I do not own Zootopia, that belongs to Disney. This a fan work made solely for the sake of amusement.

"Let It Go, It's Happytown"

Prologue: Goodbye, Charlie

By: Gabriel LaVedier

Happytown had never been much of a place, even when brand new. It was just a relatively large chunk of the main part of the city destined, from the very beginning, to run down into a rough and hated location. Into that pocket, ignored by proper folk and almost all the police, were thrown the lowliest and unluckiest predators, as well as the vast majority of the immigrants that weren't lucky enough to have higher-class support.

The result of all of it was a strange inversion of the population numbers. Immigrant prey were outnumbered by native and immigrant predators, and lived in Happytown without too much difficulty, barring problems with hard pred-power types, whose numbers fluctuated wildly over time. It was a place where prey could, on a dim level, really understand the problems predators faced from both discrimination by numerically superior neighbors, and from the feeling of being isolated outsiders regarded as too foreign to be accepted.

Cut off from conventional services and systems, they had to slowly and painfully use trial and error to establish their own versions, almost creating an internal government and their own versions of services. With police reluctant to enter, or ordered to leave them to ruin and gangs, the citizens of Happytown turned to the only thing they had. Private Investigators.

More common across the city in the days before Mayor Wulfberg's corruption-crushing drive, they never really went away. Social wrongs like adultery, missing items and mammals, even looking into actual crimes where some physical force was necessary and the police would never find out, they did it all. They were, in the larger city, mostly quaint anachronisms, or shady, seedy figures associated with old movies and cheating spouses. In Happytown, they served a more real purpose, being the closest thing to justice most predators could ever hope for. Those predators couldn't hope for wider justice of a social nature, with the deck stacked so high against them, but they could hope for a mediation with a shady loan broker or information on who stole something, allowing for quiet revenge.

Happytown believed it was something else, something besides a part of Zootopia. Even surrounded by the city, the city ignored, mocked or hated them. They had no need to respect a city that gave them no respect. With their own justice force in the form of paid private investigators and social cohesion in the form of gangs selling themselves as power and respect, they also had their own kind of executive, their own mayor. He was never elected formally, but a gregarious heart and a positive attitude and reputation made everyone love and respect him on some level.

"Cheery" Charlie Spots was a fairly average leopard, for a Happytown native. He was of the Amur variety of leopard, with a scruffy, thick coat of strong and solid rosettes, the spots and circles dark black while his coat was more golden-cream, a lovely bit of brightness in the dour collection of blocks. His attitude was more often than not described as exuberant, or even effervescent. He was often ready with a laugh, a charming story and a comforting shoulder, something needed very often in the area.

His mayorship was just assumed and accepted by the folks around him. They started calling him that and he went along with it. He gave street corner speeches, promoted helpful projects and encouraged engagement with the place, to try and make it someplace really worth living in. He also occasionally called on the actual executive authority of Zootopia, taking the concerns of the citizens of Happytown to the Mayor, the City Council and Chief of the ZPD. He had been running into a brick wall for a long time, but the shakeup post-Bellwether had offered a certain amount of hope and positivity.

One fairly ordinary Asterdas afternoon found Charlie in a normal surrounding. He was sitting on a stool in Nippers', one of the bars that were scattered through Happytown. It was one of the nicer ones, generally clean, not that smoky and with a less surly clientele of generally nicely-attired folks, with only a few skulking, sketchy figures. His presence likely had an influence on the last part.

He was a scrawny fellow, smiling his way through his relative privation, lank and agile with his long limbs. He maintained a kind of tattered gravitas with some faded black slacks, a size too big spats, a wrinkled dress shirt and a black jacket. His drink order was less staid gentlemammal, more eccentric youth. A bright, almost neon pink and green drink with multiple little plastic swords impaled through multiple fruits.

Multiple trashily attired ladies were around him, laughing along with him and pressing in around him. He dropped a few more bucks on the bar, which were swiftly swept up by the bartender, a somewhat hefty tiger. He mixed up and poured out another few martinis for the laughing ladies.

