What nameless disease are these members of the Policia hiding from? Danger is vital to good fiction, regardless of the genre. Even literary tales have a solid dose, whether it be the threat of physical harm or more subtle dangers (living outside one's social circle, trying a new career...etc.).
My WIP? I finished another story (now I have two in the revision que). "_____" (insert story name here) is about a pair of mismatched friends growing up in a small town about to be flooded by an Army Corps of Engineers reservoir project. "Creatures" in the woods and the soon-to-be flooded river haunt one, while the other must deal with his shiftless, alcoholic father.
The grasshopper worked its thick hind legs, fighting in Johnny’s grasp. Its mouthparts massaged a drop of brown sludge, trying to smear the offending liquid on the boy’s fingers, a defense mechanism the boys called “chewing tobacco”—a stain the insects would leave behind on their human captors. Johnny thought of the hook, the sharp, sun-sparkling barb pushing through the mottled green of the insect’s thorax. He imagined the strong legs kicking in the water as the grasshopper drowned, lost in the black water, and he felt the fear in his throat.
Perhaps all the NaNo talk out there has inspired me. I've started laying the brickwork (i.e., backstory) for a new book, a haunted house tale which I hope takes a different angle from what's come before. Time will tell.
In the meantime, I leave you with danger.