Let it go, it's Happytown

by Gabriel LaVedier

Tired, dangerous, the trash can of Zootopia. Home for native predators and all manner of immigrants. A place of gangs and private investigators. One unremarkable death becomes, for a PI and his assistant, something far more in the misery of Happytown. (Sort of an odd AU of the French show Sherlock Yack in Zootopia, connected to the Translation of Dawn Bellwether universe.)

15. The Food Chain

I do not own Zootopia, that belongs to Disney. This a fan work made solely for the sake of amusement.

"Let It Go, It's Happytown"

Chapter Fourteen: The Food Chain

By: Gabriel LaVedier

"So you... were defending yourself?" Some time later, after the ambulances had taken away the severely beaten wolves and the fox had been taken into custody, ZPD Sahara Square officers began talking to Sherlock. Confirmation from both Chief Bogo and Cecil Seedsworth had moved them to treat him with a more respectful but still disbelieving air. The camel officer had raised her brow on getting his statement.

"I encountered mammals who may have been associated with a criminal organization," Sherlock replied, calm and even. "They came at me with weapons, I was protecting my person."

"And the... fox?" The other officer, a hippo, asked with equal incredulity. "You defended yourself against the car window?"

"In the heat of the moment I was afraid he would use the car against me, so I attempted to turn it off. But, I grabbed him first and thought he might also have a weapon, so I subdued him," Sherlock said. "He was unarmed but is connected to certain active cases and is willing to give statements about a recent attack as well as the drug pipeline between the Swamps and Happytown."

"Afraid, right," the camel said with a slight grin. "The tod sang like a budgie. As we were putting him in the car. He's scared of somebody. He wants protection. What about you?"

"My life is precarious. Such protection does not exist. I already live in Happytown, no additional danger could add more terror," Sherlock said. "I have a duty to solve certain crimes or at least resolve uncertainties related to them. I cannot stay here too long."

"I'd say you should hit the academy but you should be teaching SWAT officers to keep their cool," the hippo said, closing his notebook with a nod.

"Do make sure he is cared for. Someone with great power will not be pleased. It was not merely these gangs, they are merely instruments of another's will," Sherlock warned.

"Flowery but... it happens. Every district's got a big shot. At least this one's a good guy..." The camel officer mumbled. "Need a lift to the station? You're working hard on our behalf. The stuff in that house will net us a nice, comfortable bit of praise. You might get a phone call from Mama Fanak herself, she and Seedsworth are like dates on a palm and anyone doing good for him is good in her books."

"I do nothing for honors or praise, but a good mammal is always worth listening to," Sherlock noted, walking with the two toward their car. "I solve mysteries I was not charged to in order to approach the deeper enigmas that vex me and destroy my home."

"Seriously, you do the time and shine like you do, you'll be a sergeant in no time," the hippo said with a nod. "Lieutenant just as fast. You could probably get nice digs outside of Happytown."

"I understand your concerns and your notions. But Happytown has been my home for many a year," Sherlock noted, sliding into the back of the police cruiser and clicking on his seat belt."Besides I have a... I have an employee. My employ had been honest and the roof over her head and food in her belly comes through honorable toil while she learns to do the job I do so she may be like me."

"No internship program like that on the force, not directly. You seem like a good guy, lookin' out for an employee like that, training them up," the hippo said.

"Thinking of her... would it be possible to radio Officer Wulfberg and let him know the one who attacked her has been captured and confessed, so she will be spared a trial appearance and fear of retaliation?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh easy enough," the camel said, clicking her radio. "Four-Aardvark-Seven, relaying a message for Officer Wulfberg on patrol in Happytown. We just arrested a suspect in an active assault of his. Tell him the witness can rest easy and won't have to testify. The suspect is on the way to confess, they were jumping at the chance."

"Affirmative, Four-Aardvark-Seven. Message received and will be passed along."

"My thanks, officers. With this small matter resolved there are fewer obstacles to my other inquiries. Perhaps some answer to questions. The ones involved in my cases are connected here. I suspect this fox was involved in another death, which connects to my investigation, she was a witness to some happenings," Sherlock mused.

"'Small matter' he says unironically," the hippo chuckled. "Well, small or large, really, thanks for this. We're kind of out on the fringes this far from Central. I've heard of Seedsworth and the mayor butting heads like sheep but didn't know what it was about. Happytown's getting really big, huh?"

