Chapter 2: Desk Duty
September 26th, 1000 hours
Dean had been sat at his desk in the East Office for nearly an hour now, processing endless paperwork, along with numerous other police officers he didn't know too well to put names to. No-one ever told him being a Police Officer involved so much damned paperwork, he thought to himself. Incident reports and parking tickets: lots of parking tickets. Some rude people who didn't know how to park in this damned city…
"Want anything?" asked a voice next to him. He glanced up to look at Ben, who stood there with some change jangling in his hand. He was probably off to the coffee machine again. Guess he really loved his coffee, thought Dean…
"Sorry, I was miles away," he groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Late night?" inquired Ben, raising an eyebrow.
"Could say that," replied Dean slowly, rubbing his eyes. He was beginning to wish he hadn't stayed up till 11:30 PM, watching cheesy old zombie movies and getting stuffed on nachos as a result of having nothing better to do. "And no, I'm fine for coffee thanks."
"All right," replied Ben as he stalked away through the set of blue double doors. Dean moaned and went back to his pile of paperwork. He'd be glad to get out of this place when he was finished it all. One thing he didn't like was being stuck inside all day; he preferred to be out in the fresh air. Back when he lived on his parent's farm in Virginia, he always used to go for long walks through the countryside every day, and every time he was able to appreciate the world around him a little more. Now that he'd given that simple life up for a life and a job in the city, he was getting nostalgic of those days. Maybe he'd be able to take a little holiday for a week or so sometime soon...
A whistling tune broke his train of thought, making him glance up as an officer with unkempt brown hair walked by and sat down at another desk only a few feet away from Dean. He was wearing a different version of the R.P.D uniform, consisting of a flak-vest with the R.P.D initials on them sewn into a black shirt, along with black combat trousers and combat boots, and complete with gloves. He had a fair amount of stubble on his chin and seemed to be sorting through the stuff on his desk. Dean also noticed the Colt .45 pistol holstered at the man's waist, a weapon which was much more powerful than Dean's 9mm, and he wondered if the other officer was even allowed to carry that gun in the field.
The other man suddenly scowled and hit his fist against the desk suddenly.
"Bad day?" asked Dean, putting down his pen.
"Could say that," replied the other cop, sitting down at his desk and slouching into a comfortable position. "Can't find that damned transfer sheet…"
"You leaving or something?" asked Dean again, noticing the name on the other man's desk reading, 'Kevin Ryman'. "You been here long then, or just fancied a change of scenery?"
"No, I'm not leaving, and I have been here for a while now, or as long as can be expected. I'm looking for a transfer to S.T.A.R.S." Finally, he found what he was looking for and pulled it out into the light. "Yes! You beauty," he said aloud, holding the paper protectively in front of him like his life depended upon it.
"S.T.A.R.S?" asked Dean with something of a scoff. "Shouldn't you have really picked a more favourable unit?" he scoffed. Kevin just gave him a deadly glare.
The S.T.A.R.S team were Raccoon City's anti-terrorism unit, established back in 1996 as a means to combat domestic terrorism and other international threats. They soon proved to be one of the more elite law-keeping units within the Raccoon area. Until the incident in July. When the reports of brutal cannibalistic murders in the Arklay Mountains filtered into the City, the S.T.A.R.S were sent in to investigate the area. Of the 12 members who went in, only 5 of them returned. And all of them had a hell of a story to tell. They were blabbering about flesh-eating zombies and other monsters that had murdered their team mates for food, and that Umbrella itself were behind the development of these creatures in secret bio-weapon research. They even claimed that their captain, Albert Wesker was in on the whole thing as an ally with Umbrella, but he had been killed too that night, and it wasn't followed up.
But the stories were so far-fetched that the Chief disbanded the S.T.A.R.S officially and they became the laughing stock of the station, and their claims were never followed up by any other of the senior members of the R.P.D or even Internal Affairs. As a result the majority of the jokes told amongst the other officers centered on the unfortunate S.T.A.R.S members and their experiences. Half of the precinct was convinced that the team were on drugs and other illegal substances. It got to the point where S.T.A.R.S marksman Chris Redfield got into a fight with Hugo Elran of the Boys Crime Department and knocked him out with a single punch as a result.
