Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The weekend passed by quickly, and before Bryce knew it, Monday had arrived. Bryce awoke to the sound of his alarm. Tiredly, he rolled over and shut it off. He sat up on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes.
He still wasn't used to getting up at 9 in the morning since he spent the last week waking up at noon. Absol was still sleeping peacefully under the blankets. Bryce wanted another hour, but he still needed to make sure his bike was ready for driving on patrol.
He slipped into a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt adorned with a black symbol on the back. He walked out into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While he waited for the coffee to finish, he switched on the TV to watch the news.
"Due to the radiation still in the air, there have been riots breaking out all over Hoenn, many being trainers, who have had their parties rendered unable to fight due to some mutations. The HEPA has expressed their sympathy, and they are still investigating on the source of the radiation. When they do discover it, they will work to find a method to return all Pokemon to their original state. However, the Mauville Police Department is reluctant to release a patrol due to fears of their officers being attacked. They have somewhat eased the officers' fears by arming them with heavier weaponry, and full body armor. Until the radiation source is discovered, this will be the customary armament of the MPD."
Bryce sighed. Great. First day on the force, and already his life's in danger. He sighed and shut off the TV. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and sipped it in silence. Gazing out the window, he was already running his career path through his head. Was being a police officer really the best thing he wanted to do? He was debating whether to resign from the police department.
No, he thought, not after what they did.
He remembered what had happened with Moonstar. She disappeared, and the MPD didn't do a thing other than hand him some forms to fill out. When she disappeared, his grades dropped, and he was almost kicked out of Mauville University. He lived in a depression that lasted for months, and was starting to recover when he ran into Absol. She showed the affection for him that Moonstar did, and had the same skill.
He sighed again as he continued to stare out the window, sipping his coffee. Why had he joined? Was it because he wanted to aid in the long-lost search for Moonstar? Yeah, it was. He would do anything to get Moonstar back, even though he'd pretty much given up all hope of finding her by now.
He drained the mug, and set it on the table next to him. He leaned back in the chair, and prayed for her return again. He stood up, and walked out into the cabin's garage. He slid his toolbox from the shelf, and opened it up. He looked at the front wheel, and saw the fender was slipped out of alignment.
Bryce extracted a socket wrench from his toolbox, and tried unscrewing the bolt when he saw a huge crack in the side where the bolt was. Then he noticed a large fracture in the plastic body frame.
Shit, he thought to himself, I'm gonna need to buy a whole new frame, that'll cost me.
He tossed the wrench into the toolbox, and snapped it shut. He went back inside and made a note to head over to Mauville Auto to order a new frame. He tore the paper from the notepad, and stuck it to the refrigerator. He went back into the garage and examined the side. It was almost missing a huge piece from the side. He pulled out a roll of duct tape from the toolbox, and taped the fracture closed so it wouldn't fly off while he was riding. He put the tape back, and went back inside. It was about 11:00, he should be getting ready.
Bryce quickly wrote a note to Absol, saying where he was going. He left his cell number, and threw his fleece jacket over his shoulders. He opened the garage door, and took off down the road to the precinct.
Bryce arrived in fifteen minutes, and parked his bike. He followed the signs to the back of the building, where there was already a group of students. Bryce went over to the group. Nate was there, leaning against the brick wall, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. He was completely silent, and didn't react as Bryce approached him.
"You alright?" he asked.
Nate said nothing. He simply shook his head. Bryce placed a hand on Nate's shoulder, which he shook off.
"Don't touch me. I'm going to find the group that did all of this, and I'm going to kill them all with my bare hands!" Nate's voice rose to a violent crescendo as the fury in his eyes grew. Bryce was taken aback by his friend's violent reaction, and stepped away. As he waited by the door, he could still feel Nate's eyes burning into his soul.
The Sheriff opened the door to the garage and had all the recruits enter. The garage smelled of gasoline and motor oil. The cruisers were lined up by number, and each had a fresh paint job, no scratches or bullet holes to be found. The Sheriff held a clipboard in his hand, and walked down the line, reading off cruiser numbers to the recruits. He stopped at Bryce, and read off the cruiser number.
"Sir, I'm not licensed to drive a car," Bryce said.
The Sheriff looked up. "What ARE you licensed to drive?"
"Only a motorcycle. I've got one that's in exceptional condition."
"You'll drive the ones that the Precinct has," the Sheriff said, starting to move on.
"Sir, with all respect, I'd rather drive mine," Bryce suddenly felt a slight fear as the Sheriff turned to him, studying him with his cold eyes.
"Then bring it in when I'm finished, got it?" he asked coldly. The Sheriff finished quickly, and he led the rest into the equipment room to receive their uniform and equipment. Bryce ran to his bike, raised the kickstand, and walked it into the garage. He saw Nate whisper something to the mechanic and slipped him a $50. The mechanic seemed older and his hair was thinning. He examined the bike as Nate left.
