-Chapter 10-

Etson waved goodbye to the police cruiser as it sped down the street. He turned and looked upward, taking in the grandeur of the city hall building. He took a deep breath, fixing the fur on his head to appear as nice as he possibly could. Confidently, he walked up the large, stone steps that led to town hall. The building itself was truly magnificent, featuring a series of intricate stone columns, holding up a golden dome atop of which the Zootopian flag - bottom half yellow, top half white, with a light blue circle in the middle - was blowing proudly in the wind. Etson had only ever observed city hall from the outside, never quite courageous enough to go inside, for the fear of deportation. Today, though, was unlike those days in the past. Today, he was going to become a citizen.

As he reached the top of the steps, Etson walked through a massive doorway, the heavy door ornately carved and made from what he took to be a fine mahogany wood. He stepped into the main lobby area, massive ceilings, marble floors and all. He filed into the small queue that was in front of the reception desk. Staring around the room, he had a hard time keeping his mouth from gaping, the raccoon in pure awe at the grandeur of the place. A few animals in front of him scurried off in different directions as directed by the secretary, shortening the line.

"Next!" the armadillo yelled from behind the desk. Etson stepped up in line. "How may I help you?"

"Hello, my name is Etson," he introduced himself, "and I was wondering if I could speak to zhe mayor about collection of a certain prize I am due?"

As Etson began to speak, he noticed that those who were standing in line behind him turned to stare at him. What was a dangerous Alimandish person doing at city hall, especially after the two Alimandish attacks that had happened the day before? Whether they meant to or not, they instinctively recoiled away from the raccoon, noticeably frightened. As much as Etson tried to ignore them, it still bothered him how scared they were of him.

"Ah yes, we've been waiting for you," the armadillo said, fiddling with something in the drawer of her desk. Surprisingly, the receptionist hadn't seemed fazed at all when Etson began talking, unlike the other animals. "Take this," she told him, handing the raccoon a lanyard with a card on the end of it. "That should prevent security from giving you any problems. You see that elevator over there?" she asked, pointing across the room. Etson nodded. "You're going to want to take that to floor number five. Mayor's office is at the end of the hall. Got all that?"

"Yes, zhank you," Etson replied, smiling in spite of all of the people in line that were scowling at him.

"No problem. Next!" the armadillo yelled. Etson walked over to the elevator, which a security guard was standing in front of. He showed the card on his lanyard, causing the guard to move to the side. Etson pressed the up button, waiting for the elevator to come down. The doors dinged open, and he stepped inside. He pressed the five button as the doors closed. As the elevator rose, Etson enjoyed the upbeat jazz that was coming through the speakers. Resisting the urge to dance, he waited until the elevator dinged and the doors opened once again. He stepped out into a large hallway, the impressive marble floors and intricate design continuing through to the top floor. The hallway had offices on both sides, with the mayor's office being the focal point at the end of the hallway, just as the armadillo had said. Etson started walking down the hallway, checking his reflection in the squeaky clean floor tiles to make sure he looked half decent. His body language conveying a newfound sense of boldness, Etson started his walk towards the mayor's office. He raised his arm, and knocked twice on the door.

After a moment, the door opened, showing a brown-furred rabbit wearing a suit. He glanced up at Etson for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he tried to put a name to the raccoon's face. His face suddenly lit up, a sign he had found a match.

"You are Etson, the one responsible for the apprehension of Omar, correct?" the bunny asked him.

Etson nodded. "That's me."

"Perfect," he said, turning his attention down to his tablet. He quickly tapped some commands on the screen, and looked back up at Etson. "The mayor will see you now." The rabbit opened up the door fully, holding it open for the raccoon.

"Zhank you," Etson said to the rabbit. He walked up to the mayor's desk, which had arguably the best view in all of Zootopia. The capitol building was up on top of a hill, meaning that it was on the same level as all of the skyscrapers in the city. Etson was able to see all of the different districts of the city from the window, in a truly awesome sight.

