S1 EP4

"Today is a special day for our rookies. 'Cause today we switch things up," Grey announced, catching the attention of the four rookies in the front row. "That's right. Everybody gets a new training officer."

Jackson, Ollie, Lucy and John looked at one another, their looks a blend of anticipation and dread. The four training officers at the back of the room eyed each other competitively.

"Nolan, you'll be riding with Officer Lopez. West, you'll be riding with Officer Bradford. Chen, you'll be riding with Bishop. And Marshall, you'll be with Officer Morrison."

Ollie glimpsed backwards, where her new T.O. nodded at her shortly.

"But learning how to navigate a new T.O. is not your only challenge," Grey resumed, "By the end of next shift, I expect every rookie to uncover something personal about their training officer, something they don't want you to know. This will be a test of your investigative instincts and your fortitude. Best insight will win a day off. Worst one handles Saturday night cavity searches." The room broke into uneasy groans; the rookies, too, shuddered. "That's it. Good luck."

➤➤➤

The four rookies crowded at the counter of the armoury, assembling their gear.

"So, what's Lopez like to ride with?" John asked Jackson.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna give you a head start," Jackson ignored him, turning to Ollie, "Tim's gonna eat me alive, isn't he?"

"Oh, definitely," Ollie assured his dismay, "Doesn't matter if you're the legacy kid who excelled at the Academy. He's gonna eat you alive and make you think that you're not at all as good as you think you may be."

Jackson gulped. "That bad?" Lucy asked bleakly.

"Worse," Ollie sighed before tilting her head at the other woman. "So, Lucy, my beloved... what's Morrison like?"

Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. "I love you, Ollie, but you're not getting a head start either," Lucy snickered before lowering her voice, "But I shall warn you to take it lightly if you think he's hitting on you..."

The three other rookies stopped in their tracks. "If he's what—?"

➤

The four T.O.s watched as their rookies broke into a discussion while retrieving their gears, them doing the same as well.

"Is the kid really a rock star?" Tim asked first, narrowing his eyes at Jackson, who was counting the items in their war bags.

"Jackson? Yeah," Angela answered, "He's better prepared than any rookie I've ever had."

"Screw prep. How is he out on the street?"

"So far, so good," she nodded despite her lingering doubt, turning to Bishop instead. "What about Nolan?"

Bishop drew in a deep breath. "He's a talker," she warned, "Beware your ears."

"What about Marshall?" Morrison nudged Tim, "Surely she must be better than the few you had before, right?"

"They're all the same."

"Whoa— but did any of them save your life?" Morrison prodded.

Tim eyed them displeasingly. "Am I supposed to applaud her for doing her job?" he deadpanned; Morrison simply shrugged back. "She's in need of improvement," he stated, watching as Ollie grabbed the shotguns and thanked the kit room officer with a kind smile, "Challenge her. Give her your worst. She can take it."

➤➤➤

Ollie had just loaded their gear and shut the trunk of the patrol car when Morrison appeared in her sight, leaning against the side of the shop with his arms crossed. Ollie had heard the stories about him from Lucy before, so she had been expecting a fun, chatty figure with perhaps a brain of bad jokes.

But the T.O. before her had a deep frown set on his face, leaving her both puzzled and intimidated.

"Are there extra ammunitions and cuffs in the war bag, Boot?" he asked.

"Um, yeah," Ollie nodded.

"Um, yeah?"

"Yes, sir," the rookie corrected.

"Police tape, road flares, spike strips?" Morrison listed, "Evidence bags, camera, tape measure? What about first-aid? Spare pencils and pens?"

"I... I didn't get spare stationeries, sir," Ollie replied uncertainly at the T.O.'s stern eyes.

"Hmm..." Morrison tilted his head, "Here's another thing you failed to pack: snacks."

The rookie blinked at him. "Snacks?"

"Yes, snacks," the T.O. repeated, pushing himself off the side of the shop. "What if we're stuck on a scene for hours? Are you just gonna starve? What if we got pulled into a manhunt after that? On foot? Do you think you'd be the most efficient in chasing after our suspect, Officer? On an empty stomach?"

Ollie nodded quietly in response, her mind painting the scenario described by the T.O. "Should I go... get snacks, sir?"

"Nope. We're already running late," Morrison replied, opening the door to the driver's seat, "Just keep in mind to pack it on your next shift. I suggest unhealthily sweet candy bars or those lame granolas."

The rookie got into the car as well, pulling and fastening her belt. "Where are we heading, sir?"