"What size engine?" he asked, examining the engine.
"150 HP, fuel-injected four-stroke," Bryce replied, trying to remember.
"Alright, and what is the top speed?"
"Top speed last time I remember was at about 200 mph, and I've just recently installed a 6 gallon nitrous oxide engine, which I've been clocked at 250."
The mechanic looked up. "You said 'nitrous oxide'? You have a nitro engine on that? Can the suspension handle that torque?"
"Yes, I've searched quite a while for an axle that could handle that speed."
"Have you any experience?"
Bryce hesitated. He had a ton of experience, he was a racer, after all. Though the races he was in were all street races, and highly illegal. "Yes, I've been in the Motorcycle Racing Syndicate held throughout Hoenn. I've placed 1st in all of the races."
"That's an illegal racing circuit, Officer Hopewell," the mechanic said, looking up sharply, "I should report you to the Sheriff and have your badge taken. But we need drivers like you during chases."
Bryce gave him a puzzled look as the mechanic looked over the suspension.
"Our cruisers are becoming less and less maneuverable, which makes chasing suspects more difficult. Mostly because most people are turning to motorcycles. With that size engine and your claimed skills, you should be able to catch anyone easily. Now, you're going to need a siren and lights."
"If you could give me a unit, I'm sure I could find a way to attach it to my bike," Bryce offered.
The mechanic sighed and walked over to a large cabinet against the far wall. He pulled a large black keyboard attached to a red and blue light bar. He handed it to Bryce, which he took, uncertain if he'd be able to attach the monstrous contraption to his bike.
"Now you'd better get to the group. I'm not done looking at your bike yet."
Bryce set the siren system on the floor next to his bike and dashed through the door to the equipment room.
The mechanic waited until the door had shut before picking up his toolbox from the shelf. He extracted a socket wrench and loosened the bolt on the front wheel suspension enough that if Bryce tried riding fast, the bolt would break and send him sprawling on the road. Next he frayed the brake cable slightly. Enough tension and it'd snap. Finally, the mechanic loosened the axle bolt on the back wheel. Like the front wheel, Bryce tried riding too fast, the wheel would fly off. The mechanic chuckled as he put his tools back and looked at the fifty dollar bill he had been given. Damn, he was good.
Bryce came back into the garage with several blue shirts, black pants, a black Kevlar vest, and a military-issue Desert Eagle .44 Magnum. With the Desert Eagle and the Kevlar vest, he carried three clips along with finally, a black equipment belt and a pad of citations. He slipped them all into his backpack along with the siren unit, and drove home on his motorcycle, unaware of the "examinations" the mechanic had given it.
He parked his bike in the garage, and walked inside. As soon as he opened the door, Absol dashed over to him and threw her arms around him.
"Where were you?" she asked, clearly worried.
"I was getting my equipment from the Precinct. I left you a note," Bryce said, pointing to the scrap of paper on the counter.
Absol released him. "You know I can't read," she said. She hugged him again, and Bryce went into the bedroom to hang his uniforms up. He pulled the siren unit out of his bag, and carried it into the garage to attach it to his bike. He picked up his toolbox and radio and slipped in Rammstein's CD "Sehnsucht". He bolted the keyboard unit under the gauges, and secured it to the plastic frame. He mounted the lights on the front, above the headlights.
Absol walked into the garage as Bryce was working, and heard something coming from a strange black box on the floor next to him. It didn't sound like the language that she and Bryce spoke. When she sat down next to the motorcycle, she heard Bryce singing along with the strange music. All of a sudden, both the box and Bryce shouted a short strange word loudly, which made her jump. She lost her balance, and landed on the toolbox. A wrench that had been sticking out of the box jabbed her spine as she fell, tears of pain springing to her eyes.
Bryce heard the crash, and turned around. He shut the radio off, and helped Absol off of the ground. She winced in pain as Bryce carefully lifted her up, and leaned her against his bike.
"What were you listening to?" she grimaced, rubbing her back.
"Rammstein. It's a German metal band," Bryce replied as he put the toolbox away. "I was attaching the siren unit to my bike. I've got patrol tomorrow."
Absol hugged him again. "I really don't want you to leave. I'm worried about you."
Bryce returned the embrace. "With the body armor and the gun I've got, I'll be quite safe."
Absol released him, and stood up, her back still throbbing. Bryce put his toolbox and radio away, and followed her inside. Bryce laid out his uniform and equipment, and switched on the TV. There was another report on the nuclear tests.
"Further news has been released by the HEPA, and they're revealed that the source was from a military strike test that had gone off-course before touchdown. The missile was planned to detonate in the sky above Hoenn, but the missile failed to detonate in the time they wished. The military has apologized for the effects that the radiation had on the trainers, but some are unwilling to be forgiving. Riots have broken out near the military headquarters all over Hoenn and Johto, many leading to violent and destructive behavior. Police officers who have patrol are advised to exercise extreme caution when dealing with a domestic disturbance, and have been ordered to shoot to kill. In further news..."
