"Intelligence without ambition is like a bird without wings." - Salvador Dali
2:30 P.M
After the revelations and insightful knowledge earned through their visit with the rat brothers, it was fair to say that all three mammals left with a little piece of them no longer intact.
Neither Nick nor Judy could come to terms with the fact that the world they lived in was even more broken than they could have ever possibly imagined before. Both were very much aware of how their society tended to lean towards the simpler options, blocking out the righteous ones. Predator and inter-species hate were among the most notable of such predicaments, their wake leaving vile foot-prints that would taint the city for many years to come.
None would forget the atrocities that were committed during such times of civil and political unrest. But this... This was something else entirely.
Both the fox and bunny alike could hardly believe the tale that was recounted to them by Dmitri and Rytsar: Shock collars, designed to suppress the very things that made mammals who they were. Emotions suppressed and sundered, severed and simplified. And to think, the city of Zootopia was so close to acquainting itself with these mechanical abominations. If it were not for the combined efforts of Nick and Judy, working against Dawn Bellwether and her co-conspirators, the city would most likely be a very different sort of place than what it was in the present day.
A world of enhanced prejudice, heightened segregation, and a true crime against mammalia: There were very few minds capable of encouraging such a state of condition.
Unfortunately for them and their work, Grygorri Ratsputin was no normal mammal. His work alongside Dawn Bellwether had gone virtually unnoticed and unappreciated ever since the conclusion of the Night-Howler case all those years ago, when the savage mammals were put to rest, and city was reunited under a more common goal. Behind the celebration and the confusion, it was apparent that the rat had managed to evade suspicion or prosecution for his involvement with Bellwether's plans, even if he only assisted in the creation of the shock collars themselves.
"Now, the only question remaining is why... Why did Ratsputin conceive such a nefarious device, and why does he want it back only now?" Judy mused out loud.
Piled back into their ZPD issued police-cruiser, the trio of mammals positioned themselves in their respective seats as they prepared themselves for the short journey back to the ZPD Head-Quarters, Precinct One, all the while digesting the horrible truth that they had learned from their insightful experience in the two rat brother's printing shop.
"Yeah, and why this filthy degenerate didn't tell us about them!" Nick growled, pulling Jack Savage closer to his snarling face.
"I had my reasons." The male rabbit grumbled, carefully evading direct eye-contact with the furious fox before him.
"Mass production of those... Things..." Nick hissed lowly. "WHY?!" He shouted aloud, shaking the male rabbit. "Why would you do such a thing?!"
"Nick!" Judy exclaimed, effectively earning the fox's attention. "Calm down. Please... We need to keep our wits about ourselves for the rest of the case."
Judy knew that Nick must've been taking the idea of the shock-collars personally. She couldn't blame him, though.
"Don't you get it, Carrots?" The fox growled. "This perverted scum of a mammal lied to us! He told us that he didn't know anything about those state-secrets!"
"Yes Nick, I understand, I do... Just relax, okay? After we drop him off at the station, we'll all be done for the day, and won't have to worry about anything until tomorrow, so just please try not to kill each-other at least until we get back to the station!"
"Listen to the lady, foxy." Jack Savage added with a coyish smile. "She knows what she's talking about."
"You obviously knew what you were talking about when you told us about those documents... A liar, that's what you are!" Nick spat, his eyes narrowing in apprehension.
"I am what I am. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"
Crossing his arms glumly, Nick ignored the stinging sensation that shot through his wrist and fore-arm as the cuffs squeezed against his pulling, but he didn't care a single bit. Breathing in slowly through his quivering pink nostrils, the fox took to trying to calm himself down; In and out, in and out, in and out, again and again, one at a time.
Once we report back to Chief Bogo, we'll be able to throw that scumbag back in jail where he really belongs... Nick mentally reassured himself.
The cruiser glided down the smooth asphalt of the Savannah-central Park road, its destination set and steady for the reckoning of all that they had learned thus far.
10:52 P.M , Somewhere in Tundra-Town
Though knowledge is, and always has been power, you would be a mindless fool to think it anything but unrestricted...
For nearly all of his life, Grygorri Yefimovich Ratsputin had known that the sky itself was not the limit: That the strength of one's will and the fortitude of one's resolve could easily over-power even the most harrowing and tenacious of obstacles and challenges in life. That if your mental power was great enough, you could prove yourself to be so much more than what you looked like on the outside. That if your determination and your wit were with you every step of the way, there was no reason not to succeed,
Your mind is absolutely and unquestionably your greatest weapon: It is everything about you, yet all that you ever really need.
It could drive you to unparalleled heights, and could conceive the most unfathomable of things in the blink of an eye. Your mind is far more than just some vessel of brain-power and thought: The mind is a tool of learning and intellect, of personality and wisdom, of righteousness and belief. It is, and always will be, your greatest asset of all.
