(AN: Hello great followers of Zootopia FanFic, or followers of my work in general, I am back. Back with the new volume of the Long Hustle. Presenting: The Long Hustle: Vol. 2, The Empire & Emperor.

A few things before we start. I currently in the mist of writing four different FanFic's and possibly one erotica. So I encourage you, if you like what you read here, go and find other stories I've written. I'm always open for comments and feedback to make things better, and open to the help of any BETA readers that might be interested.

Quick Recap of Volume 1: After the outbreak of a new drug called "Blue Sky" Nick Wilde was asked by agents Savage and Skye of the ZBI to go under cover and root out the main producer of this new drug. Nick first refuses the offer after finally building a life together with Judy. When tradigy strikes close to Judy's home, the cause of her brother high on Blue Sky, Nick takes Jack and Skye's offer. A small team is formed to help in this operation with: Officer Nala and Wilford, Chief Bogo, Dr. Basil and his assistant Terra, and Director M of the ZBI. Nick soon finds himself going undercover in pawcuffs and sent to the most dangerous prisons named "The Jungle." While inside, Nick reconnects with an old scem and heist buddy, Flynn McDowell. Nick makes friends with a inmate name Jay. Judy, who is suppose to be lying low, discovers she is pregnant with Nick's child. Alone, desperate, and scared Judy confides in Nick mother, Marion, and tells her everything. She goes through with the pregnancy and gives birth to a boy named Archer. While in Prison a major riot brakes out in hopes of killing Nick and Flynn, only for Jay to die as an innocent bystander. After serving two years in prison, Flynn informs Nick that the Big Boss he works for has arranged to meet Nick in person.

Now that you are all caught up, I hope you enjoy the beginning of this new Zootopia age story.

- Sincerely, Sir_RedFox)

.

Prologue:

.

"Come here soldier.
There is nothing proper about what you're doing,
but at least make sure you cut off my head
properly."
-Roman Writer 'Marcus Tullius Cicero's' last words before executed
by beheading.

.

16 years ago...

Night fell on the city of Zootopia. The skyscrapers shone up like Christmas trees. The highways and interstates lit with the headlights of mammals leaving or going to work.

A young Shere Khan sat on an old busted up bench. He wore a giant green trench coat to keep warm and green cargo pants to match. On his head was a gray beanie that covered the tips of his ears.

At the top of a quarry, Khan looked at the city.

From where he sat, the city looked like a capital of some mighty empire or kingdom — albeit ones where buildings were crafted from asphalt and steel, instead of marble or stone. One that showed its riches with bright fluorescent lights that soaring all across the sky of this mighty kingdom. A mighty nation that did not hide its glory behind rows of walls, but allowed all creatures big and small to see its greatness. An empire whose marble columns were skyscrapers that were erected every year in the four districts.

"Two words," muttered Shere Khan to himself. It was something his father once told him to do. To sit on this bench and think of the two perfect words to describe the great city of Zootopia. It had been years since his father had told him to think of such two words. It was hard to think of the right two words when there were so many to choose from. Hope, belief, amazement, wonderful, legendary, or rather disgust, hopelessness, rotten, horrid, wretched, stained, plagued. How can he only chose two words when so many described the city of Zootopia.

The bench creaked, breaking his train of thought. He looked at the aged seat that he sat on. Names had been carved onto the wood likely with knives — as an added bonus there seemed to be gum stuck under the seat. To top it off, the bench had a layer of graffiti.

This was once a decent place in Zootopia. A place where people could come and see all the beauty and false promises that the city had made.

Now, the only people that drove up to this quarry were some adults looking to play out some secret love affair, idiots hoping to find drugs and alcohols, or some teenagers hoping to get lucky with their high school prom sweetheart. Though with all the trash spreading in every nook and cranny of the quarry, Khan was quite baffled at how this is a good place for a romantic outing. Looking around one more time, he believed the area could become so much more than what it has befallen to — it's a fools hope, but hope nonetheless

The bench was just like the city.

Once shimmering, now rotted and decayed, only the city was still able to cover up its filth. The abuse of those who believed in the lies that the city has been sprouting. That the truth was, every day is a fight for survival in the city.

The streets overran with the thief, cutthroat, mugger and even worse sort of scums. Homeless people unable to do anything but wait for their demise, because they have nothing left to fight for. Whores, male or female, poached nearly on every street corner, looking to sell the only things they have left.

All of it, chaos.

All of which could be fixed.

Be controlled.

Only lacking one with the right kind of power to do so.

Khan could see his breath in the chill night. He rubbed his tiger paws together, which were wrapped in long lengths of gauze bandages, for warmth. Khan liked to wrap gauze, tight around his tiger paws — it gave him an odd sense of comfort. He could give thanks to his foster parents for the abuse of his paws. Despite the wrapping, his paws were not hindered in the slightest.

Though he wore a large and heavy army green trench coat, which helped fight against the cold, Khan must admit that his trusty coat had run its course of use. There were cuts and tears on the surface that exposed the cotton fabric inside, the zipper would get stuck on occasions, and a few of the pockets had gaping holes in them — he wasn't so sure that aging was the only cause for the holes though. Underneath outerwear, Khan wore a white muscle shirt that he made sure to always tuck into his pants.

