Author's Note:
After a time way too long, I proudly present A1C4: 'When Backs Turn'.

This late release is mostly due to me having IRL troubles that made me unable to properly focus on TDAP. Furthermore, I had a bit of a motivation low, which was at least partially related to the aforementioned troubles.

I think the wait was worth it, though, as with over 10k words, this is one of my longest chapters to date, and I think the quality will impress, too. Credit goes to my Beta Readers, as detailed below.

Chapter Summary:
Living on the street was never easy. Backs may turn. Nobody was truly one's friend. Others may be sincere, or they may be lying. Everyone used the other for their own personal gain. Why would Judy be any different?

Acknowledgements:
As always, huge thanks to all my beta readers on my Discord:

As always, huge thanks to all my beta readers on my Discord:- Dawnless
- itzmasterz
- Loki
- plank_space
- Pompombojam
- Taberdi
- Toboe
- Vicarious

Wide eyes searched with urgency a room of dim light. Limbs shot straight and locomoted without any kind of coordination until he left his plain white blanket bunched up as his hind paws still kicked. The back of his head collided with the equally plain and white wall, his back flush against it, his paws braced flat to either side of him. When his paw clasped the fur of his chest, a few strands loosened. He startled himself with a yip. Still, he panted. The air in the room was fresh and clear and cool, but it wasn't enough.

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes. He forced a calm breath—and it really had to be forced. He was alright. He was alright. It did not happen. It would not happen. His heart still raced, and his vision blurred that slight bit at the edges. He took hold of his phone on the nightstand, catching it just before it escaped his chokehold. His suspicions were confirmed; it was about a quarter of an hour before 0500. At least he wouldn't be awoken by that pesky alarm that came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Speakers in the ceilings, he guessed.

Nick grasped at himself again—without ripping fur this time—as if he needed that contact to stay tangible. When he relaxed a bit, he flexed his digits without thought... Dull daggers met his gaze. Still he felt her viscera on them. As he swallowed, still he tasted a sea of crimson. He breathed hard as he willed those memories, those other timelines—no, they wouldn't happen! They mustn't!—to vanish. It was in vain. The sheer euphoria of the hunt, of the prey, of the kill... It made him feel every strand of his fur, every particle of dust, every ray of light... or rather the lack thereof. He felt like he had won the lottery, bought himself a fancy car, had a full month's worth of vacation behind him driving in that fancy car and had achieved his life's goals—all that in the span of a few hours. Yet, at the very same time, his stomach felt like giving out, his limbs as if stone, every bone felt broken and mended and broken again. It was as if he wasn't meant to live. It was as if everyone were better off without his kind—without him. The duality of it never really went away. He was a predator.

He contemplated for a moment what it would be like had he never met her. His dreams wouldn't be better—not a lot anyway—they'd just be different. If it wouldn't be that prey, it would be this prey. And if it wasn't that, it was some other he'd seen that day. It wasn't really about them in as much as it was about what happened to them. The things his mind screamed—no begged, pleaded, and even bargained—him to do every second he was around their kind. Just as prey was all the same when it came down to it, so were his own kind. He was not special.

Deep breaths—in and out—blurred the visions that still played behind his eyes to ineligibility; nothing made the thoughts truly vanish—ever. Nonetheless, he was fine. He was in his bed in the ZPA. He was away from her. There were guards at every corner and paramedics in the walls. Nothing could happen. Nothing.

As time passed, the subdued snores of his fellow cadets calmed him more and more, and it was longer still until he regained his sense of time. He exhaled loudly and propped himself up from where he was now slumped against the wall.

Dragging steps were taken as his shoulders hung low. When he entered the other room and stepped on the small stool propped before the basin to make up that little bit of height he missed, he saw himself. He really saw himself. He didn't see Nick; he saw the fox. His muzzle was in a state so that he might as well be holding a big red sign declaring him as a predatory offender; his fur stood every which way, bushing there, ruffled here, pointed hither and rounded thither. He looked how he felt—frightened and savage. Terrified. Water didn't make it any better. As he ran his digits along his throat and the underside of his maw, he felt cold to the very core of his being. It wasn't the water's fault.

He gripped his fur brush from his bag inside the closet beneath the sink. Again he yipped, for a long coat had its pains. Namely, it could clog and knot. As he brushed the sides of his elongated muzzle, his canines protruded from his upper jaw. He grasped both the upper and the lower lip, hiding them from the world. He was proficient at hiding himself, his features, his feelings. Hiding and ignoring didn't truly change things, however. Not for the first time had he wished those gone. He laughed. A dry, resigned laugh it was. Without them, life wouldn't be better, now would it?

When he looked upon his tail, he ran the brush through it just that bit more forcefully, gripping his brush that bit tighter as he ploughed it through the uneven strands. Even that thing... Who could he blame but himself? Had he only been stronger... Had he only been smarter... He knew it was futile. One must accept reality. A crack formed.

Where would he go? What should he do? Was he here out of pity?

No. Change was possible. She defied—had defied—everything that he thought he knew about how prey acted in the brief time they had been together. And while it had been far from the closeness he would allow or expect from one of his own, she was very close for prey standards. If she could do that, why couldn't he change his ways?

He would be lying if he said she didn't fascinate him. He would also be lying if he said he wanted to be her partner on the force. The whole being a police officer thing he wasn't quite sure about either, if he was frank. Guilt at his actions surged up again. No. Something like that would have happened sooner or later to her... it just happened to be him who was the unlucky bastard to show her what predators really were like... what Zootopia really was like. She held up well against Manchas—hell, he had felt more scared than her if his nose was to be trusted—but she hadn't really known the jaguar or seen him turn. Whatever her method of coping or denial, with that moment they had shared, he had broken them both asunder in their own little way.

He was a pane of glass that barely resisted breaking more times than he could count, now finally shattered, unable to mend without dragging his pads through every razor-sharp piece, one by one.

She was a pane of glass that should have shattered long ago; it couldn't have ended any other way.

Before too long, he trotted out of the bathroom and back into their adjoining dorm, sitting down on his bed, smoothing the bunched-up blanket some. At the very brink of opening his laptop, he heard a loud gasp from above him. The bed wobbled as the form atop the mattress shifted.

