Chapter Text
Judy Hopps, March 2018, Zootopia
A birdsong was chirping smoothly in the brisk Zootopian sunrise, and the melody caught my ears. I let out a small yawn, cueing Nick to flip his flat body and cancel the melody. We’ve been married for a month and received a detective promotion, so the new apartment was a logical choice.
Slick turned off the alarm, so I hopped out of bed and went to the bathroom. My thin legs were extended so that my face could be visible in the room’s mirror. The dominant paw got hold of a purple toothbrush, with my other paw aiming a toothpaste tube at it. As I scrubbed the brush, tinted green suds bubbled.
A small glob of spit halted my swabbing, and the rinsing began. When that was over, I scrunched up my legs and left the bathroom to prepare some coffee. The machine was from Nick and was brought here when we moved in. It was a Kangarig, composed of cardstock in a shade of gray, sitting on our kitchen top.
“Morning, Carrots,” Nick said, wearing a green t-shirt and felt pants.
“Morning, Slick,” I replied to Nick, glancing at his fluffy bedroom fur. I’d want to pat him, but not right now.
“There’s still quiche leftovers in there,” I noted, carrying two latte mugs.
“Nah, we’re having waffles. Blueberry,” Nick replied, opening up the freezer.
Gray paws set the mugs on the island table, and Nick took two waffles out of the bag. He put them in a porcelain-tinted toaster, plugged it, and pulled down the lever.
“Nick, I’m starting to notice that you’ve let your fur grow out lately, and to be honest, your new ponytail’s cute,” I disclosed his appearance.
“I can’t call you that, but I haven’t had this look since high school. That was when I was more…open. Now that I broke the ice with my parents and yours at the reception, I’m still changing in here,” he acknowledged, left paw on his chest.
“You’re more pattable,” I remarked, drinking the latte in my paw. “Do you want to drink yours?”
Two waffles made a small leap from the toaster, and he unplugged the machine. Nick placed each waffle, poured syrup over them, and handed me a plate. I took out two tinfoil forks and passed one out to Nick, as we analyzed his work and took a bite.
***
“Since the reception, I haven’t seen Wolford lately. What’s up with him?” I asked Nick, both of us in uniform, as we walked to a subway station.
“A few weeks ago, before roll call, I remember that Bogo ordered a moment of silence for Fangmeyer’s passing, right?” Nick replied.
“Yeah,” I answered solemnly.
“When Fangmeyer was alive, she’d been more overt with her relationship with Wolford. At our reception, he’d said that they had been dating for some time now,” Nick added.
“So, he’s grieving?” I asked.
“I think so, and it's hitting harder for him. They’ve been close like we are now,” Nick answered.
A pedestrian crossing caught my eye, painted white by a flat brush. It contrasted the terracotta street's shade with glazed yellow lines down the center. Cars of varying sizes passed by till the lights flashed red. The raised paw morphed into a walking mammal
I scurried across the walk, Nick in parallel to my posture. We made a left turn to the station entrance, possessing the standard copper green foil guardrails and Art Deco globe lamps. Herd Street was typed on the black sign, with the round E Line icon next to it.
Herd Street station’s interior was standard for the Zootopia Metro’s other underground stops. Collaged walls, foil turnstiles, and gray sandpaper platforms with yellow tape on the edges were the cave’s structure. Dynamic sounds filled the rail-laid cavern, some harmonious, others ambient. Our uptown train’s arrival served as the encore, consisting of tinfoil railcars of a newer model with LED signage on some windows.
The vehicle came to a halt, and its doors opened. Other mammals left while we entered. With my flat body partially in the train, my eyes were focused on Kii, a cheetah, like Clawhauser, but slimmer. She lacked glasses and wore a police uniform not unlike mine, unifying the three of us.
I waved to the spotted feline, and she waved back, sitting on one of the railcar’s seats. A tenor voice spoke, “This is an E Line Local, bound for the Rainforest District. Watch for closing doors.”
Doors closed on command, and the train embarked rapidly. Window views were blurred in parallel, and my paw had the urge to grip a pawrail rail tight. Nick grabbed another pawrail adjacent to mine, us feeling the vehicles’ rush under the city.
