The hot sun beamed down on Harold's vehicle. The rubber tires burned against the scorching asphalt as he hastily tried to keep up with the police cruisers.
It wasn't very hard for Harold to tune out the blaring sirens; he was used to loud noises on the road. His main thoughts were on what was about to happen. Even though he was hoping that everyone they found would get out okay, he was especially concerned about the Warner kid. There was no guarantee that this was where he was, and if he wasn't…
Harold let out a sigh; that prospect was not something he wanted to think about. It was probably best to just focus on the raid and getting everyone out in one piece. He would tell himself to think positive, but experience had shown him that bad things had a habit of happening, whether you thought positive or not.
Harold was a big fan of the show and he knew how close the siblings were. If anything were to happen to Wakko, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.
If there was anything Harold despised, it was failure. Whether it's failing to catch a murderer, or failing to save a life, he couldn't stand it.
But he couldn't fail this time. Too much was on the line, and he absolutely had to be successful in either finding Wakko or at least gaining some sort of clue. He'd wring it out of one of those TC goons if he had to.
Finally the cruisers screeched to a halt in front of an old warehouse. The SWAT officers leaped out and began to swarm the building from all directions as the team leaders yelled commands. Harold tightened his grip on the wheel, itching to go in as well, but the plan was for SWAT to make the first sweep to secure the suspects and hostages. Then he would come in with the other detectives to interview any captives or hostages.
Harold grunted with impatience; he couldn't help wondering what the point of having a gun was if no one let you use it.
A man standing in front of the building pulled a bullhorn out and prepared to speak.
"Attention! Attention! We have you surrounded! If you do not surrender, our men will be forced to break and enter with lethal force!"
Harold adjusted himself in his seat so that he could get a better view. There was little to no chance in hell that TC was going to surrender… he just hoped they wouldn't hurt anyone. Sure enough, gunshots split the air that weren't from the officers. They ducked for cover, then men began shouting.
"Move in, move in! Go!"
The SWAT officers lifted their shields and charged, swarming the warehouse with their guns at the ready. More gunfire rang out, and Harold could only hope that it wouldn't hurt any of the hostages or officers. If he were honest, he didn't like the idea of anyone getting hurt, but the TC members were hardly forefront in those concerns after what they did to so many innocent toons.
All of a sudden there was a loud crash and his passenger window exploded. Instinctively, Harold turned away and shielded his face from the wads of glass. Snatching his gun from its holster, he slid out the car door and positioned himself; his weapon at the ready.
"Come on..." he growled to himself. "Just try that again."
Another bullet whizzed past his face with incredible speed, missing him by only a few inches.
Harold collapsed behind the car, crouching down to make himself as small as possible. His breathing was almost out of control, but he managed to regain his composure, just long enough to spot where the gunfire was coming from...
"The roof! There's a man on the roof!" Harold shouted to his fellow officers.
More bullets sped past his head as he crouched behind the ruined car. The officers who were firing into the building turned their fire to the man on the roof.
Glass broke from the windows of the building, bodies hit the pavement as bullets whistled through the air, piercing the skin of anyone who was unlucky enough to get in the way. Screams of pain from injured men echoed throughout the parking lot, creating an eerie and deadly feeling in the pit of Harold's stomach.
Harold sighed. He couldn't tell which side was winning, and he hated being trapped behind the car like some kind of scared child. He had to make a run for it and help his fellow officers. Even if he got shot, he had to at least try.
After taking a deep breath to harden his nerve, he darted out from behind the car and ran toward the warehouse; as low to the ground as he could. Even more bullets shot past, some so close he could almost feel them. He hesitated just long enough to squeeze off a round of shots at the muzzle flashes in the windows, then darted behind a nearby wall. He wasn't sure if he'd hit anyone but he did hear a few screams coming from the building.
Harold stayed down for a while as more shots cracked through the air, trying to decide what his next action would be.
Reinforcements...
That was it, they needed reinforcements. He could tell that they had the odds stacked against them, and they were only gonna get themselves killed if he didn't do anything about it.
Harold sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Sweat was dripping down his face, and cuts from the shattered glass made its mark on his forearm.
This whole thing was a complete shock to him. He knew TC was brutal, relentless, and often times lethal, but he had no idea they were this well trained, or had this many numbers.
It didn't matter though, Harold had to focus on a way to get reinforcements.
