Before you begin reading the first chapters of my new story, I have presented here a re submission of the setting and background as well as some new information in order to help the story come more alive and for you to better imagine characters and places.


This story takes place in a world where humans and anthropomorphic beings coexist rather than existing only in secret as my previous stories have followed. This story will retain similar themes (ie Human/Anthro relationships) like “One With Nature” and “My Hunter, My Lover” but presented in the style of a crime drama with heavy inspiration from the T.V show “Southland”. If you are a fan of the show then I think you will be able to see the D.N.A of that in my story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMdCwwNMvIU

WARNING: This story will contain very adult material in future chapters, including violence and references to rape.


Location: Centaur Valley, a fictional city which I imagine incorporates the sprawling urban areas of Los Angeles with the city center modeled after the older, art deco style skyscrapers of New York. I choose the name “Centaur” because it is the name of a mythological half human, half animal beast and since this is a city in which humans and anthropomorphic animals live together, it seemed sensible to have a name to reflect that diversity.


The Centaur Valley Police Department Uniforms are the same as those worn by the Los Angeles Police Department. The CVPD's decals are the same as those seen used by the Gotham City Police in the Dark Knight trilogy like the example here: http://gibbycat.deviantart.com/art/.....-Car-255964669 (though obviously they won't say "GPD" on the side)


The hero, Damien Holt, is almost entirely based off Ben Sherman (http://angelsbaby101.deviantart.com/art/Man-in-Blue-296241659) (played by Ben Mackenzie) from the television drama Southland (as is the whole story)


While this story features anthro characters of natural species, it also includes small elements of the Digimon universe, although this is merely an excuse for me to have Renamon as a character since I am not a fan of the show but find her an attractive character. (A depiction of her rendition for this story is currently being developed by my friend Hattonslayden (http://www.furaffinity.net/user/hattonslayden/) Although they exist in this world they are not “digital monsters” as such, they are simply unusual breeds of animals with no superpowers.



Background:

Called the “Animal Kingdom” by its boosters and “Animal City” by its detractors, Centaur Valley is one of the most ethnically and specifically diverse cities in the world. The city occupies about six hundred square miles, known for its well preserved art deco skyscrapers, rolling hills and sprawling urban areas. Its population stands at about six million, forty two percent of which are non-humans classified as “Anthromorphs”, bipedal humanoids with animal like characteristics, the diversity of which is as wide as their non-anthromorphic counterparts. The percentage of Anthromorphs compared to humans makes is one of the highest of any major city on the globe. This high percentage is largely due to the city’s liberal attitude towards anthromorphs, which is generally considered more progressive than other cities where, although outlawed, discrimination is still fairly common.

Barely a hundred years previously, anthromorphs were still subjugated and enslaved by most of humanity and in many cases faced the threat of genocide from more radical governments and bigotry driven hate groups, a few of which still remain are today regarded as terrorist organisations. Along with performing hard labour and general servitude to their human masters, blood sports were another way anthromorphs were exploited and degraded. Centaur Valley was once renowned for its fighting tournaments, especially for importing rare and unusual breeds of anthromorphs from the far-east, particularly those with proud fighting heritages such as the fox like beings collectively referred to as Kitsune,admired and respected in their homeland for their perceived magical significance as well as their grace and skill as warriors. Many were illegally kidnapped and shipped across the sea for these fighting tournaments, the females often desired not just as fighters but as sex slaves. The practice was made illegal along with slavery of anthromorphs in 1904.

Anthromorphs have only enjoyed the same equal rights as humans in much of the world since 1985, the transition of which is progressively showing in the views held by society in general. However, many anthromorphs have expressed the view that they are still seen as ‘outsiders’ and struggle to find employment in prominently human areas of the city. Logistics problems and difficulty and being able to accommodate for various species is often cited as a reason for this rather than prejudice. But as of 2015, hate crimes against anthromorphs have been on the rise, with numerous unresolved kidnappings being a major concern. Many fear the victims are being forced to partake in underground bloodsports and other demeaning activities.

