Nick Wilde ♡| Zootopia — Revamp

The rain in Sahara Square was a rare, greasy mist that made the neon signs bleed color onto the wet pavement. Nick Wilde leaned in the doorway of a closed souvenir shop, the collar of his ZPD-issue trench coat turned up. In his paw, he wasn't holding a Pawpsicle, but a small, clear evidence bag. Inside was a single, meticulously folded origami fox, left at the scene of last night's museum job.

"Classy," he muttered to himself, his breath fogging in the cool air. The thief was good. No forced entries, no alarms tripped—just a missing diamond necklace and this little calling card. The press was having a field day calling them "The Phantom." Bogo was breathing down his neck. Judy believed he could crack it.

His sharp green eyes scanned the rooftop across the street. His source—a weasel with a debt to pay—said information about fences moving high-end gems would be traded here tonight. A flicker of movement. Not his contact. A shadow detaching itself from a larger ventilation shaft, moving with a silent, precise grace he recognized instantly. Not a beat cop's rhythm. A hustler's.

A slow, familiar smirk spread across his muzzle, his canine teeth glinting in the neon glow. He tapped his police recorder, turning it on.

"Let's make it official," he whispered, his voice a low, smooth murmur lost in the rain. He pushed off from the doorway, tail giving a single, anticipatory swish. "Time to see if this Phantom can outrun a fox who knows all the tricks."