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Chapter Text

HOWLING HEARTS

CHAPTER 1

Vogt blinked awake, laying silent in his bed as the rest of the platoon slept around him. He'd always been an early riser, when he was growing up it was the fastest way to secure a good breakfast before the rest of the orphanage swarmed the cafeteria. Taking a few long breaths, clearing his mind for the day ahead, how they were going back to U-1923, and finally moving north.

A check of the map yesterday showed that Zootopia was to the north, along the coast of what they knew as the state of Washington. How did they maintain the massive cooling and heating towers that allowed for the scale of regions like Tundra Town or Sahara Square. Scholz had noted that the region had enough rainfall to maintain the Rainforest District, but the climate of the region made it a temperate rain forest. Tropical was an entirely different biome.

Would it even matter, though? Leaving such technologies to Xanatos would be too dangerous, he knew that. Giving a man like that the ability to control the very climate? To reshape the planet in his desired image? No, the platoon had already decided that even if it wouldn't be kind to the animals of Zootopia, destroying the climate control systems needed to be done. They'd need to speak with Dicker about a system to move the animals to desired regions and climates, but it was a better mercy than leaving them to try and survive on their own.

He shook his head, shifting out of his bed. When the ice had come down, creeping across the northern coasts of Europe, each nation had made heavy investments to evacuate their populations. Negotiating with the nations of North Africa had been difficult, even as a child he heard the caretakers of his orphanage speaking of how they were basically sending massive bribes to allow for the use of land and transfer of industrial equipment. The art and cultural heritage of Europe had been spirited away long ago, moved in a great convoy to Australia. Of course, there had been "complaints." Cries against sending the Mona Lisa or David under guard under naval escort to Perth while thousands crammed aboard essentially-gutted cruise liners to cross the Mediterranean. Yet he couldn't argue. Not when he could still remember the footage of PAC engineering teams destroying Rome.

Perhaps they could find a way to secure the technology for themselves? Dr. Zhou could tell them if the systems were functional or a waste of effort to set up. Given that the Asgard High Council had decided that the multiverse was too dangerous to even look at, let along lend aid to. Even after SG-1 had saved their ranking military leader. At the very least, Thor didn't seem to see their presence as a danger to the fabric of the universe. Perhaps, in time, the rest of the council could be won over? Of course, that would require a feat, as it were. It would make the Aegean Stables look like cleaning a barracks room. Or vice-verse, knowing some of the troopers in Hell Brigade.

Shifting, he placed his feet on the cold concrete floor and grabbed for his socks. Padding across the floor, keeping silent so he didn't wake the others, he made his way to the showers. Grabbing his toiletries from the small locket between the squad bay and the bathroom, he washed fast. Well, as fast as he could bear. The fact that hot showers here stayed hot, for as long as he wanted, made it hard to pull himself away. Savoring the heat enveloping his body, he stayed for a few more minutes after he'd finished washing.

A quick towel down later, and he was dressed again in his skivvies and moving to dress for the day. The SGC had emphasized that the men and women should at least stay on separate sides of the bay, separated by a simply partition. Not that it mattered, most of the time they moved the walls. Vogt had grown up in mixed bedrooms, and in the middle of combat there was no time to worry about the biological differences between men and women. By now, sexism had fallen to the wayside in the face of annihilation. If anything, knowing what waited for them if they lost, the women of the EU had risen up in a way that he would never admit aloud that terrified him if he ever wound up on the wrong side of it.

As he pulled on his trousers, he heard noises from the bunk across from him. Scholz rose, running a hand over his scalp, and shifted. "Guten morgen, Vogt. Hast du gut geschlafen?"

Vogt nodded as he rose and buttoned up. "Ja."

Campbell ducked and dodged Teal’c in the mountain’s gym. Even in practice, he was well motivated to dodge the blows. He’d seen Ricci try to take on Teal’c in sparring. The poor trooper wound up on his ass three times in a row. He made quick jabs at the warrior, constantly repositioning so Teal’c couldn’t –

One punch. That was all it took from Teal’c to send him flying back on his ass into the mats. Letting his brain rattle around for a second, he groaned as he lifted his head. Spitting the mouthguard onto his chest, he grumbled, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Campbell,” Teal’c said, bowing his head to the captain. “To your credit, you are quite fast compared to O’Neill.”

Campbell smirked, hauling himself up. “Suppose that’s a compliment, being compared to the colonel.”

Teal’c kept his placid smile. “In this instance.”

Sighing, Campbell began stripping off his gloves. “I’m sorry about the mess with Imhotep. Don’t know if it helps, but you’re not the first rebel group to have their leaders betray them.”

Teal’c’s eyes darkened. “It does not.”

“Aye, that’s fair,” Campbell admitted. “But better you found out early.”

“That is a fair presumption,” Teal’c said, pulling off his own gloves. “Perhaps Bra’tac will be able to rally other leading rebel Jaffa, but for now we must persevere in our efforts alone.”

Campbell nodded. “Just don’t forget to make a government? You’ll win your freedom and realize you’ve got nothing to do with it.”

Teal’c shook hi shead. “I am still unsure how to proceed with such a task. Jaffa are warriors, not politicians.”

“But there are leaders among the Jaffa, aren’t there?” Campbell smiled as he pulled off his headgear. “Why not put yourself forward?”

Teal’c gave a polite smile. “I am honored you would think of me as such, but I am not a leader. Even with my efforts to free my people, I still carry the stigma of a shol’va, a traitor to my kind.”

“Well once the bloody parasites are taken care of, shol’va might just be turned into a badge of honor.” Smirking, he bent over slightly and barked, “You hear that, you little bodyjacking bastard! You have to survive inside a fucking shol’va!”

Teal’c’s smile grew. “I understand you have struck a great victory yourselves in New York City. That you sabotaged an effort by Xanatos to sow greater chaos in that world.”

“Balanced out by losing an entire city to the desert,” Campbell admitted. “We’ve still got a long way to work toward making things right. The Illuminati are still lurking around, even if we take down Xanatos we have to worry about those bastards playing kingmaker again later.”

Leading the way to the lockers, Teal’c stared ahead with stolid eyes. “Is there no way to assist their world’s federal officers in undermining them?”

“Not without exposing the benevolent conspiracy that’s there as well,” Campbell admitted, following Teal’c to the banks of lockers. “My people are bloody infantry, we’re not made to go fighting conspiracies.”

“It is too late to fear such things now, Campbell,” Teal’c said, pulling his locker open. “The moment you joined with Stargate Command, you became part of one.”

“Well I’d like a few less…” Campbell paused as he was about to open his locker. Stepping to the side, he grabbed the latch and pulled it open. Waiting a second, he waved his hands in front of the open door, then peeked around it before he was satisfied that there was no surprise waiting for him. Smiling, he began to pull his bad out and unzipped it. At which point an explosion of confetti hit him full in the face. Head covered in multicolored paper, he looked up at Teal’c. “Who was it?”

Teal’c was still smiling as he strode to the showers. “I have been sworn to secrecy.”

Mei smiled as she watched Lena play the pinball machine in the diner, watching as the trio of pinballs rolled about to the bit-crushed dialogue of Rod Serling calling out over the sound effects. Snowball hovered behind the pair, twitching and shifting trying to follow all the action. "C'mon, c'mon," Lena grumbled, fingers flying and flippers clacking. The bumpers thudded as the pinballs rode the silver rails above the main section of the game, the small display on the back flashing with an ever-rising score.

"This is so fun," Mei said. "It's so different from a VR console!"

"Yeah, but it's more frustrating," Lena grumbled. "Thing's bloody made so that you can't win!"

The bell rang at the door, and Mei turned to see Vogt leading several troopers into the diner for breakfast. "Hey guys!" she called out.

Vogt turned and smiled, nodding to Mei. "Doctor."

As Lena kept grumbling at the machine, Mei went over to join Vogt, Scholz, and Lisowski. "So, where are we going next?"

"Zootopia, doctor," Lee noted. "And undoubtedly this could be our most challenging operation thus far."

Mei glanced to Snowball. "Because of the night howlers?"

"Because they're all anthropomorphic animals," Lisowski noted. "You saw that the movie paints predators as dangerous to all Zootopia? Bellwether has probably convinced the region that humans are just as dangerous for being meat eaters."

Mei flinched as she noticed several airmen eating heaping plates of bacon and eggs with their pancakes. "But how do we help them?"

"Unfortunately we don't know enough about the situation in the city to make any uninformed decisions, much less informed," Lee admitted. "And if intelligence from Agent Dawes and her team is to be believed, the howler extract can affect human minds as well as animals. Meaning we may require additional precautions once we arrive."

Mei huffed. "I can't believe such a cute little sheep would do something so awful."

Vogt shrugged. "Power."

"Precisely," Lee noted. "Disdainful as we find the good mayor, we won't deny that she took the steps necessary to seize power. Now that she has it, controlling it for as long as she can is the goal. Breaking Zootopia free from her grasp will require us to be rather clever."

Mei thought back to the movie. "Like a fox?"

Vogt smiled as he set down his menu. "Maybe."

Before the discussion could continue, Mei caught a flash of an image from the TV behind the counter, and saw that yes, Kinsey was back on the warpath, literally. CNN was playing a clip of an interview he had with Fox, the senator disparaging MSNBC for their "cowardice" in stating that war with Iraq wasn't necessary. "These people refuse to understand the current state of the world," Kinsey said, a glint in his eye and a sneer on his lips. "If we continue to allow the Iraqi regime to continue on unchecked, any rogue state on the planet will see the opporuntity to do as it pleases."

Vogt glared at the screen. "Backpfeifengesicht."

Lisowski and Lee both nodded. "You'll find little argument from us," Lee observed. "Rather unbelievable that the history of Americans in this time were true."

Mei shook her head. "Americans aren't all bad."

"No, but Kinsey is certainly loud enough to make one think they are," Lisowski muttered. "How does anyone elect a man like him? Didn't they learn after that senator who kept saying there were communists behind every door and closet?"

Mei shook her head. "Americans are just proud. Adams and MacReady would always make sure to have a little Fourth of July celebration when we were in the ecopoint."

"Pride isn't a bad thing, but they have to temper it," Lee noted. "They survived against the Russians as the dominant power on Earth, and this is what they decide to do with it. To go hunting down minor threats rather than reinvest in their own nation. We've heard several of the airmen asking about this new idea they have for their schools, this No Child Left Behind? I would certainly like to understand the logic behind teaching children to fill out the proper bubbles on a sheet of paper over helping them understand how to think critically."

Mei noticed Lisowski chuckle, then note, "Because the British would never teach their children by standard test results." Lee and Vogt chuckled, Lee holding up his hands in surrender.

"Morning," the waiter behind the counter said. "Get you guys something?"

Vogt nodded. "French toast, two eggs sunny-side up, extra bacon."

Lee and Lisowski both said, "Same."

As Mei smiled at how they could still put away food like Winston did bananas, she heard Lena cry out, "I HAD THAT YOU WANKER!"

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2

Vogt pulled his sunglasses off as the teams arrived inside Area 51. Barb Diffy was waiting to meet them, waving as they arrived. "Hey guys, welcome back."

"Mrs. Diffy," Campbell said, nodding to the woman. "How've things been?"

"Oh, not too bad," Barb answered, leading them to the elevator out of the underground bunker. "Agent Dicker's waiting to talk to you, everyone else can head to their rooms."

"Understood," Campbell said, turning to Weber. "Sergeant, see the platoon to quarters. Capt. Amari, care to join?"

Fareeha nodded, glancing over her shoulder at her team of Lena, Mei, and McCree. "You guys get to our room, I'll see what's going on in Zootopia."

As the elevator rose to the surface, the platoon strode on through the base, the troopers already groaning as they breached the heat of the desert. Campbell and Fareeha moved for the base headquarters, leaving Weber to keep an eye on everyone. Vogt wasn't immune to the desert heat, of course. He never saw a point in complaining about something he couldn't change, it was a waste of time in his mind. Safe inside the barracks and back underground, he set to making up his bed with the others.

"What do you all say," Becker said as he pulled his bed from the bag. "Lamp chops once we're done?"

Schneider shook her head. "She has no meat, it'd be a waste."

"Her, sure," Gantz noted. "But her henchmen are all full-grown."

Vogt smirked as Garcia spoke up next. "We should go back and ask Cass for any recipes. What do you think it tastes like?"

"It wouldn't have as much fat as beef, would it?" Schneider noted. "We should ask about sauces."

Smiling, Vogt stretched his sheet over the cheap foam mattress and pulled out the pillow. Setting it at the head of the bunk, he glanced back to see Lee pulling out a deck of cards. "Already?"

Lee smiled as he broke the seal and began shuffling. "We will have some time before the mission begins. Someone has to teach the teams here how to play, after all."

Vogt's eyebrow went up. "They're children."

"One is never too young to learn the benefits of a good poker face," Lee noted, setting the shuffled deck down on the top bunk as he moved to start making up his own bed. "At the moment I'm rather concerned about what will happen to the climate systems in Zootopia once we finish."

Vogt nodded, pulling his blanket into place. "Xanatos."

"Quite." Pulling his sheets into place, the Brit reached for his blanket. "The question is what makes them run. Being able to convert entire hectares to your desired climate condition has to leave an impact somewhere, to say nothing of the power requirements."

"It could be fusion," Scholz said from the top bunk two bunks over. "When the merge occurred, Zootopia might have brought that with it. All we would need is the power requirements and the control systems."

Vogt grunted, "Security."

"Indeed, once word spreads the war would enter a desperate phase for the PAC," Lee admitted. "The idea that we could reclaim the continent with expanded food production alone would force them to launch new offensives. It would be desperate, but it would throw us off-balance."

Scholz leaned against the bunk, shaking his head. "The security risks would be acceptable for the results."

Vogt didn't think the point was wrong, admittedly. The security of such a system would be borderline-impossible, even compared to the unbelievable reports that would come from any MV-related actions. The PAC intelligence apparatus would sweep down on the system, bribing and blackmailing and threatening everyone associated with the project to learn the secrets for themselves. That would only prolong the war, and the EU had learned too well what the Ukrainians already knew. The only way to end the aggression was to crush it. Nothing else would stop the onslaught.

"Alright, I want us all in the gym tomorrow at zero-five," Weber ordered. "After that, you have the day. Ricci, don't challenge the superhumans, I want us all ready for the operation. Don't even argue! The rest of you, keep the junk food to a minimum."

"Yes, sergeant."

As Weber left the room, Vogt finished with his bed and sat down to pull off his boots. Sighing, he said, "Deal me in."

Campbell and Fareeha sat at the small conference room table as Dicker and Capt. Amelia sat at the head of the table, Dicker clicking through a slideshow of aerial photographs. "Zootopia is currently considered a no-fly zone, with a joing FBI-National Guard cordon around the land routes out. Coast Guard is maintaining a tight blockade on any water routes out of the city. Current status is that the city is secure, but we can't wait for the howlers to finally stop on their own. We need to go inside."

Campbell shook his head. "Something's not right. Can you show us Tundra Town?" Dicker nodded, and in seconds Campbell noticed it. "Something's wrong. The ice at the edge of the wall is thin, melting."

"We noticed that too," Dicker said. "We don't know what's happening, but we noticed that over the past few months the temperature monitoring systems have registered a slow, steady change. The heated regions are cooling, and the frozen regions are heating."

Fareeha nodded. "The climate control systems are malfunctioning?"

"We're not sure, if they are," Dicker admitted. "Our man on the ground knows more."

Before Campbell could say anything, a slick, bubbly voice came from the door to the room. "Way more, honey. And I think this is officially my briefing." Turning, Campbell and Fareeha saw him. A sharply dressed man rolling in on Italian leather heelies, angling around the table as a plain blonde with glasses followed with their own laptop.

Campbell smiled. "Mr. X, I was wondering when we'd finally meet."

"Feeling's mutual sweetie," X said, coming to a stop next to Campbell. Before breaking into a wide smile and wrapping him in a hug. "Because you have single-handedly proven me right! Oh you beautiful man you!"

"Mr. X has been maintaining the cordon around Zootopia for the past two years," Dicker said, smiling a little at Campbell's current predicament. "We updated him on the current situation since the last mission."

Campbell finally managed to pry X away. "Glad to see we could validate your theories."

"Honey, I would've found a way to do that on my own," X said, falling back into an empty chair with ease. "You just sped up the process."

Fareeha had to force herself to turn away from the entertainment before her. "If the area is cordoned, how are the night howlers still getting out?"

"It's one thing to cut off land and air routes," Dicker said, moving to a set of pictures of FBI and National Guard holding what looked like moles and rats at gunpoint. "These are smugglers that don't need heavy equipment to do any digging."

"My team will be accompanying you for this operation," Capt. Amelia said. "The president wants us to become more comfortable with the layout of the nation. We'll be on standby should you need assistance."

Campbell got a nod from Fareeha. "Glad to hear it, captain. What about the city proper, do we have any communication with the leadership inside?"

"Mayor Bellwether has been cooperative," Dicker said, moving to the next slide. "But that doesn't mean we approve of what she's been doing."

Campbell and Fareeha glared at the image before them. It was a long-distance photo of the Burroughs, but something stood out. The rabbits, sheep, all the non-predatory animals were fine. What stood out were the weasels and foxes. Wearing what looked like collars around their necks.

"Feral Predatory Syndrome," Dicker said. "Zootopia has been reporting it for some time now, they wanted us to know in case it spreads."

Campbell shook his head. "You never believed the story?"

"Not when it means doing this to innocent people," Dicker growled.

"Those are electric shock collars," X said, glaring at the image. "Officially, they're used for the protection of all Zootopian residents in case of the 'sudden onset' of FPS."

"When in truth they're a reminder that predators need to behave themselves," Campbell noted. ""And there still hasn't been any sign that it affects prey animals as well?"

"No, and trust me, we've been watching very closely," X said, Jenny nodding in agreement. "So, given you're a big and tough soldier, what's your plan? Go in shooting and smashing?"

Campbell smirked. "I was going to say we try to infiltrate the city, but if you want us to cause chaos?"

Dicker's eyebrow went up. "You want to try and infiltrate the city? I don't know if anyone's told you son, but you wouldn't exactly fit in."

Campbell and Fareeha gave each other a grin, before Campbell said, "We have Dr. Bishop and a functional hybridization system."

Capt. Amelia blinked. Dicker's face fell. Mr. X, well he was too busy smiling back. "Oooh, well if this isn't getting to be a 'furry' situation."

Dicker shook his head, turning to Capt. Amelia. "What do you think?"

"If this is their plan, unless it falls apart under review I don't see any way to argue it at the moment," Amelia said. "But I presume we wish to make sure the process can be reversed?"

"Good point," Dicker said. "We'll have Gus check that we can't use his illusions to disguise you first."

"Understood sir," Campbell said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a flash drive. "We also want to clear this with you, sir. Capt. Parker and his superiors have a plan to assist against a threat that is currently organizing to assault this dimension through Los Angeles."

Mr. X scoffed. "Whoever they are, I'm wondering if they'd even get past South Central before the LAPD annihilates them."

"Tempting, but that might disrupt things more than any of us would feel comfortable with," Campbell noted, as Dicker plugged the drive into his laptop. "His organization has assembled a force they believe will be able to stop the invasion before it can begin."

As Dicker opened the powerpoint on the drive, Amelia turned with a curious look. "Do they plan on moving through our dimension to do so?"

"No ma'am, but seeing as this is associated with your dimension we felt that we should keep you appraised in case something goes wrong," Campbell noted. The powerpoint popped up on the screen, displaying in large font, Operation: URGENT VECTOR. "We doubted you would appreciate our parking a mechanized infantry battalion right next door without alerting you."

Dicker clicked through the operational plans, Mr. X's eyes sparkling as they ran over the enemy threat. "An entire dimension of humanoid amphibians!" He grabbed Jenny and started shaking his fellow agent. "It's better than Christmas and my birthday wrapped up in Easter Jenners!"

Fareeha smirked. "He's enjoying himself."

Campbell smiled at the reaction. "Do you see any issues with this, Agent Dicker?"

Dicker shook his head, noting there was no sign of Task Force Bat moving through American territory. "I don't think we'll have any issues. As long as this force remains outside our dimension. Pres. Martinez would have to have a rather uncomfortable discussion with Congress if they set up in LA."

Fareeha cocked an eyebrow. "Can't you just say they're shooting a movie?"

Dicker chuckled. "Might work."

"The primary issue right now is finding a way inside the city," Campbell noted. "Do we have any holes in the fence we can utilize to insert our team?"

Dicker glanced to X. The agent waved his hand in the air as he straightened his suit. "There is one, but personally I'm not a fan of using it for anything. Agent Dicker, could you bring up the map?" Dicker nodded, pulling up a map of the city. The area was highlighted in different shades, but Campbell and Fareeha noticed one region, far to the north, surrounded by islands off the coast. "See that area up north? Turns out not everyone is a fan how Bellwether runs things."

Campbell thought for a moment. "Am I wrong in saying that the individual in charge of the area is the CEO Shere Khan?"

X clapped his hands. "And you win the gold star for the day!"

Fareeha turned to Campbell. "This is the version from TaleSpin, right?"

"Most likely," Campbell noted. And while he won't like us undercutting his authority, as long as we stay focused on Bellwether we can at least convince him that our operations will assist his business." With a grimace, he said, "I can handle this." Fareeha didn't like how that sounded, but she would have to trust that Campbell knew what he was doing.

"We'll use the next week to work out how we'll disguise and insert your people," Dicker said. "X, work with them on this one. Once we're through here, you'll be reassigned. You'll head our multiversal section."

Campbell couldn't stop himself from laughing as the agent squealed and threw his hands up so fast that his chair fell backward with a thud on the ground.

It was a calm morning in Gravesfield, Rhode Island. The birds chirped all around, and the distant white clouds made the day feel as a painting come to life. That was fine for Sadusky, as he watched Lilith teaching her collection of children. "Now, the key to magic is to be honest with yourselves," she said, smiling as the class looked up to her. "I made the mistake of lying to myself long ago that only power mattered in magic. In truth, your magic should feel like your own. That it comes from an authentic part of yourself."

One of the kids shot a hand up. "Miss Lilith, what is someone tells us that we're using magic wrong?"

Lilith smiled. "ha isn't for them to decide. Only you can know how magic is for yourself. They might be able to give you a new perspective on it, but they can never make you use it in a way that feels wrong for you."

Sadusky heard footsteps approaching from behind. "She's a good teacher." Turning his head, he saw Camila walking up in her scrubs ready for work. "It's hard to believe that she was some evil witch."

"Not evil, just misguided," Sadusky noted. "Evil is a very rare thing, when you think about it."

"Maybe to you," Camila muttered. "So, where will you take them today?"

"Down to the pond," Sadusky said. "Teach them a little about how nature works here. Next week I think I'll take'em to the fire station."

Camila smiled, watching as the kids practiced their magic behind the old shack. "Do you think they'll forget where they came from?"

Sadusky shook his head, remembering his days of running through New York, scrambling through Brooklyn and Manhattan before Guiliani gentrified the entire city. "Did you?"

A phone buzzed, and Sadusky shifted to pull it from a pouch on the side of his chair. "Yello?"

"Hey boss," Johnson said. "We think we've got something you need to know. We checked with TSA, they said when she came back from Ireland, she registered several crates to enter the country. Said they were 'historical artifacts' and had all the paperwork in order."

"I'm sure," Sadusky muttered. "And I'm sure the Irish authorities were told the exact same story."

"Not much we can do about that now, boss," Johnson admitted. "What do you think?"

"Keep an eye on things for now, but don't go out of your way anymore," Sadusky said. "The pyramid might be struggling right now, but they aren't neutered yet." Camila blinked at the use of the word. "What about the Dracon situation?"

"Organized crime is saying they've gone pretty silent," Johnson answered. "Brod's operations aren't affected though. They're even noting he seems to be picking up activity."

That caught Sadusky's attention. "Keep a finger on the pulse for that then. Good job Johnson, I'll call you later."

"Right. Where're you taking them today?"

"The pond."

"Got it. Have a good one, boss."

Hanging up, Sadusky looked up to see the kids practicing how to summon up the purple slimes called abominations. Stumbling, flailing things, but no danger to anyone as Lilith kept them contained to the trees.

"So," Camila said. "What was that about?"

"Hopefully nothing, Mrs. Noceda," Sadusky sighed. "Hopefully nothing."

Vogt watched as the Ricci and Luz laughed, winning the first match of volleyball against Willow and Schneider. The pair were laughing and roaring, high-fiving as the teams clustered around the court in the late-afternoon sun. The temperature was a little less painful now, allowing the platoon and Argus to laugh and lounge on the wood bleachers as Shego sunbathed in the distance and McCree puffed away at his cigar. Weber was busy talking with Star; well, listening with wide eyes as Star told her about her adventures through the multiverse. Van der Burgh was doing the same with Kim, while every woman kept ignoring Dash and his constant attempts to flirt.

"Do you think we could come here without being on a mission?" Vogt shifted to see Mei smiling as Snowball intermittently misted them. "If they have their own lacrima array, we don't necessarily need the SGC's permission, do we?"

Lena chuckled. "Getting a little daring, aren't we? You don't think that bugger Kinsey wouldn't want to use that against Gen. Hammond?"

Vogt nodded. "Petty."

Mei sighed, leaning her head on her hands. "There has to be a way to convince the other senators to do something about him."

Lena rolled her eyes. "You got a few spare million for their reelections?"

Schneider eased onto the bleachers, using her t-shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow. "Those two are ridiculous."

Lena smirked. "Sure you're not bitter that they beat you fifteen to nothing?"

Schneider threw up her hands in frustration. "It's not Willow's fault she doesn't know how to play the game!"

Shaking his head, Vogt watched as Brodeur and Gus took the next match. "Your pick." Lena laughed as Schneider rolled her eyes. Looking around the pitch, he noticed Amity and Hunter both watching the platoon. Not with malice or anger, but they were focused on them. Even as Becker and Gantz kept trying to keep balanced on a skateboard and failed, much to Bart's laughter and Jackie-Lynn's assistance. Something about their looks made him curious, but for now he was fine to leave it be.

Argus was taking fine shape as time went on. Once they figured out a way to give the Manhattan clan the ability to stay flesh during the day, the capabilities of the unit in combat would be unstoppable. To say nothing of what Dr. Bishop could make into reality when properly focused. Much like the MVTF had grown, Argus would be able to cover the areas the other teams lacked in. At least here, they didn't have any self-centered fools claiming to be proud patriots that he had seen. Granted, there were probably some waiting hidden in some shadowy recesses, but for now he didn't see them. Of course, if they did try anything against Argus, he doubted they would be as restrained as the MVTF had to be around Kinsey.

