York hadn’t withdrawn all his money, just two hundred Zootopia bucks for immediate expenses.
Emerging from the bank, he plopped down on the curb, scrolling through rental listings on his phone while catching his breath.
He was so absorbed in the screen that he failed to notice a shifty-eyed weasel creeping up behind him.
The weasel’s beady gaze darted left and right, surveying the area with practiced precision.
Then, with the speed of a striking viper, his paw shot out.
Whoosh.
The backpack York had casually set beside him on the ground was snatched up and clutched against the weasel’s chest in one fluid motion.
“Hehehe!
Jackpot!” The weasel let out a shrill, triumphant cackle and broke into a waddling sprint, his stubby legs pumping furiously.
York froze, his brain taking a full second to process what had just happened.
Then his eyes went wide.
“What the… Thief!” The shout tore from his throat as he launched himself off the ground like a coiled spring, hurtling after the fleeing gray blur.
The weasel was surprisingly nimble.
Even with a backpack nearly as large as his own body, he weaved through the streets without slowing a step.
York was fast, but the weasel knew this neighborhood like the back of his paw, ducking through narrow gaps, slipping into side alleys, taking every shortcut his small frame could squeeze through.
After a dizzying series of twists and turns, he led York into a secluded dead-end lane cluttered with discarded crates and broken furniture.
Perched atop the wall at the far end of the alley, the weasel looked back at his pursuer, a smug sneer curling across his pointed face.
“Hehe, not bad, big guy.
You can actually run!” he taunted, dangling the backpack mockingly.
“But this little chase is over!
Remember this name, I am the great Duke Weselton!
Hahaha!” He made an exaggerated face at York, then tipped backward and vanished over the wall.
York stood at the mouth of the cluttered alley, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.
He didn’t follow.
He knew better, in a maze like this, the little weasel had a hundred ways to lose him.
Chasing further would only waste precious time.
His face burned.
He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.
He was well and truly seeing red.
He’d barely been in Zootopia for five minutes, and already everything had gone sideways.
Almost every possession he owned was in that bag.
Without it, he couldn’t even afford a ticket home.
“Damn it!
Duke Weselton, was it?” York growled through gritted teeth at the empty alleyway.
“You’d better pray I never find you.” The excitement that had carried him all the way to Zootopia evaporated in an instant, replaced by a cold, simmering anger.
He needed to find that backpack, and he needed to find it fast.
His first stop: the police station.
The officer at the front desk was a heavyset leopard, round in the middle, with a perpetually distracted look about him.
When York burst in, the leopard was hunched over his phone, swiping through some kind of celebrity face-swapping app, a half-eaten doughnut clutched in his other hand.
Powdered sugar dusted his whiskers.
York rushed to the counter, slapping his palm against the surface.
“Officer!
I need to report a crime!
My backpack was just stolen by a weasel named Duke Weselton!” The sudden outburst startled the leopard so badly he nearly dropped his phone.
He fumbled to turn off the screen, choked on the doughnut lodged in his throat, and spent several agonizing seconds thumping his own chest before finally catching his breath.
“Cough…
cough…
Hold on, what did you say was stolen?” he managed, blinking owlishly.
“My backpack!
It’s got all my identification, my bank cards, my money, everything!
I have nothing without it!” York’s voice was frayed with urgency.
“Right, right.
Take it easy, citizen.
Just breathe.” The leopard officer puffed out his chest, trying to project an air of professionalism.
He pulled open a drawer, retrieved a printed form, and slid it across the counter.
“Fill this out in detail, list every item you lost, the time and place of the incident, and your contact information.
Don’t you worry.
The Zootopia Police Department will do everything in our power to recover your belongings.” York snatched the form and filled it out with furious precision, scrawling every detail he could remember.
The officer took the completed form, scanning it as he spoke.
“Alright, your case has been filed.
Head home and wait for news.
We’ll reach out the moment we recover your property.” “I can’t just go home.
Everything I own is in that bag.
Please, how long will this take?” “We have excellent response times.
Let me see which squad is available…” The officer tapped at his keyboard.
“Ah!
The Rhino Squad.
Perfect.
Those guys are specialists when it comes to petty theft.
You’re in good paws.” York forced himself to nod.
“Thank you.
I appreciate it.” He turned and walked out of the station, the door swinging shut behind him.
Outside, he stopped, clenching and unclenching his fists.
His jaw tightened.
He couldn’t put all his faith in the police.
He needed to find another way.
—— Meanwhile, in a shadowy alley several blocks away, Duke Weselton was rifling through the stolen backpack with growing disgust.
“Tch.
Two hundred Zootopia bucks?
That’s it?
What a cheap bastard.” He tossed aside a crumpled receipt, muttering under his breath.
A passing red fox paused mid-stride, eyes landing on the familiar bag.
She recognized it instantly.
“Where did you get that backpack?” Weselton, irritated by the paltry haul, didn’t bother looking up.
He waved a dismissive paw.
“Shoo, shoo.
None of your business.” The fox’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
Without a word, she lunged forward, grabbed Weselton by the scruff of his collar, and hauled him clean off the ground like a sack of garbage, slamming him hard against the cold, grimy wall.
“Gah!” Weselton let out a terrified squeak as the wind was knocked from his lungs.
Forced to look up, he met the fox’s razor-sharp gaze, cold, unblinking, utterly without mercy.
His bravado evaporated in an instant.
His face contorted into a trembling, desperate grin.
“Hehehe…
W-Wait!
This is all a big misunderstanding!
This..
this backpack is mine!
I swear!
What…
what can I do for you, boss?” “Liar.” The fox’s voice was flat, utterly devoid of patience.
With a contemptuous flick of her arm, she hurled Weselton aside like a broken toy.
The weasel flew three meters through the air and crashed against a wall plastered with faded graffiti, crumpling to the ground in a groaning heap.
The red fox didn’t spare him a second glance.
She stooped, picked up the fallen backpack, and unzipped it with practiced efficiency.
She sifted through the contents, cash, bank cards, a worn wallet, and then her fingers brushed against something familiar.
A neatly folded piece of paper.
She pulled it out, unfolded it, and her eyes confirmed what she’d already suspected.
This was the same husky from the train earlier.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Gets robbed on his first day in Zootopia.
That’s just…
unfortunate.” Nearby, the crumpled Weselton, still dazed and aching, noticed that the terrifying fox was completely absorbed in the backpack’s contents.
His eyes darted toward a narrow gap in the wall.
Ignoring the searing pain in his ribs, he scrambled to his feet and bolted, disappearing into the darkness of a smaller adjacent alley.
The red fox glanced at the spot where Weselton had vanished, but made no move to pursue.
She had more important matters to attend to than wasting time on a two-bit thief.
Carefully, she refolded the note and placed it back inside the bag, zipped it shut, and slung it over her shoulder.
“I’ll return it to him when I get the chance,” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible above the distant city hum.
Then she turned and strode out of the alley, footsteps echoing against the damp stone, disappearing into the bustling streets of Zootopia.