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Neven Metcalf

"Too many these days pretend to be what they are, it is time to be it."

0 · 259 views · located in New San Vegas

a character in “Earth 2020”, as played by El_Gringo



Name: Neven Metcalf
Age: 22
Affliation: NSVPD

Neven has a slim, athletic build for his 5'10 frame. He used to be overweight at 260 pounds plus while he was in high school, but when he set his mind on being in law enforcement he knew he had to get in better shape. He did just that, transforming himself from a coach potato to an athlete. He keeps his brown hair short for appearances and practical purposes. The last thing he wanted was more objects for a potential opponent to grip. Coming from a privileged family he wears high-end jeans and slacks, typically with a polo and boots to complete his outfit. Neven keeps his sidearm holstered under his left armpit as opposed to the more common waist position.


His parents raised him to still believe in the good in the world, because of this Neven has not given up on society as many have. Tales of the corruption in politics and the police force do not deter him at all, he wants to change the world for the better. If there is corruption, he wants to uproot it and get rid of it. He was driven to go into law enforcement to help people, so even if he fails to deter any corruption he can always give something back to society. The fact that women like a man with a badge helps as well. Neven is kind and practical, he knows he won't find success overnight. He'll have to climb the ranks first, if his gambling problem doesn't bring him down.


Athletic ability - Despite being out of shape a majority of his life, Neven found he was a natural athlete and took to these endeavors well. It helped that he can afford the highest end supplements. While he is not the strongest, the fastest, or the toughest he can hang there with anyone of natural ability.

Marksmanship - This is where he truly excelled at the police academy, coming quite close to breaking accuracy records with multiple firearms.


-Cell phone: Neven refused to have any sort of cybernetics put in his body. If he needs them to function at some point from injury or disease, so be it, but until then he wants to remain one-hundred percent natural.
-NSV Police badge
-Department regulation body armor
-New Gen Glock (.40 S&W) w/3 clips
-AR15 (5.56mm) w/4 clips
-Standard issue NSV equipment (duty belt, uniform, handcuffs, flashlight, etc.)


Growing up in a gated city with his rich family made life easy for Neven, but his parents made sure he knew the reality of the world, occasionally taking him for drives in the ghetto. Seeing the other children in poverty, he could not help but feel bad for them. His older brother by nearly a decade, Tanner, continued to suck off the teat of their parents even after college. He was a struggling writer, using the family coffers to support his first book that was taking years and years to complete. Neven did not want to be like him, he wanted to contribute immediately, not contribute on the potential of a project.

He settled on becoming a law enforcement officer to give himself to society. Just being a simple beat officer was not his end game, he wanted to go further than that. Neven got his graduate degree in criminal justice and joined the New San Vegas PD, hoping to continue towards his masters and eventually a PhD. He thinks he knows the world is bad but he is in for a reality check when he realizes just how much. Neven is new to the department and still with a field training officer.

So begins...

Neven Metcalf's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Terence Fisk Character Portrait: Neven Metcalf
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The rain pounded down from the sky onto the windshield, hitting the protective layer that fought against corrosion. Field Training Officer Fisk sat in the passenger seat, with an eye on Neven at all times. The man was supposed to be training him on the street, but he felt as if he were being evaluated the whole time instead of being supported. Fisk showed his middle age with a graying hairline more than halfway receded, not yet giving up on it by going full on bald. It was the eighth day Neven had spent with Fisk. They ran traffic, responded to shoplifting calls from one of the super centers in town, and had a couple of domestic disputes. No action. He had heard some of the more severe calls on the radio, but he and Fisk had been too far away to respond.

Typically the FTO period could last up to twelve weeks, but he was only scheduled for four. They either had a ton of faith in him for his education and academy performance or the budget just didn't exist to support the full program, likely the latter. These Mega Cities could stretch a department thin. Neven's degree helped him jump a few bumps in pay but it was made clear from the start that everyone needed to work their way up with results in this department. Fisk made sure he got an earful of that when they entered the patrol car on the first day. "A degree might help you climb faster, but you need to prove yourself." Fisk didn't care much for academia, he was a high school dropout and earned a living just fine with the PD. Well, relatively fine considering what most of the world made these days.

