Locked doors slammed open with muscular strength, Officer Ican almost throwing slabs of treated wood off their hinges as the City of South reenters the sealed building.
From skies above sheets of rain fall into gutters and storm drains, the humidity suddenly washing over the four officers as they maneuver back into the world with weapons raised.
A vanguard formation from past training reinforced to protect a single soul, three police officers creating a spear tip of flesh and armor as they walk back to back against Jason Ford and the suspect in his possession.
Eyes wild as gazes peirce through, a readiness for combat prepared in realization of nonexistent suspects.
Shadowed forms of citizenry take notice of the group, glances beneath umbrellas from working class individuals taking stock in the strangeness of a military-styled exercise from officers of order.
A horse drawn carriage bucking with cargo clops past them, a driver maneuvering past the five forms now standing at the center of the roadway.
“HEY GET OFF THE STREET YOU…” His harsh voice suddenly stops, a mind realizing the actualized target of police officers. A focus suddenly shifted to operating the carriage itself, officers staring as the vehicle moves away with an increased speed.
Sergeant Jarka takes a deep breath, a gaze moving itself across the city as she realizes the implications. No hostiles, no criminals, no actions. “Ok… everyone clear?”
“W-what is g-going on?!” The suspect yells out as acidic rain falls onto his face.
“Clear!” Underfoot announces.
“Clear.” Ican reports quietly.
“C-clear.” Ford confirms.
A light breath taken, relaxation from tension providing a moment of laughter from the police mage. “Oh gods, I totally thought there was an ambush outside.”
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“Great counter breach everyone.” Sergeant Jarka comments with hidden pride, turning to the young rookie. “And thanks for the heads up.”
Jason Ford nearly shrinks back at the words. “S-s-sorry.”
“Oh don’t be.” Jarka chuckles, slapping him on the back with an armored hand. “You should always take ‘bad feelings’ seriously. Even if it ends up as a false alarm, there’s too many times where we ignored it and ended up biting us back.”
He shrinks back even further, an unfounded accusation somehow appearing within his mind in the first mistake on his first day on the job.
“Yeah seriously kid.” Officer Underfoot follows up in the consoling. “The ‘bad feeling’ we get when we’re out here; that can be very, very telling.”
A usually sarcastic personality attempting seriousness fails on the rookie, an averted gaze telling more than the lack of response.
Officer Ican quietly adds her own opinion as she stares into the blue eyes of humanity. “It’s fine.”
Jason Ford just stands in the rain, the flow of water across a patrol cloak washing away the pit of guilt arriving within his lower gut. A failure on his first assignment, an unrecoverable mistake now hung above his head for the eternity of his employment. Forever branded, forever living in…
Oh, don’t dismiss me that easily.
“DOWN NOW!” Sergeant Jarka’s screamed orders sends bodies to the ground immediately, the volume drawn from an insane voice box.
Forms duck as crossbow bolts rip past their collective heads, the sound of running bodies upon cobblestone and hostile expletives reaching the ears of the Heavy Response Division.
They spot them; closing in from both sides of the street.
A mismatch of civilian armor upon their forms from either commissioned back alley blacksmiths or bought from fenced stolen goods, from the simple plates of treated leather to the gleam of half-plate.
Within hands the weapons of criminality in the city of South; easily concealable short swords and daggers mixed with light crossbows.
Races unseen, an organized gang not defined by its component species but instead the violence of their operation. From the light streaming through the clouds above, the sheen of red arm bands designates the group allegiance; a single body forged through fraternity and the promise of power and gold through criminal minds.
Their suspect moans in realization of his own fate. “O-ooooohhhhh they’re here! I’m dead I’m dead, I’m actually going to die!”
One ganger points their sword at the group of police officers in front of them, a screeched order given to underlings. “KILL THEM!”
“Great.” Sergeant Luria Jarka simply states her current thought, a single sentence defining the entire life of their party. “It’s one of those fucking days.”