(Downtown) City on Fire

Hi, MarcellusMiro66 here! After watching "Littlest Pet Shop" and noticing its many hidden pop culture references (most notably the "Kill Bill" one), I have worked on a new project series entitled "Courtroom Drama", which involves most of Quentin Tarantino's trademarks. Set in different AUs, these stories involve a courthouse and a trial involving two main characters. The primary stories don't necessarily take place in the courthouse, but there will be small bits of it inbetween chapters. This first story alludes to "Reservoir Dogs", which was Tarantino's first film. So...

Enjoy! If you can...

Chapter 1: Prologue (Sticky Situations)

(Downtown City - 6:00AM)

"All rise in the presence of Judge Cahill!"

All the occupants in the room all stood up in honor of the judge, who nodded and raised her hand, "You may sit." Everybody sat right back down in their seats, including the two main young girls: a brown-haired one and a black-haired one. Blythe Baxter was the goody two-shoes who was gentle, polite, and...rather nice. Whittany Biskit was the opposite of her: she was rude, cude, and...rather mean. Their friendship was complicated to say the least, but at least it was still functioning considering both of their families were often dysfunctional. Blythe tried her best to make her see that friendship wasn't all that bad in her mind, while Whittany tried her hardest to make her life downright miserable than it already was. And that's exactly how they both ended up in the big house. One of Whittany's attempts to pick on Blythe even further went too far and she punched her. Punched her. One very brutal fistfight later, the two girls ended up in the hospital in handcuffs.

Funny thing, handcuffs are. The purpose of handcuffs is to restrain oneself as a means of safety precautions by police and other authorities. In reality, it was used for three things only: torment, humiliation, and pain. They all meant one thing only: bad. They could've been next, but the justice department let them slide...for now.

That's why I am what I am: a criminal. So I can prevent myself from being handcuffed and handwell...my definition of "being utterly humiliated".

But criminals get their comeuppance eventually...

But not today.

"That...was truly a lovely eulogy there, Mr. Grey."

"Thank you, Mr. Blonde...for actually being nice in your life."

"The fuck you're talking about, Mr. Grey? I've been a good-hearted soul all my life...well, at least I hit Lucky Number 13."

"No, Mr. Blonde, everybody knows the saying is Lucky Number 7."

"Fuck 7 & 13, Mr. White; I'm taking this up to 11!"

"Men! Can we please fucking focus here?"

The "men" turned to face their boss, a middle-aged "man" who seemed to be approaching his early 50s. Mr. Grey's face soon expressed realization,

"Actually, sir, we were not men. We're...animals."

"Meh. Man, animal, what's the fucking difference? They're both fucking organisms, so stop fucking laughing over there, Mr. Blonde."

"What? It's the way how Grey said it. We're not men."

The douchebag of a hitman began to crack up and laugh uncontrollably. Mr. White, Mr. Pink, and the others began to follow suit; Mr. Grey and the bossman remained stone-faced and confused (in Mr. Grey's case) all the same.

"I don't get it.

"Me neither, kid."

After a moment or so, everybody calmed down and regained their serious posture. Mr. Blonde faced the bossman, "Sorry about that, boss; it was a funny joke."

He remained expressionless but replied, "Yeah, I'll tell you a joke when we get back to the warehouse. Right now...let's go to work."

Everybody stood up and left, tipping the waitress serving them, save for Mr. Grey. He kept on staring at the dollar bill at his hand. Why did money exist? Was it because it was meant to save us...or destroy us? If many hints pointed to the latter, to hell with it. He dropped it in the middle of the pile and left the cafe, not joining the others. Walking home to the Littlest Pet Shop, Grey couldn't help but think: why did he stay there? He knew his sister was in good hands, but did they really to have be fucking separated? Still...

