Chapter Seventy-One
Drawstrings
The rays of pale moonlight filtered down through the small holes of the layer of thickening clouds above. The quiet parts of Zootopia — the back alleys and rooftops — were illuminated with the soft caress of the almost-ethereal beams.
A figure skulked upon a rooftop. A silver-gray car passed by beneath. With a flash of white fur, the figure threw itself across the flat roof of the two-story building, sailing cleanly through the air and landing lightly upon the next rooftop along.
The gray car continued its way down the streetlamp-lit, empty road, while the white figure was sprinting noiselessly in pursuit. The edge of the building approached. The next building was far taller — far too tall for the figure to be able to jump to — but the silently sprinting creature kept on regardless.
He dropped to all fours. The lean muscles in his overbearing body bunched, and he threw himself across the empty space. With a clang, his body made contact. Strong, white paws clamped down upon iron, and the figure swiftly scaled up the frame of an exterior fire escape. Practically ignoring the steps, he heaved himself effortlessly and smoothly up the vertical climb.
He reached the roof of the six-story building in seconds and charged across to the edge of the building, gazing down at the road beneath — the traffic lights of a crossroads — and the gray car stopped before them. In his pocket, a device buzzed. Working swiftly while the lights were still red, the pale figure pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed the big, green button he had been shown to press whenever such an occurrence would come up.
'His' face appeared on the screen. "Wulf. You are in pursuit of your intended, I trust?" The albino wolf said nothing but glanced down at the traffic light as it turned green beneath him — the car accelerating off and away from his twitchy legs that wanted to give chase.
Unable to hold off his urges, the wolf made off to pursue. "No, Wulf," He said, "hold where you are, I... don't you dare growl at me!" All traces of insurrection instantly fled the wolf's now-emotionless demeanor — his pale eyes fixing on the masterful and stern expression of His face. "This pointless fleeing about the city is getting you nowhere. Go to the harbor. Your target will arrive there shortly."
Turning, the wolf stepped towards the edge of the rooftop nearest the city port. "She will be alone," He added. "The ZPD will not come in time to save her. Have your 'fun', as you will. But make no mistake... Judy Hopps dies tonight. See to that, or by all that is holy, it will be the end of you. I promise you that."
Slipping the phone back into his pocket, the wolf again hunched onto all fours and leapt at an iron pole banner a little lower down. Holding to the pole with his paws, while dangling off of it, he let himself go and his body gave a metal clank on a motionless van below, a van from which he slithered quickly and touched onto the pavement on the side.
"And remember, Wulf: you are bound by no laws in the act of destroying the rabbit, Judy Hopps, as per the instructions of Operation Mincemeat. But you may not do harm to the fox. There are no 'if's or 'but's. Even if it means your capture or death in result, no harm must come to him."
The phone beeped off and the albino wolf slipped deftly onto all fours once more, his gallop taking him stealthily and swiftly through the streets of Zootopia. Unhindered, unseen by any of its occupants.
...
"So how did you first meet Wilde, anyway?" Jack glanced across to the doe in the passenger seat beside him, pawing the steering wheel of his silver, agency-issued car, as he drove towards Hopps' ZPD-issue safehouse.
He paused for a moment as he turned back to the road ahead, and then spoke, softly, "When the MI-Z, the Ministry of Intelligence of Zootopia, brought me in to help bring down The Firm, they asked me to infiltrate their lines and get some idea of how they worked. Not a lot was known about how they really worked back then. So I went undercover as a low-level agent trying to get recognized and let my information get leaked over to the other side."
"I was contacted, eventually, by our 'good friend' Nick Wilde, and he arranged a meeting between us in the old Music Hall. The one that closed shop just after The Firm went down. I met him there, and he told me he knew all about how much I wanted to be a 'real' secret agent and that no one was ever going to take me seriously if I didn't get commendations. So, I let him talk me into believing he could get me all the 'glowing reports' and recommendations I'd ever need to be agent one."
"In return for information, I'm guessing?" Judy asked in her act.
Jack sent a smooth smile towards her. "Right on. Of course, the MI-Z had to sacrifice some secrets to make it believable. But nothing too vital was ever leaked."
"But, what you're saying is... you were already a top agent before that?
"I, ughm— I wasn't quite agent one back then. But hey, it's surprising what being the primary factor in bringing down a criminal supergiant'll do for your career. Plus, it looks just great on a CV."
"How long ago was this, then? How long had you been an agent by that point?"
Jack allowed himself to believe it wasn't noticeable in the darkness, but Judy Hopps saw his troubled expression and suddenly uncomfortable demeanor, regardless. "Oh, a little while, I suppose." Hopps smugly smiled. Yeah right. It was at least eight years ago since that had happened. Jack would've been, like, twenty years old when he had first met Nick. No way he was a 'top agent' that young.
