Chapter Ninety-Six
Ordeals
The air was luscious and clean, unpolluted and unobstructed by towers of concrete, nay steel, nay buildings of any kind. The bright sun gleamed a golden smile down upon the open expanses, the miles of fresh grassland, unspoiled, un-built-upon by any but Nature's own tools of creation.
To the east of the city of Zootopia, away from the Idyll mountain which bordered the north of the country that protected it from the frosty winds and dry air of the polar cap. The Elysian Plains narrowed and twisted, turning gradually south and bending like an arm or some crook, with the protuberance narrow and long, and reaching low into the Avalon Ocean.
The land was saturated with water all around, blustery with the cold, polar winds. The air across the whole stretch of this 'arm' was heavy with the scent of salt, while the wind carried droplets of dew that coated the grasses cold and damp on all but the hottest days. The earth was uneven and with a foundation of clay. It was quite unlike the strong, stone base Zootopia was built upon, far less predictable and reliable. The clay foundation was more than sturdy enough in its own way, but the frequent and heavy rainfall would turn the clay to mud and reshape the landscape practically every month.
It was wide enough for another 'city of Zootopia' to be built and more than long enough for a dozen farms to be enrooted, but the earth was unfit for buildings and un-rich in nurturance; the miles of empty road were wide in distance of sight and full of sky, silent as the moon, without houses, landmark or even toilets. The wide 'arm' of land was utterly still for hundreds of miles but for the cawing of the large, dark birds that flew about. There were few mammals, fewer cars and fewer-still buildings on this lonely stretch of country.
And yet, this 'arm', this 'Pashmia Crook', as it was named, was more useful than many mammals knew of: how much tidal activity; how many storms and hurricanes and wild undertakings of that oftentimes-ferocious ocean had it protected the cities from? Steadying and calming the long body of water, which led between the mainland and Pashmia Crook, it gave the city of Zootopia a stable, reliable and 'unadventurous' harbor for which its many ships of trade and transport could safely use.
However, for all its barren, marshy and moorish emptiness... there was one place of extremely strong grounding. Blackheath Prison. As the last few miles of Pashmia Crook tapered away to ocean, the lands raised with the soft hills, becoming grumpy and unforgiving while the clay beneath percolated with black stone and sharp, jutting rock. The stone rose boldly; it was, in truth, a vast mountain with its roots deep beneath the sea — the claybanks of the Crook simply clinging to the tower of the mountain like moss clung to a stone.
The black mountain was wide and flat-topped, but with steep slopes and serrated-edged stone in unforgiving abundance: to climb Mount Urchain would be more akin to climbing a vertical wall of razor blades and smashed glass than just a simple hiking excursion — a feat very few had attempted and which many had died in the process of doing so.
The mountain in of itself was a dark and forbidding sight to behold. It seriously didn't need the tall, jutting and black outline of Blackheath Prison, sat atop of it, to make it look less hospitable than a holiday brochure to Hell. There were many buildings that could be made out against the bright-blue backdrop of the sky — the outline of a church steeple, the spire of the clock tower on the magistrate's court, the square block wherein the majority of the inhabitance were kept and the barely visible lines of the monorail running up and down the height of the Urchain mountain — the visitor's entrance for this joyously bright and inviting place.
Below the mountain, in the fields of hardy, tall grass and dense thickets of hedge and bramble, was a line of tall, black vans which made their way through the empty expanse — tiny beneath the vista of the endless sky above. They trundled quietly through the quieter-still expanse, dots moving on the horizon, a line of ants returning to their colony. The polished, black gleam of the containers upon their backs glinted in the sunlight; the insignia upon the side, the loud, white circle and the two Zs in black upon it, it flashed with the light of the sun as it bounced on the dirt road beneath it.
The 'outer gate' to the prison the ZZ convoy reached was dotted, on almost every second post, with a security camera. The fence was dotted with warnings of a high-voltage current being pushed through the fence's metal wires. The foremost of the vans pulled up to a stop before the border of the fence; the driver's side window stopping level with a spindly microphone and speaker upon a stalk of metal set into the ground.
"Unidentified vehicle," the speaker upon the stalk crackled, "you are passing into a restricted area. Please state your purpose and clearance code."
The figure looked up at nature's fortress of stone before him, resting a creamy-yellow arm upon the side of the opened window and leaning towards the mic, while keeping his voice calm. He had nothing to fear... but he knew that, right now, there were at least a dozen armed snipers watching him from vantage points unseen.
"This is Convoy Delta with 'pickup' from Zulu Papa Delta-One," he said in his slick, confident tones. "Assistant Chief Constable Shale, Double-Zulu, erh, Yo-yo Sierra Foxtrot."
