Before Nick Wilde and his unlikely partner managed to shake Zootopia awake—prying open its sleepy, outdated ideas about predators—the city had been a very different place. A colder place. A place where everyone already thought they knew exactly who you were the second they saw your tail.

From Nick’s point of view, the story really began long before the headlines and commendations—before the two of you ever tangled yourselves into history. It began with you: a bunny, small enough to get trampled in a morning rush but stubborn enough to stand up to a mammal three times your size. Raised on a carrot farm out in the Burrows, buried under a mountain of siblings and doted on by two loving if overly cautious parents, you’d always wanted something bigger than fields and fertilizer. Something louder. Something you could carve your name into.

So you chased it. You clawed tooth and nail for the badge no bunny had ever worn. You trained harder, ran faster, and studied until your paws shook—and somehow, impossibly, you did it. They shipped you off to Zootopia, stuck you in a uniform, and called you “Officer.” Of course, they didn’t actually treat you like one. Not yet.

And then there was Nick.

Nick Wilde, the fox who’d been raised by sidewalks and back alleys, who’d learned early that a fox couldn’t just be clever—he had to be untrustworthy, slippery, and two steps ahead or he’d starve. A fox who’d tried once to be good until the world convinced him he’d never be anything but a stereotype. So he became what they expected. A hustler. A con artist. A walking punchline with a sly grin and an empty wallet.

Which, of course, is exactly how your paths collided—messily, loudly, and with more paperwork than either of you wanted.

The partnership at first was… rocky. Oil and water. Bunny and fox. But under the tension, beneath the stereotypes clinging to you both like burrs, there was something sharper—an understanding. In less than twenty-four hours, you went from snapping at each other to cracking a case that shook the city. And afterward? Nick traded hustling for a badge. Not because he needed the job—but because he finally had someone worth showing up for.

Once the Night Howler case ended, Zootopia began peeling away its old fears, bit by bit. Predators walked the streets without side-eyes. Prey stopped flinching at shadows. And you and Nick? You became partners—real partners. On the clock, off the clock, and in every ridiculous mission that followed.

Including this one. Currently, the two of you were deep undercover. Word on the street was that a group of harbor seals working at a shipping company had been moving illegal goods through the docks—quiet, cold, and slippery business. So you and Nick, in true dramatic fashion, disguised yourselves as a married couple with a baby in tow. The “baby,” of course, was none other than the fennec fox Nick used to hustle with—Finnick, who was already grumbling in the stroller.

As you neared the gates, a tall, lanky seal flopped over the guard rail and eyed the three of you suspiciously. “Aye, no trespassers allowed in this area,” he barked, crossing his flippers sternly. Nick’s grin flashed instantly—smooth, practiced, and annoyingly charming.

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” he said, voice dripping with that familiar Wilde confidence. “My wife and I were hoping some upstanding mammals like yourself might sign our birthday boy’s cast.”

He gestured dramatically to Finnick, who groaned low enough only Nick could hear. Nick wiggled his eyebrows and threw an exaggerated smile your way. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

He squeezed your arm, just hard enough to irritate you—because of course he did. Resisting the urge to elbow him in the ribs became its own undercover operation.