Neven thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Fisk laughed, lighting up a cigarette with the windows still up. "Kid, ninety-eight percent of this can be boring as hell. When that other two percent hits, you might find yourself wishing it hadn't."

"I just want to-."

"Change the world? Heard it all before, especially from most of you college boys. Do us all a favor and get over that shit real quick. All you might change is what home a kid ends up in, which particular dealer is out on the corner, or what degenerate gets a hole in their head courtesy of the New San Vegas PD. At least until you get out of patrol." The smoke slowly filled the interior of the cruiser. Neven wondered if the smoke was a test, so he just left the windows up as the acrid smoke swarmed his nostrils.

Calls came out on the radio nearer to other units as Neven drove down California Avenue, one of the ghetto streets. Ghettos were so large these days they had sub-ghettos. It was a tough thing to see no matter how many times he passed through. The dirty, trash strewn streets and barely standing houses were a stark contrast to his family's gated community. When acid precipitation came through like the last few days it hardly effected the prepared higher class, but many of the people in this neighborhood were too poor to afford protective covering. Some of the weaker built homes were already showing visible damage from the rain. Most children weren't out today, no mother wanted their child scarred. That left no friendly faces for the police in this neighborhood.

"Dispatch to 487," dispatch rang out over the radio and each officers ear piece.

Fisk, badge number 487, pushed in the transmit button on his bluetooth. "487 to dispatch." All the cars and had GPS units on them, so when a call came in dispatch knew which officer to assign

"We've got a domestic dispute on 17th and Van Buren, apartment number eight at Community View. The husband is calling, says his partner is out of control. He's concerned for the safety of their two children, the data should be uploading on your terminal." The data instantly showed on their terminal. Sean Wilkins was the identified caller, an African American male with a history. Two counts of aggravated burglary and one count of aggravated kidnapping. His ex-wife was listed as Rose Bynres, they had been divorced for two years. She had a history of incarceration at Benioff's, a mental care facility further North in NSV. Two children, ages four and five, were listed. The address was registered as hers, Community View was one of the many low-income housing projects that littered the poverty stricken sections of any Mega City. All the information the police had on both subjects and their children was on the terminal, technology made the research work much easier.

"10-4, show myself and 067 en route." The last domestic Neven had responded to was neighbors arguing over what lawns a cat should be able to shit on, he hoped this one was a little more serious. Neven activated the lights and gunned the accelerator.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dessa "Paris" LeMar Character Portrait: Neven Metcalf
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#, as written by ElRey
He hated making deliveries in the rain. It was an unspoken rule of Dessa’s that he keep his business face to face, no middle men, no hardened killers peddling his product. Clean, simple. Just how he liked it. The weather complicated things, made it difficult to move quick, use side alleys and stay ahead of any unseen opposition. Despite a lack of funding and unreasonable district zonings, there were still the odd cop that fancied himself a hero. Even most of the dirty ones would demand some on-the-fly bribery should he be too obvious, and his face was not unknown due to his celebrity status.

And yet here he was, riding the bus. Dessa scowled at his reflection in the window, the hazy yellow lighting of the bus’s interior casting odd shadows across his face as the rain fell, hard and heavy, slowly eroding away the outside world while he watched. He doubted there was ever a time this metropolis was ever a place of beauty; but here? Now? It was something out of a nightmare. It was a common sight in these poorer districts to see refuse clogged drains, plastic holding fast against the onslaught of acidic water; turning streets into free flowing rivers of sludge and filth. Entire families cowering beneath meager shelter, praying for the storm to cease.

The sudden revolving flash of sirens went wailing past him, casting the rancid water across his vision in it’s wake. He wondered what sort of bitterly desperate person would think to commit a crime in this kind of weather, in this part of town. Most of the building’s upper floors were already unusable, the slow destruction of homes and offices inevitable as the water snaked its way through cracks and crevices. It almost certainly was a domestic dispute, rare was an individual willing to risk running through a storm like this for any kind of payout.

Except for me.

