Precinct Test
5:14 PM, 8/15/06: Headquarters, Times Square
5 years later
Marcus was feeling good today. The announcement of his promotion had kept him elated throughout afternoon, eagerly anticipating his run through the C.I.C. obstacle course to take place twenty minutes after his shift. With the clock striking five and the paperwork already cleared with Terry, Marcus sat idly by within the bustling police station, looking his resume over but not reading anything in particular.
Except for the green bolded letters stamped on the paper that spelled APPROVED.
He was nervous, sure, but his anxiety was not enough to stifle the tremendous pride he felt for the occasion. To be accepted into the ranks of New York's truly finest, the elite of the New York City's Police Department. It was almost overwhelming.
Here's a small history lesson; Four years he had worked on the beat since Terry made his deal with him, now patrolling the streets he once ruled as Harlem's premier drug kingpin. If only for three days, though, but Marcus tried not to think too much about that.
His arrest record was outstanding, second only to one. Though he had been criticized for his… unique approach to law enforcement, it was an undisputed fact that Marcus Reed was one of the best police officers the department had seen in a long time. However, the title of best cop ever was reserved to the living legend known as Terence Higgins, the man who taught Marcus everything he knew from pinpointing a perp's kneecap with his 38. customized sidearm to basic algebra in the seventh grade.
Admittedly, math was never really Marcus's thing.
His mind returned to the present, and Marcus couldn't help emitting a soft chuckle.
"It's crazy ain't it?" he said more to himself than Terry, who was a little less than enthused about Marcus using his desk as a chair. He eyed the up and coming police officer with a raised eyebrow.
Marcus was still dressed in his blue uniform, an outfit he never had taken a liking to but grudgingly obliged to wear. He never threw a fit about it, but he would always grimace with a small amount of disgust every time he opened the locker to put it on.
"Who ever thought I'd be making into the Organized Crime Unit?"
Whether Terry mistook this statement for cockiness or simply wanted to tease, Marcus didn't know, but Terry leaned back in his chair and replied in a level tone.
"You know, I remember when you couldn't even wipe your own ass without my help, hotshot, so don't get cocky. You ain't a detective yet."
Marcus got to his feet and faced the detective, putting on his most sincere expression.
"C'mon. You know I'm gon' blaze through those qualification tests. Like that!" he finished, with the snap of a finger.
Another figure stepped into the room.
"Oh" came an accusing female voice from behind. Marcus turned to face his superior walking towards him. "You're in that much of a hurry to get out of my unit, huh?"
She was dressed in fashionable brown leather boots, a blue knee high skirt and a V-neck shirt, and her blond her was short and done up nice and pretty. It wasn't for the occasion however, she just always had a mind for fashion.
"Lt. Dixon!" Marcus started, and immediately straightened up. "Nah, I-I-I was jus-"
"Save it." she said dismissively, waving it off. She smiled and patted Reed on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you. You're going to make a hell of a detective."
With those words she continued past, leaving Marcus feeling a little air headed. Terry snapped him back to reality with a start.
"Well hurry and polish your badge, or you're gonna be late." he said, and ushered him to the stairs.
The two stepped down to the station's lobby, and right into the face of a man who deflated much of Marcus's enthusiasm almost immediately. Victor Navarro, the Chief, was giving a police officer his undivided attention until he caught sight of the descending pair, and settled his gaze on Marcus.
Marcus's smile died when his eyes met Vic's. The pair stopped as Victor approached, leaving the police officer forgotten.
He was a seasoned looking man; graying, mustachioed. He'd look almost normal had it not been for the two large marbles that adorned his eye sockets, which could fixate someone with the most intense stare anyone had ever seen. Right now he was giving Marcus the full treatment.
"What's this?" he chuckled as he sized up Marcus. "Gangsters dressed as cops, eh?"
Marcus and Terry exchanged a glance.
"It ain't Halloween, Terry."
"We talked about this, Victor. My contract, remember?"
Victor's brow furrowed.
"God damn Terry, you know I don't like greenhorns on my unit."
Marcus couldn't help but feel that there was more to Victor's disdain than simply his own inexperience.
"Marcus has been on the beat for four years now." Terry reasoned, although Navarro still looked displeased. "Just aced all the C.I.C stuff, it's all done."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" he mouthed off sounding clearly uninterested. "Just remember, he's your responsibility." He leaned in, as if to add more distinction to his words.
"¿Comprende?"
A little put off, Terry hesitated momentarily before simply nodding and letting him pass by.
