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It was an early Monday in L.A: The sun was still rising into the sky, it's light not fully shining onto the city yet. A lone vehicle sat on the side of the road, orange in color with plenty of dents, scratches, and marks from what could only be described as a "Series of Events" in the past. This wasn't just any trash heap of a vehicle, however: It was a cop vehicle, the siren was shut off but visible on the dashboard, ready to be stuck onto the top of the car at a moment's notice.

The outside wasn't the only part that looked like a piece of shit; Inside there were plenty of old plastic coffee cups and burger wrappers, giving the car a trashy yet strangely homely feel as it was filled with the scent of coffee creamer, mild mayonnaise, and cheap cologne. Speaking of trash, inside the car was another specific piece of trash that was a bit more notable than the rest: A man sleeping in the driver's seat, his blond hair shaggy and out there with his goatee looking like it hadn't seen a decent wash since early last week. His sun glasses hid the fact his eyes were closed, but his snoring was open and apparent: He was snoozing still, and seemed to have no intention to stop.

At least, until the police radio kicked on: He snapped awake, jutting forward and almost slamming his fist into the radio in a mild panic. He pulled his shades off and set them in his lap, rubbing his eyes as he tried to wake up while listening to whatever the radio was spouting. Crime didn't sleep, sure, but he sure as hell wanted to. Whoever this was, they were going to get their ass kicked for sure for making him have to be up this early.

"10-33 at Alpine Drive, repeat: 10-33 at Alpine Drive. Suspects armed and dangerous, hostages are confirmed. All units required."

"You've got to be kidding." The man complained, shaking his head. What a fucking morning; Hadn't been awake for five minutes and he was already about to go and probably get shot. He placed his shades back over his eyes before starting the ignition of the car, it offered a bit of a sputter but then roared to life like the beaut it was to him. Without hesitation he drove off, before replying on the police radio: "10-4, currently on route."

Reaching up to the dashboard, he grabbed the siren with one hand, flicking it on and reaching out the window to slap it on top of the car. He veered slightly towards the opposing lane when he did this, but nobody was really there to judge him for it; Not that he gave a shit, honestly.

Picking up his brick of a phone out of the passenger seat, he was quick to make a phone call: Good fucking thing the police fronted the bill, because with his pay, he wouldn't be able to afford the constant use of minutes. Unfortunately if they figured out he was making personal-use calls on it again, they'd stick him with the bill...

It rang... And rang... And continued to ring, until he finally grew annoyed and stopped. He had tried to contact his partner; Diego Stokes, but the guy decided to be weird and actually sleep in his own home, so contacting his ass was a pain sometimes. Hitting the gas, he kept on-route; Having planned to stop by his partner's apartments anyways, he was now hurrying to wake the fucker up.

The siren had helped him get there quickly; He pulled into the parking lot of the apartments and knew Diego's was near the front: he parked in the middle of the travel path and called Diego again, this time honking his horn like a madman to get his attention. In the process, he'd probably piss off quite a few people. But having Diego come get shot with him was more important than some angry residents.

He stared eagerly towards the apartments, a grin on his face as he continued practically punching his car horn.