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From the moment every officer walked through the door to work under his command, Chief Bogo demanded a specific bullpen routine that began every morning at 8:30am sharp. This daily routine had experienced variations over the years to account for certain occurrences, of course. Things like retirements, births, funerals. So when the email was sent out to the entire day shift distribution list at midday to arrive exactly twenty minutes before the usual bullpen start time on Friday morning, everyone had their hackles up.
There was a palpable feeling in the air, present across the entire building as the Precinct One faithful made their way into work, exchanging subtle glances that said do you know what’s up? as they did so. They could all feel it, that certain something in the air, like a harpstring was being pulled taut in the air above them, ready to snap at any moment.
As the last of the officers shuffled into the bullpen, it became even more obvious that something serious was up. There was practically no room left; certainly no place to sit, and almost no place even to stand. The day shift uniformed officers were mostly in their usual seats, but also interspersed among them and lining the side and back walls were the special unit teams, as well. The Zebros had struck their usual partner pose, but hardly in boisterous solidarity; it looked more like they were holding each other up in a standing position as they fought to keep their eyes open. The SNFR unit were managing a little better, arms crossed and while not exactly looking alert, at least not looking likely to fall asleep at any moment.
No one could tell what state the ram partners were in; their reflective glasses made it impossible to tell what level of consciousness they had achieved. But they were present, and their scowls made it obvious that they were less than pleased about the early start time.
Even Sergeant Higgins’ “ATEN-HUT!” sounded like it had to fight through an imminent yawn this morning.
The door swung wide open and Chief Bogo ducked into the bullpen, same as any morning. He looked a little worse for wear, still sporting a small bandage just above his eye where he had been bitten by a snake the week before. He didn’t look nearly as weary as the rest of his officers this morning; it seemed two days unconscious in intensive care really helped him catch up on the sleep deficit.
The gathered officers managed a typical greeting for him, although admittedly it was a fair bit more subdued than usual. As was routine, Bogo still went through the motions of urging them to rein it in and quiet.
“Alright, alright, settle down,” the head of Precinct One announced in his signature bass as he made his way to the podium.
It was a scene that every officer in the room had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times before, and yet something was different this morning. The monotonous routine that marked the majority of morning roll calls was replaced instead with a sharp focus that practically radiated from Bogo’s eyes as he entered.
And that harpstring buckled once again.
“Thank you all for your prompt arrival, early as it is. I understand how valuable a half an hour of sleep is first thing in the morning,” he said while shuffling the usual stack of paper that rested in front of him. “Would anyone happen to have a guess as to why I’ve called you all here ahead of roll this morning?” he continued, after a pause that just barely stretched into the territory of awkward.
A few grunts or murmurs in the negative sounded up from the handful of officers brave enough to risk drawing attention to themselves.
“I thought as much,” Bogo said, while raising his gaze to level at the room for the first time. “It has come to my attention that the way some of the officers within this precinct have decided to treat their colleagues has crossed several lines. I’m sure some of you are well aware of what I am referring to.”
He glanced around the room expectantly, almost daring the crowd to commit one way or the other.
“No?” he said after a few moments’ silence longer, in a voice as clear and sharp as broken glass. “Well in that case, allow me to provide one or two prompts to assist in the jogging of our collective memories.”
He reached down behind the podium, withdrawing a moment later what appeared to be a medium-large mammal sized volleyball with a paper cutout of a face stuck onto it.
Every officer assembled immediately recognized the printed face of Ebenezer Lynxley on the cutout, specifically the Zootennial statue of him that had been destroyed during the calamitous chase to apprehend Antony Snootley.
And two officers in particular recognized much more than that.
“Would anyone care to hazard a guess at where this… hilarious representation of now known murderer Ebenezer Lynxley was placed?”
You could’ve heard a single drop of sweat fall in the silence.
“Officer Hopps’ locker, along with as much ram’s wool as would fit without it bursting at the seams and this…” he held up a second item, “less than flattering depiction of her partner on what we all might presume is one of the prouder days they’ve shared.”
The new item was a photograph, tiny in the cape buffalo’s hooves, but still just about legible to the onlooking officers. It was Officer Wilde, on the day of his graduation, the exact moment when he as valedictorian of his class had been invited onto the stage to receive his badge.
A ridiculous moustache and spectacles combination had been drawn on his face, and the bottom of the photograph was emblazoned with the unmissable caption of ‘losers’, both seemingly in permanent marker.
The silence could’ve been cut with a knife… had it not been first shattered by the loud pop of the volleyball bursting in the chief’s hooves, and the almost agonisingly tense sound of it slowly deflating.
Bogo somehow seemed to hold eye contact with the entire room at once as the air left the volleyball. Only once it was fully deflated did he cast his gaze sidewards to the Zebros, offering them the remains of the volleyball as he did so.
“I believe this belongs to you.”
Zebrowski took the walk of shame up to the podium to take it after a very brief pause, clearly realizing that not doing so might very well be gambling with his life.
“This bit of antagonism at least had the good sense to remain firmly within station walls and out of the view of our city’s citizens,” Bogo continued, now picking up a small remote in his hoof. He pressed a button and a projector screen lowered behind him over the chalkboard. “But that hasn’t been the case for all of it.”
He moved away from the podium for a moment to a nearby laptop which was open and waiting. With a few key presses he sent the desktop browser application that was already open to the projector on the ceiling. A paused video on EweTube showed up on the screen behind him. The title of the video was Police Painted Belly Dance by someone with the handle mUS3LI mAM. Bogo clicked the play button.
