The squad car bounces over the railtracks that seperates order from chaos. I grunt as my breasts bounce as well, glancing down at the tight croptop and hotpants I'm wearing. Because of the tropical heat and the spreading cult of beauty the items of clothing consitute my uniform, supplemented by a fully-laden belt that sits rakishly at my hips. Directions from Control come over the radio, I look at streetnames as they flash past, and then have to hurriedly throw the car into a turn, tyres screeching against tarmac.
I start hearing gunfire, sounds like a small war, as I speed along the road, no doubt why I'd been sent 'over the tracks'. As I get closer I can see bodies sprawled in the middle of the street, see bodies slumped against buildings and cars. I slew the car round, plant it across both lanes, and scramble out, press my back against the door as I pull out my standard-issue pistol.
A peek over the bonnet lets me assess the situation, see the ragged group pinned down near a wrecked van. Their attackers are firing from a third-storey window, wildly blazing away at anything that moves. Steeling myself with a gulp I rise, tighten my two-handed grip on the pistol as I keep it at my side.
"This is the police!"
Glass shatters, metal and fabric is holed. Clouds of red mist erupt from my back, coat my exposed flesh as I'm forced through them. I finally drop to my knees, life rapidly leaving me, and then tip forward, dead before my head connects with the road.
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