His stop would be next. Then just a quick jaunt up to the 4th floor to drop off the contents of his backpack, pick up the cash and be out the door again. Dessa briefly adjusted the straps on his utility jacket, pulling the hood over his cropped brown hair; making sure he wouldn’t suffer the rain’s harsh bite.

The familiar whoosh of the door hydraulics accompanied the symphony of the storm, much louder now that he wasn’t sheltered inside the bus. It pelted and hissed as it made contact with his protective gear, as if to urge Dessa into the dilapidated apartment building with added haste. He complied, jogging gingerly up the handful of steps and through the door into the lobby.

Signs of Zeppelin were everywhere, grimy bodies with sunken features, scattered needles and exhausted lighters, the pungent chemical smell in the air, even the graffiti on the walls more featured cartoon blimps and stylized Z’s than any gang tag.

If the walls of Community View could talk, they’d almost certainly choose to scream. It was a den of sin, virtually any horrible thing you could dream up was either bought or sold within these walls; and among the whores and killers were innocents just trying to scrape by and not find themselves trapped under a disintegrating tin roof in the slums. It was here he would find his buyer, just up four flights of stairs.

Casio distributor of drugs, guns, and sex. A cruel and ambitious man with a vicious temper. When Dessa first met the heavily tattooed Casio he was just another pusher, lost in a sea of petty dealers and small-time thugs. Desperate and hungry, just like he had been. Dessa had no delusions about his own role, he was no fighter; not someone who could stare down the barrel of a gun or bury a knife in someone’s back. He needed Casio, and Casio needed someone to give him a chance to do what came naturally to him. It was a symbiotic relationship to say the least, but beneficial for both parties.

Screams reverberated off the walls as Dessa rounded the second flight of stairs, emanating from behind a door in which two police were already pounding. There was a brief flash of recognition in the eyes of the older officer as he caught a glace of Dessa’s face. A smile, a nod.

Dessa nodded back. He had to. The pig was clearly on the take in some way. It was better to play friendly and move on, no ruffled feathers that way. Still, Dessa couldn’t help but hold his breath as he made his way up the next flight of stairs, half expecting a call for him to freeze to come chasing after him. Not that it would’ve mattered, Johnny Law ceased to operate inside Community View above the next floor, it was Casio’s turf.

A mountain of a man waited at the makeshift checkpoint on floor four. He grunted his approval at Paris as he waltzed through, one of the few allowed past without an invasive frisking by the giant.

Casio and his boys had done some remodeling since the last time he had made a drop, knocking out a series of walls to convert several of the apartments into a single massive common room. Chunks of discarded plaster and insulation still littered the floor, at odds with the overly-professional cherry wood furniture which was also a new addition.

“Must’ve cost you a fortune to get this stuff up here, eh Casio?” Dessa joked, knowing full well of Casio’s penchant for strong arming richer downtown junkies who racked up too much debt from their Z habit.

The Spaniard turned from the window to face the much smaller Dessa, a wide gold-toothed grin spread across his face “The messiah returns!” He let out a laugh, eyes already sparkling with dollar signs. “You got my product?”

Paris quickly matched the man’s smile with one of his own, backpack sliding off one shoulder allowing him easy access to the contents inside. He quickly produced a large plastic water bottle without a label. The bottle was sweaty with condensation, a deep chill being a side effect of the refining process. It’s murky ice blue liquid looking more like some throwback energy drink than the euphoria educing cocktail that it was.

“Long as you got my money.“ Dessa replied coolly, tossing the bottle to the ever-sure-handed Casio. “Couple cops downstairs, some of yours?”

“Pfft.” Casio scoffed, shaking the bottle and watching the small gossamer flakes inside tumble around. “I don’t buy bacon much these days.”

“Hah, good to know. I think one of em recognized me.” Paris replied, placing three more matching 2-liter bottles upon the table, drawing a raised eyebrow from the Spaniard. “What you want me to use a coaster or something?”

“Nah, nah. Its cool, P. Just always amazed by the purity of your shit, man.” Casio said, walking into the next room to grab payment.

“You keep sellin, I keep cookin.”

“Demand is high, bro.” He grinned again, showing off his golden teeth as he tossed a handful of bankrolls towards Dessa “I’ll need to re-up next week sometime.”