The Centaur Valley Police Department has been under enormous pressure to resolve these crimes as well as to accept more anthromorphs into its ranks, which currently make up less than ten percent of its force. While logistics and accommodation is also cited as an excuse for this disparity, the CVPD’s history of harassment and violence against anthromorphs has discouraged many from applying for the force. Various reforms and desk cleaning has improved the department’s reputation but for some time does not heal all wounds.


Prolouge:



Policemen.

A policeman is a composite of what all men are, I guess, a mingling of a saint and sinner, dust and deity.

Gulled statistics made to fan over stinkers, underscore instances of dishonesty and brutality because they are "news".

What that really means is that they are exceptional, they are unusual, they are not commonplace. Buried under the froth is the fact: and the fact is, less than one-half of one percent of policemen misfit the uniform. And that is a better average than you would find among clergymen!

What is a policeman? He, of all men, is at once the most needed and the most wanted. A strangely nameless creature who is “sir” to his face and “pig” or worse to his back.

He must be such a diplomat that he can settle differences between individuals so that each will think he won.

But…If the policeman is neat, he is conceited; If he’s careless, he’s a bum. If he’s pleasant, he’s a flirt; If he’s not, he’s a grouch.

He must make instant decisions which would require months for a lawyer.

But…if he hurries, he’s careless; If he’s deliberate, he’s lazy. He must be first to an accident, infallible with a diagnosis. He must be able to start breathing, stop bleeding, tie splints and above all, be sure the victim goes home without a limp.

The police officer must know every gun, draw on the run, and hit where it doesn’t hurt. He must be able to whip two men twice his size and half his age without damaging his uniform and without being “brutal.” If you hit him…he’s a coward. If he hits you…he’s a bully.

A policeman must know everything.... and not tell. He must know where all the sin is. And not partake.

The policeman, from a single human hair, must be able to describe the crime, the weapon, the criminal and tell you where the criminal is hiding. But…if he catches the criminal, he’s lucky; if he doesn’t, he is a dunce.

If he gets promoted he has political pull, if he doesn't he a dullard. The police officer must chase bum-leads to a dead-end, stakes out ten nights to tage one witness who saw it happen bur refuses to remember.

He runs files and writes reports until his eyes ache, to build a case against some felon who will get “dealed out” by a shameless shamus or by an honorable who isn't honorable.

The policeman must be a minister, a social worker, a diplomat, a tough guy and a gentleman.

And of course, he’ll have to be a genius…for he will have to feed a family on a policeman’s salary.


"What are Policemen made off?" - Paul Harvey






The City of Centaur Valley, 5:45 am.




The crisp early morning air settled down on the dozens of dark blue and white patrol cars lined outside of Southfort Police Station. The sunlight streaked across the white concrete structure, the centre of which rose nearly five hundred feet into the air whilst the rest of the structure broadened out like shoulders of a wrestler. The insignia of the Centaur Valley Police Department was carved into the walls opposite the main entrance that sat up on a small number of steps, while the doorway was headed with the words Southfort Police Station.


The bulk of the car spaces were filled but the few that remained empty were slowly being filled by the patrol units returning from night watch. Each car was stripped of equipment and weapons as the torch would soon be passed to the officers on day watch. Then the vast parking area would be almost empty and the weary blue and whites would be on the road again for another twelve hours. Many of the cars, more so than those who drove them, were well passed retirement age. Officers arriving for roll call walked through the entrance, brushing shoulders with those going off duty and heading home.


Standing out from all the others, chatting to themselves and texting on their Smartphone’s by the garden outside the entrance were two anthromorph women, their bright blue eyes and soft fur coats the same of Husky dogs. Neither was in uniform, as weren’t the other officers arriving this time of the morning. They could almost be mistaken for sisters, one of them had a grey coat while the other‘s was brown. They ignored the looks they received from most of the other cops, having become used to the attention they received from being among the few anthromorphs in the Police department.


