Sergeant Jarka breaks the silence once again, a light joke as her cigarette burns nearly to its halfway point. “I was just talking to Officer Aurora.”

She points over towards the tabaxi police woman, the cat-like humanoid form and long ears currently drawn beneath a custom fitted patrol cap. Her blue uniform looser than the standard fit, both to allow for her species’ tail as well as an operational designation; the white band upon her right arm completing the classification of the woman as a clerical element within the group of officers.

“She was the one who treated you first, before the actual doctor and clerics.” The Sergeant specifies through a breath of tobacco smoke. “Question: you see your parents often?”

“Y-yes ma’am…” Jason Ford nods. “I-I-... I- live with them.”

“Well in that case you should thank your dad when you get home.” The woman chuckles to herself as she maneuvers the conversation. “If you were full human, you’d be a whole lot deader than you are right now.”

He attempts to process the words before giving up. “M-ma’am?”

She points to her own chest, an internal organ found within her own biology. “That bullet you caught was an anti-mage round, literally unstoppable by arcane means, and, according to Aurora, it shredded your heart. If you didn’t have that backup orc thing in your chest, you would’ve bled out right there before I could save you.”

Jason Ford just stares at the world in the revelation, the woman continuing. “I will say though: I’ve never seen one of my officers just get up and keep fighting after taking a hit like that.”

“R-r-really?”

“Oh yeah.” Sergeant Jakra chuckles with a hint of nervousness. “You went toe to toe with two gangers while literally dead. And won, I should mention.”

There’s a long pause as she admits it. “I’ll be real with you Officer Ford, I thought the chief was exaggerating about you getting a level five rating right out the Academy, but I guess I was wrong. That was some serious swordplay back there.”

A body cold as he just continues to stare at the street, a barrage of complements unable to breach an erected mental fortress.

The Police Sergeant sighs, reorienting for another attempt. “You’re lucky, Officer Ford.”

“M-m-ma’am?”

“Today you put two suspects into the clinic in critical condition. Today, you cut a young lady’s arm clean off, and paralyzed another poor lad from the waist down.

“But you’re lucky. Do you wanna know why?”

He gives the generic answer from the novellas. “B-b-ecause I’m still a-alive?”

Sergeant Jarka simply laughs at the statement. “No, no, no, no. Being alive at the end of it’s only just a small part. Your two squadmates over there? See them?”

Jason Ford’s gaze falls to the two mismatched forms of the Heavy Response Division, both Officer Underfoot and Ican in the midst of a crime scene reconstruction. Animated illusions at the hands of the police mage, an attempt at tracing back the carnage of a combat encounter augmented by the tiefling’s own memorized battlespace.

A conversion too far away to eavesdrop, instead the raw emotions of sarcasm and seriousness providing context. Underfoot slams his foot on the ground as he insists on his own position, Ican providing a counter-argument that only gets groans from the halfling form.

An allowance, rolled eyes following a moved illusory suspect; like a pawn in a game the adjustment of the red piece’s position is watched by onlookers.

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A faint good enough?! from Underfoot is accepted by the taller officer with a curt nod, the pair returning to one of Precinct Fourteen’s detectives in the completion of a single round of combat.

Sergeant Jarka takes an extended draw from her cigarette, watching as the embers of dried leaves and paper burn in the street lights. Smoke exhaled along with her statement, listing out subordinates in her heart-to-heart. “Today, Officer Alse Ican sunk a power maul into a twenty five year old earth genasi’s neck, killing her almost instantly. Today, Corporal Pippin Underfoot set a 17 year old human kid on fire, who was the person who shot you by the way, who died of a very painful immolation.”

A silence bridging as Jason Ford watches his comrades spring into another argument with the police detective; another turn providing even more controversy.

Jarka finishes her cigarette, crushing the small item in her hand. “You’re lucky because unlike them you don’t have to live with the reality of this City today; the reality that South is a cruel and uncaring woman, that she doesn’t care if you live or die. You’re lucky to go home tonight, eat dinner with mom and dad; and when they ask you how your day went you don’t have to say:

‘I killed someone. I killed someone who was trying to kill me.’”

Jason Ford stares into the red amber eyes of his Sergeant, a question formulated to her. “I-i-is this what its like? T-to b-be here?”

“Basically.” Jarka breathes sharply. “Eventually, at least here in the Arcane Crimes Unit, you’ll one day have to take out your sword and kill.”

She doesn’t let him dwell on the truth, a voice continuing. “But that’s why we’re here: the A.C.U. solves cases. No inter-precinct rivalries, no huge caseload weighing us down. We’re here to keep order in this mess of a world, by any means necessary be it magic or sword.”

Jason Ford exhales a held breath, his mixed potionary drink nearly finished through the thin paper straw.

Sergeant Jarka pauses, reaching into her pocket. A removal of her casebook; a folded document within the leather bindings taken out and given to the young man in an unfounded state. “Here.”

A free hand takes the sheet of printed paper, reading the first line with wide eyes.

SOUTH POLICE DEPARTMENT

REQUEST FOR TRANSFER

Jason Kurash Ford, his printed name and information already pre-filled upon the transfer documents alongside a bright red stamp marked APPROVED.

“W-what…”

“The Arcane Crimes Unit isn’t for everyone.” Sergeant Jarka informs quietly. “Our procedures are unusual, we get into bad scuffles, and we experience the worst South has to offer on a near weekly basis.”

She taps the paper, right upon the approved stamp. “The Chief pulled some favors with Precinct Two, right at the heart of Tideson, before you joined us. There’s a position for a patrol officer there that they’re leaving open. It's yours, if you want it.”

“W-what do you mean m-ma’am?”

Jarka pulls her lips into a smile, a gloved hand rubbing long elvish ears as she gives the ultimatum. “You’re at a crossroads, Officer Ford. Tomorrow, you have a choice: you either walk into Precinct Two’s headquarters and show their Chief those papers, which will guarantee you a nice comfortable patrol route in the nicest part of South with the same pay as you have now. Where you’ll be able to walk around your neighborhood and interact with the same people you’ve always known and loved. Where the worst thing you’ll ever encounter will probably be a bad drunk or some crazy tax evader that you’ll end up having to arrest after a quarter mile foot chase.”

She lets the city wait, an alternative to paradise listed out. “Or you come into our office tomorrow morning. Where we’ll be pursuing perhaps one of the most dangerous drug investigations in South. Where we’ll dig up the most vile, despicable, and dangerous dregs of this city and bring it to justice. Where days just like this one are going to become a near weekly routine for you.”

Sergeant Jarka stands from her position in the world. “You have a choice, Officer Jason Ford: to be comfortable and safe like a bird in a gilded cage, or to make a difference in this city. Are we clear?”

Jason Ford stares at the papers for a moment, looking upward at the senior officer. “Yes ma’am.”

She waves her hands dismissively as she smiles, returning to the active crime scene as she ends the conversation with a final order. “Go home, clean yourself up; you’ve had a long first day after all. Oh, and don’t worry about the paperwork or report; we’ll fill it out ourselves. Got it?”

A quick nod, the woman putting hands into pockets as a chill runs up her spine. Words lost to the whispers of the city, another soul placed among many more as she blends back into the crowd of officers.

Jason Ford watches it all merge together in the blur of South, a mind reaching out into the vast city as he finishes his assigned potionary drink. Of decisions, of choices; of terrifying consequences to a binary answer.

What will you do now?