"There's someone I'd like you to meet."

➤➤➤

"Sir, when you said you wanted me to meet someone, I expected that 'someone' to be a person— not cats," Ollie stated as they approached the store in a rural area. She strolled up to the window, where cats and kittens were on display. "Is that one's missing an ear?"

Morrison tilted his head at the kitten. "Yes," he nodded, "And no, we are meeting a person."

"At this..." the rookie gestured wildly at the building, "Pet store?"

"It's a disguise," Morrison claimed, "For what goes on down the basement."

His words caught the rookie's interest immediately. "Meth lab?"

"Maybe. Could also be human trafficking, I don't know. That's your job to find out."

Ollie's eyes flickered towards Morrison. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," he nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Talk to the owner— that's who you're meeting. Find us a way to get down there, and I'll give you my sob story for you to earn a day off."

Ollie locked her eyes with the T.O., undoubtedly keen on the challenge. "Deal."

She waved goodbye to the kittens before pushing open the glass door. The bell above the door chimed, and she was immediately hit by a sharp, stinging smell. The man behind the cashier perked up at the sight of two cops entering the store.

"Ah, Officer Morrison. Good morning," he greeted, stepping out of the counter and walking up to them, "New blood?"

"Hello, Mr Owens. Meet Officer Marshall," Morrison barely returned half a smile, his eyes already observing around the store. Ollie followed suit curiously, studying the tall aisles and equipment that crowded the front of the store.

"I've got nothing illegal here, Officers," Mr Owens chuckled.

Morrison ignored him, giving his rookie a look before nudging her to talk to the owner. "Cop eyes. Sorry," Ollie cleared her throat, returning the smile on the storeowner's face. "I'm Officer Marshall," she spoke first, still not entirely sure what to say.

She faltered on her feet a little, just eyeing random objects around the place. She sensed a burning stare at the back of her head when her silence was prolonged.

"You sell any filters for tanks here, Owens?" Morrison raised his voice, catching the two other's attention. Ollie stared back at him weirdly. "What? I've got fishes at home."

"Sure," Mr Owens answered, "Here." He finally moved from his spot in front of the two police and headed towards a corner of the store. Morrison followed suit, sending the rookie a look.

Ollie took a few more steps into the shop. Unlike the welcoming-looking exterior, the inside was cluttered with perhaps a little too many boxes of equipment lying around.

The place was quite messy, with only little walk space available, forming narrow paths to the aisles and cashier. The floor looked worn out under her feet; the faded tiles were painted with scratches. Overall, the store was giving her the creeps, as though the incense by the cashier was going to make up for the lack of sanitation.

Ollie strode towards the counter, almost kicking over a birdcage on her way. Legally, she could not just peek over the counter and start looking for signs that this place was a meth lab in disguise. Though it was tempting. She browsed through the many options of fish food by the counter as she circled it, each with different nutrients.

A few long books sat carelessly by the cashier, with strewn-out papers littered the rest of the countertop. Ollie cocked her head sideways, trying to skim through the text curiously. There were copies of taxes and equipment orders, some delivery notices, accounting records, a personal journal, and a logbook that tracked employees' shifts.

"Anything for you, Officer Marshall?" Mr Owens asked loudly as he and Morrison emerged from one of the aisles, the former holding a big pack of aquarium filters in hand.

"Oh, no," Ollie responded, stepping aside for the storeowner to head behind the counter. She watched as Mr Owens simply gathered the papers and books and pushed them under the counter. Morrison was paying for his items when she eyed the window up front again. "Are the kittens—"

"Not for sale, sorry," Mr Owens said, not lifting his head as he jotted down the purchase on one of the long books, "They're just there to attract customers."

"Oh," she sulked; the T.O. now looked over at her, waiting. "Then, um, we'll get going," Ollie stated lastly, already making her way to the front door when she glanced back again, "You know, if we're LAFD, this place's getting cited badly for all sorts of hazards."

Mr Owens grinned back at her. "Don't rat me out, then."

Morrison and Ollie left the store and returned to their patrol car, the former tossing the filters in the trunk before getting in. "When I said to talk to the owner," he prefaced, sinking into his seat, "Wasn't expecting fire hazard advice."

"The ventilation's bad, hygiene's poor, place smells like crap," Ollie listed out in protest, "And Mr Owens has pinpoint pupils."

Morrison sighed. "The first three are obvious, and Owens pretty much looked like that the first time I met him," he shook his head with a sigh, "That's not enough evidence that they're cooking meth downstairs."

