BEING CAPTURED BY animals sucked. Being handcuffed to a stainless steel table sucked. Having a bright light shone on you from above sucked. But what sucked more than anything was the tedium Ryan felt at the moment, while he waits for an interrogator to arrive. Something Ryan was always proud of is he had never been incarcerated in his life. He never had any trouble with the law in his youth, except for the times he got in trouble for getting into fights with bullies at Townsend Harris High School. He always told himself it wasn't his fault that the school system didn't do shit to fix the problem. But his case was different; sitting in an interrogation room, and stripped off all of his gear, guns, knife, HUD watch and pack, the bracelet and his bodysuit were the only exceptions. A sense of powerlessness shrouding over the human in a hostile land, he felt suffocatingly confined.

After the effects of the tranquilizer had worn off, the first thing to meet him was the cold surface of the stainless steel table. Across from him are a door and a one-way mirror panel that took up nearly a whole wall space. No doubt those humanoid animals are watching him from the other side, as he stares intently at a reflection of his pitiful, defeated self. Yet even in the most pessimistic state, they wouldn't get anything out of Ryan. Not even an ounce of emotion.

They're gonna have to torture it out of me, he thought. What can a bunch of furry animals really gonna do?

Then a loud knock on the door broke Ryan from his thoughts. The door swung open. He tensed. No emotions were shown visibly on his face. What came next nearly had Ryan surprised. The same bunny and fox, the officers he encountered at that hotel, came through the door. Behind them, a very large buffalo on steroids in full uniform. It was the Chief Bogo he'd seen on TV, giving an awfully stern look at Ryan. This was not out of any sort of hate or anger, but dominance. Upon further inspection, the rabbit had with her a folder kept tightly under her armpit. Ryan realized his pursuers, excluding that one wolf he shot in a standoff, were also his interrogators, and the famed individuals that ended the Nighthowler Crisis. The quirky circumstance only amused him.

The rabbit, who puffed herself up, and fox marched over to him. She climbed onto a chair that was obviously too high for her. The fox had no trouble sitting in his.

The officer with violet emerald eyes cleared her throat.

"My name is Officer Hopps," she said in a very solemn tone, "and here is my partner, Officer Wilde."

No reaction.

"For the evening, we'll be your interrogators. Rest assured, no harm will come to you. Cooperate and this will be settled quickly."

Still, no reaction. Nick clears his throat to signal his partner the awkwardness in their introduction.

"Alrighty, then." She flipped a few papers and wrote a few things down with a pen in the form of a carrot. "I like to say that you're very well known around here. Of course, not for any good reason. But now all we want to know is what you are exactly. We've never seen your species here before. So could you tell us what you are?"

He maintains his silence. Ryan made no attempt to communicate with his interrogators, not even making direct eye contact with either of them. The first basic lectures taught in interrogation techniques at Langley is that most of the battle is getting the subject to communicate with the interrogators. It was very simple; the moment you open your mouth you have started to do what interrogators want you to do, from there it's just incremental.

"How 'bout this? Let's skip the previous question. We'll start with proper formalities. I'm Officer Judy Hopps and here is my partner Officer Nick Wilde. And your name is...?"

Still, silence.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?" Nick imputed. "Cat caught your tongue?"

Ryan just stared indifferently at the fox across from him.

"Are you going to answer the question?" The authoritarian voice of the Buffalo.

He finally opened his mouth and said, "Anderson Ryan, 09237P09."

"It speaks at last!" Nick said with a melodramatic flourish.

At last a first response.

"Is Parker a first name?"

He repeated, "Anderson Ryan, 09237P09."

She scribbled down on a piece of paper and stopped.

"Okay, but what does this number mean?"

He repeated it for the second time.

"Anderson Ryan, 09237P09."

Judy and Nick made eye contact and knew the exact words each one was thinking: This is going to be a long night.

