That's right, you guys, this growth drive has been the most successful one we've seen yet, making over twice as much as we expected, and more in just the last round of donations than we expected over the entire series! Your support has been fantastic, and Ren and I hope you all enjoy the results!

Art by Yours Truly
Cameo by  GenialGroucho's Archie
Story by  Renard_DeFleureax

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The expose on the fattening crime wave in Badger Hill was unlike anything that Zootopia had ever heard about. It was so strange and unheard of that, technically, the courts didn’t have anything in the books punishing criminals for forcing people to gain weight. At least they were able to slam them with “property damage,” and “attempted kidnapping.” But, for whatever reason, the jury, which consisted of noticeably rotund people, and the judge, who was nearly bursting out of his robes, let Archie off on community service. The supposedly reformed kangaroo had a novel idea on how to fulfill his debt to society; raise money for the Zootopia Police Department.

Working with Archie was, to say the least, awkward for Finnick, Nick, and Bogo. Finnick was mad that he had been double-crossed, Nick wanted to sit on him for orchestrating the kidnapping of his mom, and Bogo just had a general disdain for criminals. However, the Kangaroo was oddly persuasive when he wasn’t being chased by police.

“Do you know how much money advertising makes? Besides,” Archie elbowed Finnick’s gut. “You have a sentence to work through, too.”

“They nailed me with minor fraud!” Finnick shouted, trying to wriggle out of the pink singlet he had been forced into. “I look like a strawberry jelly donut!”

“That might because you resemble one so well.” Archie squished the fennec’s cheeks. “You know what they say, you are what you eat. And it’s the least you could do for Gideon after eating all his sample donuts…” the Kangaroo took a handful of Finnick’s blubber, dropping it and watching his handiwork billow and jiggle under the stretched fabric of the singlet. “Besides. It’s not like you’re going anywhere, after you destroyed the chasis of your own van.”

Finnick grumbled darkly. He had ballooned with weight, his belly bulging out into a near perfect sphere squished into a singlet that had a smiling pie stretched over the crest of his stomach, with letters spelling out “Gideon Grey’s Real Good Baked Stuff” in an increasingly wide font. His stubby, swollen legs were almost unable to touch the ground, and his arms were laden with blubber, resting limply off of overgrown lovehandles spilling out of his singlet. Resigned to his fate, he was resting against an even bigger blob, waiting for another bit of jam that, admittedly, he was starting to grow fond of.

On the opposite end of the blob Finnick was resting against was Zootopia’s newest, biggest powerlifter, and the strongest arm of the law, Chief Bogo. The Buffalo had always been strong and imposing, but now he easily towered over every police officer, pachyderms included, and some of Zootopia’s smaller buildings, too. He was a wall of muscle, from titanic arms like steel girders that bulged bigger than most of his officers, to a torso packed with bulging pecs and a middle that, while not bulbous with fat or rippling with brick-like abs, was a solid mass of flesh, hard as stone.

The chief was doing his part to raise money for the Police Department; the amount of calendars he had posed for bordered on the edge of indecency, but with his rippling back vast as a valley and his mountainous shoulders, few were going to object, least of all Bogo himself. For someone who used to indulge in little showboating, the chief couldn’t help but flex his titanic arms and bouncing his granite-like cliff face of a chest, or simply lift police cruisers to the delight of his growing fan base. The surge of power and strength coursing through him swelled his ego just as much as it did his hulking body, and the Chief felt more and more like showcasing it off for all the world to see. The buffalo’s “modified” uniform was little more than a pair of blue posers with a police badge covering the only part of Bogo’s body he wasn’t legally allowed to show off in these fundraising events. With a single pose and flex of his arms, he was bringing in enough money to cover his own paycheck by courting a large fan base that liked a man in uniform and certainly liked seeing him out of it even more. It also seemed to have an effect on crime; crimes like petty theft and vandalism had dramatically fallen, because apparently muggers, conmen, and burglars weren’t terribly willing to run the risk of going up against a police officer that could most likely bend them into pretzels, bounce them off a rippling chest, then body slam whatever was left.

But Bogo, for all his prodigious strength and massive, over-developed muscle, was not the main attraction, for towering above even him was none other than Nick Wilde, a now whale-like fox that had the dubious honor of being ZPD’s unofficial mascot. It was no surprise that he simply wasn’t fit for service any more; his feet hadn’t touched the ground in weeks, too enveloped in the rolls of plush, fur-covered lard that passed for his legs to be of much use.

Being placed on long-term desk duty was the best possible outcome for Wilde, but even that had been a temporary solution. He had tried sharing the front desk with Clawhauser, but in a handful of weeks, the cheetah was a pudgy island in an ocean of vulpine fat, and soon, all the station’s donuts and treats started drifting to the same place, giving the inspiration for Archie’s inverse bake sale, just about at the same time that Nick reached the last uniform size possible.

Now, every last, blubbery inch of his massive size was sprawled out on ZPD’s front plaza on a daily basis. Even while sitting he matched Bogo in height, mostly due to a posterior large enough to crush the same police cruisers the chief lifted. As he was seated almost permanently, outside of when he was moved via crane, his massive legs hadn't seen use in quite a while, going from thunder thighs to the size of a young hippo in terms of girth. The true display, however, was the monstrous expanse of his belly. Sprawling across the ground and piling above it, the churning, gurgling mass seemed to require more and more to satisfy it each day. Perched atop his vast gut were two heaving sacks of adipose that would shame an elephant, and a bit of solid muscle buried deep under the layers of fat that was just enough to keep things from sagging.

“Oh c’mon, like anybody could help it. Gideon’s stuff is delicious. Those pies, apple dumplings, mmmm, blueberry tarts.” Nick let out a soft groan and licked his lips. The fox’s muzzle was almost pinched by his beyond cherubic cheeks, looking like pillows had been propped against his face. A thick ring of fat swaddled his neck, keeping his chin up. Or it would have had his multiple chins not simply merged into the tire of blubber. Grunting, he blushed as his belly let out a rumbling growl. “Gotta be kidding me, I ate four dozen cookies for a donation made by the local scout leader twenty minutes ago.”

Archie smirked as he clambered up the fox, one arm behind his back. “It was a generous donation! Besides, each snack is paired with a cash grant to the department. Just think of it as snacking your way into being ZPD’s poster boy. You just fill a lot of poster.” The kangaroo snickered and shrugged.

While Finnick was stuck with a special probation and Bogo’s multiple calendars had done some good for the department, they'd courted a huge flow of cash off the towering fox. “Feed the Force” had begun almost as a joke, monetary contributions made to have Zootopia’s only multi-ton fox eat more. What hadn't been expected would be a meteoric rise in donations which led to a similar rise in Nick’s weight. It had been lucky his belly was nearly bottomless because the dollars rolled in daily.

“Oh, speaking of which, we received a very generous donation from an anonymous source,” the kangaroo hummed.

Nick hiccuped, sending a ripple through his plush body. “Uh, how generous are we talking? And to eat what?”

“Let's just say the amount donated and your weight have the same number of digits. And as for what you've got to eat…” Archie beamed as he held up a hose, a drop of jam resting at the end.

Nick nearly groaned, but the smell of the jam brought another loud growl rising from the depths of his belly. Licking his lips he grinned softly. “Okay, okay...let's do it. It's for a good cause.”