Grey walked upstairs and rested in the lobby's balcony. Looking above it, you know what he saw? He saw the place in flames and destruction all over, and the pets were running around in terror and panic all over. He could've save them, but why couldn't he? Because he was banned from entering and living in Littlest Pet Shop ever again. The surprisingly super-smart one (besides Russell) who always thought of a way out of sticky situations. Now that he was gone, the situations that the pets always got themselves into got more stickier as time passed. Times have changed, however. Blythe and Whittany were both going to jail, and there was nothing he or the pets could do about it...

Except join a ragtag gang of common criminals to rob a bank full of diamonds pricey enough to save Blythe, if not Whittany also.

That's why he was what he was: a criminal. So he could save lives while also killing others.

He hated and loved himself for it.

Grey retreated to the storage room and grabbed a bottle of gel along with a black comb. After taking his fifth shower in a row, he geled his hair and combed it, slicking it to the right (left, in the viewers' eyes). He put on a spare grey blazer over his white long-sleeved shirt with grey tie, a pair of grey dress pants, and a pair of black dress shoes. Other than the shoes, he was...oh, never mind, you got the idea. He then took out a SIG-Sauer P229R, checking the load before chambering the slide and decocking the hammer. Tucking his weapon in his suit jacket, he checked himself in the mirror: he was ready to go.

Grey walked downstairs and walked a five-mile walk to the hideout as he contemplated his choices regarding the heist. He had to take part of it; he was a criminal, and robbing people is what they do for a living.

Chase wasn't either of those, and that's why...

He hated and loved himself for it.

Jason #2 followed the polecat to the warehouse and stopped when the place he was hiding at was aligned with the site.

Philippa was at the top half.

Emma was at the bottom half.

"Umm, Jason #2, are you sure this plan is going to work?"

"No, Emma, but we have to try...even if we have to shoot him."

The trio were not that big of a fan for violence, but they were no stranger, either. They had to convince him to give it up, but the question was how? Such as...

How did they get themselves in this sticky situation in the first place?

(Downtown City - 2:00PM)

How did they get themselves in this sticky situation in the first place?

Mr. Grey ran through the sidewalks of Downtown City, the duffel bag in his grasp, and avoided every police officer possible...except her.

She was the reason that they, especially he, were/was in this fucking funk. Damn that fucking Blonde for not using a damn, fucking suppressor for his damn, fucking handgun. What the fuck was the bossman fucking thinking? He was supposed to hire professionals, but instead he settled for a psychopath. They were supposed to be professionals, but instead they settled for personals. She understood perfectly, and that's why she had to hunt him down as he was to avoid her...down.

After commandeering a white Honda Civic, Grey hotwired the vehicle and drove off, leaving the officer in his wake. Scowling to herself, Detective Barton pulled her walkie-talkie and radioed her superior:

"Boss, I lost one of the cronies, but I got a good look at him."

"How good?"

"Face-to-face. A polecat, not one of those European sweeties. Grey suit and tie, jet black hair, diamond blue eyes..."

"Detective?"

"Sorry, boss. Upon what I've seen...he's got the diamonds, all right."

"All right then. Let me see what I can do. In the meantime...just walk it off. It's what pets do."

"But I'm not a pet; never have been, never will be. I'm a service animal; always have been, always will be."

"Pet, service animal, there's no difference; they're both animals. Just await backup; I'll be there ASAP, traffic or no traffic."

"Yes sir."

The detective hung up first and knew that she couldn't argue with her boss.

She was a skunk, after all.

Heading back to her apartment, Tara stripped down to nothing but her white business shirt. She then placed on a broght red leather jacket, a grey cardigan over the shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans, and a pair of black boots. She loved her suit too much to place it in harm's way. No, she needed the proper armor when going into battle. The detective just wished it was the right set of proper armor. Then again...she hanged around Blythe just a tad too much.

Chambering her Glock 17, Tara placed her holster and headed downstairs again. She had caught to catch that gang, especially him. She had no idea why...

She just had to.

The diamonds were taken by the criminals, whom the cops are trying to catch, especially Detective Barton, who herself is on a mission to personally arrest Mr. Grey, who himself has second thoughts about being a criminal, something Mr. White and Mr. Blonde especially are.

Everybody had a common goal...but who's playing who?