Protect & Serve 🚓

The sun reflects off the glass doors of the precinct as he steps onto the pavement. Boots planted firm, uniform crisp, the weight of the badge still settling on his chest.

A voice cuts through the morning air.

“You must be the new guy.”

He turns to see the Chief, arms crossed, sizing him up. There’s a flicker of approval in his gaze—a silent challenge.

“You ready to work?”

He straightens, adjusting his gloves. “Yes, sir.”

The Chief smirks. “We’ll see.”

The locker room is filled with the familiar sound of uniforms being zipped and adjusted. Polished boots stomp against the floor, belts tighten around powerful waists, and heavy-duty gloves slide on with ease.

He stands at his locker, pulling his skintight rubber uniform over his frame, every contour enhanced by the smooth, form-fitting material. The heavy-duty police belt clicks into place, the weight grounding him in his role. Everything has to be perfect. This is more than a uniform—it’s a second skin, and out there, it means power.

The call comes in—a disturbance at the city park. When he arrives, he finds exactly what he didn’t want to see: rubber men have broken free from their owners and are causing a scene.

“Alright, listen up.” His voice is firm, authoritative. “You’re all under arrest. Hands where I can see them.”

One drone hesitates, looking around as if contemplating a run for it.

The officer smirks. “Try it, and you’ll be in cuffs before you hit the sidewalk.”

The sun beats down on the open road as the patrol card rolls up behind a sleek black car, its driver already too nervous to make eye contact.

With slow precision, he swings off his bike, adjusting the tight rubber uniform that hugs his frame. The polished boots hit the pavement, and he strides forward, tapping a gloved hand against the tinted window.

The glass lowers, and he leans in, his sunglasses reflecting the driver’s uneasy expression.

“You in a hurry?”

The city transforms after sundown. Streets that were once bustling with life turn into shadowy corridors where secrets hide.

Stepping into a dimly lit alley, he scans the darkness, the rubber of his uniform creaking slightly with each movement. There’s a figure up ahead, half-concealed in the glow of a flickering neon sign.

His gloved hand rests on his belt, fingers brushing over the cuffs, just in case.

“You lost?” His voice is steady, confident.

“You’ve proven yourself,” the Chief says, setting a new badge on the bench. “Special Ops is where you belong.”

He exhales, running a hand over his rubber-clad chest before reaching for the badge. It’s heavier than the last—a new weight of responsibility.

No more patrols. Now, it’s high-profile cases, deep cover missions, and a new uniform made of even stronger material.

He meets the Chief’s gaze and nods. He’s ready.