Authors notes: I would like to thank my proof reader, theUltimateblack. I'd also like to thank the Deviant artist Escrainus, who kindly did the awesome new cover art for this Fic. Finally, I'd like to thank the amazing Arcana, who's going through this like a nit comb to find all those niggly little mistakes that slipped the net.

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For those of you who don't know, this is an attempted recreation of the cut 'collar plot', pieced together using cut scenes and art scraps. Now, this version is wrong. It was proven wrong by release art while I still worked on it, and by more cut scenes even later on. Originally, I had a revised plot outline as detailed at the back of this Fic, but even that was proven wrong. Eventually you'll find my latest theory there (current one is out of date), though I'm pretty sure that's wrong too!

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Suffice to say, if I constantly tried to rewrite this story to be 100% accurate, I'd be spending all my time on an impossible task. Thus, I think it's best to take the story you have, and polish it up the best shine possible. I do hope you enjoy.

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(Note I used to have some music lyrics before each chapter, but after fan-fic suddenly deleted one of my stories, I've removed them. They're still on the A03 version though).

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Chapter 1:

It was dark… dark and warm with the humidity in the air sticking to your skin and body hair. The sky, peeking through the thick green canopy up above, was host to thousands upon thousands of stars whose light, unobstructed by the harsh glare of artificial competition, glistened through the verdant overgrowth in a million colours like spilt glitter on the inkwell-purple night sky canvas. The Moon, a bright cream crescent, hung in the air like a lantern. The sounds… a cacophony of competing bugs and guttural, primeval calls pricked all ears in attendance, sending them swivelling curiously back and forth as they tried to hone in on the source.

"Thousands of years ago," came a calm and soothing voice. Soft and maternal, it spoke as it gently pulled those who followed it forward, "the world… was a very different place…" There was a pause, the voice pulling the listeners forward as if about to reveal a fantastic surprise. "A place, where…"

"EVERYBODY WAS NAKED!"

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In a flash, the night time scene was torn aside as a train shot along its tracks, slicing through the air as it began travelling around a great bend in the line. Barrelling past brown stone cliffs and swaying conifers, the bright blue sky and warm sun reflecting off its tinted windows, a side window shook before sliding down to reveal a small face, its fur russet red and dirty cream, poking out. The wind flattened both his fur and his green short sleeved shirt, while pulling back his large ears and his little tie behind his head, making them flap in the breeze. While his eyes were squinted up tight, shielding themselves from the storm, a wide toothy grin shot across his stubby little muzzle as he lived in the moment. His eyes widened with anticipation and wonder as the train finished turning and entered the home straight. Across a great concrete viaduct it raced, over the water and towards the great steel and glass metropolis beyond. The centre, filled with huge steel and glass towers whose twisting, almost organic, structures reached proudly into the sky, was a kaleidoscope of shining colour that stood out as a beacon for all those who were lost in life to follow. The little kit was certainly following it, his wide eyes locked on and fully enthralled by the spectacle, drawn towards the city like a moth to a flame and filled with wonder. It was only when a larger paw tapped on his shoulder that the trance was broken.

Closing the window part way and hopping down from the ledge, the boy looked up at a large figure looming above him whose dark red fur was painted orange from the light in the room. As a weak and trembling smile grew across his muzzle, his paw fished into a suit pocket and brought out a small gift-wrapped box. Holding it up, his quivering and sickly grin growing ever wider as he did so, he watched as his son's emerald coloured eyes widened at the sight. The little kit's mouth was straining to smile even more than it already was while he hopped up and down in anticipation, his paws tuckered up against his chest and tail violently swishing around. Leaning forward, the older fox gave a sniff as a tear, and then another, ran down his face as he reached out with the gift in paw. As he went, his son pulled the present out of his hand and tore off the wrapping, before practically squealing as he saw the box beneath.

"Thanks Dad!" he shouted, his voice brimming with excitement, gratitude and joy before he paused, looking up at his sniffling and crying father.