"Aww, come on, Charlie! Tell us another one! I love hearing about that stuck-up lion telling you he's gonna do something about all this garbage, just to get you out. Seeing him in prison made it way funnier!" A cinnamon-colored bobcat said with a laugh.

"Naw, naw, can't do it, Red. I love having an audience, and you gals are a treat, but I've gotta get on with the day. A day off from work means a day of giving out some good cheer and maybe heading off to City Hall to do another number on that Mousawitz. He's dodging me again, and it's killin' me. But I always have a spot with that Seedsworth guy. He always listens, he wants to do stuff I tell him about, and he always lays into Mousawitz. I think one or two more good pushes and we've got something going on."

Red shook her head and surreptitiously pressed a dried leaf to one fang, chewing it casually with small motions. "You say it all the time, Charlie, but it's never gonna happen. You know Mousawitz is the old-style Happytown-hating prey type."

Charlie chuffed softly and shook his head. "Red... Red I keep telling you..."

"It's a little..." Red twitched and cast her eyes around. "It's just a little. Medical, y'know? Helps out. Maybe you could do with some."

"I danced with the nasty cat grass. I got out of it and Red... I wish I could get you out of it. It's..." Charlie started.

"Charlie, I love ya, but just let me have this. You've got a head full of big ideas and I've gotta share an apartment," Red flatly stated.

"I've got an apartment too... alright Red. Just remember, I'm here for ya," Charlie sighed, dropping a tip on the bar and leaping off the stool, to many waves and friendly calls.

Charlie made his way down the cracked sidewalk, lightly brushing the tufts of grass with his toe-claws and shaking his head. Even concrete was too much for them. She ran his fingers along the brick of one of the buildings, claws lightly scraping along the graffiti that faded on the surface. Gangs came and gangs went, but always left a scar, however ephemeral. Another thing they couldn't clear away. Wouldn't.

At the corner of two of the major streets Charlie stopped off at a slightly steaming vendor cart, tended by a portly grizzly bear. "Hey there, Boo! What's good today? Fatty salmon? Ahi? Mahi-mahi?"

The bear grunted softly and opened the top of his card, revealing a complicated collection of compartments for frying, storage and even a freezer. "Hake, bass and Your guess is as good as mine."

"Drop me some hake and potatoes, Boo," Charlie cheerily said.

"Don't know how you keep smilin', Charlie. It ain't natural in a place like this," Boo replied, dropping two fillets and a few thick fries into a pool of oil just able to cover them.

"Oh I keep the smile to keep off the frown. The frown won't do any good. Especially when you're selling Happytown to the regular folks. We're exotic and strange, so far as they know, so we gotta show 'em the best face. And the best face is one-a these," Charlie answered, pointing to his big, bright smile.

"Yeah, show your teeth, that should make that scummy pellet-dropper Mousawitz listen to you," Boo grumbled, lightly, sullenly moving the fish and potatoes in the shallow frying basket.

"Hey! I may not enjoy the decisions he makes, but he's still a mammal," Charlie said.

"So am I, he still treats me like something I dropped in the woods," Boo retorted.

"That's no reason to be so abusive. That helps nothing. Besides, that smile never seems to put off Councilor Seedsworth. Tatu or Fanak, either, but I see Seedsworth more."

"Ahh, tail-raiser type, is he?" Boo asked with a smirk.

Charlie scoffed and slowly shook his head. "Never would have thought I'd hear that. No, no, just a normal Outsider. He's comfortable with preds, and really wants to help."

Boo huffed. "I'll believe it when I see it. I'm not getting any veggie-chewer goodies over here. Still getting pellets dropped on my head by that rat in the Mayor's chair."

"He's doing what he can. Bellwether left a mess they're still cleaning up. Just a good thing it's getting cleaned up. I mean sure, I'd rather have Lionheart back..."

"At this point I'd take one of those puffed-up tigers from Gazelle's hoofer show in the Mayor's office."