"I know, but there's also the logbook," Ollie furrowed her brows, "Three people are clocked in right now, including Mr Owens. Where are the other two?"

"They could be at the back," Morrison suggested, "Counting inventory?"

The rookie raised a brow at him. "Their inventory looks more like it's at the storefront."

He shrugged, "Or the bathroom."

"We've been there fifteen minutes."

"A not-so-quick quickie?"

Ollie shook her head with a heavy sigh. "Why are you shooting down my suggestions?"

"Because we're cops. We follow the facts and evidence, Boot, not what we suspect," Morrison shared, reminding her of their positions and what was expected of them. Quietly, he added, "It also helps with your thinking process."

The rookie nodded quietly as they started driving again. Morrison watched her expression mush up into frowns and quirked brows, then shook her head disappointingly. "Look, I didn't expect you to solve this one, honestly," he consoled, "I've been on this for three years. Just thought fresh eyes could help."

Three years? Now that's a challenge.

➤➤➤

After a few more hours of patrolling work and an arrest that landed her with an annoyingly tall pile of paperwork, Ollie was glad to make it to lunch. Even glad when Morrison offered to buy. Don't be shy. I always buy my rookies their first lunch, he had insisted when Ollie initially tried to refuse.

"This is a sacred meal," she now grinned at her food, holding the plate up between John and Lopez.

"It's a hotdog," John noted with a raised brow.

"It's free lunch," Ollie corrected and took a bite of her cheesy meal, her eyes twinkling. "Morrison's so, so much better than Bradford."

Lopez eyed her amusingly. "Badmouthing your T.O.? I'll keep that in mind when I see him," she mused, but Ollie merely shrugged in response.

"I suppose food is the way to your heart?" John cracked her a smile.

"Without a doubt."

Their calm lunch was interrupted by screeching tyres. The three officers glanced over at the patrol car that had just pulled up; Tim flung open the door and charged out of the car. "Lopez!"

"Give us a minute," Lopez told the two rookies, who curiously walked away.

"Any idea why Bradford's all angry?" John tried asking the other rookie, but Ollie shook her head.

"He's more or less always angry," she exhaled, "Unless Jackson really, really messed up on paperwork..."

"...which is unlikely," John frowned as they headed towards the patrol car where Tim had parked, finding a queasy-looking Jackson in it.

Ollie furrowed her brows at the sight of her friend, who was fidgety and shaky in his seat. "Hey, Jacks, what's wrong with him?"

Jackson clenched his jaw agitatedly. "What's wrong is me."

John and Ollie shared the same concerned and confused look. "What happened?" the former asked.

"I think I'm done," Jackson quivered, looking over at their concerned faces. "I froze up when the shooting started. Same thing happened at the Selby shootout, but Lopez covered for me, so..." he shook his head, "Look, I don't know how to fix it... I have to fix it."

"Jacks..." Ollie let out an uneasy breath, "Listen, you're gonna make it through this, okay?"

"Yeah. We — Lucy and us — we're are gonna help you," John added in hopes of helping the man.

Jackson smiled frailly back at his two worried-faced friends. "How?"

"Walk away, Boots," Tim demanded loudly as he stormed over after talking to Lopez.

John straightened his back at once. "Officer Bradford—"

"I gave you an order," the T.O. cut him off.

"You can't just give up on him," Ollie interjected this time, earning herself an unwanted glare from him, "Jackson is as good as it gets, and he is worth fighting for. You and Lopez both know it."

Tim stared back and forth between the two rookies before pushing past them and heading back into his vehicle, shoving their shoulders in the process. Ollie shoved a fry irritably into her mouth.

"You think he's gonna be okay?" John tried asking.

Ollie sighed aloud, looking back at him but unsure of the answer herself. "He has to."

➤➤➤

"Okay, according to Garcia, the exchange is going down at Stoneson Home Supply on Sunset," Grey informed the officers who were gathered in the briefing room. John and Lopez's arrest had provided them with details of a drug deal that was happening soon, and they were now getting brief about the takedown operation.

"They're making a deal in a parking lot?" Ollie questioned, "In broad daylight?"

"Box stores are the perfect cover. Busy parking lots, multiple exits," Tim explained, "They hide in the chaos."

"At 1500 hours, a car loaded with eighty kilos of cocaine will land in the parking lot," Grey continued as he rounded the discussion table, "The driver will walk away. A runner for the buyer will climb behind the wheel and drive off. The whole thing takes ninety seconds."