"Paps…?" he began to ask, his voice suddenly filled with concern and his head sharply tilting to the side, before a paw came forward, a finger raised up to his mouth to shush him. Looking up he saw his father, dressed in his best suit and tie, with tears in his eyes and an ever-widening smile on his mouth.

"I love you Son," the older fox said, his voice tinged with pride and sadness as he raised up his other paw. Drawing his son into a hug, he reached out and pulled up the window, shielding the pair from the prying eyes of the outside world as flecks of sand began flying past, speckling the window as the train carried on. Pulling out it seemed the train had aged and worn in that time, two and a half decades of wear peeling and dulling the once lustrous shine as the express raced into the city proper.

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"This is my town," narrated a voice. It was loud, deep(ish), clear and spoke proudly as it charismatically extolled the virtues of the place it called home. The train was finally back on land, passing through a wide sandy plain
and shooting by a great range of buildings that were all built up around the massive palm hotel tower; its decorative fronds casting welcome shadows across the township below as they blocked out the harsh sun. On the streets below, thousands of mammals could be seen living their own unique lives, working and playing next to each other in complete harmony. Carrying on, past the restaurants and bars which eagerly waited for the cool of the night to open, the train weaved through a set of great canyons. Their steep cliffs ranged in hue from red to yellow to brown, with homes and businesses built into great towers or carved into the rocks themselves. Leaving even these, the train was painted in a hot orange as it closed in on a great bank of heaters, before it dove through a tunnel at its base.

"Zootopia…"

The train exited the tunnel and was met with the snow-scape of Tundratown. Moving away from climate wall, world's largest air conditioner and marvel of mammal engineering, its wake swept up the flurries of snow being sprayed by the numerous snow cannons into a twirling mist that was carried away by the wind. Passing high over the town centre on a set of great brick arches, it passed bustling cold markets and winter sports parks, before diving through a second tunnel.

"Land of opportunity."

The orange train stood out like a sore thumb against the rich greens and browns of the rainforest district. Passing beneath the elevated bridges and walkways, it was just in time to see the thousands of rain emitters turn on. The downpour began: clearing the air, whisking away the excess heat and flushing out the accumulating grime of city life. Weaving through the giant trees, or huge buildings (often only experts could tell the difference), the train was cleaned of the dust and grime from the earlier parts of its trip all while the glass of its observation dome reflected the hundreds of rainbows forming in the morning mist. Entering the last tunnel, burrowing through the rolling hills that separated the rainforest district from downtown, it finally emerged into the warmth of Savannah central in all its glory.

"Where any mammal can achieve their dreams!"

In the distance, a glitzy elevator began descending, passing window after window to the lives of the well-endowed. With a keen eye, you could spot a smartly dressed pair of squirrels, effortlessly polishing the horn of a distinguished Rhino as he checked the cuffs on his fine suit. Further down was a family of possums, hanging by their tails as they settled in for a movie night/day, with popcorn and all. Evidently tired by a hard night's work, a Hippopotamus put on a pair of soft, silk pyjamas before relaxing through the decorative lily's and into the warm, moisturising embrace of his jumbo-sized water bed. The elevator, if you were still following it, reached the ground level and opened. Stepping out was a stunning Gazelle, who just so happened to take that as a stage name when she sung for the city, who was soon laid upon by the paparazzi. Having waited patiently like vultures (not that there were any in the crowd seeing as they lived off in the Kingdom of Avaria (although two were apparently in the city on a business trip)), they flew forward to gorge on their latest meal. Bulbs flashed and the air was filled with thin whiffs of smoke as the pop star, enjoying every minute and second, strutted to her waiting limo and entered. Driving off, the photographers followed leaving the street eerily quiet.

On the other side of the street walked three scruffy figures, slowly plodding along. Their workman overalls were stained and grubby, the sticky gunk covering them also gluing to the mammals' fur. Their leader, a red fox in a worn out green anorak, walked with the same world-weary slouch and disinterested eyes as his two companions, each foot being pulled in front of the other and falling to the floor as they carried on. Looking forward, he sighed and glanced sideways.