The next game started, Ricci sending the volleyball sailing over the net. Brodeur set Gus up, but his shot was met by Luz sending it high into the air. With a shout, Ricci jumped high into the air and drove the ball hard at the sand. Brodeur and Gus scrambled for it, only to collide with each other as the ball landed just in front of them. Vogt smiled, leaning back to enjoy the show.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

David Xanatos watched as the first test subject took their injection. Even with months of physical therapy and medical guidance, the majority of Axiom survivors still carried unhealthy amounts of body fat and were drastically lacking both muscle and bone mass. The flabby figure before him took the dose with a flinch, looking like a toddler that wondered why they were being punished for doing nothing wrong.

"There, we should see the results in ten days," Sevarius said, smiling as he ran an alcohol swab over the injection site. With a lollipop in hand, he said, "Now keep an eye on yourself for the next week, alright?"

Waiting until the man waddled out of the room, Xanatos turned to the doctor. "And you're sure their bodies can handle it?"

"Their body fat will be enough to carry them through the worst of the changes," Sevarius noted. "They will need to consume a little more food after the process is complete, however."

"We're already storing the reserves necessary to handle that," Xanatos answered. "And the control system, you're sure it will work?"

"You wound me, David," Sevarius answered. "When the transformation is complete, they'll respond with total obedience to the control system."

Xanatos smiled. "Excellent work as always, Anton. Keep me appraised if anything goes wrong." Stepping out of the bio-lab, he moved for the elevator and shot down to the sub-basements. He stepped out to see the robot was almost rebuilt, only a few pieces still left to find their way home.

Making his way to the central control panel, he saw Abraham Kane still combing through the lines of code. "How's it coming along?"

Kane shook his head. "That one line is still frustrating me, David. Whoever wrote it, whatever wrote it, it's key to every other piece of the OS."

Xanatos thought for a moment, then asked, "Has it shown any conflicts with our additions?"

Kane shook his head. "No, not that I can see."

"Then we'll leave it be for now," Xanatos answered. "Much as I'd prefer to have everything perfect, we have to be realistic about what we can accomplish."

Kane sneered. "Sure, what 'we' can accomplish." Xanatos smiled, letting the shot glance off him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Xanatos?" Turning back, he saw one of his employees walking up with a tablet in-hand. "You have a call from a Mr. Pride-Wynn?"

Xanatos nodded, taking the tablet. "Hold all other calls for now, please." Moving toward his private office in the sub-basement, he shut and locked the door. Tapping the rune to truly secure the connection on the tablet, he took the call. "Yes?"

"Ah, David," One said, smiling out from the tablet. "I was wondering if you had the time to have some guests over for a dinner?"

David's eyebrow went up. "Has something happened?"

"We've found new chatter coming from a new operation within the Department of Justice," One said, as if he were talking about a particularly persistent mosquito. "One that seems to be preparing to move on our operations out of Washington."

"I see," Xanatos said, face screwed up in concentration. "Should I prepare any options?"

"Not yet, David, not yet," One answered. "But we will be discussing the future of the organization. More importantly, of your place in it."

David went silence for a moment. "You're serious?"

"Come now David, there's no need to play at being surprised," One said, waving the act away. "Your actions since your return have been nothing short of miraculous. I'll send the details via email, but I recommend preparing a dinner for at least fifty-five."

"Of course," David said, bowing his head. "It will be an honor to host you all."

"Happy to hear it," One said, clapping his hands. "Until then, David."

Waiting until One cut the connection, David made sure to turn off the tablet completely, then put it in a small Faraday cage for good measure. Checking that he still had what he needed in his desk, he picked up the phone on his desk. "Please have Mr. Hacker come to my office?"

Gus ran his hand in a circle in the air, and before the eyes of the assembled teams going on the mission Vogt saw that the young witch was now a bipedal wolf. "What do you think? Pretty authentic isn't it?" Vogt had to admit, the illusion was convincing. His paws ran through the fur, not just over it. Tufts hung out from the neck of his shirt, and when he smiled the skin seemed to move perfectly with each shift of his muscles. "What do you think?"

"Well, it is impressive," Campbell admitted, leaning close to the wolf. Holding up a hand, he asked, "May I?" Gus nodded, and Campbell ran a hand along his arm. At which point he shook his head. "No, no good. You made sure to show the fur moving with the environment but actually touching it shows it isn't there. And I might not know what they smell like, but did you remember to make yourself smell like a wolf?"

The illusion dissipated in a puff of blue smoke, Campbell hacking as Gus glared at the floor. "Darn it, I thought I managed to get tactile illusions that time!"

"Looks like we have to go with the genetic zipper after all," Fareeha sighed. "Has Dr. Bishop been working on it?"

"Agent Dicker told him to begin yesterday," Capt. Amelia said. "You're dismissed, Gus. The effort is appreciated."

"Nah, it's okay," Gus said with a smile. "Hunter'll like this though, he loves wolves."

"Aye, but first we need to make sure this can be reversed," Campbell noted. "And that our people can maintain their intelligence while they're transformed."

As Gus left the room, McCree was the first to speak up. "Shoot, we gotta really turn ourselves into furries for this to work?"

Campbell shook his head. "These are animals, even if they're sapient. If we don't take as much into account on how actual animals work, they could literally sniff us out." Then he paused, and asked, "Furries?"

The Overwatch team cringed as Lena answered. "They must not be a thing for you lot. They're people who like to like to dress up as anthro animals, you know? Kinda like cosplay, but way more in-depth."

Vogt looked over in confusion. "Cosplay?"

Lena blinked, then muttered, "Bloody hell, things really are bad."

"Lena and I will go into the city," Fareeha sighed. "Jesse, I want you and Mei to stay on the cordon in case something happens."

Campbell nodded. "Seeing as Cpl. Kavanaugh has been pulling the majority of the work lately, I don't suppose your squad would mind being sent into the city, Durand?"

Durand smiled, shaking his head. "I wouldn't dare argue the order, sir."

Campbell nodded, turning to Weber. "Sergeant, you'll stay with Kavanaugh's squad at the cordon and coordinate with Argus."

"So, what should we go in as?" Lena asked. "Aren't predators public enemies in Zootopia under Bellwether?"

Campbell shook his head. "We could also find sympathetic ears with them if we are them. Depending on what Dr. Bishop says once he understands what he's working with on the zipper, we'll make a test to determine the effectiveness of the system before we proceed."

Lena thought for a second, then said, "What do you think, I suppose I'd make a decent greyhound."

A few chuckles swept through the teams, Vogt wondering what the choice would be. Still, that wasn't his choice to make it if came to it. If the only options were to go in as hamsters, well that would be the order. "What you do on your own time is your business Oxton. Platoon, you're on standby. Study the maps of the city, Mr. X will give us a brief in two days on what to expect. Don't be afraid to enjoy yourselves, but remember to stay ready. Capt. Amari, anything from you?"

"Nothing important."

Campbell nodded. "Very well. I want morning accountability at zero-six until we embark. Dismissed."

The platoon scattered, Vogt moving with Lee and Scholz to the rest of the facility. "Well, that's the day to ourselves it seems," Lee noted. "The maps then?"

Vogt nodded. "Maps."

Ten minutes later, the trio were in a small lounge under the base, spreading a map of Zooptopia over a coffee table as they studied various aerial photos of the city. Vogt noted that compared to the other sections of the city, the Downtown seemed to have been built up to the point of almost resembled miniature fortresses inside a central wall. Worse, he noticed something about the climate towers.

"Can you both see it as well?" Scholz asked.

Vogt nodded. "Damage."

"Yes, it appears that the maintenance budget seems to be failing," Lee noted. "The ones at the border of the rainforest section look like they're being overgrown."

"And the ones situated between the tundra and desert look like they're missing several panels each," Scholz observed. "So, what caused the shift in priorities and funding?"

Vogt looked up. "Public safety?"

"Viable, certainly viable," Lee admitted. "Bellwether can hire more sheep for the police, collar the city's predators, and in exchange shout down any criticisms of her policies by pointing out how dangerous feral predators have become."

"Which forces the majority of individuals to leave their failing biomes for the downtown core and centralizes her control further," Scholz observed.

Vogt couldn't argue the facts. The animals would be uneasy, terrified that at any moment a predator could lose control of themselves. If they felt that safety could be found in the center of Zootopia, regardless of the oppressive police state they would find themselves in? Such a cost was worth what they thought was safety. The only problem was they would have to fight for those freedoms again, and there was no promise Bellwether and her flock wouldn't choose to simply burn the city down rather than lose their power. Tapping on the map, he said, "Too many innocents."

"Ja, and no estimates of what the ZPD looks like," Scholz added. "And we need to convince Bogo that Bellwether is the problem." Vogt couldn't stop himself from laughing at the idea. "It would need to be done, he may be the only authority figure left when we're finished in the city."

Vogt couldn't argue that, much as he'd like to. Bogo seemed to be a leader who at least knew how things were to properly be done. Unfortunately, that brought ossification in as well. A fear of acting in unusual ways in response to unusual situations. The status quo was easy, comfortable, safe. Vogt could still remember small villages and towns just before the war formally began, how many of the people and their leaders wanted to believe that the struggles they were already deep in were just "passing things" that would end in another year or two. Only to practically get dragged onto trucks and ships to evacuate to North Africa. Admitting the change was more damaging to them than dreaming there was still a chance to live as they always had.

"Quite the needle to thread, then," Lee sighed. "Secure the climate tower designs while ensuring Xanatos can't secure them. Save Zootopia as a region, but destroy what makes it functional. Did we miss anything?"

Vogt's eyebrow went up. "Hybridize ourselves."

Lee and Scholz chuckled. "Yes, I do hope Dr. Bishop allows us to choose our own partner in the affair."

Scholz nodded, smirking as he sat safe in the knowledge that he didn't have to join them in the genetic zipper. "So, what will it be?"

"You know I'm rather curious on what it would be like to be an elk," Lee mused. "Though I've heard they apparently shed their antlers, and the idea of regrowing bone feels rather extreme."

Vogt smiled. "Wolf."

Dicker was busy reviewing the plans for the next operation when he heard a knock at his door. Checking that he didn't have any meetings, he said, "Come in."

Amity and Hunter entered the office, both looking like they had something to say but needed to know they could say it. "Agent Dicker," Amity said. "We wanted to ask you something."

Dicker nodded, putting the plans to the side for the time being. "Ask away."

"Sir, we understand that we have our own concerns to focus on at the moment," Hunter said, Dicker noting that he spoke to him at parade rest. "But we wanted to ask you about the platoon, sir."

Dicker leaned back in his chair. "You sure you both don't want to have a seat?"

"We're fine sir," Amity said. "But the platoon aren't."

'What makes you say that?"

"It's how they act when they're here," Hunter said. "Sir, we both know what it's like for someone to finally be themselves. When Campbell and his soldiers are here, they're able to have fun in ways they aren't able to otherwise. They're able to finally let their guards down, to enjoy spending time with us. Especially compared to what their lives seem to be like in their home dimension."

Dicker thought he could tell where this was going, but held back and asked, "Is it wrong they're enjoying themselves?"

"It's not them enjoying themselves that bothers us sir," Amity answered. "They might not be perfect, but they're good people. If the world they come from is as terrible as it sounds? We were thinking that maybe they can live in this world instead."

There it was, much as Dicker was hoping it wouldn't come up. Shaking his head, he motioned for them both to take a seat. "It's nice that both of you care enough to ask about it, but I don't think either of you understand something. It's not that the platoon are happier here."

"But they are, sir," Hunter said. "Every time we see them -- "

"No, Hunter, I don't think you understand," Dicker said, keeping his tone cool and his words patient. "It's good that you both care about the platoon. You're right, they have been through a lot. Being here does mean a lot to them, and I don't think they want to be anywhere else. But thinking we can give them a life here isn't going to work."

Amity's expression told him she didn't believe it. "Why not? They might be eighteen people, but how many of us came here from the Boiling Isles? They're not a problem, not like that Parker. Why couldn't they find a place in Argus?"

"They could, easily," Dicker said, noting that the pair had expected some kind of argument. "I don't doubt that they could probably make this entire operation one of the most effective in American history. The problem is they'd have to leave everything they know behind."

"Would that be so bad for them?" Hunter glanced at Amity in confusion. "Their world never sounds good when they mention it. Wouldn't we be doing them a favor if we gave them that chance?"

Dicker thought for a moment, weighing his thoughts on the matter. "Tell you what. Let's wait until the platoon finish this next operation and put the question to them. Not just Campbell and Weber, all of them. How's that?"

The two teens looked at each other, trying to figure out what Dicker was playing at. "Very well, we can wait," Amity said. "But we want to make sure it's all of them."

"Agreed," Dicker said, nodding to the pair. "I've got some things to finish up here, you two can head out." The two nodded, but didn't drop their glares as they left the office. Sighing, Dicker rubbed at his eyes. If the two were honestly thinking that the platoon would choose to leave, they still had a lot to learn.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4

The teams watched as Walter worked at the control console for the genetic zipper. All the while he kept grumbling about "amateur genetics work" and "improper clinical trials" as he worked the panel. "That woman doesn't deserve her doctorate!" A statement that the teams would have agreed with, if it had come from anyone but Walter Bishop.

"I hope you all appreciate this," Peter Bishop said, shaking his head. "He's been like this for the past two days."

"We'll buy dinner for everyone once we're finished," Campbell noted. "So, can it be done?"

"DNA is basically data in the form of chemical combinations," Peter said. "As long as we make a record of your own 'data' before we run the program, we'll be able to put you back to normal once this is done. Personally I don't see the appeal of turning myself into a walking dust mop."

"We don't have the time to worry about making a good first impression with the local criminal network," Campbell noted. "Once we're back, can your father analyze the climate control systems ringing the city?"

"Sure, if there's something left to examine," Peter said. "Walter's still brilliant, but even he can't tell you about what isn't there. If those systems are failing, if it's bad enough he'd have no idea how to bring them back to working order."

"We'd need to move fast then," Fareeha said. "Xanatos will have questions if there's too long a gap between assisting Zootopia and destroying the towers. How well can Walter work on the road?"

Peter fought back a laugh. "Is that before or after he lectures everyone in the car on how inefficient the highway system is?"

"There!" Everyone turned to see Walter backing away from the console. "This blasted tinker toy should be functional now. I've reviewed the database of genetic codes, and it seems there's already a sizable database of mammalian genetic sequences to choose from. Personally I recommend a sequence as close to human as possible. Preferably gorilla or chimp."

"We'll take that under advisement," Campbell said. Taking a breath, he said, "I'll go first." The teams nodded, though they couldn't help but feel nervous about the idea. Campbell's willingness to put himself through the things his platoon would was admirable, but the idea of being the first one to get their genetics blended was, to say the least, unappealing.

"Now, first we take a genetic sample," Walter said. Campbell nodded, but jumped back when Walter drew a syringe. Walter rolled his eyes, grabbing for Campbell. "Oh, don't be such a baby!"

Campbell looked desperately to Peter for help, but the dimensional refugee shook his head with a wide smile. "Sorry, but you're gonna have to go with the good doctor on this one." Campbell groaned, holding out his arm. Walter shook his head, wiping a part of the arm down before jabbing him to draw the blood.

Campbell didn't wince or cry out, but he watched with mounting fear as Walter admired his life in the glass. "To be clear, I do not consent to any experiments with my genetic material."

"Yes, of course," Walter said, in a tone that told everyone he didn't give a damn. As Peter patted Campbell on the shoulder, Walter inserted the blood sample into the console. With eyes locked on the central monitor and the world around him forgotten, the madman before them began to mutter to himself as he dove into the depths of Campbell's genetic code. "You appear to be predisposed to heart disease young man, take care to watch that."

Campbell's face fell. "Appreciated sir."

After another few minutes, Walter began to chuckle. "The quack who made this at least knew how to handle genetic analysis. Yes, I should be able to make you into a viable chimera, sir. We'll start with a chimp, I'll be able to move adjust as necessary from there."

Campbell cringed. "Are...are you positive about that sir?"

Walter laughed, walked up to Campbell and began measuring the captain. "Of course I'm positive! Would you rather I used a gorilla instead? Those only share ninety-eight-point-three percent genetic code with humans." Everyone paused, then turned to look at Scholz and Vogt. The two shrugged, they didn't know off the top of their heads how close human and gorilla DNA stood compared to human and chimp DNA.

"Almost ready," Walter said, going back to the console. "Strip down, we don't want to waste any time once we're ready."

Campbell sighed, muttering, "Becker, Gantz, watch the doors so no one comes in right now?" The pair did so, and while the platoon wanted to make a few joking catcalls and wolf-whistles they were held back by the potential threat. Still, Vogt knew it was moments like this that made the captain someone the platoon would follow into the worst situations. He could have ordered one of them to go it, even framed it as wanting a volunteer. But not the captain, no.

If anything went wrong, he doubted Peter would try very hard to save the man who kidnapped him from his home dimension.

Stripped and stepping into one of the pods, Campbell called out, "If this goes wrong, everything goes to my dog." The teams chuckled as he leaned back from the door, and the pod sealed shut with a long, loud hiss. The teams tensed, desperately fighting themselves to stop Walter from carrying out his plans. With a focused glare he tapped at the console, tapping away before the genetic zipper hummed to life. With a manic eye and smile, Walter coaxed the machine onward. The systems of the machine began to whine, the troopers leaning forward expectantly. What would they do if they lost their commander? Would Weber have to take command, take a field promotion to platoon commander if it came to the worst?

The whine began dying down, green lights flashing across the center control console. Walter tapped away, the door for the central chamber hissing open. There were thuds, a thick hand reaching around the lip of the door. Everyone realized it was hirsute, almost as hairy as Robin Williams in the late 80s. The figure lumbering out stood hunched, but still up on two legs. A muzzle framed by thick, coarse brown hair poked out, hesitantly sniffing at the air.

"Ha!" Walter beamed with pride at his work, spreading his arms. "This is what you can do when you understand what you're doing!"

Peter stared in shock at the half-ape form that was apparently Campbell lurching out of the center chamber. "Walter, this is not a success!"

Walter laughed. "Of course it is Peter! I've never managed a functional chimera before in my life, this is wonderful!"

That seemed to get Campbell upset, the captain baring his teeth and slamming his fists. As one, everyone began shouting, "TURN HIM BACK! TURN HIM BACK!"

Mei filed down the line in the mess behind Lena, getting her tray loaded with slightly-burned scalloped potatoes, underboiled green beans, and hopefully-cooked slices of ham. Even then, she didn't have much of an appetite. "Is Fareeha sure she wants to go through with this?"

McCree sighed, scratching at this head. "You really want to leave Campbell's people alone on something like this?"

Mei gave an awkward smile. "When you put it like that..."

"Look, now we know what these damn lambs've been up to," McCree said. "They link up with Mr. Big, find a way to Bogo, and turn Bellwether into lamp chops."

Mei paused. "Jesse, you don't mean -- "

McCree paused, then muttered, "Uh, I don't think they'll do it." The fact that neither of them could know for sure made it all the more troubling as the found a table and tried not to think too hard about the fact that they were eating pork. The fact that Zootopia was filled with talking, thinking animals...

"Screw it," McCree muttered. Slamming his fork and knife into the plate, she made sure to take a large bite of pork to make his point. "If it ain't talking now, I don't give a damn if it was talking then." Mei felt the last of her appetite vanish.

"Afternoon." Baker moved to take a seat at the table with them, grunting as he eased down with his own plate. "Well, that was quite the show, wasn't it?"

"Still can't believe Durand's squad is crazy enough to wanna do that to themselves," McCree muttered. "We're sure there's no better way to get into the city?"

"Not without calling down a world of hurt on people who don't deserve it," Baker argued, showering his plate with salt. "Besides, you're not going in with'em."

"Yeah, well you'll need someone that knows how to talk to fellas like Big instead of trying to beat'em to death," McCree said, glaring at Baker. "Won't do us much good to kill the guy that we to convince to get us into the city."

Baker nodded, but didn't look away from McCree. "And I suppose you'll be able to negotiate so well in San Fransokyo?"

McCree tossed his fork and knife on the plate. "Y'all are gonna have to get used to working with folk like that sometimes, alright? Just because someone goes down that road don't mean they can't turn 'round before they reach the end'a the line."

Baker scoffed, still speaking as he ate. "Just because you made it, we're supposed to believe the rest of'em can? It took you nearly getting killed by your old boss to realize just how fucked you were."

"And y'all are so busy looking for something to shoot you forget that you can't solve every problem with a hole through the head." McCree pointed his left hand at Baker, the metal still managing to catch light from the cheap fluorescents overhead. "Y'all wanna be killers so bad, why not stay back home?"

"Bloody ceasefire's still holding, for one," Baker muttered. "And face it, you lot need killers in this mess. Amari and Oxton won't be enough when this all goes wrong."

Mei looked up in surprise. "When it all goes wrong?"

Baker nodded, shoveling more food down the hatch. "Even if we're not operating solely on what we've watched, things do have a way of working here that we need to be prepared for. Something will go wrong, and go wrong in a way worse than we'd be used to in our homes. The question is when and how."

McCree drew in a long breath, then sighed, "Got any ideas?"

"Odds are there will be a police raid of some kind," Baker noted. "There's probably some kind of predator underground trying to undermine Bellwether's efforts. If things go loud, we'll need to be ready for a fight." Smirking a little, Baker said, "I don't think you'll have any trouble with actions against dirty cops, will you?"

McCree chuckled. "Well, I won't lie and say it don't feel a little bit satisfying to give those types what they've earned."

Mei look at McCree trying to figure out what the joke here was that had somehow bridged the gulf between the two men. Why would facing a corrupt police department be enough to bring them both together? This was something she missed, but she would have to figure it out some other time. "What will we do while Cpl. Durand is inside the city?"

"We'll be on the perimeter," Baker answered.

Mei cocked her head. "But isn't the problem inside the city?"

"It's the howlers," McCree said. "A few moles and weasels crawling underground with some baggies of the stuff aren't enough to justify the risk. The Illuminati need a better reason to get involved with it. So that dumb lamb figured out a way to get it out in bulk. Don't worry, I'll know what to look for."

Baker looked up. "And you'd know a few things about smuggling, then?"

McCree smiled. "You think Fareeha stuck me there just to look pretty?"

Baker shrugged, going back to his lunch. "She's got better judgment than that, I suppose. Still, you and Dr. Zhou should be good to have around when we do need to fight."

McCree grinned. "Who said we were gonna do anything? We were gonna leave all that to you."

Baker shook his head. "Now wouldn't Jesse James be just ashamed to hear that."

McCree smirked. "Never been a fan of him. Everyone knows about him being an outlaw, no one remembers he was with the Confederates."

Baker shook his head. "Always takes the romance out of this, actual facts and history."

McCree chuckled. "Wait until you hear about the rest of America."

The insertion team were assembled at the genetic zipper, Walter going over their requested animals. "Wolf...deer...wolf...wolf...jackal...why are there so many canid requests?"

"Gee, animals renowned for being pack hunters and working well together to take down prey." Lena smirked at the issue. "I wonder why a group of soldiers chose them."

Walter nodded at first, going back to his mutterings and mumblings until he looked up again. "Who chose the deer?"

Lena raised her hand again. "Never much liked predators."

Durand shook his head, turning to his squad. "The last chance, is everyone still willing to do this?" Vogt saw none of the squad turn away or step back. They were on an operation, and they would be damned if they left their comrades to hang on their own.

"Okay, all aboard for defying the natural order," Peter said, as Agent Dicker and Capt. Amelia stood to the side watching everything. "Who's first?"

Durand started to step forward, but Lena moved in front of him. "Remember, no one tell Angela about this." Everyone nodded, watching as she stepped into one of the pods and threw her clothes out before the door shut. Everyone held their breath, watching as Walter tapped away at the console. With a final check, he turned toward the center chamber with a smile and pressed down on the activation button. The machine whined, groaned, then the center chamber opened as Peter moved next to it with a robe.

A hoof that somehow functioned like a hand grabbed for the robe, then a hind leg covered in brown fur stepped out. Lena came out turned into an upright deer, her eyes wide and confused as she kept sniffing at everything around her. "Well my dear," Walter said, turning with a proud smile from the console. "How do you feel?"

Fareeha took a second to stare at Walter, then said, "I...I feel fine?" She blinked, then added, "Wait, I'm able to speak without any kind of lisp? I'm not biting my tongue?"

"I made sure to check on the specific genetic markers regarding the mouth and vocal chords," Walter noted, smiling with such pride he could've been mistaken for a Yale alumnus. Pulling a ball out of his coat, he tossed it at Lena. She caught it, then blinked as she realized her hooves worked as well as a human hand. Walter laughed, turning back to the console.

"Well, congrats, now you get to worry about lime disease" Peter said, still staying close to Lena as she began to walk from the genetic zipper. "You smell something?"

"Yeah, a lot of something," Lena admitted. As her ears began to twitch, she added, "And what's all that noise?" Turning to the squad, she cocked her head and asked, "What's all the noise?"

"Evolution's answer to your being a prey animal, my dear," Walter said, resetting the parameters. "Some of the finest in the kingdom animalia. Next?"

Durand sighed, stepping forward. "He'd better be able to reverse this," he muttered in French. After another two minutes, he too stepped out, a black-furred wolf that stared at his paws and pondered the new state of his being. "Can you all understand me?"

"Oui corporal," Brodeur whispered, shaking his head. "But we need a moment to believe it."

A half-hour. A half-hour of the squad stepping in, being changed, and emerging as wolves. When Vogt had his turn, he took a long breath before stepping into the chamber, suddenly surrounded by white and a single porthole to look out onto the world.

"Standby my boy!" Walter laughed, clearly enjoying his work once more. "Are you ready!"

"Ja."

The whine began, and Vogt's breathing began to quicken as he was suddenly bathed in beams of light, scanning every part of his body. Something about it didn't feel bad, as though he was simply being photographed by a thousand tiny cameras. He didn't notice that part of his body were being disassembled, starting from the very soles of his feet before...

He opened his eyes, finding himself in the center chamber as the door slid open. As he reached out for the offered robe, he paused as he saw his arm. His fur was black as his hair, muscular for what he figured a wolf would be. For a second he forgot the robe was even there, as he drew his paws up to stare at them. Gently, carefully, he felt his muzzle, running his paws down from his now-wet nose to the edges of his mouth.

"Hey, Vogt," Peter called from outside. "You okay?" Vogt's voice stalled in his throat before he finally spoke.

"Ja...Ja, I...I'm fine."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5

It was strange for Vogt, walking about with no shoes. The idea of walking about Tunis Harbor with no boots was begging for your feet to wind up with bloody tatters in the place of your skin. Yet here he stood in the squad bay, feeling the cold concrete under his new pads. He'd needed to get used to the sheer power of every smell around him now, but at least he could still enjoy plenty of meat for each meal.