"You know, Jack, it's wonderful hearing about your great successes. It's amazing how quickly the MI-Z saw your potential. You really must be an amazing agent."
"The most amazing," Jack corrected, not-at-all humbly. "You know, my fitness instructor said he'd never seen an agent with so much 'dexterity' and 'pliability' and... 'staying power'." Jack looked at her with smugness — impressed with himself and pleased with how incredibly subtle and clever his innuendos were — and the doe returned him the curtesy with a playfully excited expression on her face, which she put there to cover up the gagging she would otherwise be doing.
"Aw, you'll be alright sweet-lips," Jack assured, slipping an arm loosely across her shoulders as he turned back to the road, steering with one paw. "You'll be alright with me. I'll show you a better night tonight then that fox ever could."
"I-I'm... looking forward to it." If Jack hadn't been driving the car... the tranq dart Judy's paw was currently clutching around would've been rammed again and again in to the jackrabbit's arm or neck.
...
The officers of the ZPD gathered swiftly in the bullpen. With movement and chatter, they fiddled hurriedly by adjusting their straps and their helmets — not having time to armor up with the perfection Bogo usually expected from them.
No one was checking with the same level of concern as they had before. There was no time for a proper briefing or for a perfect and adaptable plan to be made out. The officers had dressed with lighter armor before, knowing that putting the full kit on would sacrifice too much time. One fox in particular had equipped only in thin armor and knee pads, deciding that dexterity and awareness of his surroundings would do him much better than being deafened and blinded by a helmet and heavy armor.
The officers prepped in an unorganized squabble of borderline panic, with Chief Bogo stood at the front, calling out orders and advice whenever he was able, trying to get his officers as ready as possible in the short moments they had. "The van will be fueled up and ready to leave in one minute!" Bogo called. "I want everyone ready to move in two! Wilde: here."
The fox hurried over to the buffalo's side, ducking and weaving through the swinging arms, tails and legs of the others. "Yes, Chief," Nick acknowledged, his gaze flighty and distracted.
"I'm calling Hopps. I know technically she's off duty, but I want both you and her to see this."
"But— but, Sir, she has no armor!"
"Neither you nor Hopps will be engaging in direct combat. That's why I'm allowing you to leave here so under-armored. With no time to plan things properly… The point is: the troops tonight are going to need more copious and direct management. That's something I cannot do on my own." Nick's flighty gaze fixed on Bogo, the buffalo turning away to shout at another officer about the looseness of one of his straps.
After a moment, Nick's stuttered response brough Bogo's attention back, "Y-you... want Hopps to take charge of a division of cops?"
"Hopps and you, yes."
"Me!? What about—"
"Legally," Bogo muttered, through gritted teeth and under his breath, "I am obliged to investigate your motives for what you've done tonight and your possible 'connections' outside of this even. Personally," he added, his voice dropping quieter-still, "I don't care if you used to be criminally connected. You're a damn good officer now. And it'll be a sad day for everyone if I'm ever forced to kick you out." Wilde stared at his chief of police.
Bogo straightened his back and patted the fox lightly on the shoulder. "Back to it, Wilde," he fiercely ordered. "I'll get on the radio to Hopps and have her meet us there."
Nick stumbled in disorientation to the mass of hurriedly dressing officers, while Bogo grabbed his police radio and yelled demandingly into the receiver, "Clawhauser, get me Hopps!"
...
"Oh— yes Chief!" the cheetah said quickly, reaching across his desk to press the respond button on the intercom. Catching his breath a little, Clawhauser slid his chair closer to the intercom system and fiddled, for a moment, with a few of the buttons. "Hey, Hopps," he called, his voice clear and professional. "Are you receiving me?"
"Hiya, Ben," Hopps replied a moment later. "I'm receiving you."
"Erh, I'm sorry to ask you this…" he trailed someway, his capacity for 'professionalism' already having reached the cap. "I know you've left work for the day— but Chief Bogo wants a word. Think you could speak with him?"
"Sure! Does he sound... happy?"
"Merh… I don't know if 'happy' is the word. He's not angry, exactly. But apparently the drug runners are back in town. He's marshaling all the officers back for an emergency raid."
"Okay, he probably wants me there too. Thank Ben!"
"Oh. No, ehh..." Clawhauser breathed off from his sentence — distracted for a moment by the figure of a goat, who entered into the ZPD through the front door and started pacing towards him. "Egh... no problem, Hopps," he finished, quickly. "Just putting you through now."
Moving away from the receiver, Clawhauser pulled his officer chair back to the front of the desk, turning with a smile at the billy goat who approached. "Evening," Clawhauser beamed, "can I help you, sir?"
