FSE

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"Ugh, these night shifts are killing me. How do you do it, Sarge?"

The bulldog cast a sideways glance at the whining Border Collie, but otherwise kept his eyes on the road in front of them. "Relax pup. It's only six to six, nothing to fret over. You'll learn to deal with it; you lap at your coffee, take naps when able, and keep your head down, and before you know it, twenty-five years hits you."

"Easy for you to say, you've been an officer since the first fox stole a bundle of grapes from a raven," Brooks snorted. He shifted in his seat and gnawed at a dry patch of fur on his shoulder before huffing and crossing his arms across his chest to look out the window.

Sarge grunted and clutched the wheel, ignoring the remark. They drove in silence until Brooks tapped a claw against the sill and cleared his throat. "Why are you doing patrol work anyways? You don't seem like the type to train rookies and fill out paperwork."

"I'm not."

More silence followed until the rookie's whines and fidgeting got to the sergeant. "Well, I used to be more of a field agent until I decided it just wasn't for me."

"It wasn't for you?" Brooks repeated. "How could you know that? Something happened to change your mind, right? You were in the West Forest Otter Riots, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was and something I couldn't stop did happen, something I don't like thinking about."

"But you went in there, saved the people, did the cop thing," Brooks joked, but stopped when the senior officer didn't respond. His eyes were transfixed on the road, easing the vehicle deeper into the twilight, but Brooks knew he wasn't seeing the road. The whites around his eyes were clearly visible and his breaths came in sharp pants when he wasn't licking the saliva that collected around his jowls. When he spoke, his voice trembled.

"Those otters were starving and afraid. They had so many disasters, one after another, coming after them, so many betrayals, they didn't know who to believe. From the homeless otter who was accidentally shot and left in the street like meat, to the mother who clutched her lifeless pup who died from drinking tainted water... The stench of fear and mistrust was everywhere, filling my muzzle and burning my eyes, making my heart race. Fear, kid, it changes people, and those poor otters were just reacting to a perceived threat. They couldn't help it."

Brooks stared at Sarge and swallowed hard. "Yeah, but-but folks died. They were-they knew what was happening." He flattened his ears and edged closer to the window, wanting to put distance between himself and the pained, wizened creature driving the car. He pressed a paw to the knob and stuck his head out the window, the cool night air washing over him, taking his unease with it. He watched the surrounding lands, the cookie-cutter trees, the fading light whip past him and leaned on the windowsill, his brows knotting together. That was weird of Sarge, not like his usual stoic self. But those otters were crazed over something. He did what he had to do against crazy people, so why does he harbor all those feelings after so many years?

Brooks stared at the horizon, taking in the twilight of the evening when a burst of light and a loud boom broke up the monotony of the drive.

"Whoa! Did you see that?" Brooks said, leaning out of the window, his muzzle open and his ears pushed forward on his head.

"See what?"

"That huge flash of light!" When Sarge stared at him, Brooks barked and pointed. "Over on the field. Something just exploded! C'mon Sarge, someone could be hurt over there!"

Sarge sighed as he veered hard to the left and turned the cruiser around. "Alright rookie, but you better hope for your sake that I don't have any paperwork after this. This feels like it's gonna be a long night."