Digging into the pockets, Khan pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, Sherwood brand — his favorite. Opening the lid and giving it a good shake, he could see that there was only one cigarette left for him.

Khan slided the cigarette out of the pack with his mouth, before crumbling up the paper package and tossing it to the ground. It wasn't like anyone would know it was even there, other mammal's trash have made sure of that.

Digging back into his trench coat, it took him a minute to find the small plastic Hippo brand lighter he was looking for. It took him a few tries to strike up a decent flame to light the cigarette between his lips. Once lovely and lit, Khan inhaled a big puff into his lungs, as he did the tip glows red.

Khan closed his eyes and let the smooth smoke flavor slowly leave his lips. Just as he did with the empty pack of Sherwood cigarettes, Khan tosses the pathetic lighter aside. Might as well. After tonight, he planned on only having the best of everything.

From behind him, a pair of headlights shone on the back of his head. Khan didn't turn around, knowing exactly who was coming to meet him. The car, an 85' yellow Molessmobile, pulled up and parked. The driver got out to greet him.

Khan turned to see his brother, Barquera. A lean black panther. He wore a tight black leather jacket and a pair of tight blue jeans. Khan inhaled what little remains of his cigarette before flicking the small burning filter away.

As the oldest of the two, Khan had, in some ways or another, overshadowed his panther brother. It was always probably for the best. Growing up with only each other, Barquera knew Khan would always protect him, if not give him the world.

Khan stood up to go and greeted his brother. Even though they had seen each other earlier today, he would never not be happy to see his brother. They embraced each other in a hug like old friends meeting after years apart. They gave each other a hard pat on the back before letting go of each other.

"Barquera..." Khan said in a whisper, speaking in their native tongue, Kurdish. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to be part of any of this." Khan warned. "If this all goes sideways, I don't want any of this coming back to harm you."

Barquera only shook his head at Khan's words. "Since when have we ever done things alone, brother."

Khan smiled at his brother. Putting a tiger paw on each side of Barquera's face and rubbing foreheads together. It was true what he said. Whatever they faced, they faced them together. Whatever this city had to throw at them, they had beaten it together.

"Then let us go," Khan said back in English. "Let's go and become kings."

Barquera shook his head again. Khan became confused by this. Did he not say he was ready? "No," Barquera said. "You can be the King brother. I can settle with just being the Prince."

"Why a Prince?" Khan asked.

"Because the Prince gets to be in all the love stories."

Khan couldn't help but laugh at how Barquera found such a light in this darkness. "Very well then, you can be the Prince. But don't let me catch you going around kissing frogs in hopes of meeting Prince Charming."

Shere Khan watched the outside of a rundown, beaten, bookie bar, located in the nocturnal district of Zootopia. The whole place seemed to breed nothing but drug addicts, homeless, and the mentality that crime is the only way to get ahead.

The bar itself was nothing pretty to look at, as well. The place had bars on the windows, making sure no one could break-in. But those bars had become well rusted. It felt dead like the rest of the street. Thankfully it was the last stop for him to make.

Well, second to last.

Before the night would be over, he had to stop and see "The Big Boss."

Khan looked down at the duffle bag in one hand then his eyes wandered to an old bowling ball bag in the other. He looked up before he took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His hot breath turned into a mist in the air.

'Time to go,' he thought.

The night was almost over — it was time. Khan walked across the street and through the door of the bar. The large metal door slammed hard behind him as he stepped into the establishment.

Inside the bar was as run down as the outside. The place was small and dimly lit. The counter was a mess, with broken peanut shells, cigarette ash, and other trash scattered all across the tabletop. Two pool tables were set up on each side of the room and were stained with cheap beer. The floor was even worse, Khan dread to think what caused some of the stains. Every other step, something would stick to the bottom of his shoe; he didn't want to check, but he was sure they were not chewed gum. A TV was hooked up in a corner displaying a football game, though it seemed to be showing static more than entertainment.

Looking around, Khan only saw four Mammals occupying the bar. A hyena and a pig were at the pool table, playing a round of billiards. They both had the look of being common lowlifes. The hyena wore a tight black shirt and pants to try and show off what little muscles he had. A loose gold chain hung around his neck, and a pistol tucked into his waistband. The pig wore blue jeans and a leather jacket. There was no visible weapon on the fat creature as far as Khan could see.

Behind the bar was Larz, an elk. Maintenance was not his major priority. He might wipe a section of the counter for a minute, but he was more interested in drinking beer and watching the game that the tv could barely show.

The last one was Dywane, a large brown bear. All the times Khan had walked into this bar, Dywane would always be sitting in the same seat with a mug of beer close by. The bear wore black pants and a gray shirt, which was too small to cover his large beer gut. Maybe because of that, he tried concealing most of himself in a large brown coat and gray scally cap.

Dywane was bringing the mug of beer up to his lips when he suddenly stopped mid-sip upon seeing Khan standing there in the doorway.

"Hey!" Dywane said out loud to anyone willing to listen. "Look who just walked in, looking like he just rolled around in the sewer. It's She-Ra," The large brown bear gave a mighty laugh and banged his fist on the bar table.

