Chapter One:
"Family is not an important thing. It's everything."
Michael J. Fox
There was no time to stop and wonder, no time for any "what if's." It was only shoot or be shot – kill or be killed. That's what life as a cop was all about – Intelligence though, well that was a whole 'nother game. You don't mess with Intelligence, no matter who you are or from what district you come from. Intelligence is a family, they watch after their own. Every Division is a family in their own right, but Intelligence is something entirely different. Everyone knows better than to screw with a member of the Intelligence division. Everyone knows that if you fuck with one, you fuck with all of them, and that's a dangerous game no matter who you are. But that's not the worst thing about them though – no, one could get use to avoiding Intelligence at all cost, but it's their lack of humor that causes problems. Not for them, of course. To them, no humor is just fine – or well, no street humor at least. But there are kids on the streets – punk kids whose parents have been locked away because someone on the Force – that know how to hide, how to get away with things others never could. Sometimes those kids are just cocky, arrogant little fools though.
That was how I found myself staring down the barrel of a Glock 22 .40, hands bound behind my back and blood dribbling down my chin. So sure, egging Antonio Dawson's car hadn't been the brightest or most thought out plan, but seeing the man leaving the sleek Impala has stirred something in us that just couldn't be ignored. So we threw our change together and bought two cartons of eggs. And we chucked them. At the car. If one happened to veer to the left and hit Sergeant Voight – well, it was obviously by complete and total accident. When the aging man's eyes turned in my direction though, we scattered. I should have known they'd go after me, it was expected really. So when I bolted down the side alleys, the shouts for me to stop were expected. I figured I had more time than a couple of blocks to get away, but then I was tackled a street over. As the weight settled over me, shoving me to the ground, my face knocked against the side of a Dumpster, nose smashing against the foul smelling green metal. Darkness dotted my vision, blood gushing from my nose at a pace that I knew when I stood up I'd be dizzy and disoriented. Pain split through my skull, the dull ache of the morning's headache spreading like Wildfire into a full blown, knock-out Migraine. For a moment I had half a mind to slam my head back, knock it into my captor's face to cause him a bit of pain, but I was thrust over onto my back, hands securely tethered behind my back, before I had the chance.
The barrel smelled fresh, cleaner than a gun 'ought to, the muzzle rested firmly against my forehead, pale eye regarding me with barely repressed rage. It was Antonio Dawson that pinned me to the ground though – it was the new lackie, some Jay Halstead if memory serves. Military background, no doubt, what with the way he was holding himself. And then Voight was there, dragging me up and shoving me back against biting brick of the alley wall. "You've got some Balls, kid," his voice was gruff and hoarse; the kind of voice a man gets after smoking for a few years. The woman beside him was trying not to smile, why though I had no idea. I didn't have time to ponder it though as the collar of my shirt was snagged and I was carted off towards the car I'd egged. "You're gonna clean this up," Voight spoke again, a wicked smirk plastered to his lips, "And then you're gonna clean mine and Lindsay's, even Halsteads. And once you're done with that, you're gonna clean all the squad cars." The man gave me a sharp nudge towards the yolk splattered Impala, "And then you're gonna come work for me." For a moment no one said anything, and then chaos ensued. Halstead and some other guy shouted in outrage, both giving their protests loudly and clearly. Dawson watch me cautiously before shaking his head and pushing himself away from the scene and up the stairs of the Station. Another man, close in age to Voight I'd assume spoke quietly to Voight off to the side, but that woman – she still had that smile on her lips and I still had no idea why.
When it seemed Voight had enough of their questioning his decision, he tipped his head to me. "Get to work," I wanted to tell him no – wanted to tell him he could go fuck himself, but everyone knew better than to mess with him. Voight only gave you one shot, you blow it and you're good as dead. So when that woman brought out a bubbling bucket of water with a variety of soaps and rags in a foul yellowish bucket, I jerked them from her grasp and set to work, grumbling as I did.
"Welcome to the Family," the woman's grin grew, her words soft – tender in the oddest of ways. When I lifted me head to look at her though, she was gone, the large oak doors of the Station falling shut behind her. Yeah, 'Welcome to the Family' my ass. Soon as these cars were done, I was gonna be gone. Back to my life and forgetting all about this. That's all that could happen – all that would happen.
Hey guys, Sallian here. So, I've recently started watching Chicago PD (And Chicago Fire) and I'm kinda sorta in love. It's an amazing show and the dynamics are just awesome. So, anyways, here's my latest story. Yes, I'll still be continuing Of Angels and Demons, and maybe even A Soldier I Will Be, but this is likely gonna be my main focus.
Also, I know a lot of people don't like OC's. I get it, I do, I usually don't either because the OC always winds up with one of the main characters, but that's not gonna happen I promise. Honestly, the OC will probably end up with Voights son, Justin. As it is, I'm only on Episode 6 so I'm not sure if Justin plays a more important role, or less important, so yeah. Sorry.
Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this! I'm really loving writing it. So, Please R&R!
- Sallian