“This is Lionheart Avenue. Connections are the A Line,” the PA spoke. The doors slid open as Nick, Kii, and I left the train. The interior of Lionheart Avenue was similar to Herd Street, but the platform pair wasn’t adjacent to the collage walls. Instead, they were between the tracks, and all four of them were exposed.
I tried to follow Nick in the flat and fuzzy crowd, while Kii went her own way out. Holding another pawrail, I walked into the station’s mezzanine. Nick followed in suit, and we headed straight into a tinfoil turnstile set. As we made a left to an exit, I let the fresh sunlight touch my fluffy paint.
***
Precinct 1’s bullpen was designed with larger mammals in mind because they didn’t expect small mammals like Nick or me to join the force. After the outcome of the missing mammals case, demand proliferated, and our actions with the reptile case fortified it further. Unsurprisingly, renovations had to be made, and Bogo had to relocate roll calls to the lobby in the meantime.
The result was that the room was slightly larger, as tables for megafauna were placed near the back. Newer tables for smaller mammals like the dream team were placed closer to the front. His blackboards were replaced by whiteboards, including one he bought when renovations were underway. Finally, the podium was moved to the new center of the room.
I felt his bulky, soft presence; roll call was ready.
“Grizzby?” Bogo asked.
“Here,” I heard from a white wolf.
“Not you, Grizzoli,” Bogo replied. “Where’s Grizzby?”
“Present,” he answered.
“Dillon?”
“Here,” he said in a nasal voice.
“Cattano?”
“Here,” Cattano replied.
“Grana?”
Clark responded with inaudible squeaks, but his partner clarified that as a 'here.'
“Pennington?”
“Present,” Francine trumpeted.
“H-Both Wildes?” the chief said, correcting himself.
“Here,” I replied, and Nick subsequently.
“Wolford? Are you present?” Bogo asked.
“He’s here,” Delegato replied. “He still needs some time to recover.”
“You’ve been through the wringer already, but if you need help, then get it,” Bogo advised. It’s seldom that we’d see him be soft, as the only other time the bull warmed up was when Clawhauser announced ticket reservations to a Gazelle concert.
“Mead, Hartley, you two earned yourselves another warden shift, dismissed,” Bogo stated.
“Cattano, you know the drill. Subway duty, and you’re with Grizzoli,” he added.
“High five, half n’ half!” Cattano exclaimed.
“Dismissed!” he yelled.
“Wildes, continue the Wishing Shard investigation, and leave,” Bogo remarked.
The locker rooms, like the bullpen, were expanded to accommodate more officers. Each unit’s size varied more greatly; some were smaller than others. Our lockers were stacked on top of each other, both identically bearing the surname of Wilde. Given our height, it’s obvious which is which.
“Say, Fluff, where do you wanna go for dinner?” Nick asked.
“Maybe that one place Nibbles suggested, the floating riverside grille?” I answered.
Finishing up with our belongings from our lockers, I gave a glance at Wolford. All he was asking for was a hug.
“Judy? It’s okay, I’m fine,” he stammered.
“No, you’re not,” I clarified.
“Carrots, we have to go now!” Nick exclaimed, my response releasing the wolf.
***
Nick was interrogating Garry (wolf), while a raccoon in the elevator shaft was my only companion. It was the perfect place to give out a pitch, because the ringtail donned in a cork coat was killing time, mulling over the details of her planner.
“24th Floor,” the PA announced, unveiling the skyline blocked before. The next instinct was to follow the ringtail.
Her office was a major improvement compared to Bellwether’s, now converted into a closet. Hues of green diffused the room, and a nameplate with “Riky Lotwis” was inscribed. A laptop sat on an actual desk, and two chairs clearly meant for larger mammals fortified the verdant eminence.
“Take a seat, Mrs Wilde, or should I call you Mrs Hopps?” Riky asked.
“Either one is fine,” I replied, taking a seat on one of the large chairs.
