Sergeant Thompson's voice was barely audible over the rain and the unruly crowd, yet he continued to scream commands.

We were under siege, with objects hurled at us by the angry mob, their hatred for the police palpable.

A few more agonizing minutes passed until the additional units provided an update: they were only 10 minutes out.

Officer Stevens voiced the question that must have been on every cop's mind: "Why us?" His voice cracked with emotion as he continued, "We're just here to do our job. Nothing we've done as police officers warrants this. We don't deserve this, not at all." His frustration boiled over, evident in the anger that seeped into his voice.

Amidst the chaos, I spoke with another officer who was attending to the individuals we were originally called to assist.

The situation involved three people: Sarah, the caller and witness; Tyrone, the boyfriend; and Sasha, the girlfriend.

"Hey," I said to the officer, my tone hopeful, expecting good news. "Can you give me an overview of the situation with these three?"

"Yea," she said, her voice carrying a hopeful and confident tone. "Certainly," she continued, her demeanor unchanged.

"Neighbors called the police after hearing a loud commotion coming from the house next door. When we arrived, we found Sasha and Tyrone in the midst of a heated argument. Sasha was screaming at Tyrone, accusing him of cheating on her, while Tyrone was yelling back, denying the accusations. Things turned physical when Tyrone grabbed Sasha's arm to stop her from leaving the room. Concerned for Sasha's safety, the neighbors called the police. When we arrived, we found Sasha visibly upset and with a bruise on her arm."

"Okay," I said, but before I could finish my sentence, the sound of shattering glass filled the air. The large, agitated crowd of around 25-30 people began hurling empty bottles of alcohol, one of which came dangerously close to hitting my head.

Officer Stevens sprang into action, seeing the imminent danger. He swiftly drew his firearm and issued a final warning to the crowd, his voice commanding attention, "Back up, or you will be taken into custody!"

As the chaos escalated, I heard the sound of our backup units arriving, their sirens cutting through the roars of the crowd and the heavy rain.

Upon seeing the additional police presence, the crowd began to disperse. It was clear that a group of around 25 people wouldn't stand a chance against multiple police officers.

I quickly called over the radio to dispatch, urgently asking for the whereabouts of the EMS team. We had a police officer who had been assaulted, and though they had received first aid, they still needed to be checked by EMS.

"Officer Stevens!" I yelled over the noise, trying to get his attention. "Get over here and put this guy we have in cuffs into the back of your patrol vehicle. We need to get him ready to take down to the station so we can press charges."

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As I directed Officer Stevens, the rest of our team took action. While some officers handled the suspect we had in custody for assaulting a police officer, others placed Tyrone under arrest after further questioning him, along with the witness and the girlfriend. Tyrone was loaded into the back of another police vehicle, along with the other suspect, as we prepared to transport them to the station.

Officer Stevens seemed more agitated than usual, and that worried me. He's typically super calm under pressure, I thought to myself.

Finally, EMS arrived on the scene, providing more first aid to our injured officer.

"This place stinks of piss," Officer Stevens muttered to another officer as they surveyed the scene, once filled with a loud and aggravated crowd. "The council needs to come roll these dogs out of here."

Once the situation was under control, with both suspects arrested and secured in the back of patrol vehicles, our fellow officer completed their check-up with EMS. With everything in order, I radioed dispatch:

"Dispatch. Show us Code 4. Situation under control. All units are en route back to the police station for paperwork and to charge the suspects," I said with a sigh of relief.

As we drove back to the police station, the gloomy and dark weather persisted. More things caught my attention. The neighborhood we were in was in a state of utter disrepair—potholes littered the streets, buildings were run-down, and it seemed like half of them had been burned down.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered to myself, "where is the council? Are they going to step in and do something?"

I never imagined finding such a neighborhood in the Brisbane area. I guess I was wrong.

Arriving back at the police station and parking up, I heard officers screaming at Tyrone, the suspect already in cuffs, to hurry the hell up and get out of the car.

Tyrone seemed reluctant to leave the vehicle and go into a cell, so he started resisting. Officers from the original scene rushed over to assist, kneeing him and punching him as they dragged him out of the car, yelling, "Stop resisting! Stop resisting, you idiot!"

My face dropped in shock as I witnessed the scene. These were the same police officers I had always seen as cool, calm, and collected. Seeing them treat a suspect like this was surprising. But then again, I thought to myself, Maybe that's why you shouldn't resist. Still, I couldn't shake off the doubt about whether their treatment of the cuffed suspect was right.

The other suspect we had in cuffs, the one who attacked the officer, seemed to have learned from Tyrone's experience. He stepped out of the vehicle and walked himself to the cell, escorted by other officers already at the station.

"Holy hell," I muttered to myself as I felt the tension in the police station, almost tangible as I walked into the room that held all the cells and suspects.

Inside, it was just me, Officer Stevens, and another officer overseeing the suspects in the cells.

Officer Stevens, usually calm and collected, looked visibly tense. He was a by-the-book kind of cop, but the events of the night seemed to have shaken him. He stood by the cell, trying to maintain his composure.

The other officer, on the other hand, had a tougher exterior. He was more gruff and less patient, and it showed as he dealt with the rowdy suspects. He wasn't afraid to raise his voice to maintain order.

Both Officer Stevens and the other officer were being yelled at by Tyrone from behind bars. It turned out that Officer Stevens and the cell overseer, so to speak, had dragged him on the ground with his hands still cuffed. Tyrone's body was dragged along the ground with his hands behind his back, lifted up and grabbed by both officers' hands, and then he was dragged into a cell.

I didn’t spend long in that cell room; I was only there to submit the evidence I grabbed at the scene. I couldn't help but feel for the suspects who ended up in those cells. The place reeked of piss and shit, and the whole setup felt outdated by almost a damn decade.

Leaving the room after saying goodbye to the officers, I closed the door behind me. The familiar sound of our batons being released caught my attention. These batons were usually kept compact, but when needed, they extended almost a full forearm's length. I couldn't help but remember how much those things hurt like a motherfucker when you got hit with one. Back in the academy, we used to joke around and lightly hit each other with those batons, but after one hit, we quickly learned our lesson. They hurt.

As I walked away, I couldn't shake off the tense atmosphere I had left behind in the cell room. The tension between Officer Stevens, the other officer, and Tyrone was palpable. Both officers looked visibly angry, their faces etched with frustration as Tyrone continued to yell from behind bars.

I wondered why they had taken out their batons, but I supposed it wasn't something for me to worry about.