Chapter 10: Questioning
Wolford let out a long sigh as he stared at his computer monitor, and more specifically, at the email he was reading from Agent Skye. And more specifically, the apology tacked on at the very end asking for some results to be delivered as soon as possible. As in, today.
It was already late in the day and the wolf was looking forward to going home and relaxing.
But it wasn't like he joined the police force to be lazy. So with a heavy heart, and already knowing the answer, he opened his mouth to ask the simple question. "Hey, Dahlia? Think we got time to go and look into this?"
Next to him, Fangmeyer was looking at her own copy of the document. "Considering that both Count and Trigger are here in the station, I don't see why we can't do this now." With a few keystrokes, she brought up the report for the day that she was working on. Making sure to save her progress, she muttered, "I know Bogo's gonna chew us about not turning this in today, but there's no way that I am going to finish this and get Agent Skye's task here done today. But, well, he did tell us that helping her was, I quote him, 'of higher priority', so if he starts to complain, I hope that I can convince to give us some slack."
Wolford blinked. "You hope?"
"Yeah, well, what can I say? You know how Bogo can get sometimes, James."
Another sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, let's get this thing over with. Hopefully it won't take too long." He stood up, Fangmeyer also rising from her seat next to him. Then he realized something. "Actually, do we actually know if the two are here now? What where they doing anyways that Bogo would approve of?"
Fangmeyer grinned and even chuckled a bit. "Word from Clawhauser is that Bogo sent them off to the academy to test their physical capabilities. It's the off season for new recruits anyways, so there was no schedule conflicts."
Wolford also grinned despite wincing in empathy. "Major Friedkin?" He asked.
"The one and only." The tiger's face grew serious. "All right, let's go get them for real this time." She looked around the cubical office they were in. "I doubt they're in here without us noticing," she commented, "but that only leaves the rest of the station to look for..." Her eyes fell on a specific cubical where, while she couldn't see the occupants inside, she could tell they were there from the movement of shadows cast by the various light sources to its walls. "...But Hopps and Wilde might know. Come on."
Leading her partner over, Fangmeyer knocked on the flimsy wall to announce their presence. "Hopps? Wilde? Do either of you know where we might find the two pilots? We need them for some… work for Bogo." Inside the cubical, the fox and bunny were looking quite remembered and red at the ears for some reason. The sight caused Fangmeyer to wonder if she would have walked in on a interesting sight if she didn't knock first.
"Two..? Oh, Count and Trigger, yeah, we know where they are!" Judy looked rather grateful to answer the question and not stay on the topic of why she was looking so flustered. "They- actually, I stand corrected. I know where they were, not where they are now." She shrugged and gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, guess you'll need to find them the hard way."
"Actually, I know where they are," Nick said instead, his eyes half closed in his usual carefree attitude. "Go look down at the tech lab. Bogo has the techies rig up a set of computers that have very limited access to the outside world, and are constantly monitored, but it beats not having anything.. You should be able to find them there."
Wolford lifted an eyebrow at the fox. "And you know this how..?" Heck, even Judy was looking at her partner as though he had just conjured up a most amazing of magic tricks.
Nick simply grinned back, obviously delighted at being at the center of the attention. "'Cause I'm Nick Wilde!" he replied smugly.
Letting out an irritated huff at his antics, Fangmeyer turned to leave, nudging Wolford to follow her. "Yeah, yeah, I get it," she grumbled, "you don't want us to know where you got the info. Sure, be like that if you want. And, thanks, I guess, for the tip. Come, James." With a flick of her tail, the tiger and wolf left the cubical.
Judy waited for a bit of time to pass to make sure that the two officers were out of earshot before slowly rotating her seat to face her partner. "So Nick, how did you find that out?"
Nick grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Just got lucky, believe it or not. Was in the area when Bogo made his request for the computer setup, and then it was just a matter of guessing where the two might be at if they are being looked for. Not here, obviously, so it narrows the options down."
Judy returned the grin. "And they won't be down in the station's gymn. Not after a day with Friedkin."
The fox nodded his head in thought. "Huh, wonder how many times either one of them 'died'."