"You got it, Vic."
Marcus glared at Navarro as he disappeared. Something about that guy really got under his skin.
They continued through the lobby and to the elevator. Marcus hit the button and the doors rolled open.
"This is it kid, all you gotta is pass huh?"
Marcus stepped in and turned to face the detective.
"Try not to shoot yourself in foot."
The doors rolled closed, and Marcus descended into the underground training course.
________________________________________________________________________
Stepping through the door, Marcus found himself in a straightforward maze of blue plywood walls, centered in a giant cavernous basement beneath the headquarters. The air was cool, and every footstep echoed throughout the space. His first passage opened up into a large room, where a red mat sat with an erect punching bag in its center with caution tap decals placed around it.
The intercom sounded throughout the basement.
"Son!" called a voice that sounded distinctly of a drill sergeant's kind of banter, "This is your C.I.C detective qualification test! If you want your golden shield, you're going to have to make me smile. I want you to move over to that area marked with the caution tape."
The announcement cut off, and Marcus swaggered over to the punching bag. The voice piped up once more.
"This is the Combat Test; see those practice dummies?"
Marcus zeroed in on his polyester opponent.
"Let's start with some light jabs, shall we?"
He landed three consecutive blows and the bag exploded into fluffy debris. The gate barring the way to the next room receded.
"Alright greenhorn, move on to the next area! Just step onto the caution stripes…"
He walked up to the next dummy.
"Alright, now show me some slower, more powerful strikes."
The voice was only treated to one; the bag decimated in a single blow.
"Now keep it moving, next area!"
________________________________________________________________________
A few more dead punching bags and a hopped fence later, Marcus found himself facing livelier foes.
"Not bad!" the voice congratulated. "Now let me see you grapple and throw, boy!"
Marcus's enemy was decked out in a fully padded suit of armor, the kind that were used in K-9 training. The man was swaying left and right, but not as some kind of tactical motion. More like a I really wish I weren't here right now kind of way.
Marcus walked over to him, grasped the football helmet like rungs that protected his face and give him a half hearted push. The man toppled to the floor, defeated.
The gates receded, and Marcus entered another area with another doughboy standing around, back facing him.
"Time to move, without being seen." the voice instructed. The man standing in the room was oblivious to Marcus's presence; or so he was paid to act.
"I want you to sneak up on that guy. Crouch to move nice and quiet. Remember, if you move too fast, they'll-hear-your-footsteps." he finished in a dramatic tone.
Marcus ducked low, taking his steps one well placed foot at a time before reaching the guy. Marcus rose from his crouch and locked an arm around his neck in a chokehold. Although he was supposed to "take out" the guy, to save time and effort he opted to simply tap him on the head.
The doughboy crumpled to the ground, as Marcus's most recent victim.
In the next room, the doughboy had his fists raised in a half assed kind of fighting stance.
"Hoo, it's back to some combat now! Get your guard up; block!"
The pillows that were thrown in Marcus's direction were hardly worth the trouble of blocking, but he obeyed. After three hits the doughboy laid off, and the gate to the next space opened.
Three more goons were situated in here, one standing before him with his back turned and two more meandering around the back.
"Alright. Let's see what you're made of before we finish in here. Put down these jokers and I'll get you some extra points!"
Marcus stepped into the arena and brought his elbow down on the first guy. The two men in the back lumbered forward, and Marcus went to town on their pillowy bodies. His punches couldn't be felt through their protective padding, but with the first guy biting the dust it became apparent that they had trouble getting back up on their own. With his comrade down, the second man threw himself into an awkward charge and was caught, lifted and hurled into a single water barrel, his posterior wedged in too tightly to escape.
Wiping his hands off, Marcus turned down the final passage and went to the door.
PASSED
RADIAL ATTACK TEST: Yes
DIRECTIONAL ATTACK TEST: Yes
COMBAT THROW TEST: Yes
ENEMIES DEFEATED: 5
LETHAL TAKEDOWNS (Bad Cop): 0
HITS TAKEN: 0
EXCESS TIME: 0
"Very nice results son! That's what I like to see!"
________________________________________________________________________
Marcus went through the door, and found himself in yet another blue walled maze, this time with plywood skyscraper backdrops placed here and there. Ahead of him, a gate barred passage and caution tape decals were placed in front of it.
"This, is the Run-and-Gun course! I want you to move over to that area, marked with the caution tape."
He did what he was told, and the voice returned.
"You ready, rookie? First, show me how fast you can draw!"
