Nick came to. He blinked a couple of times and studied the room he was in, listening for something that would give it away, but all he could hear was muffled conversation just outside his room. It was more than one person, he figured, since he couldn't hear a single word of it, and the different voices kind of blended together.

The room was blurry, and Nick had to blink a few times before the clarity came back to the room. Even after doing this, it was still pretty difficult to see where he was, since the door was cloaked in darkness, and only staring at the ceiling, he couldn't find any source of light in the room. It didn't seem familiar, he figured, and even the smell inside the room felt foreign. Sterile. It can't be a hospital, he thought. He'd been to a hospital at least once, and he remembered the room being bright. Do hospitals turn the lights off? he thought.

Nick shook the thought away and forced himself to sit up. He was lying under a comfortable white sheet, or at least he thought it was white, since the room was still almost pitch black and color was nearly impossible to decipher. It was at least a bright color, since he could see the impression of his legs covered by the blanket. A horrible wave of pain shot through his head, dashing the trivial thoughts away and making him groan. The nausea returned from before. His stomach heaved, but nothing came up. He'd already puked everything up.

Gagging made him think of his mouth, and he pinched his eyes shut. His mouth tasted horrible, like he'd gargled citric acid. This made him gag again, and he swallowed to try to get rid of the taste. This did nothing, and it still tasted horrible. Figures were beginning to form in the room, but he couldn't find anything that was shaped like a water bottle.

In the middle of his search his eyes fixed on a thin line sitting at the bottom of the floor. He kept his eyes fixed on this until it grew up the wall and a beam of light shot into the room. Nick had to squint to compensate for the sudden illumination. But when he adjusted, he recognized the figure standing in the doorway.

"You okay, buddy?" The voices from before were louder, and Nick was able to make out some of the words they were saying.

Nick fixed on the wolf. "Ugh. My mouth tastes horrible."

"There should be something in the fridge here." He flicked on the lights and the room filled with light. Even though the light from the lobby had partly illuminated the room, this was even more intense, and Nick had to squint again to compensate. Once he had adjusted, though, he saw Wolfard was standing over him holding a red sports drink. "Here. The salt should be good for all the water you lost." Nick took it from him and held it to his mouth. "Yeah, I heard you threw up. Not fun."

Nick lowered the drink from his mouth and looked at Wolfard. His mouth tasted a lot better. "Thanks."

"I'm glad you're feeling okay."

"What happened?"

"Oh, you were so worked up about Judy and all—I—"

Nick's eyes widened. The memories rushed in. Judy not being there. Rushing to her apartment. Scattered clothes. Her badge. "I need to get out of here."

Wolfard sighed. "Crap." He held out a paw. "Uh, uh, uh. You need to rest."

"I don't care," Nick said, pulling his sheets back and setting his paws on the ground. "She's in danger."

"And that's the thing, Nick. Don't. You go down there, and you're just going to hurt yourself. You need to lay down."

"To hell with laying down," Nick said, getting to his feet. "Wolfard, if I don't do it, someone else is going to die instead of me. I need to do it."

Wolfard put a paw on Nick's chest. "You're just going to get her killed, if she isn't dead already."

"Don't say that!" He pushed the wolf away. "She's not dead."

He put a paw on Nick's shoulder. "How do you know?"

"Because, Wolfard. I know. Now get out of my way." He pushed his paw away.

"Nick. Don't make me tase you."

"You. Tase me. You're funny." He spread out his arms and raised his eyebrows. "Try it."

"Just sit down, Nick. You're not thinking straight. This isn't like you."

"You said you were going to tase me. Do it."

Wolfard looked at him. "Nick. Buddy. I'm not going to tase you. Sit down. I was just trying to get to you to stop."

"It's not working, is it?" He reached for the doorknob. "I'm going to go find her."

He walked forward and grabbed Nick's paw. "Nick. Bogo's orders."

"If I save her life, it doesn't matter about his orders. Now let go of me."

"No. You're listening to him." In one quick motion he grabbed Nick's other paw and handcuffed him.

"What's this for?"

"You're staying here. Bogo's orders." Nick struggled against the grip, but he was nothing compared to Wolfard, who stood a few inches taller than the fox. Wolfard reached for his belt and chained the fox to a pole by the side of the bed. "I warned you, Nick. But you didn't listen. It's for your own good."

"Let me go," he said. "I can save her life."

"And risk yours in the process."

Nick stared at the wolf with stern eyes that shone with anger. But Wolfard didn't faze. Nick struggled again, but after a moment he stopped, and with nothing to act out on, he looked at the wolf again. And he swore, calling him name after name. Wolfard didn't blink. He almost said something, but this wasn't his friend here. This was a broken, manic fox with a lover in danger.

So, he treated him like one. He opened the door and ignored the clanging and swearing. This wasn't Nick. But it was a lot better than him being dead.

Wolfard stepped out of the room without a word, leaving Nick to stew in his own thoughts. A crowd had gathered in the lobby, most of them reporters. Their voices echoed through the hall, combined with the stir of officers that were working on keeping the crowd at bay. Clawhauser was still at his desk, though his bowl of cereal was at his side and he was busy answering the slew of questions that were being tossed around like dodgeballs.

As Wolfard got closer, he ran into a group of rabbit reporters. They all clustered around him, shoving cameras and microphones into his face. "Officer," one said. "Did you just come from visiting with Nicholas Wilde?"

"How do you know that?" Wolfard said.

The reporter ignored him. "How is he coping? Is he going on to help search for his girlfriend?"

"Those are extremely personal questions. No comment." He pushed past them, but then was swarmed by a few more, this time mixed with several different species of reporters. More questions were thrown, so many in fact that Wolfard couldn't answer any of them.

"What is the ZPD's plan on rescuing Judy Hopps?"

"Do you have any evidence on Judy Hopps' location?"

"What involvement will Officer Wilde have in finding her?"

Wolfard shook his head. "No comment. We'll hold a press conference soon. Please, let me through." He pushed past those reporters took the stairs to Bogo's office. Once he had climbed the long flight, he walked across the balcony and arrived at the blue glass door with the words "Chief Bogo" written in yellow letters. He knocked, and a few seconds later, a gruff voice came from inside.

"Enter."

Wolfard pushed inside into the dark room and shut the door behind him, then sat in the chair across from Bogo's desk and waited for a second. "There's a lot of reporters out there, sir."

"I'm aware, Wolfard. How did Wilde take the news?"

Wolfard looked him in the eyes. "Not well."

Bogo sighed. "I hope you didn't have to do too much harm."

"I think he's hurting himself more than I did, sir. I had to handcuff him to the side of the bed."

"He's not doing well, I presume."

"It's like he's not even there. He's a maniac. We need to find Judy."

"I know. His discovery was key to the first steps. But we can't get him involved. He'll get himself killed."

"That's what I told him."

Bogo's face didn't change. "No matter how he takes it, we have to—" He stood up in his chair when a rise of chatter came from the lobby.

Bogo walked to the door, opened it, then looked over the balcony. After a few seconds he returned to the office, his face twisted in frustration.

"What happened?"

He grabbed his coat from the hanger near the door. "Wilde's escaped. Round up the officers. We're treating this like a 10-98."

"A 10-98, sir?"

"Yes, Wolfard. Stop asking useless questions. We're dealing with a maniac here. A maniac who will do anything to get his friend back."