'It's Khan, you abomination of fur and lard, Shere Khan,' he thought.

Only Baguera has the privilege of calling him, Shera. Since they were little, his brother always had difficulty trying to pronounce his name correctly. He would always pronounce it wrong, trying to make the last "e'' heard. Baguera settled on calling him Shera, or "Shear-Ra," because it was easier to remember, as evidenced by the fact that his brother could say it without having to pause or stutter at the word.

"Hey, She-Ra," called out Dywane. "Where's that cock sucking black panther you have for a brother? Let me guess? Giving free blow jobs in the alleyway?" Dywane gave another burst of laughter and slammed his fist hard against the tabletop.

Khan would love to do nothing more than strangle the life out of the fat bastard of a bear. Though, when thinking about it, his hands probably wouldn't be able to fit around the bear's thick fat neck.

"Is Joe in the back?" Khan asked Larz, who still was occupying himself with the game on the small TV.

"Yeah," said Larz. "But I don't think he's in the mood to see anyone tonight."

Khan ignored the elk's advice. He was already moving to the back office of the bar. The tiger didn't even bother to knock. Instead, he just walked right into the office.

Khan entered to find Joe, the malnourished kangaroo, snorting a small white line of powder. Joe was a bookie for "The Big Mammal, Maronie" and operated inside the bar. Figured the best way to keep his dealings a secret was to operate in a place that looked worse than a truck stop bathroom. The blue button jacket the kangaroo wore had small patches of white powder and a red tie, loose and uneven. Joe's eyes were bloodshot and dilated.

The office could barely be called a proper workplace. Stacks upon stacks of paper and files were just sitting there — collecting mold and making the whole office snuffy and harder to breathe in.

Sitting behind Joe was a polar bear, who worked a crossword puzzle. He wore an ugly looking button-up coat with a brown mustard color with a checkered pattern. Khan could just make out the figure of a gun holstered in his jacket. The bear didn't bother to take his eyes off the paper to look at Khan.

Lastly, to Khan's left, was a grey timber wolf trying to watch the football game on a small handheld tv. Just like the TV in the bar, the handheld TV struggled to pick up a signal. He wore a navy blue button coat, just like the polar bear, and Khan could see a silver Springfield pistol holstered under the wolf's left arm.

With a sharp letter opener, Joe took his time and sliced himself another line of white powder. He snorted the line right off the glass, rubbed his nose, leaned back and slums into his chair. He tossed the sharp letter opener onto the table where it bounced and rolled to Khan's side of the table. Joe looked up at Khan with his blood-red eyes. He rubbed his eyes as if he was trying to wake up.

"What do you want, Khan?" Joe asked, scratching every side of his face.

"Need to place a bet."

"Sweet Aslan," Joe cursed. Annoyed to be bothered this late. "Any reason this can't wait 'till morning? Or noon? Or any time that isn't now?" Joe whined.

"It has to be tonight," said Khan. The tiger dropped the large duffle bag on Joe's desk and the bowling ball bag on the ground. Joe looked at the large bag, curious to know what was inside. "I have an inside tip that someone will be throwing an upcoming match."

"Whoever gave you that 'tip' is playing you for a fool," accused Joe. "I'm always the first to receive any news of a game, race, or match being rigged. Besides, it'll be another good month before the next boxing match, if that's what you're talking about."

"I'm not talking about a boxing match," Shere Khan said. "I'm talking about a match in the Arena."

The office suddenly got very quiet at a mere mention of the Arena. Joe stopped rocking back and forth in his chair, which silenced the awful squeak sound it made. The wolf and the polar bear stopped what they were doing to stare at Khan as if he had just confessed to murdering a pregnant gal.

"You're lying," Joe hissed. "Besides, this tip-off you're telling me is rubbish. Mammals would rather have their teeth pulled or their fingers or hooves cut off than taking a dive in the Arena. No one rigs an Arena match. Not even us. An Arena match is all the poor and wretched souls of this city have before dying in some shit stained gutter."

"Not rubbish at all," Khan said with still tone. "Because I'll be taking the dive." They couldn't tell if Khan was being serious or not. "I've fought in the Arena, more than once when things were bad. As you can see, by standing before you, I've won every time. So, in a week, after word gets out that there will be a sudden additional fight added to the Arena — and that I'm the one competing — the majority of mammals will want to place as many bets on me as quickly as they can."

"If you take a fall, will you still be able to make it look like a good show?" Joe asked, eyes shined with greed.

"It will be a show that they will never forget," Khan said with a smirk.

Joe looked to his two bodyguards. Not even they knew how to take this information. Was Khan lying or telling the truth? Before they could make up their mind, the tiger pushed the large duffle bag forward to Joe. "Here is every penny Baquerra and I have been able to save up."

"And how much would that exactly be?" Joe asked.

"Close to sixty-five hundred," Khan answered.

Joe reached over to unzip the duffle back. Khan stopped him by grabbing hold of the kangaroo's skimpy hand with his oversized tiger paw. Khan gave a low growl and a firm squeeze to the kangaroo's hand before pushing him back down into the desk chair. "I want to know first if you're good for it?"

