The bullet whizzed by his ear, lodging with a dull thud in the wall behind. Nick Wilde ducked down as the ra-ta-ta of the automatic weapon intensified, pressing his body flush against the steel half-wall he was using as cover. His body armour felt unnaturally light. Well, it was never meant to deal with a light machine gun.

He glanced to the left. The lupine officer beside him snapped out of cover, laying down a burst of fire with his assault rifle before ducking down. Firefights were loud, Nick realised. Deafening, even.

A grunt to his right had him facing his first—and only—partner, Judith Laverne Hopps. Judy. Carrots. She had a carbine modified for her size in hand, ears flat against her head. And eyes blazing. He lost himself for a moment, staring at the intensity gripping her. Every muscle was coiled, ready to move with a second's notice. A lightning burst of speed held in that small form.

She felt his gaze as her ear twitched. She leaned out of cover. Snapped off three shots. Ducked back behind the wall. "Smoke grenade," she said.

Nick passed it to her. As their fingers touched, the sound of low breathing reached him. He pulled her down, raised his 12.7mm hand-cannon and pulled the trigger thrice as her body left the line of fire. The hulking behemoth, a rhino with a wickedly long horn, grunted as his armour-piercing rounds ripped through both armour and hide. Three dull thuds followed. The explosive component of the bullets activating, ripping flesh and internal organs.

The rhino fell. Heavily.

A sizzling sound amidst the heavy droning of bullets. A grenade, he worried. Then the specialist smoke of his grenade reached his nose.

"We need to move," Judy hissed, pulling him back down. Of course, she wouldn't stay down, letting him play the part of the protector. "Timberson, covering fire in three."

"Yes ma'am," the large wolf, coat of grey and black, said calmly.

"Nick, you first." Judy pointed to the door left and a good fifteen metre run back. No cover at all. "Cover us as soon as you get through."

He nodded, making sure his submachine-gun was strapped securely. "Yes, ma'am," he said, not snidely or sarcastically, but completely serious. She was the best when it came to combat. His talents lay in other areas.

"Don't worry," she said, between firing another burst as Timberson reloaded, "We'll make it. One last time, Nick."

"One last," he agreed, wondering why a murder investigation had lead to this madness.

Chapter 1

He leaned to the side, dodging the ball wheezing past him. Catching it as well. A nod to the young fox, fur a deep black, before throwing it back.

"Nice try," he said to the groaning kit. It was a game they played. "You were breathing too loud."

"I'll get you next time."

Nick ruffled the fox's head, enjoying the discontent on his face.

He gazed around as the kit ran back into the apartment, passing a heavily dressed antellope—gazelle, maybe, Nick was never too sure—on the way into the apartment building. The metal band around her neck was an interesting touch.

Zootopia was loud, day or night. A constant cacophony of sounds. The sky tram whooshing above. The deep beat of the club nearby heard only by animals with hearing as good as his own. The pitter-patter of the rodents slumming in the drain pipes below. Cars, honking and screeching as they sped by; drivers screaming in rage, muzzles contorted in terrifying expressions. A teen crying in the nearby window. The two husbands arguing as they made love; all snarls and chuffs and different species.

It was a mad place. The best and worst of mammals brought in a simmering pot of love and hate, bigotry and understanding, murder and peace, justice and corruption; all mixing and flowing and weaving into something beautiful.

This was the place he called home and he loved it more than anything else. But only one place he would call his den. Safe. A place to let the cynicism and jokes fade away, leaving behind only Nick Wilde at his most raw.

His apartment.

Our apartment, he amended, now that Carrots' moved in. Monkeys, but that place had been a dump, he thought, remembering the place she had lived in prior. After seeing it for the first time he had simply started packing up her meagre possessions amidst her protests, packed them in the car and unpacked them in the guest room of his apartment.

His rather comfortable apartment.

A buzzing sound. His radio. Nick groaned, tapping the small button under his lapel.

"All units in the vicinity," came the calm voice of the radio dispatch officer, "we have a possible 10-90 occurring at 1955 Cypress Grove Lane." That was a domestic violence code.

Just his luck. "10-7, Dispatch?" he asked, hoping he heard wrong.

"195 Cypress Grove Lane.

