Author's Note: Hallo everybody. I don't usually have many words to say before I write these things, on account of me not having written any of 'these things' in a long time. I may be a little rusty. I have to say though, about Zootopia; it's not every day you run into universes with such potential for expansion. I mean, the social structure of uplifted animals leaves open a lot of opportunities, surprisingly enough. But there was one thing that always bothered me... what was Bellwether's deal, exactly? Oh yes, I suppose I should put up a big fat SPOILER WARNING, but somehow I can't imagine anyone reading this hasn't seen the movie. Unfortunately the twist got spoiled before I saw it, hence my desire to overcompensate with SPOILER WARNINGS. So yeah, what was her deal, as they say? I've seen so many different interpretations of her deal (and yes, I will continue to use that specific term) that I couldn't help but bring in my own interpretation. That was before my imaginatorium of the head kicked in, and well... here we are. Enjoy the story.

PS: Many thanks to Berserker88 for helping me come up with a title for this story on TV Tropes. You may have heard of him already. If you haven't, go read his story "Born To Be Wilde", it's shaping up fantastically. Preferably after having read this, though. :P

Oh yes, and I don't own Zootopia/Zootropolis, obviously; that's Disney's property. This was written purely for fun.

The Silence Of A Lamb, Part I

SAMUEL D. BURMOWITZ, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW

BURMOWITZ & RUNNE LAW FIRM

The tall and slender siamese cat stared longingly at his business card as he sat in the cheap cushioned chair about four times too big for him. He had been forced to sit very deep into it so his tail would fit through the small hole at the back instead getting awkwardly lodged underneath him, making him look slightly off as he sat there. But this was the least of his concerns.

With one paw still clutching his card, he pulled up the sleeve on his suit jacket and shirt to look at his silver watch. It was almost two in the afternoon. He was going to think about dinner, but then he remembered that he only made sure to have his appointment after lunch so he wouldn't be tempted to think about food. Holding his watch further up, he compared it against the clock on the opposite wall. It was too fast. The seconds hand on his watch was racing away like a cheetah on catnip, and he just couldn't have that. Finally slotting his card into the pocket on his jacket, he made sure to very carefully and precisely adjust the seconds hand on his watch with laser accuracy until they aligned perfectly.

With that out of the way, he began to look around the room again. The clock on the wall had disappointingly reassured him he still had about two minutes to go. Two minutes until he'd have to face the music, so to speak. Adjusting his tie out of habit, he looked over at the coffee table opposite, stacked up with those bundles of glossy paper that you hardly ever see mammals reading anymore. Not with all the smartphones consuming the lives of mammals everywhere.

It was this thought that drew his attention to the only other person in the room. The stout aardvark in a ZPD uniform sitting at a desk with his feet up, his face obscured by the latest issue of Rolling Roan, with a picture of former mayor Lionheart's big, beaming smug face splattered on the cover. The cat had to force himself to look away; it was one of those faces he just couldn't stand. Not because he was a politician, or even a corrupt one. It was just the way it was constructed. They always seem to come with power, he had noticed, wringing his paws in even more impatience. If he had to wait much longer, he thought, he'd have to open up his nearby briefcase and start reading the papers of his old clients. He'd done enough reading on his newest client for one day, and those magazines on the table opposite were clearly in megafauna size. Far too big for him.

However, before he could run out of things to distract himself with, he was ever-so-slightly startled by the loud buzzing that accompanied the lighting-up of a red light mounted on the wall, just above the aardvark. Grabbing his briefcase and sliding off the chair, the cat dusted his suit down to get rid of the extra-large fibres that had stuck to him, reforming his professional composure to the best of his capability.

Meanwhile, the aardvark was clearly in no rush to get anything done, he thought, the way he very slowly slapped his magazine down on the desk and clambered down from his chair, exposing the great height difference between him and the cat as he reached ground level. While the cat may have been tall for his kind, and the aardvark may have been small for a ZPD officer, it was not enough to subvert the expected size disparities.

"Lewwks like it's time, Sem." The aardvark said in a heavy Aardvarker dialect as he very ponderously approached the barred door to the right of his desk and fumbled about with the keycard-ring attached to his belt.