“I’m just gonna call you by your maiden name,” Riky answered, turning her laptop to reveal security footage.
I focused on the monochromatic scenes of a winged sheep near the vault where the Wishing Shard was contained. Two wolves, the same ones that Slick and I met at the asylum, were guarding the entrance. The sheep had the appearance of a small ewe, arguing with a darker-furred wolf briefly. Her body was crumpled, and she rammed him violently against the door.
The darker wolf sat slumped, almost lifeless. Blood pooled from his muzzle, mildly staining the floor beneath him. The ewe pulled out a bolt cutter and unlocked the door. Alarms shrieked in the night as she flew out. Her hooves owned the crystal. A lighter-furred wolf called their phone, howled, and carried their collapsed colleague out.
Suddenly, the office’s door swung open, revealing a mildly disheveled Nick holding a cellophane bag. “Fluff! I’ve got a new headline!”
“Take a seat, umm… Mr Wilde. Or share the one your spouse is sitting in,” Riky replied.
“I’ve asked some of the wolves that were busy guarding City Hall’s vault, and one of them said that he was there when the robbery happened,” Nick explained, sitting down.
“Was his coat white or dark brown?” I inquired.
“White,” Nick answered bluntly.
“Do you know what he said?” I asked.
“Recorded it on my phone. Just give me a sec,” Nick replied.
“You could have done it with my pen, though,” I remarked.
“If you were investigating that wolf pack, then sure,” Nick snarked back. “Oh, I found the file.”
Nick opened it on his phone and laid the device down on the desk. The three of us listened to the recorded convo.
“It’s a match,” I confirmed, pausing the playback button as Nick placed a bag. Its contents were now discernible, being Paper Folk wool. Soft, smooth textures were the primary indicator.
“You two can go now. Besides, Windancer’s having another meltdown again,” Riky said, getting off her chair and opening the door for us to leave.
Walking back to the elevator, I heard hollering between Windancer and Riky. For an actor turned mayor, Windancer is (un)surprisingly camp, best showcased when he recently broke down publicly on multiple news outlets.
***
“For real life?” Clawhauser exclaimed at us in an Outback accent.
“Yep, Bellwether’s back, and apparently she had bird relatives,” I clarified to the flustered feline. After Hurriet spilled the beans with her wool sample analysis, I was astonished, though Nick seemed less so. The press coverage tossed it like clay when making the connection to Lionheart’s murder.
“Well, you can give credit to us, the dream team! High five, Carrots,” Nick replied.
A deer’s movements captured my interest. The urge of concern plagued my conscience. Running at the cervid was my mind’s one choice.
“Judy, wait for me!” Slick yelled, scurrying over.
Slowing down to the deer, I analyzed their appearance. A doe made of cloth, having more depth to her body. She was donned in a paramedic uniform, holding an AED.
“Can I take the AED?” I asked her, handing the device in response.
“Someone called 3291 at the gym here,” she clarified, pointing left.
Skidding to Precinct 1’s gymnasium, I was greeted with Delegato performing CPR on a collapsed Wolford for god knows how long. Karen, Joel, and my other coworkers were shocked watching this whole ordeal play out as I dropped the device gently.
“Well, we have a downed officer right here, doc,” Nick said, he and the paramedic now in the room.
Delgato stared at me, still applying chest compressions to the unconscious wolf. “Do something, Hopps! Turn it on!”
Given that I wasn't CPR certified, I just handed the machine to the lion. The move eased his anxiety, while I stepped back.
“Judy, the reason why Wolford’s…this now is because he had to “blow off some steam,” Kii explained, having a worried grin on her face.
“Did you do something wrong?” I asked with spontaneous sass.
“He overheard that Del and I are dating,” she answered with regret.
I sighed, saying, “Kii, if you have any conversation relating to relationships, don’t say it in front of Wolford! He’s been through a lot because he lost someone he loved dearly.”
“He just overheard it!”
“Can I go down to the lobby, get popcorn, and Clawhauser?” Nick asked.
“Still, Kii. He needs help more than ever.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry for being inconsiderate.”