"We read you, Convoy Delta," the voice, thought broken and distorted by the crackle of the speaker, was a smooth and crisp femammle's voice. "Clearance granted. Continue with routine procedure: maintain provisioned speed. Maintain distance from one another. Do not deviate from the road and obey any further instruction given. Welcome home." The tan figure of the driver, the Assistant Chief Constable 'Shale', looked towards the nearest security camera and gave it a smile with a casual wave, which was replied with only the cool gleam of the sun upon the well-polished glass of the camera's unblinking eye.
Shale cleared his throat, pulling his window back up as he pressed his clawed foot down upon the accelerator slightly. He licked his lips, trying to smile towards the ZZ officer sat beside him while nudging him with an elbow and jesting, "Warm welcome they give round here, hey?"
"Just drive the car, fox."
"Sure, okay, sure." Shale bit lightly upon his lower lip, trying to ignore the brooding silence of the gray horse next to him. His paws held upon the large steering wheel, while his rump did so upon a pillow that raised him to the right height as to be able to drive the large, ZZ van safely across the dirty road and towards the face of jagged, black rock of the distance and towards the tall, dark shadow of Blackheath Prison.
...
A gray figure sat upon a gray chair, beside a gray table in a gray, concrete room. "Well now, little tyke..." The fennec, seated opposite Bogo, shot him a dark, sideways glance… "You ready to become an 'honorary member' of the ZPD?" The Chief smiled at the grunt the small fox gave, taking this opportunity to enjoy himself and aware that he had a lot of things he'd have to get through, before, he'd be able to openly 'enjoy' himself again.
"Sure, coppa. Jus' gimme der key, let me out, an' I'll do wha'ever it is youse wants."
"You know what I want. I want you to get in touch with Jacque, tell him all is well and ask to see him. Then contact me, do as Jacque says and let me follow you to him... following from a distance, naturally."
"Sure-sure. Whatever youse say."
"Whatever I say indeed." Standing slowly, Bogo looked down upon the tiny figure of the fennec. "Know that I do not do this because I trust you. This is merely a necessary sacrifice to keep Officer Wilde out of legal-harm's way... and the chance to bait for an even bigger fish with my current 'catch'. I've given you a phone; I, or someone acting on my authority, will contact you in a few days' time. From what I understand of you through talking to Wilde, you own allegiances to no one but yourself. So I'm sure you'll have no issues of selling out what you know to us."
The small fox grunted something, making as though he was muttering, but clearly he was more interested in just getting out of that dull, concrete room sooner rather than never.
Turning to the door, the buffalo pushed the thick plate of metal open, while glancing up and down the corridor. "They're still in with the wolf," Bogo muttered. "Good... good, just as I ordered them to. Mister Banes," he added, turning to the fox, "Finnick, whatever one of your names you want me to identify you as... you know your instructions and the terms of your release. Now... hop it!"
The fennec slid down from the height of the metal chair, his footfall padding him swiftly across the door out. He brushed past the Chief as he stepped past into the corridor outside... then he paused at the boom of Bogo's voice. "And, eh... just in case you were thinking of, I don't know... dropping that phone I gave you in a sewer somewhere and lying low in Tundratown for a few months..." Finnick turned slowly towards the Chief, the light of suspicion clear in his eye. "A certain... 'van', which was parked not far from Erkin, has recently been impounded."
"An... and this 'van', it's—"
"Drop the act, Finnick," Bogo snapped, his interest in playing 'games' suddenly vaporizing, "yes, it is your van and I'll take a hammer and a torch, and break it down to smithereens, and enjoy every-damn-second of it if you try do a runner on us; then, I'll hunt through every-wretched-inch of this city, until I find you and tare your oversized ears from your undersized body!"
The fennec glared threateningly at the Chief, his lips rising into the shape of a toothed snarl.
"Beat it, fox," the Chief growled, thumbing the door. "You're stinking out my interrogation room."
The fox knew better than to argue; thus, he glanced back out to the empty corridor, thrust his paws into his pockets and made his way towards the exit. The Chief watched with thin amusement upon his lips for a moment; then, his satisfaction turned to irritation and he drew his buzzing radio to his mouth. "Chief here."
"Sir," came Snarlov's voice, "when you've got a moment... we need a paw down in the cells."
"Trouble?"
"Ehm... not the wolf, Sir. It's, a..."
"Told ya," came a gruff voice through the radio, muffled by the distance from the receiver, "I'm a pedigree mongrel."