"What? Any pred'll do, Boo?" Charlie asked with narrow eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," Boo snorted. "I'm no pred-pride idiot like those gangster punks clawing up walls and pissing on street corners to prove some stupid point. But a pred can at least understand other preds, no matter how fancy and stuck-up they are. I'm sure that puffed-up lion at least got called a chomper somewhere in his fancy schooling. It's something."

"Well... I mean... it might help something... maybe someone with clout like Councilor Fanak. She's got the chops too."

"Foxes... well, better a fox than nothing at all," Boo grunted, lifting the fryer basket, giving it a shake, and dumping out the contents into a folded wad of paper, which resembled the rough paper towels used in public facilities. He passed the while thing along and started, "That'll be-"

"Keep the change, Boo," Charlie interrupted, passing over a twenty buck bill.

"Lemon, vinegar, gold flakes?" Boo asked with a tiny, hidden smile.

"Save it for other customers, I've just been dyin' for a bit of fish," Charlie said, immediately biting into a steaming fillet, crunching with his mouth open while huffing out. "Hot! Hot!"

"For being mayor of Happytown you're none too bright, Charlie," Boo chuckled, flipping over a sign saying Food cart of choice for Cheery Charlie.

"I'll endorse that statement, just keep it tasty and don't cut the fillets with bug meal, unless you say so. Again," Charlie said with a grin.

"One time, Charlie, one time!" Boo said with a good-natured growl.

"One time's enough if you break trust with your customers."

"Yeah, yeah, alright. See you later, Charlie," Boo said, topping off his oil and checking his stock.

Charlie continued down the street, munching on his fish and fries and taking in more of the sights. He loved his home, however tired and neglected it might have been. The air was heavy with the scent of exhaust and the dodgy sewer system, which he hardly noticed at all. Nothing could steal away his appetite, not something so familiar. It was just what his home was.

The environment was filled with ghosts, old advertising posters practically baked and melted onto the buildings from ages past, along with the newer ones faded and clinging tenaciously to the sides of buildings, attached one over another, a forest of nails and staples dug into every wooden space and more than a few softer bits of aged concrete. The electrical and telephone poles stood, cracked and aged and similarly studded with decades worth of rusty staples and nails. The whole thing wasn't strange to him. It was his world. Even finding spent taser heads and broken tranq darts in the gutter wasn't odd. Just the environment.

At the back of his head, he knew that was a sad thing, a tragic thing. The idea that such objects were the normal part of his life was a sad thing. His home was a dangerous patch of asphalt, concrete, glass and steel, over which he pasted dulled familiarity and a positive outlook. He smiled because if he didn't he'd cry over what his home was. He was happy with Happytown, because it was his. He had read a poem that expressed a similar idea once. Even if he loved it, he could still see its flaws, see it bleeding before his eyes, and want to wrap it in bandages and help it to truly recover.

"Hey, hey, got something for us?" Passing by a stoop brought Charlie to the attention of a pack of wolves, all of them in baggy black jeans and either no shirts or white sleeveless undershirts. Several of them were drinking out of paper-bag-wrapped bottles that cut the air with and extra heady waft of alcohol choking the environment. "Hey, hairballer! Hairballer! Got anything to donate?"

"Contributions to your future, of course!" Charlie cheerfully called out, finishing off his meal and stuffing the paper into his pocket, as no trash can or dumpster seemed evident.

"Yeah, our future good time. Now give us the bucks," the lead wolf growled, baring his teeth and showing off a missing fang and a cracked tooth. "It'll keep your future happening."

"Gentlemammals, you know me! I'm trying to make Happytown a better place! Somewhere that doesn't need to come to this. Cecil Seedsworth promised jobs and economic recovery."

"The spoor does that mean? Who's that? Sounds like an eclipsed prey guy. What do they care about Happytown? This ain't their town, it belongs to the Loup Garou!" The wolves all howled at the name of their gang, ending by showing off their fangs and letting drool slip down their lips. "Now. Pay."