It is what makes you... You.
Grygorri Ratsputin saw the world through an eye-glass of unparalleled insight: From birth, he had been a gifted child, capable of things others could only dream of. While other children of his age frame grew up indulging themselves in idle play, rough-housing, and cartoons, Grygorri spent his personal time reading, watching clouds float by in the sky, and learning all that he could about the world around him. He was, and always had been plagued by an insatiable appetite for knowledge, even of the most simple of things.
From the outside looking in, one could assume that the rat had a mind like a steeled-trap. But if you asked him, he would say that he had a mind like a black hole: Deep, relentless, and almost terrifyingly hungry for the pursuit of anything lain in its path, swallowing and absorbing vast amounts of knowledge and information just because it could.
The rat was intelligent, but far from naive: He understood that the world could be a cruel and relentless place, yet he still had dreams of his own accord and desire. Growing up, Grygorri watched other children as they announced to the world their plans for the future, and what they wanted to be when they grew up, in specific. He saw patterns in their choices: The rabbits would choose meek, simple jobs to fulfill some subconscious and primal desire to stay safe, the larger predator and prey species such as rhinos and elephants would go for the more heavier-lifting jobs, and the smaller ones were stuck with the rather back-water careers and occupations.
Grygorri was told that rats had little options in their choice of career, due to how they were perceived by the world around them. Rats could only amount to what they were expected, no matter their determination or resolve, they told him again and again. Rats were supposed to be dull and gullible, yet Grygorri was a child-prodigy, if there ever was one. Rats were thought to be pathological liars: Completely untrustworthy, even more so than foxes, raccoons, or even weasels. Yet Grygorri loved telling the truth.
He grew up surrounded by pessimistic ideals and thoughts. Rats could tell nothing but lies, he was told more times than even he could count.
Yet in spite of it all, Grygorri Ratsputin had known exactly what he wanted to be when he grew up...
The young rat wished to give knowledge to the entire world, and become the very first rat news anchor in all of Zootopia itself!
But society had other plans, apparently.
The young Grygorri Ratsputin was no shy soul: He told all that he could about his dreams and his passions to become the very first rat news anchorman. He wanted to spread knowledge to the world, and give everyone the same opportunities that he had and perceived. However, his ideas were less than the very dirt beneath the ground to his peers and his associates: Teachers told him that such a career had no place for mammals like him and his kin. That rats couldn't be in news, because they could only tell lies.
He was not deterred from his efforts, though, as he continued to strive and prove to others that rats were more than just lying, and treacherous thieves. Those around him saw his species as dull and predictable, stupid and ignorant; Grygorri was relentlessly tormented by his superior class-mates for being smarter than the average rat. Even in his adult life, he was haunted by the powerful memories of the horrible things that they had done to him and his family, all in the cruel name of prejudice and racism.
However, the most atrocious act wrought against him and his kith was undoubtedly the one that truly broke his soul...
Scrtch-ch-ch-ch!
The rat's pointed claws dug against the wooden surface of the dining table, leaving light cicatrix indentions in their wake.
His fingers balled up into a tight clenching fist, causing one of his nails to splinter. Wincing, Grygorri raised his finger up to his eyes, and examined the broken tip on one of his claws. The rat's jaw hung slightly agape, and his eyes twitched irritably. He found himself shaking uncontrollably, his temper rising and causing his fur to stand at attention.
Growling to himself, Ratsputin pulled himself away from the table before reaching down and retrieving his cane. He pulled gently on its hilt, enticing a small and sharp click from the tool and causing the cane's body to slide away like a scabbard: Grygorri unsheathed his blade, and expertly twirled it about in his wrist, the sharpened stick of metal swishing around as it cut through the air and empty space around it.
He slowly brought the blade to his face, where he held it vertically in front of his cold, black-colored eyes. He visually inspected the fine edges, delicately running one of his fingers down its length, testing the blade's efficiency. Judging by the fact that even as delicately as he caressed it, his fingers drew small amounts of blood, he reasoned that his precious sword was up to his current standards.
The rat closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, thinking back to his past experiences. Not too long after that specific... Incident, as he liked to call it... Ratsputin begun to delve into more physical forms of knowledge and learning: He spent years training himself how to use and brandish a blade, not just a knife, but a true sword. He practiced fencing, and other forms of sword-play, honing his skills until he mastered them.
The rat sighed longingly.
Sheathing his sword back into its proper place, Ratsputin breathed in deeply before stepping forward and making his way out of the aforementioned room, instead choosing to direct himself down a painting-lined hall-way, intent on heading town to his secret archive, where he stored all of the physical evidence on those that he black-mailed.
Grygorri Ratsputin's home was a loner's paradise: An estate erected unto one of the farthest corners of Tundra-Town, where no one could bother him. The property was quite large, with vast fields of snowy forest surrounding his home, which itself was build of wood and brick; Old and archaic in design, but surprisingly modern and well-kept in terms of quality and cleanliness.