Bryce continued to watch, but Absol was still concerned for his safety. Riots all over the place would make patrol possibly deadly for him. She wished she could do something, but what? She sighed and leaned against the couch. She spent the entire day trying to think of a plan to keep Bryce from going on patrol, only to come up with nothing.
"Bryce, I still don't want you to leave," she said once more, draping her arms around him and rubbing her head against his cheek.
Bryce rolled over and hugged her. "For the last time, don't worry. I've got body armor, and a military-issue pistol. I'm well protected."
She pulled away, and looked deep into his eyes. "That still doesn't stop me from worrying about you."
"Then allow me to help you calm down," he said, running his hand down her thigh. He slipped between her legs, catching her off-guard. With his other hand he found her breast, and rubbed in circles. His right hand stroked inside of her hot tunnel as his left rubbed her hardened nipple.
Absol slipped Bryce's sweatpants off of him and stroked his cock, moving closer and rubbing it against the fur on her stomach. She crawled down so his shaft was in front of her face. She took it into her mouth, slowly bobbing her head back and forth. She slid a paw down between her legs, and fingered herself.
She stopped when she felt Bryce's cum shoot down her throat. She slipped his cock from her mouth, and crawled back up. She placed her sticky paw on Bryce's cock, and guided him in penetrating her.
She rolled onto her back, and allowed Bryce to hump her. Bryce took one of Absol's breasts into his hand, and licked the other. Absol pulled him close as she felt her orgasm approaching, the heat building in her stomach until she couldn't hold back.
She wrapped her legs and arms around him as she came, and felt Bryce's cum shoot into her.
She laid her head back on the pillow, and fell asleep with Bryce on top of her.
The next morning arrived quickly. Bryce woke up to the steady beeping of his alarm. He cracked open one eye. 6 o' clock already? Bryce shut off the alarm and sat up. Tiredly, he shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee. He switched on the news, nothing of interest. He poured a cup as he heard Absol walk in.
"Early, isn't it?" Bryce asked. Absol didn't respond, just nodded and sat down on the couch. Bryce took another sip of his coffee before heading into the bedroom to change into his uniform.
Bryce put on the body armor under the shirt, tucked the shirt into the pants, and slipped on the belt. He attached the two spare clips of ammo, the holster for his Desert Eagle, and fed the microphone for the radio through the loop on his shoulder. To the breast pocket he pinned his MPD badge, and walked back outside.
Bryce said goodbye to Absol, who again didn't respond. He put on the white motorcycle helmet and started the engine. He pulled out of the garage and switched on the headlights, it was still dark. He drove to the Precinct to sign in, and he noticed that Nate hadn't shown up. Reasoning that he must be late, Bryce started his patrol route, near the industrial area and through his neighborhood.
He was about an hour into his patrol when he received a domestic disturbance call.
"All officers in the R-5 area, this is Dispatch, we've received a Domestic Disturbance, suspect is male, about 6 feet tall, and is waving a gun around. Suspect seems to be delirious, drug abuse may be possible."
Bryce hit a couple keys on the unit, and located the source of the call. It was a couple streets over. He pressed the call button on his receiver. "This is Officer Bryce Hopewell; I'll see what's going on."
Bryce switched on his siren and lights, and drove to the location, 529 Gregory Street. When he arrived, he kept his lights on and drew his gun. Through the dark, he managed to identify the suspect, and was startled. It was Nate, waving his Desert Eagle around.
"Nate, drop the gun and get on the ground!" Bryce shouted, aiming the gun at him.
Nate whirled around. "Yo, Bryce! You're just in time to join the party! You killed her, and I'll use your blood to bring her back!"
Bryce didn't lower his gun. "Nate, drop the gun. I don't want to shoot you but I will if I have to!"
Nate merely chuckled. Without aiming, Nate fired off two rounds. Bryce felt the hot pavement fly up from below him. He dashed behind a house and radioed in. "Dispatch, this is Officer Hopewell. Suspect is indeed armed, two shots were fired, one missed completely, but the second one hit right below me. Requesting immediate backup, suspect is delusional."
Bryce slowly peeked from around the corner, and received two more rounds. He felt one graze his ear and the second one struck his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Bryce got up, and fired back. He saw Nate drop to the ground, and two more muzzle flashes. In the distance, he heard sirens as backup got closer.
"Well Bryce, it was nice, but I've got something I need to take care of with some friends of mine! I've been planning this for a while! Four of my buddies have some good weapons, and they're raiding your house as we speak! I'm off to see how they're doing!"
With that, Nate dashed over his backyard. Bryce took off after him, and again, radioed in.
"Hopewell here, suspect has fired and ran, heading for 395 Ringyard Road. I'm currently engaging in foot pursuit, suspect has admitted to accomplices who are there already, though I'm wondering if this is true."
