Sharpshooter (ch1)

Characters and universe created by Masamune Shirow

Manga continuity, prewar (Deunan & Briareos are still working for the LAPD)

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BRIAREOS

Even with weeks of coaching, the sound of his phone going off _inside_ his head, was enough to make him flinch and drop the papers he'd been holding. Briareos sighed and counted the small blessing that at least it'd only been papers, and they hadn't fallen far. Already sitting at his desk the mess was limited to his worktop, one errant sheet of a report sliding sideways towards the floor. He caught it absently, pleased that he didn't crumple the offending document in the reflexive grab, and carefully set it atop the messy pile before taking a breath and concentrating on the process of connecting the incoming call to his voice circuits. Why he couldn't just have a damned phone like he used to, he had no idea. Then again, it wasn't like he could just hold a handset up to his ear anymore. No ears.

"This is Briareos. Who's this?" He frowned, or wished he could, as his software reported a calling-number he didn't recognize. It wasn't like he gave out his personal line on street corners, who would think to call him that he didn't already know? Usually it was just Deunan at home, or Deunan at work, or Deunan on her mobile. His life sure had gotten small since the accident. He snorted grimly to himself, small, and _weird_.

"Briareos? Thank god man. You're paper pushing today right? Meet us downstairs in like… two minutes, buddy."

"What?"

"This is Jim, by the way." His old friend on SWAT thought to remind him before abruptly hanging up the phone.

Briareos sat for a minute, confused by the random instructions before giving up with a sigh. There was no telling what Jim and the other jokers were up to without going down and seeing for himself. The directions hadn't exactly been explicit, but instinct lead him down the hall and through the back of the building to the lane reserved for the C&C trucks and SWAT vans, figuring it was a likely a place as anywhere to catch Big Jim when the guy was wound up about something. He wasn't disappointed. The flashing lights and general scurry of people told him that there was a call in progress, even though news of it hadn't reached his quiet corner of the department yet. Then again, reviewing cold-cases as he was, crimes-in-progress weren't his current focus.

Several guys in full armor came trotting out one after the next, more than one of them slapping him on the arm as if he was some sort of oversized mascot as they dove into the waiting truck. He counted out of habit, coming up with a full complement. Jim was only a moment later, wearing a headset and vest, but armed with a tablet rather than his usual assortment of guns.

"Running ops, Jim? What's wrong, the Commander taking a day off or something?" Briareos joked as the black man caught him by the shoulder and steered him to move along with him as he walked towards the truck.

"Commander Knute is already at the scene with team-A." Jim gave him a 'as you should have guessed' look and proceeded to climb in. When Briareos moved to assist by closing the doors on him, he found a hand on his arm, holding him in place. "Come on, jackass. Get in the damned truck. We're on a schedule here!"

"He doesn't fucking know…"

Briareos turned to the unexpected commenter from within, belatedly recognizing Scott under the new tinted helmets. "I don't know what…?"

"Two million dollars worth of state-of-the-art hardware, and it doesn't come with a police-band radio?" The blond flipped open his faceplate to stare at him in wry amusement. "That's just sad."

"I have a radio." Briareos inched closer to the back of the van and peered inside, giving serious consideration to the amount of floor space, the non-existent bench-space, and his physical dimensions. "I've just been keeping it off, it's damned distracting when I'm trying to concentrate on shit. Also… there is no way I'm fitting in this thing with all of you. Also, I'm not approved for field duty, even if I _could_ fit."

"You're fitting. Get in." Jim disagreed, reaching forward along with several other officers to grab hold of his sleeves and physically start pulling at him.

As ridiculous as he felt, he soon found himself staggering forwards and somehow sliding sideways between the narrow benches full of policemen to fit precariously towards the back. Reaching an arm out to each side, he marveled at how he could easily rest a palm on each wall. The move turned out to be fortuitous because the truck peeled out of the station with out a word of warning. The men around him shifted nervously as he staggered again and found a better grip on the gear-racks to keep from collapsing on top of anyone. "Christ, Jim. What the hell is going on?!"