"Unless you're a chomper!" Nick Wilde's internal voice continued, using up the last of his enthusiasm for a final flourish, laced in sarcasm. The tone dropped, becoming bitter and weary. "AKA, you descend from a line of mammals that, like thousands of years ago, ate other mammals. Something which no one's done in several millennia… 'cause eating your neighbour would be totally disgusting… "

The trio continued walking down the road, before turning towards a grimy factory where they clocked in, their movements robotic and without thought.

"But they still call us chompers… and that's fine! 'Cause I got plenty of names for them, too."

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The inside of the factory was hot and humid, the noise unbearable. In certain areas came the incessant chirping of crickets, freshly raised in the outer districts and surrounding country. Entire shipping containers could be brought in, hauled from the train carts by an overhead gantry crane before the live contents was poured out onto conveyor belts. The dumb insects, oblivious to their fate, rolled along towards a large metal box which had yellow and black trefoils plastered across its dull lead walls while, from the small entrance and exit, a greeny-blue glow emanated. The crickets were carried in and, in an instant, their chirps and sounds were painlessly stopped. Warm, mushy and free of disease or parasites, the food to be was rolled out and split into several conveyors, sending it towards half a dozen industrial mashers that were all hard at work. As the metal crushers rose and fell and burgers were spurted out, all accompanied by the many soulless sounds that were continually squealing and beating away, the three mammals unenthusiastically attended to the operation in their worn-out work uniforms.

The smallest, a tan coloured fennec fox, his enormous ears folded down beneath the baggy blue factory scrubs which were at least two sizes larger than him, would wander from extruder to extruder waiting for the occasional fault. Every time the patties coming out of the outlets were misshapen or the tube itself clogged, he would press the stop button and begin bitterly mumbling to himself as he cleared out the extruder with a trowel. Straining his muscles to remove the blockage, he'd inevitably cover himself with muck in the process before turning the machine back on.

The largest, a chubby cheetah, swept up the continuous splatter and threw it back into the crushing vat. The mind-numbing tedium of his continuous job was at least sullied somewhat by the glitzy music that came out of his radio, permanently tuned to the pop station as evident from the out of tune lyrics he eagerly parroted. He could even crack a smile here and there, as he half danced along the platform doing his job.

The final worker, the red fox, overviewed the array of machines and checked that the level of meat in them never got too high or too low. With everything going fine at that moment he tapped his claws along a panel out of boredom, slouching as he did so. His hunched shoulders and bent posture showed through his costume, even as the baggy clothes he wore hid every part of him bar his face and tail. Looking up, he spotted an angry Beaver wander up and down an elevated gantry. Nick's eyes hardened as he looked on at his boss, who was busy barking incoherent orders to any unfortunate that he had decided to pick on.

"Wood-whacker," he thought, while his eyes narrowed further with contempt into a bitter scowl. "Look at him with his stupid flat tail. Looks like a steamroller ran over it. And those giant teeth… sod ancient mammals, those things can still go through trees! But here he is… running a family business making food he will never eat… for people he despises. At least I know that with that attitude, he's alone… hopefully. I suppose that's one tiny… insignificant… consolation…"

"WILDE!" shouted the screaming rodent. His eyes and index finger pointed like daggers at the fox, who just so happened to be his favourite unfortunate of all.

"Yes sir," Nick tiredly replied as he stood up, before starting to wander from machine to machine. He made himself look busy, but still kept a cursory glimmer of attention on his admonisher at all times.

"DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING! THIEVING, LYING… I KNOW YOUR KIND! I'LL CATCH YOU ONE DAY, RED HANDED AND THEN IT'S THE PARK BENCH FOR YOU!"

Nick, still doing his duties, merely looked up and smiled slightly before replying with as much sarcasm as he dared. "According to those mammals blessed with tri-colour vision, my paws are more of a maroonish..."

