Chapter Text
WEDNESDAY
CARRACK MOUNTAINS
"You know, I've always wanted to try elephant."
The sun dawned upon Zootopia, a magical place where anyone can be anything. This was not just the official slogan; they were words everyone lived by. Predators work and play alongside prey; sloths can speed around faster than cheetahs, rodents can become most feared crime lords, and bunnies can become police officers.
Animals across the districts prepared for the day, fixing breakfasts, dressing for work, heading to school. Farmers tended to their crops. Night-shift labourers clocked out. Citizens stepped out for morning jogs.
And none of them had an inkling that their lives were currently in mortal peril.
Far to the east, upon the Carrack Mountains, Altair Eaglesmith, an eagle, was peering across the Polar Straight at Zootopia. His yellow eyes were like magnifying glasses, seeing much that others couldn't, and he observed his factory, built into the Camel Hump mountainside in the far east of an area known as the Canyonlands. It had taken a time and secrecy to construct, and a contract with armadillos that would guarantee their exclusion from his plans, so long as they cooperated. They would also oversee its maintenance and operation, and, Altair felt, had done a superb job all around.
Altair was tall for his kind, with slim, piercing grey eyes. Dressed in a dark blue one-piece uniform, which was similar to a flight suit, only crafted from the finest silks, adorned with gold beads upon the shoulders and upper torso, and had a striking red cape, he always appeared ready for combat. Regal in a menacing way, as if his stature demanded adulation under threat of violence, he commanded his flocks like a king. He was, after all, their elected leader.
His ascendancy to power was based primarily on one thing: change. If elected, he would change their territory; avian kind would join the citizens of Zootopia, a long overdue alignment. If elected, he would change their hierarchy in the animal kingdom; Accipitres, birds of prey, would become the dominant ornithic order. If elected, he would change their diets; instead of subsisting on what the mountains offered, they would feast upon all mammals.
In short, he promised them a better tomorrow by conquering the lands below, and rule over all like a pride of lions used to rule over the wild plains.
That was, of course, ancient history. But it was also their future. Civilization had come about gradually and was not without its benefits. Altair enjoyed good books, fine wine, Gazelle's music, and nutcrackers; and the rest of his cadre enjoyed similar interests made possible by modernity. But that same progress had eschewed some of the very things that made animals, well, animals.
Should someone break a leg, they weren't left behind for predators to eat. No! They went to a hospital to be healed. If seeking a mate, dating was the principal strategy; gone were ritual mating dances and physical combat amongst rivals. When hungry, everyone ran to the nearest restaurant to nibble on a variety of vegetation and insects. Altair knew fish were also a staple of many a diet, but it seemed no one was dining on the living anymore.
Whatever happened to letting nature take its course? Whatever happened to survival of the fittest? Whatever happened to the food chain?
The birds had not abandoned the old ways. They might write sonnets, design impeccable fashion, and embrace technology, but they still fought each other viciously over territory or breeding partners, formed hierarchies among their varied species, killed and sometimes ate each other. And it was specifically for this last reason they were refused citizenship to the new world, to Zootopia. For nearly a century they'd been living nearby, getting on just fine without the rest of mammal-kind. But for Altair, it was time for change.
"You wanted to see me, captain?"
Altair turned to see Gavin Warstorm, a hawk, and his second in command. Gavin was smaller in stature than his captivating leader, with larger, grey eyes that some would say were more kind, sympathetic – though Altair knew better. Gavin was a monster; he'd eaten his own sister when she was just three years old; beaten to death a friend who'd shown interest in a female he wished to mate with; and would routinely pluck his own brown and black feathers to build his pain tolerance. He too was dressed in a flight suit similar to Altair's, only black and without the cape.
Turning his back to Gavin, Altair continued scanning the lands below. He knew Gavin would wait patiently while he gathered his thoughts. "How long," he eventually said, his voice deep and booming, "have we been planning this invasion?"
Taking time to reflect, Gavin answered, "Close to two years, I believe, the coolant setback notwithstanding."
