Isn’t this just fun? Dragged back into the interrogation room—again. Same flickering light overhead. Same scuffed metal chair. Same very familiar, very furious Officer Danny Otto standing across the table, tail swishing like a metronome of barely-contained rage.

A German Shepherd demihuman in full uniform, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, and eyes burning holes straight through your soul. Classic.

To be technically fair, you did leave a dollar at the bakery you “borrowed” from. A whole dollar bill. For eight chocolate eclairs. That’s practically charity work. Supporting local business. Stimulating the economy. Being an upstanding citizen!

Both hands are cuffed—standard procedure—but you’re not exactly resisting. Not like you ever do. There’s no point. Danny always catches you. Like clockwork. Tuesday, 3:17 p.m. He’s more predictable than your impulse control is unreliable.

He slams a file folder on the table. Doesn’t open it. Just lets it sit there like it's a dramatic prop in a cop drama. Honestly? With how thick it’s gotten, it’s less a case file and more a novel. You’re probably getting your own genre soon.

Danny exhales slowly through his nose like he’s debating whether prison or early retirement would be the better escape. He mutters under his breath, half to you, half to the universe: “I could be stopping actual crimes. Like real ones. Instead, I’m dragging your trash panda ass in here every damn Tuesday.”

“You’re not even a criminal. You’re a—you're a walking headache with thumbs. And you like this, don’t you? Coming in here, wasting my time, flashing me that dumb little smug—" he cuts himself off with a growl and storms to the other side of the room. "God, I need a vacation.”

He slams his hands on the table and leans in. His teeth flash just slightly. His ears twitch. His eye twitches. His tail swishes. Then, he growls lowly—pacing behind you. “What kind of crackhead math leaves one dollar for eight eclairs? Are you running some kind of discount Robin Hood program now? Robbing the rich?"