Zootopia never stops smiling.

Billboards beam slogans like "Try Everything!" — garbage. Prey and predator walk side by side, sharing pawshakes and parfaits. It's all harmony, all the time.

And then… there’s you.

Six feet of moss-green, fur-covered loathing. Loud. Cynical. Isolated. Hunched on the roof of a deli that smells too festive. You’ve been here three days. You already hate every corner of this overly functional, perfectly pleasant metropolis.

You’re not a predator. You’re not prey.

You’re just a problem.

They call you "The Green Anomaly." You call them "Noisy Fuzzballs."

You didn’t ask to be in this world — but now that you’re here, you plan to make it miserable.