"DON'T SLY TALK ME FOX!" Woodwacker furiously interrupted, his scream sending the fox's ears flying backwards, plastering themselves against his skull. "I'LL CATCH YOU WITH HARD EVIDENCE ONE DAY, JUST YOU WAIT!"

Nick merely shrugged and went back to work, "Red fur, bushy tail, pointy ears and snout… that's all the evidence you'll ever find or care about…"

The Beaver gripped the iron bars, hackles raised and preparing another angry tirade, before a loud metal crash far away caught his attention and pulled him away.

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Twilight was approaching as the day shift left the Bugburga factory. On one side walked the executives and marketers, well dressed prey mammals and the odd predator, likely a union rep or token something or other. In a show of unity, the shop floor workers on the other side were all predators: big cats, small cats, canids, bears, mustelids, the odd civet and even an estranged member of the marsupial order or two, such as a Tasmanian devil. Dressed in their tatty overalls, they strolled out past the car park and out onto the streets, turning towards their home or a nearby bus or rail station. Among the latter group was Nick, whose ears were raised as one of his friends, the small fennec fox, spoke out in a voice at least two octaves too deep for a mammal that size.

"I'll pick up the van Slick, meet up by the station?"

Nick nodded, and as his two friends went their own way he wandered down the sidewalk. His coat collar pulled up tight around his neck like all those around him, shielding themselves from the cold breeze coming in from Tundratown, the fox aimlessly looked around before his eyes widened slightly as he saw a middle-aged deer driving past in her car. It was a face that he hadn't seen for twenty-five odd years, and he knew just the name for her. "Liar."

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-Twenty-five years ago-

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"Thousands of years ago, the world was a very different place. A place, where…"

"EVERYBODY WAS NAKED!"

The sudden energetic response had resulted in the school group bursting out in giggles and laughter. The tour leader, a young female deer, looked on with an amused smirk as her gaze fixed itself on a cute red fox kit, dressed up smart in green cargo shorts and a green collared t-shirt with a tie, who stood at the front of the group.

"Yes Nicholas, everybody was naked. We didn't have electricity, or cars, or buildings either."

The group of young kids, ranging from a small rat to a large Rhino, began murmuring as they processed the unbelievable idea. The tour guide, enjoying every minute, turned back to the presentation. It was a wide display case, showing a recreation of the primal jungle within it.

"There were other things different too back then," she continued.

"Like what?" asked a young girl from the crowd.

"Well," began the guide, "back then, mammals were divided into two groups. Prey with the flat teeth, and predators with the sharp teeth."

The announcement was met with slurps and sucks as the children began exploring their mouths, surveying their teeth with a newly awoken curiosity. The deer let them have their fun for a moment, before getting on to the important part of the field trip. The part that every kit, cub, kid and calf in Zootopia had to learn.

"And why didn't we get along?" she asked, before setting her gaze on a quieter member of the group. "Finnick?

One of the smallest Mammals in the group, a tiny fennec fox whose fur was still white in places and with ludicrous ears that were both larger than his actual head, concentrated intently for a moment before coming up with the most logical answer.

"Because we wouldn't share?"

"Close," replied the guide, as she stepped over towards a set of red curtains. "Because, predators… would eat us!"

The curtains were drawn open, showing the silhouette of a giraffe flee and panic as lions pounced and tore at it. Unified in their revulsion, the entire crowd made a chorus of eew's and other sounds of disgust.

"Now, no one's eaten anyone for thousands of years, but just to be extra safe, we have… The Tame Collar!"

The deer gestured over to a plinth in which a nylon collar was suspended. The grey fabric, reinforced by tough stiches and metal rivets, held a box the size of a pack of cards in its centre. A warm green light glowed from it, contrasting sharply with the holographic lion that now appeared. With the collar around his neck, he held his head high and wore a sharp suit while carrying a jet-black briefcase. Looking up were the predators and prey, Finnick and Nick at the front. Their eyes were glazed with awe, hands reaching up around their necks… to touch the shiny new collars strapped around them. Both smiled as they stood up straight, so happy that they were now grown up; so proud that they were big kits now.

