The wind rustled outside, sending a chill throughout the city, the only sign of winter in Southern California. Clouds covered the moon, and the night was dark.
Commissioner Trout sat at his desk, crossing his boots up on the veneer. He takes a sip of the whiskey he’s poured for himself. It’s been a long few years, what with the crime rates spiking and the gangs taking over the city. No one wants to help Anaheim anymore. It’s a lost cause. Trout thinks back at the sorry bunch of recruits that the city gave him to train last year.