**************

He hadn't the slightest clue how long he was held in the interrogation room, but after continuous reciting, Ryan knew he was starting to piss off his interrogators. But more specifically, he was pissing off the fuming water buffalo in the background, who glared daggers of exasperation at the human. The fox and rabbit in uniform were tired and in a state of moderate irritability. All their patience was running thin, and the only bit of information Judy, Nick, and Bogo could get out of the strange creature is a possible name. But at this point, she very much questioned the genuineness of this strange creature's remarks, considering how much it was unwilling to fully cooperate with them.

"Sir, if you identify as that," she sighed, rubbing her eyes, "it would be in your best interests if you talk to us. Cooperation with the ZPD is your only way out of serious trouble."

"Anderson Ryan, 09237P09—"

"Yelp, Carrots," Nick interrupted, slamming the case file on the table in a dramatic fashion. He placed both paws on the table and looked her in the eyes. "I think someone's not willing to cooperate with two fine ZPD officers here. Let's change the routine. Maybe we should try a good cop, bad cop approach."

"Nick, we're not playing this game," she replied petulantly.

"No, hear me out."

While they bickered back and forth, Ryan began to accumulate a basic understanding of the rabbit and fox. Her diligence and upfront professionalism, her seriousness, and her body language spoke for her. When she spoke, her ears were stiff and stood upward. Either this rabbit was a tryhard or way too dedicated to her work. Yet, her supposed confrère was the complete opposite in all aspects. His laid back demeanor, jocularity, and role-playing as some badass 80s Miami detective with those black retro aviators represented an overdone wisecracker. However, the enigmatic buffalo in the background, he determined, with little information he could collect, was an austere leader of unmarked characteristics. His four-star uniform gave away his senior title as chief of police, he knew. Was such high authority needed to interrogate a lone agitator? Then again, for all Ryan knew, he could be a five-star terrorist in the eyes of these furry animals.

"Enough!" The buffalo boomed, instantly catching the full attention of both the rabbit and fox.

The huge and intimidating buffalo approached the table, with both his subordinates clearing his way in a biddable manner. He slammed both hooves on the table and glared down at the human; however, he was anything but intimidated.

"You listen, I don't give an elephant's behind of who you are, what you are, or why you're here. But city hall has been running up my tail lately from all the trouble you've been causing; so sadly, I have to care now. It seems we can't help you if you're not willing to help me or these officers. Tell me what you know!"

Ryan offered no reaction to that statement. This oversized buffalo resorted to promises—no soft threats or any sort of coercion were allowed as police tactics, he scrutinized—to get the human to talk. Ryan was lettered about the notion of persuasion through either act of threats or promises back in Langley. He recalled threats and promises are fundamentally different sides of the same coin. A promise is the act of the speaker to do a future under certain conditions wanted by the hearer. Threats, on the other hand, the speaker makes sure the hearer does something, thus the susceptibility in which a threat revolves around noxious consequences as well as being exposed to other consequences in the near future. Though promises cut maneuverability, whereas threats do not, the speaker was bound by some sort of commitment. And no commitment this buffalo could offer would change the outcome once Ryan was captured, and the fundamental fear he faced: being forced into a laboratory for experimental purposes.

Ryan could not show any details of apprehension, otherwise, he would risk exposing a weakness that these ZPD animals can exploit. He was surprised Pandora hadn't revealed herself yet upon feeling his heart beat faster and his blood turn cold, which she would warn him of biological abnormalities. Perhaps she knew exposing herself would make his predicament even worse. Or Pandora, either by selfless adherence or programmed charge, knew that exposing herself would put the AI in danger of being compromised by tech-savvy specialists. Either way, they were both going to be in danger. He needed to play his cards right.

"Anderson Ryan, 09237P09."

The water buffalo slammed his fist on the table and papers nearly flew. Ryan offered no reaction to this. Bogo headed for the door.

"Hopps, Wilde...with me. Now."

**************

"The 'suspect' refuses to talk, will not allow my officers to question it, and has repeatedly said the same statement I just repeated to you."