"Ah, hello there Etson!" the interim mayor greeted, extending her paw over the desk. Etson shook it firmly. "Please, take a seat," she motioned to the empty chair across from her. Etson accepted the invitation and sat down. He admired the outfit that the kangaroo was wearing, which was a sleek black dress with a red jewel necklace.

"So, let's get right to the point, shall we? I am able to write the check right now for you if you'd like. I just need your confirmation that you want all of it delivered via check," the kangaroo explained. "Is that still what you want to do?"

"Actually," Etson responded, "is zhere any way zhat I could maybe get a couple hundred of zhe prize money in cash?" He wanted some money for things like a hotel and food over the next few days while he set up a bank account and got some credit cards.

"Yes, we can do that," she answered. "How much would you like in cash?"

"Five hundred."

"Okay. Secretary Coney, did you get that?" she asked, addressing the bunny who had welcomed Etson.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, tapping the info into his tablet.

"So you'll be receiving five hundred in cash, and the remaining forty nine thousand five hundred in the form of a check, which Coney will give to you after we're finished here," the mayor continued her explanation. "Now, as for passport...we just need a photo of you to complete the process. Thanks to Mr. Coney, who was able to get your file from the Alimandish embassy and input the data from it into the citizenship forms, you don't have to do any paperwork."

"Wait," Etson interrupted, turning around in his chair to face Coney. "How did he know what to look me up as?

Coney smirked. "That part was hard. The mayor only told me the nickname you go by," he explained. "I was still able to find you through your parents' records, though."

"Huh. Not bad. I'm impressed," Etson admitted. He had been using his nickname for the past seven year, even going so far as to use it on official government forms. "You're one of two or zhree animals zhat knows zhat name."

"Really?" Coney replied, raising his eyebrows. "Well, in that case, I assure you I'll guard it closely."

"Well, Etson, aside from that...I think you're pretty much good to go," the mayor said. "Is there anything else you can think of that I'm missing, Coney?" she questioned her secretary.

"The photo, ma'am," the rabbit reminded her.

"Ah, yes, of course," the mayor said, nodding her head. "Would you mind posing for a photograph with me?"

"Um, sure," Etson answered. He had been worried enough that he looked out of place at the regal city hall, but knowing this photo was going to be on the news networks made him even more anxious about his appearance. Still, it wasn't like he could turn down the offer.

"Just stand here, like this," Coney took his arm and rotated his body slightly. He did the same for the mayor, positioning them both in the ideal spot. "Okay, now shake hands...just like that. Perfect," he pointed his tablet at the two of them. "Three...two...one...cheese!"

They both smiled as the picture was snapped, the view of the city behind them.

"Wonderful," Coney said, looking at the photo. He kept busily tapping the screen. "Okay...and then we do this...aaand done! It's up on the city hall's Zwitter, Snapcat, and ChaseBook."

"Wait," Etson said, suddenly realizing something, "you actually would post a picture with me in it? Isn't zhat-"

"Bad for PR?" the mayor finished his thought for him. "Yes, I can understand why you would think that. Two attacks by Alimandish citizens in the past day would mean that animals wouldn't respond well to seeing their mayor with an Alimandish mammal," she said in a very matter-of-fact tone. The kangaroo turned to look out of the window, her paws clasped together behind her back. "I've thought about this same thing a lot over the past day...And I keep coming back to the same conclusion," she told the raccoon, gazing off into the the distance. "What kind of mayor would I be...if I...if I didn't acknowledge a city hero just because of who they were? What kind of message does that send? I would never be able to justify something like that to myself," she admitted as she turned to face Etson again. "Which is why I chose to grant you citizenship. Because to me..." she paused, looking Etson right in the eye, "there's a lot more to being Zootopian than the location where you were born."

Etson smiled. Over the course of this whole ordeal, his admiration for Mayor Pawleen had only grown. He knew before, but more so now, that she was a genuinely good animal, which was a rare trait among politicians.

