My first submission to this site, and my first IPS fanfic ever! How exciting.

I was inspired to write this by my absolutely undying love for In Plain Sight and all the anger that builds and builds as I watch Animal Cops.

Please R&R. Pretty please?

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can claim no part of In Plain Sight as my own. This is probably a good thing, considering I would jump Marshall so fast you'd think you were in time warp.

You know those days? The kind that start off kinda sucky, and only get worse and worse as the day goes on until you would actually welcome death as a blessed release? Well, that's my day. Today. Let me start you off. My mother, who finally managed to convince me that she is in a stable job with a steady income, just announced she was fired. Personally I'm surprised, seeing how as I was sure she would lose interest in any job long before her boss even had the chance to fire her. That's just how she is. But unfortunately that means she has no income, and so feels obliged by some backwards satanic logic to help herself to everything in my house.

And if that were my only problem…my sled of a car finally bit the big one and is now driving on that big racetrack in the sky. Not surprising, but saddening all the same. I might actually feel sorry for her, had she not died in the middle of this rundown shanty town. That in itself is not entirely bad, except for the fact that my phone also died. Geese, I should start my own cemetery.

Also, Marshall, the one human on the planet with the ability to somewhat cool me down from this all too familiar feeling called rage is at the office. So that means that I have to walk through this god forsaken place looking for a payphone that hasn't been vandalized beyond repair. And I've got to tell you, this isn't the safest of neighborhoods. Oh sure, I know what you're thinking. "But you're a badass US Marshall. Why are you afraid?" Well, I'll tell you this. I may be badass to the bone, but being a law enforcer doesn't make you immune to fear. Sure, the rigorous physical and mental training along with the handguns can definitely take off the edge, but anyone who doesn't feel fear the slightest bit of fear in a potentially dangerous situation is either severely brain damaged or taking some very potent mind altering drugs.

When I finally did find a pay phone I'm pretty certain I had left a time zone or two. I managed to fish out enough quarters to pay for a call and dialed Marshall's cell. The phone rang numerous times, without him answering. "By god Marshall, if you don't pick up…" I left the threat dangling. I like to keep my options open. Finally, the phone clicked and I heard Marshall's voice. "Marshall here, how-"

"Hey Marshall." I interjected, before he could spew the "how may I help you?" sort of crap that he bestowed upon those that called him. "What's up?"

There was a slight silence. "Mary?" He asked, somewhat confused.

"No Marshal. It's Santa Clause." I paused, just to let him know how much of an idiot he really was. "Of course it's Mary, dimwit."

"Whoa…." Marshal exclaimed. "Cool your horses. I just didn't know it was you. I just thought you'd call from your cell. Are you okay?"

From the tone of his voice I could tell he was worried. "No, I'm fine." I admitted, calming myself down. Marshal didn't really need me to be such a prick about it. "My cell just died, and so did my car. I need someone to pick me up and call a tow truck." I could hear Marshal push himself out of his chair.

"Where are you at?" He asked. I was about to tell him the address, when I heard a horrible racket. It was the sound of dogs, barking and growling, and the muffled voices of people cheering.

"Do you hear that?" I asked, even though I doubted he could hear through the phone.

"I'm not a bat." He muttered softly, hearing concern in my voice. "What is it?"

I pieced together the information that I had "I think there's a dogfight in the house near this payphone."

"Where are you?" Marshal asked again. "I'll call the police." I whispered the address, feeling my hip and ankle for the guns I had holstered. "Now just stick tight Mary." Marshal warned me. "A lot of people involved in dog fights are involved in gangs and worse." The yelp of a hurt dog made my cringe.

"Then hurry Marshal. I know I'm not the most cuddly of God's blessed creations, but even I don't like killing puppies." I glanced nervously at the house. I knew Marshal was right. Those that watched the fight were probably armed and dangerous – and outnumbered me – but I felt horrible listening the cries of the dogs forced to fight for their lives. "Call the police." I added sternly, even though he had already promised to do so. "And get over here quick."

"Will do." Marshall answered. He hung up the phone. I quietly placed the phone back on the receiver, as if those guys in the house could hear me above all the racket that they made. I swear to you, I honestly tried (somewhat and not completely) to tuck myself away in a sheltered space and wait for the cavalry to arrive. However, curiosity and anger got the best of me. I slunk around the side of the house, looking for any clue of the fight. I peered through the window well, catching glimpses of a crowd focused on something just out of my sight. "Where are you Marshall?" I muttered, glancing at my watch. Turning my attention back to the lame-ass view I had, I saw something that pulled my heart clear into my throat. A man separated from the crowd, walking towards the window I was looking through. At first I thought he held a pile of dirty rags in his hand, but then I realized those were no rags. He was carrying a limp dog, blood smeared and broken. The man tossed it to the side, like it was no more than a pile of garbage.

"That's it, dickwads." I growled, slinking back towards the front of the house. "Now you've really pissed me off." How could someone do that to a creature? Just throw it away like a piece of furniture? Furious beyond reason, grabbed the front door and pulled. It opened, and the sounds of the dog fight became louder and more distinct. "Idiots didn't even lock the door." I muttered under my breath as I pulled out my gun. Stepping inside as quietly as I could manage, I surveyed my surroundings. The house was messy, with fast food wrappers strewn on the floor, dirty clothes tossed in piles, and a retched stench to match. I headed for what I guessed was the basement. Intent as I was, I failed to notice the very large man looming in the bathroom doorway. I caught a glimpse of him, but only had time to mutter "aw, shit" before he swung at me. His punch hit me squarely on the side of the face, and I crumpled to the ground with consciousness quickly slipping away.