“Oh my God,” the voiceover of whoever was holding the shaky cell phone camera commented as it zoomed in on the front of the Precinct One building. It held steadier as it recorded two hippos pressing their naked bellies against the front doors to show crudely painted caricatures of their fox and bunny colleagues. They rubbed their bodies up and down as they laughed uproariously. “That ain’t cool. So much for Zootopia’s finest, huh?”
The video ended shortly thereafter. Bogo returned to the podium, leaving the image from the end of the video up on the projector for just a few moments longer. He leveled his gaze at the two hippo partners seated nearby, who were staring in abject horror.
“Consider yourself something of an artist, do you Sergeant?” he asked pointedly.
The hippo’s ears flagged and he ducked his head as far down between his shoulders as he was physically capable of doing. It looked like he wanted to disappear.
“As the detectives in the room may have already surmised, that footage was taken by a passing civilian.” He said that last word in a manner that made it sound like he’d put his whole bodyweight behind it. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, trust in the department–following the catastrophes that were the missing mammals and nighthowler cases last year–is still seriously compromised, especially among those mammals directly or indirectly affected by their fallout.”
He turned back to the paused image of the hippos on the screen.
“I’m sure the mammals harboring those very real concerns will feel reassured to see such professional conduct from the ZPD’s supposed best and brightest, just as sure as I feel that any bunnies or foxes intending to follow in Hopps’ and Wilde’s footsteps will feel comforted at the way they see their trailblazers treated by their colleagues.”
The levels of agitation in the room were rising to critical levels, with tails lashing and ears splayed back across the board. Bogo’s own ears swiveled as he heard someone in the back of the room mutter, “Can’t anyone take a joke anymore?”
“IF YOU’VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY, YOU SAY IT DIRECTLY TO MY FACE, OFFICER,” Bogo all but roared, gripping the podium so hard the wood cracked. The officers reeled back and the room fell to silence. You could have heard a paperclip drop from across the station, that was how absolute the silence was.
Bogo took a deep steadying breath before continuing at a more normal volume of voice, though his irritation could still clearly be heard.
“I understand that ‘ribbing’ comes part and parcel with this job. I know I don’t often choose to indulge, but I assure you that I too have a sense of humor and enjoy a good roast as much as the next officer. But this–” He motioned generally with his hooves at the screen behind him and the deflated volleyball the Zebros were both trying their hardest to pretend didn’t exist. “–borders on hazing. It does not build camaraderie or establish any kind of mutual respect as one would expect being part of such a team as we have. And I will not tolerate such behavior in my precinct.”
Bogo let them all stew for a few seconds longer, then raised the remote up to turn off the projector. The image from the video vanished from the screen.
“I recognize that some of you may still feel your pride was bruised by Hopps’ appointment to this precinct a year ago, and Wilde’s more recent one. I’m sure nobody here requires a reminder of the comments of ‘political appointment’ and ‘Lionheart’s poster bunny’ that were thrown around like they were going out of fashion. I will admit that I was nowhere near as supportive as I should’ve been when Officer Hopps arrived on our doorstep, and I did far less than I should have to nip that sentiment in the bud before it could fester. Let me make it crystal clear to each and every one of you that this will change now.”
He’d been leaning so far over the podium initially that his nose was almost hovering over the front row of the room, but at this juncture he took a moment to draw himself back. The scowl on his face was replaced with an almost thoughtful expression that edged ever so slightly on the side of pride.
“Hopps and Wilde still have much to learn, as indeed we all do. Nevertheless, they are both valedictorians of their academy classes, and have served this city with distinction far beyond what would have been expected of them in the short time they have been with us. Some of the mammals in this precinct–your colleagues and friends–were staring down the barrel of discrimination and persecution had it not been for the actions of the two smallest officers amongst our number. Others are only able to hold a conversation again with their friends, siblings, and spouses because of the risks those two took upon themselves, with practically zero support from the mammals in this room, myself included. I think the least they deserve is to be able to come to work without being afraid to check their lockers.”
Bogo broke eye contact with the room for the first time in several minutes, and looked down at the small stack of papers in front of him instead, adjusting his reading glasses as he did so.
“I have spoken with Dr. Fuzzby and she has very kindly agreed to run a series of sessions on bullying and the management of toxic behaviors in the workplace. I have taken the liberty of assuring her that every member of this precinct will be attending at least one session over the coming weeks. Options to suit all schedules will be available, and I suggest that everyone makes sure to participate as I will be keeping an eye on attendances personally.”
His gaze returned to the room as he spoke that final word, and he leaned in infinitesimally closer.
“If I witness or receive word of one more incident that is anything like these,” Bogo warned, “I promise you those responsible will be spending the rest of their long and illustrious careers as the crossing guards for Tundratown Straits Elementary School, if they are very lucky. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a wide variety of affirmative motions and noises from the assorted mammals present. The dull clamor managed to wind back down to quasi silence just as the back door of the bullpen opened wide.
“...and that was when they finally turned around and saw what had become of the parade float,” Officer Hopps finished saying to Officer Wilde as they walked through the door and down the aisle toward their shared seat.
“I’m sure the Homecoming King and Queen were overjoyed at the change in decor,” her partner replied with a subdued chuckle. “Never would have guessed country bunny bumpkins had such a flair for pranks.”
“Oh, trust me, when a veritable mob of bunnies gets suitably bored, wild things tend to happen.”
He climbed up into the chair and reached over to give the rabbit officer a little help settling in beside him. It was at that moment that they realized just how still and quiet the usually boisterous bullpen was. They looked up to see Chief Bogo already present and going through his papers on the podium nonchalantly. The rest of the officers in the room (of which there were many more than usual), were all looking idly in different directions, making eye contact only with the walls, floor, and ceiling.
“Jeez,” Officer Wilde commented aside to Officer Hopps and pulled his tie out in obvious unease. “What the heck happened in here? Did someone die?”