"Depending on the eyes, small things cast large shadows or large shadows are just the dark if one wants to ignore it all. The mayor wishes stagnation. But things must change. We need dynamic change that is good for Happytown. These drug dealers are change, but they do nothing but suck our blood like ticks," Sherlock said.

"Yeah... parasites. That's the truth..." The camel sighed, shaking her head slowly. "Gambling is good for us, but the house is always going to win. We take and take, but try to give back. Intervention programs, gaming limits, taxes paying for everything from extra healthcare to education programs to scholarships and anything else Mama Fanak can do to make sure we don't look like bloodsuckers when we kind of are. We give back to Zootopia as much as possible with good times and educated mammals."

"We live in a world of illusion, of shadows and echoes. What we seem is what most will accept. If it matches what we truly are, so much the better. From what I have seen of the ZPD there is much roughness, sometimes cruelty. But with those like you, like Officer Wulfberg, Nicholas and his wife, I think there is much good there, you pay off the image you present, to make the world a better place," Sherlock said.

The camel chuckled softly. "Judy Wilde-Hopps and her phrase... we really do try to do it. The city's been good to us. We owe it." The car went silent, gliding smoothly through the neon night, cutting through the heart of the district toward the bustling tram station at the wall.

Over in Savanna central Officer Wulfberg was off the clock, sitting out at the sidewalk table of a small cafe together with a very beautiful red fox vixen. She was clad in a shoulder-baring slinky sequin torch singer dress with a tilted strawberry beret covering one ear. Cups of coffee steamed before them, and they chatted animatedly over half-finished plates of risotto and sole.

Louis' ears perked a bit at a tinny, artificial howl from his ZPD jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone and noted the call was coming from the precinct. "Officer Wulfberg. What's going on?"

"Officer, relaying a message from Sahara Square. A... Sherlock Gyag helped them find a drug pipeline, and apparently one of the suspects is confessing to crimes done in Happytown. He wanted you to inform the witness there that she can feel safe from retaliation and will not be required to take the stand, there's a deal in the works."

Louis slumped down a little, his shoulders ever so slightly dropping as unrecognized tension left him. "Thank you for informing me. When I get back on shift I'll tell her, and look for Sherlock to give me a clearer picture. This should help things out. Thanks again." He ended the call and let a smile curl the end of his lips, happily cutting a piece of fish and taking a bite.

His tablemate, Scarlet, chuckled softly, taking a dainty sip of her coffee and turning her smile on Louis. "It is so good to see your hackles fall. You carry such tension on you since this assignment. No matter how tender hands or paws upon your muscles are you still hold so much stress."

"I thought I was bad when I was sullenly walking the beat. Now I... I care about this whole thing. And it's worse because now I really see how bad it is. I just hope I can do something as good as grandfather did, and more. Something of greater substance, something more permanent."

Scarlet reached out and took his hand, gently stroking along his fingers with her thumb. "You care so much, it is why I hold you tighter than any other. I find no need to flit away, when I have you being this way."

Louis looked down at the hand on his for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Are those from your homeland like this?"

Scarlet laughed softly and lightly slapped Louis' hand. "Why? Has the hermine been giving you the big boggle-eyes? Does she flick her ink-dip at you? Even if she did it would be to make someone jealous."

"You think I can't attract a stoat? I mean, I'm not that far down the scale but do you think I couldn't?" Louis asked with a playfully defiant look.

"Oh I am certain. But she has heard you have me. She will not try to take you. But if she needs, you are a safe man to use if her true choice needs encouragement. But you have said she is... the other way, yes? Not, that way, in her temperament."

"Like those black and white movies you've shown me. I don't know what fatalism is, but I think she's in it. But she really clings to life. She fights for her life, but somehow just... doesn't get mad at the idea of her dying..." Louis sighed.

"Oui. Fatalisme. The idea has been made peace with. It is understood. But no mammal is anything but a mammal. She wishes to live but would not... pout if she dies. She has grown up different. Strong, I think," Scarlet said with another sip of coffee.

"Strong, huh?" Louis sipped his coffee and contemplatively ate some fish and rice. "I grew up strong. A different kind of strong. In Division, looking like this. Dad never stopped fighting for respect for us, for mom. I had to make peace with a lot of things that just were the reality. But I grew up in good parts of the city. I was stung by insults. But the specter of death... that's something else."

