-Investigations-
"So… how many weeks?"
Chris turned to face Sarah, his expression one of confusion. "What?"
"How many weeks were you suspended for?" the brunette asked again. She sat on the edge of his table, swinging her feet back and forth as she peered up at him. Even seated on the elevated platform as she was Chris still towered a full head over her.
"I wasn't suspended," He sighed as he went about rearranging his workspace. A few stationeries had been moved out of place with some even outright missing. "...Hey! You took my pen, didn't you? And the Sharpie too?"
"What do you mean you weren't suspended?" Sarah said, deflecting as she folded her fists beneath her chin to hide the suspicious bulge in her pocket. "If I was summoned to Ground Zero first thing in the morning upon entering the building I would be rest assured in the knowledge that I would not be leaving that cubicle without something nasty on my face. Tell me you at least got something! A month of docked pay? Desk duty? Anyth—Ow!"
Chris smacked her on the side of the face with a rolled-up cardboard folder. "Noisy."
"I am serious here!" Sarah whined as she caressed her smarting ear. "It's not fair the poster boy gets to walk away scot-free after finally doing something totally scat-worthy!"
'…Scat-worthy? What the actual fuck?' Chris blinked in confusion before suddenly realising something. "Yeah... You have been on desk duty a lot recently, haven't you? And where's Dragon? I know didn't see her in the parking lot."
Sarah pouted, crossing her arms underneath her bosom. "...The boss grounded me. Stupid car snitched so I left it at home and took a TransLink instead."
Chris sighed. "Ah, I see… that's why you are pestering me and being such a nuisance—"Hey!" Sarah protested—Well, what did you do this time?"
"...Nothing?"
"You know what, I don't even want to know. Just get off my desk."
"No! I am protesting the unfairness of the system! I will not rise until this foul nepotism is expunged from—Ow!"
Chris smacked her on the side of the head again. "Move."
"Watch it! Don't hit me there again, or else!"
"Or else what?"
"Or else… I will have to report to HR!"
One of Chris's brows rose. "What?"
"Yes! For sexual harassment!" A few heads turned at that. Chris crossed his arms over his chest, morbidly curious as to where this was going.
"...Explain."
"Oh, you forgot," Sarah declared smugly. "Don't you remember I identify as an elf! My ears are considered erogenous zones, hence smacking them constitutes sexual harassment!"
The office space suddenly fell silent as a few officers turned to stare incredulously at the deranged woman. Chris blinked. Then smacked her again on the ear. Harder this time for good measure. A smattering of chuckles rippled through the office at that.
"Hey!—Chris wielded his weapon of choice in warning, stalling whatever vile retort she was about to spill—Fine! Fine! Sheesh, you are such a hard arse, you know that?"
Without replying, the corporal settled into his seat, his fingers tapping away at his keyboard as Sarah slinked away. "Administrator," he called once the woman was out of earshot, "you there?"
An animated icon popped up in the corner of his screen in response. "Morning, Officer Newman. What can I do for you?"
"Morning," Chris replied, typing still. "I need to check on the status of the powered incident from yesterday. Any updates?"
"Affirmative," the A.I. replied. "The forensics report and CCTV footage just came in this morning. I have already sent it to your computer."
Chris nodded his thanks, his gaze flickering across the screen as he pulled up the files.
"Also, if you wish to speak to Detective Martinez regarding the case you are currently reviewing, he is in Office 909 on the ninety-eight floor."
"Thanks," Chris muttered as the animated icon on his screen disappeared.
He skimmed through the footage as the communal printer began printing the forensic report at his behest. Retrieving the hard copy Chris returned to his seat. It wasn't until thirty minutes later that he finished reviewing the document. Even then, he didn't immediately make his way to see the detective, spending another five minutes or so skimming through the rest of his emails before finally deciding to leave. The boss might have not stated his intentions directly, but Chris had worked with Chief Anderson long enough to understand his mission now was not seeing to how quickly this issue could be resolved, but rather to find out how much of an ass he had to be to force Martinez to unstick grubby, meddling hands from the matter entirely.
Inefficient, yes, but a necessary evil needed to get some bureaucratic flexibility with the feds breathing down their necks.
As he exited the elevator, he spotted a group of patrol officers and detectives, some in uniform, others in plain clothes, huddled around a large screen displaying grisly images of a morbidly butchered corpse. In a corner, another screen displayed the local news—something about a surge in megafauna incursions at the border of one of Bridgewater's outer districts—the volume muted; the ebb and flow of conversations and the soft beeps and whirs of electronics serving as the only backdrop to the sterile silence. Chris exited the main lobby into an empty hallway. Counting down five doors to his left, he stopped beside a door with a plaque bearing the number 909 stamped to it. He pushed open the door to enter a small, windowless meeting room; an oval table sat in the middle ringed by six chairs.