"Dispatch, I'll take the call," he said because that was his apartment. "Officer Wilde, badge number: A-001297."

"10-4, Officer Wilde." A pause. "Aren't you off duty?"

Nick chuckled. "If this turns out to be nothing I get overtime for walking into my apartment. Any more information?"

He entered the apartment building, listening as dispatch provided the rather bare bones information available. He nodded to the elk receptionist behind his oak table, taking the gaudy elevator to the sixth floor where the disturbance was reported.

The red carpets padded his footfalls from near silent to non-existent. The white plaster walls had yet to be cleaned, scuff marks and scratch marks littering the walls, especially that one slice that looked to be from a wickedly sharp horn.

Apartment 614 was at the end of the hallway, just before the emergency fire exit to the left. The hallway was chilly, colder than it should have been. Someone probably left the window open when they went for a smoke.

He listened for a second outside the door. The Hiss of pressurised water from a faucet. The beeping of a fridge door left open too long. Nothing suspicious except the lack of breathing or movement. Removing his pistol sized tranquilizer gun, Nick knocked sharply on the door.

"ZPD," he said loudly. "We had a domestic disturbance call. Please open your door."

Nick waited a few more seconds. Nothing changed in the apartment, The faucet still ran. The fridge still beeped. But he could hear the neighbours approaching their doors.

"And the rest of you can stop being such nosy neighbours," he said slightly louder. "Unless you want to be held in for questioning."

That stopped them dead. It always did.

Cautiously, he opened the door. The scents of blood and copper assaulted his nose, hammering his olfactory glands. He avoided gagging as he entered. The apartment was dark, pale light streaming in from the large windows to the left. The kitchen sink where the faucet ran freely was to his left as well, alongside the dining area and lounge, separated by a series of steps and low walls.

He tapped his radio. "Dispatch, possibility of a 10-34; type unknown at the moment. Scent of blood coming from the bedroom," he said, approaching the door at the opposite end of the room. "Entering now."

"10-6, Officer Wilde." He quirked an eyebrow at the standby order. Waited patiently for thirty-two more seconds. "You may proceed, Officer Wilde. An EMT has been notified."

"10-4, Dispatch."

He opened the door, raising his gun as he entered quickly, ignoring the almost overpowering scent of blood. He took in the unmade bed across the room, the shattered full-length mirror to his right and the open door leading to a well-lit bathroom to the left. This he did subconsciously.

His waking mind was preoccupied with the bloody creature at the foot of the bed, nearly ripped in two. Nearly only because the spine was keeping the upper half connected to the lower. Blood still flowed and internal organs were visible; intestines hanging out and what looked to be a chunk of liver resting near the meerkat's hind paws.

Nick gulped. There was no way the meerkat was alive. There was a trail of blood leading from the bathroom. He took in the ripped chunk of wall, the dusting of wood chips on the floor and the flickering bathroom light. To his right, the drying station. To the left, the shower system. In the far-right corner was a toilet, seat raised.

Directly ahead in the large sink basin, resting on a free-floating granite platform, was another bloody form. He was careful to walk around the blood on the floor, noting his entry route in the process. Another shattered mirror above the basin, a deep gouge in the wall and a splatter of blood as well.

A dark form on the floor. Absently, he recognised it as the head of the meerkat. The blood was coming from the decapitated torso, the neck leaning over the basin and still leaving a trail of congealing blood.

He tapped the radio. "Dispatch, revising the 10-34 to a 10-26. Repeat: revising 10-34 to a 10-26. I'm going to need a coroner, forensics, and a homicide detective."

"10-4, Officer. Preserve the scene and record your entry path."

"10-4 dispatch. 10-4," he murmured.

He returned outside, taking care to use the same entry path and pulling out his phone to make an audio note of everything he currently knew of the case; the incident report time; likely time of the crime; the nature of the bodies; as well as recording his actions against a timestamp as best he could. His memory would deteriorate badly as time progressed.

Nick heard the sirens long before they parked. He reassured all the neighbours to stay in the apartments before they could think to do something stupid. The sheep coroner was the fist on the scene, dressed in white lab coat, face mask hanging around her neck and a tired expression on her face. He nearly flinched for a second as he remembered Bellwether.

