Chapter 1

A scarf draped upon a snug fleece seemed futile in battling the winter cold, a few steps out of his truck and already his body was shivering with the bitter freeze. It didn't help that he was as light as a feather, so small a breeze would probably do in knocking him off of his feet. Despite his leanness, Brad had the look of a hard-working man. Muscular from his work but skinny due to a poor diet and his cigarettes had never helped either. A bad habit, he knew, but one he'd never quit.

He rushed up the steps toward the Raccoon city police station with guile, a quick-footed response to the seemingly inescapable cold. The darkness of 5:00am clouded his vision but never faltered his step; desperation had fueled his desire to reach warmth; even if warmth meant the ungodly strain of work.

Turning a corner upon reaching the top step, he was greeted with the sturdiness of the station's gate. Large and imposing, it made the station look like less of a haven and more of a prison. The gates may have posed as a main entrance to the station, but every good copper knew nobody but crooks and civilians sauntered through them. To a man like Brad, who'd worked at the RPD for a good five years, the back entrance and the car park were the ways you got in when you didn't want to be bothered by the press or a random person who didn't care whether you were off duty or not. There was always a smugness that lingered when he found himself eyeing the newbies being hounded by the gates, a small spark of superiority one got from the misfortune of another. Brad knew it was mean, he actually sort of hated it, but like anyone; he just couldn't help but do it.

Without another moment of arrogance, he'd reached the doors and promptly swung his strength into pulling one ajar enough to fit his small frame through. They were heavy lumbers of wood those doors were, strong enough to make you feel as though you had to wrestle them just to allow yourself in every morning. A daily test of strength, one would assume.

"Brad! An' there was me reckoning you were gonna be pulling a sickie today after that embarrassment you called an arrest last night!"

The familiar voice came from a copper resting his elbows upon the desk of the reception while he grinned lovingly toward his wife-to-be, Elisha; the RPD's cutest receptionist. Brad would've thought for a moment that his body language was adorable if it weren't for his boyish yells informing everyone in the station of the colossal cock-up that'd occurred the night before.

"Don't you fuckin' start, man!" The pilot hit back with the guile of a viper, his words fell between laughter as his eyes shifted back and forth between colleagues and also crooks.

"What're you arresting the man for, Brad?!" The smiling cop pranced forward, holding his hands as if cuffed while openly mocking his friend. "Harassment, harassment, he says! So I say to him…I say…" by this point, the officer's loudness had attracted quite the crowd of chuckling onlookers "well what has this young gentleman done that could be considered harassment?" By this point, the cop pauses; smirking at those around him while he gives them a little more insight. "Keep in mind, my fellow defenders of the law; Fly-boy over here aint left his desk in a good few years…"
Eyeballing the floor, Brad let out a guilty chuckle before throwing his head back toward the laughing crowd.

"An', you guys, he looks at me. Goddamn, he looks at me with the eyes of fuckin' G.I Joe . Don't laugh. This aint funny; Brad was dead serious when he looked at me and he said…with the conviction of Mother Theresa…" the cop's eyes begin to water "This young man threw a donut at me!"

As the hall burst into laughter, the man jeered before his audience one more time.

"The lad was fourteen!"

Even Brad couldn't help but laugh at the retelling of his piss-poor arrest, he'd argue against them; he'd tell them all he really needed more arrests that night than he already had. But the fact of the matter was that the copper's laughter was infectious; hell, everyone's laughter was. There was no better way to start the day than a good laugh with the assholes you'd be working through till night with.

Shaking his head as he removed the drapes of his scarf and coat, the pilot mockingly laughed toward the officers poking fun at him before shaking off the instigators taunts with a brief, but noticeable middle finger.

"Settle down, donut-boy." The original story-teller giggled, nudging at his colleague. In retaliation, Brad held his finger up longer.

"Shove this in your donut, starvin' Marvin."

Once again, the hall was an eruption of laughter; the only frowning faces being the row of gloomy souls being booked. Before Brad could crack another smile; he felt the warmth of a hand upon his shoulder. As warm as the clammy flesh may have been, something about the man's paw groping tightly upon the pilot's shoulder made him shiver with discomfort.