"You don't say." The cat replied, rolling his blue eyes a little. The aardvark didn't respond as he found the correct keycard and waved it around in front of a scanner, taking a moment to pick something out of his eye with his free claw. A beep sounded, and the great barred door before them unlocked with a 'clunk'. The aardvark lumbered through the squeaky door like he was eight times as big as he is, and the cat followed with long strides. He knew that just walking faster would make him look silly if he was trying to keep up with a bigger animal.

Once he stepped beyond the threshold of the barred door, the architecture very noticeably changed. The walls were still a shade of dull, depressing grayish-blue, but the carpeted floor was replaced with a slightly dirty concrete one, the ceiling became a lot higher, and glancing to his right, he passed by a number of holding cells. They were filled with mammals of all shapes and sizes, ranging from a rat pacing up and down and nervously fidgeting with every part of his body, to an elephant, lying down on a bench clearly too small for him, probably drunk from the way his cellmates recoiled in disgust whenever he breathed out.

However, the cat had little time to appreciate these miscellaneous prisoners or their stories, for he and his insectivorous guardian soon reached another big, steel door, with many slots of varying heights. The aardvark stood by and loudly banged on the door thrice, sending deafening 'clong' sounds along the echo-prone hall and making the cat wince slightly, thanks to his sensitive hearing.

"She already in there?" He asked, once the echoes had disappeared.

"Yip. She's all yours." The officer answered, putting one claw on his hip and wiping his snout with the other. It was only now that the cat was able to get a good look at the label on his uniform: 'DE SCHNUTZ', it said.

"You want me to ca'm in therrre with yeh?" He continued in a tone that the cat couldn't tell was genuine or not, as he reached his now probably-quite snotty claw up to the door handle.

The cat simply kept his blank face on, adjusting his tie again. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'd much rather speak confidential business in private."

"Will, doh-n't sai I deedn't warn yeh." The aardvark said, briefly stopping to quite loudly gulp as he, again, slowly opened the door before them. "She aiiin't gonneh be too heppy to see you."

The cat tried to shrug it off, walking inside as quickly as possible. "Most of my clients tend not to be happy in the first place, on account of being arrested and all, but thanks for being so concerned for my safety." He said. By the time he was finished, he had fully entered the room, and Officer De Schnutz was already in the process of closing the door behind him. The cat glanced behind him just in time to see the Officer's slightly unnerved expression before the last ray of light from outside was covered up. He was on his own now.

Looking before him, he saw a giant darkened room, the only source of light being the fluorescent bars directly above a table which, by his standards, was about two-and-a-half stories tall. The table was flanked on both ends by equally-tall chairs, which had been helpfully provided with ladders for smaller species such as himself. He couldn't make out his client sitting on one of the chairs, on account of the shadow cast by the table.

Taking a deep breath, the cat strode forward, placing both paws on the ladder before him in such a way that he could keep hold of his briefcase. He remembered that he had deliberately removed a few of his redundant papers, which just made him even gladder that he wasn't forced to start rummaging through it earlier.

Soon, he reached the very top of the chair, which itself was even bigger than the chair from the waiting room. Unfortunately, while the chair had been pulled in, the gap between it and the table was far too big for him to be able to sit down and see his client at the same time, so he was forced to stay standing up. Or he would have done, if he hadn't noticed that there was a smaller, much more appropriately-sized pair of chairs and a table on top of the big one. Thus, he clambered on top of the big table, and it was here that he finally got a good look at his client.

The lady was a very small sheep. She sat there atop the chair-on-a-table, motionless, staring through her big glasses which, under any other circumstance, would have made her look rather adorable, but here only served to frame her stare. She was quite obviously frowning, and her arms were crossed tight, in a way that, to the cat, made her look a lot like a kitten who had just thrown a temper tantrum. Or it would have done, had it not been for her immaculate bright orange prison apparel. The big glasses and the childlike expression did not match with that, he thought. It's not like she had been caught trying to steal from the cookie jar.

"Good afternoon, Miss Bellwether." He said as he approached her, placing his briefcase on the table-on-a-table. He was tempted briefly to make a joke about that, but stopped himself.

He sat down on his own chair and waited. The client did not speak. She continued to just sit there, staring at him.

