Part 1: Episode One: Reporting for Duty
It was another day at work for Sonny Bonds, local police officer and amorphous blue blob.
Sorry, Sonny. Anyway, let's get you to the station.

Hallway posted:
Around the hallway is a key board, a table holding radio extenders, a photograph on the far wall, and a barred window to the evidence room.

OK, but I'm going to examine pointless background details first.
Picture posted:
This is the most recent photograph of Lytton's Chief of Police Randolph "Brown Noser" Whipplestick. Appointed to the department only ten years ago, "Ol' B. N." rapidly manipulated his way to the top.

You should grab your car keys for sure, but what the hell is a radio extender?


So, it's a radio?

... It's... not a radio? But you talk on it?




I wasn't around for that one, Sonny. That was all you.


In the locker room? Well, it's your dime, Sonny. Knock yourself out.




I don't know. Let's give him a chance.






Sonny, nobody has a locker this clean. I bet you sort your socks by color, too.

No?

That's what she sa...



No bullets in there, though, Sonny.






Why am I not surprised it has your name on it?

You could have just put this stuff in the locker, you know.


Your... mommy and daddy.



I worry about you sometimes, Sonny.

Hey, now you can make quota!

Thanks for screwing up my next three updates. I had a whole routine about quotas ready. You just hate it when I'm happy, don't you, Sonny?


I think you like that sound just a bit too much.

Nothing. Are you sure you have everything?


Hey, that guy has been in the stall an awful long time. Let's make sure he's okay.

What about the guy in the shower?

"It's free. Too bad you have to work, Sonny," says Fudley. "I'm 10-10. It's beer time for me."




You're just going to go grab someone else's paper? Aren't you a police officer?

Touché.





You don't have any sides, Sonny. You're two-dimensional.


Pointless one-line conversations? You bet!


Ironically, the Greasy Spoon is the best restaurant in town.



I'd love to comment on that, but I'm mesmerized by your astounding moustache.



Sergeant John Dooley briefs the 1300 shift, beginning with the latest hot sheet of stolen rides...
"Welcome back, men" says Sergeant John Dooley. "I hope you enjoyed the long weekend."
"Now, listen up," he barks. "We're looking for a black 1983 Cadillac, license number 'LOP1238,' VIN C03456218, reported stolen last week. Try hard to find it, so I can get that Malcolm Washington character off my back for a change."
Dooley continues, "Now, hear this: last night, three teenagers were arrested in three separate arrests, each for drunk driving. Two of the three were in possession of cocaine, and all three attend Jefferson High School. That should tell you something, boys and girls!"
"Well, that's it for today. Watch your butts, kids. We don't want Ol' Chief Whipplestick whining about our industrial injury stats going up again! Sonny Bonds, your call number will be 83-32."

Sonny... are you... taking notes on a five-minute meeting?

Point. Going to check in with everyone on the way out?


It's sad that he thinks this is bragging.

Why are so many people obsessed with tickets? You said quotas were a myth.



Now that the room's clear, let's go look at that row of mailboxes.

Sonny, I think you're a little too interested in Steve's pig...

Okay. You should check yours too, though.
Sonny's Pigeonhole posted:
You check your pigeonhole and find a hand-written message...
"Sonny:
How's about a 11-98 at Carol's Caffeine Castle later in the shift?
Steve"
Since you no longer need the message, you discard it.
Might as well just go rifling through the rest of them, too.
Jack's Pigeonhole posted:
You look in Jack's pigeonhole and see a message that reads, "I shot the last sucker that nosed around in MY pigeonhole!"

I'm good with not.

TVTropes posted:
Lampshade Hanging is the writers' trick of dealing with any element of the story that threatens the audience's willing suspension of disbelief whether a very implausible plot development, or a particularly blatant use of a trope by calling attention to it... and then moving on.


This is seriously what we're going to do in this game? Write traffic tickets?


I know, but what about this Death Angel thing? It's in the game's title and everything.


Oh, well. Let's roll!

Next time on Police Quest: Traffic Patrol... of DOOM!