Bryce leapt over his backyard fence, and jumped behind the tool shed when he heard automatic fire and saw the ground explode around him. "This is Hopewell; suspect does have reinforcements, armed with automatic weaponry. I don't know how many others there are, so all units are strongly cautioned."
Bryce slipped another magazine into his gun as he slowly looked around the corner. Someone fired again, though it was out front. The other officers must have arrived already.
More adrenaline surged through him as he heard something hit the grass behind him. It was a SWAT member, carrying two field rifles and a box of ammunition. He handed one to Bryce.
"Ya hurt?" he asked, loading a clip into the rifle. He wore a complete black outfit, with SWAT spelled out in large white letters.
"Not that I know of, but I did take a shot to the chest. Luckily I had my vest on," Bryce replied, laying on the wet grass and taking aim. He attached a scope to the rifle, and raised the rifle. The SWAT officer pulled himself on top of the shed, only to take a clip of automatic fire. The officer didn't move, only slid down the roof and fell to the ground. Bryce crawled over to him and checked him over. He was dead. He took three shots to the top of the head, pierced through the helmet.
When Bryce turned around, he saw Nate holding Absol hostage. He had his arm around Absol's neck, and was holding a Desert Eagle to her head. She tried to free herself, but only got a quick blow to the head from the pistol. Bryce suppressed the urge to run in amidst the gunfire and take down all of them. More of the officers had hid beside the house, and held their positions. Bryce stayed low to the ground, and took aim at one of the gunmen.
He fired, the window shattered, but he missed and the gunman leapt behind the wall and stuck his AK-47 out the window and open fired at Bryce. He crawled behind the shed, and went around to the other side. He steadied the sight on the gunman's forehead, and pulled the trigger. The gunman jarred, and fell to the ground.
"One gunman down, repeat, one gunman down," Bryce said into his radio. Then suddenly, all Hell broke loose. Gunfire erupted from everywhere, bullets hitting the ground and pelting the shed. When Bryce emerged from behind the shed, he saw the back door burst open and a gunman emerge, spraying madly with the AK-47. When all that came out were repeating clicks, Bryce fired off a burst of gunfire and took him down.
Then time seemed to slow down as he saw Absol try to dash over the body of the fallen shooter. Bryce saw a muzzle flash from the window, Absol suddenly freeze, sag to her knees, and drop on the grass.
Ignoring all rational thinking, Bryce slid another clip into his rifle and took the SWAT officer's and switched them both to "automatic" as he dashed forward, relentlessly spraying. He sidestepped and jumped, and got hit in the legs. He was flat on his stomach only a few feet away from Absol.
"Die, you bastards! DIE!" Bryce wasn't sure if any of the bullets hit or missed, all he remembers is an intense anger, then...nothing.
"Suspect is heading west on the Interstate, going approximately 100 miles per hour," an officer reported. Bryce was on his motorcycle, following after a fleet of police cruisers as their target roared ahead on a Diablo 1050. The driver went full throttle, leaving the officers in the dust.
"Where's Hopewell?" one asked. "Hopewell, get behind him and take him down. All other units clear a path."
Bryce chuckled as he pulled both throttle levers backwards, a blue flame erupting from the tailpipe as he accelerated forward, the speedometer needle heading towards 250. Bryce was near the driver and was about to shoot the rear wheel out when all of a sudden, the front wheel lost control, and fell off. The forks of the suspension dug along the ground, flinging him from the seat and sending him hurtling over the guardrail to the road 100 feet below the Interstate ramp.
Absol woke up a couple days later in a hospital room. She looked around and saw many get well cards, all from Bryce. She spent most of her time wondering if he was alright, until the fateful day.
The Chief of Police arrived and sat next to her bed.
"Your trainer is Officer Bryce Hopewell, right?" he asked. Absol felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Slowly, she nodded.
The Chief sighed. "Bryce is dead. He was in a chase when his suspension gave out and the wheel locked. He was rushed to the hospital, and passed away while in the ambulance. The medics did all they could. The investigators found evidence of sabotage on his bike, and arrested the mechanic working for the Precinct. He was a good officer, a funeral service will be held next month. The MPD will offer a shelter for you, since his home was destroyed in the shootout last week."
Absol said nothing, she nodded, and when the Chief left, she didn't cry.
The funeral was held in January, and the tears still didn't come as she watched Bryce's casket lower into the ground, while a fellow officer played the taps on a bugle. When the pastor was done preaching, she was escorted to a police cruiser and led to her destroyed home, where she stayed, memories of her brief time with Bryce lingered in the air. As she walked through the wreckage of the living room, she knelt down on the floor, and cried.
"It's a sad thing, seeing 'em die this young," the photographer said, loading another roll of film into his camera.
One of the detectives agreed, packing up all the investigation materials and loading them into the CSI van. The last thing they loaded inside was Absol in a body bag, a stiff noose still wrapped around her frozen neck.
