Not the Cops!

    "...that there's supposed to be imminent violence among this planet's underground at this location." The contact's spoke, his voice coming through Ayran's watch. "Somewhere near the 'Temptress Night Club' this evening. I'm sending you the coordinates now..." His voice trailed off for a minute before Ayran's watch lit up, various numbers and letters flashing across it's face a moment later. "I would say for you to 'keep out a low profile...' but I think we both know why that isn't going to happen."

    "Aw, you don't give me enough credit!" The giant blue reptilian protested as he ZIPPED across the sky! "Plenty of big guys go into crime. I'll fit right in."

    "In space, maybe." His watch pinged dryly. "You're on Earth, remember? Most species are of average height there."

    "I'll figure something out. Keep you posted." With a tap of his gloved finger upon the screen, the call would end. Ayran smirked. His first real mission: Putting down a group of rabble rousers! It reminded him of his early internship in the Galactic Patrol, following around his superior, watching him take down the local criminal flavor... Although most of his schoolmates-turned-colleagues had complained at this kind of on-the-ground work, aspiring for a position less dangerous and more glamorous, Ayran hungered for it. THIS was where people made a difference. SURE, heroes were recognized by their biggest scores, remembered from the dragons they slayed but it THIS kind of work: the dirty, personal, street-level crime that really mattered to the people of this community.

    ...And as long as Ayran was stationed here, he was going to ensure it's safety!

    ...And it all started here... about 12 hours later.

    As the moon approached it's zenith, Ayran's massive shape would ZIP across the sky, his speed making his shape little more than the vaguest of shadows in the corners of the eyes of those below him. Landing upon a rooftop across from the club, Ayran would duck down behind a vent near it's edge, having to crouch down on one knee to hide his massive frame as he looked out over the street.

    "Temptress indeed..." Ayran scoffed, those entering and leaving the club. Although he only had a rudimentary understanding of Earth fashion and customs, even the patrolman could see that their attire was particularly... revealing. ...Some even pushed the boundaries of what could be considered illegal by galactic law... He'd make a note of that for later. For now... Ayran took note of some particularly unsavory characters starting to mill about outside the club and some going inside. They wore similar uniforms of blackened leather and spikes, looking like some punks that'd pollute an alley on worlds more backwater than this. The hero in Ayran pulled at him, LURCHING the man forward to make his move... but the more learned patroller held him back. He COULD make his move now, certain that these were the punks his contact was referring to... but what evidence would he have? Beating down people, no matter how grungy, and throwing them in a cell is what a tyrant would do! No... he would have to watch and wait... and maybe find a way in himself if any more went inside.

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