Ferretville P.D. #02: Crimson Tide

By Mantrid Brizon

Grabbing the folder containing his beloved comic, the fluffy dog prepares himself for his big day. He walks past his roommate and grabs the keys to his lime green Ford Fiesta, the rusty old car that's been faithfully ferrying him to and from work for years. Hopefully, if all goes well, it won't have to suffer much longer; he can afford a new car once the studio buys the rights to his script.

“Wish me luck!" He chirps.

“Kevy..."

“Yeah?" The dog stops and turns toward his friend.

“Are you sure about this?"

“Of course!"

“What if they don't like it?" His roommate asks.

“Pffh! Why wouldn't they?!"

“Well... Just remember what I said last night."

“I'm a creative, and this..." Kevy waves his finger between them, pointing back and forth. “This kind of thing is very damaging to my motivation... Don't worry! It'll be fine! See ya' later!"

Racing outside and jumping into his car, he begins to back out only to slam on his breaks as a squad car zooms past him, the Charger's engine roaring.

“Jeez... I wonder where they're headed to. I hope wherever it is, everyone's okay." Kevy murmurs to himself.

Inside of the squad car, Officer Ginger Affen sits in the passenger seat, her arms crossed beneath her plump bosoms. Her partner, Officer Nina Sphynx, drives like a mad woman, running several lights and using the lightbar and siren to justify her recklessness.

“I can taste those sandwiches, now! I'm so hungry I could eat a horse guy!" She teases.

Ginger remains silent; she doesn't even giggle. Perplexed, Nina glances over to her several times, her little smirk quickly fading as she realizes that something is amiss.

“So... What are you going to order?" Nina quickly tries to move past the awkwardness. “I'm thinking of getting a club sandwich, with their special Ace Sauce... Ginger? ... Are you o-"

“How could you?!" Ginger snaps, her head quickly turning as she glares at the dark feline. “I can't believe you! I told you! I begged! I f***ing pleaded!" The fluffy, floppy-eared dog woman shouts.

“I-"

“Shut up!!!" Ginger barks.

“..."

“All you had to do was leave him alone... That's all you had to do, but no! You couldn't even do that one thing! He's such a sweet guy, and now he might need therapy after what you did to him..." She whimpers, seemingly on the verge of tears.

“I thought he liked it. I mean, he got hard... Well... Eventually." Nina rationalizes her actions.

“Only because you were suc-! ... Forget it... When we get back, I'm going to ask for a new partner, and maybe even reassignment." Ginger lets out a heavy sigh, looking away from her and viewing the scenery.

“What?!" The feline gasps. “Ginger... It's not that serious."

“Not that serious?!" Ginger turns in her seat, a fire in her eyes. “You basically ra-!"

“Unit 21, Unit 21, come in, over." The dispatcher's voice interrupts them.

“This is Unit 21. What's up?" Nina asks, gripping her shoulder-mounted radio.

“We've got an accident on Vicker's Drive. One car. Likely a distracted driver. Get over there and cordon it off for EMS."

“Copy that. We're on the way." Nina replies. “Damn... I guess lunch will have to wait."

“Whatever..." Ginger grumbles, turning away again.

They make it to the scene of the crash and set up a barricade, waving traffic away and directing them onto an alternate route. Among the many cars that drives by is a rusty old lime green Fiesta. About an hour later, the wreck has been moved and the severely intoxicated victims taken to the hospital. With a bit of time to spare, Nina and Ginger climb into their squad car and head toward their favorite lunch spot, a little bistro called Jill's Sandwiches.

Along the way, they pass a local production studio, where Ginger notices the tacky hatchback parked out front. Inside, Kevy continues his pitch, flipping over another page on the comic he'd so painstakingly hand-drawn for months. It's all come down to this, and he's so hopeful.

“So, after the dinner scene with the tribal leader, where the vixen is given 'proper hospitality'..." Kevy looks back and winks. “That's when the panda girl catches up to her explorer partner. She gets involved and we have another love-scene, a passionate moment between her, the vixen, and the ram chieftain, and all three of them have hot s-"

“I think we all know what they're doing..." The CEO of the studio mutters, rubbing his brow.