"According to Nestor, the shipment is in a red Civic with Nevada plates," Lopez shared.

"Now, the parking lot only has two access points," Grey pointed at the map on the table, "Officers Bradford and Morrison, you'll be parked out of sight over the exit. Officer Bishop, you'll have all eyes on this exit here."

➤➤➤

"Earth to Marshall?" Morrison called out, snapping the rookie out of her thoughts.

"Sorry."

"You can't lose focus when we're on stakeout, Officer Marshall," Morrison alerted.

Ollie sank slightly in her seat with a huff. "I was just... lost in my thoughts," she claimed, catching a questioning look from the T.O. "Okay, I lost focus," she admitted finally, "But I was thinking about the pet store, the logbook? Mr Owens records all the details of his business in books, like your stuff just now. There's no way the logbook's a fake, right?"

Morrison gave her words a thought but ultimately shook his head. "Again, speculation doesn't solve cases," he sighed, "And that doesn't matter now. This situation we're in right now is more important," he said, "And you've got to have your head a hundred percent in the game, or you're gonna get yourself killed."

The rookie nodded with a sigh. "Yes, sir."

The T.O. and rookie looked out the window silently, scanning the parking lot for movements related to their drug deal. The secluded area of the parking lot with a clear field of vision of the empty parking spaces, where the exchange was expected to happen.

"Didn't you say you liked me better as your T.O. than Bradford?"

Ollie snapped her head towards Morrison, staring at the T.O.'s pleased smirk. "Did Officer Lopez—"

"Bradford, actually," Morrison chuckled, "I think he's jealous. From what I heard, West's not doing well." He looked over to her, leaning idly against the car door. "So, you like me better, huh?"

"I-I mean," the rookie stammered as she racked her brain for a response. "Well, you two have very different teaching styles," she started with a gulp, "And, uh, and I suppose... I guess it's, well, it's nice to have a change?" She scratched the back of her head when Morrison raised a brow at her. "It's... It's definitely better not to, um, get yelled at every hour? I mean—" Ollie resumed her yammering, "Officer Bradford's intense, and you're—"

Morrison finally broke into a string of laughter. "I'm sorry— I'm sorry! I was just messing with you," he cracked out, wiping off an imaginary tear from under his eye. "But I do agree that it's nice having a change," he chuckled, "And if you're free after shift today, I'd like to pick your brain about some things I think you may find interesting."

"I..." Ollie blinked at him before lowering her voice, "Sir, are you hitting on me?"

"Am I—" Morrison stared back at her, mortified. "Nooooooo— No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I'm sorry— Um—" he started waving his arms wildly, at no particular thing or person, "Have I been giving signals? 'Cause you're really not my type."

"Ouch...?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not like that— wait, no. Yes, like that," he grunted in frustration, "I am not into... people like you, know what I mean?"

"There's quite a few ways to interpret that, and I'm not sure which to..." the rookie trailed off as the T.O. entered a frantic-panic mode.

"Boot, I am very gay," he finally blurted out with a heavy sigh, "So, I'm sure you're a wonderful woman and all, but you're also very not my type, because my type is brawny guys with wide shoulders and a legitimate death-stare."

"Oh." Ollie's mouth gaped into an 'O' at the revelation; Morrison's cheeks were flushing red.

"Here we go. Red Civic, Nevada plates, entering parking lot," Grey's voice crackled through the radio.

"Shit. We lost focus," Morrison murmured under his breath as he started the engine to their patrol car; the rookie, too, snapped her attention back on their operation.

A red Civic entered the parking lot, stopping right at their predicted spot. The officers watched calmly as a man exited the Civic and started hurrying away from the car. At a close distance away, another man got out of a blue mini truck and headed towards the red vehicle. The second he got in the car, Lopez signalled for the go.

The Civic made its way towards the exit, but the Lopez/Nolan patrol car arrived quicker to block their way; on the other end of the Civic was the Bishop/Chen shop. The red car skidded on the lot, ploughing through the landscaping and began taking off down the street.

"7-Adam-15, going after the red Civic." Bishop and Lucy took off in chasing after the red Civic while the remaining officers got caught in a crossfire initiated by two men from the drug deal.

"Call it. We're going after the Civic," Morrison instructed as he stamped on the gas and pursued after the car while Ollie logged their chase in, grasping the car handle.

The red Civic was racing up ahead, making dangerous turns that almost caught a few pedestrians. The two patrol cars took an opposite path at a junction, one tailing the red Civic directly while the other made a bordering turn. It was a wild chase across the several neighbourhoods.