"If you had your radio on, you'd _know_." His friend replied, aggrieved.

Even he could take a hint if it was beaten on enough. Briareos sighed and remembered how to engage the random bit of circuitry. The blitz of radio traffic was enough to make him dizzy. He exhaled in surprise and limited the signal down to just the official channel trying to make heads-or-tails of the various conversations he'd staggered into the middle of. People were in a tizzy about some hostage-situation downtown. He shook his head at hearing the size of the op, negotiators, SWAT, regular city squads running the cordon, guys from Interpol butting in saying that the criminals were part of their eminent domain and Commander Knute chewing into them with his usual acerbic attitude. It all seemed like a regular day at the office, he supposed, if one's office was at the heart of the dispatch center of the LAPD. Turning to Jim, he shrugged silently, asking what any of it had to do with him.

The big man rolled his eyes, speaking into his headset's mic as he responded for a request for status. "Team-B in transit, estimated time 5 minutes, make a hole in the 25th street cordon. We've picked up Officer 1640, per request. He's a little clueless but we'll fill him in." The last bit was said in a considerably less official tone.

Briareos made a rude noise as Jim pushed the head-set off to rest his elbows on his knees and glare at him. His fellow officer rubbed his neck and waited for him to behave himself. The truck took another tight turn, requiring him to abruptly shift his footing to keep from inadvertently tipping the damned thing with his high center of gravity. There was just no room to crouch. He sighed, looking around for a better place to hang onto. The only really feasible thing, he could see, is if everyone got out, and he sat on the floor to let them all pile back in and sit _on_ him. It wasn't a very appealing idea, he sighed again, but it'd probably work.

"Ok, smart-guy, here's the situation." The man smiled grimly. "An hour ago ten guys with full automatics and a suitcase full of high explosives stormed the GB bank on the corner of 25th and Lavaca. Now, they were smarter than your average bad-news-bears because they didn't try and take the whole building, instead they pulled the fire-alarms, so most everyone gets out… only to realize after the fact that they've kept back about 20 random bank customers and 14 odd employees as hostages. They _were_ threatening until about fifteen minutes ago to start shooting said-hostages if the bank president didn't turn over his vault codes and the police didn't provide promise of safe transport to the harbor… But surprise… it turned out we had an officer on the inside…"

Briareos saw the humor in the man's face, and felt the first tingle of dread along the remains of his spine. It was funny, how at times like this - with the shit hitting the proverbial fan - that his subconscious was ready to point out Deunan hadn't called to annoy him on her lunch break like she usually did. Jim opened his mouth to tell him the rest, but real life interrupted just as he was getting to the punch-line.

"Father? You still there? The nice-men-with-guns say they want me to read you their new terms…" Deunan's voice was on the radio, utterly recognizable despite the earnest-little-rich-girl affectation she was favoring. "Two armored trucks and police escort to the harbor, two tripod guns, sixteen sub-machine guns and a hundred rounds of ammunition for each…. Excuse me, is that like, a hundred bullets each, or a hundred cartridges where each cartridge is… Oh. Oh ok. They say they want cartridges, father. And also… five gallons of water, paper cups, ten pizzas for the hostages, and napkins, lots of napkins. I'm afraid they found the bank manager's personal liquor cabinet… Tell him I'm sorry but there was nothing I could do to stop them. They were kind enough to let me get a sip of the brandy, which was quite good. Also, if possible? I'd like sausage on my pizza? Thanks… oops."

Briareos cringed, both from her delivery of the message and at the obvious way that the radio had been snatched out of her less-than-terrorized hands.

The new speaker had a far less cheerful voice, but cut right to the point. "You heard your daughter, _commander_. Trucks and guns, and our escort, and we'll be on our way without any unnecessary bloodshed." The criminal laughed shortly. "As a show of good faith… we'll let half go now… Isn't that nice of us? Sadly I fear your pretty blonde daughter will have to stay here with us, however, point of fact I think we'll take her along to the harbor with us… as insurance."