“Not a problem.” Paris quickly dumped the money into his emptied bag, re-shuffling the assorted clothes within to camouflage his payment. “You know how to reach me.” He lifted a small red phone from his pocket, wiggling it between his fingers for effect. Dessa started for the front door, only to be stopped by a sour feeling in his gut. Turning back towards his business partner. “Mind if I take the back way out?”

“Couplea pigs got you nervous?” Casio chuckled, pointing towards the rear exit in question. “Go ahead, homie.”

Replacing the full-facial hood of his jacket, Dessa headed down the main hall to the window at the end, before pushing it open and winding his way down the fire escape. Over his footsteps and the drum of the rain against his clothing, he didn’t hear the clap of gunfire in his wake.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Terence Fisk Character Portrait: Dessa "Paris" LeMar Character Portrait: Neven Metcalf
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Neven felt as if the door was going to break inward from the force he applied to it. "Open up, NSV PD!" Whoever was inside surely heard it, but he kept his voice low so the whole of Community View was not aware of their presence. People on the street did not mind taking a shot at a cop these days. Fisk looked down the hall toward the stairwell and nodded at someone, but they were a shadow the time Neven averted his gaze there. The FTO raised his hand to jar the door more as it opened inward, revealing Sean Wilkins with a laceration across his right brow. The man was of average height but had a massive girth to make up for it. He had been a professional linebacker for the Chargers until a knee injury in his first year that ruined his career. On the way up Fisk had told Neven rumors that Sean was involved in smuggling these days, it was a matter of time til he was back in prison.

"Officers, come on in. Rose really lost it this time." All of the apartment could be seen in its bare glory from the front room except for the bedrooms and bathroom in the back. The kitchen was to the right of the door, equally bare. It was hard to believe anyone lived here, they probably had to sell all their furniture to buy food. A drawer had been pulled out of the kitchen counter, spilling knives, forks, and spoons across the floor. The two children, Darnell and Julius, sat there playing with the utensils.

"Is that wound from Rose?" Fisk asked. Sean nodded in confirmation and Fisk pulled his handcuffs from his duty belt. "Did you hit her back?" Sean shook his head, he claimed he knew better than that. Violence on a domestic was a quick trip to jail. Rose was nowhere to be found in the front of the apartment.

"Rose, if you don't come out now we're going to have to come get you. I don't think you want that." Fisk walked closer to the doors as Neven stood with Sean, the kids were oblivious to it all.

Rose burst out of a bedroom door as Fisk called her name on last time, her face contorted in furious anger. "You ain't going to take my children!" She had a kitchen knife raised in the air as she charged at the senior officer. Neven pulled on her in a smooth motion and fired two rounds dead center in her chest. As she collapsed he wondered why she thought her children were going to be taken but there was no time to contemplate that or the fact he had killed someone, as gunshots rang out from the next floor in continuation with his. Sean seemed relatively unfazed as the children rushed to their fallen mother.

Fisk looked at Neven as if he had stepped in a huge pile of dog shit and wished he was walking through a different lawn. "Ready for that two percent? Maybe thirty percent these days." Both officers had their weapons out as they rushed out of the apartment and toward the stairs.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Terence Fisk Character Portrait: Neven Metcalf
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The two officers rushed to the stairwell. Fisk called for backup, but there was no way they could sit by as people traded bullets upstairs. Innocent lives were at stake with bullets becoming as numerous as raindrops, with a different type of burn. Fisk was about to run headlong into the stairwell as Neven’s hand gripped his shoulder to halt him. The man turned angrily back at his trainee but had no time to scold him. Having just gone through the academy live fire drills, Neven knew anything could be lurking around the next corner.

He ducked and dropped into a roll into the doorway to the stairs, barreling past the ascending steps. A shotgun blast sounded from the next level, sending wood splinters raining down around Neven. “Yo, those cops are coming!” Oddly he seemed to know they were already there. The thug shouted as he racked another shell, and then keeled over from the bullet Fisk placed into his skull, falling over the railing down to the first floor. The thump of his body hitting the ground floor was rather satisfying. The time was going by at what seemed like lightspeed, actually being in a real gunfight was surreal for Neven. He felt as if he were a character in one of the police novels he devoured on his downtime.

