Chapter Ninety-Three
All This I Hath Given Ye

A hot streak of lightning buzz rippled up his spine, and the white wolf lurched instantly, his eyes opening with his lips yanking back to a vehement snarl. Metal squeezed tight around him, a wrap of tight leather stretched sharp across his muzzle. His vision: blocked by covers upon his eyes.

The air was stuffed and unmoving — inside, an enclosed space. It smelt like rust and cold steel and engine fumes — the bowels of the back of a van. The metal constricted the work of his large-clawed paws, thus, gorming a thick, metal disc around his wrist, the pawcuffs digging into the skin beneath his fur.

The pain didn't trouble him, he didn't even notice. What troubled him was that pulling abruptly wasn't snapping the chain, as the chains of such cuffs had always done in the past. They were holding as tight as never without relent. He threw his head back, trying to remove whatever it was blocking his eyes, his heartrate steaming, his head colliding.

Wulf heard the sound of speech close by, his ears twisting like crooked sickles to the noise, his pale eyes dark and slit beneath the coverings; the dark claws of his white paws extending as he smelt and heard footsteps rushing close. Now there were more voices, panicked, laced with fear, approaching quickly towards him. The scent of a polar bear came between them, her voice calmer and lower and less shaken with that tasty unease.

They talked more, though the subject of what they were talking of was lost upon his raging, visceral mind; his paws twisting, teasing against the pull of metal behind his back, his clenched jaw trying to force itself open and to brake the muzzle holding it shut. A few seconds more, that was all he would need, just a few, seconds, mor— "Guhggrr!"

A hot blaze of liquid flame tied itself like bighting wire coiled around his torso and arms and legs; the wolf resisted the pain to the release of a startled growl, but the discharge of the electrical jolt injected upon him, by the high-octane obedience equipment that bound him, syphoned through his body's system, blocking neural pathways and stimulating paralyzing shudders, his body coiling and slumping back to the floor.

His eyes shut, the white-coated creature waited for the last of the spasms to die out. The voices had stopped; he could feel the steady gazes upon him. Again, he tried to yank against his bindings. It was no chain holding the wrist pieces together, but a solid piece of metal. He found that pulling and twisting gave no effect, but, tugging too hard...

Wulf felt the metal block of the pawcuffs separate and heard the soft click of the release switch, even before the electrical paroxysm of punishment caved through his body, rippling along his defined muscles, which twitched and contracted with irritation at the charge surging through him. His body locking up, the heavy-duty spring within the metal block of the pawcuffs pulled the sections of metal back together. The release switch clicked off, and the surging charge stopped once more.

It wasn't a sensation the wolf enjoyed. It wasn't something he'd ever experienced before. It wasn't just pain — that he could handle — it was a complete loss of function, a severing of his body from the mind which commanded it. And for a creature which had only its impeccable body to rely on, that was an unnerving feeling indeed.

Wulf's tail went from thumping irritatedly beside him to slowly curling around his also-cuffed feet. The snarl beneath the muzzle lowered, his sharp ears did so the same. He decided... against bringing 'that' sensation upon himself a third time. Thus, he quietly sat and waited, for death, for escape, for orders from his master, and for anything else this sad, dysfunctional form of reality he, this creature brought into existence, had to endure. Without will, without choice, without a life of its own to live.

After long, long minutes of silence, the voices started anew. The polar bear spoke again first, her voice quiet and shaking, moreso than even the most fearful of voices that had spoken out before.

But it calmed soon, as the rest joined in around her.

...

Some minutes prior, the chief of the ZPD sidled back inside the white-walled medical room of the wounded rabbit. He sighed, mutely, at the sight sat before him — at the bandage-wrapped figure in the bed, her gaze illusive and expression flinching with the pain of every breath. Nick was sitting beside her, looking around at his chief, his face impassive of expression, laced with dread exhausted and trepidation exhaustive. Wolfard remained silently opposite the bed, appearing even more of the same as useless as Bogo did, Bogo who took a step closer and cleared his throat.