The rat whom owned the property had always been subject to powerful bouts of OCD and perfectionism, convincing him to keep his residence as clean and tidy as possible. Aside from hired guards, servants, and watch-men, Ratsputin was the only true resident in the entire estate, his three children having moved out long ago in pursuit of their own dreams. His former and only mate, dead from a blight of cancer. Now, Grygorri lived by himself, away from the world, but for more than just his own personal preferences.
Advantages came with his rather hidden-away estate: Here, he was safe and secluded from anyone who had a bone to pick with him. He had survived multiple assassination attempts in the past, usually from former victims of his extortion schemes who had truly nothing left to lose. Here, he hid and protected his rather copious collection of physical evidence that he used for black-mailing and other acts of influence.
With an expression completely lacking of any sort of emotion, the rat continued through his home, occasionally stopping to admire a painting or art-piece as he made his way towards his personal archive. Eventually, he reached the end of one of his hallways, where a large book-shelf was positioned against the ending wall. Walking up to it, Ratsputin pulled against the frame while pressing on a teeny button on the back of the structure, causing the shelf to slide open like a door; A secret door, to be precise. Within, a rather minuscule and simple room housed a single hole, which descended down-ward in a spiral stair-case, leading to the hidden basement where he stored his collection.
Just as he was about to step inside, a sudden pain caught in his chest. He coughed into his fist, quickly pulling out a handkerchief before bringing it to his mouth. Retching harshly, he inhaled slowly through his nose before breathing out as calmly as possible, all in an attempt to quell the irritation that plagued his lungs. The pain in his chest quickly subsided, and the rat was left panting heavily as he leaned against the doorframe. His vision blurred around the edges.
Shaking his head irritably, Ratsputin refocused his gaze before glancing down at the cloth he held between his bony fingers. A streak of dark, crimson liquid had spattered against the surface of the cloud-white material, staining it like paint. Ratsputin clenched his teeth together in frustration as he messily folded up the cloth before stuffing it back into one of the pockets on his suit and turning his full attention toward the musty stairwell before him.
Closing the book-shelf behind him for good measure, the rat descended the flights of stairs, soon enough finding himself in a rather spacious room, lined with shelves, containers, and other dusty objects of random accord. The room was neatly situated, but rather messy, especially for his standards: Towers of medical records from random citizens, files upon files of tax resumes and applications, and even stolen items that he had acquired from the homes of other mammals for his own nefarious purposes. Plastic tubs were choked full of documents and other applicable sources, ranging from physical evidence to digital evidence, in the form of hard-drives and storage systems.
Entire shelves were lined with items of seeming insignificance: Torn-up diplomas, shattered picture frames, broken spectacles, photographs of random mammals, objects and places, stolen paintings, pictures of ultra-sounds and smiling animals, glass jars filled with organs and bloodied juices; Samples taken from test subjects in his pursuit of knowledge over the mammalian anatomy, including containers of various eyes, tissue samples, bodily fluid, and even bones. Grygorri was no registered doctor, but even still, the Zootopia General Hospital was more than generous to supply him with anything that he asked for, more or less.
But to Ratsputin, each and every individual item in his collection told a story. A legacy. Nothing in this room was mere junk to him: Every last item and object in his home was worth an immeasurable point of value to him, not necessarily due to their financial worth, but because every single item and object in this particular room was a weapon: A foot-hold of leverage against his enemies and victims. In this cellar, the rat kept info on any mammal in the city he deemed important enough to be informed of. Most civilians were inconsequential, but mammals like the mayor, officers at the ZPD, and criminals, now those were the kind of mammals with the power to make a difference - just the kind of power Ratsputin liked keeping an eye on. It took a lot of effort to build his precious files. Sources had to be found, and convinced to provide aid. Bribes were without question. Using others to maintain his own anonymity was a given. Thankfully, the rat's long career in the news industry had allowed him to build a diverse network if informants across the city.
Civilians and other normal mammals, as they probably liked to imagine themselves as, were so careless and naive: Information about them so blatantly posted on social media, their web-cams left unattended, allowing Ratsputin to capture video surveillance of his victims going about their daily activities. In one space of his archive, multiple computer monitors and other screens and projectors broad-casted recorder videos of traffic cameras, security cameras, and so on. Entire public systems all hooked up to his archive.
Pacing over to a rectangular table in the corner of his abode, Grygorri set his cane down on its smooth wooden surface before glancing over to a multitude of chess-pieces stashed at the very end of the table. Reaching over and singling out the black-colored king piece, Ratsputin wrung the object in front of his eyes, twisting it carefully and examining its outer coating, which was jet-black and completely clean, free of any dust or scratch marks. A low smile tugged at his lips.
