Identity Crisis

Jack opened his eyes and took in his dark room. He sat up without a hint of grogginess and glanced at his clock: 4:15 A.M. The high pitched chirping of crickets continued just out his window. Yet again I beat the clock, he thought. A pleasant breeze snuck through the open window nearest his bed and rushed into his well-furnished room. He stood up and stretched enthusiastically, stretching his toes and digging them into the floor enjoying the tingling sensation of relief that bounced on his muscles. He slowly walked through his dark home to the bathroom, urged by a full bladder. The walls of his home hummed with energy. It was one of the many security features he had installed.

He glanced at the mirror above his bathroom sink and mused on how to maintain secrecy while getting closer to Big's contacts. He couldn't just buddy up to known criminals given his status and position. He was too public and too well known even amongst the politically ignorant. What if the media got wind of his actions? How quickly would the public turn on him? Will his superiors come down on him? It would be incredibly awkward for those who continued to support him and his work in the M.I.C. He weighed the risks of getting dirty with liars, killers, and thieves. Then he shook off the thoughts as he opened his bottle of mouthwash.

"Come on, Jack. There is an official city gathering later today. Keep your head together..." The Mayor would be present. He expected it to be a boring event where suits shook hands and smiled then went back to their respective holes and accomplished nothing.

He fought the urge to snarl at his reflection. How did it come to this? What changed over all these years working as a Lead Investigative Official for overseas Zootopian affairs? In his six years of service, who did he really help? Nothing he did felt like it had any significant positive impact. All he ever heard for years after every accomplished mission was some demagoguery by another suit during some public gathering. Never has he seen the face or been in the presence of anyone that he rescued long after a mission was done. He has hunted mammal traffickers, poachers, crime lords and anarchists across several continents. All he could remember were the sounds of chaos. The running from one enemy and the chasing down of another. The long court proceedings and complex cultural standards that shaped the laws of the different nations.

The brief glimpse of a smile or a nod from someone who realized Jack was there to help were the only things that brought him comfort. But did that actually make a difference in the long run? Were those lives truly any better? He never knew. He wondered if all he did was provide them with nothing more than a second wind before the next round of suffering.

I could save a life, but if that life remains under a corrupt and incompetent government, how is that person ever truly safe? He let a forlorn sigh escape him. "I'm not what they say I am." Returning to the thought of how to conceal his identity, Jack looked at his facial features and overall toned body in the mirror. He paid attention to his stripes, his long ears, short muzzle, and flat slender shape. He traced the contours of his body with his eyes and a finger.

I need an alias. A mask, he thought. An idea suddenly struck as he turned his head. He noticed its oval shape. There were a few mammals with similar body features he could take advantage of. The first thought was a squirrel. They have similarly shaped heads but shorter ears. He could disguise himself as a squirrel. And knowing his line of work, he didn't have to settle for some cheap costume. He knew some people who could do the job. But before he could bother any close contacts that could help, he first needed raw materials.

"Yes, after the event today, I'm going shopping..."

Councilors, economists, officials with various titles, and the wealthy elite including Judge Hilo gathered at the Sahara Sand Hall overseen by Mayor Lionheart and his assistant Bellwether. Judge Hilo was a wolf and an impartial judge. He was a favorite of Chief Bogo's. The Sahara Sand Hall was Zootopia's second of three locations where city officials would meet publicly to encourage political activism among Zootopians and to update them on the various happenings around the city.

Jack blended into the crowd, preferring to stay near the taller mammals to shield himself from the insatiable photographers looking to snap the latest picture for a stupid fluff piece. Among the boring politicians, he was treated like a celebrity. Tonight, he had little patience for photography. He shook hands here and there and nodded politely. But real partnership went beyond handshakes and smiles. He could feel the awkwardness around him, especially among the different species present. Jack observed how many mammals approached others of a different species. The most he saw done was a handshake and a nod supported by a fake smile. But they quickly retreated back to their own clans, as Jack liked to call them. They nursed their drinks and picked at their foods.

Apathy as usual. Lost in thought, the words of his constituents buzzed in his head only half heard,

"Jack." He turned his gaze to a female fox addressing him, "You should speak to the crowd about our new budget for the ZPD." Wide-eyed with the realization he was supposed to speak, he hurried to the lectern placed at the front of the large room.

"Excuse me," he began. The room slowly quieted. He didn't have the motivation to speak and believed that his low energy could be felt through the room. When he heard the snapping of a picture being taken, he turned to the photographer who broke the newborn silence and shouted, "Knock it off!" The room burst into murmurs and even a few giggles. Jack started again, "Now, I am pleased to report that the ZPD will receive a seven percent increase in funds for the coming quarter. Zootopia's economy has strengthened these past three months, and we have relegated the extra funds to long-neglected city services."

" It is through your donations and the continued support of good citizens that we have prospered this year. Mayor Lionheart will provide more details on how we can continue in this positive direction. Thank you for your votes, your support and faith in us. These new funds should help the ZPD acquire much needed new equipment and training to provide officers with the latest tools to continue their dominance over the ever-changing face of crime in our city. Thank you."

As Jack hurriedly left the podium, a sudden tug on his arm forced his attention back its source. He stared at the fox.

"Hey. You have to be more careful. Don't shout at the audience members like that." Jack avoided her gaze and snatched his arm back,

"I have a lot on my mind. Excuse me." With his job of being a decoration for politicians only half complete, he walked out of the Sahara Sand Hall. He was sure to get many angry messages from partners still attending the event. And Jack planned to ignore them all. He looked around the streets of the Sahara.

"How am I going to find these materials I need?" He thumped a foot rapidly on the stone steps leading to the Hall. He remembered Frank, an old partner of his from the MIC. Jack picked up his phone. Fortunately, there came a response,

"Hello, Jack?"

"Frank. Good to hear from you. Listen, I was wondering if you knew anybody around Zootopia that could help with finding good quality materials like latex, rubber and some fabrics. But it needs to be someone private. This is for a tight-lipped job. Personal." Frank paused as he thought about several people he has met through his work. Names and faces flashed through his mind like a deck of cards quickly being shuffled.

"I'm drawing a blank on names. I hear there is a shop in Savanna, but I am not sure about the location. Maybe ask around a bit? Or wander a little. You might run into the shop."

"Thank you. I'll do that." Jack quickly hung up, not wanting to let the conversation continue. He hurried to the train station and boarded the Savanna express.