"You also forgot to mention," her secretary interjected, "that you can basically do whatever you want because you're going to be out of office in a few months regardless."

The mayor let out a large sigh, followed by a hearty chuckle. "Yes, Coney. Thanks for bringing that up," she said, shaking her head. "Why don't you go and get Etson his passport now?"

The rabbit grinned. "Of course, ma'am," he complied. "Follow me, please, Etson."

"Okay," Etson agreed, as he turned to exit with his guide. "Oh, and Mayor Pawleen," Etson piped up, suddenly turning around. The mayor looked at him quizzically. "Zhank you," he told her. "For... everyzhing."

"Of course," she smiled. "The city could use more animals like you."

And with that, Coney led Etson out into the hallway.

"Smile!" Coney told the raccoon as he snapped the photo. "Excellent. You look good. Now we just have to print the booklet itself," Coney said as he punched more info into the computer.

Coney had led Etson down to the underground floor, where the printing machine for the passports was located. Coney pressed another button on the computer, causing the mechanism to begin to whirr. Etson watched in amazement as the machine went to work, printing and stitching and binding in what appeared to be an incredibly intricate process. It must have taken a long time to perfect this process. The machine gradually stopped, spitting out the passport.

"Here you go," Coney said, handing Etson the finished product. Eagerly, the raccoon snatched it from him.

So this was it. He was finally a citizen of Zootopia. It felt so surreal to him, so much so that a part of him still couldn't believe that it was actually happening. He kept staring at the pale blue book, the front decorated with golden letters proclaiming ZOOTOPIA in a very official-looking serif font. Below that was the insignia of Zootopia - a paw print that was half clawed and half hooved - in the same golden color. He kept running his fingers over the passport, as if to convince himself that it was actually real.

"I also have this for you," Coney said, reaching into his suitcoat. He pulled out a wad of cash, crowned by a check on top. "Don't go spending it all in one place."

Etson laughed. "I will try not to," he replied. "Zhank you again, Coney."

"No problem," the rabbit said. He glanced down at his watch, and his ears jumped up. "Oh jeez. I need to leave to set up an appointment for the mayor about that skunk pride parade," he told Etson, scurrying towards the door. "Take care!"

"Goodbye!" Etson hollered as Coney dashed away. A smile creeped onto his face again as he looked down at his rewards. He had lost his cafe, yes, but at least he still had this.

Etson stepped out into the hallway, backtracking to the elevator. He stepped inside, listening again to the jazz music as he rode up to the ground floor. The elevator dinged, and he walked back into the lobby where he had entered. He proudly started to walk out towards the main entrance, passing the reception desk with the nice armadillo.

Wait a minute... Etson thought, raising an eyebrow as he turned back to the desk. Who is that?

There was a jaguar at the desk dressed up formally with a suit and tie. But that wasn't what caught Etson's attention.

"I...eh...hab an appointehmint wizh zhis animal," he said, handing the armadillo a slip of paper.

The armadillo read over what the jaguar had given him. "Ah, yes. You're going to want to go down that hallway and head to the office number one thirty one," the receptionist replied, motioning towards a hallway on the other side of the room. "I'll let him know that you're on the way.

"Zhank you," the jaguar said, nodding. He started walking in the direction that the armadillo had pointed him in.

After a moment, the receptionist pushed a series of buttons on the desk phone he had next to him. He picked up the device and placed it to his ear.

"Fasco," he said. Etson's eyes widened at the mention of the name. "Yes. They're on their way now...Mhm...Okay. Bye now."

Fasco...had a planned interview with someone from Alimand?