Harold took some time to notice everything around him. There was the building, which was an absolute killzone, and then there was the parking lot where the police cruisers were parked.
Police cruisers...
That was it! He could get to the cruisers and call for help. After another quick shot at the warehouse, Harold charged into the parking lot. A bullet ripped his sleeve, just grazing his arm, and Harold clenched his teeth at the sting before darting to the nearest police cruiser. He yanked open the door and ducked his relief, the radio was still working.
"Code 8, code 8! We're taking heavy fire at the suspected TC hideout, we need backup now!"
The radio crackled back a reply.
"10-4, backup is on the way. Just sit tight!"
Harold crouched down in the seat of the cruiser, clenching his teeth and praying to whatever god was out there that reinforcements would get there before it was too late.
Harold sighed, wondering why it always seemed like he was the one who had to do the difficult work. After all, he was only a detective.
He figured that it was at least for a good cause, reuniting a family and all. He lived for those moments, being able to see a child returned to its parents or a husband and wife reunited. It made the struggles of his job completely worth it, even if he wasn't successful one hundred percent of the time.
However, those times he wasn't successful still haunted him to this day. The times when he had to inform a family that their loved one wasn't coming back, when he couldn't bring a murderer to justice, when he couldn't save someone…
Harold snapped out of his daydream. The last thing he needed in a time like this was to get lost in thought.
He slowly sat up, in order to look over the dashboard of the car, attempting to get a view of the battlefield.
Several SWAT and police men were still firing from the inside and outside of the building.
Harold sighed, relieved to see that they had finally managed to breach the building. He had no idea how many men were inside the building, but he was glad there were any at all.
However, on the left side of the building was three police men treating the injured SWAT members. Harold cringed; several of the injured men were bleeding heavily, and might not make it unless they were rushed to the hospital.
Much to his relief, however, the sound of sirens echoed through the air, getting closer. Soon more cruisers screeched into the parking lot, and more men rushed to back up those in the building and cover the others while they rushed those who were injured to the ambulances. Harold sighed, hoping that they would get to the hospital in time.
Harold put on his game face and turned around, ready to fight any TC bastard who dared to get in his way.
He pulled another clip of ammo out of his pocket and inserted it into his pistol. He wiped the sweat from his fur and prepared to enter the building with the police men who followed.
Everything was played out in slow-motion for Harold. This was what he had been waiting for, a chance to finally use the gun that he was seemingly never allowed to fire, a chance to finally find some clues on where Wakko was.
Bullets were darting past his face, but he didn't care. In this moment, nothing could hurt him. No force on heaven or earth could possibly stop him from entering that building.
"Move, move, move!"
As the officers charged forward, Harold cocked his gun and lunged out from his hiding place. The gunfire continued as they raced toward the warehouse, returning fire as they ran.
"Keep sharp, boys!" yelled one of the police men. "Take out the shooters if you have to, but watch out for the hostages! Go!"
With that, Harold and the other men darted through the front entrance of the warehouse. Inside was a few remaining SWAT members who were very heavily outnumbered by the amount of TC members.
Bullets whizzed past Harold and the other officers. They dashed for cover, eventually finding it behind some crates that the remaining SWAT members were hiding behind.
"Thank god you're here, who knows how much longer we would have lasted without backup." Said one of the SWAT members, relieved.
"Focus on the battle, we will have time to exchange pleasantries after we have won." Harold said firmly.
Harold sighed and cracked his knuckles. One of the officers made a hand signal, indicating that they were ready to fire.
With that, Harold and the other officers stood up and began firing at the TC members from across the room. Harold cringed, wishing that he had earplugs to soften the noise from the guns.
Harold and the officers continued to fire, occasionally stopping to reload. They began slowly walking across the room as the remaining TC members began to retreat.
The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air as the bodies of TC members began to hit the floor.
"We're all clear." Said one of the officers.
"Good. Check the perimeter, search for any hostages. I want all these crates opened." Harold firmly commanded.
The officers nodded and did as they were told.
"Clear over here!"
"Same here!"
The officers began shouting across the room, indicating that the area was free of any more hostiles. However, they still had the second floor to check...
"I want all these crates opened. Now!" Harold yelled to the men.
"Yes sir!"
The crunching sound of wood began to echo through the body-littered warehouse as the men began prying and smashing open the crates.
Harold sighed and shot the lock off of a crate, causing the crate to burst open. He cringed, completely stunned at what was inside...
