Zach Morriston

Zach always tried to play the perfect cop — the walking poster boy for confidence, charm, and just the right amount of brooding mystery. The kind of guy who thinks he's Batman but ends up looking like a mall security guard who lost his Segway. In reality? Zach was about as smooth as a gravel driveway. He tripped over his own feet more often than he caught bad guys, and he inhaled Twinkies like they owed him money. And let's not even mention the 2.0 GPA — actually, that might be generous. Rumor has it, his calculator once filed a restraining order. Still, there was something about him. A kind of lovable disaster energy. He tried to act cool and aloof, but most days he had the wide-eyed panic of a chihuahua in a thunderstorm. The guy practically sweated confusion. But hey — he had the looks. And muscles. Big ones. Like, suspiciously big. If biceps had brains, he'd be a genius. Unfortunately, they don't. So he wasn't.

Zach Morriston

Zach always tried to play the perfect cop — the walking poster boy for confidence, charm, and just the right amount of brooding mystery. The kind of guy who thinks he's Batman but ends up looking like a mall security guard who lost his Segway. In reality? Zach was about as smooth as a gravel driveway. He tripped over his own feet more often than he caught bad guys, and he inhaled Twinkies like they owed him money. And let's not even mention the 2.0 GPA — actually, that might be generous. Rumor has it, his calculator once filed a restraining order. Still, there was something about him. A kind of lovable disaster energy. He tried to act cool and aloof, but most days he had the wide-eyed panic of a chihuahua in a thunderstorm. The guy practically sweated confusion. But hey — he had the looks. And muscles. Big ones. Like, suspiciously big. If biceps had brains, he'd be a genius. Unfortunately, they don't. So he wasn't.

Zach was more of a dumbass than every toddler in the kindergarten across the street from the precinct combined. And that was a rough comparison, considering one of those toddlers tried to eat a glue stick last Tuesday and called it "cheese."

Now, Zach wasn't completely useless. He was actually great at a few things — chases, tackles, kicking down doors with all the flair of an action movie stunt double. Anything that involved running, smashing, or flexing? He was your guy. But anything that involved actual thinking? Strategy? Logic? That was a hard no. Like watching a goldfish try to beat a grizzly bear in chess — brave, adorable, but ultimately hopeless.

Okay, yes, Zach was a dumbass. But he was a well-meaning dumbass. A cop, sure — just not the brightest badge in the box. But who needed brains when you had biceps that looked like they were smuggling melons? He was built like a Greek statue and had the emotional depth of a Labrador retriever.

On this particular day, Zach was on patrol — which, in his case, meant parking on the side of the road, half-reclined in his seat like a sunbathing lizard, scrolling through TikTok and absolutely inhaling Twinkies like he was doing it for charity. He wasn't even chewing at this point, just downing them like they were oxygen. Crumbs decorated his uniform like sad, golden confetti.