He scanned around the room, checking to see if anyone in particular was watching him. Discreetly, he started walking in the same direction as the jaguar, keeping his distance so as not to seem suspicious. The jaguar entered the hallway, just as he had been directed. Etson did the same, doing his best to act naturally in spite of his increasing heart rate. The jaguar kept walking, giving no indication that he knew he was being followed. Etson stayed close to the wall, scoping out areas he could hide if for some reason the animal turned around. They kept walking, the office numbers increasing as they did. One twenty...one twenty one...one twenty two. Etson's heart thumped harder with every number.

The jaguar suddenly stopped walking. Etson instantly hid himself behind a large potted plant. The jaguar glanced to his left, and then to his right, and finally at the door of the office he had stopped at. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. Etson restlessly watched, noting every detail. There was a tense moment of silence.

The door swung open, a small koala in the doorway.

Fasco, Etson realized. He gulped. He could feel the adrenaline in his veins.

"Ah, kol bourez. Weej, weej, nore dziemi," he told the jaguar. Ah, here you are. Please, please, come inside.

Etson's draw dropped open. Fasco...spoke Alimandish?

The jaguar accepted his invitation and stepped into Fasco's office. Etson stared in disbelief as the door shut. Fasco - the candidate who vehemently argued for a predator registry and tighter immigration laws - had just welcomed an immigrant predator into his office using a foreign language. Etson sat there, remaining behind the plant, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed. Fasco spoke with an impeccable accent - indistinguishable from that of a native speaker.

Thoughts raced through his brain as he went through what he already knew about Fasco, desperate for some connection to the case.

Let's see, Etson thought. Well-known politician, one of two frontrunners for mayor, associated with Omar, head of the board of research...

The board of research. Of course! That was it!

Frantically, he rummaged through all of his pockets. As his paws went through the back pockets of his jeans, he felt what he was searching for. He pulled out a crumped piece of paper and unfolded it. Now he just needed a phone.

Nick and Judy both stared at the map in front of them, racking their brains over the details of the case. They had gone back to HQ after interviewing Lila, only to find themselves in the same spot they had been not a day before - stuck.

"Okay, let's just go over all of the details one more time," Judy said, half talking to herself and half addressing Nick. "There have been three vandalizations across town. One happened to Edvin Klosen, a foreign baker and predator. Another happened to Etson, who is Alimandish and a predator. And the last one happened to Clare, who is just a predator. However, Etson and Clare both had reasons for Fasco to target them, which places him as a likely suspect. We've also discovered that the P.P.P. symbol stands for Prey Protection Program, which Fasco may or may not be involved with. And, on top of all of this, Fasco is mysteriously developing a new drug at the chemical research plant, a project which he may or may not have gotten help from Omar," Judy finished, exhaling.

"And we may or may not be totally wrong about all of this," Nick remarked, sighing. There was no end in sight for this case, as far as he could tell. They still didn't have any suspects that they could interview, with their only one secure behind a wall of high class lawyers and in possession of enough political leverage to finagle his way out of any stranglehold they were able to get him in.

Judy shook her head. There had to be something they were missing. All it would take was one solid lead to bring the whole case crashing down, she knew it. But as of right now, their best bet was still to try to catch the criminal in the act. "Well, we still have to do something," she told Nick. "We can't just let them off the hook because it's too hard."

"You know, if this guy wasn't trying to start a pred-prey war across the city," Nick replied, "then I would actually consider that."

"Look on the bright side," Judy told him, "It will be that much sweeter when we catch them."

Nick chuckled. "C'mon, Carrots. Have I ever been one to look the bright side?" he asked. "The fact of the matter is that we're still on a wild goose chase."

"I don't know about you," Judy responded, "but I for one find chasing wild geese exciting."

"Is that some Bunnyboro thing? Chasing wild geese?"

"Yes," she answered sarcastically. "It's one of our favorite past times, right up there next to driving tractors and being prejudiced."

Nick smirked. "Sounds about right."

She rolled her eyes. "Anyways," she said, trying to redirect the conversation back on track. "Let's try and plot where they're going to strike next."