"…Good afternoon, Miss Bellwether." He said again, this time in a different tone. Once again, no response.

He figured he would have to take things up a notch. This was far from the first time he'd been given the silent treatment by one of his clients. One good way to deal with this, he had learned, was to leave the room and re-enter. However, he didn't really feel like climbing all over that impromptu obstacle course again, so he instead settled for getting up, walking over to the end of the table, walking all the way back, and sitting down again.

"GOOD… afternoon. Miss. Bellwether." He said again, this time with added emphasis.

But alas, it was no good.

"Good… morning, Miss Bellwether?" He tried being ridiculous, if only in the hopes that she would try and correct his obvious mistakes.

It got something out of her, that much was certain. She started to smirk a little bit, in a way that took him aback for a brief moment, but he quickly regained his composure. He'd dealt with much worse than this, he thought. He'd dealt with the Longneck Killer. That is, a killer who happened to be a 'Longneck', i.e., a giraffe, not a killer who targets giraffes. Although one of his victims was another giraffe, so both senses were correct.

Now back on target thanks to that little mental tangent, he was disappointed to see that she was still refusing to talk.

"Goooooood evening? …Miss Bellwether?"

He tried, oh did he try, but sadly nothing would seem to coax her out of her silence.

"…Good night?"

Finally, he got up, making it look like he was about to leave again, only to turn back around at the last second. He slowly approached the table to open his briefcase, only to slam it shut with incredible volume. His client's ears did twitch a bit, but she still didn't move or say anything. In fact, it was only at this point that he noticed something. Her pupils hadn't followed him when he moved. She wasn't staring at him; she was staring through him. Like he didn't even exist.

"Uh… dusk? Sunset? Anything? Hello?" The cat began to get just a teensy bit desperate as he waved his paw directly in front of his client's face.

"Hellooo? Earth to former assistant mayor that's about to get slapped with life imprisonment! It's your defence attorney. You're gonna have to talk to me at some point, you know."

But it was then that it hit him, like the headlights of a big truck on a dark road about to run someone over. He had read the psychological profile, or rather, the amount that could be legally obtained. There was a lot of medical fluff he didn't really understand (after all, if you're both a lawyer and a doctor, then you might as well be Superlion), but the general gist he got was that she was slowly going crazy, on top of a desire to toy with mammals. Especially predator species such as himself. Thus, he sat back down in his seat, calmly, placed his paws on the table in front of him, and said:

"I see what's going on here. Miss Bellwether, if you thought I'd eventually go insane and start savaging you on CCTV to get you to stop staring through me like I'm a plank of wood in the corner, then I'm afraid you're mistaken. And for that matter, I'm not leaving until you talk. I'll stay here all night if I have to. If I can sleep in my office, I can do that. No problem."

The smirk slowly disappeared from his client's face.

"…Fine." Bellwether at last spoke, as if she had finally decided to fling the cookie jar to the floor and storm upstairs to her room. "Congratulations. You broke me."

The cat was almost going to smile to himself in success, until Miss Bellwether began literally applauding him, clapping her hooves. Very slowly. With the same bored expression on her face the whole time. For a whole six seconds. It was like watching a sloth try to clap, except deliberate.

"Now what the hell do you want?" She abruptly said, almost cutting off her final clap as she did so and rather harshly raising her voice.

"As I was saying, I'm your defence attorney. Sam Burmowitz. Does that ring a bell, if you'll pardon the pun?"

Sam leaned forward to offer a pawshake, only to have it rebuffed.

"Never heard of you." She said, matter-of-factly.

Sam sat back and cocked one furry brow up. How could she not know who he is? It's not that he's an especially famous lawyer, or an infamous one, at that… after all, the Longneck Killer case had been almost a year ago by now, and that's not even mentioning the… the one that made him momentarily scrunch his eyes up in shame. He couldn't think about that right now.

Of course, it only took him a moment to remember that his and Runne's law firm had officially represented her ever since she became Assistant Mayor (mighty convenient that she turn down the Zootopia District Attorney's Office in favour of a private firm, he mentally added), yet this was the first time she'd been charged with any crime, and what a series of crimes to start out with. Of course, back when she was in the clear, Sam would have been the perfect mammal to defend her, and all the better that he is a predator animal to discredit anyone who might have figured out her anti-predator agenda. But that seemed like an eternity ago.