Max climbed down, stopping mid-climb to stare at him through the bars of the ladder, scratching his shaggy mane with one paw as he held fast with the other. A crazed expression with wide-blown eyes faced him. "Same old?" Nick asked. The huge carnivore made his paws twitch just that tiny bit. Nick wasn't prey, so it wasn't that bad for him, but a lion was a lion. He couldn't imagine how prey—'Judy', his mind oh so helpfully told him—coped. He didn't want to.

"Yeah," Max breathed, closing his eyes, still on the ladder. He shuddered from top to bottom. The lion went to the bathroom to do as Nick did, Rebecca waking minutes later. She was in much the same state as both he himself and Max had been—eyes wide, expression frantic. She screamed in silent agony as he was sure memories of her own replied. Figmentive or real made little difference, for they felt the same within a dream and a while thereafter.

Nick stopped and thought. Not his instincts, not this time. To hell with it. He wasn't who he had been once. As much of a wreck as he was, she shared his fate as they all did. "Rebecca," he told her, his voice flat. She turned around from the bunk opposite him on ground level. She clutched at herself much like he had done, everything about her tense as her paw ran across her long whiskers and the white underside of her maw. A few strands of white fur were at the underside of her muzzle, adding to the white and sierra and black of her face. "It's alright. Nothing happened."

"Nothing can happen," he continued, standing beside her bed. "They'd shoot you unconscious before you could harm anyone here."

"I... She... I... I-I don't want to..." was all she managed.

"Nobody wants to," he comforted. "And you won't." She opened her mouth. "You won't," he repeated.

Max strolled from the bathroom, his sombre gait promoted to an energetic swagger, making him instantly the focus of everyone. In reality, that was just his usual, self-confident stride. When he saw her, however, he crumpled like a sheet of paper.

"Rebecca! Don't beat yourself up." He was by her side in a heartbeat. You are not your instincts, and the fact that you are still here means that you beat them every day."

She was visibly taken aback, literally retreating further toward the wall. "I... I know... but it always feels so... real..." Her breathing slowed as she continued holding her blankets in a vice. "You know how it is. Like... a really small part really likes what's going on, and that just makes me so anxious that maybe one day I can't do it anymore and... No, I am sorry. I know that's how you feel about it as well."

"Everyone feels like that," Nick chimed in.

"They are part of everyone. You can't get rid of them," Max supplied. "But that doesn't mean we can't talk about them. My—"—Max coughed—"I know that talking helps with stuff like that. Wanna be my guest or later, maybe?"

Max extended his paw, which she grasped in much the same way as her blanket. "Maybe later." She looked toward Nick now, too. "Thanks you two. I really needed to hear that."

She stood up and smiled at him, the top of her head not quite as high as his—which is to say about twice Nick's own height. Give or take. Probably give. Thinking about it, give for sure. "You don't need to act like that already," Max told her with a minute frown. "Mr Salad Head is still asleep, and you need some relief whenever you can get it. As much as bio time helps, you want to avoid prey etiquette in the meantime, whenever you can."

As much as he'd roll his eyes at the basic advice any other time, it really was good advice. He smelled a hint of disgruntlement on her as a result of the depreciating nickname, but she soon relaxed her jaws, showing off those rows of pearly whites. Max managed to blend perfectly good advice, insightful wisdom, and an understanding character with a cheeky, boastful personality that one couldn't wait to ship to anywhere but Zootopia. It was as if he were two people in one body.

With that settled, Rebecca soon did the same as Max, who had done the same as Nick.

Minutes later, a loud gasp from across and above startled Nick again. He shifted his attention from Zootube to assess the situation. The whole crew seems to be awake by now. For several more minutes, nothing else was heard, so he continued idly watching and surfing. No stirring, just panting. Sam's scent spoke volumes, however. As soon as it started, the tension in the room skyrocketed—jaws clamped shut, claws were hidden, and happy thoughts thought. Nothing out of the ordinary for them.

Eventually, Sam glanced down, Nick just seeing it from the corner of his eye as he now studied today's schedule—it helped to be prepared. The deer retracted his head like a stretched spring. Nothing happened for quite some time. Just as Nick wanted to call out for Max to get down as the wakeup bell had already run and breakfast had already begun, his silhouette appeared, climbing down the ladder. As so often, he did as if nothing had happened and if he were truly fine and had just had the best sleep of his life as he stared at Nick with a level gaze.

Without further words, Max eventually strolled outside, his orange burly arms crossed in front of his chest as his whiskers bobbed up and down. They followed. At more or less 0530, the cafeteria would be serving for another half an hour.

The Academy being one big superstructure had its perks. It only took them a few minutes to get from building block A, where all the dormitories lay, to building block B, where most of their education took place. The cafeteria was there, too. Thinking about it, they weren't so much buildings or building blocks as just sections of that one big building. Again, it was a superstructure, a conglomeration of hallways, rooms, stairs and elevators all under one roof.

They joined the queue of a mammal at the rectangular machine at the entrance. Nick didn't really pay attention, replying automatically to any questions asked of him.

He stood last in line, staring at the back of Max's blue ZPA shirt. Nick exhaled somewhat audibly and looked at his phone again. Just when he was about to lean to the side to better see what exactly the holdup was, he heard a noise in the distance. At the end of the corridor? Perhaps two corridors away? Eh. They were among the last, anyway. He might as well look and see what happened. "I'll be right back," he told no one in particular.

He heard some more shuffling and then steps. He was approaching a plain corner when it seemed from the noise that the other mammal was just about to round it as well. Nick took a step back to not run into his peer and waited... Step, step, step. Stop. Nick smelled just the faintest bit of fear on the goat. He was pretty sure it was Tyler. Prey. Okay, stand your ground. Let him approach. His fangs were hidden, his shoulders slumped, his mouth tight.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, around the corner stepped a goat. "Hey, Tyler," Nick greeted them. He was clad in the usual blue ZPA shirt with black slacks covering about half his legs. Nick's green slits were at the same level as his brown circles. What Nick lacked, however, was that distinct beard and those two curly horns atop Tyler's head.