Fisk holstered his sidearm and picked up the thug’s sawn-off shotgun which had declined to follow the man in his trip downstairs, turning and smiling at Neven. “Bet you wish you had your AR with you, huh?” Neven was seeing a different side of the man, it was as if he were more comfortable with himself. The FTO appeared to be a cranky veteran that just did what he had to do to make it by, but he was no stranger to these situations. Fisk had his back against the wall, standing adjacent to the doorways that lead to the next set of apartments. “Hopefully luck is on our favor and most of these bastards killed each other already.” Neven was silent, letting the FTO do all the talk. Fisk was more experienced, plus the rookie wasn’t sure he was capable of speech at the time due to all the adrenaline going through him. A few pot shots came through the doorway at the top of the stairs.

Neven jogged up the stairs and strafed across the doorway to its other side, glancing into the entryway as a hoodlum wearing a bandanna over his mouth raised a pistol toward him. The walls of the hallway were riddled with bullets and half a dozen bodies were strewn out on the ground, pools of blood spreading from their bodies. One of them seemed to be missing half his head; no doubt there was more than one sawn-off shotgun on this floor. Bandanna fired a round at him as he crossed the doorway, cutting through the fabric of his shirt just under the vest, tearing through flesh and tissue above his right hip. He hissed in pain as Fisk took the opportunity to lean into the doorway, propping the shotgun against the wall for support. The sound of the blast was deafening, the scream that followed confirmed a hit.

“Cover me!” Fisk racked a shell back in the chamber and entered the hallway as Neven leaned halfway in the opening. The spread of Fisk’s shell had taken the thug in the groin, thigh, and belly. His bandanna had fallen from his face, revealing that he was little more than a teenager. Disbelief covered his face as he tried desperately to keep his leaking fluids inside his body. A figure holding an AK-47 stepped out into the hallway and Fisk fired at him. The man quickly stepped back inside as the spread tore a large chunk out of the wall. Neven fired two shots into the wall of the room he had just retreated into. Fisk propped himself up against the wall again as he pumped the shotgun. Neven looked back to the bandanna kid and saw he was reaching for the gun he had dropped. He sprinted to join Fisk, kicking the gun out of reach.

“This is the police! Surrender yourselves now and we’ll haul your ass down to jail instead of filling you with lead.” Fisk was answered by gunshots, forcing the two officers to move a back toward the stairs, as their former position became a shooting gallery for machine gun fire.

“Now that wasn’t nice, was it Neven? Little fuckers.” He looked at Neven as if he were studying a specimen in a laboratory. “Are you as good as your range scores?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

Fisk moved back to the section of the wall that seemed to have more than its share of bullet holes compared to the rest, beckoning Neven to come with him. He walked backward to the other side of the hall where the teenager had passed out from blood loss, shock, or a combination of both. Neven realized what he was about to do and wanted to stop him. The older officer picked up as much speed as he could, running from one side of the hall and throwing his body weight into the one filled with holes. The wall partially collapsed, creating a man-sized entry into what appeared to be what had once been multiple apartments, only a few walls had been knocked down to create one large room that made the hallway look like a playground. Tables and furniture were upturned and ripped to pieces, and just as many bodies littered the floor as outside.

A hail of gunfire targeted Fisk as he tripped over a body and fell to the ground, saving him from imminent death as the three remaining gunmen focused on him. The AK-47 guy was near the doorway he had retreated from moments before. Two other men had opened a safe, throwing drugs and cash into a duffel bag they had abandoned upon Fisk’s entrance. One had an Uzi; the other a 9mm. Neven looked over all this as Fisk was still falling over the body. Two shots came from his pistol in quick succession. AK-47 collapsed as his left eye disappeared in a sea of red and the other shot took 9mm in the chest, dropping him.

Uzi ran for the window when he realized he was out of ammo. The window was already shattered by a previous escapee. Neven dropped his pistol and ran after him. The man made hopped out of the window onto the fire escape as Neven reached for him, getting a hold of his gray hoodie and ripping him back through the window. Fisk was up and joined him, kicking the criminal in the side so hard he cracked a few ribs. Fisk had his sidearm out, pointing it at the thug. This confused Neven, they should be throwing cuffs on him and dragging him into the patrol car, not pointing a gun at him.

