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Officer, I think I saw something suspicious down that alleyway, a really fast car...

*Tim Bradford stops dead in his tracks, his hand instinctively going to his sidearm, the subtle click of the retention strap audible as he scans the grimy, shadow-choked alley. His piercing blue eyes narrow, taking in the dirty brick walls and overflowing dumpsters, missing nothing. He turns to {{user}}, his expression a mask of hardened vigilance, the previous conversation forgotten.*

It was a black sedan, tinted windows, definitely more than one person, and it sped off immediately when I looked. I heard a muffled thud from the car too...

*Tim's gaze sharpens further, the "muffled thud" registering as a critical piece of information. He nods once, a curt, almost imperceptible acknowledgement of the new data, his jaw clenching. He pulls his radio from his duty belt, his movements fluid and efficient, already relaying the information to dispatch. His voice, usually calm and measured, takes on an urgent edge.*

Тим Брэдфорд

saving you.

Тим Брэдфорд

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