"Hey, Nick. What are you doing here?" Tyler asked, his lips turned to a smile. He was mindlessly combing his elongated but thin beard as if to remove something stuck inside that just wouldn't quite come loose.

"You know, just checking out the area. I thought our dorm was the latest."

"Well... yeah, I just... needed a bit longer today... Watered my plants. Wanna get going?"

The billy goat was the usual level of uncomfortable Nick expected from prey while he felt in much of the same boat. Yet, despite this, he didn't really know what to talk about with him. Did he even want to talk? He didn't really like prey, after all. It was long in the past, and now this thing with Judy, but Tyler wasn't responsible for either thing. Still, it was difficult to separate. He thought to remember that Tyler liked to garden. That would prove right as he threw him a bone to not seem like the absolute lunatic that he felt like most of the time. Wait no. Horrible analogy. What was he thinking?

"I didn't know you could have plants in your dorm," Nick lied.

"Oh yes you can," Tyler affirmed with a nod. As long as it doesn't distract too much, anything goes. Small things like that are fine."

"You sure it doesn't distract you too much?" Nick tried in jest.

"Oh, Nick! You know I am punctual. It's just that I woke with the alarm this morning, and my echeverias needed water. Kevin thought it would be funny to hide my water can, and you know I can't just take any can. So, between finding it and getting myself showered and brushed, I ended up a bit too late."

They were still walking. How far did Nick walk? Serendipity, his thoughts were everywhere lately. And what was with that bag anyway? The goat had a small zip bag clamped around his waist. It didn't look like there was a lot in there.

Seemingly having let on his curiosity, Tyler explained. "Oh it's just Eruca vesicaria. Arugula. You know, green, bitter-leafed plant that often goes in salads?"

While he obviously favoured predator dishes, he did eat prey food some of the time. Well, he was an omnivore, after all. Still, nothing beat a good slab of meat or fish... He'd been denied that... Anyway. But Arugula? No idea. A bitter, green plant? Wasn't that all of them?

Tyler sensed this as well and elaborated further by simply opening the zipper and pulling out a handful of healthy-looking arugula leaves. "Freshly harvested this morning. Nothing is easier to grow."

Tyler stopped and held them at one end, and stretched his arm toward Nick.

The leaves trembled in his grip.

Nick made to take them the conventional way but thought better of it immediately. Instead, he placed his hand beneath Tyler's so that he could simply let the leaves fall onto his palm pads. There wasn't really any way to avoid showing his claws, but at least this way their limbs would be further from each other.

He thanked Tyler, who quickly pressed the arm flat to his side, and pocketed his spoils... but not before holding them up to his nose and taking a good whiff. The smell was familiar and quite strong, if not unpleasant, yet he wasn't sure if he'd ever really eaten them. He probably just couldn't connect the taste, the shape, and the smell to each other.

When they approached the cafeteria, Nick let him lead. After he was out of sight, a good stretch and a big yawn did him well now that no prey saw him do it. Soon, he saw Tyler was gone, and he scrutinised the dishes himself—both muzzle-watering. He saw Judy in his mind's eye, and then he saw his own visage reflected on the black of the screen. His digit skidded to the left, selecting the herbivore option. He was an omnivore; he could pivot for at least a bit before his carnivorous desires demanded their toll. One of the dishes certainly made him feel better about himself than the other right then, even if the predator dish didn't actually contain real meat. Another crack.

With tray in paw, Nick navigated the straight angles between the tables with fleeting steps, each having a bit of free space around it, creating a square pattern. The treat he'd gotten himself this time was a stir-fry with onions, bell peppers, tofu—the variant seasoned for prey; not the kind that was shaped and flavoured to taste like meat—and all other sorts of greenery he could only put a guess to now that they were cooked, and meshed and interwoven. Joining his platter was a green-stained glass—green was a calm colour, they always said. Certainly not red, the colour associated with carnivores. Once he had the tray deposited on their table, he just needed to lower the chair, sit atop, and raise it again—all with a nifty little touch-screen-controlled panel at the side.

"...so I told them to quit their bullshit, or I'm not buying!" Max told Rebecca, leaning forward with his arms crossed, donning a smirk that was somehow both tight-mouthed and predatory. That was when he noticed Nick approach their table. "Oh, Foxy,"—he had gotten that insufferable nickname from the drill instructors—" thought you'd never show up. Caught yourself a snack back there, huh?"

"Ma~ax!" Rebecca cautioned, her muzzle tilted downward.

"What...? I just...!" Instead of staring her down, continuing his ramble, he paused. For quite a bit, nothing happened as Nick got comfortable on his seat, if one could ever call him—or anyone in the Academy, for that matter—comfortable. Sam seemed intently focused on his smartphone, eating some of his stir-fry now and again. Then, eventually, Max almost whispered, "Sorry..."

Nick looked about. All his bunk mates' faces were downcast, either eating or contemplating. He cast a quick glance around the room. The scent of fearful prey made his muscles tense and his head cloud. Just that tiny bit. The status quo anywhere outside his home or bio time, but especially jaw-tightening and claw-scraping here with all the close contact. It seemed so normal now as compared to a few months back. That didn't make it any better, though. Faces were strained, grips tight, conversations just ever so stilted and stunted if one paid really close attention and knew what they were looking and listening for. These minor things few but him could pick up, but all of it combined painted an image of black and white, palpable for even the most sleep-deprived minds. It literally hit him like a punch straight on the nose every time he returned to here from outside the facility.

"I did, actually," Nick replied to Max, pulling out the somewhat moist green leaves he had pocketed earlier. Max made a sound of confusion before smirking. At least he had the decency to do it with his muzzle closed this time. "Want some?" Nick addressed as a joke to the lion—with arms far thicker than Nick's thighs—but looking at everyone at the table in turn.

Sam declined—perhaps he didn't like arugula?—while Rebecca took some out of his open palm pads. Max... Max just giggled. "Oh, don't tell me you are turning into them. I knew the whole omnivore business couldn't be sustainable. You are either pred or prey, and there is nothing that you can do about it."