Dean played along with these jokes for the most part, and even came up with a few of his own. But when he saw some of the S.T.A.R.S members around the precinct, and he saw the vacant look in their eyes, something told him that they weren't making up what happened that night. But still, stuff like that doesn't exist, does it? It was like they'd described a child's worst nightmares.
"I've always wanted to join the S.T.A.R.S!" snapped Kevin, looking a little hurt. "Besides they need the new recruits right? So I thought why not? But it hasn't been easy…"
"Easy, I was just pulling your leg," laughed Dean with a playful punch to the other man's shoulder. "So is it that hard to get into the S.T.A.R.S?" He wasn't particularly bothered in the slightest about how you got to be a S.T.A.R.S team member, he just wanted to make a bit of conversation with this new person on the force he could talk to, rather than just Ben and a couple of others they were always hanging with in their own little clique.
"Well the selection doesn't specifically look for those with particular experience in law enforcement, just those with certain skills and abilities, like having knowledge of chemistry or mechanics for specific roles. But they said I failed my last initiation exam because I'm too rash, apparently," continued Kevin, putting the paper into his pocket. "I like to think I'm a pretty likeable guy, but really, is personality really vital for something like this?"
Dean just shook his head a little in response. "I'm not an expert, but your personality might affect your judgement in a combat situation, or something like that," he explained, putting his pen down and getting to his feet, giving a slight stretch of his muscles as he did so. "But like I said, I'm not an expert. Time for a bit of target practice I think."
He reached for his utility belt with his sidearm holstered in it, and clipped it on, making sure it was in a comfortable enough position. He looked over to Kevin as he finished putting his gear back on. "What about you?"
"I need to finish something important off, and then I have to get back on patrol," he explained, getting up from his desk. "But I'm going to Jack's Bar for a few drinks later on, if you fancy it?"
"No thanks," replied Dean, "Not really a drinker to be honest. Maybe some other time though?"
"Of course," laughed the other officer, moving to the door to leave. "Well, see ya around," he said, leaving through the blue double-doors, with a slight wave towards Dean's direction.
"See you around," said Dean to himself. He waited another minute or so, before heading for the firing range, located outside the rear of the main building.
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Dean held his breath as he fired off the last of his magazine and the pistol slide locked back as he laid his weapon down and hit the switch to bring the paper target back to him. It came to a stop just a couple of feet in front of him, and he could see the perforations in the target's torso and stomach regions, and a couple in the head. He sighed, realizing that he still had to beat his previous record.
He slapped a new magazine into the weapon and pulled the slide back, before replacing the target with a fresh one and sending it back to 30 feet, which was as far as he'd expect to fire in this job. For all the time on this job, he'd only drawn his weapon twice, first for when he confronted some small-time thugs holding a family hostage, and he dropped one of the perps with a shot to the shoulder when they left the premises to confront the police. The second time he was called out to confront a pair of unstable drug dealers who were hanging out behind an old warehouse, and when one of them turned nasty and drew a flick-blade in an attempt to stab Ben, Dean was quicker and had no option but to take the man down with 3 shots to the stomach. The guy was high on something and wouldn't listen to reason, he kept telling himself, even though some group was protesting ;police brutality' outside the precinct for weeks afterwards, forcing him to leave him through the back door at the end of his shift as a result.
In between those incidents, Dean spent a lot of time down at the firing range, honing his aim, and he thought himself he was getting pretty good at it. He could target specific limbs for a safe takedown if he wished, or go for the head for an instant kill if the situation demanded. But his aim wasn't perfect, as at ranges over 30 feet he tended to miss a lot of his shots. But, as Ben always told him, 'practice makes perfect.'