Later that night, I opened my Waddlebook and checked my mail. Nick was busy preparing dinner. Sitting at the summit of the inbox, it was sent from the Vice Mayor. Her email went like this:
April 5th, 2018
Riky Lotwis
3426, 11th St
Zootopia, CS
Judy Wilde
9510, Herd St
Zootopia, CS
The Mammal Inclusion Initiative paved more opportunities for us to fulfill our passions, defying norms that we as a community enforce. You and I were dreamers when we were young, embodied, bearing grit as we grew up. Mr. Lionheart’s initiative was, and still is, a dynamic highway for dreamers like us, and in your case, it paid off. Two prime cases were cracked that affected our perceptions of each other and outsiders. The results of both cases shone further chances for more mammals to join the ZPD, including your spouse, a fox, the abnormal pick of preset given the circumstances.
With his unexpected passing, you were the perfect candidate to represent the ZPD at his celebration of life. Express your honest opinion and experiences about the former mayor through a eulogy, but steer clear of bias. It can be long or short, but it has to be significant enough, like how important the Mammal Inclusion Initiative was to you. However, the funeral is a week from now, so you will need to pick up the pace here and there, but I know that your grit will aid you to the finish line.
Sincerely, Riky Lotwis.
***
Like most in the brand, Joffery’s at Lionheart Avenue had a unified easing interior. Hues of purple blended in dark ebony walls, and furniture had the terracotta shade. The crowd was anything but, as most were waiting in line. Some tried focusing on a shiny slab with orders inscribed on it.
“Welcome to Joffery’s. What will your order be?” the caracal barista asked.
Nick got on a conveniently placed violet step stool, ready to say our final selection of items. “One small and medium Melody blend. Make it hot, add apple foam, half n’ half for the medium, light cinnamon powder for the small, and a set of cheesy tater bakes.”
“Your name?”
“Nicholas Piberius Wilde,” my spouse replied with pride. Then he fell off.
The feline barista took a moment to analyze the current situation they were in. A busy queue was delayed by the city’s first fox cop falling from a step stool. “That’ll be a total of 14.36 Beads, please,” they said nonchalantly.
“Fluff, give me a paw,” Nick asked, promptly outstretching my arm. He grabbed it tight, lifting himself.
Slick got back on the step stool and pulled out a 10 and 5 Bead banknote. He placed them on the counter in front of the caracal cashier.
“It’ll be ready in about 7 minutes.”
Both of us went to a table, its size and the accompanying chairs slightly larger than us. Our heads were focused on our phones and the shiny slab, with our order engraved. The surname Wilde was now the header.
“One small and medium blend for Wilde with cheesy tater bakes!”
I ran up to the pick-up counter and stepped on another conveniently placed violet stool. The sea of orders was spotted sitting on a cardboard tray, now picked up. Nick followed in pursuit, and we headed towards the coffeehouse’s exit. After all, Precinct 1 took only five minutes on foot.
“Andersen?”
“Here,” a polar bear stated.
“Johnson?”
“Present,” the normally named lion replied.
“Krupanski?”
“Here,” another polar bear answered identically.
“Hartley?”
“Present,” Joel answered, costing him an arm wrestle match with Karen.
“Wolford?”
“Here,” he said with courage returning.
“Both Wildes?”
“Present,” we said in unison. Whoops.
“Wolford, Delgato, Pennington, Grana, Grizzby, Dillion, Mead, and Hartley, motorbike funeral escort. Dismissed.”
“Wildes, follow them, and you two get a cruiser. Dismissed!”
“Escort officers, wait for Clawhauser to give the call sign. Proceed!”
***
Parked adjacent to City Hall’s foyer, I caught a view of the mourners. A sizable number were smaller pred packs, as Lionheart’s actions essentially improved their standard of living. Some got their dream job they wanted, others managed to defy the expectations we had moulded them for. Each face and snout told a story.
A few snakes from the revitalized Reptile Ravine made a scene, one cuddling their fellow predator mammal for comfort. Each person told a story in my eyes, but they had one principle in their minds. Lionheart was their hero, regardless of personal significance, and he’d vanished from this world.