"ZPD's been updated," he uttered, his voice soft. "Making the hit against the wolf who attacked you as we speak." Striking no reaction from the people around, the fox's head slowly turned back to the rabbit; Wolfard's gaze lowered down the floor. Bogo cleared his throat once again and paced more into the center of the room. Too tired, too concerned with the health of both his officers, the Chief found his 'chiefish' air of confidence and direction-restrained to be cut off, his ability to give direct orders being foolishly numbed.

"Looking at the two of you," he said, then paused, rethinking his approach, even to the growth of a small smile appearing upon his muzzle, his voice returning at a tone lower than before. "I could give the two of you the same 'you look hungry' line I gave the Hopps," he stated, "but I trust and respect you both more than enough to just say I'd like a word alone with Officer Hopps. Wolfard, if you'd keep an eye on Nick for me..."

"Eh, sure," the wolf relented, standing, "glad to do something to help." Meanwhile, dislodging his paw from its entanglement about Judy's, Nick slowly drew himself to his feet. He gazed to Bogo with a mute stare of exhaustion, his eyes rimed dark, his ears drooped as though the effort of maintaining them upright was beyond his reserves. His fur was surprisingly well-kept for his condition, though his shirt — the only cloth he had under his uniform from his night at Bogo's — was creased and lightly patched in a few places with the traces of blood, which had seeped through the thick fabric of his uniform.

Nick paced away, sharing a final glance to Judy whose blankness didn't change, and whose eyes didn't open, while Wolfard moved to follow Nick behind.

"Wolfard," Bogo muttered, to which the wolf paused in the doorway, hence, the Chief passed over a note into his paw, "buy Wilde a drink on me." The door pushed shut before Wolfard could articulate an answer. Bogo turned back around to the shape of the rabbit beneath the thin sheets of the medical bed. A low sigh escaping him as he paced over, Bogo lowered himself into the seat prior occupied by Nick. "So. How're you feeling..."

No answer came; for long moments both officers sat in motionless silence — Bogo gazing down at his hoofs; Judy emptily staring silently ahead, the rate of her breaths controlled and slow, her back propped semi-upright by the adjustable back of the bed. The Chief was starting to draw breath to talk on, aware he had to push for this info, but also wishing for any other way, until the voice of the young rabbit came at last in reply.

"It's... it's hard to tell," her voice cracked, her speech slow and her breaths still carefully controlled. "Half the time I feel like I'm barely awake, and all I feel's this distant throb of pain in the back of my mind… Like there's a fog between me and what's going on around me… Then… there's moments, like now, when my head clears up. But then every little move, every breath is just... torment. Hhgg, least I can think straight though."

The buffalo chuckled, dryly. "Which is worse?"

"They're both... I can't stand the 'blurred mind' in the first state, not being able to hold a thought in my head… But then when that passes, the dull pains become sharp and— ah..." she paused and held her breath still, her body frozen up by some random sear which had struck deep inside her back. "Aufol, they're both awull. Athol... uh, 'aw-ful'," she whimpered, at last managing to force her lips to form the right shapes; then wincing as the contraction of her breath spiked. The wince furrowed her brow, and she raised her paw to rub at the growing aching of her head, but she pushed herself to resist touching it, all too aware of the recurring bout of weeping from her head wound such would entail.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth hard — the only reaction to help handle the flares of torment that she could go around, if she just didn't harm herself with touch. Her breaths hissed sharply for a few seconds; before, she slowed herself and forced her lungs to go back into a slow, reliable rhythm.

"How's your memory?" Bogo asked, when time had passed enough for the rabbit to seem to recover enough. "You remember much of last night?"

"Ttha— thah comes an' gows too, I remember the... the wolf, and— and I remember what happened… but before that, the last couple of days… there's gaps."

"Gaps?"

