me. She's like family."

"The ball is still in his court. If he decides to stay, and we fly back without him, that puts the ball in your court, I think you would be obligated to tell his mother. But as of right now, he's in that mud hut taking all of this in. We just flipped his world upside down, give him a night to catch up and pull himself together, I think he's going to agree to go back."

"Are we abandoning the port story?" She already knew the answer.

"I think the time we have left in this country and the emotional capacity Simba has dictate that we can take on the port story, or we can tackle trying to get Simba home so he can testify against his uncle and get his life back, not both. Ethically, I think taking care of him takes precedent. Besides, the court case will make headlines, fiscally that's the story we want to print. It's got longer legs, so to speak, it's above-the-fold material. Not to make a media circus of his situation, but we have to print something, we are still at work here."

"What if we can't get him an ID to come with us?"

"We'll cross the bridge if and when we get to it."

"Right," Nala set her pen down. "Right."

She wanted someone else to talk to about this, it was too much to bottle up, and she couldn't gush and debate with her boss, a lion who was incapable of viewing the issue from anything less or more than a strictly pragmatic point of view. She wanted to talk to her mother, but her mother would be at work, and the satellite phone would only work under a clear sky even if she could get through to her, and she didn't feel comfortable going outside alone at night.

Simba had promised to meet them at the cafe where they had had dinner the next afternoon at three. This had been his idea, and she didn't know whether or not his choice of meeting so late in the day at a neutral location was good or bad news. Had he already made up his mind not to return home? Was he still mulling it over? Would there be anything she could do to change his mind?

Nigel, she knew, was right. Simba was a grown lion, and if he wanted to stay, she would have to respect that choice. She wondered if he would allow her to remain in contact with him. There had to be a way for him to receive mail, even if it wouldn't be delivered to his home, there had to be a post office within traveling distance. But then, what if he only agreed to maintaining communication if she didn't tell his mother that he was alive? She knew she couldn't do this, at least not for long. But could she do it just long enough to convince him to at least consider changing his mind?

After all, even if Simba said no to returning to Zootopia with them, now that they knew where he was, there was always the option to retrieve him later, Sarabi certainly had the finances to make it happen, it might even be easier for her to arrange than it would be for Nala and Nigel working on a limited time frame on a very limited budget. Yes, she thought. She could live with that. Maybe Simba just needed time.

"Most of the papers Louvain got us are in French and I'm sick of using this damn translation dictionary, my eyes are going crossed," Nigel rubbed the bridge of his nose, "but from what I gathered, if we can get him a meeting at the Ministry of Records, he can apply for citizenship here as if he'd just arrived, use the certificate of citizenship to apply for an ID, and there's nothing about a passport, he might need to travel to the nearest big city for that."

"That could take weeks," Nala set her jaw.

"There's almost no chance we can take him back with us," Nigel reminded her. "It would take a miracle, and I think we used up all of our miracles literally running into him and him recognizing you."

"He recognized my name when you said it," she reminded him. "You make miracles happen."

"I'm not a God, red tape will be my shackles until I die, and probably after."

"Hell for you truly would be endless red tape, wouldn't it?"

"I'd rather roll boulders uphill for eternity than fill out forms. Hell, on some primal level, I get why Simba stayed here. I'm sure he's had a very rough time, but...no homework, no rules, no police even, it seems. He's been able to do whatever he wants for half of his life."

"He hasn't had any family and he's been working dangerous jobs to make ends meet this entire time," Nala shook her head. "The water isn't even safe to drink, the regional fighting could always migrate, this area is fraught with corruption and instability."

"So is Zootopia, the only difference is we have hot showers and reality television."

"Ha ha."

"Nala," Nigel set his glasses down. "I haven't thought about this kid in over ten years, his death was just a job to me. But I can tell he means a lot to you and truth be told, I think he's got a good head on his shoulders. I think it would be good for him to go back to Zootopia, I'm sure he'd make a great...whatever the hell it is that trust fund kids who play Robinson Crusoe become. I want this to work for you, I just hope you're prepared for things to go a way you aren't happy with. I don't mean to be patronizing, your level head and sharp senses are why I wanted you on this case instead of someone in a more senior position, but it's hard to be objective with feelings."

"His mother is like family to me," Nala spoke slowly. "We were best friends growing up. If he doesn't want to come back and rejects the life he has waiting for him for the one he has here, I have to admit it'll be like he's died a second time. I can't help that. But...I promise that I will respect his decision as an adult and your calls as my boss."

"You're the best of the best, Ngome," he smiled. "But for what it's worth, I hope your friend does come back. If not with us, then soon. Plus," he sat back, stretching his back until it cracked, "his uncle is rich and I always think it's fun to watch when the rich are brought down to our level, huh?"

"No war but class war," Nala quoted as she stood. It was high time for bed.

"Amen," Nigel turned back to his spread of papers.

Author's Note,

The character Nigel White is loosely based on the character Ni from the Six New Adventures book Nala's Dare, although as his name is based on the Swahili word for "is/are," (ie "sisi ni sawa") the book character's name is probably pronounced "nee" and not "nye." He's a sweet character I wish we'd seen more of. In creating République de Phacochère I took some inspiration from Côte d'Ivoire, but drew influence from other coastal countries as well. I chose to use the name Askari for Scar because it seemed like the most semi-canon and in-universe-plausible explanation for Simba calling a relative in public "Uncle Scar" to be socially acceptable. The phrase "no war but class war" was first popularized by UK groups protesting the Gulf War in 1991, but variants of the phrase in pop culture reach back to 1975, and the phrase has gained traction recently in anti-capitalism circles.

A few people have PMed me and asked "why is this set in the late 90's and not in modern times" and the answer is that my first idea was to write a retelling of Simba's Pride set during the actual events of the Zootopia movie, and then I thought that it would be cool to start from the beginning and retell TLK in that universe first and set the world up. My short story The Puppet Show is set in that same universe, I'm just having fun with it. I am still writing Dawn, I have two chapters fully written that haven't been posted yet (action scenes don't come easily to me, rewriting and re-re-rewriting is required), they're just being edited.

Corderbollie [AO3]: I absolutely drew inspiration from the Cafe conversations about what they would have gotten up to as kids, the creativity in that group always amazes me, you guys are all gems. Timon's door within a door was not written with the intention of being funny but every time I reread about it when editing I smiled, it's that kind of visual that made Zootopia so fun to watch.

Augustleo25 [AO3]: I really did struggle with the reunion scene but allowed myself to go a little sideways and I'm happy with what came of it, Simba and Nala are both bold animals who will go there but at the end of the day, Simba is easily distracted and Nala is not one to play a losing side. We love them both.

MysticLover2003 [AO3]: Your username is very early 2000's messageboard internet and I love it, thank you for reading!

RyantheSamurai [FFN]: YOU SIR. You get it. You're abso-fucking-lutely correct on all counts, even under a relatively "moral" leader like Mufasa, a company steeped in capitalism and class inequality will inevitably commit acts against its workers and environment and these issues are unavoidable under that system, and it's a system that allows leaders like Scar to commit crimes such as wage theft and profit heavily from them. The last company I worked for legally stole thousands of dollars from me and dozens of other employees, and I only knew the extent of it because I was in management and had access to a decent chunk of company files (I still do, they never changed their passwords, one day I'm going to get drunk and replace all of their HR templates with Lion King fanfiction /s).

Cheers!

- Dieren