Scarlet twitched her smile a little bit, lightly rubbing her fingers over the lip of her cup. "Something else. Mort. I do not feel the sickle of the Harvester at my throat. I speak her words but sit upon money to keep me only ever insulted, belittled. Predator. Renarde. Like you, I bear the burden. Ha. Beau blague. Burden... what burden?"

"A pile of money weighs a surprising amount with a name behind it," Louis said, lamely smiling a half-smirk. "It really does. I asked for no special treatment. I got none. Bogo doesn't do that. But anyone else? I don't know. But even if it's hard to succeed on your own, I'm not succeeding starving."

"You think it is so hard. It is hard, it hurts. But I must know, must remember, others hurt more," Scarlet said, tapping her coffee cup. "That is no challenge, no competition. It is only the truth. Understanding will help us try to work in our life, living knowing that if we have a bad moment we can take heart that we have a safety net. It will make us kinder."

"A cop in Happytown. Like a frog in the desert. But I'm only a tourist. Bad as it feels, uncomfortable as it feels, I'm not living there. I feel the bad parts. But I can always walk away. Sit here at a cafe with a beautiful vixen, see my parents names on a building. I'm a predator, I'm an Indivisible. Mammals don't like me. No one thinks I'm trash to just throw away."

Scarlet took Louis' hand and gently squeezed it. "I suppose you will tell this hermine the good news. Give some joy to her. Or will you let her true choice tell her?"

"True choice? Nothing like that going on. She's too focused, I can tell. I have the eye for this kind of thing," Louis proudly asserted.

Scarlet gave a cryptic chuckle and brought Louis' hand up to kiss it. "Oui. Oui, bien sûr. You know these things..."

o o o

Hermione was unused to being idle. Being a weasel was a blessing and a curse, both aspects connected to the energy that came from her mustelid ancestry. She was seldom fatigued, she moved quickly and with lithe deftness, she was ever attentive and quick to spot things. On the flip side she was twitchy, she worked hard to keep nervousness under control, fought to not boggle at things, and couldn't stand to be idle unless she specifically chose the context such as sunbathing in her blue bathing suit with a good book on the roof of her apartment.

Her saving grace was her work with Sherlock. His bearing was, yes, very like other yaks she had heard tell of, those who acted as though they ate cow-eye grass. It was in his meditative nature. But more, his strange and fascinating past training in the high monastery with his mysterious master had given him remarkable powers he refused to claim. But among the considerable skills came the deep understanding of the mind and how meditation could quell the noise of the mind.

Other mammals, trendy mammals, were enamored of a practice from a place near to Sherlock's home, yoga. They carried mats, they wore strangely tight pants, they stretched and posed and stood and said it was therapeutic and calming. She was a weasel. No convoluted stretches were beyond her and no twisting poses could calm her, they were only natural. But Sherlock had taught her to notice her breathing, notice the pumping of her heart, every bit of her body. She could move from her mind, calm the musteline part of her body and let her relax, even in Happytown.

Being laid up in bed was not ideal in any sense, it was something she never expected. Medical care of some stripe, but never an extended stay in a room. Even if it was only a couple of days for care and observation it took her away from her training, from the mystery of the attacks and death. Sherlock would never forgive her for being so idle. Or, he would but she would not forgive herself. She had too much ambition, too much personal honor to be idle, even if she needed it. Happytown demanded action, demanded constant active survival. If she got soft, she might expire.

A little electronic chirping from her side-table informed her of a call. She briefly noted it was Sherlock and answered it quickly. "Oui, monsieur?"

"Are you well today, Mlle. LaBelle?"

"I am no child, monsieur..." Hermione began.

"But you are an employee, and I have a vested interest in things of that nature."

Hermione winced a bit. Her fiery indigence had leaped a few steps ahead of her sense, another weasel trait. She needed more meditation. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur. My petit weasel legs carry me fast and unfailingly, but always too quick to stop..."

"A charming and useful quality you possess. On balance, being faster is better than slower. However meditative I may try to be, it is the speed of strikes and speed of the mind that truly matter. Has Officer Wulfberg contacted you?"

"Contacted? No. Net yet today. Is there something to be said?"

"It was late at night. I suppose it was to be expected. He'll deliver official word, but you can relax. Last night I was in Sahara Square and caught the Madra Rua that injected you. He went to jail talking, trading safety for information. You will not need to take the stand, and now it is unlikely you will be further harmed."