“What the fuck is going on here Jeremy?” Apparently Fisk knew the man. Sirens sounded from down the street as the cavalry arrived. Surprisingly the gunfire had not stopped, from beyond the window and out to the East shots still sounded. Someone must have escaped the apartment complex and others had pursued. This was going to be the top story on the news no doubt. Jeremy lay on the floor writhing in pain. He was a young Hispanic hoodlum, probably in his mid-twenties but with the maturity of a toddler. A wisp of a mustache sat above his lip.

“What’da ya mean?” He held his ribs in pain. Fisk kicked him again in the same spot, eliciting more pain.

“Is that necessary Fisk?”

“Shut up Neven. Now Jeremy, I know you’re part of Casio’s crew. Yet there you stood with someone obviously wearing Diamondback colors. What the fuck? You know I’m not beyond planting a bullet in your skull right now, I bend things as I need them.” Neven did not know Diamondback colors, but they were a small street group that were pretty much mercenaries for hire. Everyone had heard of them, but they were no one special, only occasionally working for someone higher when they weren't running scams and robbing people. He spared a glance back at AK-47 and noticed he was wearing gray-brown trousers and a brick red jacket, all colors of a Diamondback snake. Neven felt stupid for not having made the observation himself. Fisk’s behavior now was also leaving him dumbfounded.

The hood seemed to believe Fisk would kill him if he did not talk. “Someone paid me bigtime ta tip dem off if Dessa ever came by, had uh group o' Diamondbacks on standby fo' an assault da past week. A mothafuckin hobo hit us first tha, kinda a viglantay of sorts.” This thug talked straight from the street, Neven wondered if Jeremy had stepped foot inside a school past the 6th grade. Fisk smiled at the mention of a vigilante.

“Who hired you?” Neven picked his sidearm up from the floor as Fisk threw out his questions, seemingly not concerned with the vigilante that was mentioned.

“Dunno no names.”

“I need something Jeremy.”

“How 'bout Sean Wilkins.” The mention of the father from the domestic they were just at peaked Neven’s interest and he butted in before Fisk could talk, “What about Sean Wilkins?”

The thug smiled, “Dat weren't nahh domestic, dat wuz all setup. Why kill yo' own beotch when you can git da po-po too, dat beotch has always been madness. He wuz jivin' it up ta her how you all wuz coming ta take her kids, part o' his plan.” Fisk put his sidearm away, “You have to be shitting me.” He wanted information on the shootout, but Jeremy seemed in the clear with his offering.

“Trafficking chil'ns. He wuz havin ta pay child support, had ta git something out o' dem. Wit Rose outta da picture dere’s no one ta stop’em.” Jeremy laughed at the thought of Sean one upping the police, shutting up when Fisk threatened with his boot.

“Neven, get your ass down there pronto and see if Wilkins is still there. Whoever the fuck hired the Diamondbacks must really want Dessa dead badly to attack Casio’s place, especially with police already on scene.” Apparently he knew who Dessa was, Neven would have to ask later.

“Yo, dey seem fine ass intent on killing da Frenchie.” Neven pushed through the other officers entering the hallway with guns drawn, letting them know it was over. He rushed to the floor below where moments before he had been talking with Sean. Officers were on scene with the CSI crew. He approached the ranking officer in the room, “Where is the father? The kids?”

“I don’t know, when we got here the only resident was Ms. Byrnes here.” The officer motioned to Rose Byrnes body, one of the many people whom had their ticket punched by Neven. Wilkins had his kids out there somewhere, there was no telling where they were. Neven wanted to shout until his lungs exploded at the thought of those two children becoming some pervert's sexual obsession or being sold for manual labor in a third world country. If he ever got his hands on Wilkins or whoever sent these thugs to take out this Dessa character, he was not sure how he would handle himself. It scared him that he could quickly see himself falling to Fisk's level.