“Fluff, you OK? The funeral hasn't even started yet,” Nick acknowledged my solemn thoughts. An interesting view caught our attention, breaking my sorrow.
The Vice Mayor was mounted on top of her superior, both dressed in armor. They were comedic and uncanny, as the smaller politician rode her colleague down the stairs. Trailing behind them, six legislator mammals grabbed hold of Lionheart's casket. When the mayor reared, they came to a halt.
“Dream team, you can move again,” Clawhauser cued, voice slightly grainy.
Nick’s paws were set on the console, sized to the Mammal Mean1. Our bodies were set in motion thereafter. Zebra-striped cardboard barricades streamlined our path at intersections. Banners on poles were lowered to half-staff. Handfuls of bouquets were laid on the street. The initial crowd of grievers dispersed in smaller packs alongside us. That is, until we reached the cathedral where the actual ceremony would take place.
Leaving our vehicles, we merged into the pack of paper and cloth mourners heading in. The politician pallbearers of Lionheart’s casket lead the way. Bogo flipped his crochet build 180, subtly directing us to our assigned cypress pulp seats on the left. Banners with “ZPD” imprinted were the markers.
I sat next to Nick, holding his paw. Memories, tales, and feats were listened to. Interludes were implicitly served by songs. Eulogies were the closing, some from Lionheart’s family. Others were from his friends, or co-workers. After Windancer’s melodramatic and lengthy eulogy, which was more of a soap opera, it was my turn.
“Ladies and gentlemammals…or reptiles, my name is Judy Hopps, representative of the ZPD here at Leodore Lionheart’s celebration of life.”
“Zootopia is seen as a place for every mammal, regardless of material, preset, sketch, or diet. However, fears from our instincts were the ones that drew lines for us, leading to some unjust outcomes. Lions, like Leodore, were viewed as courageous. By contrast, he was cowardly concerning his pride, but his heart was in the right place. His ego, to his view, represented his fellow predators, and the agenda of his administration was to make our city more inclusive.”
“Without the initiative, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am now in the ZPD, as every success in my career came in stages. From enduring training etched in a megafauna-shaped hole, to clearing his name, and even keeping the Zoogether countdown from harm's way, every major case that I and later on, my mate were involved in had some tie to his vision for this city: give any mammal, and later reptile a chance to be who they want.”
“My initial view of him was quite skeptical, as the asylum conditions where he transferred intoxicated predators were sub-par, and this initial hypothesis cost him his political career. However, after the missing mammals conspiracy had its threads tied up, I found his ideals and rationale. Why he locked up those preds was one of them. He was doing it for our city’s safety, not for his ego and my impulses jeopardized that.”
“All in all, even if we didn't have a close bond, the circumstances that Leodore Lionheart intervened in planted potential for everyone here today.”
A round of applause welcomed me as I headed back to my seat. Nick gave me a kiss on the muzzle.
A few more eulogies were spoken, and it was time for the burial procession. The 6 pallbearers led the way out of the cathedral, and were followed by associates of Lionheart and politicians. Finally, it was our turn, Bogo leaving his seat first. He was supposed to lead the escort to the burial spot, so we followed him in suit.
“Grizzby to dispatch, 10-33 at Zootennial Park, ASAP.”
“Wolford to dispatch, me and Del can make it in 8. For Fangmeyer.”
“Dispatch, Wilde. Around the same time as Wolfy, over.”
“Copy that. Cattano, you’re now in charge of the funeral escort,” Clawhauser relayed on the radio.
Arriving, six fatigued officers shattered the park’s ambiance. Topped with a fountain, the climate stayed humid. That was the Watering Hole, kept intact since the beginning of time. Allegedly. Notably, the centerpiece shifted to Bellwether, donned in orange. Her tint of cloudlike wings merged with the wool. She was outlined in a verdant aura, matching the hue of her eyes. Its origin derived from the Wishing Shard she pilfered.
“Freeze, Dawn Bellwether, you are under arrest for the murders of Mr Lionheart and a… ZPD peace officer,” Wolford proclaimed to her. His sentence closed in subtle despair, their roles reversed regarding folk tales.