Hermione relaxed, sinking slightly into the bed. She had been unknowingly holding herself tense. "Ah, Monsieur... that is... you did it for justice. But merci... it is quite a weight off of my hunched shoulders. Did he say anything of real substance?"

"They said a very interesting thing. They sent it to Happytown, and only Happytown. He was right to say they could make money on inroads to rich areas. But he was confused by the focus on Happytown. That is suspicious indeed. The mystery is deeper than we suspected."

"Goodness. How strange indeed. Now that this has been interrupted what will happen?"

"I think that I know how they will respond to a major pipeline being destroyed. Rest well, my understudy. And act surprised when Officer Wulberg tells you. I hate to think I inconvenienced him."

Hermione laughed softly and sighed. "Oui, monsieur. For all the faults he showed he seems a good mammal. I hope my absence has not hurt you."

Out on the street Sherlock smiled a bit, and slowly let the soft look fade from his eyes. "I only feel bad for you, missing out on lessons. Please, recover quickly. Be well, Mlle. LaBelle."

"Merci. Bonne chance, monsieur."

Sherlock ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket. Luck. A strange concept, that both did and did not exist. Fortune was something, but he always played to the odds. He just had more ways to affect the odds through his training and his manner of gathering information.

The last point of contact that he knew was gone. The Madra Rua was spilling his secrets to the ZPD. One dealer, one line in, down. There were more, obviously. But that one had felt oddly important. Significant. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small thing to try and flood. Perhaps there were more, but few. Stopping one was a major blow. There was actually one more point, someone important. Someone that thought themselves invincible, untouchable. Perhaps not the boss. But certainly the manifested will of the boss.

Mr. Limo.

As the sun slipped low, the women of the street arrayed themselves for sale as ever. There had been a joy in their congregation, in the chapel of the road, Clover issuing the new instructions after what had happened to Hermione. Her inadvertent near-sacrifice had made them even more aware, even more cautious. But the joy of being together faded at the prospect of the grim duties they would have to perform.

The streetlights came on, one after another in a line, almost like a neon sign announcing they were open for business. The women strolled their spot in regulated patterns, marionettes dancing their pre-ordained dances. Senior women in front, newer in the back, Clover pulling a drag on her clove cig, dropping it and crushing it under the heels that made her job of attraction a little easier. Eyes scanned both directions, for the first taking of the night.

Malevolent light announced the coming of a curse they expected but never counted on. Even with no schedule, they never expected him to come so soon after Red was taken. The long, sleek black vehicle hummed into view, the brightness of the headlights being a calling card. No other car seeking for them boasted such, nor were any so well-maintained and quiet.

There was a small shuffle, the women coming forward almost as a wall. They all circled around the back door whose window slowly rolled down. They stared into the dark interior, one mass. They were not there to be ordered. They would stare, look down on the one within, even if he was only a blob in the darkness.

The one within cared little for the show of strength. He only pointed a manicured hoof at Clover. "Two of this filthy lot have caused trouble. Now, you will be given new instructions. Punishment for disobedience. Get. In."

The door popped open, yawning wide. The girls suddenly made a lot of noise, protesting, grabbing for Clover, calling out threats, flipping various hand signs. Clover snapped at them repeatedly, snarled and bayed a bit, waving her hands around to call for quiet and calm. "Don't be stupid, and don't make this any harder. We could have seen it coming. Don't bother them, I'll go..." With a backward glance she stepped into the limo, the door slamming and the car rolling slowly away.

Once inside, Clover sat on one of the seats, alone with a shadow, a shadow with curving horns. "I do not enjoy coming here. I do my duty, but I find your world filthy, malodorous, disgusting. I despise what I am made to do, because it means I am wrapped in the stench, in the filth of this garbage can. But I have done a duty, and done it well. And still all you filthy creatures do not get the messages. Gaming is whipped into obedience. But you... you cheap treats seem incapable of reason. Two of your number... I would have been much cleaner. Much more thorough. It was almost right. But you don't ever know when to stop. You've been feral for too long, missing the direct, iron fist of a leader. Your nights of only paying your just due may be over. It remains to be seen if you will keep this illusion that some old howler bought you, or if once more the rich controller of funds will deliver corrective beatings to ensure money crosses the right palms."