This job was going to be a bitch.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Terence Fisk Character Portrait: Neven Metcalf
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Neven was getting medical attention in the back of an ambulance with a rather attractive paramedic, enjoying his time flirting with her. The wound on his abdomen was nothing serious, but it was still being treated and bandage. The bullet had gone just a little beyond grazing. Fisk stuck his ugly mug in the rear doorway, smiling. "Hey sugar, can you give me and Officer Metcalf a moment?" The paramedic stepped outside, Fisk closed the doors behind her and made sure no one could see inside.

"Great job in there, other than dropping your fucking gun when the guy went for the window. Shoot him in the kneecap next time."

"He was unarmed and his back was to me."

"I don't care, we aren't wearing monitors, it is all about what you articulate."

"What the hell are we going to do about Wilkins?"

"I put the word out to officers, we have an eye out for him. Make no mention of it to anyone, we're keeping that whole mess under wraps. The last thing our department needs is for the media to get on that story, shooting all the minorities today was more than enough."

"There are kids lives at stake Fisk, the more who know, the faster we can find them. An amber alert should be sent out."

Fisk sighed. "You are going to have to learn that things are not done as you would expect, we have our ways. The way you handled yourself in that apartment complex was great, you show promise. First, you drilled Rose no question when she was coming at me with that knife, that alone shows me you have what it takes. Taking out those thugs? Spectacular." Fisk started prying at his vest and produced a large wad of cash. "Your take." He held the cash out for Neven.

"My take?"

"Don't play stupid, I took a little off the top of what they had in that bag." There was an awkward pause as Neven did not reach for the money.

"Take the money, it will make the boys feel better when I tell them about you." Neven's stomach dropped as he heard this, but he was a little strapped for cash. His parents were wealthy and were always willing to give handouts, which his brother Zach took weekly. Being independent was important to him. The corruption on the force was no secret, and Neven had swore up and down he would not let it touch him. To not take the cash would send another message, creating a target on his back from within the department.

Neven reached out and took the cash, shoving it under his vest and throwing his police shirt back on. "Good, if you had gone the other way, life would have been difficult. Look . . . I understand not wanting to take it. I was like you a long time ago. No doubt some cops are dirty as fuck, but a lot of us just do small things like this to get by. This economy, you know?"

"Yeah." Fisk left him to finish getting dressed, exiting the ambulance. Damon Martin, Captain of the precinct, was talking to one of the reporters nearby. Other news crews, police, and distraught citizens surrounded the complex. Crowd control was looking like a bitch, especially when the EMS workers wheeled more and more bodies out. Fisk slipped into an alleyway nearby where a couple of officers were keeping a low profile. He pulled a cigarette out and reached for his lighter, only to find it gone, probably dropping it when he tripped over the dead body.

"Got a light McTiernan?" Shift Lieutenant McTiernan looked down his glasses at Fisk as he puffed on his own smoke, the man was getting up there in age, but his six-foot-four frame still always left an impression. Officer Cortez leaned against a building wall, letting the conversation play out.

"Did the kid take it?"

"He took it." McTiernan smiled, producing a zippo and lighting Fisk up.

"This is one hell of a mess you and the rookie created. So, you said you like what you saw out of him?"

"Yeah, the field training is far from over, but he's a natural alright. I told you I was thinking of stepping out of FTO duty and hitting the streets with a partner again, this might be the guy. He's a little headstrong and wants to make the world a better place, but I think I can temper that and bring him up to speed."

Cortez laughed, "And here I was thinking you were going to choose me. That Sheehan fella can get a little dull, and he is too damn Irish. Reminds me of a fucking leprechaun! No offense Lt., you being Irish and all." All three officers laughed, Gerard Sheehan was a good friend of theirs, but the bastard did look like a leprechaun.

"Well Cortez, if it wasn't for the uniform, you'd look like a damn Latino pimp, so no offense taken." Lt. McTiernan threw his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out. "Terence, be sure about this decision after the field training period is up. You are one of my most reliable guys, I can't let a wild card ruin what I have in you."

"I understand Lt., I don't think it will be a problem."

"Good, but just remember, I'm the problem solver in these streets. I better go let Martin loose and take over media control. You boys have a good night." Lt. McTiernan left the two officers to shoot the shit as he rejoined the urban chaos.