Seated in one of the chairs was a stern-looking man. The fellow's weathered, middle-aged face bore numerous creases. His posture was straight, his gaze unwavering, and his tailored suit and jacket crisp, chic and professional. Chris, on the other hand, had not bothered with a suit in years, his plain uniform and worn leather jacket a stark contrast to the detective's sophisticated exterior.
"Officer Newman," Detective Martinez said in lieu of a greeting. "Took your sweet time getting here, didn't you?" The older man leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping impatiently on the desk as he stared impassively at Chris.
Chris smiled, eyes squinted in bemusement, "Detective Martinez, I apologise for the delay. Hope you didn't have to wait long. It's always a pleasure to see PASIT swoop in and turn a straightforward case into a federal ordeal. Kidnapping, robbery, and now you lot crawling up our ass. Quite the trifecta, isn't it? What's next, a visit from the Prime Minister?"
The detective's oscillating fingers froze. "Funny," he replied, his eyes narrowing into a glare as he retrieved a cell phone from his pocket and tossed it on the table. There was a dull thud as the device landed on the table, glowing concentric matrix patterns rippling out across the fibreglass surface the next moment with the phone as the epicentre. The projected light bounced back to the device as a wave, followed by a single, prolonged beeping noise as a series of phantom screens popped into existence above the table.
"At two-forty yesterday you were routed from your usual patrol route to investigate an emergency call from a janitor who noticed suspicious activity going on in the parking lot of the Johnson & Co. building," Martinez said, gesturing to one hologram showing Chris and a trainee he was showing the ropes exit Roadman's cabin. "According to your body-mounted cams and the radio chatter from the relevant timestamps, upon arrival, you were denied access to the building by a Psionic. Shots were fired from your side and you immediately requested backup upon discovering the hostage situation that was developing inside. Am I correct?"
"Sure." Chris nodded before asking. "Any leads on their identities? Forensics gave a list of possible suspects but nothing concrete."
"The four were part of a highly sophisticated, medium-sized syndicate that had been operating out of a slum in Penrose for the past five years. Multiple felonies and a history of successfully assaulting secured civilian and corporate facilities and evading capture. How they made it this far central without tipping off our surveillance is a major cause of concern at headquarters. Hence, why it was imperative they were captured. Alive."
Martinez made a gesture and two of the screens grew in size, gaining priority. "The directive we passed down to you upon receiving the intel you provided was that the suspects were deemed high-priority targets that needed to be taken alive for interrogation. Said directive also, explicitly exhorted the use of soft-kill tactics. Disarm-and-Disable only." He pointed at the videos of Chris firing at one of the suspect's head only for the bullet to be intercepted by a wall of water conjured by another powered felon—a Psionic.
The looping footage was taken from multiple angles.
"Where are you going with this, detective?" Chris asked, his brows bunching up into a frown.
"According to your body cams and the surrounding CCTV cameras in the area, you elected to use lethal force despite the directive we passed down to avoid doing explicitly that."
Chris exhaled as he realised what the detective was playing at. This wasn't a consultation. The bastard was looking for whom to shove the blame on now that it was obvious they made a bad call. The fucking asshole...
"The Dynamo escalated the situation," Chris said calmly in defence of himself. "Had I not intervened in the manner in which I did, some of my colleagues might not be alive today."
"That was not your call to make. Corporal. Your decision agitated the suspects to the point where they left the crime scene prematurely, eliminating the only window of opportunity the Taskforce had to intervene in any meaningful manner. Because of your decision, four dangerous paranormals continue to elude the grasp of justice. Because of your decision, these criminals succeeded in absconding with a safe choke full of classified documents. Because of your decision, we have a hostage situation on our hands. A rather delicate one I might add, given how important the victim is to the Department of Defense. What do you have to say, Corporal?"
Chris stared impassively, his eyes glinting with disgust. He leaned on the table, his body phasing through the holographic screens as he breathed down on the other officer. "If you can't even own up for your fuck ups," Chris asked, his voice guttural, "what good are you then?"
Martinez stared back, unfazed.
The corporal righted himself, tugging violently at his jacket to smoothen it out. "I see no meaning in indulging you in this farce any longer. Detective. Have a good day."
"...Newman!"
Chris stopped, turning slightly to regard the detective. The older man's gaze was cold as he gestured at the holograms hovering over the table. All the other screens suddenly blinked out of existence leaving only one behind.
Playing on repeat was footage of Chris pulling his trainee out of harm's way as an armoured van suddenly rammed Roadman's chassis towards them. It was very easy to deduce what was wrong with the video.
"How did you manage to drag a kid that size, that fast… with only one arm?" the detective asked. "I half expected you to walk in here today with one arm in a sling after you obviously tore multiple muscles pulling a stunt like that. But you look rather fine enough. To the casual observer that would seem almost… supernatural. Care to explain?"
"There's nothing to explain," Chris said as he turned to leave.
"I got my eyes on you, Newman!" Martinez shouted as the door slid shut behind Chris.
The corporal stood in silence for a moment, gritting his teeth, before turning to march angrily down the empty hallway.
"Shit..." he whispered under his breath.
"Shit!"