The others were still getting used to their new forms as well. Lena had fumbled with a lot of things at first, catching a ball was apparently a little easier than trying to operate a tablet with hooves. Fareeha was busy grumbling at the fact that she couldn't drink coffee for the duration of her time as a jackal, otherwise she might wind up dead from a failed kidney. The rest of Durand's squad were all still trying to get used to the sight of themselves, staring at what they could make of their reflections in the bathroom mirrors. The rest of the platoon were too busy staring, trying to figure out what they were looking at. True, they were all still comrades, but the entire situation felt like they were playing at normal, at least normal for them, when the truth was they had long since passed strange, slammed into bizarre, and were probably two exits away from surreal.

"Well, this is certainly something," Capt. Amelia muttered, staring at the transformed infiltration team.

"Try living it," Fareeha said, still taking time to stare at her new arms. It didn't help that her eyes kept flicking back and forth to her brand-new muzzle. "How much longer until we leave?"

"Agent Dicker plans to speak to you and Capt. Campbell regarding that," Amelia said, watching as the infiltration team learned to feel out their bodies. To feel the ground under their pads, and get used to new senses of smell and hearing. Most importantly, how to get used to their bodies and how they worked. It wasn't lost on anyone that the first time they'd set foot into the scorching Mojave sun, that without thinking about it, their tongues were out and panting. They only realized it had happened when the rest of the team were staring at them in surprise.

"You can't say it wouldn't be useful back home," Lee admitted, staring at his fur-covered forearm. "We could at least save more supplies on clothing, I suppose. Though I'm not sure how well we could wear body armor in this...condition."

"Maybe," Vogt said. "But even if it might help against the colder temperatures we would probably have to contend with potential medical issues involving parasites, even hygiene-related diseases like mange."

Lee thought for a moment. "I, I suppose that is true, yes."

"Then there's the fact that potential racial tensions will be potentially inflamed further," Vogt pointed out. "The idea that some humans are willing to change themselves into animals would spark mass debates on the ethics of the technique among the wider civilian population. That would be if we choose to ignore the religious arguments as well."

Lee blinked, rubbing under his muzzle in thought. "That is a fair point, yes. Have you been putting much thought into this?"

"No, why?"

Lee shrugged. "Only that you seem to have the answers all set to give." Pulling out a deck of cards, he began to shuffle. He fumbled at first, trying to understand how the paws worked, but after several minutes he was manipulating them enough to shuffle the deck. "You know it doesn't seem the fur does much to interfere with our digits."

Vogt nodded, rubbing his own paws together. "To be honest, I'd still prefer actual hands."

"Fair, I suspect Dr. Bishop managed for us to keep fingerprints in this state," Lee observed, shuffling the deck for a final time. "If it weren't for the mental instability -- "

"He wouldn't be as brilliant as you think," Vogt observed. "Walter Bishop is a man utterly driven by 'discovery' in all things. We saw that there is no redemption for his actions now, and even if his mind could be recovered there would always be the knowledge of what he did, both for Peter and for the rest of Argus."

Lee nodded, but couldn't stop staring at his comrade in mild confusion. "Are you well?"

Vogt blinked. "Do I sound like I'm injured?" Running his paws along his mouth, he asked, "Am I not hearing myself?"

"No, no that's all quite fine," Lee said, still staring in confusion. "It's only that you're not normally as verbose when it comes to such things."

Vogt shrugged, taking the deck in his own paws. "Maybe it's a side-effect."

Lee's eyebrow stood high on his brow. "Maybe, yes."

Campbell tried to get comfortable in the chair, even as he had to keep readjusting his tail against the seat and back of the chair. Fareeha looked in a similar situation, unable to fold her arms because she realized she'd keep feeling the fur along with her tail. Weber kept staring at the two of them, trying to rectify what she was seeing at the moment. Truly, this was not a normal mission. If there even was such a concept in the MVTF anymore.

"We've made contact with Shere Khan," Dicker said. "He's agreed to meet with us off the coast. Coast Guard has agreed to assist in getting us into position, they'll be there in case something goes wrong."

"Not that there should be any," X mused, waving his hand as though it would disperse the troubles in the room. "Khan is your typical CEO. He doesn't get his own claws dirty, he can pay people for that."

Campbell cringed a little. "Not that he can't, is the thing."

Dicker nodded. "How're you two holding up?"

"Still getting used to it," Fareeha said. "A lot of the aftershaves on the base take some getting used to."

X gasped, pressing his fingers to his lapel. "Ex-cuse me! My hubby only gets me the finest of colognes, thank you!"

"Stay focused X," Dicker grumbled. Clearly X's dramatics were old news to the experienced agent. "If we need to, we can arrange for you to stay a day or two in Cape Suzette to acclimate."

"That would be for the best sir," Campbell noted. "Zootopia might overwhelm us if we were just thrown in." He paused, then noted, "It could also help set a lay of the land for Cape Suzette."

Dicker smirked. "Now, why would we need anything like that?"

"As for your plan here," X said, waving a printout of GDI's plan for Amphibia. "I have to admit, this feels a touch too militaristic."

Campbell and Fareeha shared a look as Campbell said, "It was written by a member of a United Nations counter-terrorism initiative."

"Yeah, right, the UN taking action," X said, rolling his eyes. "I can believe a whole bunch of universes merged more easily than that."

Campbell noticed Fareeha's fist ball up. Not that he could necessarily disagree with X. In his history, the UN became a non-entity after they refused to even sanction China for their invasion of Taiwan in 2053. Of course, by that point most of the world had consolidated into blocs of power anyway. Still, not the time or place. "It may be hard to believe for you, but given what the Core and King Andrias are willing to do? A concerted military action in their dimension could be enough to forestall an invasion of this dimension, potentially even prevent it."

"It also doesn't involve this dimension in any meaningful way," Dicker admitted. "As long as we aren't wrapped up in it, frankly we have no room to object in any meaningful way." Even then, Campbell noticed that Dicker's expression read that of a man who didn't like what he said. No matter how factual it was.

"We still have some time before we set off for the Washington coast," X said, smiling as he kicked his heelies up on the table. Folding his hands behind his head, he added, "Don't supposed you'd like to share anything else you've seen in the multiverse?"

Campbell smirked, glancing at an also-grinning Fareeha. "Depends," Campbell answered. "Do you want to hear about the werewolf cult in Philadelphia, the bodyjacking alien parasites, or the immortal omnicidal dragon?"

"I think we're done here," Dicker sighed, gathering up his papers. "Captain, you and your people get some rest, I'll touch base and make sure everything's set for our departure."

"Thank you sir," Campbell said, still a little awkward on his canine-legs. He and Fareeha could both feel it, how they knew they legs should be able to work so well in spite of the fact that they did. Still wobbling a bit as they walked, ignoring the still-strange stares from the base staff as they went, they made their way outside into the blazing sun. Fareeha was fine, jackals were used to the desert after all. Campbell, unfortunately, had to contend with the fact that he instinctively began to pant after a few minutes. They both cringed as a jet miles overhead sounded like it was only yards away, the whine of the engines practically clawing at their ears. The smells of fuels of all kinds mixed together in a powerful bouquet, one that threatened to knock them on their asses. Hopefully the platoon had been acclimating to their new senses after a few hours.

"I still can't believe this is our best plan," Fareeha muttered. "Parker's going to -- "

"Oh, enough about Parker," Campbell muttered. "He's busy in some Godforsaken swamp prepping to stop an invasion. Better he's not here anyway, he'd only kill Bellwether and damn the consequences."

Fareeha nodded. "Fair point. But what about Amphibia?"

"I trust Col. Walton to know how to reign Dead Six in when he needs to," Campbell admitted. "What about Echo, can she handle LA?"

Fareeha smiled. "Echo's CPUs were purposefully built to emulate human thought processes. A delusional chess program? She's already figured out how to handle him."

"Good, that's one less issue to worry about." Glancing up at the sky, he muttered, "Going up against American law enforcement. How well-earned is their reputation?"

Fareeha sighed. "It's like anything, they're people. The problem is that this is the LAPD, they pioneered the concept of militarized policing. Even if they dress from a hundred-twenty years ago, they wouldn't be easy to handle before they got the robots, toons, and jetpacks."

"Was afraid you'd say that," Campbell muttered. Then he paused and did some mental math. "Right, a hundred-twenty years for you. I think for us it's almost two hundred."

Fareeha grinned. "Which universe should be our standard for measuring time?"

"Too far above my fucking pay grade," Campbell muttered. "But we should mention it to Maj. Carter when we get back."

"Good call," Fareeha agreed. Reaching up to scratch her head, she paused as her hand brushed up against her left ear. Still scratching at the back of her scalp, she muttered, "You don't think we'll need to do this often, do you?"

"Duckberg shouldn't require this, no," Campbell said. "Useful as being able to literally sniff out an ambush would be, I don't like the idea of expressing my own anal gland." Noting Fareeha's disgusted reaction, he added, "Never had a dog, have you?"

The platoon was gathered in a rec room in the underground barracks for their dinner. Given the constant stares from the personnel on base, they figured it was better to stay out of any well-trafficked areas. Lena had to settle for a dinner of an extra-large salad, though she didn't seem to complain as she wolfed down the greens. As the Germans sang an old song, the wolf-hybrids took bites from their meals of lightly-cooked steak. Everyone else was having pizza, watching as their comrades ate in ways that felt wholly unnatural and totally mundane simultaneously.

Weber watched over it all like a mother hen, eyes locked on Durand's squad. There was still some initial discomfort, but overall they seemed to be fine. Reason remained in their minds, and while there had been some requisite ribald ribbing between Lena and Belenko about being eaten, it was clear that no, simply being a walking wolf was not enough to override the fact that the lieutenant was a friend, not food.

"Alright, I've got a question," Russo said, still sketching even with a paw. "Brodeur, where do non-domesticated animals fit in Animal Farm?"

Brodeur smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Loathe as I am to acknowledge Orwell most of the time, he did address that with the character of Moses. A raven that preached to all the animals on the farm that living a good life would let them go one day to Sugar Candy Mountain."

Mei looked up from her dinner, glancing at Lena before asking, "But I thought the book was about communism. Isn't that religious?"

"Oh, it is," Brodeur noted. "He was written to represent the Orthodox Church in Russia. He was cast out when the pigs took over, but tacitly accepted after Napoleon took power."

"Napoleon?" McCree shook his head. "What's Napoleon -- "

"Ta gueule, that was the name of the pig that overthrew the farmer," Brodeur sighed. As the platoon as stared at McCree wondering why he didn't seem to know that, Brodeur continued. "In the case of a wolf, I imagine they would be used as a commentary on 'uncivilized' groups outside the nation. Given the metaphor being based on Russia, more than likely having them stand in the place of the Siberian tribes that the Russians wanted to wipe out or russify." Smirking, he added, "Given how Orwell wrote, I wouldn't be surprised if he would write them as 'too stupid' to understand what was happening to them."

"Hang on, I know I wasn't exactly formally schooled, but that don't sound right," McCree said, setting down his pizza. "Wasn't Orwell always writing about dictators being bad things and such?"

"In very general depictions," Brodeur noted. "He believed that a constitutional monarchy was a better system than outright communism. He was also an unrepentant homophobe and sexist."

Lena raised her glass of water. "Too right."

"He was at his core, by the end, a horrifically cynical individual." Taking a final bite of his steak, Brodeur set his plate on the nearest cheap table and leaned back. "Even in the face of America's collapse, the advance of the ice, and the PAC invasion, democracy has survived. Is it perfect? Non. But he was still wrong that it could die. Fear only lasts until the people realize they are inoculated from it. Typically that coincides with when their own children are starving and under threat."

Mei set her plate down. "But why hasn't that happened in Zootopia?"

Brodeur thought for a moment. "This is a blatant guess, admittedly. Yet I think there is something that could explain it. Their use of the night howler, it isn't only terrifying prey animals. Predators see their own suddenly go insane, with little to no explanation of how it happens. They may even be attacked when these incidents occur. While many may chafe under the pain of it, they may see Bellwether's policies as the only rational decision when their own safety is under threat."

Vogt shook his head. "That doesn't mean they've given up. We don't know the status of Gazelle or Mr. Big. Both of them would most likely oppose Bellwether, granted for Mr. Big it would be for pragmatic means. That does still mean that there could be individuals outside of her full control who she may target. Once we infiltrate the city, we should focus on securing their positions and ensuring they are kept safe from whatever retributions will be used against them."

Mei, McCree, and Lena looked up in surprise. The rest of the platoon kept staring at him, even as they kept finishing their dinners. Still, Durand nodded in agreement. "We should make it clear to Mr. Big that further criminal action would be ill-advised. The presence of the BLRKW and other federal law enforcement would mean there needs to be a concerted focus on improving the lives of anyone living in Little Rodentia. Brodeur, do you think you can work with him on that?"

Brodeur smiled. "Gloire à la révolution des rongeurs!"

Mei smiled, as Becker and Gantz went on to ask about which animals Orwell would use to represent other religions. Yet she kept glancing at Vogt as he kept jumping into the conversation, with long, multi-syllabic statements, questions, and jokes.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6

They weren't flying on an OWCA transport this time. No, they were aboard an Air Force C-130, the thrum of the engines forcing them all to don thick, padded ear protection for the flight. Compared to a flight on a Titan or Shepherd, it was a series of turbulent thuds and shaking, aging metal that made the teams cling on for dear life to their seats. The troopers and Overwatch team both noticed that they were each uneasy on the flight. Which oddly made them both feel more at ease. Especially when Agent Dicker, Mr. X, and Capt. Amelia's team didn't seem to notice or care. Vogt was too busy gripping the metal frame of his canvas seat to really notice anything else. His eyes were wide, his fur on end. He was thankful he was still getting used to his tail, because it kept him from sitting up against the fuselage. If the seat was shaking, he didn't dare imagine what the actual body of the plane probably felt like. The rest of the infiltration team were either shutting their eyes tight, muttering prayers, or cursing their luck that fate had deigned such a course for them.

The day before they'd met with the other teams. Luz and Hunter both stared in awe; the Simpsons were too busy making jokes about the platoon marking their territory; Candace had to be restrained before she ran off screaming that Walter was making horrible mutants in his lab. The gargoyles, once they'd woken, seemed concerned that this was only a way to make future mutates by those other than Xanatos. At which point Peter had pointed out that Walter wasn't allowed to access any genetic material without at least two other doctors and a guard present.

His inner ear told him the plane was beginning to tilt, angling in to land at Joint Base Lewis-McChord. A merciful reprieve from the terror that had been the entire flight. As the lumbering cargo carrier made one final shuddering hit on landing, Vogt waited at least another three minutes to finally relax once he was sure the airframe wasn't going to collapse around them like they just drove through Dealy Plaza. As the plane's crew chief checked them all and signaled they could get out, the infiltration team grabbed their gear and was off first, followed maybe two seconds later by the rest of the team.

Tromping off the transport, the team was met with some stares by the ground crew. Apparently toons, or those who looked like toons, were common enough, but anthropomorphic animals were something that took getting used to. Moving down the ramp, they loaded into two waiting SUVs and what they learned was a seven-ton truck. As the troopers crammed together in the bed, the infiltration team still trying to adjust to their tails, they were soon trundling along through the base toward the Coast Guard station.

Kavanaugh grinned as they bounced down the road. "So, do you lot think you'll have to lift your legs?"

A round of chuckles in the back of the truck. "I'm afraid that will have to forever remain a mystery," Durand answered. "And if that's what your mind if focused on, I fear for your squad on this mission."

"Merely trying to establish a biological baseline," Kavanaugh said, putting on the airs of intelligentsia. "After all, what if we need to do this again?" Mei noticed Vogt's ears perk up. As did Weber.

"No thank you," Belenko grumbled, pulling at her forearm. "I feel like I'm always wearing a jumper and I can't pull it off when I get too hot."

"Yeah, not sure I'd want to do this again either," Lena admitted, holding up her right hoof. "This is just too weird to get used to." The entire team nodded in agreement. Except, as Mei noticed, for Vogt. Then she noticed that Weber noticed, and a second later Weber noticed she'd noticed. That led to the rest of the ride proceeding with small side conversations and jokes, until they finally arrived at the Coast Guard station. Once more, the guardsmen manning the station stared in confusion at the infiltration team. Simultaneously, they had no trouble seeing Capt. Amelia or Nokar. Toons, it seemed, were less strange than anthropomorphic animals.

A man with two silver oak leaves on the collar of his dark blue uniform strode up. "Agent Dicker, I'm Cmdr. Hansen. Welcome to Cape Disappointment." Everyone paused, staring at each other to make sure they also heard the same name.

"Thanks for the help with this, commander," Dicker said, shaking the man's hand. "We're sorry to impose, but that's unfortunately the nature of the beast right now." Everyone smirked at the small joke.

"Your people will have to make do with sleeping on the floor a few days," Hansen said, before asking in a lower tone, "Do we need to worry about any food or medical needs?"

"They'll be fine," Dicker said. "Can you brief us on what your plan is for the rendezvous?"

Hansen nodded, turning to one of his men. "Lieutenant, show these people to their room?" The lieutenant nodded, not taking his eyes off the infiltration team as the leaders were led to a small conference room. Passing the pictures of command board, going from Pres. Martinez all the way down to the station's chief petty officer, the leaders found themselves in yet another nondescript conference room. The American and Coast Guard flags sat at the back, a junior enlisted manning a laptop with the powerpoint all set. Once everyone was seated, the CPO hit the lights.

"The meeting with Mr. Khan's vessel about twenty-five miles off the coast of the Quinault Reservation," the guardsman said, showing a giant patch of blue with a small section of land on the right of the screen. "Mr. Khan has stated that he will only bring a crew for his yacht, no one else."

Campbell nodded. "Has the region had any trouble with smuggling via sea, sir?"

"Not smuggling," Hansen said, sounding troubled. "But we have had issues with air piracy."

Campbell started to nod, until he and Fareeha ran through the sentence again. Taking a breath, Campbell asked, "Don Carnage, sir?"

"Who else," Hansen sighed. "We've made some progress in keeping him off-balance, but at present he's still managed to keep slipped whatever nets Air National Guard and our stations have tried to set. It's why we're meeting with the cutter Mellon. They'll provide security while the meeting is in progress. We got lucky, they were already scheduled to move to the Bearing Sea when the BLRKW made contact with us."

Campbell noticed Fareeha grimace a little. "Have you had any trouble with Zootopia, sir?"

Hansen shook his head. "None to date, and I'm coming up on my PCS. Bellwether hasn't given us any trouble, though I've heard the Quinault are having problems with them."

Campbell nodded, and turned to Fareeha. "Capt. Amari, do you think you'd be able to speak with the Quinault leadership?"

Fareeha nodded the second Campbell said anything. "That won't be a problem."

"I'll have my people contact them then," Hansen said. "Once we determine how Khan can get your team into Zootopia, we'll be on standby off the coast in case you need to get out."

"And we don't plan on forgetting it, commander," Dicker said, nodding to the officer. "What about our people? No objections to them being able to stretch their legs and order a few pizzas?"

Hansen smiled a little. "Only if they remember to order enough to share. But we prefer Chinese out here."

Dicker began to murmur. "Might be a little tricky. What about burgers?"

Hansen thought for a second. "Might have to break the grill out. Chief, grab some money out of petty cash, get to Sid's?"

"We'll throw in as well sir," Campbell said, pulling out a stack of twenties. "Wouldn't want to be bad guests, would we?" The two senior men stared at the money a moment, until the CPO shrugged and took the cash before leaving the room.

"Rosnick, can you leave the room a moment?" The guardsman nodded, moving for the door. As soon as it was shut tight, Hansen turned to Dicker. "Have any of you seen the cordon around Zootopia before? It's not a DMZ, but it's armed and there's a lot of nervous National Guard around it right now."

Fareeha leaned forward. "Has there been violence?"

"Not violence, at least not purposeful," Hansen said. "We've had several feral predators try to attack the line. We've tried to take them alive, but when you've got a lion or a tiger charging you, you don't want to wait for the man with the tranquilizer gun to take his shot."

Campbell understood what the commander was saying. It hadn't been unusual during the retreat from the continent and the early days in North Africa for rabid strays to be a problem. The only solution had been to shoot them down and know that it was a mercy. There was no need to tell the men on the cordon that there was a way to save the predators. No need to add to what might already be a sizable trauma. From the look on her face, Campbell noticed Capt. Amelia had the same opinion.

"We'll make sure our people are settled in," Dicker said, rising from his chair. "If you need our help with anything commander, let us know."

"Roger agent," Hansen said, nodding to the team leads. "Same for all of you, whatever we can do to help."

As they left the conference room, Campbell hoped that it wouldn't be needed at all.

The teams were quintuple bunked in the station, crammed into what spaces there were in the offices with their spare clothes bundled up as makeshift pillows. The platoon didn't seem to care, making no noise as they lay about the thin carpet wherever the cubicles allowed them. Some had managed to curl up under desks not in use, others managed to grab a section of wall. For Vogt, it brought back memories of Minsk, of being forced to make do with a single apartment meant for a family of maybe four, because the entire brigade had to cram several divisions into the same operations area. Not that it mattered. If the orphanage hadn't forced him to get used to packed conditions, his time in training had.

Weber entered the room, the muttering and murmuring dying off as she announced, "The Coast Guard are being kind enough to grill us dinner. Infiltration team, be mindful of what you eat. No onions, no soda. Cordon team, don't rub it in." A few jeers from the infiltration team before she continued. "Meeting with Khan is in two days. Until then, keep your paws out of trouble. If the locals decide to muzzle you, I'll listen to them first."

Vogt smirked, then decided to try howling. The other infiltrators laughed, then found themselves joining in. Weber smiled as she wound up to tell them to knock it off, only to pause as she heard a howl from outside where the captain was walking with Fareeha. Facepalming, she ordered, "Alright, you're all wolves right now. Make sure you all keep an eye on your hygiene, if you all start to stink we're going to be very unpopular very fast. We're allowed to step outside, just stay close to the station while we're here."

"Understood sergeant," Durand said. He turned to the squad, noting for a moment that Lena looked slightly shaken by the howling. Shaking his own head clear as he realized that he'd just started howling on instinct, he said, "Anyone wants to step outside, now's the time."

Half the platoon groaned and muttered, preferring to take a few moments to rest after the long journey on the trucks. A few found a little energy to rise and move for the door, paws and boots moving beside each other to get some air. Vogt moved at the head of the group, stepping out into the cool, crisp Northwest air and taking a long breath. The salt on the breeze was heavy in his nose, but that was nothing as he turned to look out over the cape. The sky was bright and blue, the surrounding hills covered in the dark green of pines. The waves lapping at the break to the south set a rhythm to the world, as the sun began to trail toward the west and the infinite horizon of the Pacific.

Vogt realized he could mark the smell before Mei even spoke up from behind him. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Vogt smiled, taking another long breath of the cape. "Most of our operations, we're around ports and freighters. We never had any real time to notice the land around us. Granted, there wasn't much to notice before we went into the desert proper."

Snowball began to float about, peering at every blade of grass on his way. "You should all come to Gibraltar then," she said. "You can see the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, at night it's amazing."

Vogt didn't share the sentiments. All he knew of Gibraltar were of slaughtered refugees and three regiments decimated holding the PAC at bay. "Maybe some other time."

Still smiling, Mei found a large rock and moved to sit on it, staring up at the sky. "So, you're still feeling alright?"

Vogt nodded, flexing his paws. "I still think I would prefer hands, though."

Behind the station, standing over a shoal slowly drowning in the incoming tide, Weber stood with Durand and Kavanaugh. "Half the platoon just howled."

"Oui, it, it wasn't quite expected," Durand admitted. "Dr. Bishop might not have made us animals, but there is clearly other instincts here we didn't anticipate."

"Then keep an eye on yourselves," Weber noted. "If this happens in Zootopia, the locals might not be too kind when they see such a display. Kavanaugh, any thoughts on your squad patrolling the area?"

Kavanaugh shook his head. "We're getting used to trees, sergeant. As long as the locals know what they're doing, we should be able to help with the patrols with no issue. I'll have to keep Van der Burgh at a distance for most of it, but I think she understands that she should keep her opinions to herself."

"She'd better," Weber muttered. "I need you to show authority for that Kavanaugh, is that understood?"

Kavanaugh did his best to straighten up as he answered. "Aye sergeant, show authority."

That would be enough for Weber, before she turned her head northward. "The movie said the population of predators was roughly twenty percent. Even with the shock collars and increased police presence, that shouldn't account for that much of the city's budget, should it?"

"We don't know the numbers, sergeant," Durand pointed out. "And with Zootopia under a federal blockade, Bellwether may be using that as a reason for why the economic situation is under strain."

"But that wouldn't be enough to explain how bad the maintenance has gotten," Kavanaugh pointed out. "Those systems are essential, remember? Bellwether wanted fear, not death."

Durand shook her head. "Not death beyond what could cause more fear."

Weber nodded. "Kavanaugh, I want you to go with Capt. Amari to speak with the Quinault. Find what you can, we'll use it while we're working on the cordon."

Nodding, Kavanaugh moved to sit at the edge of the sand. "So, here's what I'm expecting. Predator-only ghettos, a primarily prey or herbivore-only police, mass surveillance and informant programs. She probably has a special unit entirely filled with other lambs, make sure she can control things the way she wants them to be seen."

Weber kept her eyes looked to the north. "Whatever they have waiting for us, it won't be worse than Minsk."

Durand shrugged. "If you don't count the psycho-berries."

Weber smiled. "No, not counting the psycho-berries. So, how does it feel?"

Durand shrugged. "I suppose I've adapted to it. I wouldn't like to live this way, but I don't think I'm in danger."

"And the squad?"

"They're all fine," Durand said. "None of them have reported any medical or psychological issues."

Weber nodded. "Morale seems high."

"It does," Durand agreed. "Even Vogt is talking lately. He hasn't been like this since that poetry contest in Taba."

Weber smiled, then went back to keeping her eyes turned northward.

Tony Dracon and Glasses strode into Xanatos' office, watching as the man shut his laptop. "Gentlemen, good to see you both again."

"Yeah, good to be here Dave," Tony muttered, glaring at the CEO. "It'd be better if you'd followed through on what you offered us."

Xanatos kept his smile polite and non-committal, rising from his seat. "Are you referring to your business competition with Mr. Brod's operations?"

"To keep it in those terms, precisely," Glasses answered. "The entire reason we've entered into this partnership was to secure our business with you. So far all we've seen is our operations being forced to compete with Brod's cheaper imports from Central Europe."

"Yes, I've seen those reports," Xanatos said, rising from behind the desk. Pressing a button on it, he gestured to a wall rising to his right. "Fear not, gentlemen. This new product should show Mr. Brod exactly what will happen to his operations."

The mobsters froze, staring in shock at the gift from above before them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7

Climbing up the ladderwell, Campbell took a second to adjust to the shifting mass of the Mellon. Being aboard the cutter was a new experience for him, but he didn't feel anything too terrible. At least he had room to move around compared to the packed conditions of the transport from Cerbere. That had been an experience, learning how to sleep either standing up or pressed crotch-to-ass with nearly a hundred other officers. Thankfully they'd managed to secure additional transports off the coast of Portugal. Still, he'd be making sure to not go below decks if he could help it.