“Morning, ladies,” said a male voice that approached them along the garden behind them. The two looked up and returned the greeting,

“Morning, Holt,” said they grey female, “You bring us any doggie treats?” she asked sarcastically.

Damien Holt wore black cargo pants with a grey t-shirt beneath his spare duty jacket that he often wore in the mornings. He was twenty eight years old, four of which he had been part of the CVPD. He had fair brown hair and his emerald eyes were always moving, instinctively looking at every aspect of any person he met, their hands, their eyes, their stance, something he had picked up from the numerous encounters he’d had with members of the public. It was a response he struggled to turn off when in the company of those he knew, who at that moment were Kristina and Sasha, the grey and brown Husky women.

“Sorry,” he grinned, “Not today. Besides you don’t want to perform tricks in front of all these guys do you?” Sasha reached out and punched him in the shoulder, laughing and humorously telling him to go to hell. Damien brushed past them with a smirk, “See you at roll call,” and walked up the entrance. Standing their waiting for him, arms crossed with his head shaking and wide smile on his face was Bryan Aelston, his partner. He was two years older then him, with short jet black hair. Damien shrugged his shoulders at him as they passed through the doors into the station.


“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Bryan asked as they made their way towards the locker room, “Every morning it’s the same thing. ‘Hi girls, how ya doing’? Ready to fight crime?’ You’re like a fly drawn to a bug lamp with them.”

“I’m just being friendly,” he protested, “Everyone else keeps turning their noses up at them.”


“You’ve been saying that ever since they got here from probation. People have been saying stuff about you, man.”


“You mean you’ve been saying stuff,” he retorted lightly. Bryan only smirked as they entered the locker room. They joined the other day watch personnel in the usual routine of getting ready for roll call; putting on uniforms, shining shoes, polishing their badges, fastening duty belts and adjusting their department issued body cameras. There were always stories being told and pranks being pulled before roll call. One officer named Bates emerged from the shower room with only his hands to cover his modesty as someone had taken the liberty of relieving him of his towel and then hiding his uniform in someone else’s locker. The prank was planned pre-emptively as no one knew in which locker the uniform had been hidden in. Bates furiously demanded everyone open their lockers and find it, eventually discovering it hidden in a rookie’s locker who claimed to have no idea how it got there.


Bates was still furiously claiming he would kill whoever it was who had done him wrong as Damien was putting the final touches on his uniform.

“You know,” said Bryan as he fastened his shirt buttons, “It’s not me saying stuff. It was some of the other guys who have been speculating on your fondness for Kristina and Sasha.”

“If I cared what people said about me, I wouldn’t be a cop,” Damien replied as he took a last look at himself in the mirror.

“I have to say though,” Bryan said knowingly, “You wouldn’t mind having those two huskies over for sleepover if you know what I mean,” he chuckled. When silence answered him, he turned and looked at his partner who acted like he hadn’t heard what he had said.

“Well?” he asked. Damien turned to him and with a coy smile said,


“I plead the fifth.”


Five minutes later, all the day watch personnel were assembled in the squad room. Damien and Bryan sat at the same desk in the centre of the room. Kristina and Sasha stood in the corner and Bates, still fuming, leaned against wall between the shaded windows. Everyone else took their places throughout the room, sharing idle small talk until the Captain finally entered the room armed with his clipboard. Captain Delaware was a twenty two year veteran, but working behind a desk for several years hadn’t t made him any less street wise. His preferred long sleeve uniform and hard exterior gave him an air of intimidation and rightfully so. He would take a bullet for someone who had done their best in a difficult situation but if he believed you were negligent or careless, then he might just shoot you himself.