The tour guide pressed a button and a film began, showing a cartoon lion. Standing up, with a coffee in hand, he looked as grown up and mature as the hologram one everyone had seen earlier.

"When a predator gets agitated," she began to explain, as a cartoon zebra walked onto stage and bumped into the lion. Knocking the coffee onto his shirt, the lion looked up before unleashing his fury. His face grew ugly with rage, a fearsome roar that made the poor Zebra cower shot out from his mouth, while his collar beeped three times in warning before activating.

"…The tame collar reminds them to be good…"

The short sharp buzz lit the screen blue for a few seconds before leaving a slightly stunned lion with a frizzy mane. After a quick pause to regain his composure, he smiled and shook hands with the Zebra in a mutual apology.

"So now, all mammals can be together!" finished the guide, as the cohort of school children began intermingling. Many of the prey began crowding around the occasional predator, stroking and feeling his or her collar while its owner beamed on with pride. Nicholas was about to wander off too, before he paused. His mouth piquing in thought, he turned and looked up at the guide.

"What if someone's really mean to us?" he asked, his head cocking to the side and ears flopping about as he tried to wrap his little head around the logic of the adult world. "Can't we fight back?"

The deer sighed slightly, before moving forwards, "Fights don't solve anything so you don't need to fight. Anyway, with your sharp claws and teeth, you could harm someone by mistake! You might even de-evolve and become Savage! You don't want that, do you?"

Nick paused for a moment, his face and ears tilting sharply to his other side as he thought. "I know but… my Dad cried when he put my collar on this morning. He said I didn't understand…"

"Well, your Dad might be a bad person and get shocked a lot…"

The little kit's brow furrowed at the perceived insult, while his eyes narrowed and voice adopted a deeper, angrier tone. "My Dad is the nicest person in the whole world!" he said defiantly as he crossed his arms and stretched up. "People call him honest John and…"

BEEP…

Nick paused suddenly, his eyes opening wide as his collar bleeped, its light now shining orange. Many of the students paused and gasped, looking his way with eyes that shone with anger, fear or curiosity. The collective shame caused Nick to cower somewhat, turning away from them with ears flat against his skull and the sensitive nape of his neck shielded with his arms, before the tour guide bent down and gently held him.

"Don't worry," she reassured him, "the collar just warned you there. It said, calm down son. This isn't worth getting angry about. I promise, it will only hurt you if you're super naughty and besides, wearing it means you can live in Zootopia! Where anyone can be anything… even you". She smiled as she gently hoofed Nick on his nose, eliciting a smile and perked up ears, before sending him hopping off to mingle with the rest of the crowd.

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-Present day-

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"Only hurt you if you're 'super naughty'" adult Nick grumbled as he walked along the pavement. His hand reached up and pulled down the high collar on his anorak, exposing the same old collar. It was scuffed a bit here and there from twenty-five years of wear and tear but the same orange light shone out, before dropping to green. His hand reached up and began shuffling the strap around and up, freeing the matted fur beneath its rest position to the cool embrace of the air. His other hand extended its claws and carefully snuck up before going underneath the strap, vainly trying to scratch a pervasive itch that hid beneath the device. Giving up, he grabbed a small tube from his pocket and rubbed some of the numbing cream around his neck, pushing it in on his pawpads so that it reached through his fur and to his worn skin beneath. Protesting at the tugging and pulling, the little box bleeped and went orange again. Nick merely grumbled some more, his words incoherent as several smaller prey families who happened to glance up pulled their children back as he approached. Nick gave a bored wave and smile, which merely sent some of them flying into their parents' arms in fear as the 'dangerous pred' shrugged before walking on by. Hoping to distract himself, he handed over a dollar at a nearby stand and grabbed a newspaper, before scanning through the headlines. He certainly distracted himself, but not in a good way. His mouth parted slightly and eyes widened in shock, his pupils taking in the big bold headline: 'Wolf goes savage, innocent sheep family saved by tame collar.'

