Zootopia: To Date A Predator

Author's Note:
After a time way too long, I proudly present A1C4: 'When Backs Turn'.

This late release is mostly due to me having IRL troubles that made me unable to properly focus on TDAP. Furthermore, I had a bit of a motivation low, which was at least partially related to the aforementioned troubles.

I think the wait was worth it, though, as with over 10k words, this is one of my longest chapters to date, and I think the quality will impress, too. Credit goes to my Beta Readers, as detailed below.

Chapter Summary:
Living on the street was never easy. Backs may turn. Nobody was truly one's friend. Others may be sincere, or they may be lying. Everyone used the other for their own personal gain. Why would Judy be any different?

Acknowledgements:
As always, huge thanks to all my beta readers on my Discord:
- Dawnless
- itzmasterz
- Loki
- plank_space
- Pompombojam
- Taberdi
- Toboe
- Vicarious

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Wide eyes searched with urgency a room of dim light. Limbs shot straight and locomoted without any kind of coordination until he left his plain white blanket bunched up as his hind paws still kicked. The back of his head collided with the equally plain and white wall, his back flush against it, his paws braced flat to either side of him. When his paw clasped the fur of his chest, a few strands loosened. He startled himself with a yip. Still, he panted. The air in the room was fresh and clear and cool, but it wasn't enough.

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes. He forced a calm breath—and it really had to be forced. He was alright. He was alright. It did not happen. It would not happen. His heart still raced, and his vision blurred that slight bit at the edges. He took hold of his phone on the nightstand, catching it just before it escaped his chokehold. His suspicions were confirmed; it was about a quarter of an hour before 0500. At least he wouldn't be awoken by that pesky alarm that came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Speakers in the ceilings, he guessed.

Nick grasped at himself again—without ripping fur this time—as if he needed that contact to stay tangible. When he relaxed a bit, he flexed his digits without thought... Dull daggers met his gaze. Still he felt her viscera on them. As he swallowed, still he tasted a sea of crimson. He breathed hard as he willed those memories, those other timelines—no, they wouldn't happen! They mustn't!—to vanish. It was in vain. The sheer euphoria of the hunt, of the prey, of the kill... It made him feel every strand of his fur, every particle of dust, every ray of light... or rather the lack thereof. He felt like he had won the lottery, bought himself a fancy car, had a full month's worth of vacation behind him driving in that fancy car and had achieved his life's goals—all that in the span of a few hours. Yet, at the very same time, his stomach felt like giving out, his limbs as if stone, every bone felt broken and mended and broken again. It was as if he wasn't meant to live. It was as if everyone were better off without his kind—without him. The duality of it never really went away. He was a predator.

He contemplated for a moment what it would be like had he never met her. His dreams wouldn't be better—not a lot anyway—they'd just be different. If it wouldn't be that prey, it would be this prey. And if it wasn't that, it was some other he'd seen that day. It wasn't really about them in as much as it was about what happened to them. The things his mind screamed—no begged, pleaded, and even bargained—him to do every second he was around their kind. Just as prey was all the same when it came down to it, so were his own kind. He was not special.

Deep breaths—in and out—blurred the visions that still played behind his eyes to ineligibility; nothing made the thoughts truly vanish—ever. Nonetheless, he was fine. He was in his bed in the ZPA. He was away from her. There were guards at every corner and paramedics in the walls. Nothing could happen. Nothing.