"Ah. He'll be no trouble— let him out, put the wolf into the cell. I'll be over to speak to Mister Black in a moment."
"Yes, Sir."
...
A long pair of strong, white teeth crushed down upon the crispy surface of a piece of sweet-smelling confectionary, the crimson jam within escaping from the corners of the small, gooey bun as those herbivore fangs tore into the pastry. The rabbit pulled the bun away, munching upon the delectable object while his mother looked at him with a smile. "Is it good, sweetie?"
"Hmm, yeah. Not as good as yours though, Ma— close though." He took another bite and spoke through his mouthful, "Wonder if they get the jam filling from us. We sell our jam to this place?"
"Uh, who knows. We sell our produce to so many places in Zootopia... besides, they probably use some third-party food vender place— their food vender might source the jam from us, might do... might do. Let me try a little." Billy held out the bun towards the motherly rabbit. Leaning forwards, she dipped the end of her index finger into the jam and popped the crimson red into her mouth.
"Not bad," she said, rolling her tongue around the taste in her mouth. "Not one of ours… it is farm-grown, though, wasn't grown in the car-fume-polluted area of the city. It's sharp, but... not overly acidic to be... but, there is a..." Leaning across again, Bonnie inhaled deeply, her nose almost touching the bright crimson of the jam. "It's from Northgate's place," she stated.
"What, the NFE?"
Bonnie nodded, her nose wrinkling a touch. "It's theirs for sure, all those chemicals they use—"
Billy looked slowly down upon the jam-filled piece of confectionary, scowled and set it away upon the table. He muttered under his breath and then spat upon the floor. The doe rolled her eyes and reached up into her sleeve, drawing out a tissue before leaning down and wiping the buck's spit up off the floor. "You do that kinda thing on the farm, sweetie," she said, even-temperedly. "People don't tend to do that in the city."
"Buh, these city folk. Don't know nothin' 'bout what life's really like— all their com-puters and zPhones an' crap."
"We have computers and phones too, sweetie."
"Yeah? We go play in the fields, though! We eat the dinner t'gether as a family, 'sted of sitting up on that Fourkites they's all playing!" Bonnie leaned back into her chair, looking over her son's shoulder as his rant continued, "Like Northgate 'gain, buying on all them machenes to do all the farm work for them, sitting 'round and pushing buttons rather than raking a trowel and layin' the seed. And NFE? The heck kinda name is that for a farm?"
Her impartial gaze drooping, Bonnie sighed while her eyes kept lowering down to the tabletop, before, she rose back to look upon her son. "Yeah... I can't argue with you on that, sweetie."
"'Hopps Family Farm'... it's got warmth to it, got heart. 'Northgate Farming Enterprise?' They treating it like a factory-shop uh cabbage-growin' conveyorbelts!" The buck watched his mother, while his fists tightened, the fatigue and concern clear upon her face. "I wish you'd let me get some of the boys together, Mah," the buck said, softly. "Take NFE down a few pegs, smash their machines, set fire to 'couple a fields; deal withem like in the olden days."
"Billy," she answered, faintly, "just because the Hopps' Farm... eh..." Aware of a presence behind her, Bonnie looked over her shoulder.
"Hello."
"Em..." Bonnie pulled herself together — the hare gazing at her expectantly. "Yes, Nurse Flo. Can we go see Judy now?"
"She's resting currently. You can go up and wait in the room if you're quiet, though."
"Where did that nice young... wolf go?"
"He's already up there. Chief Bogo charged him with watching over her while she slep—"
"Judy's alone with a wolf?!" A dozen faces in the canteen turned towards the outcry, the buck standing and glaring at the hare with dread burning in his eyes. "She's asleep and you just left her alone with a wolf?"
"Bi-lly, he's a police office—"
"I know, Ma! And Judy a police officer too, but that din't stop that other wolf trying to take her life an' trying to force her take his—"
"Billy...!"
"Say Judy wakes up! She gonna be all dazed and scaredy, gonna see that wolf standing over her and gonna get flashbacks of getting 'ttacked!"
Flo glanced between the buck and his mother. On this instance, at least, there was a base of logic to his prejudicial spewings. "Then I suggest," she stated, calmly, "we stop discussing the prevalence and associated implications of the mammle inside with Judy, and you two follow me up to go see her."
"Deal," Billy shot. "C'mon, Ma." As the motherly doe rose from her seat, her face fixed in a wooden smile. Flo turned from the two and began pacing towards the large 'Stairs' sign which hung over a large doorframe at the end of the room.
"Billy," Bonnie soothed into the buck's ear as they walked, "I know you only mean well, but you've gotta just... take it down a notch, hon."