Setting down the chess piece and turning towards the projector, the rat selected a series of videos from the traffic cameras in the Nocturnal-District, tuned to the events of seven years past. Grygorri sifted through his archive in search of a very specific folder. As he waltzed around through the wall-like shelves that filled the center of the room, his bony fingers stroked lightly against passing objects, wiping away dust and decay in their wake. His hands twisted about delicately as if they had minds of their very own, intent on searching for and finding the object of the rat's current objective.
Scanning over the shelves line with hundreds of folders, Grygorri's claws fingertips traced across the sides of the papers in an attempt to single out a very particular one. His vast and impressive collection of documented citizens was very copious, containing files and records on politicians, police officers, crime-lords, doctors, lawyers, and government officials: Virtually anyone of significant influence. Soon enough, Ratsputin found the papers he needed, and placed them on the very same table that supported his cane-sword.
Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, the rat felt a shiver settle down his back-bone as the folder's scent filled his nose with the smell vanilla and mildew.
The vanilla-colored folder was labeled with the name of Nicholas Piberius Wilde: Pinned to the corner of the very first sheet within, which detailed the fox's occupation and personality, a king of diamonds was fashioned on with a single paper-clip. The rat carefully pulled the card out of its hiding place, and kissed it a single time while chuckling lowly to himself.
Putting the item back into its proper place, Ratsputin took to continuing his searching over the traffic cameras. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: The night that Castle Fangpyre had been burned to the ground, and his family along with it. It had taken a lot of effort to acquire this tape, from stealing the footage itself to 'silencing' the employees that had first encountered it at the Transportation Department, but it had all been worth it. Grygorri smiled delicately, and clicked the play button.
On the projector, a clear image could be seen of an orange-colored fox approaching the bat's manor from the south, looking inside the windows before beginning to dump gasoline and other flammable materials across the front porch and walls of the house. Time passed, and the rat watched with intent every second of the recording, from start to finish: He took note of how Vladzotz had momentarily spotted Nick as he tried to flee the arson scene, only for his attention to return to that of one of his children, who could clearly be seen flying from the wreckage of the house, its coat of fluff ablaze with flames of orange and red.
"Oh, now that is malicious..." Ratsputin mumbled to himself, snickering slightly. "You have no idea the pain that you caused, do you, Nicholas?"
As the video continued for some time, the rat quietly watched as Vladzotz's manor burned, thinking over the circumstances behind the event - Being good friends with Mr. Big himself, Ratsputin had always had an easy ear in on whatever sorts of juicy information came his way from Tundra-Town and the criminal activity there. He recalled learning one day of Nick Wilde's former, very brief connection with the Tundra-Town Mafia, in which Mr. Big had ordered the fox to burn down the house of his biggest criminal rival at the time, Vladzotz, to prove his worth. Nick had gone through with the act out of desperation for money, and wound up biting off far more than he could chew. Ratsputin considered it especially devious how Vladzotz had no idea that it was Mr. Big who had orchestrated the entire thing. The rat kept close ties to all of the city's biggest criminal figureheads, and as such, he hoped that Vladzotz would never find out about Big's betrayal, as that would have been bad for business - The last thing the criminal underworld needed was a gang war. Still, Ratsputin figured that if he ever had any reason to blackmail Mr. Big, that that particular piece of information would work wonders in his favor.
But in the end, the rat preferred peace in the criminal underworld over discord - He only used his trove of compromising knowledge when it was beneficial for him.
Grygorri's onyx-black pupils dilated to minute pinpricks as the video recording came to an abrupt end, and another image suddenly broad-casted on the projector board.
The rat let out a low, long laugh, the image on screen nothing short of ironic: Judith Laverne Hopps, posing with Fru Fru's daughter, who bared the same name as the aforementioned rabbit. Grygorri made a mental note to pursue her, since such connections to a mob-boss and district crime-lord could prove to be quite unfortunate, on her part. Mr. Big always had been a careless one, when it came to his own family - Letting his daughter post pictures of her posing with ZPD officers online, just waiting to be used.
Ratsputin stroked his curled beard, thinking over the coming steps that he'd have to take to ensure his victory of the police officers hot on his tail. The rat's beady and calculating eyes darted around the scene of his collection, viewing over the various artifacts and other bits of documentation and evidence that he had acquired over the years.
An idea started to formulate within his mind: Something that would berid him of that vulpine and lapin once and for all... All the while getting him what he wanted most...
"That mayor... So stubborn. Refuses to know her place... Refuses to give in to my demands. But you..." He mumbled, tapping the photograph of Nick Wilde.
He stifled a slight and dry chortle beneath his breath.
"You, Nicholas, are an adversary... But come tomorrow..."
Grygorri reached into one of the pockets in his court-suit, pulling out the one, singular item that he knew would bend the fox to his will: A single, silver-coated family locket.
"You will be an ally."