The weekend passed by quickly, and before Bryce knew it, Monday had arrived. Bryce awoke to the sound of his alarm. Tiredly, he rolled over and shut it off. He sat up on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes.
He still wasn't used to getting up at 9 in the morning since he spent the last week waking up at noon. Absol was still sleeping peacefully under the blankets. Bryce wanted another hour, but he still needed to make sure his bike was ready for driving on patrol.
He slipped into a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt adorned with a black symbol on the back. He walked out into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While he waited for the coffee to finish, he switched on the TV to watch the news.
"Due to the radiation still in the air, there have been riots breaking out all over Hoenn, many being trainers, who have had their parties rendered unable to fight due to some mutations. The HEPA has expressed their sympathy, and they are still investigating on the source of the radiation. When they do discover it, they will work to find a method to return all Pokemon to their original state. However, the Mauville Police Department is reluctant to release a patrol due to fears of their officers being attacked. They have somewhat eased the officers' fears by arming them with heavier weaponry, and full body armor. Until the radiation source is discovered, this will be the customary armament of the MPD."
Bryce sighed. Great. First day on the force, and already his life's in danger. He sighed and shut off the TV. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and sipped it in silence. Gazing out the window, he was already running his career path through his head. Was being a police officer really the best thing he wanted to do? He was debating whether to resign from the police department.
No, he thought, not after what they did.
He remembered what had happened with Moonstar. She disappeared, and the MPD didn't do a thing other than hand him some forms to fill out. When she disappeared, his grades dropped, and he was almost kicked out of Mauville University. He lived in a depression that lasted for months, and was starting to recover when he ran into Absol. She showed the affection for him that Moonstar did, and had the same skill.
He sighed again as he continued to stare out the window, sipping his coffee. Why had he joined? Was it because he wanted to aid in the long-lost search for Moonstar? Yeah, it was. He would do anything to get Moonstar back, even though he'd pretty much given up all hope of finding her by now.
He drained the mug, and set it on the table next to him. He leaned back in the chair, and prayed for her return again. He stood up, and walked out into the cabin's garage. He slid his toolbox from the shelf, and opened it up. He looked at the front wheel, and saw the fender was slipped out of alignment.
Bryce extracted a socket wrench from his toolbox, and tried unscrewing the bolt when he saw a huge crack in the side where the bolt was. Then he noticed a large fracture in the plastic body frame.
Shit, he thought to himself, I'm gonna need to buy a whole new frame, that'll cost me.
He tossed the wrench into the toolbox, and snapped it shut. He went back inside and made a note to head over to Mauville Auto to order a new frame. He tore the paper from the notepad, and stuck it to the refrigerator. He went back into the garage and examined the side. It was almost missing a huge piece from the side. He pulled out a roll of duct tape from the toolbox, and taped the fracture closed so it wouldn't fly off while he was riding. He put the tape back, and went back inside. It was about 11:00, he should be getting ready.
Bryce quickly wrote a note to Absol, saying where he was going. He left his cell number, and threw his fleece jacket over his shoulders. He opened the garage door, and took off down the road to the precinct.
Bryce arrived in fifteen minutes, and parked his bike. He followed the signs to the back of the building, where there was already a group of students. Bryce went over to the group. Nate was there, leaning against the brick wall, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. He was completely silent, and didn't react as Bryce approached him.
"You alright?" he asked.
Nate said nothing. He simply shook his head. Bryce placed a hand on Nate's shoulder, which he shook off.
"Don't touch me. I'm going to find the group that did all of this, and I'm going to kill them all with my bare hands!" Nate's voice rose to a violent crescendo as the fury in his eyes grew. Bryce was taken aback by his friend's violent reaction, and stepped away. As he waited by the door, he could still feel Nate's eyes burning into his soul.
The Sheriff opened the door to the garage and had all the recruits enter. The garage smelled of gasoline and motor oil. The cruisers were lined up by number, and each had a fresh paint job, no scratches or bullet holes to be found. The Sheriff held a clipboard in his hand, and walked down the line, reading off cruiser numbers to the recruits. He stopped at Bryce, and read off the cruiser number.
"Sir, I'm not licensed to drive a car," Bryce said.
The Sheriff looked up. "What ARE you licensed to drive?"
"Only a motorcycle. I've got one that's in exceptional condition."
"You'll drive the ones that the Precinct has," the Sheriff said, starting to move on.
"Sir, with all respect, I'd rather drive mine," Bryce suddenly felt a slight fear as the Sheriff turned to him, studying him with his cold eyes.
"Then bring it in when I'm finished, got it?" he asked coldly. The Sheriff finished quickly, and he led the rest into the equipment room to receive their uniform and equipment. Bryce ran to his bike, raised the kickstand, and walked it into the garage. He saw Nate whisper something to the mechanic and slipped him a $50. The mechanic seemed older and his hair was thinning. He examined the bike as Nate left.