The clandestine nature of the factory's construction had necessitated taking some shortcuts, the most problematic of which had been the cooling system. Unlike upon the mountains, the arid desert posed significant overheating issues, and as production ramped up, the industrial water chillers could not maintain the required temperatures. As such, the factory was shut down while they investigated a solution. In time, and given its proximity to the Polar Straight, a direct seawater cooling system was built, pumping in cold water from the ocean and sending it where it was needed. Though typically expensive and entailing elaborate construction, shortcuts were again taking to mitigate both, such as building it above ground, and thus production resumed with redoubled efficiency.
Not peering back at his subordinate, Altair nodded. "And I am told all the mammals' counterprogramming has been completed."
This was not a question, but required an answer regardless. "I have been told the same. All…I can't remember how many species there are, but every one is ready."
At last, Altair turned to his friend. "And since production of the hoods has been well underway for months, we should have enough supply to begin Phase Three of the operation."
Phase One was research and development. They would create a helmet, the FutureVision, for each mammal to wear that would emit ultralow electrical frequencies to induce their brainwaves into alternate processes and thought patterns. It would upend mammals' natural tendencies and allow for the input of outside influence – such as that of the captain and his team. The construction of the factory had also begun at this time. Phase Two involved kidnapping of one of every animal in Zootopia to study their cognitive patterns and design counterprogramming methods.
Phase Three was the most complicated stage of the plan. It introduced the helmets to the public by forcing them onto the heads of key figures of society. Those animals would then influence and manipulate others, using herd mentality and similar constructs, to also begin wearing the helmets. Directly prior to implementing this phase, other targeted individuals would be removed from Zootopia due to the possibility for interference. While Altair believed in the plan, he wasn't going to take any chances, and a few animals in particular had the potential to cause problems for them. They would be taken out swiftly and resolutely.
The final phase would be to slowly acclimate the population to indulge their new avian overlords as gods, submitting to every whim, giving in to every sacrifice, obeying every command, no matter how gruesome they may be.
A smirk came to Gavin's beak as he contemplated what came next. "Fantastic!"
"Indeed," Altair agreed, unzipping his suit halfway down his chest, revealing a plumb of bright white feathers. From within his suit, he retrieved a small slip of paper. He studied it briefly, then frowned. Pulling out a pen from an inside pocket, he wrote something on the sheet, then handed it to Gavin.
"These mammals are to be procured post haste. The first three for indoctrination; the last three for elimination."
Taking the paper, Gavin read the list aloud. "Brian Winddancer – horse; Gazelle – gazelle; Maddy Minx – mink; Barry Bogo – buffalo; Judy Hopps – rabbit; Nibbles Maplestick – beaver."
"The last name I acquired recently. That creature hosts a radio broadcast discussing conspiracy theories, and I'm afraid we have come up. I don't know where it gets such information, and nothing of our plans has been mentioned yet, but I feel it's best to end the beaver before it reveals anything further."
Gavin nodded and gave the list a quick study, then hesitated. "Barry Bogo, that is the police chief?"
"Correct."
"Perhaps, captain, we should indoctrinate it as well. Having the highest-ranking officer of the ZPD endorsing our helmets could persuade a good portion of the populous that they are safe to use."
Altair gave this suggestion some thought, stroking his chin, and a wide smile crossed his beak. "Yes. An excellent idea. See to it." Gavin saluted. "And send Windthrow to the factory to oversee production – increase it, if possible. I don't want those armadillos faltering now."
Confused, Gavin asked, "Forgive me, but which Windthrow?"
Now Altair was confused. "I…there's two of them?"
"Well, actually…"
"Send both, then. I suppose two heads are better than one."
Saluting again, Gavin turned to leave, but stopped. "Captain," began, "when you say 'poste haste' I presume you don't mean immediately?"
While Altair did, in fact, mean that, he understood his second's meaning. "No, of course not. I guess I'm too eager after all this time. Wait for cover of night."
A nod from Gavin. "And the animals currently in captivity, now that their usefulness is at an end, I presume will also be eliminated?"
"Eaten alive," his captain confirmed.
"A grand feast?" Gavin proposed, "in celebration the conclusion of Phase One?"
Altair smiled proudly. "Another excellent idea. That's why you are my second."
Gavin returned the smile. "Thank you. You know, I've always wanted to try elephant."
Putting his arm around Gavin and ushering them both deeper into the cave, Altair said, "Then you, my friend, shall have the first bite."