Joe laughed at the ridiculous question. "Since when have I never been good for it?"

"I want to see it," Khan said. "I want to make sure that you're not lying and trying to cut my brother short of what he deserves."

"Fine," Joe grumbled. Standing up, he smoothed the wrinkles on his sleeves and buttons of his coat before using one button to close his jacket. The timber wolf and the polar bear stood at attention, making sure Khan did not try anything.

Joe walked over to a safe sitting on top of a file cabinet in the corner. Spinning the combination dial, the kangaroo opened the safe. The inside were neat, well-organized stacks of money, and a few other premium items. An expensive, new-module gun, a box of bullets, ownership of the bar certificate, and two small baggies of drugs — one filled with powder and the other some pills. What interested Khan the most, however, were the stacks of files and folders containing great sources of information.

Joe showcased the innards of the safe to Khan like one of the girls on those stupid game shows. How they gave fake smiles and waved their hands and arms in front of the object like they are doing a magic trick.

Joe hopped back to his desk, which only took him a jump, leaving the safe open. "Satisfied?" Joe asked, to which Khan only nodded his head. "You know, you're a really good brother to Baquera." Joe's hands made their way toward the duffle bag. "It's probably a good thing I didn't have siblings," Joe mused. "I most likely would have given my sibling, or siblings, a bad accident down a flight of stairs."

"Only a few of us can understand the importance of family. Blood or not." Shere Khan said, expression still hardens.

Khan took a step back from the table as Joe began unzipping the duffle back. The timber wolf and polar bear leaned in, curious to see what's in the bag as well. Joe gave his drug-filled smile to Khan as the duffle bag was mouth-wide open. Looking into the open bag, Joe's smile turned into a frown of confusion.

"What the hell!" Joe shouted. The kangaroo reached into the bag and pulled out a large clop of newspaper shreddings. The polar bear and timber wolf moved in closer to see.

Khan sensed that this was his time.

With his quick tiger reflexes, Khan grabbed the sharp letter opener from Joe's desk and plunged it into the timber wolf's trachea. The timber wolf yelps and coughs in pain while clasping both his hands around his throat — hoping to stop the bleeding.

As the timber wolf is occupied saving his own neck, literally, Khan reached into the timber wolf's jacket. He ripped the gun out of its holster, aimed at the polar bear, then pulled the trigger. It took five shots to incapacitate the polar bear, who only had time to unholster his own pistol.

Grabbing the back of the timber wolf's head, Khan slammed his face down hard on top of the desk. The timberwolf continued to gasp for air as he choked on his own blood. Khan put the barrel of the pistol to the side of the wolf's head and fired point-blank. Crimson fluid and brain matter exploded out the other side of the wolf's skull.

Now that both goons were gone, Khan grabbed Joe by the collar and brought the kangaroo's face closer — close enough for Khan to press the gun barrel against Joe's cheek.

"Oh, you're fucked now!" Joe cried out at Khan. "You stupid fuck! Any second now, the guys out there are going to bust down that door and kill you!"

Outside the door came four loud bangs. Khan and Joe had worked with firearms long enough to recognize the sound of shotgun shots. Khan smiled at the silence that followed. "I don't think anyone is coming."

The nervous panic look Joe expressed before was returning. "W-well..." Joe breathed. The kangaroo was trying to think up the best lie he could think up. "Y-you're dead either way. Once M-Maroni finds out about all this, he'll hunt you down till you're d-dead."

"Agreed," Khan concurred, not even phased at what Joe had said. "But that doesn't matter. All three of us are going to go visit him."

"T-three?" Joe questioned, more panic than before

Khan does not answer him. Instead, he removed the pistol from Joe's cheek and placed the barrel under the kangaroo's chin, before firing and blasting a bullet through Joe's head.

Khan lets go of Joe, allowing the corpse to fall forward onto the desk. There was no time to waste.

Khan emptied the duffle bag of shredded newspaper onto the ground. He started filling the bag with everything of importance in the room, especially the contents in the safe. The tiger quickly tossed every bit of money, the two baggies of drugs, and the gun with its ammunition into the bag. After all, the folders and files in it that were most valuable to Khan; the stack of ledgers, filled with names, dates, addresses, things to blackmail any mammal he could turn into his personal paws, there were right there at a mere turn of a page. He carefully arranged the documents so as to not damage them before zipping the bag.

There was still one last thing to do, one item he had to take with him if he was going to go see Maroni. Khan tossed the bowling ball case next to Joe's head.

Here came the hard part.

When he finished the deed in the office, Khan stepped back out into the bar — carrying the duffle and bowling ball case together in one hand and the pistol in the other.

Khan could see the handy work Baquera made of the bar. The hyena laid dead on top of the pool table. His arms spread out as if he was Aslan nailed to a cross. A portion of his chest was gone. The hyena was able to draw his pistol from his waistband, as evidenced by the gun in his still hand. Unfortunately for the canine that was as far as he got before being blasted by the pellet slugs.

Behind the bar, Khan could see Larz's antlers sticking out, but not moving. His brother must have gotten the elk the moment he turned around from the TV.