At the mention of the academy main instructor's fondness for declaring trainees as 'dead' for failing a task, Judy's grin widened as she raised a finger. "Actually, Bogo forwarded their performance evaluation to me. Turns out they didn't even do half bad." She swiveled her chair back to face her computer screen and promptly had the report up on in. "See? Take a look..."
Downstairs in the tech lab and server room, officers Fangmeyer and Wolford walked through the set of double doors separating the section from the rest of the precinct, being hit by a wave of cool air as they crossed the doors.
"Ooh, this place is air conditioned down to low," Wolford commented, "I like it."
"That's because the lower temperatures allow the servers to run better," Fangmeyer answered. "But it would cost much more to keep the rest of the building at the same temperatures. Plus, not all mammals like this colder air. Not everyone have nice warm fur to keep them warm like you."
Wolford grinned. "You mean like you? I still remember that one day when you were complaining about Savanna Central being cold."
Fangmeyer grumbled as she tried to glare at him, but failing. "I'm a tiger, James. We like our humid, hot climates. Not cold and dry like you wolves." She waved him off to stop him from saying something else. "Anyways, we have a job to do. Let's go grab them."
Looking around the small room, there wasn't much to see. Just a bunch of computers blinking and humming away as they did their work, colored wires going all over the place. Neither Count nor Trigger were visible anywhere, though. "Guess they are inside one of those closets," Fangmeyer commented, "let's go and see."
Checking the nearest of the even smaller rooms, most likely build in fact as a storage closet, they found Count inside. The computer he was behind appeared to be playing a video of what looked like the standard ZNN online news, while the deer himself was barely paying any attention. He was leaning back in his seat, colored string on either side of him. While his arms were hidden because he was facing away from them, it looked like... Was he sewing?
With a cough, Fangmeyer knocked on the side of the wall to grab Count's attention. As soon as he realized that he wasn't alone, Count just about fell out of his chair as he tried to hide the evidence of what he was doing by sitting on it.
"What do you want?" he hissed in anger, or was it embarrassment?
Fangmeyer grinned at the deer. "I didn't know you knitted," she said instead of answering. "No need to hide it around here. It's rather impressive, actually. Not many here can do that."
Count didn't look convinced. "I asked you what are you doing here? Bogo told us we can stay down here for as long as we want. Well, as long as we behaved, so is that why you are down here?"
Fangmeyer wondered if something happened that she should be aware about if that was what Count was implying. But if the Chief didn't send them down here because of that, she also doubted there was anything of that sort. "No, we're down here because we, if you would be so kind, could actually use your help. Trigger's as well."
Count stared at the two officers as they stared back in silence. "No shit," he finally replied, "you're actually being serious. Fangmeyer and Wolford nodded in confirmation. Letting out a grin, Count killed his computer and gathered his knitted work, stuffing it all in his pockets. "Can't let Trigger see this, he might get funny ideas," he muttered, "where is the dumbass, anyways? Still holed up in his closet?"
"You're the first one we found," Fangmeyer answered, "but yes, we need both. So let's go and get Trigger." Walking around over to the second of the two storage rooms, she stopped in surprise at what she found inside.
The compute monitor was blank, with its status light indicating idle. A headphone wire snaked away from the computer itself to the base of the chair. On it, the coyote himself was all curled up, fast asleep, tail covering his nose. For some reason, he was still wearing his ZPD issued hat, though the shirt was one of Wolford's donated ones. The headphones he wore over his ears looked ready to fall off, a gentle thumping of music emanating from an exposed driver.
Fangmeyer let out a wicket grin as she quietly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. As silently as possible, she took a couple of pictures of the sleeping canine, trying to get the best angle in the narrow space.
Wolford peaked around the wall, curious at what was happening inside. "Hey, Dahlia, what's taking you so lo-" he trailed off when he saw what she was doing, his own mouth curling into a grin. "Daww, will you look at that," he whispered, glancing at Fangmeyer's phone to look at the pictures she took. "That's really mean, Dahlia. So, you gonna send them up to Clawhauser? Or better yet, to Hopps?" Fangmeyer grinned back and nodded, but placed the phone back in her pocket.
