Work Text:
Finn_Flex
Finn was waiting for Judy and Nick to return from their night shifts at Clawhauser's desk. The latest computer tech magazine was in his paws. He lazily scanned the magazine for data that he could use later.
Bogo strode into Clawhauser’s desk area, the door all but falling off the hinges behind him. His red face blazed with annoyance. “Clawhauser! There’s an issue with my computer. A pop-up of Gazelle keeps appearing and…” Bogo stopped to adjust his glasses on his nose. With visible distaste, he pursed his lips and looked down at Finn on the general public's side of the desk. “What is this street hustler doing unescorted in my bullpen? Shouldn’t you be out cornering the market on recycled frozen treats, fox?”
“That all you got, old man?” Finn’s Zoo York accent comically emphasized his background. Finn put the magazine on Clawhauser’s desk, pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times to execute a massive anonymous donation to the ZPD, and waited.
Nick and Judy slid through the glass doors, chatting about some mundane case file. Nick glided in with his usual relaxed posture, his hands in his pockets. Judy adjusted her utility belt and checked its position for uniform standards.
Suddenly, they noticed the entire bullpen had gone quiet. Officers were peeking over their cubicles. Clawhauser was behind the front desk, paws to his cheeks, eyes darting between Chief Bogo and the tiny fennec fox on a stool.
Right at 07:24, Clawhauser's terminal dinged with the announcement of a massive financial transaction to ZPD. Programmed cheer sound effects of a kazoo and noisemakers followed. Finn smirked.
Bogo stared at the screen. His massive brain completely short-circuited. His attempt to process the anonymous donation notification and the words "NYMoo" in bold font on the screen in front of Clawhauser hit a loop.
"Well, Chief, I would have thought a department under your 'brilliant' leadership could afford a firewall that a toddler didn't code. But what do I know? I only spent four years studying and tutoring network architecture at NYMoo. Mentored at HIT. DJ’d for scientific conventions that required my particular skill set on weekends and created some useful “connections” within certain sectors such as finance." Finn’s words flowed like hip-hop truth. Finn casually picked up and took a sip of his organic grape juice box on the desk.
Bogo’s condescending lecture halted to total, ears-pinned-back, jaw-dropped silence.
Nick and Judy stopped in their tracks. They looked at the frozen faces around the room, then looked at each other. "What did we walk into?" was all but telepathically transmitted.
Clawhauser, paws pressed to his chubby cheeks, utterly vibrated with the sheer thrill of the drama. The unspoken “OMG…” was broadcast through his bright eyes.
Finn put down his empty juice box for Clawhauser to remove, hopped off the stool, brushed a piece of lint off his jacket, and walked right past the stunned Chief.
As he passed Nick and Judy, he flipped a crisp twenty-dollar bill onto Nick's chest and said, "Paid your tab at the cafe, Slick. Tell your boss his decryption keys look like they were written in crayon. I’m hungry.”
Nick grabbed the cash, yanked out his wallet, put the bill in carefully behind a small plate of Dyneema fiber, and placed both back in a secret pocket he had made in his civilian shirts and uniforms: right over his heart. (Being a clothier’s son has its advantages. As a side job, Nick was able to bulletproof many ZPD uniforms on the down low, right at home.)
Finn stopped to look at Judy. “I’m picking the joint this time, FluffButt. I need more than veggies to keep this fine machinery operating at peak levels.” With a nod to Clawhauser, Finn pushed the double doors open like a star leaving a sold-out concert and left Nick and Judy to face the absolute wrath of a completely bewildered, humbled, and deeply frustrated Chief Bogo.
Nick clapped with delight and a chuckle. ”Yeah. That’s my boi, Finn.”
Judy rolled her eyes. “I’ve yet to decide which one of you isn’t fit for public integration.”
“Well! Look at the top-tier vocabulary coming from the farmer’s daughter! Color me impressed.” Nick teased Judy with an elbow to the shoulder.
Bogo began aggressively typing on his phone while refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
Judy’s pouty mouth was about to deliver a stinging retort when the chief cut in by text. Nick heard the buzz and pulled out his phone from his pants pocket: Wilde. Could you be persuaded to contact your associate for a confidential conversation?
“What the fluff…” Nick muttered, looked over at Bogo, and nodded. Bogo nodded back and resumed his conversation with Clawhauser.
“Wanna fill me in?” Judy asked. Her ears were straight up with curiosity.
“Not in here," Nick replied and opened the door to their office for Judy. Shooting him a puzzled glance with her eyebrows scrunched together, Judy silently passed through the doorway.
Across the bullpen, Chief Bogo was staring intensely at his phone. The tip of his tail flicked aggressively. He cleared his throat, wiped a bead of sweat from his thick brow, and began typing with two massive, clumsy thumbs. Nick’s phone buzzed. He held it up so Judy could see.
Chief Bogo: Wilde. I am prepared to offer your associate a temporary consulting role regarding a sensitive, high-profile insider trading investigation in the Rainforest District. It requires... specialized network penetration skills. Please convey my utmost professional regards.
