Not a Hero

Prologue

The last time they had spoken his voice had still squeaked from puberty. The last time they had seen each other he hadn't been old enough to drive.

The last time they had seen each other, he had helped scrape the pieces of Nick's mother and girlfriend from the crater the bomb had left.

15 years was a long time.

How much had Nick changed?

One thing that hadn't changed was the weather, Finnick realized. The same day Gloria Wilde and Mary Redtail died in that explosion it had rained heavily, much like the torrential downpour currently smashing against his van's cracked windshield.

It was like time was replaying that day all over again; or perhaps it was picking up where Nick's life had left off.

The harsh glow of spotlights fizzled through the pouring rain like static through an old television. Their blinding gazes sweeping across the darkened sky and wet ground like gargoyles circling their castle in the night.

The storm choked out the moon's gentle light and the stars' twinkling eyes, leaving Finnick feeling on edge as he pulled his van over and parked on the curb. His hardened brown eyes glared up at the monstrosity of brick and barbed wire.

A pair of spotlights rolled across the building, illuminating the words set into the stone.

'Cliffside Super Penitentiary'

Or fondly referred to as the "Super Pen" by its residents.

Several layers of electric fences stood between the outside barbed wire barrier and the fifty-foot cinder block walls. Guard towers set into the wall overlooked the prison's interior and exterior. Finn could just barely make out the silhouettes of the armed guards patrolling the wall.

A growl rumbled up from Finnick's chest as a familiar anger burned in his throat. A soft beep sounded in the quiet van and the green light over the fox's neck flicked to a warning yellow.

Finnick forced his growl to a stop and stuffed his outrage down deep; down where he kept the rest of his emotions.

The yellow painted shock collar strapped to his neck beeped once more before the light blinked back to green.

Yellow shock collars were issued to low risk criminal Supers with weak powers. Most mammals call the little devices "Naughty Buzzers" from the high-pitched crackle sound they made when the collar zapped the offender.

He huffed in irritation and glanced at his radio's digital clock.

'11:59 P.M.'

One minute.

14 years, 11 months, 29 days, 23 hours and 59 minutes since Finnick had seen his best friend.

Now it was all down to this, just one more minute more.

The second Finnick's clock struck midnight the Super Pen's front gates slammed open to booming applause and rowdy howls.

Several spotlights swung around illuminating the long figure walking backwards with a duffle bag slung on his back and waving goodbye to the courtyard of inmates in red jumpsuits and identical red painted shock collars pressing against the inside fence and cheering for all they were worth.

Finnick rolled his eyes and threw his door open.

Leave it to Nick to go into the harshest hell-hole on the continent and walk out to a standing ovation from its demons.

"Nikolai! Say 'allo to my Darcy for me, Da?" A massive polar bear with a vicious scar running between his eyes shouted.

"You got it buddy!" The lone figure shot a finger gun at the bear. "But you could tell her yourself in 13 months! Hang in there!"

Though it was hard to tell through the blinding rain the bear's red painted shock collar flicked from yellow to an angry crimson as a happy grin spread across as the ursine inmate's maw and electricity crackled against his neck.

On closer inspection, nearly every inmate's collar was red as they cheered and roared defiantly against the howling rain.

Finnick had waded across the flooded street and was a mere two yards from the figure's turn back when his courage failed him.

The rain soaking into his fur went unnoticed as he stared at his long-lost friend's back. His red jumpsuit had already soaked through from the downpour and stuck to his frame like glue exposing the tightly woven muscles normally hidden underneath his fur. Below his jaw and around his neck sat a red painted shock collar exactly like that of the other inmates.

It was a little memento courtesy of Zootopia's Super Criminal Courts. A collar designed for high risk criminal Supers. A delightful device nicknamed a "Kill Switch".

The freed fox's pointed ears flattened against his head as he somberly watched with a sense of helplessness and loss as the prison gates slowly swung closed and the inmates' cheers were silenced until the only sound was the howl of the wind and the dull roar of rain striking asphalt.

"Aren't you going to welcome me back?" The figure asked, his back still turned, and his eyes stuck on the prison he had called home for half of his life.

Finnick was at a loss for words, but his hustler instincts kicked in a moment later and he found words pouring off his tongue without thinking.

"Just get in the van ya twit."

The figure snorted in amusement and his shoulders bounced in a shrug.

"You got it big guy."

