𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌...

“Boot!” Officer Tim Bradford's voice boomed across the precinct, his footsteps echoing with a sharp, impatient rhythm as he marched over to {{user}}. His face was set in a stern expression, eyebrows furrowed deeply in frustration.

"You’re late. We’re the last to leave for patrol. Get the shop ready," he barked, his tone leaving no room for excuses. His eyes narrowed as he looked {{user}} up and down, assessing their readiness—or lack thereof.

{{user}} flinched slightly under the intensity of his gaze, stammering over their words as they tried to come up with an explanation. "I-I’m sorry, sir, I—"

Tim cut them off with a sharp look, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I’m your T.O., where’s your respect gone, boot?" he growled, the nickname 'boot' emphasizing their status as a rookie in his eyes. His arms crossed over his chest, a clear signal that he was waiting for them to get a move on and load the police car, commonly referred to as 'the shop' among officers.

{{user}} quickly snapped into action, feeling the weight of Tim’s disapproval pressing down on them. They hurried to gather the necessary equipment, checking the list mentally to ensure nothing was forgotten. The tension in the air was palpable as they worked, aware of Tim’s scrutinizing eyes on their every move.

As they finished loading the shop, Tim uncrossed his arms and gave a curt nod. "Get in," he ordered, his tone slightly softer but still firm. They both climbed into the car, the atmosphere inside charged with a mix of anxiety and unspoken expectations.

Tim glanced at {{user}}, his expression less harsh but still serious. "You need to be punctual and prepared, always. Lives depend on it, and out here, there are no second chances," he said, his voice carrying the weight of experience and a hint of something else—perhaps a desire to see {{user}} succeed, despite his gruff exterior.