Bubble Guppies Police Novels & Stories

guy B asked when he saw guy A turned serious " My boss they talk say that girl why we hit survive am o. Boss talk say we no do our end of deal o. Talk say if we finish the girl, another money go enter our account sharp sharp " " Twale baba, Oya make we go do am now. Waitin we dey wait for? " guy B asked " you know say the babe dey hospi....... They were cut off by the loud push of their door. Three police officers entered pointing guns at them. " STAY WHERE YOU ARE " Guy A and guy B sat put with their hands up in surrender " Oga officer waitin we do una na? " " when you get to the police station you'll know what you do you two idiots . Move before I blow your heads with this gun"

#FamilyBloodbathOverACoffee followed right behind. #WaltzCompanyRocks climbed fast too. The police official account released a timely update and confirmed my version of events, emphasizing their firm stance on protecting citizens’ privacy and putting the final stamp of truth on everything.

Duncan’s roar shakes the foundation of the concrete room our pack huddles in, his grief ripping through him. It was some of our Hounds that found the bodies this morning, lying there in shreds in the middle of Millennium Park. Our Hounds are just as they sound, pack members that serve as police officers and homicide detectives by day. We all have our place, a way for us to blend in seamlessly. We all hold jobs like anyone else; civil servants, politicians, physicians, CEOs, bakers and students. Unless it’s a full moon, it’s nearly impossible to know we’re anything different than humans.

Ahead of us, blocking our path, was a line of police officers in full riot gear—helmets, shields, and even batons at the ready. “It’s okay,” Darren said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll speak to them. This is a peaceful march, and it’s not violating the law. We’re allowed to be here.” He started forward, his eyes scanning the group of police for some kind of leader, but froze when one of the officers raised something in his hand. It wasn’t a weapon—at least not a conventional one. It was a small metal capsule. My blood ran cold as I recognized it. The special gas. The chemical agent designed specifically to trigger aggression in werewolves.