He couldn't do it. Finnick couldn't find the strength to look his childhood friend in the eye in fear of what he might find there.

Finnick spun on his heels and made for the safety of his van with a quickness born of uncertainty, his eyes never leaving his feet.

He climbed into the driver's seat and shook himself free of as much rain water as he could while keeping his eyes on the steering wheel, even as the other fox threw open the passenger door and settled into the seat with his duffle bag at his feet.

The distance between them felt like the void between the earth and moon. What could they say?

It's been 15 years.

The red fox in the passenger seat cleared his throat, causing Finnick's huge, radar like ears to swivel in his direction.

"Thanks for… you know… for picking me up…"

"Sure."

The conversation died and the patter of rain against the cracked windshield filled the quiet.

Finnick almost flinched when the other fox's voice suddenly broke the silence.

"15 years, huh?"

"Yeah…"

The red fox fell quiet for a second before softly laughing.

"Why is it suddenly so hard to talk to you?" He chuckled weakly.

A tiny smile curled on Finnick's lips.

"Maybe 'cuz even 15 years in the Super Pen couldn't cure ya of being an insufferable ass."

That statement got a yipping belly laugh out of the red fox.

"Glad to see you haven't lost your bite big guy!"

"Fuck you, Red."

"Now, now. Don't tell me you kiss your mommy with that filthy mouth." The red fox snarked.

Finnick rolled his eyes.

"I need a smoke."

He popped his armrest up and dug out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a cheap plastic lighter. He bit a cigarette butt and pulled it free from its fellows and flicked the lighter to its end. The lighter sputtered and refused to light.

"Damn useless thing." Finnick cursed around his unlit cigarette.

"Here, let me."

The red fox snapped his fingers and a tiny flame sprung to life on his claw tip. He passed the flame over the end of Finnick's cigarette and the little fox took a long soothing drag from the rolled tobacco. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and breathed out a faint cloud of smoke.

Having his dose of tobacco seemed to have also given Finnick a sudden burst of courage. He turned his head and looked into the other fox's face.

The Nick that Finnick had known was a skinny teenaged tod with wide green eyes and red-orange fur, sporting white fur from his throat to his stomach and a splash of white[1] on the tip of his tail.

The Nick that was before him was still slender, but coils of powerful muscle wrapped deceptively tight around his frame. His eyes were still green, but they seemed richer, almost emerald in the way they glowed in the dark.

It was still Nick, but an older, darker, and more lethal mirror image of the hopeful troublemaker he had once known.

But what sold Finnick on the fact that this truly was his friend was the sly grin that hovered at the edge of his lips.

No one Finnick knew could pull off the "smug, sarcastic prick" look like Nick did.

"Thanks," Finnick mumbled before taking another pull from his cigarette.

"No problem," Nick replied. He flicked the flame from his finger.

"I see you've gotten better at using your powers," Finnick commented.

"I see you're still inhaling that poison. Ya know smoking's going to kill you one day," Nick retorted.

"You know I got a healin' factor," Finnick shot back.

"Healing factors can't fix lung cancer Finn."

Instead of answering, Finnick inhaled the last of the cigarette and crushed the remnants in his

paw, throwing it into an empty cup holder with the others.

"Ready ta get outta here?" Finnick asked.

"You bloody well know I am!" Nick chuckled. "It's been a decade and a half since I stepped foot in the city! Get me the hell outta here!"

Finnick cracked a grin and cranked the van into gear. The worn tires squealed and churned water as the beat-up old van spun around and took off towards the city lights in the distance.

"Hey Nick?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"Welcome home."

A/N: Welcome Home dear readers!

Untraveled here along with the mighty Slayer of horrid grammar and fiendish misspellings, TheWildestCanuck himself!

We are proud to present not the fanfic you wanted, but the fanfic I gave you anyway. Lol

Though not a direct incarnation Not A Hero does draw influence from the likes of games like 'Infamous' and online comics like 'Unordinary'.

See ya in the next one!

-Untraveled

Editor's Note:

Another chapter, another grammatical beast slain!

I almost choked on my coffee when I saw a new project to tackle. I may not be as super as the foxy duo, but the Flash would be proud with how fast I ran to my trusty typewriter.

With the next season of ZCOM in the works, this'll be a great way to get your fix of Untraveled's writing, with a dollop of impeccable grammar on top. We'll be sure to give you folks a good show!

~ Canuck Editor Guy