The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 99

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Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

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The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction

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Part One:

Fuel

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Chapter 11 –The Fire Next Time
(Pt. 7...Conclusion)

"Yop! THAT'S what it takes to get you to write a song, fox?" Dana Alchesay was staring dumfounded at the computer screen—while all around the coyote-girl, other faces were similarly bewildered.

Typically, it was Mike Daehan who put words to the thought in the back of everyone's head. Though always a bit skittish around police officers, the young Asian black rat was the most levelheaded member of Conor's crew.

"Hmmm, I wonder what tune that would sound like, done electric?" he mused, stroking a whisker.

"We could find out," Jason M'beke offered, but Saad al-Zaqir immediately vetoed the idea.

"Non, not unless Conor is with us." The young sand cat insisted, unconsciously flexing his claws.

A pained look crossed Jason's face. "How is dat evah supposed to...?"

"Shhhh," Dana growled, "he's starting to speak again," and the room fell swiftly into silence.

"All right," Conor took a final gulp of air, and then went on. "To get back to the REAL reason for that graffiti thing, it's like one of my favorite song-writers Joe Jackal once said, '♪If my eyes don't deceive me there's something going wrong around hee-yer.' "♫

The edges of his mouth curved upwards into an ironic smile.

"And there's a LOT going wrong around here, isn't there guys? Right now, our generation is the first one in like 75 years that's looking at having a less decent future than our parents had. Yeah, it's true, look it up." Now his mouth reversed course, turning downwards in a hard frown. "Or...maybe you don't need to look it up, maybe you already know the score."

He paused for a moment, as if waiting for a reaction from the camera.

"What the heck is he up to?" Judy Hopps and Albert Tufts queried simultaneously, staring puzzled at their respective screens. No one answered either one of them, although Nick and Dr. Hind each had the glimmering of an idea.

As if in response to the question, Conor put his paws together, tapping the fingers in a slow, rolling motion. His expression was benign, almost beatific.

"Back in our parents and grandparents' day, if you wanted to go to college, you could nail down a student loan, maybe get a grant, and work off the rest while you were studying. And then afterwards, you could get started on a career, and in maybe three, four years get that loan paid off."

Without preamble, his face turned again to iron and flint.

"That's not how it is any more, right guys? If you want to get into college these days, you've gotta chain yourself to the oars; take on a loan so heavy you won't get it paid for ten or even twenty years...and then only if your give up a whole lot of other stuff—and that's only you're even able to stay employed for that long."

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