On the ground to Khan's left was the pig in the leather jacket. Khan could hear him coughing and wheezing while his hooves, covered red with blood, reached at the pool table to pull himself up. Even with a shotgun blast to the gut, life still flowed through this poor mammal. Khana raised his pistol and fired three slugs into the pig's back.

The real star of the scenery, though, was Baquera looking down at a fat wounded brown bear, trying to crawl away with his life as he coughed up blood onto the bar floor. Khan's brother still held the sawed-off shotgun in his hands as he watched and circled over the crawling Dywane. Seemingly satisfied, the black panther gave a swift and hard kick to Dywane's side, forcing the bear to turn over on his back. Baquera stood over Dywane and knelt down to get close to the ursine before slowly pressing the barrels of the gun against the bear's lips.

"Open your mouth," Baquera commanded, bottom line to a shout. The panther pushed the barrel down harder, but Dywane still refused to open his mouth. "Open your mouth before I bust your teeth and force the barrel down your mouth." Dywane gave in and opened his mouth.

Baquera shoved the shotgun barrel down the bear's mouth. The black panther leaned in closer to stare Dywane in the eyes. "Of all the times that I've had the misfortune of coming in here, you always had some homophobic queer jokes at the ready to insult me with. I can't help but wonder if you might have been curious as to what it is like to suck someone's dick and have a load blown into your mouth." Baquera squeezed and rubbed the front of his crotch to which Dywane only had fear in his eyes as he looked upon the black panther. "Unfortunately, I don't have the time to give you the satisfaction, so I hope this load will suffice."

With those last words, Baquera pulled the trigger on the shotgun. Everything, from the nose and upward, exploded outward in a shower of gores. It was as if the top of the bear's head was one of those party poppers everyone plays with during New Years'.

Baquera breathed heavily, looking down at his blood-splattered artwork. He looked up at Khan who smiled wide. "Feel better?" Khan asked.

Baquera stared at his brother. He took in quick gulps of air, panting as if to catch his breath. A smile slowly crept onto his face. "Never better," The panther answered, excitement in his voice.

Baquera stood and pushed the fur on his head backward. Khan wanted to ask Baquera what they should do about the trash dive of a bar — now that they had the deed was in their possession. The black panther answered by grabbing a book of matches and blasting away a shelf of hard liquor with his shotgun. Baquera ignited the whole book and threw the burning pack into a pool of vodka. They watched as the flames expanded across the floor and up to the countertop. The two left before the flames grew any bigger.

Baquera was already heading for the car, which had the trunk open. Money, guns, and a few drug packs scattered across the back of the trunk. The most important thing they have obtained from the bookie bar, however, were all the essential papers. Papers with names, powerful names, of everyone on Manroie payroll and the list of every building and warehouse in Zootopia that hid entire operations.

Every mammal that owed a single dime to Maronie, now theirs.

Maronie, the giant pangolin, sat comfortably in his office behind his large redwood desk, leaning back in his cushioned chair. He wore an expansive beige suit that he thought matched well with his gold like scales. Smoking the tail end of his cigar between his claws, he extinguished it in the glass ashtray on the desk.

Maronie lived in a nice sized mansion in the Tundra district. His favorite room in the mansion was his own office. It was bigger than the average living room most mammals had and was equipped with some of the luxuries one could have: a pool-table, liquor cabinet stocked with only the finest liquor, and a few renaissance style paintings to liven up the room.

Maronie glanced at three of his best mammals in the room, serving as both company and protection. There was Hugh the wolverine, Marty the taprius, and, his most trusted bodyguard, a grizzly bear named Roy. Each of the mammals was dressed in a suit with a jacket and tie. All except Hugh, who didn't like wearing the jacket, believed it hindered his ability as a guard.

The pangolin, however, believed that suits made the mammal. Good clothing elevated them from common thugs to professional criminal masterminds, just like those old gangster movies. Maronie even had a specialized glock in his desk made from material that shorn like polished silver and a white pearl grip handle painted in a shade of ivory. It was the same glock used by the mafia boss in his favorite movie "Wolfgang of the East."

While Marty perched at the door, Huge and Roy engaged in a game of billiards. With his jacket off, everyone could see Huge's .44 Bulldog revolver he had holstered under his arm.

A knock came from the door, drawing everyone's attention.

Marty peered through the peep-hole, before announcing that Khan was right outside with a bag.

Maronie wasn't expecting him tonight.

He liked Khan and that queer foster brother of his well enough. A good soldier. Tough and fierce, and if there was a job that needed to be done, Khan was the best mammal to handle it.

Maronie almost decided to make Khan one of his right-hand mammals, though Roy had already taken that position. Moreover, while he hated thinking about it, there always seemed to be something off about Khan. Something unhinged, something that made him too loose of a canon and unpredictable to have around.

"Let him in," Maronie said casually. "I'm sure he's here to drop off some payments from the bar." Marty did as he was told, unlocking and opening the door for Khan.

"Hey Khan," said Marty "Making a late-night drop-"

Before Marty could get out the last word, Khan shot his fist hard at Marty's throat. The punch was powerful enough to send Marty flying back a few feet and landing hard on his back. He clutched at his throat, desperately gasping for air.