"What was that spoor?" A voice boomed from around the dear corner. A trio of tigers in jean shorts and denim jackets came around the corner, their backs decorated with clawmarks done up in a tiger pattern. "You butt-sniffing curs talking junk about who rules around here? You cut that scat and leave that cat alone. He may be all rings and blotches but he's a cat."

"You shut it, hairballer," the lead wolf barked. "This is Loup Garou turf!"

"Not much longer!" The lead tiger snarled, unsheathing his claws.

Charlie knew his audience and dashed off quickly when the focus pulled off of him, the two gangs posturing and snarling at each other. That was another ugly part that needed to be plastered over. The gangs worked with impunity. Their gang signs, graffiti and posturing was pushed out in the open. They were bold, arrogant and contented. The police were a joke to them.

Charlie tossed his crumpled fish and fries paper into the dumpster in the alley beside his building and gave a sigh as he looked up at it. Another saggy, tired block of brick, fire escapes bolted to the side like cold iron bars hugging each higher floor. Other districts in the city boasted consciously over-designed embellishments and flourishes. They were designed to be flashy and impressive, unique and special. Even the vanilla central district had its beautiful gothic and deco touches tucked away in the charming old town area. They had a world of finials, decorative buttresses, artistic molding and a host of other touches that astounded the eye. Even the backwards mammals of Meadowlands could boast charming decorative touches and base personalization that made their homes and businesses retro, though they would never admit it wasn't a conscious choice for the sake of tourists.

Happytown was a trash can, where the high-minded prey and desperately crawling predators threw away predators who didn't get lucky and the prey that had the bad luck to immigrate and found the city didn't want outsiders polluting its beautiful, carefully manicured official diversity. For all it was a trash can, that just meant it accepted everyone. If immigrants were thrown away, Happytown would accept them.

He walked into the lobby of his building, nose still not numb to the strange scent of the place. It was like a mix of mingled musk, stale cooking oil, a waft of garbage and the smallest hint of perfume and cologne attempting to hide one thing or another. He skipped the questionable elevator and took the stairs, jogging up two flights and hanging a quick left to his apartment.

Entering the place left him with his usual sight. A cramped living area leading to a miniscule kitchen with functional appliances that looked like they had come through a time portal from decades before. His linoleum was cracked and oddly discolored, the old floral patterns on each one distorted in different and unique ways. Most of the space was carpeted with a beaten down brown shag, that showed though threadbare in some spots. Through a small doorway to the right was the bedroom and the bathroom, uncomfortably close to one another.

The furniture that he could claim was nothing but a saggy but comfortable brown armchair, covered in cracked vinyl, patched with duct tape. He had no television, but there was a comfortably aged boombox, beside a bookshelf with a few of his CDs, and a lot of books. He also had an old desk piled with papers, mostly his proposals to the mayor and City Council, and some notes on the problems he noted in Happytown, as well as verifiable information on gang members, ways the police could get proof against them.

Charlie sank down into the wooden chair that sat in front of the desk and flipped through a few of the papers. "Seedsworth said he'd love to discuss the bit about the gambling. Dunno who his new friend is, but they're on top of things..."

A small sound from his bedroom made his ears perk, the soft shuffle sounding like someone was there. "I hear you in there. I promise, I spend well but I don't have any hobbies and I don't drink much. I swear I don't have much for you. No good-time drugs, no prescriptions, nothing you might like. Just head out the door and I promise that's the end of it."

The mammal in the bedroom said nothing, and did not emerge, merely shuffled around again.

"Look, I can give you a few bucks. It's not much but it's what I have. I'm just trying to make Happytown better for everyone. Just try to be reasonable," Charlie softly said, approaching the bedroom with soft, quiet steps. He peeked his head around the corner, offering one of his trademark smiles.

Hands covered in black latex gloves reached out with a plastic bag, quickly wrapping it around Charlie's surprised head. The bag was secured around his neck with a quickly pulled zip tie, snug against his throat but not quite choking him with the tie alone. His mouth was held closed, and his body was bulled around and pressed down onto the bed. "Even if you could scream, no one would even bother. There was never any hope. Just give up. It's Happytown..."