Sora and the World of Zootopia

Big Trouble in Little Rodentia

Duke Weaselton seemed like the very specimen of criminal birth who judging by his undershirt and blue shorts with red in white lines was living in an apartment he could not afford. He thought of playing football with some neighborhood kids and providing them with a hot lunch of meatloaf, but they thought he looked like a serial killer and he wasn't much of a cook. He was more of a crook, who stole anything required by the services of anyone who needed his sly skills and sharp tongue, sourced from watching too many crime films and TV shows, maybe even novels about psychological and criminal thrillers. Although he was elusive, he was unable to escape the many claws and knives that gave him a few scars and bent his whiskers.

He was sitting there, watching the kids from his couch when the telephone rang. He picked it up into his left ear.

"Hello?"

The line that came from the other side sounded very...clownish and pedophilic...perhaps weird.

"Hellooooo, Dukey."

The sound of it nearly made Duke cringe.

"Quackers?"

"Yes, it's me, old Quackers from St. Canard. How are things going in the field of pirating DVDs?"

"Fine," Duke gulped. "And what about your toys? Are they...selling well?"

"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about. Someone's tried to make off with my supply of night howlers. I don't know why they couldn't just take one from a store, but one might think that they were trying be...discreet. You haven't been stealing from me, have you?"

Threatening undertones came from "Quackers'" voice caused Duke to quiver. Holding his tank top with his right hand, he stuttered at first, then regained composure.

"No. I haven't."

"You know what happens to double-crossers, Dukey, death by toy is just one of my...HOBBIES!"

Then the voice let out a crazed cackle that was slow with momentum, climaxing with some small giggles at the end before it turned darker than before.

"Now listen up, Wiesel, you're gonna get me a new batch of night howlers since the ones I've planted have probably gone stale by now. So why don't you tell your landlord that someone got put in the hospital and you need to be there for them. And let's keep this between us, shall we? Bad things happen to dickwads who squeal. Capisce?"

Duke nodded slowly. The laugh had taken a lot out of him and was being etched in his memory over the fear of what could happen should he fail. He would rather face jail than meet death in the criminal underworld.

"Yes."

"Good, see you."

The line hung up.

Duke knew that now was not the time to laze around like a couch potato, there was a job that needed to be finished. Immediately, he swept off his feet and headed straight for the elevator, waiting impatiently for it to take him to the ground floor and ran out before the landlord, a muskrat with a cupid's arrow tattoo on his right cheek, could demand his rent. He knew the perfect store to find flowers and he had always been its "number one customer" there.

On Cherry Street, Judy began day two of meter maid with some angry feedback. A moose in a purple cardigan who owned a gold Cord roadster was shouting to her with a snort.

"That was thirty fucking seconds over!"

Judy's tired expression could not comply with his anger, but her own disappointment. Even Sora, Donald and Goofy were losing their touch, and they had only been in Zootopia for no more than three days as of now. When the brown spiky haired panther handed his own ticket to the toy sized Isetta painted in a very pastel green, the female mouse who owned the car, held the ticket in her left hand, knowing that it too was late. Her reply was sardonic.