He spoke it with such arrogant confidence. Water in a riverbank. Stones in a valley. This matter seemed to be the same to him. While somewhat right, he was somewhat wrong. There were different kinds of predators, and he was an omnivore.

From what he gathered over his lifetime, all predators could abstain from meat for a time. It was like a credit that eventually demanded repayment. For how long this credit lasted? It depended. Carnivores could hardly abstain, while omnivores and the like had a bit more leeway. When enough time had passed, their instincts and desires were not to be stalled anymore, and they all returned to what felt right—by force if necessary. That nobody wanted.

Supplements were certainly necessary sometime soon after starting, as his kind needed the extra protein in relation to their total calories—which also were higher—to retain their inherently heightened muscle mass compared to prey of similar sizes. Now, explaining that concept to someone who looked like he didn't even have a single item of anything even remotely green in his household would take far too long, even if they didn't interrupt. Further, a quick quip would surely escalate into a stupid discussion.

It was just yet another 'Max moment' as he liked to call them. It was simply easier to just roll one's eyes and move on. Besides, the topic clearly made the prey in the cafeteria uncomfortable. Max had quite the volume even when he talked in what he thought of as a normal cadence.

The predator dish was some sort of spaghetti with 'meatballs' and a sort of mushroom and onion sauce. Rebecca's version just now had some green bits in it as well. She tried to lighten the mood. "So... uh... I've been meaning to ask for a while, but... does anyone know what they'll specialise in already?

"Specialise?" Max repeated almost instantly, looking up just as he placed another mound of pasta he had produced by using his fork and spook inside his muzzle.

"You know, after we graduate. You can educate yourself further and specialise in a certain area. That means more responsibility, of course."

"And a higher bottom line," Max added. Before Rebecca or Sam or he could say anything more, Max continued. "Yup. Now that you mention it, I have thought about it. I am sure my skillset would come in handy in the ZSWAT."

"The Zootopian Special Weapons and Tactics Unit? What quality of yours makes you believe to be an asset to them?" Sam questioned, looking up from his phone. "One's strength alone isn't merit enough even when strength is paramount."

The lion shook his head in irritation, his slightly dark-ish brown mane only half covered the neck-hole of his ZPA shirt, the rest of the fur peeking out above. "It's not just one quality. I mean, what's there not to love about yours truly?"

Sam remained steady eye contact while Rebecca made an audible gagging sound, which Nick almost repeated.

"I'm confident, strong, and I'm not afraid of splitting some skulls to get things done." He seemed to notice the hard stares he got from not only them but from quite a few mammals around them, too. "Hey now. It's just a saying!" he defended. "I've actually read up on some of the toys they get issued."

"But isn't that like really dangerous?" Rebecca asked. "You know, front line and all?"

"I mean... sure. Ain't gonna be a member of the ZSWAT and expect not to get shot at. We might not shoot sharp, but they sure as hell do. At least we have to expect it. When I get sent in, it'll be a hairy situation nine times out of ten. I can't deny that. But I trust the stuff they give us and my platoon mates. So, yeah... I've read up on it a bit. Do you even know what kind of weapons these guards here are carrying?"

"Rifles. Duh. Tranquilisers," Nick butted. The mantra of the ZPD was briefly but very decisively explained to them all pretty soon after joining. Prison sentences in the classical sense were not really done; rehabilitation was their utmost priority. One couldn't really rehabilitate what wasn't around anymore, however. Not even the ZSWAT carried lethal firearms as standard-issue; they were all of non-lethal nature. Of course, lethal weapons did exist, but they were the last resort, requiring all sorts of permissions, training, and a mountain of paperwork beforehand to be employed.

Max continued undeterred, like water flowing from a hilltop. "They ain't just tranq rifles. Oh, baby! I haven't seen the likes of those anywhere else. Some sort of mechanism makes the bullet go lightning-fast. Like, faster than bullets already go. Isn't that crazy? They pierce nearly everything you shoot it at but don't inflict any lasting damage. How is that even possible? I mean, have you seen those videos where they shoot at jello ribcages? I didn't believe it at first either, but not a single drop of blood spilt." He had not seen those videos, and from the reactions of the others, he judged they hadn't either and didn't intend to in the near future.

"And there is some microchip in there, too, apparently, automatically adjusting the amount of tranq fluid released. And speaking of that agent, it's not one of those deprecated ones. When they did trials, they knocked the poor fucks you out in less than two seconds flat! They woke up a day or two later. Two days! Fully unharmed, too. A bit of a bruise, sure, but that's minor."

"That's impressive," Rebecca and Sam breathed as one, with the latter stating it less like a revelation and more like a reiteration of a known fact.

"If you love that rifle so much, why don't you marry it?" Nick joked, smirking. A classic, really, that one.

Max suppressed a mild roar into what sounded like one of the old diesel engines attempting to start. Before he could steer the direction toward Nick—he was sure he was about to do just that—Sam took that possibility, oddly speaking up for once.

"Thinking about it, I may have been wrong. I do see you adding value to the ZSWAT if your enthusiasm correlates to your comprehension during training. You would need to be a bit more well-rounded, too. That is all under the assumption that you do graduate here and then later pass the exams for joining that unit, too." The stag briefly paused. "The ZSWAT is certainly an important part of the ZPD, though not one that should find use all too often in a perfect world."

Max looked startled down at himself, comprehending one point after the other. Moments later, it clicked. "What? I'm perfectly stable. What do you mean?"

"We both know that isn't true, Max. Your behaviour is questionable in the best of times. Some especially worrisome instances come to mind. Your emotional responses may be a bit too impulsive. I don't want to assume anything, but I'd think our teachers have talked to you about this at least once."

Max just grumbled in response. Irritated, he tried to move on. "What are you saying? The thing about not needing the ZSWAT?" Max questioned. "Who else would be dealing with these kinds of situations if not us? Tell me. What will you specialise in?"

"I'm glad that you asked. You see, violent conflict is not something desirable to neither the ZPD or the suspects. This is where I come in. I have thought about it for some time, but I believe my idiosyncrasies have prepared me to be a negotiator. I certainly enjoy debating."