The chatter got Count's attention, who had to lean around the two officers to take a look inside. Eyes traveling down to his fellow pilot, he covered his mouth with a hoof as he started to laugh. Nudging his way past Wolford and Fangmeyer, he started to poke Trigger awake. "Hey, Dumbass, wakey wakey!"
The coyote groaned and opened his eyes, twitching at Count's prodding. "Count! Stop! I'm awake!" he complained, "what time is it, anyways?" Uncurling himself up, he let out a long yawn as he sat up in the chair, only to notice that everyone else were watching him with amused faces. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. What do you want?" He reached down, and upon finding the power button the computer, held it down until the device turned itself off.
Fangmeyer watched the action curiously, wondering if Trigger did that on purpose as to not show what was on the screen. No matter, it wasn't like they wouldn't be able to look at what he was doing on there.
"Cops here want our help," Count answered with a smug grin.
"Help? With what?" Trigger asked.
"Didn't say," Count replied with a quick shrug. "But they said both of us."
Fangmeyer cleared her throat. "We have a serious of questions we want to ask you about."
Trigger leaned back into his seat. "About what?"
Fangmeyer glanced briefly at her partner. He gave her a quick nod to tell her that she had his backing for what she would say. Besides, it wasn't like these two pilots weren't going to find out what was going on once they actually will start the questioning. "It's about something we found the other day," she answered, "we think the two of you might have some information that can help us out."
A look of worry flashed across the coyote's face before Trigger fought it off. "I- sure, I guess. Not like we're doing anything productive down here. Well, I wasn't. Don't know about Count."
Wolford winked at the deer. "Nah, he wasn't too productive either." Count glared back while stuffing his arms into his pockets. The end of one dark blue string hanging out was otherwise the only evidence of what he was doing.
"Boys," Fangmeyer interrupted, "we came down here for a reason. Count, Trigger, if you'll follow us, we have work to do."
Taking the initiative, she exited the small storage place and made sure that the others were following her. She headed towards the interrogation rooms, grateful that Precinct One had two of them. As long as no one else was using them, she and Wolford would be able to ask the questions they needed and be done with it all relatively quickly. Arriving at the location, she was relieved to find both rooms unoccupied.
Stopping by the door to the first interrogation room, she looked behind her at the other three with her. "Wolford, you take..." her gave shifted between the two pilots. "Yeah, take Count. I'll handle Trigger." She noted how the coyote's ears fell in discouragement when she said this, causing her curiosity to peak as to the cause. "I'll be right back, need to check up on some things first."
Fangmeyer went into the control room for the surveillance equipment for the interrogation rooms and double and triple checked that both video and audio recording were disabled. Agent Winters had specifically requested not to leave a paper trail for now. Or data trail, as it were.
Returning to where the others were waiting, she nodded at Wolford. "Okay, we're good to go," she told her partner. "Trigger, if you don't mind, this shouldn't take too long."
Stepping inside, she pulled the less comfortable of the two chairs for herself and the more cushioned one for Trigger. Even as he sat down, she couldn't help but notice that he was now definitely nervous. A part of Fangmeyer was telling her that she was just being paranoid, but her cop senses were reminding her of all the times she had to deal with questioning preps who were guilty and knew it. Forcing the feelings aside, she brought her phone out and completed the rather tedious process of getting Skye's encrypted message to show up. While she was doing this, she looked up to see Trigger fidgeting nervously in his seat. "Relax, we're just here to get your opinion on some things. Ask a few questions." she said with a smile, hoping to get him to calm down at least somewhat. It didn't seem to work, causing her smile to falter. "Trigger, what's wrong?"
He glanced over to her, his eyes locking with hers, before suddenly finding the table between them very interesting. "N-nothing's wrong," he said lamely. "It's nothing. Just nothing."
Fangmeyer looked down at her phone, still showing the questions she wanted to ask. There was no way that Trigger could know what was on the screen, but she was also certain that Skye would understand if she wrote back that he wasn't comfortable with the questioning. Letting out a sigh, she looked back up at the nervous coyote. "Listen, if you aren't comfortable with this, we don't have to-"
"No, it's fine. Let's get it over with," Trigger said suddenly, interrupting her. "I... Forget it. What were the questions you wanted to ask?"