"You don't need to have heard of me." He finally said, doing his best to ignore that mental conundrum. Regardless of the facts, it wasn't his job to question these things… and yes, he realised the irony of such a thought when his client was a sheep. "What's important is that you have a trial coming up in three weeks. The outcome of that trial will determine whether you go free or spend the rest of your life rotting behind bars."

"Why should I care?" Bellwether raised her voice again, this time throwing her hooves in the air like she just didn't care, as she had pointed out. "They're going to find me guilty, anyway. They have all the evidence they need. Besides, being behind bars would probably be an improvement over being stuck in the same room with passive-aggressive preds like you. At least the ones in prison make no attempt to pretend they're anything other than what they are."

Sam was about to retort to her horrifically speciesist tirade, but opted instead to go silent, just as Bellwether had been doing earlier. He sat up and put on his professional face, attempting to mimic her trademark 'stare-through-you-like-you're-invisible'. He'd read enough of her anti-predator schemes already. He had seen this coming before he had even gotten out of bed that morning. Hell, he'd seen it coming every day since he became a lawyer, he reminded himself.

"I can see you doing it right now." Bellwether continued after a pause, folding her arms once again. "You may try to look respectable, with that fancy suit and briefcase with gold locks on it, although it's probably just regular steel painted to look like gold… but you're eyeing me up right now, thinking how ugly I am compared to you. You say you're here to help, but you just want to destroy me. Everyone does."

Sam leaned forward over the table-on-the-table, resting on his elbows. In his mind, he had put on his serious face, which was a lot like his professional face but more serious. She needed to be reminded of the context for what was happening here. "Ma'am, with all due respect-"

"Save it, I used to be a politician, I know exactly what you were going to say." She interrupted, literally waving off his argument, before proceeding to do an obnoxious impression of a stereotypical rules-stickler or jobsworth. "With all due respect, blah-di-blah-di-blah, it's m'jooorrrrrb!" She said, rocking her head from side to side, fluttering her eyelashes and waving her hooves alongside.

Then almost cartoonishly quickly, she had 'jumped' back to her prior state of sitting bored, although this time she seemed to be grabbing the sides of her chair, like she was going to launch off at any moment. "Exactly. That's your problem. You preds just take it for granted that you have these positions of power over us. That's why you always feel the need to treat us like five-year-old pups, cubs, lambs, whatever. I know damn well why you're here. Because you're getting paid; a lot of money, I'd bet. And I know that you're not gonna be satisfied until I say something that you can bring home to your boss and trade in for a shiny new coin you can play with. So how's about this…"

Bellwether leaned forward, getting very close to Sam's face. He could feel the wool on her head. As she stared him down, she smirked again, slowly narrowing her eyelids.

"…I'm guilty. Okay? There, I said it. I just saved you so much time, it's unbelievable. But in case you didn't catch it, I'll say it again. Guilty. I am guilty. Of every single charge. No question about it, no 'debate', no nothing. I am G-U-I-L-T-Y, GUILTY!"

She had practically screamed that last part right into his face, in sudden departure to her previously very quiet tone. Sam had to be honest with himself; it did make him jump a tiny bit. But he stood his ground as Bellwether sat back again and began to talk in a mocking tone.

"So now you can just run along back to your little scratching post and toss that news up to your boss and hope he'll give you a treat for it. Maybe if you're lucky, he'll even give you some catnip! And then you can roll around on the floor…" She began to sound increasingly irritated, looking up at the light and holding her hooves high, "…Basking in your self-assured superiority over everyone else because all that's holy knows that anything I try couldn't possibly topple that system!"

Bellwether ended her tirade with another sudden burst of volume and speed, throwing her hooves to her sides, casting the look of a murderer in Sam's direction. And he'd seen plenty of murderers throw looks in his direction. By this point he was getting used to it. He already knew what movie she was trying to imitate with this 'cold, calculating but slightly unstable mastermind' act.