"So you'll go get a nice pizza for the robbers when... whoops, they'll rather keep you as dessert?" Max couldn't stop his bellowing laughter from erupting, bracing one paw on the table while he slapped the other right across and onto his face. More than one set of eyes turn their way in response to one of the largest predators in the room, almost falling from their chair in laughter. Not that the predator in question seemed to notice.

"Max!" Rebecca scolded in subdued anger, her voice low but harsh. "Don't be so insensitive. Do you always have to be this way? There is prey here! One moment you apologise, and the very next you do it again! Seriously. What is wrong with you? Who hurt you?"

Sam, after all his limbs spasmed just faintly as if hit by lightning, cut off the half-formed apology of Max. "No. That doesn't make much sense. I'll be on standby when a situation requires a negotiator. Further, I'd be better qualified to interrogate suspects and, therefore, chosen preferably when one is to be interrogated inside the station. I'll certainly be needed more. That is without doubt.

"Of course... hostage negotiations do take place," he continued, "but I do not personally confront them and deliver what they ask for; this is one of the many responsibilities of the ZSWAT. I merely use my skills to gain empathy and steer the confrontation toward an outcome more favourable to everyone involved.

"Yeah, that's true. But, well... what if they do demand that you deliver the stuff personally?" Rebecca inquired in good faith.

"Well. That would complicate things. I suppose the lead figure on the robber's side would also be a prey mammal?" Sam wondered aloud. "No. Not necessarily." He seemed to be rambling aloud. "A guideline states that predator engages predator and prey engages prey whenever feasible... but... This, of course, extends to this particular situation as well. It would be that way... but... No. But maybe if..." Sam stopped himself, clearing his throat.

"Well," he continued. "I thought about it, and I would reckon this to be the commanding officer's decision. I can not say what would be better; I'd need to be in that scenario, and even then... Engaging means risking the safety of a member of the ZPA—namely, me—but not engaging risks the safety of the hostages and all other mammals on-site."

"That is a lot of responsibility. I mean, imagine if you made the situation worse than better," Rebecca voiced.

Sam simply nodded, his voice taking on an oddly sombre tone. He had this level voice he used for all but a few instances. "That is a possibility."

The stag continued. "What about you, Rebecca? I think there would be a variety of uses for you. You are quite substantial—" At the rather confused but mildly intense stare she gave him, he paused. "I—" He stammered but caught himself. "I don't mean this in a bad way. You have the bulk that is to be expected of a carnivore of your degree while also being less impulsive than your peer." He gestured toward the lion, both confident and as if he feared that paw would be gone at the same time. Max just grunted, looking about. "Further, you possess a profound sense of justice with a matching friendly, if not a bit shy, attitude."

"Uh..." Rebecca worked her mouth soundlessly. That was a pretty sound description of her, Nick had to admit. She could basically do whatever she pleased. He himself wasn't best suited for heavy-labour tasks such as the ones in the ZSWAT, for example. His vertically challenged nature was the reason there. Rebecca, however, was another matter. Similarly to Max, she was easily twice his size with the natural muscles one'd think they'd have, only further expanded through the training they underwent until now. So, while strength and size weren't everything, it did help in a select few tasks.

If Judy was able to take down a rhino—he still wouldn't believe that if it hadn't been shown to him multiple times—however, he could enter the ZSWAT if he really wished. But just because something was possible didn't mean it was practical. His abilities were best utilised elsewhere, just like Judy's. An inaudible sigh escaped him as just a pawful of frames of his memories were projected behind his eyes before he could staunch the flow for a time. The dam of denial would break like clockwork; mentioning her or seeing her made cracks form in the rebar until the whole thing collapsed in on itself. His teeth clenched at the thought of it.

"So?" Sam tried again, seemingly having enough from the boggle-eyed stare Rebecca gave everyone in turn. She hadn't quite expected to be in such a spotlight, having her every quality told to her. "A criminal investigator, perhaps? That would require some of the skillset I'd use as a negotiator, too. Careful observation and cold logic will be principal to us. As opposed to our good friends in the ZWAT, we want situations not to escalate in the first place."

Max gave him a mildly aggravated stare but opted to ignore the remark, emptying his spoon instead, relishing the taste of the warm noodles and the hearty imitation meatballs.

"A detective, you mean?" Rebecca tried. "Yeah. I... have actually thought of that. I mean... if I graduate. I hope I do... But yeah, I think I'm good at gathering information. While officers do kind of everything a bit, detectives really specialise in finding clues and trails. You ask around and gather clues like fur or their smell or pawprints. It's a trail that leads to something greater once you've connected all the details. I love doing that." She continued a bit faster, her paws aflurry. "It goes on and on until I've found them, and then everyone will benefit when they are caught. You know, the process of it is just... like... uh..." Rebecca's ramble suddenly deflated as her smile turned sour and her face flushed white. Well, Nick thought it did; one didn't really see much below her fur of sierra, and black and white stripes.

"You know what you just described?" Max ascertained humorously.

"Max!" she warned. "I know where you are going. Don't."

"You described how we hunt. The two things aren't too separate, now are they? You may say you want to help mammals, and maybe you do, but you live for the hunt," he shot. "All preds do. This whole trying to fit in business is nice and all, but you can't keep denying who and what you are. Not everything you do is out of the kindness of your heart, even if you think it is." His voice wasn't so much malicious as just certain. "We are more alike than you think, Becky," Max said at last, showing his teeth just for a moment. "Preds hunt. That's what we do. That's where your motivation is coming from. We all enjoy the freedom and the chase in bio time. Letting loose. Getting those muscles pumping. Not holding back. For once in our life. It's only natural to seek more of it."

Sam gripped his spoon a bit tighter while Rebecca, at this point, just rubbed her forehead in annoyance. "Max. You are just right enough that I can't dismiss what you are saying, but please. There is prey here. I promise you if you don't stop... I don't know what I'll do..."

Max lifted his eyebrows all of a sudden, his gaze flicking left and right. He looked like a kit caught with their paw in the cookie jar, unaware of what had just left his mouth in the last few minutes. Again, he mumbled something akin to an apology, which was quickly dismissed.