Khana stepped in, ignoring the shocked Hugh and Roy, and marched straight toward Maronie with the bowling ball case in his hand.

"Hey!" Hugh called out to stop Khan. The wolverine tossed his pool cue onto the table and ran after Khan. He grabs the back collar of Khan's large green jacket.

Khan didn't hesitate for a second. Dropping the bowling ball bag and leaps out of his jacket, his hat falling off in the process. Swiftly turning around, he grabs the bottom of his jacket and tosses it over Hugh's head. Khan pushed Hugh all the way against the wall and delivered several swift and hard punches to the lump his jacket covered. He didn't stop until his jacket became damp with blood, and the lump was mashed down.

The loud firecracker sound of a pistol went off behind Khan. He could hear the bullets whizz past him. He lets go of the wolverine's body that slumps down hard to the floor, leaving a massive blood smear on the wall with bits and pieces of skull fragments and pink brian tissue.

Khan faced his last attacker, Roy. Khan saw the pistol in the bear's hands, which fired off a few more rounds at him. He lets the bullets glide by, barely, one scrapping deep into his left arm, while grabbing a cue ball off the pool table before chucking it as hard as he could at Roy. The cue ball slammed against the grizzly bear's forehead and shattered.

His hand then reached for the pool cue. With a new weapon in hand, he swings hard, not aiming for Roy directly but the pistol in the bodyguard's hands. Hitting his mark, the pool cue snapped in half as the gun went flying. With only half a pool cue in hand, Khan plunged the wooden shaft into the center of Roy's gut like a short spear and gave it a good ninety-degree twist.

Khan was about to follow up on his attack, but Roy wrapped his huge grizzly hands around Khan's neck. He started to choke the life out of the tiger. The grip was too tight for the great tiger to break free by mere strength. The bear pushed him back against the pool table, Khan arched his back and made it more difficult for Khan to struggle. Maronie cheered his bodyguard on as he watched.

Khan kept his chin between the bear's inner elbow while the bear choked him. It was the only tactic he had for staying alive. There was no way for him to break from the bear's grip, so instead he reached up at Roy's face. He blindly searched till he found what he was looking for. His thumb jabbed into Roy's eye, and with a quick jerk, and an almost cartoonish 'POP!' sound, the bear's eye flys out of its socket. Though the bear's eye was not ripped out but popped out and dangled by its optic nerve.

Roy gave an agonizing scream of pain and toppled backward onto the ground beside the pool table. The bear did not know what to do in this situation. Whether or not to let his eye dangle or try to force it back in, and the pain certainly didn't make it easy for him to decide.

Khan quickly gathered himself and observed the bear crawling on the floor in pain. Rather than tempt fate by watching any longer, he walked over to Huge's body and pulled the .44 Bulldog revolver out of its holster. He put the barrel point blank to the bear's head and pulled the trigger. The bullet met with the side of the bear's head, ending the miserable creature's suffering in a second.

The tiger walked back to where he had dropped the bowling ball bag, next to Marty. Reaching down and picking up the bag he sees Marty still moving. 'So sorry Marty,' Khan thought before slamming his foot down on Marty's neck shattering his windpipe. Marty gave one large cough before blood bubbled down the side of his mouth and looked up with dead eyes.

Maronie, now seeing that he was all alone now, opened his desk drawer, grabbing his silver-like white pearl grip pistol with ivory coloring. Before he could even raise it, Khan blasted a hole into the top of the desk.

"Take the gun out of the drawer and place it on top of your desk," Khan said, pushing back the sweat and blood on his face, giving his hair a slick look.

Maronie did as he was told and placed the pistol on top of the desk. "What the Hell is this, Khan? Years of service, and you just snapped?"

"In time, all will be explained." Khan placed the bowling ball bag on top of the desk, beside the silver-like pistol. The tiger took a seat across from his ex-employer. "It's been a long and busy night."

"Well, you better say what you want to say because soon that door is going to bust down and at least three of my guys are going to pour lead into you."

Khan chuckled, giving Maronie a feeling of worry. "You know, you and Joe think alike. Probably why you had him run your books, names, and places? But trust me, no one is coming through that door."

"So," the pangolin swallowed a lump of air down his throat, "what then?" Maronie asked. Maronie reached over to his wooden cigar case. He heard the cocking of the revolver's hammer. The massage was very clear, 'don't try anything.' As slow as he could, Maronie opened the case and pulled out a fat cigar. He left the case open and held up the cigar to be seen. "Cigar?" Maronie said, offering to his guest, trying his best for his clawed hand from shaking.

"Not yet," Khan said before getting down to what he wanted to say, though not before Maronie lit his cigar with a golden lighter. "For the longest time, all that my brother and I had were each other. Then we joined your group, or gang, or whatever you wish to call it, and we were grateful. Though ever since then, something has always been scratching at my mind. That something wasn't right. It took me a while, but I finally figured it out." Khan let a small pregnant pause hang in the air. "It's how you run things that bother me. You sit there, behind your fancy desk, believing that you have power. You wear your fancy suits and expect others to do the same because you have 'class'. You ran loan shark rackets, money laundering centers, and protection rings. You are a cliche of a crime boss if there ever was one to begin with, likely from watching all those gangster movies you love to babble on about."