“Yeah. You drew it in excruciating detail..." A female executing murmurs, averting her eyes.

“Thank you!" Kevy chirps, beaming with pride. “So, after this passionate scene, that's when the vixen wanders off and we get some lore about the magic crystals and-"

“Hold on. I need to stop you right there..." The CEO suddenly speaks up.

“Yeah?"

“Listen, kid..."

“Everyone calls me 'Kevy.'" The young man grins.

“Right... This “romance" you've said you wrote for us is just... Trashy."

“... What?" Kevy squeaks, his face sinking along with his heart.

“So far, all I'm seeing is a 70s-era porn flick, complete with a dumb story to justify the gratuitous sex and disguise it as a romance."

“B-but, you haven't seen the ending!" Kevy swiftly defends his work, flipping through at least 10 more pages of what can only be classified as hardcore pornography. “I tie in the whole thing with the magical-!"

“Just stop... I can sum this whole story up for you right now. It's “tribal ram banging two explorer girls because reasons," and your only justification is some stupid quasi-mystical gibberish with a glowing pink rock! That's not a story anyone can take their family to! No teenage girls will drag their boyfriend to that! The only couples who would willingly watch this trash are people already in their bedroom and who need a little motivation... This is a proper film studio. I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

Kevy's heart breaks and he feels himself beginning to tremble.

“Th-that..." He pauses and gulps. “That's very unmotivating. Perhaps you aren't seeing it from my perspective?"

“And what perspective is that, pray-tell?" The female executive asks.

“The sultry love scenes add emphasis for their budding feelings, and-"

“The feelings of a tribal guy getting screwed by two horny sluts?!" The studio's producer laughs.

“Pfft." The CEO scoffs.

“I-it's tasteful..." Kevy whimpers, his ears drooping.

“It's trash, and you're not a writer. Get out..." The CEO growls.

Kevy looks between the board, all of whom nod in agreement with the CEO.

“Well, I... I... I never wanted to work with you, anyway!!!" Kevy runs away, taking his comic from the stand and racing back to his Fiesta.

Outside, as the two police officers drive past the studio, Ginger sees the young man bursting through the front doors and fleeing for his car. Her floppy ears perk up a little as she lifts her head, seeing the distress on his face.

“Looks like he's having as good a day as us." Nina suddenly remarks.

“Shut up..." Ginger grumbles.

Ginger cannot even bear to look at her partner. She's still in disbelief over what she'd done. She could hardly believe it when her lover, Ian, called her and confided in her, explaining the entire situation. He sounded so confused and distraught, and whimpered his long and rambling statement to her. It was clear that whatever happened after Nina pulled him over that night Ginger called in sick had been forced upon him. He's already had a rough past with women, and Nina certainly didn't make things any better. Ginger has half a mind to report Nina's abuse of power, but her inherent loyalty is all that stops her from snitching.

“Finally!" Nina exclaims, pulling up to Jill's Sandwiches. “What are you going to get?"

“..."

“Still mad?" Nina cringes, feeling a touch of guilt.

“..."

“I'll tell you what... This is on me, okay?"

“..." Ginger's eyes widen, her mouth dropping open; she's stunned by the half-hearted attempt at recompense.

“See? All better! Heh..." Nina hastily climbs out of the car, the air becoming thick with the tension.

As Ginger is about to climb out of the car, she hears a loud beeping. It's so rapid, it's almost a buzzing. The lime green Fiesta zooms buy, setting off their rear-facing LiDAR. Ginger notes the speed at over 70 mph in a 45-mph zone.

“What's wrong?" Nina asks, looking back at her partner.

“Nothing..." Ginger growls, her mood instantly turning sour when she lays eyes on the feline.

“Oh... Come on! Let's get lunch!" Nina chirps.

“Rrr..." Ginger growls to herself.

Nina is true to her word and pays for Ginger's meal. Normally such a generous offer would mean something to the bubbly and good-natured dog, especially as expensive as Jill's Sandwiches can be. All Ginger wants to do is beat Nina to a bloody pulp. It takes all her energy to restrain herself, so when they get a call for another Code-Veronica, Ginger finds herself surprisingly energetic. Maybe protecting the citizens from Parasol Group's zombies will help her decompress?