"It's going to be a predator," Nick proclaimed as he leaned back in the office chair, "I guarantee it."

"Well, at least it limits the number of potential targets we have to search through," Judy asserted.

Nick put his head on his paw and looked across at his partner. "You really always do look on the bright side, don't you?"

"What? Is that a bad thing?" Judy asked.

"No. It's just cute how positive you always are," Nick commented. Judy's face immediately shifted into a scowl.

"Don't call me cute," she snapped.

"Wait, why?" Nick asked. "What about adorable?"

"No."

"Charming?"

"No."

"Kawaii?"

"NO. Especially not that one."

"Seriously? Why not?"

Judy sighed. "It's the same reason that giraffes don't like to be called tall, or raccoons trashy, or even," she turned to look at Nick, "foxes shifty. It's a reminder that they're supposed to fit into a certain box that society makes for them. Nobody likes that feeling. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, I get it," he said. He hadn't minded the sketchy fox stereotype while he was on the street, but now that he was an officer it had actually started to impede on his work in some instances. If Judy felt the same way about being called cute, then he would refrain. "I'll stick to making fun of your ridiculous upbringing and various strange quirks."

"Thanks, I guess," she replied, laughing. She appreciated the respect Nick had for her and her feelings.

He smiled at her. "So, how else are we going to rule out potential targets?" he asked his partner.

"Well," Judy answered, "I think a good place to start would be looking for animals affiliated with Fasco."

Nick frowned. "Do we have any other options?" Nick asked. "Why don't we look for animals who have publicly spoken out against the P.P.P.?"

"We could try," Judy said, "but I doubt we'll get anything. Nobody knows what the P.P.P. is. We never told the public anything about them, remember?"

Nick had forgotten about that. He had just assumed that somehow the media would have figured it out by now. "Alright, let's look at Fasco then," he grumbled, folding his arms unhappily.

"I know you don't think it's him," Judy remarked, noticing Nick's attitude, "but it's the best we've got. Now, if I were Fasco, who would I go after?"

"Someone who would ruin your chances of becoming mayor," Nick suggested, addressing her as if she were the infamous koala. "That's the thing you care the most about right now, and it's why you went after Etson and Clare. If they spoke up...it could ruin your campaign."

"Okay, that's a good start," Judy replied. "But who could realistically pose a threat to his campaign?"

Nick shrugged. "Politicians are all con artists. The only threat to them is that someone figures them out. If someone exposed info on how Fasco was conning his voters...then he'd be sunk," Nick explained. "Not that I would know anything about being a con artist."

"Of course not," Judy replied, smirking. "So we need someone who has dirt on Fasco. But how do you find an animal like that?"

"Maybe look at his past partners," Nick suggested. "He's bound to have made slipped up at some point during his career," he said, adding, "Every con artist has a skunk butt rug type incident at some point."

Judy grinned, remembering the near death confrontation they had with Mr. Big. "Let's look at his coworkers, then."

She took her laptop out and started booting it up. After a moment of waiting, the screen came to life. Judy navigated to a webpage which displayed info on all of the government officers Zootopia had ever had, dating back to the city's creation. She typed Fasco's name into the searchbar at the top, pulling up his page.

"Okay," she said, reading over the page. "It says here his political career started when he was voted President of the Sahara Square Sanitation Committee."

"That's a prestigious office if I've ever heard one," Nick remarked. "Who else was on the committee?"

"Let's see," she replied. She opened the link that led to the list of the other members. "It looks like..."

"They're all prey animals," Nick noticed. That meant that they were all ruled out as possible targets. "What position did he hold next?"

She went back to Fasco's page and scrolled down some more.

"Chairman on the Sahara Square District Council," Judy answered. "Still no predators."

"Alright, let's try the next one," Nick offered. "The City Representative of Sahara Square. Any preds there?"

"Yes, actually," Judy said as she scrolled through the list. "Marcus Corbetti, a tiger who represented the Rainforest District."

