Chapter Text
Officer Nicholas Wilde clung to the safety handle fixed above his door of the Prowler with both his paws, knuckles whitening, eyes pinned wide, and his head tucked deep into his shoulders.
He could feel the seatbelt beginning to react to the vehicles acceleration, pulling taut over his chest and squeezing him about his waist. Spilt coffee was working warmly down his leg and onto the seat, the fallen cup rolling away into the footwell below.
The emergency beacons on the Prowler roof span red to blue to red, the siren wailing steadily. Nick winced at the sound, flattening his ears to try and lessen the rise and fall and the aching throb that came with it.
Her right paw up high on the steering wheel, Officer Judith Hopps relaxed up on the brake, only to stamp her footpaw down hard on the Prowler’s accelerator. The kick-down made the vehicle shudder, the engine racing as the gearbox de-clutched and then sharply re-engaged to surge forward.
Her paw pulled down to a quarter lock, the tuned power-steering scaling up the rabbit’s inputs to match the large vehicle’s weight. The drive wheels bit into the road as the Prowler rolled a little, tucking, hunkering low on the corner.
Straightening the next bend, she could see their fleeing quarry ahead, exhaust blowing fuel and smoke, the rear-end lit up by the Prowler’s alternating high-beams as they cut through dirt and debris. Grit tick-tick-ticked across the Prowler’s bodywork.
“You good, Wilde?”
“Ride of my life, Carrots.”
“Well, call it in, Slick.”
“Oh. Oh…”
Nick’s eyes darted up at his paw, then down, looking to where he’d land it as he let go of the safety handle - to his shoulder, to the jacket radio clipped there. It squawked as he gripped the talkback and pulled it close to his mouth.
“Hotel Whiskey Five Six to Dispatch. Uh… time is oh-one-thirty-two, We’ve got a vehicle with an active ANPR marker. Failed to stop. Driver only, no passengers.”
He barked the fleeing vehicle’s registration mark and, clearing the ANPR screen, glanced at the speed reading on the onboard computer terminal. For a beat-up little runaround on these city roads, it was going at an impressive speed.
“Sixty, six zero, open road towards Aloe - low risk,” he added.
The dark city, speckled with street lights that glittered like blurred stars flashed past as Judy accelerated, pushing the Prowler on, on, closing the gap as much as she safely could, to keep the running vehicle in sight.
“Dispatch to Hotel Whiskey Five Six, continuation wth pursuit authorised — two units converging on your position.”
Nick glanced to Judy. Her eyebrows were low, her face scrunched in concentration and without looking away from the road, she gave him her curt answer.
“I’ve got this.”
“Uh, hold on assist, Dispatch,” Nick advised, uncertainly. His heart was racing as the Prowler rocked from side to side.
ThumpThump.
ThumpThump.
His free paw was flat to his chest, as if trying to feel for the beating, knocking against his insides.
ThumpThump.
Then, he caught the rise and fall of the road surface, safety markings and chevrons blazing bright in the headlights.
Speed bumps.
He scoffed and shook his head, his eyes flicking up instinctively before he even realised as they’d caught movement ahead.
The running car had swung out suddenly. Lights. Red lights. Brake lights. Judy’s left paw was up this time, anticipating the turn.
With a screech of sliding rubber, the fleeing vehicle shifted, bolting sharply into a side road. Nick let out a yelp as Judy quickly pulled the steering down to pendulum through the turn.
“Slick. Commentary,” she reminded him.
“Uh, left, left into residential…” He stopped, mouth slack.
“It’s Goji Avenue,” Judy pointed out, hoping to jog Nick’s memory and his commentary. She didn’t want to have to concentrate on that as well as the pursuit.
“Guh… Goji Avenue. Clear road. No pedestrians — luh… low risk,” Nick stammered.
The streets suddenly began to narrow, to turn and buck and weave. Judy kicked down again as the car ahead started to slow. The driver began to hesitate as they closed in on the intersection just ahead. A single suspended red light was glowing and there was traffic flowing across the road.
The car suddenly surged and headed straight at the intersection, rocking a little, building into a weave, picking a position, a moment.