"Oh really? That's great! Getting out onto the water on a day like today is really living, isn't it… Oh but I'm not wearing the right shoes for being on a boat…"

Briareos cringed again at Deunan's cheerful commentary in the background, torn between wanting to slap her for not taking her situation seriously, and wanting to crack up laughing at what he could only imagine was the baffled expressions on the faces of the men trying to hold her hostage. He almost missed Carl's short tempered reply. He was engrossed in catching the back-end chatter on the police channels between the teams, gleaning what he could of the general scenario as they debated amongst themselves what they should do. Glancing sideways at the SWAT team, he found most of them in the same position, grinning and shaking their heads at Deunan's lunacy.

"I give up." He turned to Jim. "Fill me in already. What the hell does she think she's up to?"

"Apparently she was at the bank to pay some bills in her civvies on her lunch break." Jim rubbed his face, unable to conceal his tired smile. "You know her luck… She just has to be standing in line at the _one_ bank that was scheduled to get knocked_over by terrorists this week. Instead of doing anything stupid, your little girl plays it cool for once and goes along with the creeps as they do the whole 'down on the floor' thing. It's only when they start picking pockets of the random customers that they come up with her wallet…"

"And they found her badge." He sighed, amazed they hadn't shot her on the spot. Thank god they hadn't. As bad as it was to find her a hostage for the afternoon, it was far better than rushing to the hospital.

"Again, the little woman is a cool customer today. On top of her game, you could say. Because what does she do? She plays the little token-police-princess to the hilt." Scott cracked up at Jim's pithy summary, sliding his faceplate down to muffle his chortles as the team leader glared at him for his mirth. Jim just sighed. "Don't ask me how she did it, but apparently it took her less than five minutes to convince them that the only way she became a policewoman was because she was good at making coffee and because her 'dear father is somewhat important' on the force. I'm pretty sure they now think she's some sort publicity officer in charge of visiting elementary schools or something nuts like that."

"Oh my god." Briareos rubbed his head, wondering how much longer she could keep the act up before her temper got the better of her. Or worse, that her sense of melodrama would make her tell one lie too many and the gang caught on to the fact she was mocking them mercilessly. "How long has she been doing the 'oh my goodness, Pollyanna' bullshit now?"

"Easily two hours, I'd guess." Jim pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and took a sip. He offered it to him companionably and then hesitated, realizing that Briareos couldn't just take a swig and pass it back the way he used to. Briareos spared him the embarrassment by just waving the bottle off as unnecessary. He wasn't thirsty. He wasn't sure what he was, other than shocked-as-hell.

"So… someone want to tell me why I'm here?" He shrugged, still confused as to the key point.

Sure he was glad to be in the loop regarding Deunan's latest insanity, but he wasn't field-approved, didn't even have a weapon assigned to him for the past six months… Hadn't so much as stepped onto the training ground since he got benched for severe depression back in the fall. While he was looking forward to someday in the near future being allowed back onto active duty, and perhaps even the SWAT team roster again, he didn't think it'd be anytime soon.

Seeing the chagrined looks from his old friends he shrugged. "She's got her father, an award-winning negotiator flown in from Utah, two SWAT teams, some Interpol agents and the Coast Guard all working together to ensure she gets out of this safe and sound. What the hell am I supposed to bring to the table that'll make lick of difference?"

Jim held up a hand to forestall him. "First, the commander asked us to bring you down… you'll have to ask him why yourself. Second, Deunan's been cooing over her 'poor boyfriend who will be worried sick' for the last hour as part of her little charade, so they'll probably want you to provide some corroborating evidence to her act."

