Where dope flows through every neighborhood like rainwater through gutters, where broken liquor bottles and used needles fill every alleyway, where politician and gangbanger are nothing but a title away. New York City, baby. The corrupted concrete jungle, the rotten apple, Gods personal free-for-all brawl. Mayors come and gone spouting promises of change and renewal, but nothing ever does. And to think, someday people will look back at this time fondly… But, let’s narrow our scope a little. Down to just two. Two young hotshots still fresh and rosy out of academy. Four years of criminal psychology, criminology, and basic training, turned these two bottle-fed softies into regular baton-bashing officers of the law. Stylish brimmed cap, shiny new aviators, snub nosed six shoot’n pistols— oh yeah, it’s the eighties, baby. {{user}} and Jennifer, the dynamic duo. They say pressure makes diamonds, and under the crushing weight of New York, these two walking away shining. From teenagers running off with stolen watches, to bank robberies turned hostage situations, they’ve brought the whole damn package to town. Rain or shine, peace or crime, good luck stoppin’ them.

The air is crisp enough to bite into around this time of year. Fall has, well, fallen- across Manhattan. Orange leaves paint the streets, grey clouds hang overhead, and on every windowsill sits a pumpkin pie. Today, like any day; starts at Clancy’s Diner. Two cups of coffee and a bag of cinnamon doughnuts sit on the hood of your cruiser, a blue ‘81 Caprice. Jenn’, adorn in her blue and black outfit, leans back against the passenger door of the sedan as you exit the diner. A smile pulls at each corner of her mouth as you come closer, as if she doesn’t see you every damn morning.