Judy and Nick stood just inside their office doorway; the door cracked open barely an inch. Judy was practically standing on Nick’s shoulders to look through the gap, her ears twitching in overdrive.
Nick smirked and immediately forwarded the text to Finn, adding, [He's sweating, Finn. Make it hurt.]
Not even three seconds later, Nick’s phone chimed again. A screenshot from Finn.
Finn: Who’s this? If it’s the old guy who sounds like a broken tractor, tell him my consulting fee starts with a formal, written apology for insulting my entrepreneurial spirit.
Judy gasped, nearly falling off her perch. "He did not just call the chief a broken tractor."
"Oh, he did. And watch this," Nick chuckled, tapping his screen.
A moment later, they could see Bogo’s posture visibly stiffened. The cape of his uniform practically bristled. He began typing so hard it looked like he might crack the screen.
Chief Bogo: Mr. Finn. I apologize for my earlier, uncalled-for remarks regarding your... frozen treat enterprise. The ZPD deeply respects community-led commerce. If you accept this contract, the department is prepared to offer standard corporate compensation.
Nick’s phone buzzed with Finn's immediate counter-offer.
Finn: Standard? Please. Crayon decryption costs extra. Here are my terms:
1. Complete exoneration and erasure of all outstanding traffic, parking, and jaywalking citations for my van and my associate, Officer Nick Wilde.
2. A daily stipend of chilled, organic Sahara Square grape juice delivered to my desk. No artificial sweeteners.
3. 24/7 unrestricted keycard access to the ZPD mainframe lab. I want my own ergonomic chair and matching OrthoFoam footstool.
Do we have a deal, Junior, or should I go offer my services to the defense?
Judy stared at the screen, her jaw dropping. "Nick, he's extorting the chief of police!"
"It’s not extortion, Carrots," Nick said, his grin widening as he watched Bogo' face glowing with a fascinating shade of eggplant purple across the room. "It's negotiation. And look... the big guy is signing off."
Across the bullpen, Chief Bogo stared at the single word on his screen: Junior.
His left eye gave a distinct, violent twitch. For a second, Nick and Judy held their breath, half-expecting the desk to be hurled through the window. Instead, a heavy, defeated silence fell over the Chief. He slowly raised a massive hoof and rubbed his temples, letting out a long, rumbling sigh.
He looked down at the framed photograph on his desk—his beautiful albino buffalo wife smiling back at him alongside their two handsome, light-brown sons, both looking sharp and professional in their college headshots. Do it for them, Bogo thought. Don't let the fox win.
With a grimace, he reached across the desk, popped open a prescription bottle, and rattled out two high-blood-pressure tablets. He grabbed a bottle of water, gulped it down with his pills in one heavy swig, and glared back at his phone.
Before he could type, the screen lit up with another unprompted notification from Finn.
Finn: Still typing, Junior? Is the keyboard too small for those hooves, or are you looking up bigly words in a dictionary? Also, tell Wilde his uniform collar is crooked. The fashion sense in this department is a civic tragedy.
His spirit completely crushed by the tiny mammal, Bogo let out a long, defeated sigh that echoed through the bull pen. He typed one final, short reply.
Chief Bogo: Please report to my office at 09:00 tomorrow. Bring your own juice. I'll set up delivery for prolonged refreshment for the length of your contract.
Right at 09:00, the glass double doors of the ZPD slid open.
Nick and Judy watched from the side corridor as Finn made his grand entrance. He wasn't alone. The tiny fennec fox was walking casually, arm in arm with two tall, young, female white fox officers from the traffic division. Both of them were giggling uncontrollably at something he’d just muttered in his deep, raspy voice, completely charmed.
The second the two officers caught sight of Chief Bogo standing by the main desk—looking like a dark thunderstorm cloud in a pristine, freshly pressed uniform—their laughter vanished. Their eyes darted away, and they silently, rapidly dispersed into the inner offices before the chief could even register their badge numbers.
Finn didn't even blink. He adjusted the collar of his jacket, casually holding a chilled, condensation-covered glass bottle of organic Sahara Square grape juice in one paw.
He strolled right up to Bogo’s massive oak desk, hopped onto a stool, and looked up at the towering buffalo.
"’Sup, Junior?" Finn said, taking a slow sip from his straw.
Nick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. He leaned over to Judy and whispered, "See? Look at that posture. Finn knows how to command a room. And look at his collar—perfectly tailored. I give myself a lot of credit for that."
Judy, meanwhile, was buried in her paws, muttering, "I can't look. We're going to be assigned to parking duty in the Tundratown Glacier District for the next three years..."
Bogo didn't move. A tiny muscle in his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might pop. He looked at the tiny fox, looked at the grape juice, and then let out a slow, deep breath, clearly remembering the double dose of blood pressure meds currently working overtime in his system.
"Mr. Finn," Bogo rumbled, his voice strained from the sheer effort of being polite. "Let us skip the pleasantries. My cyber division is currently being held hostage by a digital lock they cannot crack, and the data inside involves a multi-million dollar insider trading ring in the Rainforest District. You claim that our decryption looks like it was written in crayon. Prove it."