"What size engine?" he asked, examining the engine.
"150 HP, fuel-injected four-stroke," Bryce replied, trying to remember.
"Alright, and what is the top speed?"
"Top speed last time I remember was at about 200 mph, and I've just recently installed a 6 gallon nitrous oxide engine, which I've been clocked at 250."
The mechanic looked up. "You said 'nitrous oxide'? You have a nitro engine on that? Can the suspension handle that torque?"
"Yes, I've searched quite a while for an axle that could handle that speed."
"Have you any experience?"
Bryce hesitated. He had a ton of experience, he was a racer, after all. Though the races he was in were all street races, and highly illegal. "Yes, I've been in the Motorcycle Racing Syndicate held throughout Hoenn. I've placed 1st in all of the races."
"That's an illegal racing circuit, Officer Hopewell," the mechanic said, looking up sharply, "I should report you to the Sheriff and have your badge taken. But we need drivers like you during chases."
Bryce gave him a puzzled look as the mechanic looked over the suspension.
"Our cruisers are becoming less and less maneuverable, which makes chasing suspects more difficult. Mostly because most people are turning to motorcycles. With that size engine and your claimed skills, you should be able to catch anyone easily. Now, you're going to need a siren and lights."
"If you could give me a unit, I'm sure I could find a way to attach it to my bike," Bryce offered.
The mechanic sighed and walked over to a large cabinet against the far wall. He pulled a large black keyboard attached to a red and blue light bar. He handed it to Bryce, which he took, uncertain if he'd be able to attach the monstrous contraption to his bike.
"Now you'd better get to the group. I'm not done looking at your bike yet."
Bryce set the siren system on the floor next to his bike and dashed through the door to the equipment room.
The mechanic waited until the door had shut before picking up his toolbox from the shelf. He extracted a socket wrench and loosened the bolt on the front wheel suspension enough that if Bryce tried riding fast, the bolt would break and send him sprawling on the road. Next he frayed the brake cable slightly. Enough tension and it'd snap. Finally, the mechanic loosened the axle bolt on the back wheel. Like the front wheel, Bryce tried riding too fast, the wheel would fly off. The mechanic chuckled as he put his tools back and looked at the fifty dollar bill he had been given. Damn, he was good.
Bryce came back into the garage with several blue shirts, black pants, a black Kevlar vest, and a military-issue Desert Eagle .44 Magnum. With the Desert Eagle and the Kevlar vest, he carried three clips along with finally, a black equipment belt and a pad of citations. He slipped them all into his backpack along with the siren unit, and drove home on his motorcycle, unaware of the "examinations" the mechanic had given it.
He parked his bike in the garage, and walked inside. As soon as he opened the door, Absol dashed over to him and threw her arms around him.
"Where were you?" she asked, clearly worried.
"I was getting my equipment from the Precinct. I left you a note," Bryce said, pointing to the scrap of paper on the counter.
Absol released him. "You know I can't read," she said. She hugged him again, and Bryce went into the bedroom to hang his uniforms up. He pulled the siren unit out of his bag, and carried it into the garage to attach it to his bike. He picked up his toolbox and radio and slipped in Rammstein's CD "Sehnsucht". He bolted the keyboard unit under the gauges, and secured it to the plastic frame. He mounted the lights on the front, above the headlights.
Absol walked into the garage as Bryce was working, and heard something coming from a strange black box on the floor next to him. It didn't sound like the language that she and Bryce spoke. When she sat down next to the motorcycle, she heard Bryce singing along with the strange music. All of a sudden, both the box and Bryce shouted a short strange word loudly, which made her jump. She lost her balance, and landed on the toolbox. A wrench that had been sticking out of the box jabbed her spine as she fell, tears of pain springing to her eyes.
Bryce heard the crash, and turned around. He shut the radio off, and helped Absol off of the ground. She winced in pain as Bryce carefully lifted her up, and leaned her against his bike.
"What were you listening to?" she grimaced, rubbing her back.
"Rammstein. It's a German metal band," Bryce replied as he put the toolbox away. "I was attaching the siren unit to my bike. I've got patrol tomorrow."
Absol hugged him again. "I really don't want you to leave. I'm worried about you."
Bryce returned the embrace. "With the body armor and the gun I've got, I'll be quite safe."
Absol released him, and stood up, her back still throbbing. Bryce put his toolbox and radio away, and followed her inside. Bryce laid out his uniform and equipment, and switched on the TV. There was another report on the nuclear tests.
"Further news has been released by the HEPA, and they're revealed that the source was from a military strike test that had gone off-course before touchdown. The missile was planned to detonate in the sky above Hoenn, but the missile failed to detonate in the time they wished. The military has apologized for the effects that the radiation had on the trainers, but some are unwilling to be forgiving. Riots have broken out near the military headquarters all over Hoenn and Johto, many leading to violent and destructive behavior. Police officers who have patrol are advised to exercise extreme caution when dealing with a domestic disturbance, and have been ordered to shoot to kill. In further news..."
