W0LF

Prologue: Episode One: Task Force

     His footsteps echoed through the building, furious and impatient. "What do you mean I'm being transferred?" He snapped, throwing his arms up in the air. The blond continued on his rant, the other person, a much taller man, turning around to face him. "I mean that you—" The dark-skinned man was cut off. "I know what you mean!" The blond continued, folding his arms, his light blue checkered shirt wrinkling further, still wet from running in the rain. "Then why did you a—" Again, the higher-ranking officer was not allowed to finish. "Shut up! I'm talking!" The other man folded his arms and waited in silence for a few seconds. "Thank you," the agressor breathed. "But you—" The previously hushed man attempted.

     "A-a-ah—"

     "You asked m—"

     "Ba-ba-ba-ba-bah—"

     "You asked me a—"

     "Ba-ba-ba. . . ba. . . ba."

     "Detecti—"

     "Bah. . . . "

     A few moments of silence followed his. . . mature. . . attempt at silencing him. "Are we-Are we good now? Can I. . . Can I talk?" The feisty blond asked pointedly, gesturing with his hand. The buffer man inhaled as if he were using his last amount of patience, "Yes, Detective, what do you have to say?" He hissed through his gritted teeth. "Why am I being transferred? Where am I even going?" The detective spat, folding his arms. "A few states over." At this, his arms slipped back down and he gaped, the blond lost his mind. "A few states? With all due respect, Captain, you can't just ship me off places without even consulting me!" He yelled, gesturing wildly. "You will go wherever the government wants you to go, Detective Miller." The dark-skinned man simply replied, unfolding his arms. The statement had caused him to laugh at first, out of annoyance instead of amusement. "Ohohoh, oh—will I now?" Detective Miller snarled, getting in his face—or, at least, as close to it as he could manage at 5'2. "Yes, Detective Miller, you will." His captain responded calmly.

One Month Later. . . .

· • • • ·

     Screeching, the car came to a stop after drifting for a full five seconds. The windshield was immediately targeted, but before it could be destroyed, there was movement from inside. A tall man shot out of the driver's seat and shot back at several people, diving behind a dark green storage container and rolling until his back was pressed up against it. The brunet heard the gunfire stop, and held his breath, knowing that his rivals were doing the same. Shifting in his bulletproof vest, the dark green-eyed man slowly stood up as he heard footsteps approaching from his left. He looked at the reflection in his car—there was an Asian man creeping up on him, and no others where in sight, except for some police officers, who were slowly slinking into the lot. He raised his gun up near his face, pointed at the sky, and waited. Three. . . His heartbeat went even faster in his chest, the footsteps got louder. Two. . . The fugitive was close enough for him to hear his breathing—the freckled brunet had nearly forgotten that he was holding his own, and slowly exhaled through pursed lips. He heard shouting from where he guessed the other man's accomplices to be hiding. One.

     He flipped his gun around so that he was holding it by the barrel and slammed the handle into the momentarily distracted man's abdoman, causing him to topple over in pain, groaning. Before the Asian man could get back up, he was on top of him. "Terry Fitzgerald, you are under arrest for the murders of John Holt and Betty Cortez." He growled, handcuffing his wrists behind his back while the other man struggled against him. Another man walked up to him while the other officers were arresting the rest of the criminals, glaring at him in the sunlight. He wore a black suit with a matching black tie, and he didn't look like a normal officer. What is this, Men In Black?