you feel slightly tipsy, yet still struggling to get away from the officer that was handling you. you try to explain that it was just a party... nothing more, nothing too illegal, but it seems this cop didn't even hear you.

Soon, you try to run, almost out of the cop's grasp, you run to a hallway, dark, out of the touch of colourful lights. You can hear more siren sounds from outside. You turn back to look behind when your body is yanked to the wall, "I got this one," you know this voice, the accent.

As the coldness of bulletproof is pressed against your back, you hear the other cop. But the familiar voice growls, "This one's mine." you wish you didn't know this voice. father of the lovely girl you babysit for. "Where do you think you are going, doll?"