"Oh, like you never saw a gangster movie and thought that the character on the screen is what I want to be?" Maronie accused.

"Not really. I'm more into historical dramas. They always presented a certain type of class. By the way, that painting that is hanging next to the liquor cabinet, is it an original?"

"Of course it is," Mornie said, sounding a bit insulted that Khan had to even ask. "Why the sudden interest? Never knew you were into art."

"No reason to ever bring up such a discussion," Khan said, quickly scratching his head with the barrel of the gun before pointing the barrel back at Maronie. "But, I'm not here about movies or art. See you walk around this mansion like a king, believing you are all-powerful, when, really, you're nothing. If any of these goons you keep around," Khan shook his head toward the dead bodies, "had any brains, they would've killed you and taken the throne from you long ago. Though, if you really have power, then you are stupid with it. For instance, why would you let some junkie kangaroo be in the position of every single item needed to run your empire?" He looked over at the bowling ball case and pointed at it with his gun. "Why don't you open your gift? It's something I was able to grab at the bar and bring to you before setting the whole place ablaze."

Maronie carefully stood up and, with his long claws, unzipped the bowling ball case. Grabbing the handles, he opened the bag wide. Inside the bag was the severed kangaroo head of his dear friend and colleague, Joe. The eyes were open and staring directly at him. "Aslan on a cross," Maronie breathed. He looked up at Khan with a sickening look."What the hell is wrong with you?!" Maronie collapsed back down into his chair. "If all of what you said is true, then why did you come here with no gun?" The pangolin still remembered that the gun Khan was holding belonged to one of his dead bodyguards.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Khan said with a ghost of a smile on his face. "If I had walked in here and shot up the place, that wouldn't have proven anything. A gun doesn't give you power. It might make you feel powerful, but in truth all it does is make you look like a coward. I came in here and showed Marty, Huge, and Roy, my prowess to the very end. It's the same reason I've allowed you to have that pistol sit on your desk. Not to see which one of us is faster, but to show you..." Khan opened the chamber to the revolver letting all the bullets fall to the ground before dropping the whole gun itself. "I never needed a gun to kill you."

Maronie took the opportunity and lunged for the silver-shined pistol on the desk. He grabbed the gun, but before he could point and shoot, Khan clamped hard onto the pangolin's hand, forcing the gun barrel and his hand straight up. Maronie's free hand dove for something in the wooden cigar case. Khan, like an all-star athlete, jumped up onto the table and used his right foot to slam down on the case lid onto Maronie's claws. The scales on Maronie's hand make a loud "crack" sound as the wooden lid splintered several pieces of his natural armor. Maronie cries out in pain and tries to retract his hand, but, with Khan's heavy foot on top of the lip, his hand looked as if it was caught in an iron trap.

Khan grabbed Maronie's throat with his free hand. He forced the giant pangolin out of the chair and slammed him into the wall, one hand still holding Maronie's hand that held the pistol and the other gripping at Maronie's throat. The tiger leaned his face closer to Maronie as if wanting to share a secret with him.

"The fact that you reached for yet another weapon instead of your Mother Nature-given claws prove my point about you," Khan sneered.

'Weak,' the tiger added in his head.

"I will show this city what true power is," Khan said with a hard hiss. "My power will be in each district, in every crack and crevice of the streets." Khan slowly started lifting Maronie up by the pangolin's throat. "My power will be in every dark alley, in every shadow, in every flicker of a flame. I will become the monster under everyone's bed. I will become so powerful that whispering my name will tear down mountains and set forests aflame." Khan lifted his victim up. Maronie kicked and struggled to break free, as well as gasping for air. With his greater strength, Khan forced the silver pistol's barrel in Maronie's hand under the crime boss's own chin. The sound of Maronie's claws and scales give a loud crack as they break from the tiger's strength. Khan had one more thing to say. "Know thy name, and fear me." With ease, the new warlord of Zootopia forced Maronie to pull the trigger with his own finger. The gun went off and blew a hole through the top of Maronie's head. The wall was decorated with an criminally-underrated artistic style of red and pink.

Khan took the pistol from the dead pangolin and let the body drop hard to the floor. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. The tiger couldn't help but admire the weapon. Silver-like with the white pearl handle painted in an ivory color. Deciding to keep it, the tiger turned on the safety lock and tucked the gun into his waistband. Looking around, he turned to the cigar case. Flipping the case open, inside was a small pistol. So that was what Maroine was going after. "Now," Khana said, grabbing one of the cigars and the golden lighter. Checking himself, he could see his fur and whole white muscle shirt covered in blood and sweat.

Khan walked over to the liquor cabinet and set the cigar and lighter down. With ease, he ripped his muscle shirt into strips. From the cabinet, he took the most exquisite bottle of vodka, poured himself a large glass, and gulped it down. Giving a low growl as the alcohol dribbled down his lips, mouth and hit the spot in his gut. He stuffed the strips of his shirt into the bottle and lit it on fire.