Information was passed rapidly between them and she entered first as other police officers arrived, securing the scene. The next elevator disgorged a team of forensic technicians who went about the business. One carried the 3D imaging device, which would help analyse the scene.

Nick watched this with a detached air, leaning against the wall in a corner. Officer Wolford was the only person he recognised and the two shared a nod as Wolford approached him.

"I hear this is a sick one," the officer said grimly. Well, if Nick was being honest, Wolford was always grim. He hadn't yet seen him smile once.

"Yeah. One's got no head." He grimaced. "The other's nearly in half. Spine's the only thing keeping the body whole."

Wolford growled lowly. Nick didn't let it bother him despite instinct screaming at him to run. They might still be animals deep down, as Mr. Big pointed out, but that didn't mean they had to react like that.

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Who's the detective on case?" Nick asked.

A shrug from Wolford. "Unknown. Homicide's bogged down with murders in the Rainforest District." Nick's ears perked up. "Yeah, at least five murderers operating at the same time and…" he paused, removed his phone after it buzzed and checked it for a moment. "Just found out, it's Detective Leo taking this. I'm going to need your statement."

Nick gave it with as much detail as he could as Wolford recorded it. After, he emailed Wolford his audio recording to cross-reference. Nick didn't want IA bothering him later for any reason.

By the time the detective arrived Nick was tired, eyes drooping. A pat on his shoulder woke him. He looked up. And then up again. Officer Leo, a lion in his physical prime, dressed in slacks and a jacket. His jacket was rumpled like he had used it as a pillow and his eyes bloodshot. The classic signs of an overworked detective.

"Nick," Leo greeted.

He stifled a yawn. "Leo. Good to see you. Not getting enough sleep."

"Rainforest's apparently decided to have a whole bunch of serial killers at the same time. Department' filled to capacity even though we've pulled people from the other precincts." The detective shook his head. "To be honest, we're just here to gather evidence and then shut the case."

"That bad," Nick said slowly. "And there's no one who can take this?" Four years ago, back before he met Carrots and joined ZPD, he would have been happy with the cops being to busy to bother him. Now, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Well… you could." Nick startled. Leo chuckled. "I mean you've got the training and a few homicides under your belt."

Nick frowned. "I've got a mammal trafficking case, a child prostitution case and a new drug making the rounds in Savannah. And Bogo's breathing down my neck to finish them." He looked up. Saw the plea in Leo's eyes. Knew the argument was lost. "I've had six hours of sleep in the last four days dealing with illegal immigration."

"Francine and Delgado owe me a few favours," Leo replied. "And if I explain to Bogo, he'll allow the reassignment."

Nick groaned. He liked the cases he had. Because at the end of the day, solving them meant that lives were saved. Homicide meant people had already died. And whilst stopping a murderer was always good, stopping a mammal trafficking ring always felt better.

Calls were made. Threats were sent. Documents were signed.

Thirty minutes later, at 0137, Nicholas Wilde was the lead investigator in a homicide case. This would be his fourth case.

"Thanks, Nick," Leo said as he was leaving. "I'll write up a recommendation for you to join Homicide once you complete this case. Don't know why you didn't accept the last offer."

A deep breath to stop him shouting at the detective. Then Nick was entering the apartment again, ducking under the police tape.

Wolford was speaking to the coroner and a forensic technician. The wolf waved him over. "Hear you're the new lead."

"Yeah," Nick said. "How are we on evidence?" he asked the technician.

"Not good. I haven't seen a crime scene this clean in my life. You'd think with how brutal this was that there'd be more…" The technician shook his head. "Guy's a pro. Brutal but still a pro. We'll call if we find anything more."

Nick nodded, turned to the coroner, and asked, "The murder weapon?"

"Large bladed weapon," the sheep said, "with at least two blades. The distance between blades bears similarities to certain types of scythe."

"How far along are we with imaging?"

"Almost done, sir," the technician said. "This area's done. No more than twenty minutes for the bedroom. After that, we'll be removing all evidence."

Nick nodded, waved them away and then pulled out his phone and started recording. He would transcribe the audio in the morning. He stood in the kitchen, looking over the plates in the sink. They were small, sized for animals smaller than him. The footstool near the sink, with signs of scratches. Apparently, this apartment wasn't a first choice.

