Shot Theme- "Life of My Own" - 3 Doors Down

--

Daryan really had nothing against adults - just stupid people as a whole. Not that the Police Chief sitting in front of him was stupid, but he was serving to piss him off which tended to bring the word to mind. Despite Klavier getting him this interview and having put in such a good word for him, everyone had looked at him like he was a criminal today. He'd walked into the department alone, fixed with stares that either mocked him or questioned where the officer was that had picked him up. Wisely no one had chosen to say anything to his face and simply let him find his destination on his own but it was impossible to un-see things so he was well aware of their skeptical gazes.. Their opinions didn't mean shit to him, really, but it still pissed him off. Who were they to judge him anyway? He knew more about the law than any of them could ever dream of.

"Listen, Crescend, we're really going out on a limb here with you. But if you really want this then act like it," the elder man said, his voice gruff but not insensitive. He was the caring type, the one that really looked out for his men. Oh brother. "Nothing, not where you came from or who pulled what strings to get you here, is going to affect your movement in these ranks. The only thing that matters is your attitude."

He brought his bored expression down from the ceiling to look at someone more likely to appreciate it. The look he found was of pure intent and belief; did he actually have faith him? The idea would have made Daryan laugh if he didn't acknowledge it as one of the few that didn't condemn him as a lost cause. Daryan has misinterpreted.

"Capiche?" He stood, offering him a hand across the desk. The male stared at it for a moment as a brief memory of Klavier's hand offered to him in a similar manner overtook his mind. But just because there was honesty in his words didn't mean it would be in his actions down the line.

"I'm not quick to trust words."

The Chief grinned, "You'll make a good detective someday." The compliment threw Daryan for a brief second.

"So I've been told," he smirked, standing up to take the hand seriously in his own.

--

"Aaaargh! Do any of you jackasses know anything about criminals!?" A hand slammed down on the desk encased in a circle of detectives. They had been discussing something, it sounded like a murder connected to a local gang, when Daryan was on his way to wait for his ride. Still wearing the standard-issue uniform, he stood out in comparison to the detectives whose only item linking them to the police were the IDs tucked out of sight. His dark hair was still pulled back from his face which left the dangerous eyes and almost predatory snarl exposed, "How the hell did you get your jobs anyway!? You aren't taking this seriously and someone's already dead!"

"What the hell do you know, rookie?"

"You think you're any better than us?"

"No," Daryan said, withdrawing his stinging hand, "I know I'm better."

Retreating after a line like that wasn't as smooth as they made it look in the movies. They weren't shocked into silence by his statements nor did they yell after him. There was no demand for him to back up his claim and they didn't shout things like 'Yeah! You walk away, punk!'. Those lines were fit for a high school hallway or back alley but not the real world. It was for the better anyway - someone would walk away with something broken if they had.

"What was that all about?"

Daryan flinched and hung his head briefly at the sound of the Chief's voice, "Is that strike three?"

"You've been here nearly a year, Crescend," he chuckled, "You have more strikes than there are people in the force." Daryan opened his mouth but was abruptly silenced, "In this country."

"They're idiots who don't have a clue," he rolled his neck as he turned, "I have allergic reactions to stupid, it causes me to demand people remove their heads from their asses." He crossed his arms, trying to ignore the tension in his muscles, "Check my file, I'm sure it's on there."

"I wouldn't doubt it. But you're never going to make detective if you keep mouthing off like that," he pointed out, leaning against the wall, "Don't you still have that goal of yours?"

"It's stupid, forget it," he turned to continue towards the doors but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glared at it in the few seconds it took for it to wise up and fall away.

"It isn't stupid. Detective by eighteen is a good aspiration. If anyone's got a shot at it, it's you."

"In two months?" Daryan snorted, "Motivational speeches don't cut it with me, man. Talk is as cheap as ever these days but I'm not in the market for bull."

Gavin's chic, dark purple car pulled around to the front of the station. Even if the doors to the station hadn't been see through, Daryan had the feeling anyone would know when the rock-star wannabe pulled up. He waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, "Later."

The Chief of Police shook his head as he watched the pair drive off. One day that kid will start to believe what he preaches.