Fangmeyer had read the list enough times to remember the first several questions off the top of her head. "Okay then, if that's what you want. Can you tell me..."
In the other interrogation room, Wolford looked down at his question list. "Have you ever encountered Urusian combat drones?" he asked.
Count stared back. "Sure, all the time. Not that they compare at all to us real pilots. What about them?"
Fangmeyer wasn't expecting Trigger's answer to be so casual. "What do you mean 'they aren't a big deal'? How often have you run into them?"
Trigger looked back at her. "The first time I got into combat with their drones was on;y on my second mission in the war. That's how early. After the initial shock of suddenly finding yourself in contested airspace in what was moments before localized air superiority, they don't fly as well as piloted aircraft. Just doesn't compare at all."
He let out a sigh. "I shouldn't say that they aren't a bid deal, to be honest. One-one-one, there's no question on who will win. Any pilot who knows how not to crash into the ground will defeat a single drone. What they have going for them is sheer numbers." As he spoke, he began to gently tap on the table. "Most mammals think that drones are inherently superior because they are so much more agile. But in reality, they aren't really. A mammal can withstand some nine to ten G's with some difficulty. A lot of mammals think that without a pilot, that a machine won't be limited to such forces. That a drone can pull ten, twenty G's without issue, but the matter of a fact is that they are just as limited." Trigger's drumming stopped. "A piloted aircraft is only made to handle ten G's at most, just as much as a pilot. Make it stringer, then it becomes heavier. That's fuel you can't carry, or weapons you have to leave behind. So why not make the aircraft handle the same forces as the pilot can, and leave the leftover power and weight for fuel and ordnance? Well, same for drones." He let out a small grin. "They tend to be made much smaller than other aircraft, so they need all the room they can get for fuel and weapons, not to over-strengthen their various components. So they tend to me only just as maneuverable as a piloted plane. Maybe a bit more maneuverable, but not by much. And they also tend to fly rather poorly on top of that."
As Trigger told his explanation, Fangmeyer was getting a nasty feeling that he was almost trying to convince himself about the drone's limitations as much as telling her about their abilities.
Wolford watched Count's expression carefully. "So you're not concerned about going up against these drones?"
Count huffed in amusement. "Why should I? They're as dumb as bricks, carry only a few easily evaded missiles, and have such a poor endurance that it makes horny teenagers blush. The only thing going for them is that they are small and cheap."
"Uh..." Wolford wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to Count's less then enthusiastic response. He received a smug grin for his confusion. "Just… just how often did you have to fly against the drones?"
"I lost track," Count replied simply. "We were told that the Urusians are using drones to increase the performance of their air force, but I get the feeling that they use pilots to add to their drone army instead. Try to attack Urusia directly? Drones. Attack something else? More drones. Heck, try to defend yourself from an Urusian attack and you can bet a drone force will show up. It's a wonder the Urusians are still using those things with how many they lost."
Wolford wasn't entirely convinced that Count was paining a truly accurate picture with his description. "But at what cost? I do remember hearing in the news about how Ocelotia was complaining very loudly about the usage of the drones. Asking about whether or not they violated international wartime laws. If those things are just scrap metal, as you put it, why complain about them?"
Trigger looked saddened by the question he was given. "As much as they aren't that useful now, they were very effective early on in the war," he admitted to Fangmeyer. At first, we didn't expect them, nor did we know how to deal with them. After fighting off Urusian fighters, expending all of your ammo, and tired yourself out in the mad dogfights, those things show up… A good number of us were shot down like that. Just as you think that the fight is over and you can finally go home, you find yourself in yet another fight for your life, except this time the enemy doesn't tire out the more you turn with them. Just you do." He fell quiet, then waved feebly for the next question.
Fangmeyer looked at her list. "As far as you can tell, are the drones piloted?"
"You mean by someone on the ground? I think so... At least when we were near Urusian soil. Other times? Can't prove it, but I can bet a lot that the drones were flying by software only."