"Aghh... yes. Yes." The goat's voice was slow, his tone breaking as he spoke with a Middle-Eastern accent. "Tell me, are... are the officers of the ZPD... 'here' right now?"
"Um— yeah-yeah! They'll be leaving shortly, though. So if you need help you'll have to tell me quick." The cheetah looked carefully at the goat. Something about his expression — about his demeanor — was 'off'.
The goat stared at his own body in dissonance-radiating, to which Clawhauser's brow furrowed with suspicious concern when the goat's eyes fell with a mutter, "I can't do it. You ask too much."
The cheetah reached for an object attached to the underside of his desk. Out of range of his hearing — inside the ear of the elderly goat — a malicious voice spilled venom out through an electronic device, "Then all of your family will die. Your daughters, your son, your wife. I shall torturer them each until they beg for the mercy of death. Then I shall dump them deep in the desert to breathe their final breaths in the burning heat of the sun, while their meat is picked-off by vultures!"
With a scream of desperate impossibility, the elderly professor snatched a piece of silver from his pocket. His vision blurred with tears, his aim clumsy and frantic, he pulled the trigger of that said device and gunpowder exploded from its nostril of death.
Clawhauser threw himself down under his desk and smashed the emergency alarm button beneath it. The police department exploded into warning lights and noise. In the bullpen, the officers froze at the piercing threat.
Panic taking him, realizing there were only a few things that alarm could mean, Bogo tore the radio from his chest, pulling the plastic holder which was supposed to remain attached to his armor with it and bellowing, "Clawhauser, what is it? What's going on!?"
Seconds went by. Nothing new appeared, nothing but the burning silence. The gathered officers stood without uttering a breath, watching their chief and waiting for his command.
"Clawhauser!" Another gunshot echoed down from the reception. Bogo hurled his radio to the floor, breaking it against the surface; conseqently, rushing with furious determination and pointing at the door.
"Everyone, on me!"
...
A door burst open with the fleshwall of fuming cape buffalo storming out. The bullpen was only a short distance from the reception, and the assembled mass of officers quickly closed on that location. Without a word, Bogo signaled for the officers to stop just short of the door. With another signal, he had all of them line up behind him, against the wall closest to where the danger zone would be.
With as much delicacy as handling a live bomb, Chief Bogo's hoof touched upon the door. He pushed it open the tiniest of crack. He paused and glanced to Snarlov stood just over his shoulder. "Run down and get me a riot shield." She saluted, and made off down the corridor at a jog. Stepping back towards the door, Bogo pushed it open a tentative inch more. "Clawhauser," he carefully uttered to the silence, "are you in there?"
After a long moment of breathless flatness a somewhat shook, but otherwise unpained, voice called back, "Still here, Chief."
"Stay back," a frightened yell piped up, "stay away! I don't want to shoot anybody, but I will if I have to!"
"Claw, what's going on in there?"
"It's— urh! I think I'm being held hostage, Sir. I'm not sure you should try to come in. He's armed, and he looks very scared." Bogo bit on his lip as he thought. Edging the door open a crack more, his head peeked out from around the corner. A figure yelped with fear from somewhere within, and a bullet ricocheted off the wall close to Bogo's head.
He flinched away sharply, shouting to himself, "God damn it! Damn filthy drug runners. I knew they were too smart. We don't have time for this," he realized and tried to get his radio, but to no avail, he had broken it… "Radio, now!" he shouted and one of the officers came close to him, passing their own radio to his unstable hooves. "Hopps, come in. Are you still there?"
"Still here," Judy replied.
"Sir, what are you doing," Nick cut in, as he had guessed what Bogo was planning to do. "You can't send her in there alone!"
"We must find out where these drugs are coming from, Wilde," Bogo snapped. "That is the only way of us stopping these drug runners once and for all."
"But, Sir—"
"Enough! Wilde. She's not on her own, I have a... 'friend' of mine with her." Grimacing, Nick stormed away from the Chief, with a bitter tail that was brooming the floor without him realizing, while he got out of the vicinity to no one's notice.
"Chief Bogo? Are you still there?"
With a grunt, Bogo focused back to the radio. "Hopps."
"Sir, what happened? You cut out for a minute."
"That's not important right now, Hopps. We've ran into a complication here and we can no longer meet you at the rendezvous."
"Understood."
"I want you to sneak in there. Don't get spotted, and find out what you can."
"You want me to sneak in? Will I get any backup?"
Bogo sighed. "I'm sorry, Hopps, but that's not possible at the moment. I know what a careful officer you are. Just stay well clear of any activity. Find out what you can by observation only. I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Understood, Chief. I'll see what I can do."