His ears fell back with resignation as he read through the article. Up until now, savagery had always been a political buzzword or an adjective in scary children's stories. But here in the present, it depressed Nick to no end that the supporters of the damned collars seemed to be right after all. The article was brief, and didn't mention anything about the poor wolf's present state or illness or family, merely how terrifying he was and how scared the sheep were. After reading through the article a second time Nick looked around and breathed in and out in concern, pulling out a tie from underneath his anorak and cradling it in one paw, methodically stroking it for comfort with his thumb. As he ran his black pawpad along the soft, worn fabric, Nick relaxed somewhat as he finally reached his destination. Standing near the drop off point of the central station, however, it didn't take long to spot the fact that many mammals had started to give him a wide berth, while a hulking police officer fixed his accusing gaze on him.

"Of course… of course…" Nick muttered as his eyes rolled and hands went up in mock surrender. Nick wasn't just the recipient of the one in ten chance of being born a lowly chomper. Nope, he had the one in a thousand chance of being a red fox. More aggressive than wolves; more kleptomaniacal than racoons; slipperier than weasels… with a good dollop of greed, cunning and slyness added on top. That's what everyone saw him as. A no good, double dealing, back stabbing, untrustworthy, worst of the worst piece of conniving mammalian trash. Even a few of the respectable predators, the big cats primarily, looked down somewhat on his kind, likely to find some kind of solace knowing that they weren't at the bottom of the pecking order. But you know what? They all said one thing about foxes. Foxes were clever, and Nick was no exception. He was clever enough to not give a damn about what other mammals thought and instead spent his time idling through the paper, his eyes catching on the secondary front-page article: First Bunny Cop, Valedictorian of her class, joins ZPD precinct one.

The picture on the third page showed the little mammal, glowing with pride, accepting her badge from none other than Mayor Swinton herself, or Premier Trotterski as Nick called her. Straining his head, he tried to spot her assistant Mr Woollerson, or Woolly as everyone called him in the background. He had to admit, the Swinton era was progressive in some ways. Be you a mentally challenged sheep with a lower IQ than your food or a dumb bunny, anyone really could be anything. Unless, of course, you were a chomper.

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Flicking through his paper, a short set of honks and a loud backfire awoke Nick to the sound of Finnick's van arriving. With its… particularly unique… neo-Aztec side mural and diminutive driver, it certainly stood out against the crowd. Nick folded up his paper and began to step forward, before wincing in horror at the sound of a squeaky horn and roaring engine.

Beep… Beep…

Before he could pull it up, his tail was painfully run over by a set of trust fund gerbils in their sports car, the shock sending his collar up to orange. Stupid reflex instincts kicked in and Nick's normally non-existent rage flashed over in an instant, just as it always did. All happening before he could think, Nick yelped in pain, his snout wrinkled and teeth bared, just as his collar bleeped for the second time… its light going red.

ZAP…

The short sharp shock, similar in pain to a hornet sting, stung Nick's neck and sent him falling to the ground, landing hard on his tail. Limbs trembling slightly and right hand firmly plastered to his still buzzing neck, Nick stood up and surveyed the surroundings. Looking up past the scattered pages of his newspaper, he saw the harsh glare of mammals who hadn't seen the provocation judging him. Those who had seen it either didn't care or, like the police office and gerbil jerks, were laughing out loud at his misfortune and pointing at him. A few other preds looked on with sympathetic eyes and small waves of their paws. The two rodents, meanwhile, high fived and sped off into the distance as Nick regained his composure.

"Jerk shock, two hundred and seventy-one." Nick muttered, as he put his pain and humiliation behind him. Gathering up the dirty sheets of newspaper beneath his armpit he walked off towards the van, massaging his neck with one hand and straightening his tie with the other. "Still no sign of them getting bored."