Bryce continued to watch, but Absol was still concerned for his safety. Riots all over the place would make patrol possibly deadly for him. She wished she could do something, but what? She sighed and leaned against the couch. She spent the entire day trying to think of a plan to keep Bryce from going on patrol, only to come up with nothing.
"Bryce, I still don't want you to leave," she said once more, draping her arms around him and rubbing her head against his cheek.
Bryce rolled over and hugged her. "For the last time, don't worry. I've got body armor, and a military-issue pistol. I'm well protected."
She pulled away, and looked deep into his eyes. "That still doesn't stop me from worrying about you."
"Then allow me to help you calm down," he said, running his hand down her thigh. He slipped between her legs, catching her off-guard. With his other hand he found her breast, and rubbed in circles. His right hand stroked inside of her hot tunnel as his left rubbed her hardened nipple.
Absol slipped Bryce's sweatpants off of him and stroked his cock, moving closer and rubbing it against the fur on her stomach. She crawled down so his shaft was in front of her face. She took it into her mouth, slowly bobbing her head back and forth. She slid a paw down between her legs, and fingered herself.
She stopped when she felt Bryce's cum shoot down her throat. She slipped his cock from her mouth, and crawled back up. She placed her sticky paw on Bryce's cock, and guided him in penetrating her.
She rolled onto her back, and allowed Bryce to hump her. Bryce took one of Absol's breasts into his hand, and licked the other. Absol pulled him close as she felt her orgasm approaching, the heat building in her stomach until she couldn't hold back.
She wrapped her legs and arms around him as she came, and felt Bryce's cum shoot into her.
She laid her head back on the pillow, and fell asleep with Bryce on top of her.
The next morning arrived quickly. Bryce woke up to the steady beeping of his alarm. He cracked open one eye. 6 o' clock already? Bryce shut off the alarm and sat up. Tiredly, he shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee. He switched on the news, nothing of interest. He poured a cup as he heard Absol walk in.
"Early, isn't it?" Bryce asked. Absol didn't respond, just nodded and sat down on the couch. Bryce took another sip of his coffee before heading into the bedroom to change into his uniform.
Bryce put on the body armor under the shirt, tucked the shirt into the pants, and slipped on the belt. He attached the two spare clips of ammo, the holster for his Desert Eagle, and fed the microphone for the radio through the loop on his shoulder. To the breast pocket he pinned his MPD badge, and walked back outside.
Bryce said goodbye to Absol, who again didn't respond. He put on the white motorcycle helmet and started the engine. He pulled out of the garage and switched on the headlights, it was still dark. He drove to the Precinct to sign in, and he noticed that Nate hadn't shown up. Reasoning that he must be late, Bryce started his patrol route, near the industrial area and through his neighborhood.
He was about an hour into his patrol when he received a domestic disturbance call.
"All officers in the R-5 area, this is Dispatch, we've received a Domestic Disturbance, suspect is male, about 6 feet tall, and is waving a gun around. Suspect seems to be delirious, drug abuse may be possible."
Bryce hit a couple keys on the unit, and located the source of the call. It was a couple streets over. He pressed the call button on his receiver. "This is Officer Bryce Hopewell; I'll see what's going on."
Bryce switched on his siren and lights, and drove to the location, 529 Gregory Street. When he arrived, he kept his lights on and drew his gun. Through the dark, he managed to identify the suspect, and was startled. It was Nate, waving his Desert Eagle around.
"Nate, drop the gun and get on the ground!" Bryce shouted, aiming the gun at him.
Nate whirled around. "Yo, Bryce! You're just in time to join the party! You killed her, and I'll use your blood to bring her back!"
Bryce didn't lower his gun. "Nate, drop the gun. I don't want to shoot you but I will if I have to!"
Nate merely chuckled. Without aiming, Nate fired off two rounds. Bryce felt the hot pavement fly up from below him. He dashed behind a house and radioed in. "Dispatch, this is Officer Hopewell. Suspect is indeed armed, two shots were fired, one missed completely, but the second one hit right below me. Requesting immediate backup, suspect is delusional."
Bryce slowly peeked from around the corner, and received two more rounds. He felt one graze his ear and the second one struck his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Bryce got up, and fired back. He saw Nate drop to the ground, and two more muzzle flashes. In the distance, he heard sirens as backup got closer.
"Well Bryce, it was nice, but I've got something I need to take care of with some friends of mine! I've been planning this for a while! Four of my buddies have some good weapons, and they're raiding your house as we speak! I'm off to see how they're doing!"
With that, Nate dashed over his backyard. Bryce took off after him, and again, radioed in.
"Hopewell here, suspect has fired and ran, heading for 395 Ringyard Road. I'm currently engaging in foot pursuit, suspect has admitted to accomplices who are there already, though I'm wondering if this is true."