He opened the fridge and looked through it, taking a few photos. You could find out a lot of things about people by what they ate. There were a lot of artificial protein substitutes but none of the insects meerkats had evolved to eat. Stigmatised, perhaps? A few alcoholic drinks and a few things suitable for herbivores. Closing the fridge, he caught sight of a picture hidden behind copious magnets holding up other papers. In it, the Meersons held each other, the male drinking water and the female alcohol. So she was the one who drank, Nick noted. And from the way she held him, she was the one who controlled the relationship.

The dining room table was the stock one provided with the apartment. Nick had one as well. There were boosters on two of the chairs, both facing down onto the lounge area. He stood there, taking a few pictures. Apparently, they liked watching TV whilst they ate if the remote was any indication. He switched it on from standby, recorded the channel number and quickly checked the viewing history. There were two shows they could have been watching, both of them popular; A Game of Serpents and The Primates, a fantastical take on what life would be like if primates hadn't gone extinct.

There was nothing special to note in the lounge because it seemed they rarely spent time there. A few pictures on the table; selfies that they had printed out but nothing special. They probably rarely had guests. A reclusive couple? Maybe.

The guest bathroom was similarly unused, dusty from disuse. He searched the cabinets. Found them empty. Took a few photos. Walked out.

That left only the bedroom. He accepted the mask, extra gloves and plastic shoes from the technician nearby. The 3D imager was being removed and he let it pass before he entered. Both bodies had been removed, replaced by a 'chalk' outline. It was a special polymer powder but everyone called it chalk.

The shattered mirror meant someone was rather vain. There was a cupboard to the left, recessed into the wall that Nick opened. The lower drawer, the one they would easiest reach held a few articles of female clothing, mostly blue and black. Every other one was filled with male clothing including twelve separate pairs of shoes; more jackets than Nick could recognise and more suits than Nick thought were necessary. The husband, then, was the vain one. The wife didn't care much for clothes. How odd.

Besides the dried blood the room was spotless. Even the wood was mildly reflective. The sheets were blue. A quick check in the linen closet revealed more sets of blue sheets and blankets. The wife had picked them out. Nick checked the tag. Silk. Expensive.

The bathroom held nothing interesting but he still took as many pictures from all angles. They never used the shower—it was too large for them. The basin had probably acted as their tub. Opening the wood drawer beneath it, he found bathrobes and slippers. He checked the records on the drying station. The last use had been around the time of the murder.

A picture quickly built in his head.

Mr. Meerson had been near, or perhaps on, the bed when the attacker had entered. Probably killed before he could realise it. Maybe the thud of the body had alerted the wife who left the bathroom.

Nick looked at the door, noting the chunk of wood missing.

The first strike of the assailant had broken part of the wall. Maybe it had missed Mrs. Thorson or maybe it had punted her straight across, and she crashed into the mirror, shattering it. Probably when she stood to escape the two blades had trapped her. Had she seen her attacker before she was decapitated? No, it's not important. Either way, she was decapitated, the blades leaving a long line in the wall in the process and the killer had escaped.

"This is going to be fun," Nick said. "Stopping a crazy psycho killer is just my thing."

Nick left the scene, letting forensics do what they needed. He was tired. Hungry. Maybe a bit sick. His apartment was on the eighth floor and he opened the door to it tiredly.

The smell of Judy and him and happy mingled together pleasantly. He inhaled it deeply, shrugging off his uniform and throwing it in the laundry. He stepped over Judy's carrot slippers absently and took a shower, letting all the dirt and grime and gloom wash away until all that ran were rivulets of clean water.

Drying up, he fell into bed and let exhaustion take him.

Author's Note:

After watching Zootopia the first time I promised myself I would not write this fic. Apparently, I lied. Here are the codes used for your convenience. Please enjoy my first take on the mystery genre.

10-90: Domestic Disturbance Code

10-7: Verify address

10-4: Acknowledgement

10-34: Assault (in progress)

10-6: Standby

10-26: Homicide (past)

Officer Timberson, who will be back, is voiced by Craig Fairbrass who did the voice acting for Gaz and Ghost in Call of Duty: Modern Warefare 1 and 2 respectively.