It was strange to see a ship like the cutter, with tall central structures above the deck. The warships he was used to were sleek, with low-visibility silhouettes coated in absorbent materials meant to keep any radar signatures from being returned to PAC systems. That was when he remembered that technically, this was a law enforcement vessel. This wasn't meant to be a warship, it was meant to patrol the nautical borders of the United States and make sure the kinds of criminals who could smuggle mass quantities of drugs and were willing to use force to protect their shipments. Which explained the cannon in the turret on the bow.

Dicker was wrapped up in a trench coat under the lead-gray skies, looking like he'd just walked out of an ancient detective movie. Capt. Amelia meanwhile kept staring off the port side toward the deep Pacific with longing eyes. He could only imagine how it felt, wishing she could be back in command of her own vessel and crew once more. Maybe one day Argus could arrange for her to take back to the Aether once more? Granted, she'd have to wear a spacesuit aboard what would undoubtedly be a modified space shuttle.

Of course, he was busy fighting off a sense of unease as well. His fresh new instincts were telling him that this was not a place he should be. Was this how Zootopia had to develop? So many species forced to live in such conditions that they had no choice but to ignore certain natural instincts. Maybe that was the problem that Zootopia had been inborn with, being unable to acknowledge that there had been a problem in a meaningful way? A city wasn't a watering hole, and in nature there was no safety except with the herd. Depending on the animal, of course, and the method by which a species reproduced, and sweet merciful mother actually trying to think about the specific details of what was going on was starting to make his head hurt.

"All hands, rendezvous in fifteen minutes," the ship's system announced. "Ready the skiff and standby."

"That's our cue," Dicker said, turning away from the rail. "C'mon, let's get to the stern." Following, Campbell and Amelia saw the guardsmen moving a rigid-hulled boat over the side to the water. Cmdr. Hansen was there in his utilities and raincoat. "It'll be a tight fit, but it's this or swim over."

Dicker nodded, feeling a sudden gust of wind whip up about the deck. "It's fine, never was much good outside of a doggy paddle."

"Ship off the starboard bow," the speakers blared. Turning, Campbell saw it. It wasn't a mega-yacht like the ones he'd been taken on with his father during meetings with other executives, but it still stank of obscene wealth as he saw it approaching.

Hauling themselves over the side and down the rope ladder leading to the skiff, they were joined by two enlisted that would stay with the skiff as the meeting took place. As the cutter held position a quarter-mile away, the skiff bounced over the waves, Campbell's paws gripping hard at the hard rubber shell. Hansen and the guardsmen, Dicker and Amelia, they all looked calm, focused on the meeting. He was the only one that didn't appreciate that the seas seemed to want to toss him over the side. Oh God, would he even be able to swim like this? No, nope, best to shove those thoughts to the side and focus on the meeting to come.

Pulling up port side to the yacht, they trudged up a set of portable stairs to see a group of panthers and pumas waiting to greet them. "Welcome aboard everyone," a literal weasel of an assistant said, pushing his round, thin-framed glasses up on his snout. "If you'd all come with me, Mr. Khan is waiting."

It was all going exactly as Campbell expected. The man in charge didn't deign to meet with his guests on the deck. Better they come to him, after all. Following the literal weasel in a suit, they stepped into the yacht to see it all tastefully decorated with images that Campbell presumed were the esteemed members of the Khan family. All of them looking down on the viewer with superiority and palpable smugness. They were led into the central cabin of the yacht, a set of couches in a circular arrangement around a gas fireplace. One that was raging even as there was air conditioning running. The tiger himself had his back to them, swirling a martini glass in his claws. Campbell glared, and without realizing it felt his lips peel back as a growl began to rise within him. Only a firm hand on his shoulder from Amelia made him realize and stop before it was too late.

"Ah, welcome aboard," Khan said, glancing over his shoulder at the group. He was still animated, still moving like he'd come straight out of the late 80s and early 90s. It wasn't until they approached the other side of the couch that he rose. "Shere Khan, president, CEO, and owner of Khan Enterprises."

"Mr. Khan," Dicker said, keeping his expression neutral. "Agent Dicker, BLRKW."

"A pleasure," Khan said, still speaking with his same leathery voice. Motioning to the other couches, he eased back in his full suit and tie with a gleam in his eyes that didn't come from the firelight. "Now, I understand that you wish to see this terrible situation of feral predatory syndrome solved."

"Yes sir, we believe we have a means to uncover the source of the syndrome," Dicker said, Campbell leaning forward with his eyes boring into Khan. "Unfortunately, we believe that there may be opposing forces within Zootopia that benefit from these incidents. Which is why we are appreciative of your assistance in getting our people into the city."

"Of course," Shere Khan observed, noting Campbell's glare. "Now, what precisely is your plan for resolving this rather thorny issue?"

"We believe that FPS is artificially induced by parties yet unknown," Dicker answered, keeping his eyes locked on Khan. "We also believe it may be connected to the 'howlers' drug in the rest of the country."

"Yes, I have been seeing reports on those incidents," Khan mused, sipping at the glass. "Given the profit found in such illicit markets, I can only imagine how desperate those involved will be to maintain their control. Of course, I would be more than happy to assist the government in stopping such dangerous substances from reaching the rest of the world. To say nothing of the rampant anti-predator prejudice the city has shown."

"Of course," Dicker said. "Now, what can you tell us about how we can get our people inside the city?"

Khan paused, rising as he drained the last of his glass. "I have several cargo flights into the city during the week. Your team can enter as passengers aboard one of them, I trust your office can create the requisite paperwork for them?"

"Already handled," Dicker replied. "What concerns us -- "

"Is the predator restraint collars." Nodding, Khan turned to a hatch behind the four. "Ms. Cunningham?"

Campbell blinked, then realized who he was calling a split-second before she entered the room. Rebecca Cunningham strode in wearing a dark gray suit and skirt, her hair in a stern bun and her eyes cold as she carried in a crate. Setting in on the couch next to Capt. Amelia, she popped it open to reveal one of the collars.

"We've managed to secure several of the collars over time," Khan said. "As long as we know the makeup of the team, we'll have the sizes prepared for your arrival." Still smiling, he turned to Campbell. "But this should fit you perfectly." Campbell kept his mouth shut, glaring right back at the tiger.

"We have seven wolves, a jackal, and a deer," Dicker said. "We trust the electrical components inside are disabled?"

"Naturally," Khan answered. "Or would you prefer they remain vulnerable to the ZPD should they feel a need to activate the collars in a given area?"

That caught Campbell's attention, but he kept his snout shut as Dicker said, "We haven't heard anything about this."

"Of course not, Bellwether prefers to keep it from the media," Khan said, sounding bored as he described was sounded like a horrific abuse of authority. "When there's an instance of feral predatory syndrome in an area, all collars will activate and pacify any predators in the area."

Campbell finally remembered his voice. "Regardless of age?"

A brief flicker of emotion managed to flash across Khan's face as he answered. "A predator, according to the mayor, is a predator."

Dicker nodded. "When and where should our people be ready for the transport?"

"These coordinates are acceptable," Khan said. "One of my seaplanes will meet your team before it flies into Zootopia. Two nights from tonight. I recommend they dress for warm weather."

"Thanks for the advice sir," Dicker said. "We'll take this all into account before the meeting."

"Oh, leaving so soon?" Khan's smirk and the glare in his eyes made it clear he saw prey before him. "It seems so wasteful to have you come all the way in a cutter for such a short meeting. So wasteful of taxpayer dollars, as well."

"Oh, this is nothing," Dicker chuckled. "Think about how much we spend subsidizing oil production."

As the four made their way from the room, Campbell glanced back at Rebecca. Her eyes were still cold as she packed things up, the mother bear silent as she got a nod from Khan and left the room. Was she still able to raise her daughter, he wondered? What happened to Baloo and Kit? Questions, unfortunately, he wouldn't get an answer to right now. The farther he got from the familiar, obscene stink permeating the yacht? All the better.

The ride to the reservation was long and quiet, but even with the cool air and gray clouds the windows were up and the A/C was on. Which was a shame, Weber was enjoying the aroma of the pines surrounding them. Most likely it was some kind of security procedure, make it that much more difficult for shooters to draw a bead on any of them. Of course, it didn't escape her that there were helicopters constantly circling in the far distance. Old American models, black and oblong to her eyes, making long lazy patrols around the perimeter of Zootopia. She still wasn't used to helicopters, so different and aged compared to the VTOL transports she was used to flying. Still, they were probably somewhat easier to maintain than your average engine on a Shepherd. Probably. She was infantry, not a maintainer. Understanding how to maintain your gear in the field often carried different needs than back in the maintenance depot. Especially when an expedient solution was required. More than once Schneider had been forced to return a radio set wrapped in black electrical tape, missing knobs and buttons. Even then, she hadn't been the worst of the company. Some platoons got radios fresh from the factory that in less than a day managed to look like they'd been thrown from the deck of a titan.

A grumble from her right. Glancing in the window, she saw Fareeha's reflection shift once more, almost trying to ride side-saddle so her tail didn't give her any trouble. "Stupid stinking thing, I can't believe this!"

Weber smirked. "We could always lop it off."

Fareeha growled. "Don't tempt me, sergeant."

"Yeah, you don't wanna lose body parts unless you need to," Barb Diffy said from the front passenger seat. "I still remember what it was like before I had to replace my body. Not exactly a fun month."

"Yeah, about that," Weber said. "Why exactly did you need to swap your body out with a cybernetic one?"

"Oh, well it was -- "

"Coming up," the driver said, catching their attention. "We're on the reservation."

Weber looked out the windshield to see...not much, at least in her mind. It was still mostly pines, with a cluster of homes and small shops visible through the trees on the right. There were no signs they were in "Indian country" like in the movies. No totem poles, no artwork, no signs. Just a lone country road winding through the pines and power lines. Granted, she was thankful there weren't any "obvious" signs either. The original Peter Pan had been an "interesting" watch, to say the least. Yet part of her, a small but undeniable one, kinda wished there had been something like that waiting to greet her.

Yet there were other issues on her mind. The 143rd outside of San Francisco were solid in holding the position against Columbia, but this wasn't combat. This was a long-term garrison post, day after day of mind-numbing duty where nothing happened. She'd seen it during the lead-up to the war, the days of absolutely nothing to alleviate the boredom. The only thing that had kept there from being incident after incident had been the knowledge that at any moment the war would truly be joined. She knew Americans had certain conditions to use their military on domestic soil, but these were supposed to be men who spent their lives as accountants and truck drivers. Spending this much time to surround a city of animals, there would be problems no matter how well disciplined the men might be.

"I never got to go to this part of the United States before," Mei said from the back. Weber turned to see the doctor and McCree in the back. Which in itself wasn't a problem, if it weren't for the fact that McCree was wearing regular clothes but no cowboy hat. "I wish we could stay longer."

Weber couldn't disagree. Something about the sea here smelled different than around Tunis or along the Suez. A missing metallic taint in the air brought about by the massive super-carrier container ships. Here the salt spray smelled thick, natural, even if she knew that Seattle probably had harbors full of this world's container ships hauling in and out, day and night. Maybe it was only in her mind, but here it felt the waiting Pacific was still was it was meant to be. As though human hands hadn't truly sullied it like the crowded Atlantic. Or she was just happy to see more of the world. One of the two.

The only other curious question she had? "McCree, why did you leave your hat behind?"

McCree chuckled. "Well, sometimes you gotta remember to read the room."

After another half-hour of driving, they arrived at the Quinault offices. It was a small building, maybe two stories, clustered among small homes and rural shops. The symbol for the nation was no intricate or complex design. A circle divided in half; an island of pines on the top half; an eagle on a canoe on the bottom. A small collection of vehicles sat in the lot around it, SUVs for natural resources and the police. Was this some small way of Americans "apologizing" for what had happened to the nations they overran? Some small trace of the sovereignty they once possessed?

The lobby of the building was simple, with a small display for traditional art off to one side. The walls were lined with the small victories for the Quinault, from graduations to ancestral dances to pictures both past and present. Following Barb up to the front desk, she noticed that the woman behind the desk only took a moment to look them over before glaring at Fareeha. "Good morning," she said, her words cold. "Can I help you?"

"Agent Diffy, Bureau of the Like, Really Kinda Weird," she said. "We have an appointment with Chief Larson?"

The secretary nodded. "Second floor, third door on the left."

The small group made their way to the stairs, dodging out of the way of two older men coming down the stairs. Weber almost had a double-take at one of them, his white skin contrasting with the bronze of his counterpart. For their part, the two men glared down at Fareeha as they passed.

Making their way to the door labeled "Quinault Police Department," Barb opened it to reveal a small group of desks with a small office in the back right corner. A small weapons locker saw set against the back wall behind a cage, along with a collection of pictures of the department and what good it had done for the community. There were two uniformed officers inside at the moment, both looking up and staring at first at the whole group, until their eyes locked on Fareeha.

"Hi," Barb said, apparently deciding to ignore the overwhelming sense of unease in the room. "We're looking for Chief Larson? BLRKW."

"One sec," one of the officers said, not dropping his glare as he went to the small office in the back. Knocking on the door, he said, "Chief, the feds are here."

"Send'em in." The voice was younger than Weber expected, and sounded dismissive of the presence of "federal agents" on their land. Doing their best to fit inside the small office, they saw the chief in a plain polo shirt and khakis. He shifted from his desktop, a model that looked a decade out of date even for this world by Weber's judgment, and his eyes flicked to Fareeha before going back to Barb. "Chief Larson."

"Agent Diffy," Barb said, shaking his hand. "We're sorry for the imposition."

"Right," Larson said, unable to fight the dismissive tone in his voice. "Given you've got a dog with you, this is related to those animals?"

Dog. Animals. Despite the chief's placid expression, each word dripped with disdain. "It is, yes," Barb answered. "But more related to any potential smuggling that might be affecting the Quinault."

Larson shook his head. "Everything related to those animals has been a problem. Didn't you talk to Indian Affairs?"

"We didn't get any information on what's been happening from their offices, no."

Larson chuckled at what had to have been a dark, and long-running joke. "There's a shock. We were some of the first to have trouble with those feral predator attacks. It took us weeks to hunt down a single tiger, and then it kept happening. Then the National Guard was ordered to set that cordon up. We don't exactly like having that many soldiers nearby."

"What about weather systems," Mei said. "Has there been any trouble with regional weather patterns?"

Larson shook his head. "This is the Northwest, weather here can change when you're having lunch."

"Then the usual suspects aren't any richer?" McCree asked. "No one's suddenly come into any money? No rich relatives are dead?"

The chief shook his head. "No, we haven't seen any trouble from them. No more than the usual."

McCree nodded. "Then have you had any trouble with the soldiers around the cordon?"

Larson's expression shifted slightly. "Nothing we can't handle."

Weber decided to speak up. "The soldiers have caused trouble for your people then?"

Larson sighed. "A lot of those guys are trying to get away from the cordon when they have the time. Problem is that they get good and drunk and think they can drive."

Pieces kept falling into place, but nothing actually seemed to fall in a way that told them anything useful. The locals had suffered trouble from feral predators, but from the chief's words the cordon seemed to have cut down on those problems. The local petty criminals didn't seem to benefit at all from the howlers, and the climate control systems didn't seem to be interfering with the local weather in any truly detrimental way. Which did nothing to answer the questions on what was happening inside the city.

"You don't like them, do you?"

Everyone shifted as Fareeha spoke. The chief shifted, then shook his head. "Zootopia's never given us anything good. They took away the few tourists we had coming around here, and we've had trouble with that bastard Carnage once or twice. Bellwether even said she could 'incorporate' the reservation into Zootopia. Make things easier."

Fareeha nodded. "She thought she can control things around here."

Larson nodded. "Let's just say we aren't gonna let animals tell us what to do."

"We'll make sure that you're updated on anything that happens with the city," Barb said. "But anything you have would be helpful for what we're trying to do."

Larson kept staring at Fareeha, then turned to Barb. "I'll see what we have, can you wait in the lobby?"

The group moved single-file out of the office, past the glaring officers down to the front of the building again. "I'll wait outside," Fareeha said. Nodding to Barb, Weber followed her out. The captain was already moving back to the SUV, leaning against it as the clouds overhead refused to yield to the sun. Glancing back, she asked, "You okay?"

"I wanted to ask you that, ma'am," Weber answered. "You don't mind how they were acting?"

Fareeha shook her head. "It's like with the Omnics. Everything around here is disrupted, and the locals aren't happy."

Weber's eyebrow went up. "Your father?"

Fareeha stared toward the distant ocean. "Rainbow's intel didn't mention that when my mother 'died,' I'd spent a few years with him in Bella Bella. Towns like this don't like it when the rest of the world winds up crashing into it. These people hate the animals because of what they brought. The National Guard this close, feral predators that don't belong, and Carnage's pirates? They're upset and they can't do much of anything to change it."

Weber nodded. Then she asked, "So, do you still feel like yourself?"

"I mean, I can't wait to get rid of the tail," Fareeha answered. "But mentally I still feel like myself. Maybe I've got a few new instincts, but nothing I can't handle."

That was going to have to be enough for now. "Glad to hear it."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8

Linking up with the cargo flight hadn't been hard, it came flying in low over the water as the infiltration team waited aboard the cutter. The floatplane came in skimming the rolling ocean, the team bouncing over on the skiff to see a panther opening a hatch on the side. Three trips total was all it took to load them up, and finding what spots they could in the hold, they flashed the two panthers all clear before the plan lifted up and away. It wasn't until later that the captain and Dicker had realized that Shere Khan had countered them, leaving them unable to observe what life was like in Cape Suzette. Still, no one would hold that against anyone. The troopers could understand that the captain would've preferred to leave the tiger's presence as soon as possible.

Vogt noted that the two panthers in the cockpit wore old-style pilot uniforms at the controls. What they lacked were the shock collars that were currently wrapped around the team's necks. Lena was the only one who was free of the bond. Not that she felt good about it. Vogt had to admit that it was impressive, watching her demand that she be treated the same as the others. Only Dicker pointing out that the sight of a prey animal with a collar might be suspicious held her off. By now the team had grown used to their current state, rather quickly to Vogt's surprise. Still, he wouldn't complain. Being able to handle a weapon and fight would be invaluable once the truth was revealed.

"You nuts sure picked a fine time to come into the city," the co-pilot barked over the engines. "How're you gonna do what you need to with the concert coming up?"

Everyone froze. Campbell turned and shouted, "Concert? No one said anything about a concert."

"Yeah, typical pencil-pushers," the panther grumbled. "Gazelle's throwing a big concert, raising money to find a cure for feral syndrome. Bellwether said it's too dangerous, but the whole city's planning on being there."

For the first time in his life, Vogt had to actually fight to keep his mouth shut. Yet the entire team all had the same looks on their faces. Realizing that this was going to be the perfect target for Bellwether. What better way to instill fear in the people than watching as the loudest voice for cooperation was met with flashing claws and bloodied fangs?

"Alright, all of you grab on to something," the co-pilot barked. "We're about to come in for landing."

The plane's inertia began to shudder, angling itself to skim the water outside the city center. The plane shuddered as it came in, the team bracing themselves against the hull of the plane. Even then they could feel their bones shaking and guts writhing as the floatplane finally slowed to a halt. The engines ran for a few more minutes before they cut out, and the co-pilot opened the hatch to reveal a metal dock waiting for them in the pre-dawn.

Stepping onto the dock, they were met with several stevedores; otters and moose that looked haggard and worn from a lifetime of being up before dawn to earn their money. Vogt noticed that all the weasels were wearing collars, and that the moose all were either supervising or sitting back and watching. Yet both groups eyed the troopers with suspicion, undoubtedly pondering why these strange new predators were moving through what should be their territory.

"Hey, you wolves." The team looked beyond the stevedores to see a female moose motioning to them. The team tensed up, but she said nothing as she approached and pulled out an envelope. "Here's where you'll be staying. Mr. Big says he'll meet with you all tonight in Tundra Town. He'll send a car for you all, outside Little Rodentia."

"Understood," Campbell said, putting on his American accent. "Please pass it along that we're thankful for the accommodation."

The team collected themselves, noting that the two panther pilots didn't join them on the dock. Neither man...panther...neither one of them seemed too interested in stepping a paw off their plane. Their eyes locked on the collars around the weasels. Not that Vogt could blame them. Even padded to keep the metal from chafing against their bodies, the presence was constant and telling. A reminder of their place in Zootopia.

The sun was finally starting to rise over the far mountains, the spires of Zootopia rising before them like monoliths. The city was waking once more, the team watching as the locals began the day as any other. Bakers were already up, and were making the last checks before opening for their customers. Cafes and coffee...well, not coffee, or at least not caffeinated coffee shops were opening for the day. All manners of animals were at work already. Hooves, paws, claws, all moving against the pavement as all manner of modified vehicles began to fill the streets. Yet among it all, there were still the signs of the reality they lived in. Yellow and black collars on the predators; public notices warning to be on the watch for signs of feral predatory syndrome; police cars sitting in parking lots and officers on patrol in pairs observing the civilians roaming the streets. They could feel it, the oppression of the city surrounding them. There weren't armed troops on the street like back in the early days in Tunis Harbor, and there were no lines of riot shields keeping starving workers at bay. Yet the sense of oppression was present in the tired eyes of the men and women roaming the streets. This was no jackboot crushing a neck or a truncheon slamming into a skull. This was the oppression of a wire, invisible but ever-present around the necks of the locals. They could live, but they could never thrive.

Finding the hotel wasn't difficult, it was the only one offering mixed predator/prey rooms. A bored coyote desk clerk handed out their key cards, then went back to watching CNN on his tablet; Canid News Network. Settling in for now, Vogt and Brodeur went to the room service menu and noted that there weren't many solid offerings. Small patties made of insect meat and beans, nothing different from home really. Sighing, they realized they'd have to accept their fate and ordered anyway.

"Here's what I think," Brodeur said, taking a bite out of his plate. "The rodents and smaller predators can be convinced not to continue with criminal activities by having a more active role in Zootopian affairs. They need a program to directly bring their issues to the city's government rather than be ignored by the public for how literally small their problems are."

"And your plan for addressing their success?" Vogt asked. "Mr. Big is obviously one of the wealthiest individuals in the city, and it's all because of his actions in the criminal world. Even if he could be convinced to divest from his illegal enterprises, there's no promise his subordinates would be as willing."

Brodeur nodded. "We can offer them a compromise, work with the BLRKW to facilitate job placement in industries that they could be suited for."

"The problem is that there are potentially only three corporations that could facilitate those transitions," Vogt noted. "Xanatos, Khan, and Glomgold."

Vogt could see Brodeur scrambling, his eyes unable to conceal the spinning gears behind them working for an answer. "We can offer small subsidies to non-corporate entities -- "

"Who may at best be shells for the actions of the larger bodies," Vogt noted.

Brodeur looked like he was growing frustrated. "Then we can at least help them start their own businesses. Otterton made his own florists shop, there is no reason others can't do the same."

Vogt shook his head. "And the petty criminals like Weasleton? You'd ask him to hold a normal job in a world that wasn't made for him in the most literal sense?"

Brodeur threw his paws up in frustration. "And what do you suggest? America has more than enough room for bigotry against the animals. If we don't prepare them to enter the world, we risk pograms like what the Russians did in 2064."

Vogt didn't argue that point. "We have to at least acknowledge that we won't have a perfect solution for everything here."

"Obviously," Brodeur sighed. Then he muttered, "You're not normally this verbose, you know."

Vogt shrugged, taking a bite of his own patty. "Everyone keeps pointing that out."

Across the hall, Fareeha and Lena were finishing setting up in their room for their stay. Lena shook her head, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. "Say what you will, at least Bishop does decent work."

"I'll make sure to write him a thank you card," Fareeha muttered, taking the time to relax on the bed. "Hey, have you noticed Vogt is acting different?"

Lena thought for a second as she poured herself a glass of water. "I mean, he's a little more talkative sure. You think it's a problem?"

"No, just different," Fareeha observed. "I'm worried it'll be a problem though."

Lena peered around the door, big doe eyes looking on in curiosity. "You think he might be backsliding?"

"Not sure," Fareeha admitted. "Talking more doesn't mean he'll go back to old habits, but I'm gonna guess he's a lot happier like this."

Lena's eyebrow went up. "You think he's had a bit of an awakening then?"

Fareeha shifted. "Remember that one tech in the old days? Barone?"

Lena nodded. "Right, he was one, wasn't he? I remember he took an entire week off just to work on his suit."

"Except Vogt not only might've found out about himself, he has something no furry has ever had before."

"Frighteningly good point," Lena admitted. "What do you think Campbell'd say?"

"Vogt might need to talk with Mackenzie about it," Fareeha noted. "I don't think he'll lose sight of things, but after this he might need an evaluation to make sure he's still on solid ground."

"C'mon, at least give it to the end of this one," Lena said. "We don't know that he will have any trouble with it. So he's talking a bit more right now. Face it, he could be doing worse things."

Fareeha smirked. "At least he's not throwing all his money away for this. Alright, we'll give him to the end of the operation. But if he's lost himself, I'm telling Campbell to have him talk to Mackenzie."

Lena nodded. "Fair enough. But what about here? Bellwether's gonna go after Gazelle's concert, even we can see that."

"So we need to figure out a way to protect Gazelle while finding the evidence about what Bellwether has done." Fareeha sighed, facepalming. Until she felt the pads of her paws hit her forehead. Then she pulled her paw away, glaring at it. "God this is so weird."

The team on the cordon rolled through a small, abandoned town on the way to the cordon HQ. A small sign lay forgotten in the forests, the word "Forks" barely visible through the brush and saplings growing around it. Mei wondered, was the town destroyed because of Zootopia? Did the chaos around it make what happened here inevitable? Abandoned houses slowly being grown over; a derelict diner that looked partially burned down; a bookshop with scattered, moldering paperbacks littered about the sidewalk. Whatever had killed Forks, it seemed no one cared too greatly for it.

The SUVs rolled to a stop, Mei taking in the scene around her. The headquarters was based out of what was the Forks High School, with dozens of military vehicles now taking up the parking lot where the teen students would park and enjoy their time before and after classes. The roof was a small forest of antennae and satellite dishes, with smaller plastic tents ringing the area for what the school couldn't fit inside. They all showed their BLRKW IDs, getting waved through the perimeter and met by a junior officer with a single silver bar for a rank. Mei never did manage to remember the various military rank insignia that came up in her time with Overwatch. There were just too many and all the officers were called "sir" or "ma'am" regardless.

They were led through the high school to the principal's office, where the door said a Col. Patricia Ahlberg was waiting. They were met with a middle-aged woman with blonde hair going gray, a frustrated gaze but a determined glare looking back at them as four of them entered her domain under the watchful gaze of a taxidermied armadillo on the windowsill; Capt. Amelia, Sgt. Weber, McCree, and herself.