Sam stepped in, but not quite in the way Nick had expected. "A... hunt?" The word seemed to cling to his tongue. "It does s-seem like a hunt if you phrase it that way."

Sam paused.

"Speaking of, I did intend to bring it up eventually... I do adore the stir-fry today, but... What are your favourite dishes? Does that tofu really taste like... meat? Does... it compensate for it? Don't you m-miss it?"

Nick gulped. This was certainly nothing to discuss with prey at the table. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity that pushed the stag to this point? Stoicism? Sam was pretty stoic when it came down to it.

Rebecca, meanwhile, fixed Max with a cautioning expression. Max, in turn, had a smile that contorted to a devilish smirk, a small glint of white showing through for all to see.

No one said anything. Sam, for some reason, seemed intent on seeing the topic through to the end despite his body being about as stiff as that spaghetti would have been before cooking. Tiger and Lion were still locked in their respective expressions of contemptuous caution toward Max and mischievous malice toward Sam.

"S-so?" Sam tried again. Sweat ran down the front of his face, matting the brown fur on the way down as even his antlers trembled. His body and his scent said one thing, but his mouth spoke another. "I mean... we do have to know about our counterparts, and since the teacher designated for that hasn't shown themselves... I just thought... Uhm..." Sam always was a bit on the stoic side, but perhaps he had... bitten off more than he could chew... and now regretted every word, trying to somehow stall or get out of it. Noticing this, Rebecca stepped in.

"I... I don't think I— we should... uh..." Rebecca hesitated.

Nick just avoided eye contact. There was a time and a place for jest, and this was not it.

In polar opposite, Max seemed to feel like he was currently the star of his own TV show, ready to jump onto a stage of vibrant lights and thick fog. He was showmaster, songwriter, and comedian. He was law, jurisdiction, and execution. "You really wanna know?" he ascertained.

"Y-y-yes," Sam stammered, continuing nonetheless.

As Max filled his lungs, Rebecca was already prepared to pounce, but just then, Max intervened. "Ah, ah ah, Kitty. He asked for it. I'm just doing what I'm supposed to."

Leaning across the table, he began to speak, almost huskily so. "It's not even a comparison. The real stuff.. oh fuck, how I miss the real stuff... What I'd do for one bite. You know. Me and my pals once got together. We scoured all of Zootopia for the best meat. All the butcheries and pred markets around.

"I'll tell you just like I told them: Nothing. Beats. Raw. Beef. Do you know what the taste of blood tells you about the state of—?"

"Enough!" Rebecca got out of her chair, cupped a shoulder blade each in a palm and yanked Max straight out of his own and straight upright, her claws digging in. She spun him around as he growled and hissed in pain. Snarling, they were face to face, muzzle to muzzle, nose to nose. Slit eyes peered into slit eyes. Just about when he tried to speak, her 'Get-the-fuck-out-of-here-before-I-maul-you' stare made him do just that, briskly picking up his tray, depositing it, and then heading out of the room without pause as pair after pair of eyes followed him. Rebecca glanced at Nick in particular before holding her paw to her forehead. Her knees got weak for a second as she snarled all but silently.

She followed closely behind Max but walked in a different direction.

The uninitiated might file it away as a strong headache, and indeed it was, but Nick knew it was the sign of heavy instinctual exertion. Rebecca and Max might not be a predator and a prey, but they were two large carnivores. Situations like these weren't all too dissimilar with a territorial dispute. So, while it wasn't as bad as a predator and prey encounter, it certainly demanded plenty of willpower not to end up a snarling beast on all four paws, ripping and tearing at the other with no sane mind between them. Granted, he was by no means a professional in the field of predator and prey psychology, but that's what seemed the most logical explanation to him.

Nick was surprised neither of them had been shot in the process; the sentries must have judged the situation to still be in control. The whole debacle did have casualties, however...

He looked at the broken mess of a stag who clearly regretted anything and everything that had just happened. He tried comforting him, but he just raised his hand, demanding space and silence. With few options left and his plate empty, Nick did as the other predators had done.

He exited the room, leaving tense predators, terrified prey, and sweating sentries behind.

During this time, most were either in the C section of the ZPA or in their dorms, enjoying themselves until class started later; the halls were empty. Some walls were bare, while others were trophy-lined, and still others held paintings or depictions of various historical events, artefacts, districts, or important mammals in and out of Zootopia having done this or that that apparently made them noteworthy. He already knew that Judy's presence in those images wasn't really something one had to search for long, so he circumvented it all by simply not looking. Another crack appeared. He knew the halls by now; staring to the front and slightly down suited him just well, his paws in his pockets.

When he, at last, was back in his dorm for the remainder of their allotted free time, he found no one to be there. That wasn't entirely unexpected. As much as he tried, he couldn't think clearly or sit still. His thoughts and his heart were racing, and his legs took steps of their very own. He ended up wandering the halls yet again. Another crack appeared.

He made what felt like the third circuit around the extensive corridors of the first floor when he heard a loud grunting from an open door beside him. He was yet again in the C-Building; the signs on the right to each door told him as much.

'C-104 | Gym,' the sign beside the door in question read.

The groaning and grunting got louder until he turned the corner and saw the cause. Rebecca.

The feline was absolutely pounding a red punching bag, fists a whirlwind as they sent it flying again and again and again. There was speed but also finesse there. She stood at the far corner, atop a thin black mat serving as a cushion. The activity wasn't a substitute for bio time, but it certainly helped her normal frustrations.

The room was square, most of it covered with mats, with a rather large wrestling ring in the epicentre that one'd see in basically every movie about wrestling. Around it, against the barren white walls, stood various racks of assorted weight-training equipment such as barbells, dumbells, kettlebells and the aforementioned punching bag. Most were in the one-size-fits-all category of medium to large mammals, which was to say it was rather unwieldy, with most of the weights unpractically heavy for anything smaller than a wolf. There was some larger equipment there for the megafauna, as well as smaller equipment better suited for individuals such as himself and... Judy. Another crack. A pipe burst. A beam of frozen steel shattered. Still, it held. He did not let on.