Clover sat in stoic silence. She let the waves of vitriol wash over her, still set with eyes steely and mouth grim. When all had been said she sharply shook her head. "No. Wulfberg gave us our freedom. No shadow is taking it away. You're not more powerful than the mayor, and your invisible coward of a boss isn't either. No deal on pimps or anything else. Red didn't die so you could bleed us dry. What now?"

The unknown figure pressed a button on a console, making a sickly red light flare to life. "Detour to a storage house. This chomper is going to have a very unfortunate overdose."

"They already don't buy Red's. They know it was fake. Pull the trick twice and you lose any hope of keeping this quiet. The papers are going to love it," Clover said with a wide smile.

The sickly light returned. "Cancel that. Head to the coast. The sea swallows all problems. A longer trip but one that I will not have to take with you. Hopefully, the next speaker of your little collection will be smarter."

"You think I'm going to be quiet? The longer this goes on, the louder and more annoying I'll get. It's not going to be as easy to ignore me as you think," Clover snorted. "Not going to take me to your boss first, threaten me, beat me, have him do me like every time you showed up to sweep us away to a night of madness and suffering?" Clover asked with an acid tone.

"Examples must be made, but not the normal kind. This is an extraordinary circumstance," the shadowy figure said. Something crinkled faintly in the darkness and then he struck, launching forward with extreme speed, throwing a plastic back over her head while a well-placed zip-tie was cinched at her throat. "You chompers are so easy. Horns could save you but nature put them on only superior beings. It has continued to make my li- AH!"

From the deeper darkness of the limo's floor Sherlock lunged. He was wrapped in a dark blue cloth that did not restrict his limbs, almost invisible there in the shadows. His hoof clocked the revealed male lyre-horn, stunning him from the force of impact and sheer surprise. He ripped the plastic bag from off of Clover's head and launched himself over to the buck, who was tying to push the intercom button again. Presumably the impacts of a struggle were no surprise to the driver.

"You d-dare stri-ike me?!" The buck shrieked with the indigence of a mammal that assumed in all his life no one would ever dare to touch him. His scream of wounded pride betrayed the insecurity behind the cold exterior. His superiority was all he had to make him feel like his life was secure. He struggled and did, behind his seemingly germaphobic priggishness, have ample strength and a measure of trained fighting skill. He was not helpless and against any normal opponent, he would have been brutally effective, even deadly.

Sherlock was no ordinary opponent.

Trained on snow, trained through wind, trained in thin air, he was a hardened fighter. He learned moves of great subtlety and guile. He countered every attempt at throwing him off, deflected every heavy blow or kick, and finally battered the lyre-horn down enough that he could grab the plastic zip ties near the buck's former seat and secure his arms behind his back. "Tell me where the driver will take this limo. I do not trust you enough to try and get you to instruct it to take it back to your employer."

"Ghetto filth! Even as a horned being, you cannot touch me! Insolent... you must be an immigrant! Filthy foreigner, invading, disease-riddled, infectious vermin!" The buck screamed, being lifted up and shoved back into his seat.

"Are you well?" Sherlock asked Clover.

"I'm a Happytown New Old Girl. Takes more than this freak to do me in," she said, gasping only a little and rubbing at the zip tie that hadn't been fully cinched. "Not that I care all that much but is there a way to get this off quickly?"

"That will be easily taken care of..." Sherlock said, patting down the buck and finding his keys. In the course of doing it he found the man was wearing a necklace, a three leaf clover with elaborate swirls inside the leaves. He passed the keys along and said, "It is the best possible now, perhaps it can abrade the plastic."

"I'll take it," Clover said, setting to the task as best she could.

"And you. Tell me who you are," Sherlock said. He reached in and started to press at certain pressure points, his gaze watching the buck's face. Small indicators. But he seemed inured to pain. Some were. Trained well, learning to let pain go. Dangerous. He kept trying even if nothing came of it. "I care little for you. But a record must be made, inscribed forever that sages of the future may read and know of this and know the one that wrought destruction at the call of another."

"Spare me your attempt at flowery verbiage. You mimic our tongue but you're nothing but a foreign element, a plague to be allowed to burn itself out. You are too ignorant to understand anything that happened. All matters are matters for your betters. A private investigator, are you? Investigate. Find who I am, if you are not merely an ignorant primitive from a backwater nation out there. You dare to lay hands on your natural superior, then show you are worthy of anything but contempt and being swept away," the buck said with a cool tone but hatred seething through every syllable.