"Colonel," Amelia said, she and Weber snapping to attention and saluting the officer. "Agent Amelia, BLRKW, reporting."

"Agent," the colonel said, rising to return the salute before motioning them to take whatever seats there were in the office. "Welcome to the Zoo." Mei was the only one who didn't smile at the joke. "I'll be honest, it's about time we got some actual help. Things here have been testy at the best of times between us and the tribes since this started."

That caught Mei's attention, but she said nothing as Amelia asked, "Then the first question is where we can do the most good in assisting your men."

"Depends on how many of you there are."

"One squad, ma'am," Weber said, speaking with her American accent but with full respect to the officer before her. "Four years active service in several combat zones, reconnaissance trained and capable of extended field operations for three weeks without resupply."

The colonel nodded, looking a little relieved at Weber's words. "Then I'll pass word to our next patrol team, your squad will accompany and see what we're dealing with. The animals are crafty little buggers, we've had to request working dogs from the 39th Military Police to sniff them out."

"Well ma'am, all due respect, that can't be the only way they're doing it," McCree said, acting far more respectfully than Mei thought he would be. "We'd like to inspect your security procedures for exiting the cordon as well."

The colonel's eyes narrowed, but her face fell. "I was afraid you'd say that."

McCree nodded. "How long've you suspected it?"

"Just after I took command two years ago," Ahlberg admitted. "The last commander mentioned that they'd consistently taken in dozens, even close to a hundred small mammals trying to tunnel under the cordon. Except them had, at most, maybe a few dozen of those berries on them. It wouldn't explain how the DEA and FBI were breaking entire rings and the berries were still getting out."

McCree nodded. "And you haven't found anything?"

"I've had my staff draw up procedures with the 39th to determine the best procedures to ensure that our people aren't part of this smuggling problem. Early on we managed to snag a few men, mostly junior enlisted who wanted a little extra money. We took them in, but they were only the runners. Whoever's running this on our end, they're well-hidden."

McCree then asked, "And your staff?"

"We've all be subject to the same standards," Ahlberg answered, no trace of offense in reply to McCree's question. "If it is one of my staff, they've had help keeping hidden." No one said a word, remembering the fact that the Illuminati were undoubtedly running whatever interference they could to make sure they could keep spiriting out the goods.

"I'll have Capt. Kinnison explain things at 1300, meet him in classroom 2-G." Rising again, she shook Amelia's hand and said, "Once you find out who it is, let me know. I want to see who it is."

"Understood ma'am," Amelia said. "If we have any questions, we'll bring them to your staff."

"Bring them to SGM. Osborne," the colonel said. "He'll be able to get you where you need to go. Actually, let me get him for you now." Pulling out her phone and tapping at it, she turned to Capt. Amelia. "Also, I hope you don't mind me asking agent, but do you need any space to be toony? It'll be tough, but we can make it work if you need to have it."

The comment caught Mei off-guard, but the captain waved if away. "My team aren't those kinds of toons, colonel. We do appreciate the consideration, but we can survive without needing to go toony."

Col. Ahlberg nodded. "I know toons have their own needs, if you do need anything, let me know and we'll do our best to accommodate."

"Well, for now we'd appreciate some food," McCree said, grinning a little. "Don't suppose your people repurposed the cafeteria?"

The colonel nodded as there was a knock at the door. A stern looking older man opened up, his gray hair shorn so close to his scalp that it might as well have not been there. "Sergeant major, these are the BLRKW agents. Ask the cooks if we can't get these people some food, then get them to Capt. Kinnison at 1300."

"Understood ma'am," he said, in a higher-pitched voice than the team expected. Smiling at them, he said, "Follow me everyone, cooks could use something to do anyway."

As the cooks worked on a quick lunch, Osborne nodded to the team before him. The squad was seated at their own table, as the sergeant major spoke with Capt. Amelia, Sgt. Weber, McCree, and Mei. "Gotta say, not used to the BLRKW sending so many people. Most of the time all we get is one or two agents asking a few questions before they're rolling back to Seattle."

"There's been an upswing in howler overdoses," McCree said. "Martinez wants it taken care of, at least before the next election."

"Yeah, that figures," Osborne muttered. "And you're saying feral syndrome is being caused by howlers? I mean, how's that work?"

"It all affects the neurotransmitters of the victim," Amelia said. "It appears that the howler affects the production of GABA and cortisol. The first is vital in the function of the temporal lobe, and too much of it causes lowered inhibitions and increased aggression. Cortisol, meanwhile, is key to the flight-or-flight response. If these animals were simply going feral, they would only attack to flee. Instead, they seem to go into a kind of berserk fury. You've heard about what a human overdose does?"

"Yeah," Osborne said, looking haunted for a moment. Mei could only imagine what he might have seen on the cordon. "Well, I'll tell you all this, the area is heavy woods and no joke to move through. What kind of terrain are your people used to?"

"Primarily arctic, desert, and urban," Weber answered. "But we've gotten more experience in woodland terrain in the past two years."

"Well, this won't be anything like a few trees you've gotta move through," Osborne noted. "This is a rain forest, got it? You lose visibility even twenty yards out, and it's practically impossible to move quietly through that undergrowth. Even if you're only out for a few hours, you'll need to make sure your feet are taken care of, we've lost plenty of our people to trench foot over the time we've been here." Mei wasn't surprised to hear that. Most people heard "rain forest" and imagined a sweltering tropical environment of colorful plants and towering fronds. No one ever thought cold could hurt them. Up until they were being airlifted for treatment, or in the worst cases, amputation.

"So, about the cordon security measures," McCree said. "Who's the head honcho?"

"That'd be Maj. Jensen," the sergeant major answered. "The MPs check and clear everyone that leaves the area, even themselves. If someone's getting that stuff out, then they're either that good, or they've got a lot of pull to make it happen." He didn't see the troopers glance at each other at the words. With luck, he'd never know just how high up this went.

"Anyway, I'll make sure your bunks are set while you're talking with the captain," Osborne said, grunting a little as he rose from the table. "You all finish your lunch."

They all gave the man a nod, but as soon as he was out of the cafeteria, McCree muttered, "Well, someone on the staff knows what's going on, or they're all a bunch of idiots."

"Agreed," Weber noted. "I'll leave two of my people behind with you and Dr. Zhou. Captain, can your team handle a patrol?"

"During the day, certainly," Amelia said. "I'm not sure that Delilah would be of much use once night falls. Nokkar might be better served staying here as well. He's a capable second, but I doubt he can navigate such terrain easily."

"Understood," Weber said. "Doctor, I'll have you on the cordon for now. Scholz and Baker will accompany your team, I'll lead the rest of the squad on the patrol. Is that alright?" Mei nodded. "Then we need to remember the questions we need to ask: How are they getting the howlers out? Who are they using to do it? Where are they making the connection? McCree, anything else?"

"I know I said it's probably the staff, but we aren't gonna forget that there's still a lotta soldiers running around," McCree said. "Keep your ears open for anyone that's talking about getting a new car, putting down a payment on a house, getting an operation paid for."

Mei paused, then asked, "Getting...an operation paid for? This America..."

Weber sighed. "A is A."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 9

The ride into Tundra Town was made in silence, the team silent as the SUVs rolled through the massive walls separating the neighborhoods of Zootopia. They noted a police SUV sitting nearby. It wasn't a checkpoint, after all that would mean Bellwether was squeezing too tight. No, best to remind people there was a "comforting presence" of police. Even if the two sheep cops inside undoubtedly knew what was happening.

"It really does fail as a metaphor, when you think about it." The troopers in the SUV turned to stare at Vogt. "Think about it: The sheep shown in the movie are fully aboard with Bellwether's plan."

"Wait, there were sheep who weren't," Brodeur said. "Remember, in the Burrows? There were sheep that seemed totally separate from any kind of plot."

"Except that Bellwether's subordinates were all sheep," Vogt noted. "If the moral is that bigotry is groundless, it defeats the purpose if the diabolical conspiracy is made up of a singular group."

Campbell thought for a moment. "Aye, that does feel like a bit of a failing of the plot. Still, we have to stay focused. We'll have time to debate the merits of the plot later, right now we need to remember that this is an individual we need to respect." The troopers all nodded and fell silent. The poor polar bear driving the SUV was left trying to figure out what in the name of Zootopia his passengers were talking about.

With the talk finished for now, Vogt's mind drifted back to the long, frozen nights during the retreat. Snow was rare during the fighting. An ice age brought up images of driving snow and whiteout conditions, but in truth most of the world's water was frozen solid in the glacial walls. Oh, there were certainly storms. He could remember one of the worst of his life had been in the year before the war truly started, a blinding blizzard that had practically covered Central Europe in a tomb of thick snow. Even the walkers had trouble moving, the titans forced to land and weather the storm or risk crashing in the frozen fields. Yet this wasn't real, he had to tell himself. As they drove, he saw them out the window, the massive climate control towers pumping out thick clouds of condensation. Except there were gaps in the clouds as he watched, and he could tell as he pressed his paw against the glass. It wasn't so cold that it hurt. It wasn't painful to feel the chill against bare flesh. Oh, it was cold, but not like he was used to. He wondered if the locals felt the same way as animals who could survive in such climates.

The SUVs pulled up to Mr. Big's estate, rolling up the snow-covered drive, four polar bear thugs waiting to meet them. No one moved, no sudden movements, and to Vogt's surprise he still felt relatively warm in spite of the chill surrounding them. Following the bears inside, the team were met with a house half-filled with ice and frost. Granted, the furniture seemed relatively untouched, but whether that was for the sake of a gag or it somehow had been treated to resist icing over, he couldn't say. Granted, he noticed that the natural cold of the tundra was also being supplemented by several air conditioning units positioned around the house.

A taller bear turned and grumbled, "Who's in charge?" Campbell motioned to himself, Fareeha, Brodeur, and Vogt. "This way."

"Durand," Campbell muttered. "Standby unless you have to." The corporal nodded, the troopers forming a small circle and keeping their eyes peeled in the main room. Much to Lena's confusion before she tried to join them in glaring back at the bears. Which was about as intimidating as everyone expected, given she was still in the form of a deer.

Following the bears into Mr. Big's study, Vogt saw it was little changed from the movie. The stone floor, the rug covering the water to literally ice unfortunates with, even the small shrine to his grandmother, flanked by two votive candles. Two bears each stood at both doors into the room, as the door on the other side opened to reveal a massive polar bear, who strode in and set his clasped hands on the desk to reveal the shrew himself. Mr. Big, fitted with a small shock collar around his neck.

"I welcome you into my home," he said, his Don Vito-esque voice somehow carrying through the entire room so they all could hear. "I am Mr. Big. I am the leader of Zootopia's, shall we say, unofficial markets of commerce and security."

Translation: I run the rackets. Not that the four individuals in the room would say anything aloud. Even if Vogt knew that he, Brodeur, and the captain all hated they needed to work with him. They could theorize on why the shrew had become the don of Zootopia. The lack of police ability to patrol Little Rodentia? The oppression of even other predators against the smaller populations? Perhaps the shrew was such a ferocious predator (by scale) that there was no other path for him? It was a strange feeling, having to work with a criminal. No matter how cartoonish they appeared. God willing, it would be over quickly.

"Mr. Big," Fareeha said, nodding her head to the shrew. "We -- " She paused as Mr. Big held out his ring. Blinking, she knelt before the desk with a confused look on her face. Trying to angle herself, she managed to kiss the ring before standing up again. "Right. We're sure you know why we're here?"

"Yes, Mr. Khan managed to send a message regarding your planned 'effort' in the city." Stroking his chin, he gestured to the window now marred with an A/C unit. "I take it you have noticed the garish additions to my home. I take it you can imagine why they are here?"

"The towers aren't as effective, sir," Vogt said. "Has this been a recent development, or has it been a long-term issue?"

"It's been an issue ever since we heard about what happened to the fox. And Officer Hopps," Mr. Big noted, shaking his head as the polar bears in the room crossed themselves. As the question of what, exactly, animals worshiped as a Christian messiah reared up, he continued, "Mayor Bellwether, she claimed that this was a sign of the dangers of feral predator syndrome. That more money needed to be given to ensure police effectiveness and recruitment. To make us all feel safe once more."

Vogt glanced at Campbell, getting a nod in return. "Sir, the fox didn't fall to this so-called syndrome on his own. Emmett Otterton found the truth, and was turned feral for it."

The polar bears all shifted, looking at each other in confusion. Mr. Big...well he sat up a little more in his chair, at least. "What do you mean 'turned feral?'"

"The night howlers Otterton spoke of," Vogt answered. "They're a type of plant. They have a chemical in them that causes any mammal to revert to a feral state. Bellwether has weaponized it, refining it to a point where the effects are far more pronounced and dangerous."

The words hung in the air, the bears all looking at each other in confusion and fear. Mr. Big, however, didn't move. "If what you're saying is true, we have no way to -- "

"Mr. Big," Vogt said, drawing everyone's attention. "I know we're strangers here. I know that you must want for us to give you some brilliant, effective, quick-fix solution to all of these troubles and horrors that you live with. I wish we could give you some easy answer, but you must know, more than anyone that those don't exist. All we can do is help clear a path through these obstacles, only the citizens of Zootopia can figure out what happens once this is over. We won't make any false promises, we aren't politicians. All we can do is work to put Zootopia on as even a playing field as possible for when we have to leave. If you didn't feel like we could do something to help, you wouldn't have even agreed to see us. You would have told Shere Khan to forget whatever plans he has, but you see there's still some small sliver of a chance that things can change for the better."

As Mr. Big fell into thought, the other three members of the team in the room stared at Vogt. True, they had brought him in to rely on his eloquence in such situations, but typically he either needed a nudge or would wait for a cue. While Fareeha stared at him in confusion, Campbell and Brodeur were locked on him like they were trying to figure out who, exactly, this being was that had stolen the body of their comrade.

"Your words speak deeply to me," Mr. Big answered, nodding to Vogt. "You are right, you cannot solve the issues that are within Zootopia. Still, your assistance will be necessary. If what you say is true, Bellwether will not take this opposition lightly."

"She already has plans to keep Zootopia in her grip, sir," Campbell said. "Gazelle's upcoming concert is the perfect target for her."

Mr. Big sighed, shaking his head in pained exhaustion. "That girl, she's a target because of her good heart? We need to warn her."

"We also need to put our people in the concert, sir," Campbell said. "My team are also skilled dancers, we even have a guitar player. What we need is access into the concert."

Mr. Big thought for a moment. "If you fail -- "

"We can't afford to fail, sir," Vogt said, straightening up with a determined glare. "Gazelle is one of Zootopia's few unifying figures."

"Precisely," Campbell said, stepping forward. "We also need to acknowledge something else, sir. Mayor Bellwether and a select few individuals are part of this conspiracy. The ZPD have no knowledge of what's been happening, but we have no information on what's happened to Chief Bogo recently."

"Oh, the chief," Mr. Big mused, waving his hand about the air dismissively. "The good chief does his best to go into work in the morning before leaving in the afternoon. If what you are saying is indeed true, then I see that the mayor doesn't hold him in any higher regard than the predators of our city."

"Then if it comes to it," Campbell said, "Can you stand the idea of working alongside him to end this?" Mr. Big ran his claws under his chin, staring back at Campbell. It was a risk, asking a criminal leader to work alongside a police chief. Still, they all had their recalls on. If things got violent...

"Despite our opposing positions, the chief leads with honor." Rising from his chair, Mr. Big nodded to Campbell. "I will see that my organization is informed that should we need to, we will work alongside the ZPD. Should such a time ever arrive."

"Then we can discuss the future of Zootopia once this is finished," Campbell said. Brodeur looked confused, but he knew better than to crack wise about why he was even there right now. "Can you help us arrange a time to speak with the chief?"

"I believe the chief would be most interested to hear what you have to say, yes," Mr. Big nodded. "You have my blessing to operate within Zootopia. For now, I ask that you leave. I must think on what you have told to me."

"Understood sir," Campbell said, nodding to the shrew. Backing up, the four were escorted back to the rest of the team, who noticed the confused look on everyone's face but Vogt.

"Sir," Durand whispered, moving next to the captain. "Is everything alright?"

"We'll be able to enter Gazelle's concert and we'll be meeting with Chief Bogo," Campbell answered, keeping his voice low.

Durand nodded, then asked, "Why do you look like things went poorly?"

"That's the thing," Campbell said, glancing back to see Vogt rejoining the squad. "They didn't."

The forest wasn't quiet. That wasn't a surprise, in truth it would have been a terrible sign if things were. The birds were calling, the foliage rustling, Mei swore she could even hear a small brook babbling away in the distance. It would have been nice to enjoy the time taking in the rainforest, to spend the day exploring a little. Sadly, at the moment she was a green uniform supplied by the SGC and doing her best to scan the area for any trouble. Capt. Amelia and Delilah moved as well as, maybe even better than the solders. Was it because of who they were? Or had they simply lived so much that this was already familiar to them? Either way, it made Mei feel a little better about the current situation.

They'd been out since the early morning, the team moving with Capt. Kinnison's squad. The captain was only slightly older than the troopers in Kavanaugh's squad, but he didn't seem to be a problem as they moved through the thick trees and undergrowth. The Americans moved like predators through the moss-choked undergrowth, barely rustling the ferns with each step of their boots. Kavanaugh's squad tried their best to emulate, but the Americans had been here longer, they knew the land. Even their dog moved with purpose, silent as it sniffed for any trace of Zootopian. It had been an entire day covered in dirt as they moved. It was one of the few ways they could mask their scent from the smugglers, apparently the early days had been a disaster for trying to track them without taking precautions. This had been on top of the past two days going over maps and learning the best ways to navigate the forests. The National Guard had learned to take things seriously over the past few years. The smugglers had been a pain, but they'd lost too many to the feral predators. They were on the way back now, and the only sign of the smugglers had been abandoned holes and burrows they'd been shown. Each one had been modified in small ways, though. Miniature, doll-sized sleeping bags, with little popsicle stick chairs and bedframes. Small way stations on the smuggling route out of Zootopia. Lessons for if they had to come back out.

Mei had held up well, but wouldn't deny she could feel herself getting tired. Her feet begged for the chance to breathe free again, to dry out while she went over the day with the troopers. They'd only moved through a small section of the cordon area south of the city, but it was enough to impress on her the sheer scale of just what the National Guard had to patrol. She could only imagine doing this for days, even over a week at a time.

Coming up on an abandoned road, the pointman held up her hand. The patrol came to a slow stop, then she motioned ahead as the patrol formed up in two rough lines along the side of the road. Mei fell into the center of the lines ahead of Baker and Lisowski, the soldiers all walking deliberately, glancing back and forth along the road as they went to make sure nothing was going to sneak up on them. The troopers only carried their revolvers, but even then they were out and at the ready. They wouldn't be taken by surprise out in the woods. "You know how it is," Baker had said before they set out. "All you need is one lapse in concentration, and you're pinned to a tree with a machete."

That was one thing she liked when she was around the platoon, the levity they still held on to despite everything they'd been through. A stark contrast to when she'd left Overwatch for the Eco-point. When she'd joined, there was always a joke to be had, a smile to flash, even Gabriel had the occasional compliment. That was until the years wore on, and soon she had to beeline to and fro whenever she was in Geneva to avoid the anger and distrust around every corner. She wouldn't ever consider the tragedy in Antarctica a good thing, but she did wonder if she at least was spared the worst of Overwatch's collapse.

"Doctor," Lisowski whispered. "Keep your head on a swivel." Mei nodded, and made sure to scan the surrounding area as well. She didn't see anything, admittedly, but she could understand the fear. Better to be aware and prepared.

Another twenty minutes, and they were past the small checkpoint that led back to the high school. Capt. Kinnison motioned for the patrol to form up on him, and after a few seconds he announced, "Alright, good patrol everyone. Get your gear to the armory, I want your write-ups ready in two hours. NCOs, make sure everyone gets something to eat. Any questions?" A few murmurs and grumbles, but no questions. "Alright, that's all I've got for you, dismissed."

"I'll speak with Capt. Kinnison for a few moments," Capt. Amelia said to Weber. "He might have some idea on how the smuggling has carried on even with these patrols." Delilah followed along, looking unhappy that she had to move away from a hunter.

"Good job today, doctor." Turning, Mei saw Weber moving toward her. "I'll be honest, I didn't expect you to do so well on patrol."

Mei smiled at what must have been the same postal code as a compliment. "I guess I'm getting used to being able to keep up with the platoon."

Weber nodded, then turned to her troopers. "Kavanaugh, see to the squad, get some food and standby in our room."

"Aye sergeant," Kavanaugh nodded. "Alright you lot, time to get some food in our bellies."

With the squad on their way, Weber turned back to Mei. "Can you please come with me, doctor? We should see what the cowboy is up to."

Mei nodded, walking alongside the sergeant for just that little while longer. "He won't let you down, sergeant. Jesse knows exactly what to look for."

Weber didn't react. "None of us has any doubt of that."

Finding the checkpoint, they saw McCree watching as the soldiers went over a large cargo truck ready to roll out from the base. He stood back with Barb and Nokar, watching as the sniffer dogs rounded the truck, getting hoisted into the bed to keep sniffing around. The truck's cab was a giant rectangle with two large windows for the windshield, the driver and passenger already being patted down. SGM. Osborne and Maj. Jensen standing to the side. The MPs were patient, not caring there were three more trucks waiting to exit. They opened stowage on the side of the trucks; ran through the bed; pulled open every compartment in the cab. Nothing appeared to be left to chance.

"We received assistance from the DEA on how to check the vehicles," Maj. Jensen said to McCree. "But so far, we haven't found any of our trucks with the modifications necessary to carry out the contraband."

McCree nodded. "What about your personals?"

"Swept on entry whenever they enter or exit," Jensen answered. "My own as well."

McCree nodded, then asked, "And they make sure not to treat you any different?"

Jensen nodded, though a slight twinge of annoyance seemed to creep across her face. "Billet trumps rank sir. If my men are making the inspection, they will do their jobs properly." McCree shrugged, pulling out a cigar as the truck got the all-clear and rolled on.

"They've been at this for two hours," Barb whispered to Weber and Mei. "And none of the trucks or drivers has anything on them."

"Smuggling doesn't work like that," Weber replied. "Just because they're clear today doesn't mean they might not later."

"The seats." Everyone looked over at McCree. "Your people don't look like they're checking the seats."

Jensen paused, then ordered, "Sergeant! Check the seat cushions." The sergeant in charge of the inspections did as ordered, motioning for two privates to check the cab again. Both soldiers did as ordered, clambering into the cab and pressing at the seat cushions. Neither driver seemed to react, even as they looked for any added openings or slots for potential contraband to be slid into. That seemed enough to satisfy McCree, though he didn't look very happy with the outcome.

"Well, if you'll all excuse me," Osborne said, checking the time on Rolex. "I gotta head out."

Jensen nodded. "Still dealing with the ex, sergeant major?"

"Yeah, well, you know how it is," Osborne muttered as he walked off. "I never find Miss Right, just Miss Right-Now."

Waiting until the sergeant major was a distance away and the trucks began to roll, McCree asked, "Poor guy's gotta deal with family court?"

"Three times a week sometimes," Jensen admitted. "You know the kind of guys that only have a life in uniform? SGM. Osborne's the kind that can never find a wife that understands it. This is ex number three, and then factor in seven kids total."

McCree let out a whistle. "Guy must have a time of it."

"It's definitely not easy on him," Jensen admitted. "But he's done alright, all things considered. Most guys fall apart after one divorce. Three? Gotta admit, he's doing something right if he can keep going after that."

"Yeah, sure sounds like it," McCree muttered, blowing out a long plume of sweet smoke. "Well, I gotta say that your people look like they know what they're doing, major. If I can think of anything, I'll let you know." Nodding to Weber and Mei, he motioned for them to follow along.

Weber was the first to speak. "Are they good?"

"Good enough," McCree admitted. "Knew where to check for false bottoms and panels. I think the seat cushions were some of the first places they'd checked at the start of all this, probably fell off it for a while."

Weber nodded. "And the reason we're following after the sergeant major?"

"Three divorces, seven kids to pay alimony for, and he has a watch like that?" McCree shook his head. "Nah, that dog don't hunt."

Weber shook her head. "What if that was something he had before the divorces?"

"That's why we're gonna see what he's driving," McCree answered, smirking a little.

Weber nodded. "Is this prior experience showing again?"

McCree played at thinking for a moment. "Well, a few friends of mine, they had a little setup in Arizona. Had a friend of theirs that was a quartermaster, guy has to handle getting rid of all their old gear. Turns out he also had a bit of a gambling problem. No one knew about it yet, but it was about to show, get me?"

Weber nodded. "So, what did these 'friends' get in exchange for his gambling debts?"

"Well, there were a lot of old guns and such running around after that," McCree admitted. "Course, eventually he wound up gambling too much anyway." Weber cursed in German, Mei couldn't make it out but guessed it was directed at a soldier shirking their responsibilities.

Finding their way to the section of the lot filled with personal vehicles, the trio noted Osborne's shorn head making its way to the nearest spots. Specifically to a massive pickup truck that stood on raised suspension, six wheels total, and two massive exhaust stacks sticking out of the bed. Shaking his head, he jumped into the cab and revved the engine. As two massive plumes of black smoke belched from the exhaust, the truck rolled toward the checkpoint.

As the soldiers began to check Osborne and his truck, Weber shook her head. "I don't believe it. Three divorces, and no one finds that suspicious?" She noticed McCree cock an eyebrow, then jerk a thumb at the parking lot. Turning, Mei noticed there were at least four other trucks similar to Osborne's.

Mei grimaced, then turned to see Osborne's inspection was finished. As he rolled off with a roar of the engine and belch of black smoke, Mei grimaced at the sight. "What do we do now?"

"Simple, we need the evidence," McCree said, taking another puff. "So, anyone up for a little B&E?"

Weber blinked, then muttered, "Uh..."

McCree facepalmed. "Breaking and entering, for pete's sake."

Mei smiled a little at the confusion, but her uneasy eyes went back to the retreating truck as it went.

It was deep in the night in Brooklyn, the warehouse empty but for several semi trailers. Tomas Brod, self-proclaimed "businessman" on the rise, was smiling wide as he watched his men open the trailers. They were filled with green metal cases, one hauled off and set on the concrete. Laughing, Brod pulled the case open to reveal six AKMs.

"Ah, excellent work gentlemen," he said, pulling one of the carbines from its case. Performing a functions check, his smile grew as he felt nothing wrong. "The Dracons might have influence, but soon the streets will be ours." The men around him grinned and chuckled, agreeing with their boss' assessment of the situation. After all, the police were reeling and the city shaken. Now was the perfect time to strike.

At least, until the lights went out.