Khan could easily just moved in and took over the mansion, but it wouldn't be right. Not with him. Gods do not rule from the ground like a common mammal. No, Gods ruled from heavens, so they could smite their enemies with ease.

Khan threw the lit bottle across the room. It smashed against the wall, where the flames spread to every corner. He grabbed his cigar and lighter before bolting for the door. Though he paused mid-way and grabbed the only thing he loved about this mansion— the painting hanging beside the liquor cabinet.

Outside the mansion, the cold pierced Khan's fur and muscles as he strided out the door. Waiting at the entrance, Baquera was holding an assault rifle and pointed it at several mammals, who were on their knees in the snow and their hands behind their heads. Khan looked at all of them.

"Who wants a job?" he asked. After no one answered in fifteen seconds, he pulled the pistol from his waistband and fired a round into the chest of the mammal closest to him. "Perhaps your ears are numb from the cold, so I will ask again. Who wants a job," the tiger asked again.

This time a small hand of a raccoon shoots up. Khan waved the little guy forward and passed the painting to him

"Not a scratch," Khan warned. Looking down at the rest of the mammals, Khan informed "unfortunately for the rest of you, we are no longer hiring."

From behind the small crowd, Baquera opened fires on all of them. Moving the barrel left to right, making sure not a mammal would be walking away. The panther did not stop firing until the entire clip was empty.

The fire had spread throughout the mansion. The feline brothers watched as it all burned to the ground. Putting the cigar in his mouth, Khan lit and puffed on the cigar.

Present Day...

Sitting behind his desk at the top of his penthouse, Khan lit another one of his favorite cigars. He must admit he did like the look of his new black slick suit behind his large desk, in a comfy office chair no less. He looked out the window wall, down at the city of Zootopia.

"Hey boss," Baquera said as he entered, "Fylnn McDowell is downstairs. He wishes to have an audience with you."

"McDowell?" Khan said, puzzled at the name. "Who is he again?"

"He's the koala that brings in the majority of supplies for the Blue Sky product. He was just released from prison a week or two ago."

"Right," Khan said, "bring him up. And Baquera" Baquera stopped before exiting the room. "You know you don't have to call me boss, right?"

"For you, yes, I do," Baquera said with a playful smile.

"Well, at least not when we're alone, you don't." He said in his Kurdish tongue and laughed, but he was too late. Baquera had already left the room.

Khan takes another puff from his cigar. As he blew the smoke out in a slow and smooth manner, he looked at the surgical scars on his hand. They were barely visible any more since he first got the operation. Plus, his tiger fur had grown over the scars. Though, for Khan, he could always see and feel them.

It was a little while before Baquera returned, this time with a small koala bear marching behind him. "Hello Mr. Khan'' the koala greeted. In his hand was a huge paper brown grocery bag. "Always a pleasure to see ya," he said. "I won't take a seat, don't plan on staying long. I know you're a busy mammal and I won't bother trying to shake your hand, I know how you feel about that."

"Good to see you out of prison," Khan said, though only for politeness sake rather than out of cardinality.

"Feels good to be out of prison," Flynn affirmed.

"You know you are very lucky. Most of my employees end up in a body bag before ending up in prison," Khan pointed out. "But I have seen how very resourceful you can be, even in prison, when you informed me about a possible snitch under the ZBI's care."

"Ah fuck," Flynn said. "Think nothing of it. But, you're going to be even happier when you see this." Flynn holds up the brown bag. Stepping up to Khan's desk, Flynn emptied the entire bag onto the table. Pouring out of the bag were several large stacks of money piled out. "That, Mr. Khan," Flynn said, pointing to the pile of money. "That is your cut for the distribution of Blue Sky while in prison for the last two years."

Khan examined the pile of money, puffing in his cigar and blowing out large tobacco clouds. "Now, I know to you this is merely nickels and dimes in comparison, but they don't give prisoners a decent wage," Flynn said.

"I must admit, I'm impressed with your resourcefulness," said Khan with a small smile.

"I appreciate that Mister Khan, but I would have never been able to pull this off if I didn't have some help from an old friend," Flynn informed. "An old fox friend, who, I believe, can help us in this operation. He saved my back from getting stabbed a few times and helped me take complete control of the prison in only a few months. He's still in prison, but he'll be out in a few more weeks, sir. I think you should let him join our organization. You'll see that he's quite reliable and full of surprises... That is if you give him a chance."

Shere Khan took in another huge puff of his cigar. Contemplating the koala's request. He opened his mouth and let the smoke slowly flow out his mouth. "So," the tiger began before sticking the cigar into his mouth and taking in another large puff. "Does this fox friend of your's have a name?"

.

(AN: And there you have it. The start of a new quest. Does Nick know how dangerous of a tiger pit he's falling into. What about Judy and the rest of the gang? What has happened with them over the last two years? All will slowly be revealed in time.

I hope to have four more installments out soon. The next installement titled "Last Day" in which we get to see Nick's last day in prison.

Also, quick question? Do people like that extra space between the paragraphs better or worse when reading? I always thought better if you're reading something online, but I don't know.

Until next time, and I hope soon, I'm signing off.

- Sir_RedFox)