He pulled his earphones back on as the target came to a stop and he took aim towards the head. Taking his time, he breathed deep and held his hands still as he squeezed off a round. The paper quivered as it was struck, and on closer inspection, noticed that he'd hit it right between the eyes. He smiled to himself and was about to take aim again when the door behind him suddenly banged open.
Spinning round in shock, he was faced by Ben and another officer, Eric Sands, both of whom had severe looks on their faces. Eric in particular looked as though he'd been in a fight, with a few splotches of blood on his shirt and forehead.
"Dean, where the hell have you been?" asked Ben, raising his voice.
"Down here," replied Dean casually, laying his headphones on the side. "Something wrong?"
"Yeah, something's wrong!" cried Eric, his voice coming close to cracking under some kind of immense pressure and stress. "The whole fucking town's in chaos!"
"What?"
"Some guy stormed the pitch at the Raccoon Sharks game a few hours ago, and a load of people got injured," explained Ben. "But since then violence has erupted all over the place! We've got reports of people mauling each other and shit! The fire-fighters and paramedics are under attack and everything! The mayor's going to declare a state of emergency!"
The description of people mauling each other made Dean's blood run cold. The dead guy they found behind J's Bar had take to mauling his victim to death with his bare teeth, and now such reports were cropping up all over the city. What the hell was going on exactly?
"Shit…"
"You said it," continued Eric. "You're needed now! There's an incident over at a grocery shop near the Zoo, there's a whole group of people attacking it!"
"Come on Travers!" cried Ben, pushing him towards the door, "Time to earn your keep!" With a sigh of defeat, Dean pulled off his headphones and tossed them down onto one of the stalls, and then followed his fellow officers out the door and back towards the main hall.
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The main hall was in utter chaos. Panicked officers hurried back and forth like excited rodents, while several civilians were also packed into the spacious area, many of them coated in blood and crying their heads off. The noise was immense as well, forcing Dean to nearly cover his ears with all of the shouting, crying and pained screaming. Through it all, he could make out Sergeant Marvin Brangh trying his hardest to calm the situation. Marvin was a well-respected member of the force, and he was known for being able to calm most hairy situations with a little discussion, but even his being there was doing little to alleiviate the chaos in the hall.
"For everyone's sake, would you please calm down?" he asked a middle-aged man standing before him.
"Calm down?" asked the man, sounding rather ticked off, "Calm down?! After what those fucking freaks did to my friend?! They practically turned him into an appetiser!" This looked like it would ugly pretty quickly. Dean's hand instinctivly reached down for his nightstick at his waist, just in case...
"I won't ask again sir," replied Marvin, in a rather more threatening tone this time. "There are only so many of us in the whole city." For a moment, it looked like the man was going to pull a knife or something and lunge at the sergeant, but he seemed to deflate in defeat, before making his way over to a set of benches to sit down on, buring his face in his hands and sobbing quietly. Marvin then noticed Dean and Ben standing there and made his way over to them.
"All hands needed on deck," he told them, "this whole city's going to hell in a hand basket, and most of our units are tied up all over the place. Looks like the military's not so keen on helping us either."
"Why not?" asked Ben.
"Seems they're busy barricading all the roads in and out of town." That statement made both men fall deadly silent.
"Barricade the roads?" asked Dean, unable to believe what they were being told. "What the hell for? It's not like there's a risk of something spreading is there?" Marvin sighed and bowed his head slightly.
"Whatever the case may be, we're on our own for this one," he explained slowly. Ben swore loud enough for half the hall to notice it, and glanced over in his direction. "But we're needed all the same. Get yourself over to Byron's Groceries near the Zoo, the shop owner says he's under attack from crazed bastards, or something like that."
"Come on Dean, looks like we're needed," said Ben, as he practically dragged his partner towards the exit. Dean followed after Ben, looking back over the assembled figures in the hall. This looked really bad, and something else told him that it was only going to get much worse before the end of the bloodshed, and that he'd never see most of these people in the hall alive again.
A/N: Another scene-setting chapter for you here, but don't worry, they'll be some zombie-splattering action soon, so R+R until then please.