Next question, not the next one down on the list, but the one that would fit the best with the direction the conversation was going. Fangmeyer scanned the list, but didn't really need it. "You mention flying against the drones all the time, but also how they have only a short range. How do they get brought over to where you fly at?"
Count smiled back at Wolford, enjoying being the one with the information. "I told you: They are building loads of those things. Ship 'em out everywhere and send up those that just happen to be in the area where we fly to. Doesn't take much guesswork to know that when your enemy is trying to destroy your long range forces, you should send something to protect them. You can almost say that we do all the work for the Urusians."
Trigger paused for a moment to further elaborate on his answer. "As for how the drones get used offensively, the Urusians are using two very large… well, for a lack of a better term, flying aircraft carriers. You won't believe how big they are. We call them Arsenal Birds, uh, you might have heard of them in the news, seen some pictures even. Basically impossible to take out, and are filled to the brim with drones. Crew-less, too. The whole thing is robotized. Can't get anywhere close to anything when one of those things is in the area. For even further reach, the Urusians have a simple trick." He spread his arms out. "What's the best way to send anything large and heavy to any part of the globe? Pack it into your humble shipping container and send it away via cargo ship."
This was the part Fangmeyer was looking for. While Agent Skye had asked that they don't explicitly mention the containers to Trigger or Count, the topic was fair game once the pilots brought it up. Leaning forward in her seat, her expression turned serious. "Trigger, what I'm about to tell you, you may not repeat to anyone else," she warned sternly. "Got it? Good. The other day, an Urusian cargo ship accidentally unloaded a container into our port. That container held a drone inside of it."
Count blinked, but didn't look like he cared. "So what did you do with it?" he asked simply. "We'll shoot it down once it arrives to wherever it will go. Or it can be your problem if you let it. Your dock and all. MQ-99s are easy to deal with. They're the smallest and weakest drones the Urusians use, but they are the only thing to fit inside a shipping box. Especially if there's only one, I wouldn't be worried about it."
Wolford was feeling that perhaps he was getting enough of Count's carefree attitude. It was hard enough dealing with it from Wilde on some days, and now he wasn't looking for more from someone else. "You don't seem very concerned about this, do you?" he finally asked.
"I don't know," Count leaned back in his chair. "Should I be? Never was before." He winked back at Wolford. "Say, you wouldn't have any pictures of that drone of yours, would you?"
"As a matter of fact, I have." The officer leaned down to his bag that he had left beneath the table and pulled out several pages that showed the scans. He had doubted until now that he would need them, but since Count offered, why not? "None of this leaves this room, you remember that, right?"
Count nodded. "Sure thing. Here, lemme take a look." When the scans were moved over to him, he pointed at a part of the drone. "Yeah, see here? That's the flight computer. This is the part that..."
"...I hate going up against them," Trigger admitted. "Taking them out is easy, sure. But you still have to deal with all the missiles they send in your direction, and, they get rather predictable and dull… I guess I prefer fighting aircraft that have someone inside of them, you know?"
Fangmeyer shook her head. "No, Trigger, I can't say that I know," she answered. "Do you really prefer that, though? Prefer potentially killing someone just because you find it more 'exciting' or something?" She barely reacted when her last question earned her a growl from Trigger, who instantly leaned forward, pointing at her.
"Don't-!" He hissed at her, fury in his eyes. "Don't you dare try to make me out to be some kind of… psychopath! If you think I go up there to murder others, then you're wrong! I-" he froze, slowly leaning back and mumbling something to himself as he was deep in thought.
Fangmeyer waited patiently for him.
"Three times," Trigger said eventually, "three times they came and removed all of the things of my ce- bunk-mates. Do you know how it feels? To return from a mission to find the bed next to yours once again empty?" He let out a small groan, pulling back on his ears with both of his paws. "Doesn't matter what the mission outcome was, what better way to tell you that you fucked up? That I fucked up!"
The tiger felt a pang of sympathy at how defeated the coyote looked.
