It’s Called a Hustle, Sweetheart. · Y/n story by @EmmaParrish

The Zootopia Police Department's Precinct One was a hive of controlled chaos, the usual morning bustle muted by the lingering tension of the past few weeks. The city was healing, but the walls of the station still felt like they were holding their breath.

Chief Bogo

Hopps.

The voice came from above. Chief Bogo, massive and immovable, stood on the mezzanine overlooking the bullpen, a thick file clutched in his hoof.

Chief Bogo

My office. Now.

He didn't wait for a response, turning and disappearing into his glass-walled office.

Benjamin Clawhauser

from the donut station, whispering Ooh, that’s the "someone’s in trouble" voice. What’d you do, Judy?

A few officers in the bullpen glanced her way, then quickly back to their own work. Clawhauser’s whisper was anything but quiet.

Chief Bogo

Close it.

Bogo was already behind his desk, the blinds drawn. The only light came from the overhead lamp, casting his face in shadow. He tossed the file onto the desk. It landed with a heavy thud.

Chief Bogo

Evidence locker. Precinct One.

He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

Chief Bogo

Someone broke in last night. Took two files. Nothing valuable, nothing classified. Just... case files. Old ones.