Chapter Summary

I figured I did Judy, so why not Nick now. Might make it a thing, see how the fine officers of the ZPD wreak bloody havoc when they must set their minds to it...

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Kelly Briner was a otter in her senior year of high school, and she worked at shitty Kit's Sports Chalet in a shitty strip mall for shitty money so she could have her own cell phone and data plan. Her overly PC counselors at school called her creative, but with dark fur dye, deathly motifs, and a four studs in her face, even her parents understood she was a goth. She vaped on the job, and stood there with bored indifference. All the norms just shitting away their lives, doing shitty unimportant shit, that didn't need anyone to do while she shitted away her life in this dead end shit job where no one from corporate fucking cared. Her manager, Jeff, didn't fucking care. That she barely really kept the register's area in order. The retard short bus riding Tiger was smart enough not to need minding when the restocking at to be done. But fuck Jeff, he spent all day in the back looking at gross out porn.

What a wonderful family establishment this was.

So it was like that, she just wasted her day, ringing up the bullshit charges. Fat ass kids that got hundred dollar kicks but would never really use them, their moms blind to the whole fucking fake dreams they had. Roided up jerks that probably broke another set of weights, all pimply faced with shrunken gonads and shit. Dead beat dads that thought some new hockey gear and snowboarding crap would make up for lost time, who paid in cash and dressed in thrift store trash. More and more sob stories for the pile.

A wonderful fucking day.

Bengi Bahara was a old panther, when he was seventeen he was the only male of recruit-able age that was literate in his little jungle village, he could read Scriptures because the missionary came and he was the only one interested. They made him sergeant for that, when the old colonialist masters needed troops for the War. He saw something so wondrous among the death and carnage, he saw life. He did not know what sulfate powder was, or morphine, or any of the other wonders were. In War he met his wife, who cared for him when he himself needed those wonders. Loving Dula, who carried for him, who gave him the plasma and rum. Who loved him so, who took his name and who bore him many cubs. He became a pharmacist because of her, she who taught him so much so he could bring these wonders to everyone. She who brought him to her homeland, Zootopia...who was so proud when he opened Bahara Pharmacy for her.

Dula was gone now, but he still his cubs, now all grown and with cubs of their own...he still had this place. Which survived all coming eras, decades of strife and change. This little place stood unchanged, from the first few years he got off that train carriage with her, to now when all these new wonders kept appearing. Bengi Bahara did Toola's land a service, providing them what would fix their ills.

The medicines and tonics that were like magic in his youth, the gadgets and gizmos that made even his life, with his grey fur so much more comfortable. From aspirin to zoloft, he had it all. From ankle braces to pin prick blood tests.

He gave Zootopia the means to treat their ills, from the sickly young babes that needed their antibiotics to the tired laborers who needed new back and neck braces and some things to refill their first aid kits.

It was a wonderful day.

Little Heat was a bundle of laughs, literally. No one really knew what the short round fellow or gal was, given they were always bundled up in the Tundra Town cold. Heat was definitely not a native to the cold, given the triple layers and honest to god boots he wore. Cracking those little heating pads like they were candy. Little Heat was a animal who could get things for a brother, be they big or small. Whether you needed a clean ID with the new helios or a crate of knock of DVDs, Little Heat was your main mammal. Though, oh, if you crossed him, you'd find yourself frozen stiff among snow sculptures. There were rules for this sort of thing, big stuff you called a burner at the corner, little stuff you called the burner at Loco's. Real stuff, you used that dark net website with that new fangled Tor shit. Untraceable, paid in HumpCoin, was a new fucking world, and he didn't even have to leave his chair out on the corner. Playing dominoes with some of the reliable mammals of the area.

Guys that got farmed out work, who were reliable and trusted. No snitches here.

What a new fucking world, where you could order some bone juice and rubbers and introductions for the best of the Arctic Vix's girls from the comfort of your home. Where you could get some fine twenty year old 'Nac for your party delivered same day with the blood washed off. Where a old beater with clean plates and a crapy ass .25 in the glove box will be left for you under a overpass for the low, low price of 3Gs of HC.

What a wonderful day to be alive.

Carnelian Inc. was doing good, it was fine and healthy, and it reported a two percent gain this quarter. Really, they could have called it twenty, it all would have been well. Larry Hornic was a deer living the dream, one of the pack set. A deer running with the wolves and the lemmings. There was a reason Wolves ran Wall Street. He grew up with private schools, and giving parents, who only wished for him to succeed. Succeed he did, he got his Masters, his Majors, and Minors. Did his time as the coffee peon, and now he was a mammal who had peons of his own. Sure, eggs had to be broken, things stepped on, but it was all for the goal of the almighty dollar. Some new associates and partners took some getting used to, business school didn't really prepare him for this set, but it was all good. Full of white powder, and gains, and so much money he might as well been printing it.

Larry was a deer that put in his dues, and so he was, in the back seat of his town car, putting in work as his new friends called.

"So, urm, right. It got taken care of? The, urm, troublesome suite?" Larry smiled as he poured himself a little drink from the mini bar at his side, his driver already putting up the privacy wall.

Can't testify to what you didn't witness.

"Good good, was a bit worried there, about the-yeah, the thing." Larry nodded, so many new words and terms, a hot new set of buzz words to learn.

"Though, right. About our, new competitors, do...do I have anything to worry about?" Did he? He was behind the scenes, money mammal, folks like him didn't get involved in the nitty gritty.

"No? Oh...okay...well, glad that's the case. Right, should have the latest set of transfers done by the weekend. Would you like to join me for a drink afterwards?" Larry offered as was courtesy, though he winced as he pulled the phone from his ear.

Sometimes he hated the fact his new partners were so uncouth.

"I will take that as a no? Okay. Sure. I'll call you on Sunday. Congratulations, you've gotten yourself some prime farmland my friend." Larry snapped the burner flip phone closed, it was a drag he couldn't use a blackberry at least. It was no iCarrot, but still. Was a bit lame, using these cheap things. And so wasteful too, he'd have to throw this one out after this weekend and wait for a new one to be biked over.

Didn't matter though, what's a little looking behind the times in face of a seven figure payout?

Larry sipped his whiskey as he turned to look out his window, the Zootopia night illuminating only him and his moving castle, the deserted streets a fine place to do this sort of fixing.

It was the beginning of a wonderful d-

The big shiny Benz, a masterpiece of overseas clock work branding crumbled like a tin can. All crumble zones, and aluminum. It would protect its passengers much better than the ancient steel Detrot box that slammed into it going a whopping 70mph going down hill. The big steel beast plowed through the Benz like it was tissue paper, a tin toy blown over by a cub with a tantrum. Over and over it went, stopping as it jammed itself into a alley mouth. The airbag deployed with a delayed bomph, but with a neck brace, snout guard, full body padding, hockey helmet, and seatbelt, what would have been a crippling crash merely turned into a punch drunk stumble. There was no time to feel humbled over aches and pains, get out and do what you came here to do.

Ski mask under the helmet, in case any jam cams saw. Big poofy coat and sky pants and boots to hide the paws and tail. Keep hands concealed in pockets. Deer buck moaning, groaning, pop him in the face twice and dump the mag into his chest. Always double glove so you can toss the piece. Climb over the wreak, get into the alley, there's going to be a Metro Utilities access a block away.

It was time to make the getaway, disappear the evidence, and get home for a long hot soak in the tub.

Wonderful day to get started...