Sherlock rolled down a window as he took out his phone and started to dial. "This is Sherlock Gyag. I do not know if you can follow this call, but I have just caught the mammal responsible for murders and arson in Happytown. I am currently in the back of a limo with a coyote he attempted to murder, on our way to an unknown destination. Please dispatch law enforcement. I have avoided letting the driver know anything has happened so he may be questioned as well. Yes... I will indeed stay on the line."

The flash of lights and the shriek of sirens almost seemed to start a pursuit, the limo ramping up speed until additional units made it clear there was no point in attempting it. The driver had barely stopped the car before stepping out, hands in the air, pleading that he knew nothing, he was just a hired driver. Officers in heavy tactical gear swarmed out of their cruisers, including two familiar faces.

Nick made the initial approach, all smiles as Sherlock exited the limo with the buck in tow. "Well, well, well. You always seemed to find brand new styles. Get tired of the plaid coat? Looks good on you. Mysterious."

"It was a necessary thing, to slip into this vehicle and observe what I perceived to be a dangerous meeting between this buck and that woman," Sherlock said, motioning in Clover's direction.

"He came and said Mr. Limo there was coming. Didn't know if he was right but I asked him along. Sure, he slipped in while the girls were chattering but not my fault the murderous spoor-sucker wasn't paying attention. Glad he came. That psycho was trying to give me a Cheery Charlie. Got the plastic bag in there and I cut off the zip tie with his keys. It was, ah, an emergency. I so couldda choked without some kind of emergency help," Clover said, maintaining her trademark nonchalance.

"When you said he was good..." Judy said, slowly approaching with her tranq gun drawn, looking over the large buck. "So... what is this fellow in all this?"

"Carrots..." Nick breathed, shining a light into the limo and looking at the plastic bag and cut zip tie. "I think he IS all this. I think this is the one that killed everyone."

The pistol was gripped tighter, trained directly at a place bare of clothing, Judy's nose twitching rapidly. "Sir, a witness has come forward alleging that you were engaged an an att-"

"Spare me, you species traitor," the buck said, walking away from Sherlock toward one of the large officers.

"He has said nothing. He has nothing to say. He is only the messenger. The one who gets the money. He will be replaced. Not easily, his training was specialized. But he is only the arm of a greater threat. You have nothing left. Reveal the hideous mastermind behind this plot and be of some use to the world," Sherlock said, bordering on insisting.

"I have been of use. Been of use to a better, a more powerful and grand being of vision. I am not like that turncoat Madra Rua. I will never betray my loyalty. Yes, he is why I came so soon. His clumsy second attempt ruined the purity of the first, and being caught was sloppy. Don't think he is protected. You squabble with dullards and retarded idiot children. I work for a god. No, take me so I may be freed in due order. Let the proper actions take place so life will go on as we expect it to be," he said, his voice a flood tide of disgusted contempt.

Nick winced at the back of the retreating figure, turning his huckster smile on Sherlock. "Crime scene techs, very new ones, will be around to make sure we don't need you to do their jobs for them."

Sherlock turned to regard the limo, hooves behind his back. "You will find no identification. Even if someone paid for it, there will be no name. Some company that exists on paper. Shells upon shells. He will not be in your records. Like the false gang members. Or if he has some name he will work for a company that has no office. His money will be a mystery and yet his taxes will all look clean."

"I forgot you're like Mama Bonnie, you can see the future," Nick chuckled, getting a small slap on the wrist for his troubles from Judy.

"That's for marriage forecasts and she just does it for tradition. I never should have told you bunnies do forecasts... but... this whole thing was a mess. I'm... I'm glad Nick took the files to you. At least now, it's over," Judy said.

"Begun," Sherlock said, firmly. "The grass grows and the lesser creatures eat. Bugs are eaten by birds and lizards. Fish slurp plants and insects and are consumed by large fish. And in the end, we eat them... sometimes. The food chain has not reached the trophic peak. There is some thing that eats us. The thief, the murderer, the manipulator, they all feast on the body of society. They gnaw our flesh and suck our blood. Happytown is still dying. There will be more, because someone profits. No, not over. Now the more difficult task. Finding the cannibal that wants all my neighbors dead and served on a platter."