York was still wrestling with the lump in his throat when a clean, sky-blue handkerchief materialized in front of his face.
He blinked, caught off guard, and turned toward the red fox lady in the seat beside him.
She was holding the handkerchief out with an elegant flick of her wrist, her vulpine eyes shimmering with quiet amusement.
“Here.
Please, use this to wipe your tears.” York jerked his head away so fast he nearly cricked his neck, aggressively blinking back the moisture threatening to spill over.
He gave a noisy, defiant sniff.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.
I wasn’t crying.” A Husky had his pride, and he’d sooner chew off his own paw than let a stranger see him break down.
The red fox lady withdrew her handkerchief without comment, letting the moment pass.
Instead, she leaned back slightly and spoke as if they’d been old friends mid-conversation.
“So.
Heading to Zootopia to find work?” York’s head snapped back toward her, suspicion knitting his brows.
“How do you know I’m going to Zootopia?” She nodded toward the crumpled note still clutched in his paw.
“It’s right there.
‘when you run out of money, just come home.'” Her lips curved into a teasing smirk.
“Pretty clear giveaway.” York’s face flushed hot with mortification.
The note, he’d been clutching it like a lifeline, and this stranger had apparently read every single word over his shoulder.
He shoved it into his pocket with unnecessary force and shot her a withering glare.
“Excuse me?!
Do you make a habit of reading other people’s private things?!” “Terribly sorry,” she said, waving a dismissive hand that suggested she wasn’t sorry at all.
Her eyes, however, sharpened with curiosity.
“So, let me guess, you’re running away from home?” That landed like a punch to the gut.
York’s arms tightened around his backpack, hugging it to his chest like a shield.
He turned his face toward the window, the set of his jaw communicating in no uncertain terms that the conversation was over.
The red fox lady gave a small, resigned shrug and fell silent, apparently content to let him stew.
Exhaustion from a sleepless night finally caught up with him.
Before he knew it, his head was resting against the cool glass, and the world faded into nothing.
—— He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out when the train’s rhythm shifted, a gradual deceleration that pulled him reluctantly toward consciousness.
Pale morning light flooded the carriage.
In the distance, the skyline of a city shimmered on the horizon, hazy and promising.
A gentle tap on his shoulder roused him fully.
“Hey.
Wake up.
Zootopia’s almost here.” York blinked groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He turned instinctively toward the window, and his half-lidded eyes flew wide open.
The train was thundering across an endless sea of golden sand.
Outside, turbaned camels galloped freely over rolling dunes, their laughter trailing behind them like streamers.
Exotic domed buildings, some painted in brilliant jewel tones, studded the landscape like scattered gems.
Then, without warning, the train plunged into a tunnel.
When it emerged, the world had transformed.
Icy air seeped through the seams of the windows, carrying the bitter bite of a frozen wasteland.
Heavy snow cascaded from a leaden sky, blanketing everything in white.
The window glass instantly fogged over with frost.
York scraped a clear patch with his palm and pressed his nose to the cold surface.
Through the swirling blizzard, fairytale cottages with snow-capped roofs huddled together like sleeping animals.
Residents bundled in thick fur-lined coats moved between them, their breath puffing in ghostly clouds.
Before he could process the sight, the train dove into yet another tunnel.
When they emerged, the world exploded into green.
Torrential rain lashed against the windows in thick, drumming sheets.
Outside, a lush rainforest rose on all sides, wooden cabins perched on massive tree trunks, connected by rope bridges slick with moss and rain.
Vibrant umbrellas bobbed along the winding paths below.
Some pedestrians paused at the sound of the train, tilting their umbrellas back to watch the carriages streak past.
And above it all, ghosting through the rain-shrouded sky, floated sleek airships, their propellers humming faintly even through the glass.
The rain began to thin as the train carved through a narrow gorge.
Then, in a single breathtaking moment, the mountains fell away, and Zootopia unveiled herself.
Sunlight, golden, warm, triumphant poured across a sprawling cityscape of stunning ambition.
Row upon row of pristine, elegant homes marched outward from the city core, their roofs gleaming like polished shells.
And beyond them, stretching toward the sky in layered tiers, rose the downtown skyline, towers of glass and steel that climbed one atop another like a mountain range forged by dreamers.
Something ignited in York’s chest, a blaze so fierce and bright it stole his breath.
In that instant, he knew.
With absolute, unshakable clarity, he knew exactly what he wanted.
I’m going to make a home here.
In this city.
My home.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” The red fox lady’s voice cut through his reverie, soft and knowing.
York turned to her, the wonder still fresh on his face, his voice earnest with gratitude.
“Yes.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Thank you, really, for waking me up.” “No trouble at all.” She rose gracefully, retrieving her small suitcase from the overhead rack.
“Besides,” she added, with a hint of something wistful, “you might only get this view once.
If you ever leave Zootopia, you may never see it again.” York’s jaw tightened with conviction.
“I’m not leaving.” She met his gaze and gave a small, serious nod.
“Good.
Don’t.” “Good luck,” she said simply.
—— The train hissed to a stop, and York stepped onto the platform, backpack slung over one shoulder.
He was instantly swallowed by a river of animals.
Giraffes loomed overhead, their long necks swaying like cranes.
Rabbits darted between legs, barely reaching anyone’s knees.
Lions prowled with regal confidence, their manes catching the station lights.
Sheep ambled by in clusters, bleating amiably to one another.
Everyone moved with purpose, brisk strides, cheerful chatter, bright eyes.
The station itself was a marvel: waterways for amphibians, complete with integrated drying arches for passengers stepping out; transparent tubes for rodents, zipping overhead like hamster tunnels in a pet shop.
York gawked like a tourist who’d never seen a city before.
That was his first mistake.
He wasn’t watching where he was going, and his face planted squarely into the broad, solid rear end of a hippopotamus.
The hippo turned slowly, eyes narrowing to slits.
“Watch.
Where.
You’re.
Going.” “Sorry!
I didn’t…” York backpedaled frantically, waving his paws, and nearly crushed a tiny hamster scurrying along the floor.
“HEY!
EYES DOWN HERE, BIG GUY!” the hamster squeaked, shaking a furious fist.
“Sorry!
I’m so sorry!” York leaped aside, bowing so frantically he nearly toppled over.
He finally managed to extract himself from the chaos and collapse onto an empty bench on the edge of the concourse.
He let out a long, shaky breath, feeling like he’d just sprinted a marathon.
He unzipped his backpack and pulled out his battered, dog-eared notebook, his survival guide, meticulously prepared before he’d left home.
Step 1: Find a cheap apartment.
Location irrelevant.
Cheap is everything.
Step 2: Celebrate with a proper meal.
Then find a job.
Washing dishes, hauling bricks, whatever it takes.
But before any of that, he needed to hit the bank.
His card was fine for big purchases, but he’d need actual cash for day-to-day expenses.
He pulled out his phone and pulled up the map.
The nearest Lemming Brothers Bank wasn’t far, just a few blocks from the station.
He set off at a brisk pace, and soon the bank’s distinctive sign came into view.
He approached the ATM, inserted his card, and waited for the cheerful chime.
“*Ding.
Current balance: Five thousand Zootopia Bucks.*” ‘Five…
thousand?’ York stood frozen, staring at the glowing screen.
He’d left home with two thousand in his account.
He was sure of it.
He’d counted his savings three times before packing.
Two thousand.
That was what he’d planned on.
But the screen said five thousand.
A slow grin spread across his face, unstoppable, uncontrollable, cracking through his composure like sunlight through clouds.
He kept grinning.
And then, without warning, his nose started to sting.