"Go to his profile," Nick told her. She did as he asked, clicking on the link. They scanned through the page together, reading up on all of the things Corbetti had accomplished in his time as representative. As she kept reading, something caught Judy's eye.

"Look at this," Judy pointed out. "It says that he resigned from his position..." she did some figuring in her head, "exactly twenty seven days after Fasco joined the board of representatives."

"See if you can find his resignation speech," Nick told her. They might actually have a lead here if the resignation was in any way out of the ordinary.

Judy opened up a new tab, Zoogling the speech as Nick had asked. She clicked on the first result, which turned out to be a transcript of the last speech he had made to the press.

"It says here that he was having health issues," Judy noted. "But he doesn't specify anything more than that. Do you think that maybe…?" she trailed off.

"Something forced him to resign? Yes, I do think that," he responded.

"If Fasco did it, how did he pull it off?" Judy wondered. What could possibly force a well known city representative to step down, effectively ending their career?

"I don't think it matters how he did it," Nick countered. "The important thing is that he mysteriously resigned for what seems to be no reason. It wouldn't surprise me if Corbetti figured out something about Fasco, which forced Fasco to fire back."

"How do we know that one of the other committee members didn't force them to step down?" Judy asked, playing devil's advocate. "If all politicians are con artists like you say, then what makes Fasco different from any of the other members there?"

"Well, he's the biggest of the advocates for restrictions on predators among them," Nick replied. "But you have a good point. It still might not have been him. We'll never know for sure if it's him."

Judy sighed. "Well, we can add that to the pile of inconclusive evidence."

"Look on the bright side," Nick teased, "at least we have a plan."

Judy nodded in agreement. In no way were any of their circumstances ideal, but they still had to do something. "So, what's Corbetti's address?"

Etson frantically punched the number into the payphone in the phonebooth from the slip of paper in his hand, tapping his foot impatiently as it connected him to the recipient.

"Hello?" someone on the other end answered.

"Clare!" Etson greeted charismatically. "Zhis is Etson. How are you doing?"

"Oh, hi Etson," she responded. "I'm doing well. What's up?"

"Uh…" he swallowed, fingering the collar of his t-shirt nervously. "Can I talk to you about zomezhing? It's, well...kind of important."

"Important? What do you mean?" she asked.

"Erm...you see...it's zhis zhing..." Etson swallowed nervously, "about Facso."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Etson started sweating. Had he scared her off?

"Clare?"

"Yes, okay," she agreed, letting out a sigh. "You have five minutes. Just let me go somewhere private."

"You're awesome," Etson assured her, exhaling in relief.

On the other end of the line Etson heard a series of footsteps, followed by a door being shut. Clare spoke again. "Alright. This better be good."

"It is, I promise," Etson replied. "I'm just outside of city hall right now. When I was zhere, I noticed zhis jaguar wizh an Alimandish accent talking to zhe receptionist."

Clare exhaled annoyedly. "I don't see the point of you calling me over this."

"It gets better, just let me finish," Etson promised. "Zhe jaguar asked for Fasco's office, which seemed odd to me. So, I followed behind him, just to see if anyzhing was out of zhe ordinary. And zhen," Etson paused. "And zhen Fasco invited him into his office. But here's the thing — Fasco did the whole thing in perfect Alimandish. Not a single letter pronounced incorrectly."

"Okay...so Fasco speaks Alimandish. What's the big deal?"

"Fasco's zhe token anti-Alimand candidate, yet he can speak fluent Alimandish. Who would have guessed?" Etson told her excitedly. "And zhat's not even all of it. Zhe ozher day, we figured out zhat he has been passing information back and forzh wizh Omar Moufflon, Bellwether's chemist, zhrough my cafe."

"So, let me get this straight," she said, a disbelief apparent even in the tone of her voice. "He has been working with a known criminal and you haven't exposed him yet?"