"It's mostly ch— cuh..." clearing her throat, the rabbit took a slow breath in, being careful not to breathe too deep against the press of her bruised ribcage. "It's coming back, Chief, I'm remembering more ahn moure."

"You remember... anything of this gun?" From his pocket, the Chief produced a photograph Leopold had snapped during his investigation at Ladders and Ladders.

Judy reached out delicately, her less-insured of her two paws, and took the slip of paper between her small fingers, focusing her fading attention upon the metal device framed upon the polaroid; her brow lowering to a frown as she took it in. "It... no, it doesn't mean anything to m—"

"Perhaps I should mention, Hopps: I am aware, and have been for some time that there was not just the one Ruger of this design in existence; that there were two, and that Wilde was the owner of one of them, while his... former romantic partner owned the other."

"Oh."

"It's not to try and trip you or Wilde up I'm asking this, Judy. It's simply to ask if you know anything about this one. This 'phantom' Ruger." Slowly, as Bogo's voice continued, the rabbit's expression cleared into revelation. "What has my interest is where this second Ruger came from. Jefferson was saying he suspected the wolf who attacked you had been armed with it, and had dropped it during the fight, but from your account, he was unarmed. It's possible it belonged to one of the other gang members, of course. But why would they just drop a damn-expensive gun like that and flee? And if it was one of the people who died, I would've thought one of the other gang members would've picked it up."

"Oh..." Judy said again, her voice smaller and softer than before; pricking the Chief's interest with this sudden 'spike' of insecurity. He knew it was likely just the effects of her condition, her head 'clouding over' again, as Judy had described it, but knew he had to parse the issue more.

"So, Judy? Do you know something about it?"

"It... it's... I, I don't— don't know what I should say."

"The truth, Hopps. That's all I ask. I'm talking with Nick later about his past anyway; about his potential involvement with characters of a less-than-savory nature, if that means anything to you." Bogo smiled grimly as he gazed upon the rabbit's face. "And I see from your reaction that it does. He's come clean with you then, about the mammle he once was? Or who I expect him to once have been, anyway..."

Her head spinning, anxiety and unease filling her misbalanced mind, the injury to her stomach pumping her bloody with a sickening misbalance of hormones… her only reaction was to nod.

"Keeping secrets from me isn't going to help you, not anymore, not now when certain procedures have come into play. You need to be trusting, and you need to be open with me. Just as I need to be with you and Wilde, and Nick has to be with me. If he's to talk to me about his past later, then what you say now won't be anything I'm not going to find out."

"It... but it's not just Nick's past, Bogo! Ih... it..."

"Speak, Hopps. Speak."

"Well, erh... Nicky and J-Jack, th... t-they go, they know each uhther fon— fom... from—"

Bogo's radio buzzed; the rabbit before him fell silent, more than ready to take the chance to not answer. Bogo glanced to the radio, then to her, his lips tightening as he pulled it from its holster and to his proximity. "Speak."

"Fangmeyer, Sir. We've completed the hit at—"

"Snarlov," Bogo shot, "where's Snarlov? She was in charge, what's her status?"

"Fine, she's fine, Sir, just exhausted. She's having a lie-down."

"And the... 'assailant'?"

"He's unconscious currently, Chief, we've got one dead donkey here, dressed in heavy winter gear, looks like he's part of the gang. The others are now gearing the wolf creature."

"What's he look like?"

"Nasty thing. Not sure what to think. Like no wolf I've ever seen, even unlike steroid addicts we've hit against. Just pure white fur, snow white, 'part from the blood: the donkey's, Sir. Don't worry, not one of ours. Anyway, Snarlov wanted me to radio in, let you know what we were doing; ask if you wanted us to take the perp over to the PD now, or wait for you."

"Wait for me," he commanded, standing, "I'll be... I'll— damn," he muttered, radio dropping from his lips. "Wretched wolves; damn foxes."

"What— what is it?" Judy breathed through her tired voice.