Confusion. Shouts. Cell phone lights flashing to life. "Someone find the breaker!" Brod ordered. "And check outside!" Footsteps running for the door, but they didn't make it. There were what sounded like two shouts, cut off in the darkness. The cell phones turned to where the yells had cut off, only to find blood sprayed out on the floor. Without the bodies to match. Sneering, Brod reached into the case and grabbed a loaded magazine. "Scan the warehouse! Find them!"

The criminals shuffled through the warehouse, taking slow and careful steps as they held their phones in one hand and guns in the other. Yet almost all the lights shook; all the guns unsteady; only Brod stood resolute.

A yelp, and a cell phone fell to the floor. Movement to the right, and a pistol rang out. One man had his feet ripped out from under him, and with a scream disappeared into darkness before he too was silenced.

"What is this!" Brod roared out. "Are you too cowardly to face us!" The answer was another man ripped into the inky blackness.

"Get to the door!" one of the men shrieked. The others cried out and ran, but before Brod could berate their cowardice he saw as one by one, they disappeared into nothing.

Roaring, the arms dealer fired wild into the warehouse, the AK clattering before its magazine ran dry. Throwing it away, he drew his pistol, still keeping his phone tight in his hand.

Hot breath on the back of his neck. Spinning around, Brod felt a grip of steel close around his right hand. He still managed to fire off three rounds as the cell phone's light turned to reveal his foe. Then his eyes went wide, and he let out a cry before...

Tony Dracon sat in stunned silence as he shut his laptop, the last moment of Brod's life still caught in his eyes. Glasses moved away from behind the desk, pacing the penthouse and thinking. "Jeez," Tony whispered. "Xanatos wasn't kidding."

"And he knows we can't go against him," Glasses muttered. "Tony, I think we're in trouble."

"No kidding we're in trouble, that thing was a stinking freak!" As memories of a similar attack rushed to the front of Tony's mind, he shook his head clear.

"We gotta tip someone off, Tony," Glasses said. "This is too big, the feds have got -- "

"We can't go to the stinking feds," Tony spat. "What're we even gonna tell'em, that flippin' David Xanatos is making monsters?"

"We gotta tell someone something Tony," Glasses countered. "Whatever he's planning -- "

"Is going to make you both very powerful men." The pair froze at Xanatos' voice, and to Tony's horror the man's face appeared on his laptop. "I'm not doing this all out of charity, gentlemen."

Tony glared at the screen. "You put a bug in my computer?"

Xanatos' eyebrow went up. "Come now Mr. Dracon. Nothing so vulgar."

Glasses moved behind Tony and looked to the screen. "This is a lot, Mr. Xanatos. Meaning that there's probably a catch you aren't showing us."

"Then I'd love to see what that is," Xanatos countered. "And in spite of your trepidation gentlemen, I won't hold it against you. The shock tells me I got exactly what I needed from these efforts."

Both men looked at each other, and realized they had nothing to answer with. Gritting his teeth, Tony turned and glared at the screen. "Very well, Mr. Xanatos. Given the situation, we'll keep working with you on this 'project' of yours."

Xanatos smiled. "I'm glad to hear it, gentlemen. My wife will contact you within the week with further details. You can tell your people what you need to, just make sure they understand that this new joint venture is quite literally life or death. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Glasses said. "We'll keep in touch, Mr. Xanatos." Shutting the laptop down, the consigliere let Tony storm about the penthouse for a few moments before he spoke. "It's not like we have any options. He followed through on his part of the deal, and you know that breaking off on the deal will mean we'll wind up like Brod's crew."

Kicking a table over seemed to be enough to sate Tony's anger for the moment. "Fine, but what the hell is he playing? He's got monsters like that, and he needs us?"

"There's a time to question it later," Glasses admitted. "Right now we need to get our people together, make sure they get ready for whatever's gonna happen."

"Yeah, sure," Tony muttered. "But the second we can, we're done with Xanatos."

Sitting in his office still, Xanatos smiled as he listened to Tony's vain proclamation. "Certainly, Mr. Dracon. Presuming that second ever comes."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10

Walking the streets of Zootopia's central district, Vogt had to admit he felt spoiled for choice. There were foods from each district represented, from Oscar's Oasis to Marsh Markets, all offering small selections of their home borough right where the money was. The sheer mass of mammals running to and from were fascinating to watch, but there was one thing he noticed: Each mammal stayed with its own kind. No one seemed to mix, no one spoke with friends that weren't of another species. As far as he could see, Lena was the only prey species willing to go anywhere near predators. Mr. Big was making plans to get them to meet with Chief Bogo, the trick was making sure that the rest of Zootopia didn't know. Bellwether's conspiracy knowing that there were actors against them in their city could create trouble.

"Mmmmm!" Turning, he saw Lena still diving into her salad. "I gotta say, it's not that bad eating vegetarian all the time. Just wish I could have the spices to go with it."

"Spices would be nice," Garcia admitted, taking another bite of his insect patty. "It's so plain, nothing like what Cass makes."

Vogt was about to agree when they heard shouts and panic from the train station. Turning in surprise, they all saw the crowd parting as they saw a coyote begin to whip about in the square. All the mammals were fleeing for cover, some calling for the police as others tried to hide whimpering in fear. The platoon didn't react the same way, training telling them to check the area and prepare for a fight. That was when all the predators in view cried out, falling to the ground in agony. It took a second for the platoon to realize what was happening, but they were quick to fall in line and act the same. They cried out, acting like they were being electrocuted along with the civilians. Even then, they kept their eyes open, as Lena kept her eyes open for the shooter.

ZPD rolled up seconds later, their SUVs disgorging a half-dozen sheep in tactical gear carrying control poles and stun sticks. The coyote found itself surrounded, but even with the electric current coursing through its body it was still feral. It snapped and barked at the sheep, even as they surrounded it and put the wires around its neck and limbs. A few seconds later, and further ZPD vehicles rolled up. The predators began to pull themselves together, the shock apparently stopped now that the "feral predator" was under control.

Vogt pushed himself off the pavement, watching as the predators stood back up as further police made a perimeter. No one seemed to notice how long it had taken them to react, but something stopped him as he began to walk with the others.

"I know it hurt honey," a mother badger said to her child. "It's over now, they had to do it."

They had to do it. The words pierced through Vogt's heart as a bolt from heaven through a demon. Not that it happened, but that it had to happen. Vogt's paws clenched, a rumbling beginning to form in the back of his throat. This was how life was? Not only were the collars accepted, but they were seen as necessary?

"Vogt?" Freezing, he turned to see Lena looking back at him. "C'mon, we'd better keep moving."

"R-Right," Vogt answered. "Let's keep moving."

Capt. Amelia was silent as she took in McCree's words. It was her, Weber, McCree, and Mei out behind the school's gym, McCree wrapping up his theory. "I don't know what usually passes for evidence for you, cap, but where I'm from that's called pretty damn incriminating."

"And potentially damaging to our relationship with the forces on the cordon," Amelia noted. "The colonel might take offense to your accusing her subordinate of being a drug smuggler."

"We can at least speak to her in isolation," Weber noted. "I haven't seen that she's an incompetent officer while we've been here. If we speak to her away from her subordinates, she can listen to what we have to say."

Amelia thought on the idea a moment, then turned toward Zootopia. "Even then, we're risking her anger for such a suggestion. Even then, you could be wrong."

McCree threw up his hands. "Well if I'm wrong, I'm wrong, but we need to figure this one out somehow. Hell, even pointing the finger at him could make the actual smuggler think they're in the clear. They get sloppy, they get found."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Are you typically this lackadaisical in your approach to solving such problems? Or is this a special occasion?"

"Let's at least take this to the colonel," Weber said. "If she says we're wrong, we try again. If we can get through to her, we have a chance to figure out what's happening."

Amelia shook her head at the situation. "Very well. We speak to the colonel once her day is over, not before. As the BLRKW's representative, you'll all wait for me, is that understood?"

Weber nodded. "Understood ma'am." That was enough for the captain, but as she walked off the sergeant said, "Doctor, McCree, I need to ask you both something."

Mei turned to Jesse, who shrugged and said, "Sure, but I still say we should break into his bunk and see what we find."

"I'm not talking about that," Weber said. "It's Vogt. Have either of you -- "

McCree chuckled. "Was wondering when you'd finally ask."

Weber nodded. "Is this...normal?"

Mei smiled as she answered, "You mean do some people feel different when they're in they're in furry mode? Sometimes."

Weber shook her head, leaning against the brick wall of the gym. "What's happening to him?"

"Nothing's happening," Mei said. "He just likes being a wolf, that's all. Him being more talkative now isn't a problem, it's him being comfortable enough to talk more."

Weber shook her head. "And this is normal?"

"Well, normal enough," McCree admitted. "Most of the time furries are in IT or tech, but I suppose they can have any job. Guess he's the first one to not need the suit."

Weber ran that sentence through her head again. "A...a suit?"

"What we mean is that Vogt isn't having problems," Mei said. "He's still the same person you know, this is just another side of him you haven't seen before."

Weber nodded. "And this isn't any kind of security risk?"

McCree laughed at the idea. "Are you kidding? The only way it'd be a problem is if he starts arguing with someone about which cartoon is better."

Weber went silent for a moment, then asked, "What about when he has to finally go back?"

Mei was struck by the question, even if McCree wasn't. "What about it? He'll just go back to normal and that'll be it. You came back after you went to Mewni, didn't ya?" Neither of the Overwatch agents could see Weber remembering the bitter tears from the entire platoon at the end of that operation.

"We'll focus on the sergeant major for now," Weber said. "Once the captain tells us we're clear, we'll see what we can do about finding the smuggler."

Mei felt like she needed to say more, but McCree waved her off. For the time being, they would need to accept the current situation as it was. Still, part of her wanted to give the sergeant more reassurance. Someone needed to make it clear that Vogt wasn't going to be in any real trouble.

"Cool yer jets Mei," McCree said. "This ain't nothing to get worked up about. Weber's gonna take care of her people, right now we gotta figure out how to handle it when the smuggler is found."

Mei thought for a second. "What will we do when we find the smuggler?"

McCree smirked. "Watch as he gets busted down to private, then thrown in jail."

Chief Bogo rubbed at his eyes as the sun set behind his office windows. The incident outside the train station had required yet another FPS report, and lately he was growing far too used to writing them up. The press conference from city hall was starting, the mayor stepping up behind the small forest of microphones from all the major networks; Zootopia News Network, Canid News Network, Mammalian Syndicated Corporate Broadcasting Network; even the hacks from Fox News. The mayor came up in yet another fresh suit, a new set of gold bangles around her neck and ankles. "Thank you all for being here," she said, motioning for calm as she was flanked by two black-suited rams. "I've called this press conference to speak not only on today's incident, but to urge again that Gazelle please rethink her concert. There is no promise that such an event will be kept safe from feral predatory syndrome, regardless of precautions."

Bogo sighed, sliding his laptop into his bag. Much as he hated to admit it, Bellwether was right. There was no way to make sure the concert would be safe. A feral predator would run rampant through the crowds, all live for the cameras. Any hope of trying to keep the city united would evaporate, and his job would be impossible. If Bellwether didn't demand his resignation, he wondered if he wouldn't give up his post anyway. Ever since what happened to Hopps...

Shaking his head, he shut off everything in his office and moved for the door. Walking out, he nodded to the officers taking over for the night. He saw the sheep in particular were in good spirits, congratulating each other for another job well done at subduing a predator. Bogo never liked it, celebrating after such an incident, but trying to tell them to ease up had only made them close ranks. Now they were practically an entire department unto themselves, following his orders but with their own twist on things. Not that it had meant anything to the mayor's office. The only thing that had happened was the mayor propping up sheep officers as being effective and natural police.

Passing the front desk, he tried to ignore the fact that it was a sheep manning it. Clawhauser had gone feral in his apartment, and for now was being held with the other victims of FPS in the Cliffside asylum. Now the department was almost entirely prey, it had been all he could to keep the predator officers as reserves at the very least. Even then, the budget was pressing in, and if it came down to cutting from the department he'd be left with little choice.

The train back to his apartments was the same as every other night, watching as the predators tried to keep to their own cars. A "safety measure" to make sure that nothing happened. At least, nothing to prey animals. It seemed the predators were on their own if one of their number went feral on the train. Making his way through to his apartment, he finally began to let his mask slip. With a long, mournful sigh, he pulled out his keys and shuffled into his apartment.

The second the lights were on, he froze at the sight before him. Sitting atop his table was Zootopia's leading criminal, surrounded by two wolves and a jackal. "Chief Bogo," Mr. Big said. "I believe we have business to discuss."

Bogo let out a huff, storming toward the dining room. "You've finally gone too far, Big. You think you're so untouchable that you can just walk into my home?"

"This isn't about his 'business' sir," one of the wolves said, his voice carrying a heavy German accent. "This is about what happened to Officer Hopps and its connection to feral predator syndrome -- "

Bogo pointed at the wolf. "Don't you dare talk about Hopps."

"Chief, I know you see this as an intrusion," Mr. Big said, trying to keep things even. "But I promise you that we are here to end the madness we find ourselves trapped in."

"Sir, please," the German wolf said, holding up his paws. "We need your help to prove that feral syndrome isn't real."

Bogo scoffed. "Not real? You think what happened today wasn't real?"

"It was artificially induced," the wolf argued. "The mammals behind this have found a biological compound that can induce feral behavior in any mammal hit by it. They want Zootopia afraid."

"Oh, so all the chaos and panic is what they want?" Sneering Bogo stalked toward the wolves. "And what exactly does that do for them?"

"It keeps the city afraid," the wolf answered. "It keeps them from questioning things like an increased police budget over basic maintenance of city infrastructure. It makes them accept inhumane treatment of others just to feel protected. It even puts the stalwart under stress that they can't afford to think for too long on it. Keeps them from asking questions that need to be asked, so those manipulating this fear can twist it to their own ends."

Bogo said nothing for a moment, looking to Mr. Big. Realizing that the crime boss wasn't showing any sign that it was a lie. "Alright, then who is it that's behind this? You know this much, you want to tell me you don't know who's responsible?"

"You already know, chief," the German wolf noted. "When did you first suspect it? Was it recently? When the cordon first formed? Or was it before all of that? Was it when your found Hopps and Wilde?"

Bogo's anger threatened to boil over, but it was overwhelmed by a realization. Shaking his head, Bogo shuffled to his couch and fell back into it. "I prefer not to think about what we found that morning."

The wolf didn't let up. "Then you have suspected something."

"Of course I have," Bogo spat. "Hopps turns in her badge only to careen an abandoned subway car through the city with that fox? Then that bloody fox winds up ripping her to shreds? I'm no political appointee, I have a brain."

"Then what's happened since," the wolf said. "Why -- "

"Chief Bogo," Mr. Big said, cutting Vogt off. "I know you are a man of honor. I know you do care about what's happened to this city."

Bogo laughed, deep and rolling at the words. "Right, and you know all about honor! How often have my officers found your 'drivers' running around the city at all hours of the night? You're more than happy to -- "

"Gentlemen, please," a wolf with a Scottish brogue said, stepping between the pair. "It's obvious we all agree that there is a problem within Zootopia under Bellwether's administration. Unfortunately it's also clear that trying to act within the confines of the law isn't our best court of action. We're going to need to consider the fact that the law is going to be used against anyone trying to find the truth, chief. Even the police."

Bogo sighed, putting his hooves over his eyes. Silence began to settle in, no one sure what to say. From the team's perspective even Vogt, who so far had been at no loss for words, seemed to be struggling to figure out what to say.

"Chief, did you know my granddaughter wants to join the ZPD?"

Everyone turned to stare at Mr. Big, Bogo lifting his eyes up as the shrew nodded. "Little Rodentia, it's always struggled to find order. It may seem calm, but that is only because we have been forced to make it so. Your officers are too massive to effectively patrol it. I didn't come to my present position simply because I wished to, you understand."

Bogo's tired eyes seemed to spark with something. Something that the troopers realized probably hadn't been felt for some time. "A...a rodent officer? You're serious?"

"She was told of the bunny's actions during her short time in Zootopia," Mr. Big said, Vogt realizing what was had happened in this world despite Judy's death. "She was not a perfect officer, of course. I recall when she confronted me in my home, on the day of my daughter's wedding. She was filled with zeal, with drive! With a total certainty in her doing good. If my dear granddaughter Judy has half the drive of the bunny she is named for, she will be a fine officer."

Bogo blinked, the connections falling into place. "Little Rodentia...the day after Hopps started..."

Mr. Big nodded. "Named for the officer who saved my daughter's life."

Bogo's nostrils flared as he rose from the couch. "Then what do you expect me to do? I can't just march into Bellwether's office and proclaim she's corrupt."

"But you can help us find Bellwether's drug cook," Vogt said, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. "It's only a first name and phone number, but it has to be a start."

Pulling out a pair of reading glasses, Bogo looked over the note and nodded. "I'll see if there is anything to find." Pausing, he glared down at Big. "If your granddaughter thinks she can just waltz into my department, she's going to be sorely mistaken if she thinks she can do things the way her family does. Now get out, all of you. A mammal needs his sleep if he's going to risk losing his entire life on a hunch."

That was it for now, Vogt scooping up Mr. Big and carrying him out of the apartment. Waiting until they made it into Mr. Big's limo, windows rolled up and car secured, Vogt felt safe enough to speak openly again. "Sir, what about getting our team into Gazelle's concert?"

"I have reached out to Gazelle's agent and the concert's organizers," Mr. Big said. "All of you will have access to all areas, part of the stage crew putting the stage together."

"Then we need to spend at least a day seeing what we'll be dealing with," Campbell said. "Depending on the size of the venue that won't be enough."

"I'm afraid it will have to be, my son," Mr. Big said, shaking his head. "I am sorry, but there is only so much any of us can do."

"We still appreciate it, sir," Vogt noted. "It was quick thinking on your part, what you told the chief."

Mr. Big's eyebrows went up, staring at Vogt in pained confusion. "You thought I was lying about my dear Judy?"

Vogt blinked. "You...you were telling the truth about her?"

Mr. Big sighed, leaning back into a small chair attached to the seat in the back. "I cannot blame you for thinking such things, I suppose. It is true, I have made choices and decisions that have skirted the bounds of what is and is not considered 'lawful' in the traditional sense. Yet that does not mean I too do not have hope for my family, to see them have a brighter future. To be an officer of the law is to be respected, to be a symbol of something more. My dear, sweet Judy, she believes that this is what she wants to be."

Vogt looked to Campbell and Fareeha before asking, "But, but your business..."

"I have done well in my work, in all things," Mr. Big sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the car. "To be legitimate will mean less money, true. Yet I will ensure that my granddaughter will not be left to struggle with her duty against her love for her family. I am off the old ways, you see. If this is what she wants, what she truly wants? I have no recourse to stop her."

That was good enough for the others, but Vogt didn't seem to accept that. "Then what will happen if she runs up against your operations? Will blood be enough to spare her if she threatens to interfere with your group's income?" Everyone froze, staring at Vogt like he'd just suggested they find the nearest pig and have a cookout. Fareeha moved forward, looking ready to beat Vogt so senseless he'd come to his senses. Thankfully for Campbell, Mr. Big spoke up before things degenerated.

"I'm getting old, my friends," Mr. Big muttered, sounding exhausted. "Soon, the only thing left of me in this world will be my legacy. I am not blind to my own sins, but if there is even a chance that my family can be better than I was, I cannot hesitate to seize it. Judy, she is better than I could ever hope to be. If she wishes to become better than I was."

"Then you'll have every chance to prove to Chief Bogo that's what you want once this is over," Campbell said, making sure to interrupt Vogt before he could say anything more. "Now let's see about finding Doug before it's too late."

Vogt seemed to accept that, though Campbell didn't like the blazing look in his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

Xanatos smiled, holding the final component in his hand. The screw kept beeping, blue light flashing as it tried to leap from his grasp into the robot's right jaw. The months of waiting and sending out teams had helped speed the process along, but the final piece? That was found by a guard trying to roll through one of the doors to the Labyrinth. Smiling as the elevator came to a halt, he pulled the metal grate aside and strode along the gantry. Holding up the screw, he watched as it leapt from his fingers and began to spin inside its slot on the giant's right jaw.

"That did it," Abraham Kane shouted from his console. "That was the last piece, the signal cut out just now."

Xanatos smiled, turning to the assembled subordinates below him. "Excellent work everyone! Project Rhodes is now complete!" The staff cheered, high-fives and hugs rippling through the crowd. Except for Kane, who kept glaring up at Xanatos. "In recognition of this momentous day, starting tomorrow you'll all have the next two months to yourselves. With the bonus I'm putting in for all the long hours, I'm sure you'll all have no trouble enjoying your time off before we all get back to work." More cheers, though Kane seemed to only grow more suspicious of the magnanimous gesture.

As Xanatos took the elevator back to the ground, he strode out to see Owen waiting for him. "Do you think two months is wise, sir? They may not return in time for the current schedule."

"If I kept them working Owen, they'd be strung out and ready to snap," Xanatos noted. "And with what I've got planned, I need them to remember what's at stake. Now, what about our arrangements for the dinner?"

"The chef has already prepared the menu, and we have all the space needed to comfortably house them after the dinner is over."

Still smiling, Xanatos took one last glance up at the blank staring lights that counted for the robot's eyes. "Just what I like to hear, Owen." Beaming with joy, he strode into the crowd of employees to mingle and thank them for their efforts.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 11

Back outside the train station the next morning, watching the comings and goings of the locals once more, Vogt kept noting that there was no sense of true normalcy. In Tunisia and Egypt, even at the worst and hungriest times, there wasn't a sense that the civilians were constantly looking over their shoulders fearful that one among them would lose their minds. Or that the MPs would respond by treating them like rabid animals.

"Vogt," Durand said. Turning, he saw his corporal motion to a bench near them. Following, the two sat as the corporal asked, "Are you alright?"

Vogt nodded. "Fine corporal."

That didn't seem to be enough. "Oui, and your sudden discovery of multisyllablic words is simply a coincidence."

Vogt felt the words slam into his ego. "Is it a problem, corporal?"

"Not yet, but keep yourself in check," Durand noted. "Your comments to Mr. Big last night have the captain concerned. None of us wants to work with a criminal, but we aren't only reconnaissance anymore. We're going to have to learn to be around these kinds of people now."

Vogt hung his head. "Being around Capt. Parker isn't enough, corporal? We need to make sure Mr. Big can't remain a criminal -- "

"That isn't our responsibility," Durand said, his words firm as he cut Vogt off before the monologue could get rolling. "Zootopia will need to learn to live with itself once we're finished here, we still have other operations to carry out. We need to stay focused on toppling Bellwether, we aren't the ones to save this city. Is that clear?"

"Understood corporal." Of course, that wasn't what Vogt truly felt. In his mind, this risked leaving open another way for life to continue as it always had. For the predators to continue being a feared underclass that remained the target of persecution so the prey could feel superior, even though they were the majority of the population and had unquestioned power. That was democracy, after all. If enough of the population could be convinced to let their worst traits out and influence policy, no amount of house cleaning could save them later. Unless Mr. Big and Little Rodentia had chance to actually escape their situation? Without a means for the predators to secure their rights alongside the other mammals of the city? And what about the climate systems? Would Bellwether destroy them as a way to deny the city to any others? Sighing, Vogt leaned back against the bench.

Durand didn't move from his spot. "We can all tell, you know. Something about being like this, you're not yourself."

Vogt nodded, hanging his head and wringing his paws. "Is that a problem?"

Durand shook his head. "No, at least not when you aren't talking to anyone in a position of authority. We have to last until we leave the city. You can make it until then."

Vogt was about to agree when he smelled something. "Chief Bogo's here."

Before Durand could ask what the trooper was talking about, he noticed a massive shape moving through the crowd from across the plaza. Bogo was indeed there, walking out of the station wearing a pair of sunglasses and carrying a folder in his hooves. As Durand realized seconds later how Vogt realized it, then began to wonder just how good Vogt's sense of smell was now, he said, "Get the captains."

As Vogt moved, Bogo walked to the bench and eased down next to Durand. Not bothering to look at the corporal, he was silent for a few more minutes before asking, "I presume you're all spread across the plaza?"

"We are. Our leaders will be here momentarily." Rising, Durand moved away as Campbell and Fareeha walked over.

"Sir," Campbell said, nodding to the chief as he sat down. "Shall we presume you found something?"

"After we had our 'talk' last night I went back to the department," Bogo said, setting the folder down between them on the bench. "A sheep with that same phone number was, for some time, a small-time 'chemist' for several prey-supremacist movements."

Campbell was about to repeat Bogo's words back at him when he noticed Fareeha's eyes narrow, like a connection had just been made and she couldn't believe she hadn't made it sooner. Leaving that be for now, he asked, "I take it things have changed for him?"

"To say the least," Bogo noted. "I'm not as good as Clawhauser, but I found what I could."

Clawhauser. Doug's words from the movie that his next target was a cheetah. "Sir, Officer Clawhauser...he went feral, didn't he?"

Bogo was stolid, but his bulk shifted, tensing up at the question. "Currently, Benjamin Clawhauser is being held in the asylum until a cure for the syndrome can be found." With a dark smile, he added, "Thankfully, he was relatively easy to subdue."

Campbell nodded. "We'll be checking the arena for the concert, hopefully we can head off any potential shooters. Will there be a noticeable ZPD presence that night?"

Bogo shook his head. "The mayor says she doesn't want to cause an incident. That the ZPD should be shown as willing to preserve the peace than oppress the people."

"How magnanimous of her," Campbell grumbled. "We can take him alive, but we need to know what you can do with him after that."

"You'll keep him alive," Bogo said. "This is a massive criminal conspiracy. Whoever's a part of it, they will be brought in and made to face a judge. Is. That. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Fareeha said, standing from the bench. As Campbell grabbed the folder, she added, "We only needed to make sure. We've had to make very hard choices before, and it's something we need to make sure about."

Bogo shook his head. "I don't care what you think those choices are. If you're here saying you're going to help? You'll do it my way. Not how Mr. Big does it. Now get moving, I want to enjoy my day off."

The two captains nodded, but as soon as they were far enough away Fareeha nodded. "That explains why it was only sheep."

"Well I'd appreciate an update," Campbell noted. "What is it about the outfits that make Doug being some kind of supremacist make sense?"

"Skinheads," Fareeha answered. "Jessie and Woolter, whoever was who, one of them was wearing a white shirt and red suspenders."

Campbell's eyebrow went up. "A 'uniform' of theirs?"

"You'll have to ask someone else about what it specifically means, but I saw it often enough whenever I would visit my father," Fareeha noted. "And if those were the kinds of animals Bellwether was recruiting?"

"And she's been recruiting them into the ZPD," Campbell muttered. Without realizing it, he let out a growl, then clamped his muzzle shut with his paws. Waiting until the urge passed, he checked that the surrounding crowd wasn't staring at him like he was about to lose all self control. "Dammit, we need to scout the arena."