Chief Bogo was massaging his temples and groaned in agony. Nearly forty-six minutes wasted with repetition. Their attempts to convince a creature of unknown origin to talk was an utter washout. He was now on the phone with City Hall, reporting back with any results—which there were none—to higher civil authority. Of course, this misfortune did not please those at City Hall, who desperately required information on this unknown, unrecorded creature for logical reasons. The public demanded to know who this newcomer was, whether it is a threat or not, and city hall wanted to know as much as possible to quell this hysteria.

"But the suspect has given a name," he said. "Any gender, though it could be a male, species or medical data is unknown to us. ZBI intervention is not needed...yet. But whether the ZPD allows this creature certain legal rights in interrogation is up to a city court's decision—a decision that could take days for the courts to make."

There was a long pause.

"Yes, sir. I'll see to it."

He hung up the phone and gave a long, frustrated sigh. Across from his desk, Judy and Nick sat and waited.

"It seems our wise and elected orators at city hall prefer to keep our suspect in ZPD custody until further notice," he said to them. "For how long, we don't know. If it changes its mind and cooperates, that time could be shortened. If not, indefinite."

"Chief Bogo," Judy began, raising her voice loudly, "we have reasons to believe that our 'Alba Mythos,' or whatever name it goes by, is a completely new species, not ever recorded in all mammalian history.

"Precisely, Hopps, but where it came from is still on the tables," Bogo said, although not very pleased himself with the current status. "And we need to know now unless we want the ZBI taking over this whole case. They were generous enough to place him under ZPD custody, rather than taking in for themselves. Or that mammal that was able to shot a tranquilizer in its neck."

"Why so, Chief?" Nick asked.

He sighed, "Because, Wilde, I can't say it right now."

"But, Chief, why can't we know now?"

"I already told you, Wilde, but if it gets through your thick skull, I will tell you again: I can't say anything without the presence of a co-supervisor," grunted Bogo without looking at the tod.

"And who is this mammal anyway? Is he some kind of secret ZBI agent that gets a new identity every mission and flies to exotic places?" mocked Nick.

"He goes by the name 'Savage.' That's all they said."

"Savage? What kind of a name is that?" snorted Nick.

"What kind of a name is Piberious?" Judy said.

"Who's side are you on, Carrots, again?" Nick inquired, with a now less than amused tone. His answer was replied with another giggle from the rabbit.

"Regardless," Bogo said, breaking the petty argument between his officers, "if we cannot get any information out of it, then the ZBI takes control. I prefer we keep this case in our hands, and while we're down on officer, I'm asking my finest—well, somewhat finest—officers what the next step should be."

But how to get it to talk was the pivotal question. The ZPD relies on three concepts that are intended to lead the suspect to believe that confessing to the crime (whether guilty or not) is in the suspect's best interests. First, officers isolate the suspect from family and friends, in the hopes that it will make the person feel alone. Then, the officer starts by stating that the suspect is guilty. That's already been established. The officer will then present a theory of the crime (sometimes supported by other evidence, sometimes completely fabricated) that offers details that the suspect can later parrot back to the officer. The officer ignores or refutes any claims of innocence by the defendant. This is the "bad cop" portion of the interview. The cop knows that suspect is lying, knows that the suspect did it, and the suspect is wasting everyone's time with protests of innocence. Finally, after the officer had made it clear to the suspect that no claims of innocence will be entertained, the officer moves on to the "good cop" portion of the interview. Now, the police officer tells the suspect that the officer understands why the suspect did it and everyone else will understand too. If the suspect confesses, good things will happen—a lesser charge, a chance to go home. If not, the suspect will remain in custody forever.

"That's going to be hard," Nick said. "We have no information on our criminal in custody. There's no background, no mammalian records, no nothing; nada. Which means—"

"Which means we have to start should start from the beginning," said Judy. "We need an introduction, basics of communication, and knowledge. Without any knowledge about it, we need to build it ourselves."