"Wilde. This wolf's a damn dangerous one. I'd feel far more comfortable being there myself to oversee his transfer into the PD myself. Wanted to get everything out of Wilde before heading out of this place though."

"Hah— haoowlong youss need?"

The Chief shook his head. "No idea. If what I'm suspecting is right, could be well over an hour, at least. Can't leave them that long, not out in the open like that, far too risky. We have no idea what other buildings in that area might also be operating for this same gang. Could be mustering together already to... only one choice, I guess," he grunted, his radio moving to his lips.

"Hold there for now, Fangmeyer; let Snarlov rest up, get the perp secured and double-secured in the van. Then prepare to move out on my go. I'll be there at the PD to meet you upon your arrival."

"Read you, Chief. Understood."

"Damn," Bogo murmured, lowering his radio and reaching for his phone. "Damn-damn-damn, it's all going too fast. Psycho-wolves, wounded officers to keep an eye over, Surveyor-Wretched-Directors on my tail and a whole damn investigation at the docks to coordinate. Sorry, Hopps," he apologized, turning to...

At seeing her vacant expression and heavy-lidded eyes, the Chief knew already it was no longer worth trying to get through to her. He could've shouted, snapped her out of it — but really, all he wanted to see was her rest.

Smiling to himself with deep understanding, he got his phone out and dialed a number.

"Chief?"

"Rose, I'm on my way down, where are you?"

"The side of the Visitor's Caff nearest the door, Chief."

"Wolfard and Wilde down there with you yet?"

"No, Chief, just Tweedleidiot and his mother."

"Oh. Where are they?"

"Mrs Bonnie Hopps is buying him a rattle."

"Food?"

"A cake, yes."

"Huh, I've— uh," he breathed through marching footfall. "I've had no breakfast, Rose. Could you get me something? No time to queue."

"I could, yes, and will. Do you want me to pass a message to Nick when he gets here?"

"Tell him the monstrous crow is on its way."

...

A dark, large room existed silent in one of the inner-most parts of the ZPD headquarters. The air stood stagnated and stale, the walls windowless but for a single barred window, which stood upon the wooden firedoor that led in from the corridor outside. It resembled an industrial kind of library, with bookshelves of bare metal and thick files marked with scribbled handwriting, inked in thick marker-pen. Boxes of papers laid in abundance, situated in disorganized organization of systematic untidiness around the room; with white stickers slapped upon their cardboard sides and codes of numbers upon them. An old-fashioned personal computer — the kind with the three-foot tower unit and the brittle plastic in eggshell-white — sat dustily against the wall beside.

There was a soft click of keys moving within a lock; the door slid open; the stagnant air moved with the light, cool breeze of the corridor outside. In stepped a wolf, key slipping to within his pocket. Behind entered, a moment later, a red deer with an upright posture and an air of impeccable infallibility.

"Right, eh," Howlitz said, gesturing with little to no real confidence to the PC, "you take a seat there and... and do whatever it is you do. I'll look through these old files and see if I can figure out what's missing."

Wright stood and watched patiently as the wolf paced away from her to the piles of boxes before him, taking down a small document of papers from a shelf and opening it up, revealing a page of numbers with associated headings — numbers which were the same as those penned upon every box; the heading relevant to those boxes' condense. Turning down towards the practically prehistoric PC, Wright lowered herself down into the office chair and flicked on the switch.

"What's the code?" she asked, while the CRT monitor faded, slowly, into life.

"Eh— I think, if I'm right, it's on the underside of the keyboard." The wolf turned back to the rows of light switches, flicking a few more on as he tried to find the ones which worked, while the deer spotted the password in the location stated and punched it into the computer, which began booting up in Glasspanels XB.

"Is it standard practice for the ZPD to have their files in such a state?" Wright snorted.

"Oh, eh, this is long-term storage, for the stuff the PD are never really expecting to need anymore. It's all shoved into a big cardboard box and given an ident' code, which is punched into this old PC."

