In Cucumburi, a city in RealVille, a state in Zootopia Dill, who is a detective on the TRRPF, short for the Totally Real & Reliable Police Force, is investigating an animal that escaped the Zoo.

“Hey, Elmo. What’s happened here?”

Elmo, a 53 year old cop who loves to smoke fat cigars and a bright red suit made of fake animal skin, sat in front of an opened pen. “Well, the zookeeper told me that a chicken escaped.”

“A chicken opened a lock?” Dill asked confusedly.

“Dunno.” Elmo stood up, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“What’s their name?”

“Pickle.”

“Pickle?”

“Yeah. The zookeeper said that the first thing he ate when they got him was a pickle.”

“Huh. Why would a zoo have a chicken? I mean, it’s not the coolest animal you could have in a zoo.”

“I dunno. Go ask him. He’s in the office over there. His name is Rick.”

“Okay.”

Dill walks over to the office, where a 16 year old, pimple faced teenager was sitting, banging his head and playing the air guitar. Dill walked over to the desk and looked at the guys name plate.

“Uh, hello. Um, Rick?”

Rick kept on playing the guitar.

“Rick?” Dill said it a little louder than last time, but Rick still played.

“Rick!” Rick fell out of his chair, an ear on his headphones over his forehead.

“Huh. What? Who are you?”

“I’m Detective Dill with the TRRPF of Zootopia. And I have some questions for you, Rick?”

“Okay, man. Hurry it up. I was on my favorite part of the song!”

“What happened to Pickle, Rick? Before he escaped, I mean.”

“I dunno. Junior said he went to feed him and then he got all freaked out and ran away.”

“What freaked him out?”

“I don’t know. He ran away screaming and bumped his head on a light pole. He went to TUH, the unnecessary hospital, in an ambulance and said he had to stay there for a week.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah, now get out of my office. I want to finish this song before my dad gets here!”

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“Morty. Why are you asking?” Rick put back on his headphones around his neck.

“No reason.” And Dill walked out of the office.

Later that day, Dill decided to go on a stakeout to find more clues.

“Man, I should have brought something to eat. I could really go for some steak right now.”

Suddenly, there was a light knock at the door to his van. He went to open the door, but nobody was out there. Then, he was jumped from behind and gagged over the mouth, with what felt like feathers. He struggled, but the smell of a barnyard was too much and he passed out in the van.

Dill woke up in a dark room, with only a lightbulb hanging beside him giving any light. He tried to look around, but there was a bucket over his head. `, short for Zootopia’s Finest Chicken, bucket. He tried to move his arms, but they were tied with a rope against the chair he was sitting on. Then, he heard a pattering from behind him and his bucket was taken off of his head. He tried to turn around, but he didn’t get the “Owl’s Head” modifier that makes your head turn all the way around yet, so he couldn’t.

“Who are you?”

“That’s not crucial right now, Detective Dill.” The man had a thick and gruff Italian accent. A ruffling came from his direction.

“What? What does that even mean?”

“Humans. Such simpletons. It means it doesn’t matter right now. The point is I need your help.”

“Not if you don’t tell me who you are.”

Fine. The figure came around and faced Dill. “ My name is Pickle. Now will you help me?”

Continued in next section