Turning to what he could only assume was Satan himself, Brad's smile quickly diminished and in its place spouted a newer, brighter and ultimately faker smile. There was only one man in the station with a sausages answer to talons and that was Chief Brian Irons.

The chief had always been a weird guy; the sort-of man who'd laugh at the punch line of a joke without having heard the beginning. Perhaps it was his way of trying to 'connect' with his colleagues, Brad could never be sure. But one thing he did understand was that every manager-like-figure he'd ever been under before had been an A-grade tosspot and Irons was no different. Irons was just a few thousand-dollar-suits away from being a full-blown fucking psychopath.

"Sir! Chief!" Brad had already fallen flat over his words and the day hadn't even begun yet. What a start. "Wasn't expecting t'see you so early…" forced laughter burst through his broken smile.

"Well. I wanted to see that you were prepared." The chief was as blunt as any man at five in the morning ever was; his shiny blue eyes shot from the depths of bags only made by coffee and long-shifts. Brad felt his pain, but he also very much felt his own.

"I am, sir. As ever. I don't start until eight today anyway. I wanted to add some bits to my résumé. I'm excited for this, sir. I'm really looking forward to being given this opportunity."

Brad's ass-kissing could only force it's way so far through before he received a sharp elbow in the back by his good friend, Marvin and an even stronger (inner) one from himself. It was all well and good being the right man for the job, but there was only so much brown-nosing he could apply to the situation before wanting to rip out his own tongue.

"I'm glad to hear it, Vickers." The chief's hand still appeared to be hovering upon Brad's shoulder; his close proximity both threatening and uncomfortable. "Here's a heads up from me. Because I know you're the right man for this job…" he leaned in, pushing his lips awkwardly close to Brad's ear before whispering "you're gonna be interviewed by two guys. One's a science-y type. Real cool though, has a hell of a poker face. The other is a veteran cop. They're gonna be the captains and I'll warn y'now, they don't like bulllshit. My reference can only put you so far. But just go in there an' drop bombs, okay?" He pulled away, pulling away as if he was pushing his weight off of someone after a night of one-sided love making. As usual, he was sweating. Sweating like a guilty man.

Forcing himself hard not to recoil in disgust, Brad nodded before thanking the man for his (unwanted but helpful) advice. As the king-of-the-station turned his back and took leave, Brad turned to Marvin with horrified eyes.

"Jesus, man. I thought he was gonna tongue your ear and call you 'baby'. Now tell the truth here, Brad. Did you fuck your way into that interview? Y'can tell me." Marvin grinned, mocking his friend once more before Brad shot him down with a fake-gag.

"Yeah, Marv. Thought y'knew, me and the chief have got a thing goin'. I popped his cherry and he popped mine and now I'm gonna be on a bigger paycheck than you. Tough break, sister."

Brad grinned sarcastically before leaning back upon the reception desk. "Anyway, officer, haven't you got work to do? Arrests to make?"

"Aint nobody packing donuts this morning, champ. When's your interview?"

"7:20am. before y'start, yes, I am shitting it. When Irons was making love to my ear drum he wasn't whispering sweet nothings to me, he was telling me about the men interviewing me. Fuck man, all this for a bigger pay check."

"Brad. Did you even read the subtext before your applied? The STARS is meant to be a special team. You guys are gonna be bigger than the fucking SWAT team and y'know how much they big 'emselves up. They're makin' you jump through hoops for a reason. Know why they didn't give me an interview?"

"'Cause you're black?"

"No, you racist shit; because I don't do 'Intel' and I can't fly a fuckin' plane either."

"It's not a plane, really; it's a helli…"

"Doesn't matter what it fuckin' is. Point is, Brad. You're a smart guy and that's why they want you. But I think maybe you gotta want it, too. Stop thinking of only the money and really ask yourself if you want to do that shit."

"Alright, Dr Phil, I hear you. Everything will be fine. If I even get it, it'll just be another desk job and the odd flying-lesson to keep me on my toes. No biggie."