…
'Friend of mine', Nick spat, slipping away from the others, unnoticed due to the concentration that they were holding at the standoff. Bogo shouldn't trust that striped bastard. Nick had to get Judy, he had to get her outta there. The first idea was to simply leave, but it dawned on him that he just couldn't abandon Bogo and Clawhauser and the rest. Besides, what use was he going to be on his own?
Circling swiftly round the empty corridors, listening to the distant echos of Bogo's voice as he called out to the goat or the cheetah, Nick sped his way around to the other side of the reception. Edging the door open a little, the red fox skimmed at the expansive reception area. In the center desk, Clawhauser was seated, unable to move, in his office chair with his arms and feet tucked up beside him. Stood before the desk — waving a shaking hoofgun in between with blind panic written across his face — was an elderly billy goat. Nick recognized him in a flash of a memory.
Nyilas.
"Sir," Nick whispered at his radio. "Sir, pick up."
"Wh— Wilde?" Bogo exclaimed in startle. "But, you were just here?"
"Right, anyway. That goat, it's Nyilas."
Bogo brooded for a moment. "Victor Nyilas?"
"Yeah. I think I can creep up behind him. He'll be too focused on you to notice me."
"No, too risky Wilde. Get back here and—" The line went dead. A moment later, Bogo's voice again was heard — but not from the radio this time, but from the other side of the reception. "Nyilas," he called out and Nick saw the goat jump at hearing his own name. "Victor Nyilas, I am Chief Bogo. There's no need to be afraid. We can talk through this."
"I— eyh... stay back!" he lashed, waving his gun in the direction of Bogo's words.
"I'm going to come out in a moment, Nyilas," Bogo warned. "I'm going to come out and we're going to talk about this like civilized memmle." The door tugged slowly open. His body shrinking back through trepidation, Nyilas shouted weak warnings to the Chief, but the door kept swinging open and then the figure of Chief Bogo appeared in all its glory and courage.
His eyes shutting tight, the goat fired twice in the Chief's direction. The first hit the wall, but the second bounced off the surface of the riot shield Snarlov had fetched him. The Chief passed a little further into the reception area — carefully keeping the shield between him and the goat with a pause that stopped the advance.
"Now," Bogo asserted with calmness, "I'm going to stay right here. I'm not going to come in any further... so how about you put down that gun of yours."
"No, I... you don't understand, I can't!"
Bogo's voice dropped to a harsh whisper, and his finger subtly pressed upon the button on his borrowed radio. "Wilde?"
"Sir?"
"Move in now."
"Sir." The goat's attention fully on the buffalo, Nick foxed his way through the door he was at and slipped inside soundlessly. The air was hot with the tingle of anxiety and tension. It made his neck to bristle in itch and his belly to ache. His feet carried one after another, protecting his existence with the pads that were meant in the past for stealth and stalking upon prey, or just about surviving the elements or other bigger predators. He was getting closer and closer, yet it felt as if he was taking too damn long…
Nick came within five feet of him... four... three... two—
Nyilas span as if tickled by his sixth sense. Clawhauser stumbled to the floor, Bogo's world froze and Nick came face to face... with Scarlett's gun.
Nyilas' paw shook as his finger edged down on the trigger; he was doubting his own strength in obviousness copious. His face winced and his breath tremored with a shudder of words, "Dear God, forgive me."
Nick's body was not reacting; it was as if it thought that if he didn't move, he'd not be seen. Swearing, Bogo threw away his shield and bolted across to the goat, trying to reach him before it was too… late.
But it was, it was because Nyilas finally broke with the pulling of the trigger… and a fresh body dropped dead to the floor in crimson remains of tissue, fragments of bones and neural connections now-broken.
...
The patients of Saint Bernard's Hospital slept soundly in their beds. The air was still busy with the comings and goings of nurses and doctors, and the whirring and beeping of machines still surrounded the white halls and white corridors of the building. But it was still quieter now than it had been.
A beige-gray timber wolf lay alone on his back in a solitary, white room. His head stared meaninglessly at the ceiling, while the door clicked open. His ear twitched, but the impact of the sound was lost to the continual background buzz of the hospital. A figure stood motionless in the doorway, silently overseeing the apparently sleeping wolf. Raising a padless paw to her mouth, the white-coated figure cleared her throat, undemandingly.
Wolfard's eyes flicked wide, his head inclined and his eyes locked with those of the tall hare watching him. Quickly trying to find something to say, the wolf pushed himself more upright in his bed, while Nurse Flo took a sharp intake of breath and an indecisive step within the room. She exhaled carefully and allowed the door to close in a satisfying click of privacy behind her.
...
In another part of the city, a sleek, gray car pulled to a halt on the border of the city docks. Its occupants, two rabbits, gazed at the foreboding and moody darkness within.
Jack turned to Judy. "You ready for this?"
Judy nodded with zero doubt. "I'm always ready."
Author's notes:
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