"She's having way too much fun." He muttered to himself, hanging on tightly as the truck banked around a turn and just as suddenly hit the breaks, causing the guys sitting nearest to him to flinch at the idea of having him fall forward into their kneecaps. Briareos caught himself with a curse and wedged himself against the back wall of the truck as best he could. "So much for thinking she'd grow out of being crazy by now…"

"Grow _out_ of it?" Scott popped open his helmet again, giving him an astounded look. "Man, you have been more out of touch than we thought, if you think that. If anything she's growing _in_ to it… You thought she was nuts before you nearly snuffed it? Our little Dee-Dee has grown up into a holy terror. Have you _seen_ her on the gun range lately? I bet she could give even _you_ a run for your money. Or at least, the you from two years ago…" He temporized after a moment's thought.

"I'm sure Carl is thrilled." He drawled, unable to entirely stop himself from feeling a bit depressed again at the thought of how much of Deunan's life he'd missed out on in the year-plus he'd been absent. She wasn't his little kitten anymore, he sighed. Not that she'd ever been all that innocent, even as a kid she'd been a genuine hand-full. Now she was a damned hellcat. Unsure of whether he was proud of the development or just worried, he listened to the double-meanings in her idle chatter on the radio and had to compliment her on her 'act'. If the officers listening were catching half of the crap he was, than they had to be just grinning for joy at the way she was keeping them appraised of the gang's positions in the building and state of other hostages. Hellcat or not, if she survived this debacle, he was going to have to reward her somehow for coming up with such a clever ploy.

"Father have you been able to call honey-bear yet? I promised him I'd be home by five and I don't want him worrying if I end up taking a trip out to the harbor instead…"

Briareos froze. His attempts to stabilize himself as the truck rattled and shook were forgotten at the sound of Deunan's latest question to her silently fuming parent. He could almost _hear_ the commander counting under his breath to keep from barking at his child and spoiling her 'good girl' persona.

"He's heard of what's happened, darling." Briareos couldn't imagine Deunan's father saying the world 'darling' in a non-ironic way, but somehow the man was pulling it off. Probably pushing it out through gritted teeth, but saying it none-the-less. It was almost as surprising at hearing the overly saccharine nickname that Deunan had come up with for an alias. "Your boyfriend's on his way down right now, in fact." Carl added, managing to sound kind even. "He's very worried, naturally."

"Honey-Bear is coming?" Her patently faked tone of surprised pleasure did nothing to prevent him from grinding his teeth at the repeated endearment. Glancing morbidly sideways at the suddenly deathly-silent van, he spotted more than one pair of shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

"Honey-Bear?" Jim mouthed silently, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "You can't be serious. She calls _you_, Honey-Bear?"

"No." He growled. "Point of fact, she doesn't."

"Sugar-britches?" Scott proposed as their truck pulled past the barricades. Clearly he had a death wish. Briareos glared at him but clearly it was another case where his new face was going to let him down because the joker didn't take the hint. "I know, I know… 'Pookie.' She calls you 'Pookie.' How adorable is that…"

Now that they were stopped, there was no reason not to reach for the man with both hands in a vague threat to impose bodily harm on him. The officer simply laughed harder at his discomfort. "Just so long as she doesn't do the 'Spank me Daddy' thing, that'd be really…. Strange. Especially considering her father."

"Thanks for that." Briareos sighed. "Now I've got _that_ mental image to haunt me for the rest of my days."

"You're welcome." His old friend grinned unrepentantly, stepping out of the truck when his turn came.

"I hate all of you." Briareos pointed out to the rest of the sniggering SWAT team filing out ahead of him. "I just want you all to know that."

"Whatever, Honey-Bear." Jim smacked him on the shoulder as he climbed out at the back of the group, smirking at the opportunity to tease him. "You're wanted in the C&C truck. Mind the media-drones, they're out in force. Guess it's a slow news day."

Briareos sighed again, realizing that most likely, that meant the entire city would now be calling him 'Honey-Bear'. He prayed to hell that Commander Knute had thought to invoke a media blackout on the radio communication in the name of the delicate negotiations he was overseeing. If Deunan lived through this? He was going to kill her.