He cocked his staple loaded gun at the sheep. Her hooves were raised, face resembling a parent ready to ground their child. The trigger was released, but the shot did nothing. Subsequent shots had similar results, but vengeance kept him going for a little while.
“Crap, I need to re-AHH!”
He had no clue that Bellwether would be a decent fighter and neither would we. A slam struck his chest, reminding me of a racing game from my kithood. White Xs were his eyes for a split second, his spark puffed out. Cyan blood poured and so did a red 24, as a surplus of mana2 was felt.
“Officer down! 10-52 at Zootennial Park!” Del yelled, dragging the corpse of his partner, eyes now shut.
Slick held my wrist tight and dragged me to a lamp. I never understood why, but he’d let me off after standing under it for a moment. I fired my gun consequently after seeing Wolfy die. To make matters worse, he’d gone through the grief of his mate slain by her hooves somehow.
The staples cracked her aura and briefly emitted small, subtle flashes of light. After a metallic 18 dissipated, she gazed and swiftly dashed towards me, knocking me in the paws of my spouse, shield mounted on his tail.
Not so slick Nick tried aiming a few shots at Bellwether. They missed her motion, reorienting the set at poor Clark. Fortunately, Francine took note and narrowly dodged.
…at the cost of the fountain.
Meanwhile, Bellwether somehow took hold of Snarlov. He’s woven from crochet and is eight times her weight. She threw him in the air anyway and leapt. Launched from the crumpled ewe, he crashed onto the fountain, further wrecking it and soaking his thick fur. Hey, the dream team doesn't destroy property every time we’re assigned a case.
Grizzoli, the resident hybrid of the ZPD, took aim. Mutton chops weren't the outcome. Her verdant aura was shattered instead. Glasslike shards were blasted onto another pair.
Karen’s eyes were the same shape as Wolford's briefly. Marigold colored blood bursted from her wounds. Her flat, shaded body fell down like a leaf in autumn. On the other hand, Joel received mild scratches at the cost of his right antler. They’ll fall down eventually.
The deer, avenging his slain co-worker, tried to tranq the sheep. She flew away like a blue hedgehog from a game that Slick played in his teens. Except in the air.
Suddenly, different sirens blared. Their howl progressively got louder.
In lack of better phrasing, the Watering Hole was before cleanup time at a kits’ workshop session. Downed officers and their damage were comparable to scraps of paper and string. Paramedics wasted no time unloading equipment and placing beacons3. Officers slain by Bellwether’s attacks recovered. Their luckier coworkers had their wounds treated.
“Sweet cheese and crackers, Nick, did you hear that?” I asked, noticing a subtle rumble.
Nick was sitting in an ambulance extension. His wrist and leg wounds were taped, ponytail mildly disheveled. “Look, it’s just the subway during-AHH!”
Launched approximately north of the park, we landed in what roughly resembled a field. Flowers and a sky in some shade of blue were barely discerned. Then everything went black.
***
Letting out a groan, I was awakened to a room. The closest analogy was my shared bedroom for the majority of my life. Hopping out of the bed, I looked at a mirror to analyze my wounds. Bandages wrapped around my head caught my attention the most.
“Judy! You‘re finally awake!” Mom burst into joy, the door opened. “Stu found you and your mate out cold yesterday. Is your head fine now?”
As more of my senses returned, I analyzed my phone. It needed a new screen protector. Then a walkie-talkie beyond repair, and back to Mom. “Do you know where Nick is?”
“He’s upstairs, room 316,” she answered.
Placing my phone back, I headed upstairs.
Dad’s decision to place his only tod in law on the kits’ floor was questionable. They were probably asleep when he got back. Unveiling the room, it was a spare, “unisex” bedroom.
There was a single bunk bed with Nick’s tail dangling off the edge. Approaching him, he also had bandages on his head. The ones on his wrist and leg were replaced.Now I know Dad’s choice of location.
“Fluff, are we dead yet?”
“No, we’re at my parents’ place,” I replied.