As they race down the street, lights flashing and siren blaring, they pass the seedier side of town. They take many a call here, driving along a row of old buildings that were once respectable businesses. Passing another less than scrupulous studio, Ginger glances at the lime green Fiesta parked out front. Inside, Kevy is half-way through his pitch, standing in the tiny little office of the owner of the adult film studio.

“And that's when the magical crystals show up!" He chirps.

“Uh-huh..."

“What?" Kevy pauses, worried by the fat cat's tone.

“Nothing! I like it!" The overweight feline exclaims, grinning around the cigar clenched between his stained teeth.

“Oh, good!" Kevy breathes a sigh of relief.

“And so long as you're willing to make some changes, I'd love to produce this! In fact, I have a couple of good actors in mind for it! ... You don't mind if we change the ram to a bull, do you?"

“Uh... I guess not." Kevy scratches his head.

“Good, good! He'll be easier to book... Oh, and we'll need to drop all that dumb crystal-magic stuff, and maybe the dinner scene, too."

“What?!" Kevy whimpers.

“I mean, we can have the dinner scene, but we'll need to condense it. Sixty seconds or less, and only a close-up of the oral." The fat cat continues, chomping on the end of his unlit cigar.

“But then it wouldn't be a romance. It would just be love scenes." Kevy's ears droop.

“Heh... Kid, I've heard a lot of pitches for a lot of films and let me tell you something... Back in the day, we used to have all kinds of stupid plots to justify pornography, until we realized that the stuff sells without it. I mean, what do you think this is! The 1970s?! We'll film forty-five minutes of a hot vixen and her cutie-pie panda girlfriend getting plowed by Mr. Tribal Bull and it'll get a million views. No one cares about that stupid magic sub-plot, or the romance..."

“But this isn't a porn!"

“... Oh?!" The scuzzy executive raises an eyebrow.

“It's a romance!" Kevy insists.

“... AHAHAHAHAHA!!! That's funny."

“..."

“Wait... You're... You're serious?!" He leans forward in his chair, a shocked look on his face as his cigar nearly falls out of his mouth.

Kevy nods his head.

“Wow... Okay... Then what's with all this..." The fat cat swirls his hand around, gesturing toward the comic. “That's an awful lot of “love scenes" for a romance."

“It's tasteful. Sultry scenes add impact to the romance." Kevy meekly defends his work.

“Well, that's one way to look at it... Another would be “deluded." Listen, kid, I get that you want hot love scenes - I love hot love scenes - but no serious studio would write a romance with four graphic depictions of sexual intercourse. I mean, the oral at a dinner party in a tribal hut is already too much, but you have a threesome in there!"

“I'm exploring my creativity." Kevy whines.

“You drew close-ups. I can see his spunk oozing out of them."

“It's tasteful!"

“It's porn... I'll make your film, kid, and even back it with studio cash because I've already got some popular actors in mind, but you need to be realistic."

“I'm a creative..." Kevy whimpers.

“That may be, but you aren't going to win any Oscars with that crap. Remember where you are. The floor of my studio is sticky..."

“You aren't helping my motivation!" Kevy begins to cry.

The scuzzy executive looks quite surprised as the young adult wipes tears from his eyes, grabs his comic and dashes out of the studio without saying another word.

“Wow... Kids these days. Skin like wet tissue paper..." The fat cat shakes his head.

Meanwhile, Nina and Ginger join a group of other officers already fighting a horde of zombies. Pushing the horde back from the police barricade, Nina and Ginger take the lead. Having already run out of ammo, and for her own twisted amusement, Nina has begun slaughtering the monstrosities with a machete, swinging the blade and shouting like a warrior princess.

“Ai-yai-yai-yai-yai-yai-yai-yai!" Nina gleefully exclaims after cleaving the head off a shambling zombie.

“Rrr..." Ginger sneers at another zombie, taking aim and shooting it in the head with her pistol.

“Come here, big guy. I know you're hungry..." She quips, glancing at the zombie's gut. “Well, here's some cold steel for you!"

With a loud “sching" she swings her bloodstained machete and cleaves his head from his shoulders, sending it rolling like a bowling ball into the woods.