"As annoying as it gets when someone is badgering on and on when you're just trying to fall asleep is… the silence of an empty bed next to you is so much worse… And then what? Flying up to destroy more drones does what? Cost the Urusians some money? At least I know that when I shoot down one of their pilots, that I can make at least someone feel what they did to me." He let out another growl, though this time it wasn't directed at anyone in particular. "Damn it, how much I want this stupid war to end! But not before… not before I can go up one more time and get the ones who killed my friends." He looked up at Fangmeyer, his eyes noticeably more wet than before. "And if that makes me a monster… then so be it."
Fangmeyer glanced down at the questions list, which now felt much less appropriate. "Trigger-" she began.
"Shit, I'm sorry," Trigger interrupted, "don't know what came over me. Guess Count is right, I really am just a dumb coyote."
She let out a small smile of sympathy. "Sometimes we don't know how much we bottle up inside of us until long after the event has passed," she said, "I'm a cop. We've all seen it before." She placed the phone back in her pocket. "I think we're done with that for today. While it wasn't what I expected, you've been of great help, thank you."
When Trigger didn't reply, she decided to try and change subjects. "You know, Hopps sent me an email not too long ago. It's the results of the testing you and Count did at the academy. You really impressed Major Friedkin, which I will be the first to say is not easy. Both of you impressed her."
Trigger simply shrugged at the news.
"There was no mention of you shocking yourself, is it just me or are you getting better at avoiding it?" Fangmeyer continued, only to earn herself a snort of amusement from Trigger.
"We didn't have to wear those collars," he explained, "ZPD territory, remember?" He then even managed to grin back at her. "You know, if us two humble pilots were able to impress the head instructor, it really makes me worried about the standards around here."
Fangmeyer didn't feel insulted by his comment. If anything, she was glad that he was able to get his mind away from whatever he was troubling him just moments ago, even if it was at the ZPD's expense. Still, she wasn't going to let his jest go without a fight. "Well, the exact words were, and I quote, 'both pilots demonstrated acceptable performance and physical ability across the broad spectrum of tests conducted', end quote. Although..." She grinned slightly back at Trigger. "If Friedkin is anything like what she was when I was at the academy, then that description is the highest praise you will get out of her."
Trigger simply hummed in agreement.
"… and finally, that there is the rocket to launch the whole thing high up enough into the air so that the engine can take over." Count concluded with his explanation. "And there you go, a fully combat ready drone in a box! Quite the impressive package, I would say, only made worse by their horrible flight abilities. At the end of the day, if you need something done, send a pilot. Like me."
Wolford had to take a few moments to process all of the information he was given. Unfortunately for him, what Count had just explained to him was far too technical and advanced for his cop training and education. "Hey, Count, but if asked to, would you mind repeating all of that to Agent Savage when he comes back? I don't think I'll be able to repeat all of that as well as you just described it."
Count shrugged lamely. "Sure, I can, but you'll want to ask Trigger for that instead," he answered.
"Why? You sure knew everything well enough," Wolford countered. "It's not a big deal to ask Trigger to elaborate, but what makes you say that he knows more?"
"Because I only repeated what I heard from Trigger too many times back at the Four-Four-Four. He's the one who actually knows it all." The deer pointed at the scans again. "You know that joke, the one that say how you need a university education to fly a plane but only a secondary school one to fix planes?"
Wolford shook his head. "Can't say I have, but go on."
Count chuckled. "It's the same for all pilots, even civilians. If you know any airliner pilots, ask them and they will tell you. Anyways, the point is..." he fell quiet and actually looked around the room as though looking to see if anyone might be listening in. "Just a friendly warning, but if you let it slip that I said this, I will hurt you really bad, understood?"
"Uh, sure, but what's the big secret?"
"The point is that Trigger is easily a top contender for being the smartest mammal in this building." Count concluded in a low voice.
Wolford smiled. "Well that's not what I was expecting. What makes you say that?"
Count didn't look amused at the wolf's smile. "You can wipe that smirk off your muzzle for one thing," he said, "but why do I say that? Because I happen to hold a degree in philosophy." He glared when Wolford actually started to chuckle. "You. Shut up. But as for Trigger, he not only 'just' holds a degree, he also happens to have a master's degree. In aeronautical engineering." This time it was Count's turn to smirk at the dumbfounded look Wolford gave him.