Marcus whipped out his piece with speed, a Walther P99 specially outfitted for .38 Super ammunition. The bullet of choice for shooting competitions, but almost never seen in law enforcement. Naturally, they were hollow point.
"Alright, smart guy. Time to aim at a target. Then, fire away!"
Further down the passage human shaped plywood targets appeared in the windows of the backdrops. Marcus raised his pistol and blasted them all in quick succession. The gate receded.
"If you run out of ammo… you need to reload! Otherwise, you'll be in a world of hurt!"
Marcus ejected his clip and slapped in a new one. Satisfied, the voice ushered him down the passage. It turned to the right, and caution stripes decorated the ground around the corner.
"Now let's see you hug-that-wall! I bet you know all about that, huh!?"
…why?
Marcus planted his back to the wall.
"Now lean around that corner and take your shot!"
Down the passage more cut-outs appeared, this time brandishing bean bag guns. Marcus brought his pistol around the corner and fired as bean bags thudded against the wall. Five targets blown to oblivion later, and the next gate receded.
"Ok, now you can leave that wall."
Marcus stepped through the passage and turned left to find a hurtle put in his way.
"Ready to get flashy? Let's see if you can dive!"
He sprinted, dived and rolled clean over the obstacle. The room beyond was blocked with another gate with caution stripes placed before it.
On the caution stripes, a pack of grenades were piled together.
"Al-right, pick up the grenades; you're going to do some damage!"
You'll know that the world has truly gone to hell when M-67 frag grenades become standard issue for police.
Marcus holstered his pistol. Ducking a foot beneath a grenade, he kicked it into the air and caught it.
"Those grenades are live, son! You know what to do with them."
More targets appeared in the room, situated behind backdrops shaped as cars.
Marcus pulled the pin, lobbed the grenade behind one and ducked beneath the gate. Seconds passed, then the room was blasted apart in scattered plywood debris.
"Ha-ha-ha-HA! Just like back in 'nam! I can almost smell the Napalm!"
Strolling past the burning wreckage, Marcus continued through the course and found himself standing at another gate, with more skyscraper backdrops beyond.
"Sometimes, shooting up the place isn't necessary! Show me some Precision Aim!"
Alright now.
He closed his eyes, cricked his neck and flexed his fingers.
When they opened, the targets popped up, and Marcus retrieved rounded and aimed his pistol down the sights in a fraction of a second. Time slowed to a crawl as Marcus poured every ounce of his essence into his gun, as he felt and calculated every physical force that would affect his shot. His pistol and him were one with the universe, a single entity, an extension of himself.
In this state of mind, his aim was perfect.
The voice was saying something, but in a world set at a fraction of its speed it came across as nothing but a drawling slur. Marcus fixated the red dots placed at the heads of each target and planted a hole in all of them dead center, each exploding in sequence. The plywood rained to the ground together, all of the targets destroyed before the remains of even the first one managed to reach the floor.
Marcus let himself relax, and time slowly returned to its normal pace.
"…gggggggooooOOODDD DAMNIT, SON!" the voice barked angrily. "What the hell did I tell you!? Do you consider a headshot to be 'non-lethal'?"
Marcus had missed that little detail.
"Try again, Einstein!"
One more target appeared in a window, and Marcus aimed for the green dot placed on its arm instead. It spun with the bullet and fell backwards.
"Ok. Let's have a little fun before we wrap up here. Next area; take these targets down!"
Marcus continued right down the passage, which led into a small labyrinth of plywood sets of barbershops, grocery stores and red brick buildings. As he progressed, targets would appear in windows, behind dumpsters and barrels and around corners, and with civilian detriments scattered here and there. Marcus went through the final stretch, and to put it simply he shot all of the targets.
With the last of the targets dealt with, Marcus headed for the door.
PASSED
WALL HUGS: Yes
GUN DIVES: Yes
TARGETS DESTROYED: 30
NEUTRALIZING SHOTS (Good Cop): 12
HEAD SHOTS (Bad Cop): 5
CIVILIANS SHOT: 0
EXCESS TIME: 0
"Nice shooting, officer! You passed with flying-fuckin'-colors!… Happy?"
________________________________________________________________________
Through the final door Marcus found himself staring down a long underground roadway. A few paces ahead of him sat a police cruiser.
The voice echoed distinctly throughout.
"Ok! So long you can show me you can drive, you just might get your shield! Now get your sorry ass in the car so we can get started."
Getting in, he buckled up and got comfortable.
"Ok, now step on the gas and get rolling."