“Oh, don’t.” she breathed.
“Red light. Red light. Red light!” Nick groaned through his gritted teeth.
Judy pressed with a flattened paw upon the centre of the steering wheel, switching the sirens to a rapid and higher pitched whoo-whoop. She was already looking to the left, the right, down the road and far past the light.
“I see it,” she said, quietly, the situation pulling all her attention, all her focus.
Judy slowed the Prowler, just enough to watch for gaps as the car ahead forged across through the junction. Judy could hear the brake reactions and the blare of horns from the opposing traffic.
Oh, crackers, this was going to be tricky, she thought.
Nick’s nostrils twitched and flared. The Prowler cabin reeked of his own fear now, but it was that other scent, her scent, that was starting to push his eyes wider. He shook his head briefly, trying to shake the bright, keen scent away.
He pressed back into his seat, to distance himself from the unfolding scene ahead, footpaws shifting helplessly in the footwell, working pedals that weren’t there. Horns began to blare on both sides of the Prowler as Judy sent it on, into the traffic.
A lurch, a weave, a breath in, then, hard acceleration again and somehow, somehow Judy had got them clear, kept them safe.
“Fu-luff! We’ve got to call for support, a box, anything! — they’re not stopping!” Were it not for the seatbelt holding him fast, Nick would have likely climbed out of the seat and would be pinned to the roof interior by his claws.
The two vehicles were scrambling down the street now. It began to widen as it merged with other routes.
“We can’t. Not here. Residential. Protocol,” Judy pointed out.
“Hopps, this is Zootropolis! It’s pretty much all residential!” Nick could see Judy’s jaw working, brow furrowed. She wanted to catch this car, needed to catch this car, had to catch this car.
Judy pressed on, passing other vehicles that, thankfully, were pulled aside and deferring to let them pass. The Prowler clambered and wove through the gaps straddling the size-segregated highway lanes.
“Judy.”
If she could just get closer - she wasn’t authorised for an interception, but she could just get ahead, get them to de-camp, get them on footpaws, she’d be faster, faster and she’d catch them before —
Horror caught Judy’s breath as the car ahead swerved, rear tyres streaking the road ahead. The driver was getting desperate. She was too close. The Prowler’s own rear drifted wide now, lifting up on it’s suspension. She countered, trying to stop the drift from turning into a full-blown roll.
“Judy. We have to stop this,” Nick was pleading now.
Her taut face opened back up in shock. Recovering the turn, she flicked eyes to the centre mirror. Blue-red emergency beacons were flashing behind, hanging back, waiting for the lead car — her car — to call on them.
For a moment, she gaped, caught in the cold glare of a decision. Brow furrowing again, she pinched her lips, then:
“Dispatch, Dispatch, this is Hotel Whiskey Five Six. ATS disobeyed. Fifty, five-zero on Fern, onto interchange towards Rainforest. Runner now at risk. Requesting assist.”
She was calm as she cried out the commentary into her radio, but her one-pawed grip the steering wheel was noticeably tighter than before, her shoulders suddenly taut and scent suddenly dulled.
“Foxtrot Delta Nine Seven, Tango Mike Three Three, Hotel Whiskey Five Six, all authorised to proceed,” came the order over the open radio.
With practiced efficiency, the three Prowlers began to accelerate and manoeuvre into a close box formation. The whole thing was over with a flick of the steering wheel and the screeching of rubber. The box was closed.
The next thing Judy was aware of was being sat bolt upright in her seat, ears erect and twitching, eyes flitting.
There was shouting outside, far away, she thought, yet the cars and Officers were all right there, just ahead.
She slipped the Prowler into neutral and ratcheted up the handbrake. All stop.
She listening intently to the gentle tick-tick of the emergency beacons above her as her colleagues swarmed around the boxed car, tasers drawn and red dots shining. She hadn’t even noticed she was holding her breath or that Nick had jumped from the Prowler, sliding across the bonnet to assist with the arrest.
The driver, A goat, was abruptly wrenched from their seat, through the open window of their blocked door, sprawled and cuffed over the little runaround’s hot bonnet.
Her heart thumped and suddenly her chest heaved with a gasp.