--

It was a risky call. He could have been wrong but…no, there was no way. He was right, he had to be. There was no other way for the facts to line up, no other possible answer. This was the truth and he'd be damned if he let it slip through his fingers just for the sake of protocol. All that work, those nights reading over files and tracking down people who would kill him for being a cop. It was because of his sheer guts, honesty, and stupidity that they'd let him walk away unscathed. That was not all pointless - it had lead to an inconsistency, a fatal one.

The murderer had been killing members of the Kitaki Clan and attempting to pin it on their known rivals, the Rivales. Up until the latest murder, they'd been doing a good job and the Rivales were the only lead the police had. But the latest killing had been off, they'd left a clue that made their next target obvious. Not only was it strange the Rivales would be so sloppy in their work, but they would never have left behind something to point out their next victim. And they would have never targeted the person this killer had. It didn't match and the murders hadn't been rivalry slayings…he was betting his life on it.

"Don't move," his gun was already raised. She was looming over a young boy, probably barely clearing the 'teenager' mark. "Step away from the boy, Ms. Kitaki."

"Don't call me that! I refuse to be associated with that wretched family!" She turned, faster than Daryan had anticipated but not faster than he could react. His finger tightened on the trigger but hers did too. Two screams, one female and one prepubescent, ripped through the air as both met their targets - but Daryan's was mute. The force of his bullet had thrown off her aim and timing.

A bullet that was probably aimed for his chest swung up and wide, tearing into his throat. Even as the shock took over he heard the potential victim's scream trigger the shouts of reinforcements that poured into the room.

--

He slipped in and out of consciousness for an immeasurable amount of time. Faintly he recalled going into an ambulance, people telling him to hold on…but he'd never been good with authority. Most of the time he felt tired and didn't bother to try to stay awake even as people told him he had to. He was light-headed and could barely see, how exactly did they plan on him managing to stay awake? But somehow he didn't feel like he was going to die. Maybe he already had…

The next time he opened his eyes, the room's sheer light made him flinch but an intense pain in his neck halted him. He struggled to move his one hand but it felt warm and heavy, he was curious as to why that was but without the ability to move his neck he decided it'd be smarter to try the other. Might as well use his brain when it occurred to him. Fortunately his other lifted easily enough and his fingertips brushed thick layers of gauze and a particularly raised section on his neck. Where I got shot…I actually got shot and lived.

"Heh heh heh…" His throat was sore, making laughing the second most painful thing he had tried to do. Something shifted to the side with his heavy hand and he heard movement near the wall at his feet. His soft chuckling had apparently brought the room to life as both Klavier and the Chief entered his limited sight range.

"Ah, you're awake, finally," Klavier smiled, "We were beginning to worry."

"Not me," the Chief laughed, "I knew you'd pull through."

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure I wouldn't kick it?" Daryan vaguely noticed that some, but not all, of the warmth had disappeared from his arm. Klavier's felt warm in comparison to his, reminding him just how close to death he must have come, "I sure as hell didn't feel any obligation to stay awake when they told me to."

"All work and no reward? It's hardly your style, Daryan," Klavier said, cutting off his rebuttal before Daryan even opened his mouth. People seemed to have a talent for that, he noted, "Saving Herr Fox Junior would not be enough to sate you."

He chuckled again, struggling to ignore the pain in his neck, "You're right. I'm not that noble…"

"No," the elder cop said, "But you are smart and brave. Though that might just be because of your own stupid recklessness." He moved to the injured teen's side and held out a slip of paper, only the size of a note card.

"7202602?" Daryan looked up at him, "What the hell is this?"

"Your ID number," he grinned, "You'll need it when you fill out the form for your new one, Detective Crescend."

The other was silent for a few moments, looking at the piece of paper that meant he'd achieved his goal. Still with a week left until his birthday too. A flood of morbid irony overcame him as he took note of his physical condition. He hadn't died…maybe he was paralyzed? No, he could move his arms and felt his toes under the warm blankets. It took every ounce of his physical and mental strength not to laugh at this entire set up, the victim of circumstance he'd had to become to earn a slip of paper that guaranteed his goal. It was pathetic…sick…

"So it takes getting shot in the throat to make it anywhere in this world?" A grin of dangerous but excited intent overcame him in place of the laughter that shook his brain. He crushed the paper in his fist, "I was made for this business."