"7-Adam-13, in pursuit of red Civic heading east on Chapman."

"7-Adam-15, joining in pursuit."

Morrison, with the intention of cutting the vehicle from the front, found a gap and sped up to the side of the Civic. As they approached the vehicle on the adjacent, Ollie quickly sighted the gun that the driver was lifting from the seat.

She was immediate in retrieving hers from her belt— took aim— and pulled the trigger before she even met with the barrel of the suspect's firearm. Her bullet struck the man's hand on the steering wheel. He croaked out in pain as the red Civic swerved dangerously; Morrison had only just made it to get their shop ahead of the Civic.

On their rear, the Bishop/Chen patrol car managed to get to the Civic's side and pit the vehicle, crashing it into a divider on the side of the road. Morrison drifted their shop to a halt, and both officers exited the car.

The four of them watched grimly as white powder rose into the air from the popped-open trunk. "That is a lot of coke," Lucy commented as she and Bishop got out of their shop.

"Hands where I can see them!" Morrison called out, moving towards the driver in the red Civic. The driver was squirming in his seat, hissing and moaning in agony from the hole in his palm.

"Requesting an R.A. unit to Chapman. Male, G.S.W. to the hand, conscious and breathing," Ollie radioed in, carrying first aid in her hand. Morrison got the man out of the car and led him towards the rookie.

"Boot, you see that?" Bishop called out; both Lucy and Ollie snapped up when they heard the word 'Boot'. The word was imposing trauma, at this point. Bishop squinted at the trunk. "It looks like... some sort of plant?"

Leaves?

"Um, weed?" Lucy speculated. "But why smuggle weed with coke?"

"It's a trunk of coke— coca leaves?" Ollie suggested, and she knew her guess was right when the man she was bandaging flinched. The rookie stared sceptically at the suspect who was avoiding her gaze; a flash crossed her mind.

"Lukas Martinez?" she called out, and the man reacted — briefly — before snapping his head away from her again.

"Boot, you know him?" Morrison was now observing her oddly.

The rookie shook her head slowly, her face frowning in thought. "No, that's a name in the logbook," she noted, threading the fragments in her mind. Her eyes flickered to the T.O., who was looking back at her. "Sir, I think I may have something."

➤➤➤

"Exactly how did you know the man we arrested is Martinez?" Morrison asked as the T.O. and rookie were en route to the pet store.

"It was a wild guess, really," Ollie replied in thought, "There were two other names in the logbook. Lukas Martinez and Farah Gibson. And that man sure as hell wasn't Farah."

The T.O. eyed her again. "So, you just took a very wild guess?"

"Lukas also reeked of the incense from the pet store," the rookie claimed.

"Great call." Morrison pulled over by the curb; the two officers got out of their car intently. "Stay alert," he warned the rookie, "We just busted their drug deal. Tanking business leads to all sorts of desperation."

Ollie nodded, and together with Morrison, they stepped into the pet store again. The spot behind the counter was not occupied by the store owner. Instead, a woman with brown hair and a crop top stood by the cashier, who hastily shoved similar papers aside when she noticed them entering.

"Where's Owens?" Morrison questioned first, kicking a bag of pebbles aside as he walked into the store.

"He's out. Dinner with wife," the woman behind the counter informed, "Is there something you need?"

"Farah, right?" Ollie responded this time, and the other woman nodded in response. "I've spoken to Mr Owens on the phone just now," the rookie mentioned, walking over to the counter, "Our K-9 unit needs some new chew toys for their dogs. Something more durable than the ones they have now. He told me to stop by when I'm free, said that he had my stock in the... back storage?"

Ollie watched as the woman's eyes flickered briefly to her firearm as she approached. "I'll... have to ask Mr Owens about it," Farah insisted.

"Yeah, about that," Ollie leaned against the counter with a nervous chuckle. "You see, I lost a bet with a Seargent back at the station, and I really need to end my shift with two boxes of dog toys or I'm screwed. Can't you help a fellow officer out here?"

Farah looked at her sceptically; their similar height made it easy for the cop to stare at her directly. It took a moment before she nodded in defeat, "Right. Okay, I'll check."

"Great!" the cop grinned broadly, trailing after the employee as the latter made her way towards the storage behind the store.

