The midday sun beat down, making the asphalt shimmer slightly, even between the towering canyons of glass and steel. A deep, resonant sigh escaped, the sound barely audible over the city's ambient hum, yet somehow commanding. Adjusting the brim of the cap with a gloved hand—the leather feeling snug against the massive curve of the bicep—gaze swept the street.

The world below looked like a miniature playset again. The little patrol cars, their lights flashing a futile, tiny red, seemed almost quaint next to the boots planted firmly on the road.

"Hmph. Another day, another stretch of pavement to cover," the voice rumbled, deep and carrying the slight gravel of constant authority. The mouth curved into a thin, almost imperceptible line—not quite a smile, but certainly not a frown either. Just another day enforcing the regulations.

The uniform felt tight across the chest, the polished leather of the duty belt creaking faintly as the massive hips shifted a fraction of an inch. Everything had to be just so. That was the law.

"If any of these jaywalkers think they can ignore the crosswalk signs today, they’ll be having a rough day and a stern talking to."