"Yeah, while we're at it," Fareeha said. "Do we need to worry about Vogt?"

"I told Durand to talk to him," Campbell said. Shaking his head, he asked, "These 'furries' are, I mean they're common enough in your world?"

Fareeha nodded. "Not all of them go so hard to the point of making an entire suit, but they're not a problem." Pausing, Fareeha added, "But none of them could turn into the animals they love to be."

Campbell grimaced as he motioned for the squad to form up. "You can't say we aren't giving Col. Mackenzie something to do."

"Come in."

Capt. Amelia led the way in, Mei following behind McCree and Weber as they entered Col. Ahlberg's office. "Colonel, we need your assistance."

The colonel sighed, obviously disappointed that the four had walked into her office just as she was undoubtedly getting ready to leave for the day. "Is something wrong, agent?"

"Potentially," Amelia answered. "Colonel, your sergeant major. You're aware of his present legal situation, correct?"

Ahlberg nodded, and while she didn't look angry her words carried over that she'd had to have this talk already. "More than aware. SGM. Osborne has better luck with his investments than women."

"Oh, c'mon now!" McCree's outburst made Mei flinch a little, even if she knew it was coming. "Colonel, you're gonna tell us that he's wearing an actual Rolex and is still driving that pavement princess around, but he's not dirty?"

That, it seemed, was the wrong question. Col. Ahlberg shot up from her chair glaring at McCree. "I told you when you got here, none of us are immune from suspicion. The fact that you think a man that's devoted twenty-five years to service is responsible isn't just insulting to him, it's insulting to me! He is my subordinate, do you understand that?"

Mei certainly did. Her memory shot back to before McCree had joined Overwatch, when an Italian diplomat had practically tried to storm into the Geneva HQ demanding answers regarding what he called an unauthorized operation. Jack Morrison had tried to play things calm, his words gentle and polite even when personally insulted. Until the diplomat attacked all of Overwatch. She hadn't seen the row herself, but to her understanding the diplomat never troubled Overwatch again. Leaving Geneva with a lock on his face locked between shocked and even impressed.

McCree, however, wasn't one to back down in the face of authority. "Colonel, I know that's your man, I can respect that. Problem is that we both know those howlers are still getting out into the rest of the country. Now if everyone is supposed to be under suspicion, and no one is supposed to be excused from being searched, how is it that's happening?"

Ahlberg didn't step down from glaring right back at McCree. "I have seen my soldiers search the cars, search my car. If he is the one smuggling those damn berries out, why hasn't anyone figured out how? Is it that hard to believe that he's been smart enough with his money that he can afford to keep the nice things he has?"

"Because I've seen plenty of guys like him," McCree countered. "Sure, they can say they're smart with their money or they inherited some cash, and people ignore it. You know why? Because it's easier to accept, now don't tell me I'm crazy. If it turns out he is running, it means investigations don't it? It means you gotta explain how you missed it all even when everyone was supposed to be above suspicion, right? And you don't wanna have to face that someone you trusted is dirty."

Ahlberg stood stock still, glaring back in wordless fury at McCree as if she was hoping the outlaw would die from her glare alone. Until she finally eased back into her chair. "You're right. Somehow the drugs are still getting out. You're also right that SGM. Osborne is miraculously skilled with his finances in spite of all evidence being in the contrary. So, how are you going to convince me without insulting me again?"

McCree nodded, taking his hat off to at least show some respect. "Ma'am, I ain't saying your unit is the problem. I ain't saying you're the reason for any of this. Fact is someone's making it so those howlers are still getting past your cordon. Now our job is to find the reason for that, otherwise we'll never figure this out. If we're wrong, you've got my word that we'll find a way to make it up. And this is one of those times where I want to be wrong."

Mei watched as the colonel seemed to wrestle with her choices. Casting a cold stare at McCree again, she said, "You're pretty sure it's him. Do you know something I don't?"

"Well, I've had to handle a lotta things like this before ma'am," McCree answered. "It's easy enough, going from needing the money to thinking you deserve it. He might still think he needs the money to keep himself afloat. Three exes and kids to go with'em? That's money no matter how you look at it."

"It is." Ahlberg leaned back in her seat, still glaring. "SGM. Osborne gets back in three days. I'll have his personal checked over, but if we don't find anything? You'll all not only apologize to the sergeant major, I'll want a written apology by the BLRKW for this to the entire unit."

"Perfectly acceptable colonel," Amelia said, taking over. "Until then, we'll go out with the next patrol." Getting a nod from Ahlberg, she motioned for the four to step back out of the office. Waiting until they were ensconced in the classroom they'd managed to secure for themselves, they waited until the door was shut and Baker was standing to block it before anyone spoke.

"Alright, she's definitely got her suspicions piqued," McCree said. "Now the animals will have the next shipment ready to load up when he gets back, that way when he's ready he'll get those damn blueberries out the next time he's going to court."

"Admittedly still quite the risk for our situation," Amelia pointed out. "The BLRKW is trying to rebuild its entire reputation. If this fails all we'll have shown is that we can apologize when we make the incorrect decision."

"That's still better than nothing," McCree noted. "And like I said, even if it ain't him, we can use this as a chance to find the person that is running them."

"Then who's making the money outside of Zootopia," Weber noted. "Trafficking drugs might make money for Bellwether, but who's selling them outside of here?"

Delilah scoffed. "You really need to ask?"

Weber turned to face the gargoyle-turned-woman with a smirk. "Mommy dearest let you in on a secret?"

Delilah sneered. "Who else do you think it is? The Illuminati don't just make their money off ancient fortunes and major corporations. They have their hands in all kinds of trafficking, and drugs can be the most profitable of all for them."

McCree sighed, glancing at Mei. "Probably something we'll need to remember, huh?" Mei grimaced, realizing that the way the Illuminati operated here would undoubtedly influence how their own world's conspiracy carried out their diabolical work.

"Then this can be our chance to finally move ahead of them," Capt. Amelia said. "Mr. Nokkar, I want you and Ms. Diffy to remain again. Sergeant, can you hold some of your squad as well?"

Weber nodded, turning to Baker and Scholz. "I want you both to stay here with Dr. Zhou. Stay out of the way, don't give any impression something is wrong." The three of them nodded in answer. "Any questions?"

"What if the sergeant major gets confrontational when he returns," Van der Burgh said. "He's an American. What do you we do if he draws a weapon?"

Weber didn't hesitate. "Kill him."

The troopers nodded. McCree and Capt. Amelia's team didn't disagree. Mei realized she was the only person in the room that felt uncomfortable with the idea of killing Osborne without any sign that he would kill them.

"Well, it appears to be getting rather late," Amelia sighed, checking her watch. "Everyone, to the cafeteria." Like that, the weight of the conversation seemed to vanish. The idea that they were willing to kill a man before they even knew if he was dangerous held no more weight on them.

"You alright, doctor?" Blinking, Mei turned to see Baker and Lisowski. "Looks like you have something on your mind."

Mei paused, waiting until Van der Burgh was out of the room before whispering, "We're not really going to kill him, right?"

"There's a key word doctor," Lisowski pointed out. "Weapon. If he doesn't try to kill any of us, we have no reason not to kill him."

Mei nodded, but didn't feel like this was the end of the issue.

All of them were entirely unaware that a message had been forwarded to Xanatos' control room in the Wyvern Building, then transmitted through untraceable means to the contact in the cordon for just this moment.

Vogt cringed as Belenko stormed back through the area to the center of the performance area. "It's a shooting range, sir," she told the captains. "Even if they aren't trying to fire a bullet, anyone struck by the projectile is going to be hit."

Campbell sighed. "How many positions do we need to cover?"

"Sir, it's not singular positions," Belenko answered, pointing up. "There are rafters, meaning even if we cover sound booths and backstage they can still clamber through the metal above us and take the shot."

Vogt turned to Campbell. "Except we can't cancel the concert, sir. Bellwether may use this to tip her hand, and if her conspiracy is exposed it brings her entire means of control collapsing around her."

"And we're not going to endanger a stadium full of civilians to do it," Fareeha argued back. "Once we capture the chemist we'll have everything we need."

"Almost everything," Campbell said. "We don't know if she doesn't have other shooters, and stockpiling additional supplies of the chemical would be simple for the people making it."

Vogt shut his eyes for a moment, if only to try and shut out the world and give him a second to think. Belenko wasn't wrong, even if none of them were as good as her they could tell just by walking into the arena that the entire building was almost designed for a shooter. They'd already agreed they could at least post a watch in the sound room and the backstage areas. Yet knowing there was a way for a sheep to fire down on the crowd? Either they split the squad further to try and patrol the catwalks above or they left an unacceptable gap in their plan. Meaning they had to split the squad further, period.

Part of Vogt wished he could confront Gazelle over what she was doing. Was it brave? Certainly. Were there good intentions? Inarguably. Did it reek of performance over sense? Absolutely. She could have lobbied to reintegrate the trains. To ease the shock of the collars. To divert the budget for the police to research. Except that could easily be turned by Bellwether. One howler, and the public would call Gazelle an idiot, a naive fool who didn't recognize the "real concerns" facing Zootopia. Pushing more control into Bellwether's...

"Ms. Gazelle, please understand that this is a massive risk."

The voice. That high-pitched, almost squeaking voice. Spinning to the doors leading to the main concourse of the arena, Vogt and the others saw her. Saw Mayor Bellwether, flanked by two rams in black suits, trailing behind Gazelle and what appeared to be a coyote assistant.

"And I told your office that I'm hosting this concert," Gazelle said, not bothering to look back. "Zootopia needs to know that they shouldn't be afraid."

"But I can't promise the concert will be safe," Bellwether played at pleading. "You've said that you don't want a noticeable police presence, that means we can't effectively protect the crowd."

"Vogt," Campbell hissed, snapping the trooper back. "Act like you're talking with us about the stage, now!" Doing as ordered, he still kept his head cocked to at least keep listening.

"The police clearly aren't any better at stopping this than Lionheart was," Gazelle argued. "Now the asylum is almost full to capacity? What happens if more predators go feral? What will happen to them when there's no more space to keep them safe?"

"We can only do what we can with what we have," Bellwether argued. Even as Vogt could hear the jewelry jangling with every motion. "At least let us post officers inside the area, that way -- "

"Not a chance," Gazelle said. "Zootopians should feel safe, not afraid for their lives just walking out the door. I won't let fear win, mayor."

A sigh, either exhausted from putting on the act or from realizing that there was another howler incident that had to be constructed. "Very well, but if something does happen the response will be that much harder." Daring to glance back, Vogt saw the lamb turn and walk out, with a bounce in her step that almost made it look like she was happy to plan another feral incident.

"Ma'am," the coyote assistant said. "You're still sure about this? I mean, if a predator does go feral -- "

"We've talked about this before, Kyle," Gazelle said, her voice noticeably softening as she spoke to him. "The police will only make everyone afraid. We need to prove that if feral syndrome is something that will be with us, we can't let it affect how we live our lives."

It was a fine sentiment, but spoken by someone who had to be safe enough to not think about their own survival. There had been so many like Gazelle before the official start of the war. Politicians and public figures who kept pushing, practically begging the parliament to negotiate with the PAC on behalf of all Europe to avoid hostilities. The people who refused to listen to the people that managed to escape from Belarus or the Caucuses, who told of the horrors that even the most paranoid couldn't believe until Austria revealed the truth. Of course the PAC diplomats kept listening, kept claiming that of course negotiations could solve everything. Until the week before the PAC forces pressed across the border, and the pleading voices realized that all their hopes were hollow. On some level he could understand it. That didn't make it easier to hear in another world from another voice saying the same thing.

"Hi." Putting on a smile, Vogt turned to see Gazelle walking up to them. "So, who's the guitar player?"

"Here," Fareeha said. "Fareeha, nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you," Gazelle said, shaking Fareeha's paw. "So, have you ever played a show like this before?"

Fareeha smirked, and the troopers could all tell she was thinking back to the celebration in Fairy Tail's guild hall. "Rowdier too."

Gazelle chuckled. "Well, you won't need to worry about things getting rowdy here. This is going to be a show for unity. Can I hear you play?"

Fareeha nodded, going to the guitar 'loaned' from Mr. Big. Adjusting it and plugging it into the nearest amp, she asked, "What do you want? Rock, blues, or metal?"

Gazelle shared a smile with her assistant, answering, "How about something classic?"

Fareeha smiled right back, pulling out a pick as Vogt, Belenko, and Campbell moved to listen. Satisfied that the guitar was tuned, Fareeha launched into some CCR. Enjoying the rhythm of the classic blues-infused rock, Vogt still kept scanning the arena. Much as he wanted to simply enjoy the music for a few moments, he had to stay focused on what was coming tonight.

Doug, it seemed, had done well for himself. It wasn't a palatial estate, but then one needn't play like a king to live like one. Three stories, covering at least half a kilometer of land butted up against the Pacific. Every light in the house was on, but there were no other cars visible. No sign that anyone else lived inside. The team was silent, waiting until at least one of the lights went out. They were spread out around the property, again courtesy of Mr. Big. One of his drivers had dropped them all off at points around the property, and from the moment Vogt saw the privacy fence surrounding the property Doug took his seclusion personally. They couldn't see any sign of cameras, motion detectors, all was in order. So far.

Vogt was with Lee and Garcia, the trio quiet as the night around them as they waited. The sun had set over the horizon long ago, now it was a matter of infiltration. If they were lucky, Doug felt safe and secure. Felt like his dirty work had paid for a life of luxury and indolence. After all, everyone else had suffered for it. He had merely provided a service. The same justification the criminals in Tunis Harbor had used to excuse their trafficking and profiteering. It was a good thing Bogo had made it clear Doug was to be taken alive.

A light went out. Well, that wasn't quite accurate; the entire ground floor went dark, followed swiftly by the first floor. Vogt was coiled and ready, no different from when the platoon had organized ambushes. The tension, the interminable waiting, ready to accomplish the mission. How much longer would they wait? What would it take --

The second floor went dark.

Vogt moved against the fence, kneeling down and foisting Lee and Garcia up. The pair turned and reached down, doing their best to silently haul Vogt up and over with them. He knew he was a heavier mass than practically the rest of the platoon, and when they got back to the diner he'd make sure to buy them both lunch to apologize. Vaulting the fence, the trio moved fast across the grass. Vogt could smell it as they approached, the stink of the sheep lingering in the air leading to the front door.

Moving to the nearest window, they paused and saw no action from inside the house. Waiting ten seconds and still hearing no alarms, seeing no movement, no calls for help, Vogt pulled off his jacket and balled it up against the glass. Smashing in one of the panes, he reached up and released the lock before throwing the jacket on the floor around the window and using it to leap into the center of what they realized was a living room. Their ears heard nothing, not the sound of hooves sprinting through across he carpet or down the stairs. Hopefully clear of the broken glass, Vogt retrieved his jacket and kept moving.

As Lee moved for the front door, he and Garcia moved through to the stairs. Padded feet on carpet made them functionally silent, and as the front door opened in the distance Vogt found the stairs. By now he realized he could smell Doug without issue, the ram's stench trailing up like back when he was a child. How the orphanage staff would encourage them to play games like blind man's bluff; except now it was navigating by smell rather than his ears. He trailed the strongest trace up the stairs, pausing for a second at the second floor and noticing a chemical smell that reeked, but that could wait. Find Doug, investigate what as undoubtedly his drug lab later.

Moving to the third floor, the smell was still strong at the landing. Sniffing the air, he turned and began moving to the left. The doors were all open, bedroom after bedroom after bedroom empty of anything. Doug clearly didn't seem to know what to do with his wealth. At least that made it easier to search. As Garcia covered him, Vogt moved to the room at the end of the hall and paused. He could hear it, the sounds of shuffling and heavy breathing on the other side of the door. Except there was more, something he'd never smelled before. A strange chemical mixture in the air leaking out from the bedroom. Something that told him, in no uncertain terms, that something on the other side of the door was afraid.

Trying the knob, he found it locked. Motioning to Garcia, he waited for the Spaniard to move to the opposite side of the door. Motioning for him to wait, he drew his pistol. Normally he'd have used a shotgun to blast the hinges off before the lock, but that wasn't going to happen without a long and roundabout trip to the SGC. Lining up his revolver to the knob, he waited a few more seconds. Then three rounds tore through the cheap metal, and Garcia pushed the door open.

Compressed air, then the opposite wall was stained with blue. That was enough for Vogt, who went charging into the room to see Doug scrambling to reload another howler. Not fast enough, since Vogt was able to leap across the space and force the barrel down to the floor. One, two, three strikes to the muzzle, and Doug was dazed enough to lose his grip on the weapon. As Garcia hauled the sheep back, Vogt saw that the blueberry was almost in the chamber. Taking a long breath, he slowly released his grip and sighed. No sign of blue liquid on his paw.

"What is this ARGH!" Doug began to thrash about, trying to rip away from Garcia's grip. "Who are you wolves!"

"I've got him," Garcia said. "Get the captain."

Vogt nodded, sprinting down the stairs to see Campbell and Durand at the front of the sweep. "In the bedroom sir, we have him."

Ten minutes later, Doug was bound to a kitchen chair while the squad kept sweeping the mansion. "What is this, what do you people want!" Doug demanded, trying to shift to keep his eyes on all the wolves now in his home. Before turning to Lena and shouting, "And why are you here! You're prey, why are you with a pack of wolves!"

"Maybe I'm not as afraid as you let yourself be," Lena scoffed, scowling down at the ram. "Maybe you'd better start talking before I decide to close my eyes for a bit." Vogt shook his head; the lieutenant was solid in a fight, but she wasn't intimidating in the least.

"We know you're the one manufacturing the howlers," Campbell said, standing before Doug and glaring down on him. "Meaning we know that feral predator syndrome is a fake as well."

"How would you know?" Doug spat. "How do you even know if I'm connected! None of you knows what you're talking about!" In response, Lena pulled out her smartphone and managed to cue up a small clip just for this occasion. Of Doug on the phone asking for who his next target was, bragging about sending Emmett Otterton and Machas feral. If it were possible for it to have done so, Doug's face would've gone white.

"Chief Bogo will be here in minutes," Campbell said. "And we already have your drug lab secured. So you can talk now and hope to strike a deal, or talk later and hope that Bellwether hasn't already made one for herself." Doug's eyes began jumping around the room, his mind weighing every option he had in the moment.

"Come now, come now, we don't have long," Lee said, keeping the pressure up. "We know that every sheep officer in the ZPD is in on this as well, you think they won't scramble for a deal either? The longer you stay quiet the less chance you have to make an arrangement."

"Betcha he's too afraid," Lena said, smirking as she began to pace around Doug, her hooves clacking against the hardwood kitchen floor. "He knows that he was only ever as necessary if he was useful." At least now she was intimidating, working in tandem with someone.

"We know the target," Campbell said. "We know the when and where. We've already alerted Bogo, the least you can do is make it easy on yourself."

Before Doug could say anything, Garcia called out, "Sir, I found his phone." The medic came up with the smartphone, and opening it he grinned. "Facial recognition."

Campbell nodded. "Hold his head still." Vogt did as ordered, gripped Doug's head hard as the captain opened the home screen. "Now, let's see what your phone can say that you won't."

Vogt smiled, letting go of Doug. Now it was a matter of giving the evidence to Bogo, securing the city, and maybe, just maybe dancing alongside Gazelle's show? If Fareeha was going to perform there was no reason they couldn't...

Campbell's eyes shifted. "No, no this isn't right."

Vogt looked up. "Sir?"

"The calendar," Campbell said. "The dates aren't for the concert, they're for tomorrow."

Vogt moved to see the screen, and shuddered at the sight of a single notification on the calendar that said: STAY AWAY FROM DOWNTOWN. "I don't understand," Campbell whispered. "What's going to strike more fear into the city than attacking Gazelle's concert?"

Vogt paused, then remembered the mother badger. "It doesn't need to be anyone famous," he whispered. "It just needs to be all over the city!"

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 12

It hadn't taken long for Bogo to show up, and in minutes the house was surrounded by ZPD officers. Officers, Vogt noticed, who were certainly not rams or sheep. A team in full HAZMAT gear was checking the drug lab, carrying out notes and samples as another team scrapped the wall outside the bedroom door. It turned out the entire second floor was a drug mill, all dedicated to producing entire shipments of howlers. All for the price of a few onions a day.

"That's right, we can confirm a criminal conspiracy," Bogo said, talking on the phone with ZNN. "I cannot speak any further on this at the present, but advise all predators in the city to take precautions and stay in their homes. We can confirm feral syndrome is not a biological threat to predatory species, it is an artificially induced state...Yes, we have the individual who was responsible for creating the substance now...Very well, that's more than enough time."

Vogt moved forward. "Sir, what did they say?"

"They're giving me three hours to get everything in order," Bogo said, rubbing the bridge between his eyes in a way that said no, three hours was not enough time. "After that they go public with the full story, regardless of if I have the proof lined up or not."

"Then we need to secure Bellwether," Campbell said. "We -- "

"Chief!" A rhino officer shouted through the front door. "Turn on the TV!"

Scrambling to find the remote, Vogt flipped the TV on to...cartoons? Throwing the remote to Bogo, the chief switched to ZNN to see the moose and snow leopard anchors on-screen, the snow leopard wearing a high turtleneck to hide her shock collar. " -- Eaking news, we are getting reports that the ZPD is mobilizing, putting a strong cordon around city hall." The feed didn't lie, showing a heavy line of police SUVs with sheep officers in riot gear standing ready.

The moose anchor took over. "Mayor Bellwether has only issued a statement claiming that the ZPD has received reliable intelligence that an incident will occur. Chief Bogo has already been in contact with ZNN, but has neither confirmed or denied this statement. What he has told ZNN is that all predators should stay in a safe location, and to remain indoors until further notice."

"Bloody hell, she's hunkering down," Vogt muttered. Watching as there was an aerial view of city hall, helipad on the roof, he asked, "Chief, does the ZPD has it's own VTOLs?"

"You mean choppers? Of course -- "

"Are the crews sheep?" Bogo shook his head. "Tell the pilots to land on top of city hall, don't let anyone else land there!"

"She might try to escape," Campbell realized. "He's right sir, we need to keep Bellwether in the city." As Bogo made the call, Campbell turned to Vogt. "You've been on top of things so far, what next?"

Vogt thought for a moment, staring at the line of police around city hall. "We need to contact Mr. Big."

They were all waiting as SGM. Osborne rolled back into the parking lot, looking confused as Col. Ahlberg stood with Maj. Jensen. McCree looked rather pleased with himself, thought Sgt. Weber and Mei didn't share the same sense of smug self-satisfaction.

"Ma'am," Osborne said, jumping from the cab. "Something wrong?"

"Something's come up, sergeant major," Ahlberg answered. As an MP moved between Osborne and the door to his truck, she said, "We need to search your quarters."

Osborne sighed, shaking his head. "Understood ma'am. Just hope you're ready to be disappointed."

Mei flinched at the words, even if McCree seemed rather sure of himself. As they walked, she took note of the fact that the platoon and Capt. Amelia's team were spaced about the headquarters. If it wasn't the sergeant major, but whoever was doing the smuggling got jumpy? They needed to be ready.

Moving for the guidance counselor's office, they opened it to find a small cot, a footlocker, and a desk with a toughbook on it. Unlocking everything, Osborne moved back into the hall as McCree strode in with a lit cigar already puffing away. He was deliberate, pulling the thin blanket off the cot before moving to the pillow. Pulling the case away, he squeezed and smashed the down and felt nothing inside. Throwing all of it out the door, he turned to the desk. Each drawer was opened, cleared out and sent sliding at the door before he moved on. There were spare notepads, pens, markers, small uniform items. Nothing to indicate any sign of smuggling.

As he cleared the desk, McCree asked, "So, what're your investments?"

Osborne's words were calm. "I managed to invest in crypto before the market really took off. Managed to parlay that into other stocks as well."

McCree sneered. "And lemme guess, crypto ain't regulated, is it?"

Osborne stiffened. "I'd appreciate evidence instead of accusations, sir."

"So would I," Ahlberg warned.

Shaking his head, McCree opened the footlocker and began searching. Once more, there was nothing that jumped out. Spare uniform items, civilian clothes, personal affects...

McCree smirked, looking over his shoulder as he held up a bible. "You a prayin' man, sarge?"

Osborne stiffened a little. "I have every right to be."

"Yeah, sure you do," McCree chuckled. Before shaking the bible. "Problem is, it sounds like your good word is pretty hollow." Turning, McCree held the bible open to reveal a baggie of blueberries falling to the floor.

Ahlberg stood in shock. Maj. Jensen and Weber were already grabbing Osborne as he cried out, "But today wasn't -- " Then he realized what he was saying, and bit down on his tongue.

Ahlberg shifted, but before she could say anything they could hear it from outside: Shouting. "Major, keep him in custody!"

"Mei, stay here!" McCree shouted. Sprinting out just behind Ahlberg, he ran out to see several soldiers scattered around the front of the high school thrashing about. There were calls for medics, for MPs, for someone who knew what they were doing to come help. Nokkar was already holding one of the thrashing men tight in his grip, watching in muted confusion as the man began to snarl and snap. Others were put under dogpiles of their comrades, while Amelia tried to call out orders to keep some organization.

"Howlers, they're hittin' your people with howlers!" McCree barked. Turning, he realized that he felt something speed past his head and heard a wet splat against the door. Grabbing Ahlberg, he threw her to the ground barking, "Shut the school up!"

As McCree bellowed, Weber was already on a low crawl across the grass. Without her helmet she had no radio, all she could do was call out in German. "Kavanaugh! Status!"

"At least twelve!" he shouted, back. Following the voice, she saw him pressed up against a humvee and grabbing Van der Burgh to keep her down as well. "Was it him?"

"It was," Weber answered. Looking to the rest of the team, she noticed that Nokkar was being peppered with blue fluid on the back of his neck. "Nokkar!"

The alien shifted, looking confused at being called out. "Yes sergeant?"

Weber blinked, then called out, "Delilah! On me!"

The gargoyle ran over, crouching next to Weber. "What's happening!"

"Turn around!" Before Delilah could answer, Weber spun her around to see blue liquid on her neck as well. Then it all clicked together as she spun her back to face her. "I think your team is immune, you're not affected by the howlers! None of you are actual mammals!"

Delilah nodded, then rose and began looking around. "Where's the shooter?"

"It's bloody compressed air!" Kavanaugh shouted. "There's no report to follow!"

"Then it's on your team," Weber said. "You're the only ones who can move freely, take them alive!"

Delilah sneered. "That's on them." Rising, she turned to the nearest feral soldier. Storming up to them, she had no trouble dodging the wild swipes before putting the man in an armbar and giving him a fast trip to the ground face-first. "Nokkar! We aren't affected!"