"Don't give me that, Ma," he retorted, "getting loud in these city places, that be the only way of getting heard when they's see you as just a dumb bunny."
...
In the sunlight, a russet-coated fox stepped from the shadows within the ZPD HQ. He looked up upon the brightness of the clear, blue sky; the towering shapes of emerald, ruby, sapphire and jade above him. The sight, in its way, was beautiful... but was a more-than-familiar sight to the fox, hence, it gave him no impression or elation to see such colors and shapes. The air smelt cleaner, the streets sounded quieter and yet his head was filled with just as much disharmony as before.
He had assumed that once he'd spoken to Bogo, once he'd gotten it voiced out in the open about who he was that he'd at least be able to calm down about it, accept what had happen and what was to happen. Sure, Bogo had seemed happy enough with what he'd said, but... heck, if Nick wanted some crooked cop to happily open up about their criminal past, he would've used the old 'you're not in any trouble' line too.
"Holy Vixen," he muttered. "Holy Vixen to hell and back, ya had to go and spill about Jack too, couldn't just let him die in pe—"
"Eh, Officer Wilde?" The fox flinched, his brow low-set with the anxieties and troubles within his mind. Both the sight and scent of the lynx, he had passed, had gone unnoticed to him through the noise of his own disharmonious thoughts.
"Eh, hey," the fox said, his usual flicker of mistrust passing through his mind; before, he noted the small police badge the ununiformed 'officer', if anyone that young could be called that, was wearing on her belt. He looked back towards the lynx as he apologized, "Eh, sorry— don't remember seeing you before, you new?"
"Yes, Sir. Officer Fields reporting, Sir!"
The fox raised a disregarding brow. "Officer?"
"Well, eh... Auxiliary Officer, Sir."
"You're young— what're you, seventeen? Sure you're old enough to be here, Missie?"
"Well... my school professor's a friend of Bogo's. He put a word in for me— I've got really great grades and I've been practicing karate for five years now; I'm top of my class in sports, I can sprint fifteen hundred meters in one minute eighteen se—"
"Yeah-yeah, cut it," Nick interjected, raising his open palm towards her, "my Judy was running fifteen hundred in one minutes fifteen by the time she was your age— and rabbits are inherently slower than lynxes. So just skip this foxcrap about what a wonderful person you are and how you're gonna be the best cop in the city. Just cut it."
The lynx watched the fox carefully for a few quiet moments. "You always seemed so warm and 'charming' on TV."
"Yeah, well," he shot... then huffed. His shoulders dropped a little, while his gaze turned to stare off to one side. "This isn't a good day for me."
"The... the car's just over—"
"Car? Wait, Bogo's sent you to drive me to the hospital?" The lynx nodded. "Pff. When'd you pass your test?"
"Fouuur days ago?"
"Wonderful. Terrific." Pacing towards the car, the fox pulled the door open.
Her brow raising at the side of the car the fox was moving towards, the lynx stepped forwards, her voice rising in complaint, "Wait, but—"
"You think I'm letting a twelve-year-old drive?"
"I'm not twel—! You're not insured to drive this!"
"It's a ZPD vehicle, right?"
"Ehm. Yeah, sure it is." Nick's brow furrowed and his eyes lingered at her. There was an element of doubt in that statement, he knew. He glanced to the inside of the car, his mind whirring with the speed of years upon years of having to think his way out of lethal situations. The car was just an ordinary ZPD cruiser, definitely one of theirs. The police badge was a genuine Auxiliary Officer's badge. Sure, they weren't made to be as difficult to replicate as the 'real' ZPD ones, but the car...
The fox shook himself, his train of thought coming to a conclusion with only around a second's delay. "I'm driving," he declared. "If it's a ZPD vehicle, as a ZPD officer, I'm covered to drive it. As you should well know... Miss Fields."
Nodding, reluctantly, the lynx circled around the car and got in beside Nick, while he roamed in his thoughts, put his belt on and checked the mirrors with the ignition of the engine's roar. She was just a young thing, there sure wasn't going to be much trouble to handle if something… and if he was driving, at least she couldn't steer the car someplace else he didn't want it going.
"Put your belt on. And remember, red light means stop; green light means go." Nick pushed his foot down upon the accelerator, but his smile was short lived as his mind returned to thoughts of Judy and his own past... and at the subtle suspicion aroused in his mind.
He wanted to shake it off and forget all about it, but... after so many years of trusting no one, the ability to disregard 'doubts' was not a skill he had any longer.
Author's notes:
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Grooms decision thus chosen blind.
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