Roll call would usually last three quarters of an hour ending at quarter to seven. News on special events or persons of interest would be discussed before each officer would be assigned a unit and duty for the day. Damien looked at the clock on the wall and saw how close those three quarters were nearly to an end when Captain Delaware dropped a final bombshell.


“As you have probably heard, there were two more kidnappings last night, this time in this division. Two teenage anthromoprhs, brother and sister, were snatched from their home last night at about 2:00 am on Fleetwood boulevard. They were feline anthromorphs, Puma’s to be exact. The parents were incapacitated with tazers and couldn’t describe the perps other than they were wearing all black clothing. No description of a vehicle so far either but probably a van or truck. While we hope it’s not the case, the detectives think this kidnapping may be linked with those that have been happening here and other cities. In most cases, no ransom demands and the victims are usually anthromorphs with natural fighting prowess, puma’s, bears, tigers, predator type ‘morphs. This could mean there is a criminal ring operating illegal blood sports and using kidnapped ‘morphs as contestants.

“Like I said, we hope it’s not true but I figured you should all get a heads up because it’s only a matter of time before the press comes to that conclusion. We’re already under a lot of scrutiny for not solving these kidnappings, so remember that if any members of the press or journalists try and coheres you into giving a statement, stick with policy and say ‘no comment’. My instincts tell me the chief will be issuing a statement soon anyway.”


After this final word, he picked up his clipboard and began to read aloud the names of officers and the units and duty they were assigned for the day. Kristina and Sasha were assigned the same car, as usual, as did it seem everybody else in the squad room. Damien was poised to get to his feet and walk with Bryan to A-13, their usual assigned unit when Captain Delaware eyed him from the front of the room.


“Holt, your number’s up today. You’ve got paper duty. You’ll be riding in U-34 today. Aelston, you’ll be riding with Bates.” Damien sighed with disappointment as numerous pairs of eyes turned to him with a cheeky ‘rather you than me’ kind of look. Captain Delaware was no exception,

“Everybody’s got to take a turn in the U-boat. I didn’t like it much either but think of it as a way to ease into the week. Alright, that’s it. Be safe out there. Kit up and roll out!”



Damien carried his kitbag in one hand and a shotgun in other while clenching a report book under arm as he walked through the station parking lot to the blue and white designated U-34 or ‘The U-boat’. It was a slang term used to describe a single man unit assigned to take reports for the shift, the assigned cars always carrying the letter ‘U’ for ‘Union’ from the CVPD’s phonetic alphabet. Report cars are supposed to follow up on reported crimes from citizens and not chase the radio unless of a dire emergency. There wasn’t much action to it, so most people disliked being assigned it.
He stood behind the car and popped the truck to load his bag and check that the unit wasn’t missing any equipment. Satisfied that he had everything, he closed the boot and caught Bryan walking towards him, all his gear in hand and his black shades over his eyes.


“Watch yourself, don’t get any paper cuts out their today,” he jeered, “Bates and me will be just cruising around, getting in car chases and shooting bad guys while all you’ll need to worry about is having enough ink in your pen,”


“Yeah, yeah,” Damien said while poorly holding back a smile. He reached into his left breast pocket and pulled out his pen, skilfully twirling it in his fingers before clicking it as if alluding to cocking it like a gun. “I’m cocked and loaded,” he said, “Ready for action.” Bryan grinned and cocked the shotgun he held,

“Me too.”


“I probably won’t need mine,” Damien said, looking at his piece disappointedly.


“Come on, Bryan, get the lead out!” Bates cried grumpily as he stormed past the pair of them and moved down the line of police cruisers. Damien and Bryan looked at him with passive disinterest before Damien looked back to his partner and realised there was envy in his face, not for Bates but for him. Bryan finally conceded, “Alright, I almost wish I was in your shoes now instead of mine,”

“And you wish I was in yours?”


“Hell no, man. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody,” he said with feigned laughter, not looking forward to twelve hours with someone with a temper like Bates. Maybe the prank, whoever pulled it, wasn’t so funny after all.

