“Slow down!
SLOW DOWN!
There’s a car up ahead!” York sat rigid in the passenger seat, his face pale with terror, both hands around the seatbelt.
Catherine shot him a sideways glare.
“Shut it.
One more word and you’re walking.” York’s mouth clamped shut.
He sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead like a soldier at attention.
Catherine was livid.
She threw the car into another drifting turn, tires screeching as she merged onto the main artery before finally easing off the accelerator.
The silence that filled the vehicle was suffocating, broken only by the low, guttural hum of the engine.
York watched the neon-lit streets blur past, then cautiously cleared his throat.
“Um…
Miss Catherine?
Miss?
MISS?!” Catherine’s voice dripped with venom.
“Spit it out.” “Would you…
would you consider letting me go now?” “…” When Catherine offered no response, York quickly raised four fingers in a solemn oath.
“I swear!
I won’t breathe a word about what happened today!
Not a single one!” SQUEAL The car jerked to a violent stop at the curb.
Catherine didn’t even spare him a glance.
She was done playing games.
“Get out.
Before I change my mind.” “Thank you, Miss Catherine!” York fumbled for the door release with the desperate speed of a man escaping a sinking ship, wrestled with his seatbelt, and practically tumbled onto the sidewalk.
The moment the door clicked shut, Catherine floored the accelerator and vanished into the night.
York stood there, watching her taillights shrink to pinpricks in the distance.
He had no idea where she was headed, and frankly, it wasn’t his concern anymore.
He was free.
He was going home.
And he was never coming back to this godforsaken Zootopia again.
The fire he’d arrived with that very morning had been extinguished in a single day.
Looking back, all those bold declarations he’d made to the fox lady on the train now seemed like the ramblings of a naive fool.
For the first time, his spine curved.
His shoulders sagged.
“Ah, whatever.
Let’s just figure out how to get home.” York trudged down the sidewalk, defeated.
He patted his pocket, still had about sixty Zootopia bucks left from breakfast.
Barely enough for a bus ticket, let alone a train ride home.
And that reminded him of Weselton.
“That idiot.
I wonder if he’s even still alive.” If it weren’t for that weasel, York might have found a steady job by now, slowly building a life in this city.
Instead, ever since he’d arrived, nothing had gone according to plan.
He weighed his options.
Option one: beg on the street and hope the good citizens of Zootopia would donate his fare home.
He dismissed that idea instantly.
Not just because his pride wouldn’t allow it, but because in a city this cutthroat, any money he collected would probably get snatched by some street thug within minutes.
Then he’d have another mess on his hands.
Option two: find temporary work, earn enough for a ticket, and leave cleanly.
That was the sensible route.
But first, he needed rest.
And a change of clothes, his current outfit was filthy and torn, making him stick out like a sore thumb on every street corner.
York walked along, lost in thought, when… WHOOSH!
A small figure darted past him like a blur.
Then came a shrill cry from behind: “THIEF!
Someone stop that thief!” York snapped to attention and saw a familiar silhouette clutching a woman’s handbag, tearing down the street at full tilt.
‘Weselton!
The bastard’s alive!’ York’s eyes lit up with grim satisfaction.
‘Well, well, there goes my ticket problem.’ As Weselton sprinted past, York shot out a hand and grabbed him by the collar.
Weselton’s feet kept pedaling in midair for a solid second before his brain caught up with his body.
He twisted around, sputtering with indignation.
“Who the… ?!
Who dares stop the great Weselton?!” He was still cursing when his eyes met York’s.
The words died in his throat like a fish gasping on dry land.
“Well, well, Weselton.
Fancy meeting you here.” York’s tone was as casual as if he were greeting an old friend at a café.
With his free hand, he plucked the stolen handbag from Weselton’s grasp.
Weselton didn’t resist.
He just stared, bug-eyed, as if he’d seen a ghost crawling out of its grave.
“Y-Y-Y-YOU?!
How are you still alive?!” “Surprised to see me?” York smiled, a cold, humorless smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I wasn’t done settling things with you.
I wasn’t about to kick the bucket that easily.” Just then, the bag’s owner, a portly hippo lady, puffed up beside them, wheezing from the chase.
York handed her the purse.
“Here.
Check if anything’s missing.” She didn’t even look inside.
She simply slung it over her shoulder and bowed her head, gratitude shining in her eyes.
“Thank you!
Really, thank you so much!
I don’t know what I would’ve done.” “Don’t mention it.
Just doing the right thing.” She thanked him a few more times before waddling off into the night, clutching her bag like a lifeline.
Weselton hung limply from York’s grip, wearing an expression of utter defeat.
He crossed his arms and watched her leave, like a prisoner resigned to the gallows.
“Well, great.
There goes my dinner.” York set Weselton down and clapped him on the shoulder with forced camaraderie.
“Let’s make a deal, Weselton.
I need two hundred Zootopia bucks for a ticket home.
Loan it to me, and I’ll wire you five hundred once I’m back.
How about it?” Weselton paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
“Hmm.
Sounds like a solid deal.” York leaned in, hope flickering in his chest.
Then Weselton spread his empty hands with a theatrical shrug.
“Too bad I don’t have two hundred Zootopia bucks.
I don’t even have twenty.
If you hadn’t stopped me back there, I might’ve had your money by now.” “Ugh.
Figures.” York sighed, the hope snuffed out as quickly as it had flared.
But he didn’t give up.
“You’ve lived here a while.
Know any places hiring temp workers?” “Temp work?” Weselton scratched his chin, then a sly, serpentine grin spread across his face.
“As a matter of fact…
I do know a good spot.
Pays five hundred Zootopia bucks a night.
I’d have taken it myself, but I don’t meet their requirements.” ‘Five hundred a night?’ York’s fatigue evaporated like morning mist.
Still, he remained cautious.
Nothing in Zootopia came without a catch.
“What kind of job pays that much?” “Simple guard work.
The Lindeville family in the Rainforest District needs some extra muscle for security.
The listing’s floating around on the dark web.” Weselton gave York a slow, appraising once-over.
“One thing, though, you’ll need a decent outfit, buddy.
Look at yourself, you’re a walking disaster zone!”