Bryce leapt over his backyard fence, and jumped behind the tool shed when he heard automatic fire and saw the ground explode around him. "This is Hopewell; suspect does have reinforcements, armed with automatic weaponry. I don't know how many others there are, so all units are strongly cautioned."
Bryce slipped another magazine into his gun as he slowly looked around the corner. Someone fired again, though it was out front. The other officers must have arrived already.
More adrenaline surged through him as he heard something hit the grass behind him. It was a SWAT member, carrying two field rifles and a box of ammunition. He handed one to Bryce.
"Ya hurt?" he asked, loading a clip into the rifle. He wore a complete black outfit, with SWAT spelled out in large white letters.
"Not that I know of, but I did take a shot to the chest. Luckily I had my vest on," Bryce replied, laying on the wet grass and taking aim. He attached a scope to the rifle, and raised the rifle. The SWAT officer pulled himself on top of the shed, only to take a clip of automatic fire. The officer didn't move, only slid down the roof and fell to the ground. Bryce crawled over to him and checked him over. He was dead. He took three shots to the top of the head, pierced through the helmet.
When Bryce turned around, he saw Nate holding Absol hostage. He had his arm around Absol's neck, and was holding a Desert Eagle to her head. She tried to free herself, but only got a quick blow to the head from the pistol. Bryce suppressed the urge to run in amidst the gunfire and take down all of them. More of the officers had hid beside the house, and held their positions. Bryce stayed low to the ground, and took aim at one of the gunmen.
He fired, the window shattered, but he missed and the gunman leapt behind the wall and stuck his AK-47 out the window and open fired at Bryce. He crawled behind the shed, and went around to the other side. He steadied the sight on the gunman's forehead, and pulled the trigger. The gunman jarred, and fell to the ground.
"One gunman down, repeat, one gunman down," Bryce said into his radio. Then suddenly, all Hell broke loose. Gunfire erupted from everywhere, bullets hitting the ground and pelting the shed. When Bryce emerged from behind the shed, he saw the back door burst open and a gunman emerge, spraying madly with the AK-47. When all that came out were repeating clicks, Bryce fired off a burst of gunfire and took him down.
Then time seemed to slow down as he saw Absol try to dash over the body of the fallen shooter. Bryce saw a muzzle flash from the window, Absol suddenly freeze, sag to her knees, and drop on the grass.
Ignoring all rational thinking, Bryce slid another clip into his rifle and took the SWAT officer's and switched them both to "automatic" as he dashed forward, relentlessly spraying. He sidestepped and jumped, and got hit in the legs. He was flat on his stomach only a few feet away from Absol.
"Die, you bastards! DIE!" Bryce wasn't sure if any of the bullets hit or missed, all he remembers is an intense anger, then...nothing.
"Suspect is heading west on the Interstate, going approximately 100 miles per hour," an officer reported. Bryce was on his motorcycle, following after a fleet of police cruisers as their target roared ahead on a Diablo 1050. The driver went full throttle, leaving the officers in the dust.
"Where's Hopewell?" one asked. "Hopewell, get behind him and take him down. All other units clear a path."
Bryce chuckled as he pulled both throttle levers backwards, a blue flame erupting from the tailpipe as he accelerated forward, the speedometer needle heading towards 250. Bryce was near the driver and was about to shoot the rear wheel out when all of a sudden, the front wheel lost control, and fell off. The forks of the suspension dug along the ground, flinging him from the seat and sending him hurtling over the guardrail to the road 100 feet below the Interstate ramp.
Absol woke up a couple days later in a hospital room. She looked around and saw many get well cards, all from Bryce. She spent most of her time wondering if he was alright, until the fateful day.
The Chief of Police arrived and sat next to her bed.
"Your trainer is Officer Bryce Hopewell, right?" he asked. Absol felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Slowly, she nodded.
The Chief sighed. "Bryce is dead. He was in a chase when his suspension gave out and the wheel locked. He was rushed to the hospital, and passed away while in the ambulance. The medics did all they could. The investigators found evidence of sabotage on his bike, and arrested the mechanic working for the Precinct. He was a good officer, a funeral service will be held next month. The MPD will offer a shelter for you, since his home was destroyed in the shootout last week."
Absol said nothing, she nodded, and when the Chief left, she didn't cry.
The funeral was held in January, and the tears still didn't come as she watched Bryce's casket lower into the ground, while a fellow officer played the taps on a bugle. When the pastor was done preaching, she was escorted to a police cruiser and led to her destroyed home, where she stayed, memories of her brief time with Bryce lingered in the air. As she walked through the wreckage of the living room, she knelt down on the floor, and cried.
"It's a sad thing, seeing 'em die this young," the photographer said, loading another roll of film into his camera.
One of the detectives agreed, packing up all the investigation materials and loading them into the CSI van. The last thing they loaded inside was Absol in a body bag, a stiff noose still wrapped around her frozen neck.