Marcus eased on the accelerator and rolled down the passage. Ahead, a sharp turn left awaited.
"Good. Now yank on that hand-brake!"
He turned, yanked, and spun directly into a wall of water barrels.
"Did I tell you you could stop, twinkle toes!? Get your ass moving!"
Readjusting himself in his seat, he pulled out of the mess of plastic and continued through the turn. Another turn directly right was ahead, but Marcus decided to simply ease around the corner safely. A stretch of road laid ahead, with five moving taxi drones making a baseless triangle blocking the way.
"Next, let's hear your siren! Cop's best friend, right?"
Marcus flicked the siren on and the taxis pulled away from the center of the road to let him pass. Continuing through, Marcus followed the road right and found long stretches of concrete walls lining the sides of the road.
"Now pull out your pistol and shoot down the targets as you drive!"
…What the fuck kind of training course is this? Marcus thought as he drove near the walls, blowing holes in every moving target that appeared behind them.
"Nice shot!… for a rookie."
Marcus turned another left and made his way through.
"Hoo! Well done, greenhorn!"
Down this road a taxi sat parked on each side of the roadway. As Marcus approached, they pulled out into the road ahead of him.
"O-K! Imagine up ahead is some joker that doesn't want to stop. You PIT that sonuvabitch into next week!"
Marcus sped up to the first taxi and connected his bumper with its rear tire. The taxi spun, flipped, flew, landed and exploded on the side of the road. Not exactly the intended outcome. He was significantly more careful with the next taxi and only lightly tapped it, causing it to whirl wildly into a concrete wall. Thankfully, that one didn't blow up.
He drove into another turn and weaved around some barrels scattered across the road. In the next turn, Marcus found himself racing down the final stretch. Caution barriers were placed left and right on the road.
"Watch out for the people now! Don't you hit any!"
Pulled along a motorized rail system, giant pedestrian signs cut into rectangles strolled left and right across the road. Marcus swerved around them, narrowly missing the last one pushing along a stroller before making it through.
"Smooth driving, school boy!"
The road stopped at a large garage door.
"Guess what rookie. You're done. Exit the vehicle and head for the door."
Marcus eased the car to a stop before the door and stepped out.
Finally.
PASSED
HAND BRAKE TURNS: 0
SUCCESFUL PIT MANEUVERS: 2
TARGETS SHOT: 3
CIVILIANS HIT: 0
OBSTACLES HIT: 5
EXCESS TIME: 6
"If it were up to me, you wouldn't be leaving here with mediocre scores like that!…but it ain't. So… get going."
________________________________________________________________________
Terry headed for Victor's office ten or so stories above the qualifications course. He let himself in, and found Victor sitting at his desk and busy with the phone.
"No, honey, the locker's at Grand Central. No, the new ones."
Terry placed his report on Victor's desk and meandered around, looking at the many trophies and posters that decorated the office, like his marksmanship plaque, the portrait of Latin American jazz musician El Jefe and several of his commendations and rewards he won through the years.
"Yeah, suit's in there." he continued. When it became apparent she still didn't understand he repeated it in Spanish.
"Alright, you know what? Don't bother. Ok, love you too." he finished, and hung up the phone.
Terry looked at Victor.
"Why don't you just move into the city, Vic?" he humored him. "Save yourself a train ride."
Victor looked at him like he was crazy.
"On my salary? You're kidding, right?"
The discussion was cut short when Marcus opened the door and stepped in. Terry turned to face him.
"Looks like you still have both feet kid."
Marcus was holding a clipboard. Grinning, he handed it over to him.
Terry gave it a quick look over, and his face immediately brightened.
"Was I fucking right about this guy or what?" he proclaimed, showing the chief the scores. He didn't look happy.
Turning back to Marcus, he gave him a congratulatory pat on the back.
"Denzel ain't got nothing on you kid."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Terry! How hard is it to shoot a target?" Victor drawled. He leaned into his desk businesslike and placed his hands together. "I want you to take him into the streets; see if he can handle himself in plain clothes and deal with real perps."
Victor leaned back.
"Do the whole drill. Otherwise, no shield. ¿Comprende?"
Terry nodded and turned to Marcus.
"Okay Boy Wonder, time to kiss your costume goodbye."
They walked to the door and Marcus stepped out.
"Grab your street gear, then pick up an unmarked cruiser at the garage. I'll meet you outside."
"Yo, I got your Boy Wonder right here." he said, and flipped Terry the bird as he went to the steps.
A moment passed.
"…what the hell was that for?"