"Carrots, I think you nailed it. But we need to come up with a...hypothesis. What it could be."

"And I guess you have an idea, Slick?" she asked in the form of a challenge.

"I think it's an alien," he said, almost confidently; yet, his next saying proved hard to take seriously. "It's here to gather intel and send back to its planet before sending their attack."

"There's no such thing, Nick. I think it's an endangered species secrecy living somewhere in this world. As you can see, it wears clothes and seems to speak out language like us mammals."

"But the aliens have their advanced technology. They can learn our language and copy our clothing. How do you explain that blast back at the hotel? That's not something we can produce."

"Nick, if the alien has advance technology, why doesn't it make itself into a mammal like us?"

"Well, it must have its reasons. So, why don't we trick it into spilling its own guts?"

"And what grand scheme do you got in that head of yours?"

"Sometimes, when you have those strong, silent types and can't get them to spill their guts, you have to entice them."

In truth, Judy was having a hard time following along. He was comparing Alba Mythos to the epitome of what they call "the strong, silent type"—mammals who convey their resolve and power through a sturdy, deliberate silence.

"They're silent not because they have nothing to say, but because they don't have to fill up the air with words. They don't need to be looked at to dominate. They already dominate, just by looking at themselves. You know the image: 'You can stand on your head, but I will say nothing. I will not let you in and better yet, I will throw you off balance by my silence. I am in control. I have the power!'

"But there are ways of breaking their stance. You can flirt with them and see how they react. If they seem receptive, you can take more steps to make them open up. If they get overly shy about the attention, pull back. It's better to take things slower than make them uncomfortable and ruin your chances."

Mammals, especially the males, sometimes use silence to be in charge and collect their thoughts. They can rely on it like they do the masked face. Silence exhibits control. Employed in this way, silence can be as earsplitting as shrieking.

"You think it will work?" asked Judy.

"I'm mostly sure." Good enough. "Chief?"

"Go speak with it," Bogo ordered. "Get it to talk. At any cost."

**************

She had entered a world of monochrome. Like in old photographs, the world was black and white, tinted sepia by the sickly yellow light coming from the ceiling. The faces of the guards she saw among the way were heavy and sunken, with strict, mean eyes glinting from the shadows underneath their caps.

Judy remembered just how sphinxlike it could be. Its silence was still present in her mind, and still made her twitch in anger and flush with a hint of embarrassment every time. Alba Mythos had never seen her as a proper authority, and she had never perceived him as anything less than a threat. Perhaps it was tough, enduring bleak rooms and harsh sentences. Surely, those grey walls had to be getting to it. They were getting to Judy, and she had only been here for less than twenty minutes.

"How is he doing here?" Judy inquired, trying to lift her mind away from bitter thoughts.

The elephant watched her closely, shrugged his large shoulders. "He's not caused trouble. He's been silent. Some guards check on it to see if it's okay."

She took another sharp turn around the corner and paused in front of a large set of double doors. Judy had no idea where she was anymore. The thought of getting lost in this labyrinth got to her. Had they walked downstairs? There were no windows. Were they even above ground?

The fluorescent light above them flickered and hummed repetitively.

"Hey, is all this about Wulfric?" Stomp asked. Judy shifted awkwardly. Her feet had started tapping on the ground, getting quicker and more nervous each minute that passed.

"Yeah."

"What's Wilde gonna have to say about that?"

"I'm here to find out," Judy smiled weakly.

"He says there's another option we can try." Stomp's tone was conversational, casual. The normality of the voice calmed Judy down just a little.

She shrugged. "Yeah. But back then he spouted a lot of stuff that no one was prepared to listen to."

"And that's changed?"

"Maybe. Now we need to consider every angle. Even Alba Mythos'."

Stomp didn't reply. He pushed the door open and led Judy to another, securely locked, set of doors. As he pulled out the keys, Judy pulled the trigger remote from her pocket and held it in her paws. She shifted the bag she had