"…Right." Sam finally leant back, stopping to consider all of this. The silence lasted for nearly half a minute, with Bellwether remaining in that pose the entire time, breathing quite quickly and with a slightly pained expression, beginning to sweat a little. Sam took a paw to his face and noticed he, too, was starting to sweat.

Sam scanned his eyes around to look in the area around her angry face. She is very hostile, he knew, but not quite insane. Not enough for an insanity defence. Yet she also seemed to resign herself to her fate; to life imprisonment. From what he'd read, Bellwether wasn't even that old. She was one of the youngest Assistant Mayors in the history of Zootopia, in fact. As far as Sam was concerned, you'd have to at least be a little crazy to just throw all that away as part of a prejudiced temper tantrum. Her very character lends itself to not thinking things through, he concluded.

"I'll take that to mean 'you want a Plea Bargain'. Is that all? What sort of sentence are you looking for?" He asked. He knew that nothing that he said in private with his client was legally-binding; but it never hurt anyone to make sure.

"I have nothing more to say to you. Besides 'you're a smug little b-stard.'" She said, returning to her 'default' stance.

"…Thank you, Miss Bellwether." Sam began to wrap up; knowing that trying to convince her of anything at this stage would get her nowhere, he clambered down from his chair and retrieved his briefcase. "I'll be honest, I'm a little glad this meeting took up less than a tenth of the time I'd scheduled it for. Now I have much more free time today."

"Sarcasm. Of course." Bellwether interrupted before he could give any standard farewells. "The only thing you can hide behind when you're afraid. Just like that damn, stupid fox."

"Excuse me?" Sam couldn't help but stop and ask. It seemed a little random, even by slightly-crazed manipulative politician standards.

"Don't play dumb with me, cat. You've been trembling ever since you came in here."

Sam's eyes widened at her words. He thought he had been very meticulous about his body language, but he didn't notice until she had said it. He was trembling, against his will, and he was helpless to do anything about it. It must have been his survival instincts kicking in again, he thought, but how? It's not like she was a serial killer… but then he remembered, serial killers can't kill if they're in prison. Bellwether could. Bellwether had orchestrated chaos from a small boiler room in City Hall.

He tried to force himself to stop trembling. He knew how irrational and paranoid these thoughts were, and as he did so, Bellwether continued, her voice descending to a mocking whisper. "To think, even though I got caught, I was this close…" She visualised a very small amount with a gesture. "…To utterly destroying the precious little silver cage you and your friends in their Ivory Tower have built up around me and everyone like me. So close that you're still afraid of a tiny little sheep in an even tinier box. Pathetic."

Sam tried to shrug off her words, turning his gaze over to the giant door. He reminded himself that he was never, and never will be, anyone's pawn. The only authority he answers to is the law. It is not his job to question the law, merely understand it. Bellwether's words were empty, he thought to himself. They meant nothing if the law had already condemned her.

"You know I'll be back." Was all he said to her as he began his arduous journey back down the giant elephant-sized chair.

"Whatever. Bye bye, kitty." Was the only response he got, prompting him to look back briefly, catching a glimpse of the sheep mockingly waving at him as he disappeared down the chair ladder. She seemed to be giggling a little, actually, which only further convinced him that this was all just a show.

As he approached the very bottom of the huge door to signal for Officer De Schnutz to let him out, he soon found himself mentally chastising himself for his previous line of thinking. Those were the thoughts of a prosecutor. He is a defender. Guilty or not, he was the only hope she had of ever recovering from her current… state. Any attempts to toy with him, he thought, would do nothing but further guarantee a promising life wasted away behind bars. If she wanted to commit incredibly drawn-out suicide, then he couldn't allow that. To do otherwise would make him a murderer.

As the door was opened for him from the other side, he hurried through even faster than he had entered before, making sure to stare down the hall back to the barred door once he was out. He realised that he was only cycling through these thoughts to make himself feel better, really. The best solution, he decided, was to think about something else. Like dinner.

"Huh. Thet was fest." Officer De Schnutz said from behind him, having fully closed the door. He slammed his fist on a button next to the door, sounding the buzzer from down the hall. "Cen't sai eh'm surpraised."

"I'm not done with her yet, Officer." Sam turned back to look him in the eye, in his final pre-dinner thought for the day. "Not by a long shot."