"And can the ZPD budget not afford to have Glasspanels 10 installed on their systems?"

"Director Wright... you're the first person to log onto that thing since they brought Glasspanels Pleasingview out. No one's even thought to come in here and update this thing."

"It can still connect to the network, I trust?"

"Oh sure, sure. All the ZPD info's on there, Director Miss— eh, case summaries, performance reports, officers' bios… It's all in there."

"Very well. You just find me whatever documents that damn— that 'damn charming' cheetah needed to borrow last night. Okay?"

...

The chief of police rounded the hospital's corridor corner, his eyes confronted with a mass of ambling citizens, his senses fueled by the sense of impatience compounding; the desire to be away where the action resided; to see to it that the white wolf was transported safely and that no other should come and snatch him away.

He looked for Nick through the crowd, spotting the slim figure of a white-coated hare sliding her way through, side-stepping and striding with casual leisure through the dense forest of larger people.

Raising a hoof, the Chief waved at the hare across the crowd. Flo nodded to him in return as her eyes caught his spot, thus, reaching a paw to her pocket and pulling out a bar of something in metal foil, which she pushed to the Chief as she grew near."

"Thanks. What is it?"

"Twenty-eight-gram peanut butter bars, organic toasted whole oats, tapioca syrup, organic peanut butter, honey, one hundred and twenty calories, four and a half grams of fat, three grams of protein, one gram of dietary fiber, and just six grams o—"

"Thank you-thank you, Flo. How much—"

"Put your money away," she stated. "Nick's waiting by the end of the queue." The hare led Bogo back through the way she had come, the path through somehow seeming to magically clear itself before the Lepus timidus who walked through — the magic was helped, perhaps, by the hundred-stone-weight of cape buffalo following just behind.

Nick came soon into view, the figure of the beige-gray wolf sat beside him, who was giving more comfort and stability to the fox than Jim himself knew. The Chief came and stopped close beside the fox, nodding to Wolfard before the two of them focused their eyes to Nick, waiting patiently as his head slowly rose.

"Chief," he greeted.

"Wilde. Look, Nick, about our 'discussion'..."

"Sure. I'm ready. We can do it now."

"I'm not saying..." he huffed. "I'm not sure I can do it right now. That is to say, I can't. Snarlov and the others called in at the raid on where Hopps' attacker is. They're ready for transit back to the PD; I want to be there personally to oversee it."

"I... I'd rather not leave Judy, not in her current state."

"We're very limited on options right now, Wilde. With m—"

"No, Chief. No. It's not gonna happen." Bogo's brows raised with curiosity at the fox's sudden strength, his dulled emeralds glinting and the dark rings around his eyes vanishing for a moment before they sobered up and returned. "No, Bogo," he continued, calmer, "after what happened to Judy the last time I let her out alone, I'm not gonna just up and leave when she might need me most."

The Chief grunted, then sighed, looking up at the large analog clock on the wall of the tall, wide hospital room. "I concur that it is a reasonable decision from your standpoint. But understand that from my viewpoint, too, I'm pressed for very little other options. I—"

"Where's the rush, Bogo? Where's the need to know instantly?"

"I have to know this 'thing' about your past; I have to see and to judge your honesty and your morality, or so help me I'll be undermining every-wretched-crime I've fought against in my decades of police work." Nick's expression turned up towards the Chief stood before him, suddenly reminded just how many years the Chief had spent in the ZPD. You didn't get to be the head of the Zootopia Police Department of Precinct One; the key department from which all the other departments were operated; the 'Chief' of the whole-damn-country's police force. You didn't get to be the one by being a fool.

Nick's brow furrowed. "To throw myself out of Judy's reach, after seeking so desperately to get back to her?"

"I don't like it either, Wilde, but there's questions that need answering, and answering now."