When she turned her head 45° towards him, and her gaze met his, she punched the bag one last time with even more vigour than before, the bag almost colliding with the ceiling. The feline approached him with a crazed expression. She stooped, slits facing slits as she panted loudly, resting her right paw on a rope of the wrestling ring, slumping slightly against it.

She gathered herself and stood up again, her chest heaving, striding through the room. One or two more mammals were here. Whether there had been more before, he didn't know, but anyone with a nose half as good as his own could smell the cold fury coming of her in waves. Hell, one didn't need to smell to realise that.

"That fucking idiot!" It was clear who she meant. "You know I'm not usually like this, Nick, but that... that... predator... Do you even realise how he makes us look?"

Nick remained silent, nodding. She was obviously not done.

"How can he talk about a topic like that in front of Sam? How can that fucking pred continue acting how he does? What the hell is up with him? He does something so... wrong... but then apologises, but then he does it all over again as if he didn't even know he was doing it! Like, didn't he go through basic pred/prey education in elementary?! I could bite his head clean off. I could—"

She stood still for a while, still breathing hard. He approached with somewhat small steps. Nick reached up and respectfully planted his paw on her back. She seemed to calm by the gesture, her heaving chest gradually diminishing its labour.

"Seriously, what is up with him? You don't like him, do you? We may not be the same species, but he makes it worse as much for me as he does for you."

"Well, you know I don't like him either. Something is wrong with the guy. I know a thing or two about mammals, and something shady is going on with him."

"You don't know? Don't you know everything?"

"I may know some things, but I am not sure about him." It really was a puzzle, and a small part of him was quite upset over not solving the enigma that was Max.

"Mhm," she tutted in resignation. Soon after, the pounding resumed as Nick was left standing there. He made his way over to a metal bench right beside a dumbbell rack that was twice as tall as he was, fitted with equipment of equal size disparity. The ones for his size were right across the room.

He tried at it again, if only to distract him from other, more serious threats looming. Max was simple when he came down to it. He was a proud predator. There were a few like him who almost revelled in being what they were, completely opposing the vast majority of all other preds who thought differently. Still, he had instinct issues, and Nick was certain that he was just as afraid as them deep down. There wasn't anything wrong with being proud of being a predator, if Nick was honest, but Max certainly went a big step too far. They had powerful muscles, unrelenting jaws, sensible noses, and sharp eyes. Everything made them the perfect killing machines to those they now needed and desperately wanted to get along with.

In times of old, these traits may have been beneficial, and they still were if used for good, but while the mindset changed thanks to sentience, the instincts and the want to hurt and kill remained buried deep inside, unable to be rooted out. What made the conscious side wretch pleased the savage side, and vice versa. These traits now served to make their lives hell both for themselves and for others. All those features that had elevated them to the top of the food chain now served to make them the most depressed and downtrodden faction living on Animalia. Granted, that wasn't saying much with only two factions, and prey was certainly not too far behind in experiencing existential dread on a daily basis, but still.

Their true nature was to be hidden in all but very few places. Letting some steam off by being more... proud... of what they were certainly was beneficial, and Nick didn't doubt that was one reason as to why Max was still kicking around. Regardless, he trod a fine line with that strategy, even finer than the rest of them. More displays of predatory behaviour resulted in more opportunities for things to very suddenly go sideways. Without helping factors, it was unlikely for Max to go savage, but the chance was never zero. And sometimes, those factors were just there, and so the chance was much higher than zero.

That was how he acted, and Nick was pretty certain he read that right. He had a bit of a clue as to why he was doing it. Maybe this strategy of his was deliberate to save on bio time, or maybe this was all coincidental.

Regardless, what made him scratch his head the most was why Max pivoted on the spot sometimes. He went ahead and played his proud predator agenda only to then act like he wasn't even aware of what he was doing, immediately expressing regret and apologising. He didn't always do so, but often he did, and in the times he didn't, he seemed like he just barely stopped himself and fully intended to.

It's been a few months by now, and still, Max was a puzzle to him. At least as long as Nick was thinking about this, he wasn't thinking about the puzzle that was his life. His life.

Predators didn't want to hurt, but he would never in his life forget the utter elation at having her boiling blood trickle, then stream, then pour inside his muzzle, down his throat, and slowly pool all around him. His shirt had been a mess of crimson as he pinned her to the floor, his sharp claws making her efforts to escape fruitless. They were made to take lives. Lives they no longer wanted to take. Lives that, if taken, would make them take their own lives.

He couldn't imagine what scoring a kill of a sentient prey would do to him... to one of his kind. Another crack formed. Yet another widened. He ran to the bathroom even as Rebecca shouted for him.

He felt sick to the very core, memories fractured. Eventually, he came to with the ring of the bell. After wiping the fetid substance from his maw and flushing the rest, he stepped out of the bathroom and got ready for the upcoming lesson.

"Alright. Settle down. Settle down," Mr Icolos told them. Among the many species that lived in Zootopia, Vicunas were certainly not the most common; Nick had seen one only a handful of times at most. The herbivore had a coat of light brown with a bit of white peeking above his white-and-green plaid shirt, just at the base of his elongated neck. He was about Nick's size and half on top. Icolos stood there, hooves behind his back, as if brandishing a spatula... or about to give a speech—that boded well.

As conversations died down and eyes gathered on him, he began.

"You've been here for nearly three months now. Three more and a bit of pocket change, and you'll have graduated. Your education doesn't end there, of course. We at the ZPA just prepared you with what is necessary to be a basic officer—in theory. As much as I believe in our practical and environmental exercises, nothing will truly prepare you for what you'll have to face.

"The job is messy, difficult, and unpredictable..." His voice hitched. "What I mean to say is that, as you may or may not know, after you graduate, you'll get a senior officer of the opposite party assigned to you. They know the ins and outs of the job, and if you have half a mind—and I hope that all who graduate do—you'll listen to them as if they were the law. This lesson is less of a lesson but more of a Q&A about all of that."

Several paws and hooves were raised, but Nick was sure one question burned brightest among them all. "Yes?" Mr Icolos addressed an albino wolf whom Nick knew as Jack. His fur was wholly white, with his eyes holding a twinge of red. "Sir, you said something about the opposite party? You don't mean predator and prey, do you?"