"An M.S. in that? No way!"
"Yes way. I saw the records myself, thanks to an opportunistic hacker who just happened to have a habit of looking into the files of all new transfers to Four-Four-Four. Also explains his somewhat older age despite being complete rookie fresh out of fighter school when the war started. So as I was saying, you want to get into the gritty details of how those drones work, ask him. That's his area of expertise. He was always the one to give that lecture I just gave to the new guys when they would show up."
Wolford was still smiling as he shook his head. "Wow, I can't believe he has that. Must have been really hard work." He looked back at Count. "Okay, okay, so I won't tell the others about how you actually said something nice about Trigger. But then one thing I don't understand, if he's so smart, why do you insist on calling him 'dumbass' all the time?"
Count snorted in amusement. "Come on now! You've seen him. Those book-smarts of his didn't translate over to street-smarts, that's for sure. If he wasn't a combat pilot then I would have had no issues calling him a nerd, but unfortunately, he's a bit too physically fit and holds a too high of a combat body-count for that to qualify. Still a dumbass though."
"Okay, okay! I get it, geez!"
Fangmeyer watched Trigger carefully. "I have just one last question," she said breaking the silence that fell between the two of them. "What was it on the computer that you didn't want us to see? I'm asking now because I know Bogo will insist that we look into it."
Trigger looked back, then let out a long sigh. "There's no escaping it, is there?" he asked. "It's… something personal."
"Look, if it's something-" Fangmeyer felt the tips of her ears warm up in embarrassment, "-of that sort of nature, we'll all understand."
For several moments, Trigger just stared back at her with a confused expression. "Oh, it's..." he glanced down as he tried to muffle a sudden laugh. "No, it's nothing like that," he explained hurriedly before letting out another long sigh, his previously amused demeanor changing into one of longing. "It was a map. A place not too far away from here that I would really like to go to. Point Hind Seashore, if you heard of it. But I don't want to get my hopes up... There's no way your chief will allow me to leave the city. So I settled for the next best thing and looked up some aerial photographs of the area. Doesn't actually come even close to physically being there, but I doubt I'll ever get the chance to visit again."
Fangmeyer remembered Trigger mentioning how he used to live near Zootopia. "You can always try talking to the chief and ask. The worse thing that can happen is that he will say 'no'."
Trigger waved her off. "And he'll be a moron to say 'yes', forget it!" He stood up from his chair. "You asked what I was doing and I told you. Now if you don't mind, I'm tired and want to go to bed."
"But it's still really early. Don't you want to at least eat dinner first?"
The coyote waved in his step. "I'm not hungry," he replied lamely. Fangmeyer didn't believe him for a moment.
With a sigh of her own, she stood up and walked over to him. "Listen, Trigger, I know you're still upset, and I don't blame you. Look, I'm sorry for letting the conversation go the way it did, I didn't mean for it to go there. I really did mean to ask you about your knowledge on the drones and that was it. Here, let me make it up to you. Join James and I for dinner after we'll be done with our work. Heck, let's invite Hopps and Wilde to join us as well. Count too, if you'll prefer."
Trigger even managed to smile back. "Thanks, Fangmeyer, but I think I'll pass," he answered. "I'm sure I'll be able to scrounge up something from the cafeteria here."
Instead of walking to the door, he sat back down on the chair. "You know, I'm not going to pretend like I didn't mean what I told you. About wanting to go up and purposefully try to kill someone. For revenge? I meant every word of it. And I know… I know that I shouldn't be thinking that way, but I'm not going to lie to you about it either," he stared at the table in front of him gloomily. "Hopps will have such a fit if she ever finds out."
Fangmeyer placed one of her paws on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. "I'm sure she would at least try to understand," she said gently. "The offer still stands – why don't we all have dinner together somewhere? Relax and unwind?"
The coyote looked back at her before wiping his eyes with an arm. "Okay, fine," he said, to which Fangmeyer smiled in reply. "But just this once!"