Finn set his juice down with a soft clink on the desk. He pulled a custom, high-end tablet from his leather jacket’s interior. Another Nick Wilde original feature. "Move aside, big guy. Let a professional show you how a real network architecture operates." He set up shop on the desk immediately. Finn didn’t even look at the keyboard. He reached into his pants’ right pocket, tapped his phone, and suddenly the ZPD bullpen’s intercom system overrode its standard dispatch feed. Officers stopped walking, shocked by the change from the regular newscasts, and looked up towards the ceiling.
“Let’s get ready to rumble!” Nick’s impersonation of boxing announcer Michael Buffalo was loud enough for only Judy and Finn to hear. Judy giggled and punched Nick on the arm.
The roaring, triumphant brass chords of "Welcome to New York" by Cam’ron featuring Jay-Z began pumping through the ceiling speakers.
Bogo’s ears literally pointed forward in shock. "What is that? Turn it off this instant!"
"Can't hear you, Junior; I'm in the zone. " Finn barked over the music. His tiny paws flew across his tablet like a concert pianist. Lines of glowing green code began scrolling down Finn’s giant monitor at terminal velocity.
“This is like watching The Monktrix!” Judy observed in an awed tone.
The ZPD mainframe lab was usually a sterile, quiet room, but right now it felt like a high-end recording studio. Finn had claimed the giant, plush ergonomic chair and OrthoFoam footrest—adjusting it so he could actually reach the desk—and was kicking back with his Pike kicks up.
Lost for words, Bogo left, his head still swimming from the noise and the incredible pace that Finn worked at. This fox was fast! He more than understood the assignment.
Judy’s lavender eyes were practically the size of dinner plates, completely bug-eyed as glowing green text, complex decryption algorithms, and strange, arcane programming symbols flashed across the array of monitors at lightning speed. Her ears were practically vibrating with a mix of awe and sheer panic at how fast the data was moving.
"Finn, how are you bypassing a multi-layered, state-level biometric firewall with just a string of bypass commands?" Judy breathed, leaning over his shoulder so close her nose almost touched the glass. "That's a class-four security matrix!"
Finn didn’t even look up from his screen, his tiny paws still moving like a blur as he stopped to casually take a sip of his organic Sahara Square grape juice.
"Snitch, please," Finn rasped with a scoff. "I did more advanced coding at day camp as a kid in Zoo York. This corporate stuff is soft. They spent all their budget on the logo and zero on the backend."
Standing right next to the server racks, Nick was wearing his signature smug grin. He was busily adjusting his perfectly tailored tie in a mirror clipped over a computer monitor, looking like a proud, high-rolling Hollywood agent.
"You see that, Carrots?" Nick said, gesturing grandly toward the tiny fox. "That’s raw, unadulterated street-certified genius. And who brought this world-class asset to the table? Me. I’m thinking my finder's fee for this insider trading bust should include prime parking spots and a permanent waiver on the bullpen coffee fund."
Judy rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide her grin. "Nick, you're a public servant, not his talent manager."
"A fox can wear many hats, Jude," Nick purred, winking. "And right now, my boy Finn is about to crack this case wide open."
Finn stared at the final string of de-crypted data, his eyes narrowing before a massive, sharp-toothed grin spread across his face.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Finn cackled, slapping his palm against the padded leather armrest of his ergonomic chair. "They didn't just leave a backdoor open; the programmer literally hard-coded their own digital signature into the server routing protocol. It’s routing straight to a private server room in the upper canopy of the Rainforest District."
Judy leaned in, squinting at the screen. "Wait, is that... a personal username?"
"Yep. They used their childhood pet's name, Jar-Jar, and their birth year," Finn scoffed, slamming his paw down on the Enter key to lock down the location coordinates. He pointed a dramatic finger at the monitor, his voice dropping into a booming, stadium-grade roar: "You're outta here. Home run, baby!”
Nick didn't waste a single second. He pulled out his phone, hit speed dial, and spoke right as Bogo picked up. "Chief, get the tactical team ready. Finn just tracked the mainframe signature. They're holed up at the Rainforest Canopy Offices, third tier. The whole operation is served on a silver platter."
Across the bullpen, Bogo didn't even care about his pride anymore. The blood pressure meds had kicked in, and he was pure business. He slammed his hooves onto his desk, stood up, and roared to the bullpen, "All units, tactical gear! We have a location! Rainforest Canopy Offices, third tier. More details will be released on our Intranet. Move, move, move!"
Within minutes, the ZPD sirens were wailing into the streets, leaving the mainframe lab completely quiet.
Finn calmly picked up his empty glass bottle of organic grape juice, tossed it perfectly into the recycling bin across the room, and stretched his tiny arms. "Welp, my work here is done. I'm going to get breakfast. You two coming, or are you gonna stand there admiring my tailoring all day?"
Nick chuckled, clapping Finn on the shoulder as they walked out the door. "Lead the way, superstar. Breakfast is on the Chief's tab."
The End