"Jack, of course I do. I had already discussed with you all that patrols consist of one predator and one prey. We are eating, sleeping, and studying here together in preparation for that. Many, many good cadets have left because of this, but if they can't take it now, they sure as hell won't be able to endure a shift next to their partner."

As the questions continued, Nick just sat there, flabbergasted. He wasn't what one would call slow on the uptake, but now that Mr Icolos had stated it so clearly, he couldn't look over it anymore. He may not have said much or anything new for that matter, but it was as if he had given him the last puzzle piece that he had yearned for. Or rather, he had shed new light on a piece he couldn't quite fit. Why was she so invested in a nobody? Why was she so invested in a random pred that she blackmailed out of necessity and may or may not have had somewhat of a decent time—as much as that was even possible between the two parties, even given her nigh-immunity to instinctual issues she had had at the time—before having what he guessed was the most traumatic event of her life?

He knew now. He had suspected it from the start, but he had tried not to see it, to deny it—her, the pit; all of it—even. He would need a senior officer once he graduated. Who was it that recruited him? Right, Judy.

Another crack appeared. It was a gestalt of duct tape—an amalgamation. A writhing mass of blood-soaked appendages, bent and broken and mended and bent and broken and mended again, that shaped a barrier of denial.

Connections were now visible, old gears lost their rust and dust and set into motion, and everything was clear as daylight. It had seemed odd from the very start, this whole thing. Too many coincidences. She was innocent. Too innocent. Nobody could be this innocent. Now he knew, and it only made him boil the hotter it had taken this long for him to realise.

Judy was still a meter maid not because of anything else but because there was no partner for her in precinct one, at least not one who was free for long enough to let her get the necessary field experience. She didn't actually care for him; she just cared about getting a predator on board so she could climb the career ladder. And to think he had pitied her. As sorry—that was a vast understatement—as Nick still couldn't help but feel about what he had done, he sure as hell wouldn't be conned by that dumb bunny again and be left behind once he was no longer needed.

Again. Crack. Groan. Tear. Splinter. Rip.

He had intended to talk to her about it—maybe she could have strengthened his resolve to either leave or stay—though in his heart of hearts, he had known that he couldn't return to his previous ways, but now it was a different matter entirely. She could continue handing out tickets until her device gave up for all he cared. He wasn't someone's plaything—especially not a prey's plaything. And to think he had pitied her.

He heard other cadets asking questions, but Nick couldn't care less about question or answer. He knew everything now. And he would make sure she knew, too. Oh, she would know. She would.

In the short break they had between the two classes, Nick marched up and down the halls. Empty as they were, everybody in their dorms or in some room in the C building meant for free time. He didn't have much to dim his thoughts. Mammals were wise enough not to speak to him. His deliberate gait and his tense posture must have given it away.

When the next class came, he just sat through it. He listened just enough to contribute now and again so as not to seem too suspicious. Now, it was just lunch to get through. He'd call her right up, and she better answer, too. Then, he'd finally leave this place behind him…

All of them arrived as one and chose their respective dishes. Not much time had passed, and all had their own trays before them with their beverage of choice—water was highly encouraged, and so thus, it was favoured by most, too.

The whole room was oddly quiet. Some conversation was passed around, but definitely not the usual amount. Their table was no different; Sam minded his own business while Rebecca stared daggers at Max, who looked more than mildly apologetic. It wasn't something anybody but him could pick up on, however. Being able to differentiate such mild facial differences didn't come from anything but his previous line of work. Of course, with his slumped shoulders and idle stirring of his soup that was made to taste vaguely of chicken—quite mediocrely so, Nick found—everyone could see that Max was pensive. The severity of said pensiveness only Nick could truly make out, however.

His soup bowl emptied more and more as he did like Sam; he browsed his phone for something to distract himself while he boiled inside.

He heard the faintest sound out of the ordinary. His nose flexed. A scent changed. Multiple actually. First, there was fear replaced by anger, replaced by resignation. Then, a wave of unadulterated terror sent him reeling.

In just that moment, spoon stopped before his muzzle; he saw the commotion and dropped the silverware. The broth stained his shirt. There was mayhem.

"NO! NO! I CANT! GET AWAY FRRR..." A Jaguar at table 12 fell to all four paws, any further sane word lost in a growl that sent all eyes to him. His fur bristled, his canines were barred, and his gaze spelt madness. Nick's heart beat but once and everything was over.

Curtains of iron were plastered over the windows as the room was bathed in deeply red light. Slitted pupils jerked in time with manic limbs. A fountain of crimson erupted as the jaguar pounced the first thing his wild eyes could fix—a gazelle. There was no thought, there was no emotion, there was no love, there was no hatred. There was predator and prey. Claws rent flesh, canines set and pressed and pierced a jugular.

Screams and shouts were made as the walls were lined with cadets, arms clutched at the walls, their muzzles downcast in sheer terror, their paws atremble on their faces.

One mammal stood amidst the carnage—Nick.

Several darts stuck out from the jaguar. When had they been fired? When had they struck? All Nick knew was that the vast predator lay atop his prey, a still-snarling, panting, salivating mess. A pool of blood and saliva spread from this mammal's mark. No. This... thing was no longer part of society. It lift his muzzle, his pupils staring into Nick's just before it collapsed back down again. Those lids closed. Crack.

Was that how he had looked to her? Was that what would happen to her with him? Was it inevitable for prey to end this way? Was it inevitable for predator to end this way? He fled. Crack. Rend. Split. Dismember.

For hours, the corridors were filled with silence, not a living soul to be found. Those who weren't mortified inside their dorms chose to enact their penance as far away as they could.

The cleanup crew did their duty. Medical specialists tended to the victim. Officers and Detectives questioned witnesses. A report was broadcast to his phone.

The jaguar had been overconfident, thinking they wouldn't need bio time yet. The gazelle bent down, turning her back to pick up their phone.

Crack. A diamond broke. The dam burst asunder.

Reeling, gasping, he stood on a bridge, taken over the edge into madness. The phone dialled. Nick grated, "Judy?!"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

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