"And how long am I gonna be away, huh? How long does Judy have to wait up there alone before I can get back? Hours? Days? What if you judge my motives too crooked? What if you end up having me put in a cell for months on end?" His teeth gritting, the buffalo glanced around at the crowds of people stood just feet away, hoping hotly they were too busy in their own conversations to pay much attention to the rantings of a scruffy, stained-t-shirt-wearing fox.

"A matter of hours, Wilde, a matter of simple hours. How about this: you answer my questions on the drive over— no, that won't give us long enough. But how about we have our talk as soon we're at the PD. Or, as soon as I've dealt with the wolf problem anyway? After that, I'll get Officer Shovits or some other scrub to drive you back here."

The fox sat quietly for several seconds, the Chief counting every moment painfully in the back of his mind, aware of the slipping of time and the urgency of his need. Eventually, with a light sigh of reclamation, the fox managed to pull himself up onto his padded feet. He dusted himself off casually, his face a dark expression of impassive acceptance. He turned to Wolfard, speaking to him quietly, "You'll watch over Judy while I'm gone for me?"

"Sure, Wilde. Sure I will, promise."

A light smirk appeared on the fox's face. "Keep that Billy away from her?"

"Heh, I'll do my best."

"Alright then," he said, levelly, turning to the Chief and stepping past, his old and soft swagger in place as he sauntered towards the door. "Let's get going then."

"Snarlov, this is Bogo," the Chief spoke into his radio, following the fox close behind, "I'm on my way to the PD, head out, I'll see you there."

"Understood, Chief, rolling out now."

...

Her scrutinous traversing across the many lines of text, a few choice words stood out and sparked the unbreakable attention of Director Wright.

"Curious." A few, small lines, which spoke so many volumes more to the deer than the mere meanings of the words themselves. "Curious indeed."

"Found something?" Howlitz asked, crouched on his knees a few feet behind her."

"Your Chief Bogo has shown the two of them quite an extraordinary amount of favoritism," she stated without turning, "don't you agree?"

"Oh— I, eh, wouldn't really know, Miss."

"Giving them the task of investigating at 'Ladders', being given the responsibility of briefing the officers before a raid on a highly dangerous and under-examined location. Both risky moves, considering their experience compared with the other officers of the PD."

"Ermm. Eh, I guess so."

"I just find it interesting what Bogo's done for them, how he's treated them above the others in the precinct... what he might be willing to do..."

Howlitz glanced to Wright over his shoulder, seeing her still scrutinizing, in deep thought, at the computer screen. He cleared his throat softly, the dust of the old documents catching in his throat. "Ehm, I've— hem— I've found what I believe to be the missing documents, Director Surveyor Miss."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Ma'am, very sure. All five boxes belonged to the same category; once I noticed one of them missing, it was very easy to notice what the others were too."

"And those were?"

"Eh, the documents for the old Firm gang thing, up in Tundratown. You heard of it?"

"Heard of it? One of the most vicious organizations to have ever existed in Zootopia's fair walls? Yes, I have... heard of it. But... but where is the connection?"

"Hmm. Miss?"

"Is there one at all? Is this all just freak coincidences? Or..." turning back towards the computer behind her, its color-bled screen flickering in the dull light of the mercury-lit fluorescent tubes. Her hoof rose and touched upon her brass and ruby necklace. "I need to know who that other rabbit was," she breathed to herself, looking at the image of the red fox upon the screen.

"I have to find out how deep this goes before... something irreversible happens." Her gaze lingered for moments longer upon the history and bio of the fox written beside the image; looking upon the text regarding the fox's past, about a certain vixen and a certain 'murder'... and drawing together strings of unlikeliness, greased and drawn together by the many coincidences she had encountered.

She rose carefully from the chair, her mind more than half within its own thoughts.

It was time. She knew.

Time to confront Bogo. …

Author's notes:

Hesitance jumps around your mind,

Grooms decision thus chosen blind.

Your thoughts most succulent of snack,

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