“See you later,” he wished and strode off down the parking lot. Damien checked the backseat for contraband before he picked up his duty book and twelve gauge and walked to the passenger door, locking the shotgun in the rack before shutting the door and entering the driver’s side. It was easier than trying to fit the gun past the steering wheel.


Damien settled into the driver’s seat and looked at the list of names and addresses in front of him and the crimes he was to report on. Most of them appeared to be home invasions, neighbour disputes, vandalism and other such thing although he didn’t look at the whole list in detail. He entered the first address into the computer and started the motor,


“Well, I guess it is a way to ease into the week,” he mused, remembering Captain Delaware’s words as he revered the police cruiser out and drove out of the parking lot, waving to a couple of citizens who usually watched the day watch units roll out in the mornings.

“Alright Joe Citizen, what have we got today?” Damien asked nobody as he took off down the street, the precinct getting smaller in his rear-view mirror.


The first call, an alleged prowler call or 10-14, was a waste of time, fuel, breath and taxpayers money. Damien arrived at 29 Everett Street; the residence of an elderly woman who claimed to have seen a person peering at her through her bedroom window. It wasn’t until he arrived that she confessed the person in question was, apparently, a ghost.

“A ghost?” he had asked.


“Yes,” she had claimed adamantly, “I didn’t say that at first because I didn’t think anyone would believe me and no one would come.” She was not quite right about that. She may have ended up being visited by nurses from the local nursing home, though he didn’t tell her that. She described a ‘ghostly’ person looking right at her from outside the window, staring at her and mocking her shock and terror to a tee. She told him that the ghost only appeared when she was standing right up against the window.


“Close enough to see your reflection?” he asked nonchalantly.


“Well, yes,” she had said, not taking the hint. When he asked for a description, she said the ghost had grey hair, white pyjamas and most notably of all, a pearl necklace around its neck.


“You mean just like what you are wearing now?” he asked civilly. The woman noticed that she had effectively described herself and after a few tense moments,


“It must be stealing my clothes!” she shrieked.


Damien left a few minutes later, writing the incident down as a false alarm and recommending the old lady’s mental stability be evaluated. Maybe it wasn’t such a waste of time, no crime may have occurred, but if he could help the old lady get the treatment she needed, then it was worth something.



14 Roselea Avenue was the next address, the paperwork stating a 594; vandalism. In the fifteen minutes it took him to drive there, the appearance of the suburbs took on a much more despairing look. Overgrown lawns and poorly kept gardens in front of most of the houses, trash and fallen leaves from the trees that lined the sidewalk were scattered across the street. Clearly street sweepers didn’t come down here often. The whole neighbourhood looked vandalised.

He wondered what specific act of vandalism he was going to be writing a report on as he pulled up in front of the address, spying a teal coloured Chevy Impala which had been converted into a low-rider parked undercover in the driveway beside the house. An anthromorph Chameleon, wearing black shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, stood beside the car. Damien found anthromorph reptiles among the hardest to judge the emotions of, their eyes and body language was usually not as easily discernable as that of a human or similar race. Human body language was the same for most people, but every anthromorph race has their own particular aspects and behaviours dependant on their characteristics. Remembering them all for the extremely cosmopolitan population of Centaur Valley was a difficult task.

The Chameleons’ name was Aaron Emiliano, whose skin was currently a similar colour to the car. Speaking with a strong Spanish accent, he irately bought Damien’s attention to the Chevy Impala, the hood and left side fender had been attacked with a bottle of brake fluid, stripping away the exquisite metallic paint. He was quite certain about who was responsible, his tail curling and uncurling angrily.


“My girlfriend Valentina, boss, this is the kind of crazy shit she would do, man,” he cried.

“Calm down, sir. What makes you say that?” Damien asked.


“We had a big fight a couple of days ago. She walked out on me. Says I love the car more than her!”