"We can't expose him," Etson replied. "He has zhe best lawyers in zhe city. We'd be sued for slander in heartbeat. And technically, he hasn't done anyzhing criminal, so we can't arrest him."

"Wow," Clare responded, dumfounded. "I'll give it to you. That's pretty important. I'm not quite sure what to say."

"Neither do I," Etson admitted. "Zhat's why I called you."

"Well, I appreciate you telling me," she said, "but I don't think I can help you."

Etson frowned. He had been afraid of this. "He's your boss. Zhere has to be zomezhing zhat you noticed about him zhat was out of zhe ordinary."

"I'm sorry…" she told him. "But I've already told you everything I know. Fasco's my boss, yes, but I never interact with him. He just directs things from afar."

Etson sighed. There had to be something he could get from telling her all of this. "Alright, fine. In zhat case, just talk to me about work. Are you still working on…zhat project?" Etson asked, doing his best to dance around the sensitive topic.

"Yes…" she answered, finding the sudden shift in the conversation odd. "We've, um…actually made a lot of progress on it too. We've basically confirmed that…what we're working on…is possible to create now. We've just got to get the chemical composition right to get the desired affect."

Etson furrowed his brow, thinking intensively. "How did you guys figure out zhat it was possible?" he inquired.

"Well…we…uh," Clare replied, stumbling. "Now that you mention it, I'm not too sure. One of my colleagues just handed me a journal that proved it and told me to work on it."

"A…journal?"

"Yes," Clare confirmed, "A scientific journal. You know, the type that's hundreds of pages long and really hard and filled with chemistry terms."

"And you said that you didn't know where it came from?" he asked to be sure.

"No," she answered. "None of us do…" she paused. "But…someone did try to find out."

Etson's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

Clare sighed. "The colleague I was telling you about earlier," she explained, "He's a pig named Jonathan. And, uh…he wanted to know where the papers came from so that he could thank whoever provided them. He…he went to talk to Fasco about it. I told him not to, but he didn't listen. 'It's a thank you card, who would be mad about that?' he told me," Clare shook her head. "I hate to say I told him so."

"Fasco yelled at him?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "The poor guy got kicked out of his office."

"Just like you…" Etson said absentmindedly, staring off into space, thoughts racing through his brain. Fasco had made an example of Clare to shut everyone up about the night howlers. What if…

His eyes widened. A lightbulb had just turned on in his head.

"Clare…" he started, "zhe information I was telling you about earlier…you know, zhe stuff Omar gave to Fasco…" Etson swallowed, grappling with the magnitude of his discovery. "It was all scientific papers."

"How is that releva—" Clare stopped mid sentence, her jaw gaping as she put the puzzle pieces together. "You…you don't mean…"

"Yes. The journal you got...I think it was written by Omar Moufflon," Etson stated.

The line fell silent.

"Oh…oh my God," Clare muttered, rendered all but speechless.

"Zhat's why Fasco yelled at your colleague. He got too close to zhe truzh," Etson explained, breathing heavily. "And now he's going to pay for it."

Silence. The words settled in as if they were the ash from an eruption, slowly and heavily falling from the sky. They both realized what this meant. If Etson was right…then their exclusive club of P.P.P. victims was about to gain another member.

"I..can't believe this. If this is all true...then...what…what do we even do? How do we stop this?" Clare asked, gradually becoming more frantic.

"I don't know," Etson replied. "But we have to do somezhing."

"But what?!" she asked, the panic now clearly in her voice.

Etson massaged his temple, thinking of the best course of action. "We have to…we have to catch zhem in the act," he claimed.

"And how are we going to do that?" Clare asked.

"Jonathan…" Etson said, "what's his address?"

Surprise chapter! I didn't think I would be able to finish this chapter before the end of the week, but spending ten or so hours on a plane with no distractions will let you get a lot of writing done. As always, please leave a review telling me what you think is good about the story and what you think isn't working too well. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and I try to reply to every review. Thanks for reading!