Setting
“Every time we do one of these busts, there are like, casting requirements. There’s always Poorly Dressed Bad Guy, Tatoooed And Dumb Bad Guy, Weaselly Lookin’ Bad Guy…”
"Dude, they're just a bunch of scared immigrants," McKendry replied as they turned a corner onto Ashton Street. The Police Station lay just head. "Never much liked this part of the job, you know?" he asked. "I didn't join the force to terrorize kids." He grunted.
Jackson arched an eyebrow. “Your problem, McKendry, is that you don’t know how to cut loose. I mean, fuck, don’t you love the gently wafting smell of a bunch of thugs shitting themselves when we blast through a door? Live a little!”
McKendry snorted. "I prefer when the people who are shitting themselves aren't -"
There was a thundering boom followed by a series of audible pops as an electromagnetic pulse swept the city. Lights, automobiles, computers, phones, all failed abruptly.
"Fuck me," McKendry grunted as he slammed on the brakes to avoid an oncoming car that had rolled out onto the street. The passengers in the back were rather abruptly thrown across the floor of the van as other police vehicles coasted to a stop as well. "What the hell was that?" he asked.
Racing around the van with one meaty hand stationed on his firearm, Jackson faced the double doors of the filled vehicle. He held out a hand to the other officers, waving them out of their cars as he tapped his walkie, frowning at the lack of signal. All at once, the city was dark - no office lights, no street lamps. What had once been a thriving, colourful swirl suddenly became an eerie, star-filled void.
“Keep them in the cars,” Jackson called to the other cops, frowning at the sky, “and watch out for overheads. I have a bad feeling about this.”
He looked around at the group that sat around him, some were sketchier than others, and some seemed rather average, but Everett knew that they all probably had some sort of awful story behind them. The nickname "haircut" stuck with him. Haircut. Ugh. He liked his haircut! Guess it didn't suit the officer's fancy. Hmff.
"Fuck me," McKendry growled. "Whatever that is, it can't be good. We need to get these people moved inside," he told Jackson as he made his way around to the back of vehicle to open the door.
“Listen up!” he barked, “All of you motherfuckers are going straight into the building - no funny business unless you want more ugly holes in your misbehaving, vagrant, offworlder asses. Single file, move it.”
Flanked by armed officers, the felons were marched through the station doors.
On the wall high above the room’s occupants, a clock ticked; the only sound other than the faint buzzing of the overhead light that reached the men’s ears. Jackson didn’t say a word, just sized up his mark with dark grey eyes, squinting out from underneath a uniform, turned backwards cap.
The silence stretched for almost ten minutes before he spoke.
“So. On a scale of one to a sack of shit, where would you say you fit in? Ten being the sack of shit, obviously.”
"We're supposed to be questioning him and finding out how he got here," McKendry reminded his somewhat overzealous partner.
"I guarantee I have more class than you," he replies with a distaste that stung like acid in his tone. He didn't like the attitude of this cop, even if the cop maintained an authority Everett would never have. It was just so repelling, the way he spoke and acted. He sat up all the way, sitting roughly higher than the cop that sat across from him. He promptly sighed, and let his head fall back.
He leaned backwards in his chair, adjusting his ever-present baseball cap. "Allow me to adjust your attitude, dickcheese, since you clearly don't know what sort of vagrant you're dealing with, here. You know what we do to orbit hoppers in this building? Specifically, useless orbit hoppers that don't help us get what we want?"
Jackson tapped his fingers on his knees, smiling. "We clip their wings. We send them packing on a one-way shuttle to Cryo, mounted on a bag of ice. There you'll enjoy such services as getting your face beaten in so they can wear your skin as a coat and a temperature so frigid that even the ice king of magic mountain's testicles will turn blue, fall off, and become feed for the more fortunate creatures.
"How's that for class, haircut?"
"My name's Everett," he finally says, giving in. "I'm from Terra, I came through a smuggling ship, and ended up here. It's not good back there, not where I lived." He sighs attempting to lift his arms again, only to be brutally reminded of how trapped he was. "And they're not contacts.." He adds, muttering it mostly to himself.
Everett looks over to the cop in front of him, his gaze switching between the both of them. He narrowed his eyes in a pouting way. "That good enough for ya bad cop?!" His face twisted into a more resentful and bruiting look. The two cops were total good-cop bad-cop, which inspired the nickname for the rude policeman with the snarky attitude.
"Mmmmm, no. No, 'I got here on a smuggling ship' isn't good enough. Which ship? Which port? Who was the captain? How much did they charge you?"
He let the question hang for a moment before leaning closer. "It doesn't do anyone any good to keep this info to yourself, shit stain. I can guaran-fucking-tee that any name you give me is already on a list, and I'm going to be checking all avenues regardless. So either you make my job - and consequently, your sentence - easier, or you make me angry. Either way, someone's getting busted."
"Look, let's just dump him off with Immigrations and let them deal with. It's their problem."
"It works for me, man. Okay, haircut. You're going to sit a while, stay frosty, while we get you all sorted out in terms of processing and entry. We hope you enjoy your flight to Cryo, and please don't come back."
The cop stood, tipped his ballcap to the seated man, and left the room.
He was scared, no matter how tough he... well... At least tried to be when he was around, he wasn't quite sure how he came off entirely.
He began thinking about how he had gotten caught, and how he wanted his guitar. It only made him frown more.
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