In a secluded park tucked away in the Central District of Zootopia, three herbivores had cornered a tiger.
The tiger was curled against the wall, his massive arms wrapped around his head, trembling in silence.
He didn’t fight back.
He didn’t even make a sound.
That silence only made the herbivores bolder.
They took full advantage, shouting and swinging without mercy: “Roar, coward!
Go on, roar for us!
What happened to the King of Beasts?
Where’d all that swagger go?!” “Go ahead, eat us, why don’t you!
Come on!
Hahaha!” “Useless idiot!
You deserve everything you get!” “Tch.
This one’s got a skull like iron, my hand’s killing me.” One of the antelopes shook out his throbbing knuckles, then bent down and scooped up a loose brick from the dirt.
He raised it high above the tiger’s bowed head, a cruel grin spreading across his face.
“Let’s see if I can’t crack that thick skull open for you!” His arm swung down hard, the brick inches from the tiger’s head, when a blur of motion appeared at his side.
A hand shot out and clamped around his wrist with crushing force, stopping the blow dead in its tracks.
“Well, well.
Herbivores ganging up on a tiger.
That’s a first.” The antelope jerked his head around at the dry, amused voice.
He found himself staring at a husky, a complete stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere.
His eyes blazed with fury.
“The hell?!
Who the hell are you?!
You trying to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?!” The antelope snarled, twisting and yanking with all his strength to break free from the husky’s grip.
But the hand around his wrist didn’t budge an inch, it felt like it was forged from solid steel.
The husky flashed a grin, his sharp gaze sweeping across the scene as he bared his gleaming white teeth in a deceptively friendly smile.
“Name’s York.
Just rolled into town today.
And funny thing, I’ve got a few questions for you.” “Questions my as–” Before the antelope could finish, York squeezed.
The antelope’s face contorted in agony, the rest of his insult swallowed by a strangled yelp.
His free hand clawed uselessly at York’s iron grip, but York wasn’t about to give him any breathing room.
York’s foot shot out, a brutal kick to the back of the antelope’s knee.
The joint buckled with a sickening pop, and the antelope crashed to the ground with a howl.
York twisted both arms behind his back, pinning them in a lock, then planted his boot squarely on the antelope’s face, grinding his cheek into the cold, gritty dirt.
“Now.
May I ask my questions?” York’s voice was breezy, casual, as if he’d just swatted a fly.
The two remaining bullies, a buffalo and a lankier antelope, stood frozen, their bravado evaporating in an instant.
York’s fluid, brutal efficiency had them rooted to the spot.
They exchanged panicked glances, throats bobbing, neither daring to make a move.
The antelope pinned beneath York’s boot, however, wasn’t done.
He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground and screamed with impotent rage: “What the hell are you two waiting for?!
It’s one guy!
Jump him!
Both of you!
NOW!” The buffalo and the lanky antelope locked eyes.
A flicker of malice sparked between them.
Right.
He was just one guy.
There was no way he could take both of them at once.
The buffalo snatched up a thick wooden plank from the ground.
The lanky antelope whipped a folding knife from his belt, the blade glinting cold and deadly in the pale light.
With a guttural roar, they charged York from opposite sides, fast, vicious, and hungry for blood.
York let out a quiet sigh, released the pinned antelope with a dismissive shove, and rolled his shoulders.
“Guess we’re doing this the hard way.
What a pain.” Despite his casual attitude, York had been the undisputed brawler of his small hometown.
He’d even trained under an old panda master who’d taught him more than a few tricks.
Three herbivores?
They didn’t stand a chance.
He didn’t retreat, he surged forward.
York sidestepped the buffalo’s wild, haymaker swing, the plank whistling past his ear by inches.
In the same breath, he drove a precision uppercut straight into the buffalo’s jaw.
The big animal grunted, his eyes rolling back as his massive frame wobbled, stars bursting behind his vision.
At almost the exact same instant, York’s right hand shot out and caught the lanky antelope’s knife-hand mid-swing.
The antelope shrieked as a bolt of white-hot agony shot up his arm, his fingers went slack, and the knife clattered to the dirt.
“Little punk.
Playing with knives.” York’s tone was almost paternal.
“What would your mother think?” He twisted and drove his knee upward with brutal precision.
“AAAAAAAGH!
” The scream that tore from the antelope’s throat was pure, primal agony.
He doubled over, clutching his groin, his face twisted into a mask of unspeakable pain.
He crumpled to his knees, whimpering and gasping, all fight extinguished.
York dusted off his hands, picked up the fallen folding knife, and sauntered over to the head antelope, who was still sprawled on the ground, staring up at him with wide, dazed eyes.
“Now.
I ask.
You answer.
Understood?” The antelope nodded frantically, any trace of defiance long gone.
He looked like a vegetable left out in a frost, withered, broken, utterly defeated.
His voice came out in a trembling, tear-soaked whimper: “Y-yes!
Yes!
Ask me anything, I swear I’ll tell you everything!” York studied him for a moment, then asked: “Do you know a weasel by the name of Weselton?” “Weselton?” The antelope blinked, then seized on the name like a drowning man clutching a lifeline: “Yeah!
I know him!
Everyone knows Weselton, he’s the sneakiest thief in this whole district!
The guy’s got fingers like feathers, he’ll steal anything that isn’t nailed down!
Wallets, jewelry, phones…
hell, he’d even swipe your laundry right off the line if you weren’t looking!” York’s heart gave a leap.
After leaving the police station, he’d tracked down and grilled four different groups of street thugs, and finally he had a real lead.
He kept his expression perfectly neutral, giving nothing away.
“I’ve got some personal business to settle with him.
Tell me.
Where is he holed up?” The antelope leader’s face twisted into a mask of panic and desperation: “I…
I, uh…
I don’t know exactly where he’s hiding.
That weasel’s crafty, he never stays in one place for more than a night.
He’s like a ghost…” York’s eyes went cold as ice.
He snapped the folding knife open and shut with a crisp click.
The antelope flinched like he’d been struck, his face going white.
“But!
But I do know he’s always hanging around Phillip Avenue selling his bootleg movies!
He’s got a stall there, you go to Phillip Avenue, you’ll find, I swear on my mother’s life!!” York held his gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Hope for your sake you’re telling the truth.” He tucked the knife into his pocket, reached down, and fished a few crumpled dollar bills from the antelope’s pocket, payment for the trouble, he figured.
Then he straightened up and walked off without so much as a glance at the groaning heap of thugs behind him.
A low, rumbling voice called after him.
“Thank you.” York paused mid-stride.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
The tiger they’d been beating on was back on his feet, brushing dirt from his fur.
His expression was oddly serene, a goofy, guileless smile on his face, as if the beating had barely registered.
York had more pressing matters, like getting his stolen backpack back so he just gave a dismissive wave and kept walking.
The tiger raised a paw as if to call him back, then lowered it with a shrug, letting him go.
Following his phone’s GPS, York made it to Phillip Avenue in no time.
Compared to the crowded, bustling thoroughfares of the Central District, this street was practically a ghost town, he didn’t see a single other soul.
And then his breath caught.
Across the street, standing beside a cluttered stall, was the face he’d been chasing across the city.
The face he’d been seeing in his nightmares, and his vengeful daydreams, ever since that day.
“Weselton!
” York’s voice came out low, guttural, each syllable dripping with cold fury.
“I finally found you.” Weselton was swaying to music leaking from a beat-up pair of headphones, completely oblivious.
His stall was cluttered with stacks of bootleg DVDs, action flicks, dramas, low-budget knockoffs, spread out on a rickety folding table.
He had no idea what was coming for him.