“Uh-oh. We'll have to remember to fetch that before we leave. Don't want it to bite some kid later."

“RRRRR!!!" Ginger growls, her gun running empty and forcing her to smash a zombie's head against a tree trunk.

“Oh, I bet you were a handsome one. It's a shame you've been zombified mister... Leon." Nina looks at one of the undead's nametags embroidered on his work shirt.

“That one's in good shape. We'll take that one back to Parasol Group." A black-clad officer wearing an unsettling gas mask with red lenses remarks.

“Oh, alright. Come here, Leon, with your boyish brown hair and your butt-chin. You probably got all the tail, huh? Made all the other boys jealous?" She calls out to the zombie, drawing his attention. “Eh, you're probably not my type, anyway. HEEYAAH!!!"

With a hard kick to the chest, Nina shoves the zombie backward, right into the other group of officers who quickly subdue it.

“Only a few more left. How are you doing, Ginger?" Nina looks for her partner.

“RRR-RRR-AAHHHH!!!!!" Ginger roars, grabbing the last zombie by the head and slamming it into a large rock, again, and again, and again.

“... Are you alright, Ginger?"

With a sickening crunch the zombie's head cracks open but Ginger continues to batter it against the rock until it's unrecognizable. She reels from the last blow as if feeling the recoil in her own face and then throws the body to the ground with a subdued thump. It lay in the overgrown grass, an arm twitching.

“Hhff-hhff! I'm fine..." Ginger grumbles.

“Alright, then..." Nina murmurs.

Nina turns to her partner, who's covered in coagulated blood and viscera. Ginger is always so sweet, so cutesy, but now she could compete with a Hell spawned demon. There's a fire in her eyes unlike anything she's ever seen before, and for a brief moment Nina is terrified.

“... You're going to need a shower when we get back." She quips at the dog, tossing her a couple wetnaps she saved from the bistro.

“Yeah..." Ginger grumbles, tearing one open to clean her face with it.

Nina and Ginger help collect the bodies for the clean-up crew, while the few fresh zombies are bound, gagged, and loaded into a jet-black step-van to be taken back to Parasol Group's lab. A single zombie can be burned on the spot, as they'd done many times before, but a horde like this requires localized sanitation of the area. Just as Nina is about to look for the overweight zombie's missing head, the radio chirps.

“Unit 21, Unit 21, come in, over." The dispatcher calls out.

“Unit 21 reporting. What's up?"

“We've got reports of a jumper standing on the ledge of the Kennedy bridge. Once you've mopped up the last of those zombies, head over there and talk him down."

“Seriously?" Nina grumbles to herself.

“We're on it!" Ginger growls over the radio.

“... Copy that." The dispatcher sounds surprised by Ginger's harsh tone.

“Hey, I'm not very good at negotiating, especially with emotional people..." Nina begins, stowing their gear in the trunk of their squad car. “Do you want to handle this one?"

“Nope."

Nina blinks at the swiftness and coldness of Ginger's response.

“Are you sure? You're a lot better suited for this one, and-"

“Shut up!"

“... Okay."

Nina climbs into the driver's seat and starts their Charger, revving up the engine a few times before shifting into gear and speeding off. The tires squeal as they burn some rubber.

“Huh... I feel like we're forgetting something..." Nina remarks, driving over a culvert where the zombie's severed head lay, snapping at air.

“It's probably nothing." Ginger grumbles.

“Yeah... Are you sure you don't-"

“Just drive! Alright?!" She barks.

“Alright..."

They soon reach Kennedy bridge, only to find another officer already there, parked behind a lime green Fiesta that's crashed into one of the support beams. The driver's side door is ajar, and a man stands on the ledge, weeping and clutching a folder to his chest.

“Oh, man... Okay..." Nina takes a deep breath and sighs. “All I have to do is talk someone off the edge of a bridge. I can do this. Piece of cake." She murmurs to herself.

“You sure you don't want to handcuff him and drag him into the back of the squad car?" Ginger scowls.

“Don't tempt me." Nina giggles.

“..."

“Sorry..." The feline sighs, stepping out of the car.