[Salone]

Illusion, you knave, you. I mean honestly I suppose it's silly to tell people not to post it here. We all know each other anyway, and it's fairly easy to tell if someone is lifting from someone else. Coda, feel free to post your glorious story here as well if you like. Might as well post mine. I'll repost all the submissions again with the results when the contest is over. Aaaaand since we're in the spirit of loose cannons that don't play by the posting rules, here's mine. =P

Sherman City. Home to one million people and only a hundred thousand souls. Every city is the city of something. City of Angels. City of Lights. Sherman City's no different.

It's the City of Tanks.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you Jack!"

The bulldog in a tie in front of me was Chief Cole Jackson. He's everything the 80's wanted in a police chief, only 25 years after the expiration date. Not the kind of guy you want breathing down your neck. And like a bulldog, he had a tendency to slobber when he was excitable.

"Chief, I did what I had to do. They wanted a war and they got it. You think I'm going to let a bunch of punks run us over, you got another thing coming!"

He was mad now. He was frothing at the mouth and I had got my foot so far in my mouth that I half expected people in yoga pants to start lining up behind me to follow my example.

"Dammit Jack, you blew up half my city! You stole a tank off the back of a truck and went on a warpath in my streets! You're a loose cannon Jack! You are-"

He cut himself off, letting out a frustrated grating sound as he brought his hands in front of me, making the impotent rage motion with open fingers that all higher ups make when the only thing they can do is vent.

"You are literally the closest thing to a loose cannon right now! What the hell do you have to say for yourself?"

I met his gaze, knowing anything I said would make the situation worse.

"I saved the mayor from T.R.E.A.D., didn't I?"

That punched his ticket. He flew in to another rage so quickly that he was racking up frequent flyer miles.

"You shot a 105 millimeter shell straight through his office! You don't save a person by blowing up the building they're in, Jack! Now he's barking up my ass and I've got camera jockeys all over the place. Not to mention the six o'clock news is going to be painted with the mayor caught with his pants down. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant with his pants blown off, Jack. You missed him by feet! That shell went straight through his office and detonated in Tax Records!"

I knew how to read Jackson. What he wasn't saying is that while our boys in the armed forces were away, some slap-together jalopy group calling itself T.R.E.A.D. had rolled in to town and taken our city's tank factory and the mayor hostage. While the tank factory was bad news, no one was really worried about the mayor except those paid public servants under him. Under this administration though, a prostitute qualified as a 'paid public servant'.

"Right Cole. You put it like that and I sound like a regular American Hero."

Jackson slammed his hands down on his desk. Now we were getting somewhere.

"That's Chief Jackson to you right now, Jack Abrams! You're pushing your luck, and your luck's on the edge as it is. I'm giving you two days, Jack. You get me this leader of..."

He paused, wiping the anger-sweat from his brow as he read from a report on his desk.

"The leader of this 'Terrorists Responsible for the End of All Democracy' and I'll make sure your ass isn't tossed out of here and in to a jail cell. But you play it by the rules! You leave that tank parked outside."

That wasn't going to work.

"Have you looked outside Jackson? The streets are a war zone. Those TREAD guys are rolling down Fifth Avenue in American made tanks! I'm taking the fight to them, Cole. Not a damn thing you can do about it. I'm doing the National Guard's job all by myself. Now are you going to get out of the way and let me do my job or are you going to yell at me because that pantywaist Mayor Bradley is crying at you?"

"I made myself clear Jack. Lose that tank. You're only going to make things worse for yourself."

I stood up and walked to the door. I could get yelled at all day or I could save my city. But I had spent all of my last job being yelled at and wasn't looking for a repeat now. "Don't tread on me Cole." I said, throwing open his door as I stormed out.

He shouted at me as I left, his words managing to crawl over the chaos of a police station overbooked with disorder.

"There's two kinds of cops Jack. Good ones and bad ones. Which one are you?"

I didn't answer. I stepped outside to the parking lot. Across eight rows of parking spaces was the treaded monstrosity I had 'procured' during the fight when T.R.E.A.D. had tried to overrun the city. Somehow what felt like forever ago had been squeezed in to the span of about five hours, but I was already well acquainted with the beast. It wasn't the first time I had sat in that driver's seat. An eight year stint in the 73rd Tank Battalion had given me a resumé six years ago and a fighting chance at keeping the peace this morning.

I thought to myself as I climbed up the hull and unlocked the hatch. Cole had miscounted. There was a third kind of cop, and I was going to be it.

I was going to be the Tank Cop.