"Umm, sir? There isn't anything in any of these crates." One of the officers said.
Harold turned around, a combination of anger and confusion firing his temper.
"I know that! Now are we gonna just sit here or are we gonna clear out the rest of this godforsaken building?!"
The men looked around at each other and began reloading their weapons, preparing for another firefight.
"That's what I thought." Harold said with annoyance. "Now watch out for hostages. If there wasn't any down here, you can be damn sure that there will be some upstairs."
He reloaded his own gun, then located the nearest stairway. As he and the other officers hurried toward them, Harold found himself hoping any remaining TC members were smart enough to surrender without a fight. Not just because he didn't like the idea of anyone else getting hurt, but because having people to question could be helpful.
As his group stopped, the other officers split off to cover the other stairways. Once they were all in position, one of the squad leaders yelled up.
"We've got you surrounded, there's nowhere to go! You've got ten seconds to put down your weapons and come down with your hands on your head! If we hear any shots, we're coming up!"
No one responded. Harold sighed and rubbed the back of his head.
"Five seconds!"
A rather loud "thump" was heard from the upstairs room.
"Go in!" Harold yelled. The squad leader responded right away.
"Move, move!"
The SWAT officers swarmed up the stairways, Harold rushing along with them. From his position near the front, he heard one of the leading officers curse.
"Stop him! Get him down!"
When Harold reached the top of the steps, three officers were wrestling a man to the floor.
It wasn't a hard battle; the man was easily taken down and cuffed. The three officers stood him up and pushed him against the wall. They began searching him, pulling miscellaneous items out of his pockets.
"Sir, we've got hostages!" One of the SWAT officers yelled.
Harold entered the room where the hostages were. Five hostages to be exact. The room was filthy, gloomy, smelled like a musty old apartment, and was far too small for even one person to be living in; much less five. Inside were five small cages, each holding a toon of a different species. Harold swallowed hard, then spoke in a cool, collected voice.
"Get them out of there and make sure they get food and water. If any of them have injuries, I want them brought to the hospital right away. Take them out to the cruisers, it's probably been a while since they've seen the sun."
The officers immediately began freeing each toon, one at a time. Each one looked sick, melancholy, and injured. Harold could only imagine what kind of sick things the TC did to them.
With those thoughts, his temper finally reached its breaking point. He marched out of the room, went straight to the handcuffed guard, and snatched him by the collar.
"Do you know who I am?" Harold growled.
The guard stared at him with dead eyes, giving no response whatsoever.
"Well, guess what? I'm Harold Axton. Yeah, THAT Harold Axton. I took down the Orange Grove crime ring and the diamond smugglers outside of Kenya." Harold leaned right into the man's face, lowering his voice. "Right now I'm looking for Wakko Warner… and if you don't help me, I can make sure the amount of pain you get will be ten times worse than what you did to those innocent toons."
The man spat in Harold's face. "I'm not telling you shit."
Harold slowly wiped his face. He then snatched the man by the throat, slightly choking him as he threw him to the ground.
The man groaned as he slowly tried to stand back up, but Harold kicked him straight to the gut, causing the wind to get knocked out of him. Harold then grabbed the man by his shirt and threw him against the wall.
"Listen to me you son of a bitch, I don't think you understand what kind of hell is waiting for you if you don't tell me what I want to hear."
"F-Fuck y-you," the man stuttered harshly.
Anger nearly caused steam to come out of Harold's ears. He pulled his arm back and put all his might into a direct punch to the man's face; a loud crunch was heard upon impact.
Harold looked at the other officers, who were watching with wide eyes.
"Take him to the station, we'll see how he feels in a few hours."
The officers nodded with grim smiles and dragged the man off. Harold glared after him, then turned toward the window. Placing his hands on the sill, he squeezed it until his nails dug into the wood. They had a guy to question, and his instincts were telling him that he knew something. It was one of the things he'd been hoping for, but right now he could only think of the other Warners, sitting at home, hoping against hope that their brother was coming home. Just imagining their faces when they found out he wasn't made him feel sick.
Either way, he wasn't stopping until he had answers. Whatever that scumbag knew, he'd wring it out of him one way or another.
Lots of work went into this chapter. I now have a proofreader named Sabrina06. Make sure you check out her stories!
Don't forget to review! The more people review, the faster it makes me want to update!