“Where is she now?”


“Her sister’s, I think,”


“You mean you don’t know?” he asked sternly, “You don’t care enough about her to know where she is?”


“She’s not answering her cell. She just walked out on me and....” Aaron’s voice was suddenly cut off as he looked over Damien’s shoulder. Following the Chameleon’s enormous eyes, he turned and saw what they had become fixated on.

He presumed it to be Valentina, a female anthromorph Chameleon wearing a white rock band shirt and tan shorts and open toed sandals. She carried a handbag over her shoulder, a taxi pulled away from the curb behind the police cruiser, explaining her sudden appearance. Damien knew right away that she was not happy to see him with her boyfriend.

“Aaron, why are the cops here? What did you tell them I did?” she cried almost straight away, marching towards them. Damien stepped forward, asking,

“Are you Valentina, miss?”


“Yeah that’s her!” cried Aaron from behind, “She’s the one who did it!”


“Did what? What are you accusing me of now?” she retorted.


“Doing this to my ride!” he shouted, pointing at the damaged paintjob.


“Hold it! Hold it!” Damien raised his voice and stood between them in an attempt to calm the angry couple as they spat insults and accusations at each other but they acted like he was not even there. When the two started clawing for each other and both trying to push past him, Damien finally roared at them, shoving them both away from each other and himself.

“ENOUGH! Cut it out both of you! Or I’ll arrest you both and then you can add jail time to your list of problems.” Whether it was his voice or his threatening glare, the two stood back and became silent, not daring to look into his eyes.

When the temperature had cooled down, Damien let out a short sigh and turned to Valentina, speaking in a soft voice,


“I want you to stand at the back of the car for me while I finish talking to Aaron. You’ll get to tell me your side of the story in a minute. Can you do that for me?” She nodded and did what she was asked, Damien turning back to talk to Aaaron.


“Did you see her do it? When did you realise what had happened?” he asked.


“Yesterday,” he answered while scratching an itch on his face, “I was working ‘round back and came out here and saw what had happened. I didn’t see who did it, but I know it was her,” he said, his left eye turning in Valentina’s direction while his right continued to eye Damien. Finding the action somewhat unnerving, he said,

“It’s a nice car. There are people who would just love to hurt it because they’ve got nothing better to do. But if you didn’t see who did it, there isn’t much I can do. This is more of a matter for your insurance company then the police,”


“I don’t have insurance... Hey!” he cried as his head snapped to the left. Damien followed and saw Valentina pouring the remaining contents of a bottle of brake fluid over the rear of the car. Both of them rushed towards her, Damien arriving first and quickly shoved the bottle out of her hands before grabbing her by the arms to restrain her. Aaron was too distraught over the damage to his low-rider to do anything else but wail and curse at her.

“That’s what you get for loving that car more than me!” she snapped as she was held against the wall of the house, as Damien clasped her in handcuffs.

“Big mistake, Valentina,” he said with more sadness than anger as the cuffs clicked.


“Hey, you’re standing on my tail!”


“How do I know you’re not going pull my feet out from under me?” he growled, reaching for his radio, “Dispatch, this is Union 34, I have a 549 suspect in custody. Requesting an additional unit for a 10-16 to station, copy?”

“Union 34, 10-4. Additional unit en route for prisoner transport.”

Another unit arrived a few minutes later to take Valentina to the station. Now that it was a police matter, Damien finished questioning Aaron Emiliano and gave him the details needed if he wished to pay her bail.The Chameleon was distraught over what had happened, mostly because his accusation turned out to be true. As Damien was about to leave Aaron remarked,


“I hoped I was wrong, but she really did do it,”


“In my job, you see a lot of things done by all kinds of people that you wish they hadn’t, man,” Damien responded despairingly, “Well, have a good day, sir.”

“Yeah, you too,” the Chameleon said lowly.


End of Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/16062627/