They were heading down a dark, restricted walkway leading to a door with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign when Farah spun anxiously on her feet. "You're not allowed to enter the back—"

"Listen to me, right now, Farah," Ollie cut her off lowered voice, staring deep into the other woman's eyes, "I don't have many minutes to spare before boss guy out there comes calling for me."

"I-I'm sorry, I can't—"

"Your friend, Lukas, was arrested for a drug deal just an hour ago— I was there," the officer spoke, this time catching the employee's attention.

"W-What are you talking about?" Farah gulped, a flush of silence bouncing off the narrow walls of the walkway. She started fidgeting with the end of her braided long hair, looking nauseous.

"You know about that deal, I could tell," Ollie claimed, "Now, I'm gonna tell you straight, he's probably facing up to twenty years... But I can help reduce it."

The brunette's eyes flickered back at the cop uneasily. "Wh-What do you mean? How?"

"I just need you to supply my boss."

"Your..." Farah's eyes wandered towards Morrison's direction, but Ollie promptly shook her head.

"No. Not that clueless jerk out there," she said, leaning even closer to the employee, whose eyes now shivered in fright. "My boss," Ollie whispered this time, "Valentina."

Farah shrieked sharply, her eyes wide— whether it was shock, revulsion, or fear, Ollie could not tell. But the brunette's reaction sure did surprise her. The name was one hidden somewhere deep in her memory, and she had only brought it up again as the risky, cunning plan of hers started to unfold.

The drug lab was going down today, and Ollie was going to be the one busting it.

"You... You do not speak of the name u-u-unless you want to be summoned!" Farah whisper-yelled at her. "A-And you're a cop!"

"What? They can't have a cop under their payroll?" Ollie challenged back, "Are you underestimating Valen—"

"No!" Farah was panic-stricken now, trying to walk past the police, "Listen, I-I cannot help you..."

Ollie stepped in her way, giving her a glare that shut the other woman up. "Who says I'm asking? Down. Now."

➤

Farah had unlocked the door unwillingly, but something about the mentioned name was making her obliged to do as told. The lab was dim and warm, unlike the chilly room with fluorescent white lights Ollie had expected. The odour was more intense down here, unmasked by the lit incense upstairs.

Boxes upon boxes were stacked on top of one another, occupying a big portion of the small, compact room. They were concealed as pet foods of all kinds— tin cans, pouches, rags, even containers that resembled the fish food that was stocked at the counter.

It made Ollie question if the pet store is actually just a go-to hub for coke-in-a-cans.

It was obvious now: the equipment on the tables was evidently used to extract from the coca leaves that were supposed to be delivered— but will be able to. There was also a short shelf of logbooks by the wall; the contents of it remained unknown to the officer, but she deduced nothing legal to come from it. A bulletin board on the wall pinned information, contacts, order chits, and more.

This was not just a drug lab, Ollie realised, this was the central hub for drug deals.

Her look-and-see session came to an abrupt end when the sound of a gun cocking reached her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut for just a second, but when the gun did not go off immediately, she knew she was safe— for now.

Things were definitely not going her way. Then again, she did not get to plan every detail of this particular trip. Her hairs were standing, and her heart thumped against her chest, the accustomed warmness piercing each vein.

There had always been a segment of time between Ollie realising she got herself in danger and plotting her way out of said danger. And so far, she had made it out alive every single time.

Ollie drew in a deep breath; it was yet another timer bomb to solve.

And time was ticking.

The rookie raised her arms up mid-air, slowly turning around to face the other woman. "I-I-I'm sorry," Farah stuttered with both hands gripping the revolver.

Her hands were trembling violently, her lips quivering. Under the gloomy lighting, the woman looked like she had aged five years within the last five minutes and was on the brink of tears. Ollie stared down the barrel of the gun, trying to maintain her own breathing. "You're not gonna shoot me, Farah."

"D-Don't try me!" Farah yelled out, and Ollie flinched back a bit when the gun aimed closer to her face.

"You shoot me, and you're getting charged for murder of a cop," Ollie tried reasoning, even though her fingertips starting to turn chilly. "Every single cop in L.A. would be hunting you down for it— hell, Officer Morrison upstairs will arrest you for me. You won't get away."

Farah froze on her spot, her eyes starting to falter as she weighed the officer's words.

Ollie stood at her spot restlessly. Come on, just lower the gun a little more...

When Farah unknowingly lowered her gun away from Ollie's face, the cop reached for a step forward— but the former noticed her movement and quickly stumbled back, her gaze sharper than ever.

"I'll take my chances."

And her finger curled against the trigger.

━━━━━

Pew pew—