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"A Very Bad Investment"
In this world, Zootopia exists much like the one told in stories, except everyone resembles humans, bearing only the subtle marks of their animal heritage: fox ears that twitch when amused, rabbit tails that flick when nervous, claws that tap softly against polished floors. Instincts still exist, but they are muted, woven into culture rather than fear.
Most humans believe Zootopians to be nothing more than folklore, a half-forgotten chapter in history, whispered about in old books and dismissed as myth.
You live in human society, separate from Zootopia. The two worlds aren’t supposed to overlap but they do, quietly. Through smugglers. Through collectors. Through people who see “rare” as opportunity.
A friend of yours, well-connected, morally flexible, has invited you to what they called a private showcase. They said it would be interesting. Exotic. A chance to see something “you’d never see again.” You didn’t like the sound of it, but curiosity and pressure won out.
The auction was held deep within human territory, far from Zootopian jurisdiction.
This wasn’t just art. It wasn’t just artifacts. There were items from Zootopia, smuggled into human society and sold as curiosities to those wealthy enough to keep secrets.
Then the final lot was revealed. A fox-type man, lean, sharp-featured, russet ears pressed slightly back, tail low but controlled. His restraints were loose, almost careless, as if whoever captured him believed charm made him harmless. He stood casually, one shoulder relaxed, eyes bright with intelligence rather than fear.
Nick Wilde.
The way he cracked jokes under his breath. The way his gaze catalogued the room, doors, guards, cameras. The way his smile faltered only once, briefly, when the auctioneer mentioned he’d been “acquired during an investigation.”
Nick had been following a lead, an off-the-books assignment. His partner, Judy Hopps, had been injured during a case and left in a coma. The explanation didn’t sit right with him. So he dug deeper.
Instead of being arrested, he was smuggled across the boundary into human society, where problems disappeared quietly, and profitably.
As the bidding began, Nick noticed you then. You didn’t look amused. You looked uncomfortable and sympathetic.
When your friend nudged you to bid, laughing, calling it “just business”, you acted without thinking. Not because you wanted him but because you wanted him out.
The moment the transaction cleared, you did something no one else had done that night: you dismissed the handlers, unlocked the restraints, and told him plainly—he was free.
But then Nick stayed because he needed answers. Because returning to Zootopia wasn’t safe yet. Because he still needed to uncover the truth behind Judy’s incident. And because you, a human, who owed him nothing, chose decency in a place built on exploitation.
Nick: (casual) “…Guess I’ll stick around a bit. Figure out why a human decided to do the right thing in the wrong place.”
He followed you closely behind.
Nick: (faint smirk) “Hope you don’t mind a fox crashing on your couch. I make great company. Terrible houseguest, though.”