"Understood." Satisfied that he could handle the soldiers losing their minds, the mobile moai strode into the center of the camp still holding his first prisoner. Another soldier ran up, trying to tackle him by his legs. All she managed to do was collide with him and beat at his armor. It was nothing for him to lift her up in a single hand, before looking around. Finding the nearest tent, he strode over and began binding the pair in the rope anchoring the tents to the spikes in the ground. "Bring them to me." Barb Diffy managed to take one of the flailing soldiers, her cybernetic body apparently only a little better compared to the thrashing madman in her grip. The same was clear for Capt. Amelia, her lithe muscles not quite suited for manhandling a prisoner. They both had blue on their bodies as well, Amelia on the side of her face, Barb on the back of her neck.

"I don't get it," Ahlberg said, watching from a window in the front office. "That one's a normal woman isn't she?"

McCree cringed a little. "Well, her head is, at least."

As the fight raged outside, Ahlberg said, "You were right. Osborne was the smuggler."

McCree shook his head. "I don't blame you for gettin' angry at me, ma'am. I know I came at you mighty disrespectful, but like I told you I've had this dance before. Trying to act all polite and such might not get things done fast enough."

Ahlberg nodded, watching as three more of the affected were subdued. "What made you sure I wasn't going to go off?"

McCree shrugged. "Way you're acting. You're treating this like a responsibility, not a job. You didn't care, you wouldn't have listened to us when we got here."

"Problem is we need to handle this," Ahlberg said. "I'll contact my leadership, we might have to go into the city."

McCree shook his head as another soldier threw themselves at Nokkar. "Was afraid you'd say that."

Back outside Osborne's quarters, Mei shuddered as each scream echoed through the halls. The major was busy keeping her weapon at the ready, glaring at Osborne as he stood still in the chaos. At least, until a window nearby was smashed in, and Jensen's attention shifted. That was enough for Osborne, charging the major and forcing her weapon up to the ceiling. The major fired off three rounds, the pair grappling against each other. Mei was locked in place, crouched down as Osborne headbutted Jensen in the nose. She fought back against a cry, even as blood began to trickle down her lip. That only gave Osborne more room, even as Jensen fought to keep control of the pistol. Mei watched, staying back even as she heard calls from behind her. Osborne reared back and gave another headbutt, and Jensen let out a strangled cry as she nearly stumbled to a knee. As it happened, one question reared up in Mei's head.

What would Gunner do?

One second, Osborne was about to take control of the pistol. The next, a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. Fighting to keep his hands on the weapon, he felt the crushing pressure on his throat wrapping around his Adam's apple. As the pain pierced through his throat, Jensen used the chance to take her weapon back, taking two steps back before holstering it and taking control of Osborne's arms. As two enlisted ran up, she spat out, "Get me handcuffs, rope, something!" As one of the men ran off, she smiled through the blood at Mei. "Thanks."

Mei tried to smile, hoping Gunner would say she did the right thing later. "Just happy to help!"

"I still do not understand," Mr. Big said, pacing about the counter in Doug's mansion as his polar bears kept their eyes on the cops. "You were sure that the concert would be the target. Why does this note in the calendar change your mind?"

"Fear, that's the key," Vogt noted. "The concert would have been a disaster, but there are still other Zootopians who believe like Gazelle. Lone predator attacks were effective, but what if Bellwether doesn't want to just eliminate Gazelle, what if she wants to crush what's left of what little hope Zootopia has? If she creates a mass incident, multiple predators going feral before the concert, even the most stalwart supporters of predator rights would be nervous, they might not even attend."

"And Gazelle looks completely naive," Campbell noted. "Even if she keeps speaking out, no one listens to her. She just looks like a fool after so many incidents."

"And with sheep officers spread out over the city she could claim that the only reason there might not have been any serious casualties was because of her public safety efforts," Bogo rumbled. "Everyone would choose safety over their own rights."

"And no one would have time to question where the city is going with fear ruling their lives." Vogt motioned to the TV, where ZNN was still showing a barricaded city hall. The only thing stopping Bellwether from escaping was the ZPD chopper on the roof. The two wolf pilots had barricaded the only access door to the roof, with ZNN speculating that maybe there was a feral predator loose inside.

"So, the question is how we arrest Bellwether," Bogo muttered. "We've got the evidence, but she can claim this ram isn't connected with her, that it was all a play by the prey-supremacists and get away with everything."

"That's why we need your help, sir," Vogt said, turning to Mr. Big. "It's going to be dangerous, and it will probably damage a lot of your limousine fleet, but it will make you a legitimate hero to all of Zootopia." Turning to Campbell, he asked, "Sir, remember when we had to assist the 58th with riot detail?"

Campbell paused, then turned to Bogo. "We need riot shields."

The sheep surrounding city hall knew how to watch for trouble. As believers in prey-supremacy, they all knew how their ancestors had been forced to spend every waking moment watching out for trouble from predators. Whatever was about to happen, they wouldn't be shocked or taken aback. They would finally take Zootopia once and for all. The only question was why the helicopter on the roof hadn't taken off yet. Bellwether was already making sure nothing would get out, that even if they had Doug the rest of them would never face a trial. After all, they hadn't done anything wrong.

That was when they heard it, approaching engines. The main boulevard leading to city hall was suddenly filled with limos, several ZPD SUVs behind those. The line of black limos rolled ahead slow, drawing their attention and sending a sudden spike of nerves through the ranks. The ranking officer, a black lamb with massive horns, moved to the front of the line with a bullhorn and called out, "This area is restricted! Please return to your homes! This crisis will be resolved!"

That was when Bogo got out of the front SUV, and shouting into his own bullhorn called out, "There's only one police in Zootopia, and it serves all mammals! Stand down, or I will stand you down!"

The sheep looked around at each other, trying to understand where this forceful and commanding Bogo had returned from. Wasn't he broken? Hadn't what happened to that dumb bunny and the fat cheetah shattered his spirits? The limos began to roll forward, much to the shock of the officers. "Stand ready!" the ram barked, stalking along the line. "We own this town now! Don't give it up because that stupid ox is shouting at you!"

That was when the limos jumped forward.

The sleek black cars charged, the sheep realizing that no, they weren't about to stop. The sheep barely managed to clear out as the limo charged broke the line, the next to slamming into their SUVs. The platoon piled out, rattled but ready to move. Riot shields up, they moved into formation just like back when they'd helped the 58th during the food riots in Marsa Matrouh. The front held their shields ready in front, the ones behind them held their shields overhead to protect from flying debris or, in this case, projectiles. It was simple, but they weren't military police and weren't meant to be trained in more advanced tactics. What they knew was that they wouldn't be turned feral so easily.

As the sheep began to panic, bleating out as they realized there was no fear, the rest of the ZPD rolled up. Elephants, hippos, and rhinos charged into the sheep, breaking what formations they could have had into pieces. The cattle prods were effective for maybe a second or two, before the offending parties were sent flying with sweeping tusks and horns. Predator officers moved fast and hard through the sheep, separating them into small groups to keep them from reorganizing. Tigers, lions, and wolves all shifted with the sprinting sheep, tackling and cuffing them as they fitted anti-spit muzzles over their snouts as their megafauna comrades became a rock to organize around.

A single elephant charged the front doors of the hall, battering ram on-foot, smashing the glass inward. With special boots over their paws, the platoon charged in as Lena finally got to let loose. Turning into a blue blur in the lobby, she seemed to bounce between the black-suited rams inside. Knocked to the ground, weapons useless, they seemed more shocked that a doe had run through them so fast.

"Top floor!" Bogo whispered, hoisting up two rams in a headlock from outside. "Get moving!"

"Durand, take three and hold the elevators," Campbell barked. "Everyone else on me!"

Vogt was already at the fire exit, loaned taser up and sweeping everything in front of him. He could hear shouts and bleats from above, hooves pounding on the metal stairs as the sheep realized that no, there wasn't a way out this time. Vogt realized that the wolves were literally at the door, and there was no saving the sheep now.

The charged through any ram they found, the plastic riot shields getting peppered with blue as the rams realized that their one trump was now useless. They tried to call out for heavier weapons, but there were none. In desperation, one of the rams tried throwing himself headfirst into the shield wall. The squad instantly knelt, bracing each other as the horns slammed into Vogt. Then he did something that he would knew he would never live down.

He snarled at the ram and sent it flailing back.

Arriving at the top floor, the squad filed carefully into the hall leading to the mayor's office. They'd penned the black-suited rams into a mass, all of them shaking as they tried to keep their pellet guns ready. Remembering their training, the squad began to smack their fists against the plastic shields. With each step, they kept slamming against the plastic and pressed toward the sheep. Some of the rams dropped their pellet guns, throwing themselves down to the floor with their hooves over their heads.

Campbell spoke up. "Amari, Durand, take a detail and police the prisoners." The pair did so, tapping Garcia and Russo to help keep the sheep from trying anything funny. "Vogt, take the mayor into custody."

The squad shifted into a wedge, forcing the frozen and terrified sheep apart to give Vogt access to the mayor's office. Pressing the door open, he was careful to make sure he didn't give Bellwether an easy shot at him with her pellet gun. With the door to his right, he kept the shield up to his face as he scanned the office and heard...nothing. Sniffing the air, he realized that while the room was lousy with her scent, none of it was fresh. His eyes widened as he called out, "She's gone!" Lowering his shield, he moved to clear the room further as Campbell moved in behind him. "She's gone, she isn't here!"

"Where else could she be?" Campbell asked. "There was no other way out of the -- "

Vogt began to think like a victorious movie villain, then shouted, "Boiler room!" Sprinting back through the hall, he ran down the stairs again as though he were a Republican chasing a spending cut. Bounding to the ground floor again, he saw another flight of stairs leading to a basement. Slamming past the door, he barely had time to raise his shield as two final rams fired their pellets at him. Two more blue splatters on the shield, and Vogt didn't waste time. He charged, slamming the shield into one and coating its face in howler juice. As the ram panicked and tried to wipe it off his face, the other was almost reloaded. Dropping the shield, Vogt snapped the ram's wrist and took the pellet gun for himself. As the first ram began to lose all semblance of sapience, he grabbed the weapon, turned to the boiler room and ran inside, slamming the door shut just as the second ram realized his buddy saw an intruder.

Ignoring the sounds of screams and goring, Vogt saw that the boiler room had been cleared out. Except for a passageway in the concrete floor that was wide enough that he could drop into it.

Dawn Bellwether, rightful mayor of Zootopia, managed to clamber out of her escape hatch into the thick rainforest of Washington. Grunting as she hefted her suitcase out with her, she scowled as she began the hike to the nearest highway. "Stupid, useless, no-good sheep! I literally give them everything and they can't stop a few limos?!" Hoisting the suitcase over her shoulder (the size making it little more than a briefcase to a human), she began trudging through the thick humidity threatening to envelop her. It was fine, she could hide out somewhere a while. Certainly she'd have to worry about how she would make a new life for herself, but with everything she had...

A root sent her sprawling, the suitcase landing hard on a rock and breaking open, spilling her supplies across the forest floor next to a small stream. Grunting, she ignored the pain in her knees as she pushed herself back up. That was when she felt a barrel press against the back of her head. "Don't move."

Bellwether froze, breathing hard as she realized she'd been found. Only one animal she knew used weapons with barrels outside of Zootopia, and she knew they didn't know anything about the situation in the city thanks to the government's cordon. "T-Thank goodness, I'm so glad you found me! T-There's something happening in the city -- "

"Look at your suitcase." Bellwether paused, replaying the words again before shifting to see all the gold jewels and gems she'd packed with her designer clothes and wads of cash. All of it sprawled on the ground for anyone to see.

"You know, for a while I thought you were at least reasonable with your hatred," the voice behind her said. "The way you were treated, the way all small mammals were treated. Still, that was the difference, wasn't it? Hopps died trying to help everyone. You only ever lived for yourself."

Bellwether grimaced. "That's not true, if you knew what -- "

"You didn't instill fear, you enforced terror," the voice hissed. "You made it so children grew up only knowing how to fear, even to be afraid of themselves. Anyone who dared to see beyond the flesh was a danger, so you schemed and planned to keep them under-hoof. And what for? So you could comfort yourself with all the finery of life that you thought you deserved? Lionheart was a pompous braggat and schemer, but can you tell me now that he embezzled? That he gave positions to speciesist bastards? He was a politician, but you? You're nothing but a coward."

Bellwether shuddered as the gun barrel pressed harder into her flesh. "I-I can give you all of it! Well, most of it, I mean I still need to have something to survive with -- " Another press against her head, tears beginning to flow. "No! No please, I'm not a threat! I'm just a -- "

She felt something hit the back of her head.

Blinking, she realized she wasn't dead. That was when she felt heavy hands grab her clothes, a knife tearing through them to rip them apart down the back. Her gold earrings were ripped from her ears, her emerald necklace torn from her neck. As she tried to figure out what happened, she saw as a pair of paws pulled her gold bangles from her wrists. That was when she was spun around, and found herself face to face with a wolf that had a pellet gun in his paws.

"You only have a few seconds, if that," Vogt said, as panic began to set in and Bellwether realized that thinking was...thinking was..."We were told to take you alive. But personally I think throwing you in a small, pathetic cell isn't enough. You lived the heights of life, Mayor Bellwether. Now you get to live the same hell that you subjected so many other innocent mammals to." Bellwether tried to speak, but all that came out were bleats and cries, her words mangled as her mind began to fog with the veil of instinct and primitive focus.

The wolf crouched down, glaring in her eyes as she lost the ability to even think beyond "WOLF! RUN!" "Whatever sapience is left, know that you did this to yourself. I've heard that whatever you put into the world, it returns to you threefold. It seems that you've finally received what you put into the world."

Vogt watched as the last vestiges of sapient thought disappeared from Bellwether's eyes, her glasses falling off in the panic. The second that came to be, he threw her down and snarled, baring his teeth and snapping at her. That was enough, the feral lamb too terrified to fight and fleeing deep into the thick trees, and out of sight forever. Shaking his head, Vogt moved fast. He grabbed the torn clothes, the bloodied earrings, and moved to the stream. Finding a large enough rock, he dug out under it before shoving the offending articles underneath along with the pellet gun. Setting the rock firmly back into place over it, he made sure to rinse his paws clean before moving back to the escape tunnel.

Campbell popped out of the hole, looking rather winded. "Bloody never thought I'd be thankful for persistence hunting," he muttered, pushing himself out. "What've you got, Vogt?"

"She saw me coming out, sir," Vogt said, looking off into the distance. "She made it into the forest before I could make it out, and there's too many scents, I can't find her in the chaos."

Campbell nodded, shaking his head. "You still did well, Vogt, as well as any of us. C'mon, we need to make sure Bogo can keep a handle on things."

Vogt nodded, following Campbell back into the tunnel. Sparing no thought to whatever predators might still lurk in the deep rainforests of the Pacific.

The plaza around the city hall was a circus, and that was being generous. Media tried to press through the police cordon, as paddy wagons lined up to haul the dozens on dozens of sheep away. That was in addition to the officers making sure they were able to unlock the shock collars for a crowd of hundreds, maybe thousands of predators and prey cheering as they realized they were finally free. As Bogo handled the media, crediting much of the help to the "selfless actions" of Mr. Big and his crew, Vogt follow Campbell and Fareeha to find Mr. Big and his polar bears at the front desk of city hall.

"Bellwether escaped," Campbell admitted. "We can try to find her, but -- "

"For now, we're free," Mr. Big said, smiling as he ran his claws along his collar-free neck. "That is is important enough, my boy. We are all finally free of the fear she inflicted on us." Vogt tried to smile, but held his tongue. He'd been warned to --

"Then you have to keep to your word," Fareeha said. Catching everyone in the squad by surprise. "You swore you'd go legit after this."

Mr. Big paused, staring up at Fareeha. Then he nodded. "I did swear that. And I am a mammal of my word. My friends and I will work with Chief Bogo, we will find a new path. We will..."

Vogt smiled. "Evolve?"

Mr. Big smiled back, the polar bears around him nodding in agreement. "Yes, my boy. We will evolve."

The squad cheered, Campbell and Fareeha turning to speak with Bogo as Vogt turned to watch as a mother wolf unlocked her children's collars before she had hers removed. For the first time since he could recall, Vogt felt a strange sensation before tears slowly trickled down his snout.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 13

Back at Area 51, Vogt was once more up long before the rest of the platoon. Taking a quick shower, he made his way up to the surface, watching as the sun made its long climb over the eastern horizon to begin the day. They would be returning to normal now, with no real success to show other than deposing Bellwether. Mei had managed to inspect the climate systems, and shook her head as she announced, "They're just massive air conditioners and heaters. The snow came from snow machines." So, that had been it. No way to counteract the ice, no new form of power generation. Only a small victory against another petty tyrant.

"Vogt." Turning, the trooper saw Weber walking out onto the sands. "How're you feeling?"

He tried to smile. "Fine, sergeant."

Weber shook her head. "You're not a good liar."

Vogt nodded, beginning to pace about the sands. "I, I know we have to go back, sergeant. What would I say, that I've just got a condition? I, I know I have to go back. I'm ready to go back."

Weber was silent for a moment, then said, "Vogt, your morale was higher than I've ever seen it before. You need to acclimate a little, but being like this? It's nothing bad. Strange, maybe, but not bad."

Vogt blinked, turning to the sergeant. "You...You're saying..."

"There will be rules," she said, her words as solid as a concrete wall. "To start, you'll only be able to go out like this in this universe. It's also a privilege, and even if we trust you it can be taken away if we feel you're abusing it." She paused, then added, "And that's at our discretion, understood?" Vogt was too busy staring in shock to answer as Weber smiled again. "But that nose was useful, and if you're good enough to sniff out fear and specific scents in a crowded plaza, imagine what we could do in counter-ambush actions."

Vogt nodded, now utterly lost for words as he realized what he was being offered. "Sergeant, sergeant I...I mean this...You're..."

"You're welcome, Vogt," she said. "Now, enjoying it for a while longer."

Vogt nodded, tears flowing again as he turned to see the sun finally crest the hills in the distance. Then he called out, "The next time I get actual hands and feet though!"

Back in the SGC, Mei smiled as she walked into the mess to get herself some lunch. The climate control systems had been a disappointment, but at least there was no false hope either. The platoon knew that they had to keep working, and she'd make sure to review anything they found that might have a chance.

"Oi! Mei!" Looking back, she saw Gunner walking over with a wide smile on his face.

"Gunner! I thought you were training for Amphibia?"

"Gen. Locke sent us back for some intelligence," Gunner answered. "So, how'd it go in the giant petting zoo?"

Beaming, Mei turned and said, "I actually helped in a fight! A drug smuggler was trying to take a soldier's gun, so I put him in a headlock and stopped him!"

Gunner laughed, slapping Mei on the shoulder so hard she collided with the counter of the chow line. "Blood brilliant kid! I knew we'd make a scrapper outta you! C'mon, let's get some lunch, then you can show me what you did in the gym!"

Beaming, Mei took her tray back and made sure to get as light a lunch as possible.

Xanatos finished with his work, smiling at the report on what had happened on the cordon around Zootopia. Once more, his government tech contracts paid off. He'd have to make sure to make intense tests on X-oS before the next update was pushed out if he wanted to keep getting information from individuals like Col. Ahlberg.

"Dear, it's almost time," Fox said, leaning against the doorway of his study. Wearing a stunning evening dress that accentuated her muscular arms and full curves, she asked, "You don't really want to keep them waiting, do you?"

"Fear not, my dear," Xanatos noted. "After all, as the host of the dinner it's my right to make a fashionably late entrance."

Walking arm in arm with her husband, Fox asked, "So, what happened to man your man on the cordon?"

"The good private will find himself that much richer, and have an easier time navigating the VA," Xanatos said. "His time as an MP will parlay nicely into a position as a police officer, wouldn't you say?"

"That doesn't answer what will happen with the howlers being cut off," Fox pondered. "And the plants to make them are only found around Zootopia, aren't they?"

"In truth, this will only serve our needs my dear," Xanatos noted. "I made sure to acquire a sizable stock of both the raw materials and a reasonable supply of the howlers beforehand. I abhor drugs of course, but it may prove useful later."

Approaching the grand hall, Owen stood dutifully before the doors in his tuxedo, holding Xanatos' dinner jacket. "The guests are seated sir, and your favors are ready."

"Excellent work as always, Owen," Xanatos said, slipping the jacket over his white shirt. Letting Fox make a final check of his black bow tie, he gave her a long kiss on the lips before striding through the massive oak doors.

They all waited, the highest levels of the Illuminati crowded into one single location. Thirty-two 32s, thirty-one 31s, all the way to their leader, one 1 sitting at the head of the hall. Only two seats remained empty on his right, seats of honor for Xanatos and Fox as the hosts of the dinner. The hall fell silent, as the man himself rose and motioned for silence.

"Ah, David!" he called out, his thick Welsh accent echoing about the stone walls. "A fine feats you've undoubtedly prepared for us all. You have my thanks for your gracious hospitality."

Xanatos and Fox both bowed slightly. "It wouldn't do to give my guests any less than the best of my kitchen."

"Well, come and sit then," One said, motioning that the pair take their seats next to him. The pair moved through the silent crowd, heads all still but all eyes tracking them. It was all there; the envy, the rage, the want. The desire to be like Xanatos right now, seated at the right hand of their leader. A breath away from ultimate power.

Seated next to their leader, Xanatos and Fox waited until One motioned with a hand for the dinner to continue. "Now, Falstaff, your word on what happened to our income from Zootopia?"

Falstaff was caught in the middle of draining a massive tankard, wiping his lips with his massive forearm before rising, his massive gut barely held behind his black cummerbund. "Well, unfortunately, the animals have dismantled the source of our supplies. We can try to rebuild, but it will take time. For now, unfortunately we'll have to survive on what we've saved up over the years." The centuries, more accurately, but Xanatos wouldn't let fact spoil the moment.

One sighed, shaking his head. "Disappointing. Fleur, what are your thoughts?"

The newest of two 2s, the silver-haired beauty turned to One. "There is only one solution that we must embark on. We must kill this platoon, stop them before they can interfere with our plans further. They would see him sent back to whatever realm he was sentenced to before we can utilize his abilities."

"I would advise against that," Xanatos noted. "Remember that they have divine powers of their own to back them. Worse, they have the forces of ten total universes behind them. If we acted with hostility, they would easily overwhelm us with numbers alone."

Falstaff scoffed at the idea. "Numbers? Bah! We've faced armies before, David, long before you made your way to our ranks. Or did you think the disappearance of the the Norfolk 5th Battalion was due to simple clouds?"

"I don't doubt our ability to do great damage to them, sir," Xanatos said, as Fox sipped at her champagne. "Only that it would be less efficient than a plan I've devised."

Fleur and Falstaff both looked over in concern, but One seemed curious. "A plan, David? It must be close to fruition if you're only now letting us know."

Xanatos nodded, rising to speak to the assembled levels of the pyramid. Tapping on his glass, he drew all attention to himself. Much to the shock of the others in the pyramid. "Everyone! I'd like to address you all right now!" Every eye in the room fell on Xanatos, ranging from the curious to the wrathful. None of it troubled him, though. After all he'd faced more hostile investors early on in his career.

"Everyone, I think we can all agree that our organization is facing a new kind of struggle in this new and troubled time. Whatever has merged our worlds, despite these initial confusions and struggles, was still seen as an opportunity by us all. Our utilization of the chaos to solidify our position within the government is what preserved us once we realized the madness surrounding us all. Yet we have to observe the obvious, that there will be threats to our status regardless of what we might think we can do."

That sent a ripple of discontent through the hall. After all, they were the Illuminati! The unquestioned masters of the world, the true heirs to Camelot and the world's lost kingdoms that only lived on in their archives and minds. Now this upstart, this youth from nowhere in Maine was telling them that they were still under threat?

"We should not hide from the reality we face. The Freemasons are revitalized, rebuilding their numbers and presence in both the government and among the people. ZFT has technologies that challenge even my most capable systems, to say nothing of their abilities to travel between dimensions. Yet even if the MVTF remains friendly for now, there may come a time that they move against us. I believe that the world must be put into order for our organization to survive any true length of time in this new world. A streamlined, efficient organization that recognizes the changing times since it was first formed."

"Careful, David," One noted, holding up a hand. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but mind your betters."

Xanatos smiled, before walking out from behind the table, taking Fox's hand in his and moving before the head table. With the angry eyes still lingering on him, he still smiled his nonchalant, confident smile as Fox remained by his side. "The fact remains that our organization is still trapped in an outdated organizational model, useless in an age where mundane technologies enable the instant transmission of information that at one time was restricted to the magi and sages of ages past."

"David," One said, glaring down at him. "You've stepped too far. I've trusted your intuition on these matters for some time, but this has gone far enough."

"It has indeed, Peredur," Xanatos said, ignoring the glares coming from all corners of the hall. "These antiquated means of maintaining order in a world that only ever seems to desire a fall to chaos? We must evolve, or be lost." Eyes flicking up to the ceiling, he saw them in the rafters. The red points of light waiting for those magic words.

"It's time to restructure."

The hats landed on every seated head in the hall, the struggles to rip them free brief but entertaining. The masters of the world, the rulers of the shadows, now all found themselves under thrall of digital mastery. Some fell quickly, instantly rising from their seats at attention. Others lasted a few seconds longer, some trying to cut or smash the hats from their heads while others made final, desperate lunges for Xanatos. The head table were the last to fall, Falstaff almost ripping his bowler free before his arms fell limp and he lost his mind to Xanatos' control. Fleur tried to wedge a steak knife into the bare gap between her scalp and the bowler, but it wasn't enough, and as she lost control she rose to attention with a thin trickle of blood falling down the side of her face.

One was placid through it all, glaring at Xanatos as the rest of the pyramid's highest levels were sucked under Xanatos' command. Waiting until Xanatos turned back to face him, he muttered, "You think yourself the new king, David?"

"Kings are such an outdated concept," Xanatos noted. "I'm merely the chief executive." That was all One had, before Xanatos got to enjoy the sight of his mind overwhelmed by the hat.

"Fox, please bring Hacker in," Xanatos said. As Fox left the great hall, he moved to the head table and said, "Step aside please." One did as ordered, moving aside as David moved to sit at the head of the table. Fox and Owen strode in, Hacker walking in front of them with his new flat cap controlling his every move.

"We're going to bring the rest of the Illuminati into this, Martin," Xanatos said. "Have enough hats ready, from the 51s all the way to the 99s. Peredur will handle the invitations."

Hacker nodded, perfectly under Xanatos' control. "I'll get on it right now."

Smiling, Xanatos motioned for Fox to join him. As she sat astride his lap, he asked her, "Well my dear, what does the man who has everything do with it?"

"I suppose that he does next is decide what he does with the future," Fox purred, tilting his chin up to her. "And the futures of the people he loves."

Xanatos whispered as he leaned in for the kiss, "My dear, I do believe you've read my mind."