ravens
22:32 10/06/2023
22 (me): @24 (hiroshi) @27 (emma) i need you two
at my apartment now
me and isabella got to shoot up a warehouse
and i dont wanna leave this protectee alone
24: ok
27: are we the babysitters now
22: yes be thankful im giving you stuff to do
speaking of stuff did you find anything
27: no but we heard rumours of a shooting earlier today
22: my bad
24: what
27: im not even surprised anymore
“Are we ready?” I ask Isabella. We’ve been holed up in our apartment for a few hours, trying to revise for the raid. We did get the bodycams and CS (15 cans of it just to be safe), so there’s that done. Jay’s been better. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hate me for shooting his brother (probably because he was a dick and tried killing me), but he’s been quieter than usual. I hope he’ll be fine.
“Mostly. The BBC said they’d air us, right?” She asks back. I did talk to a BBC representative and they were alright with it, albeit they’d censor stuff. I also contacted “Luton Today” and they said they’d make it their headline.
“Mhm. We also have r/CombatFootage to post on straight after.”
“Alright, publicity sorted. We know all the shit, right?”
“Yeah, ladder from the adjoining building, smash the glass, gas it, rappel and flash, then clear. Basically.” I reply. Easy enough, I hope.
Apart from letting Emma and Hiroshi get here, we’re sorted. I can only pray it goes as smoothly as planned.
It never really sinks in for me. Every single time we go out, every time we go raiding or get shot at, we really could just die. Death was never on my mind much, and the fact that I could be dead within 10 minutes just isn’t being comprehended.
I know it.
I can’t accept it.
I’ve seen death. I’ve caused it. Why does it not just sink in?
Maybe god hates me personally. But then why does this god let me live? Just to see me kill? To see me maim and injure?
Or maybe god loves me. Letting me live through stupid odds. Letting me somehow push through, and be better than the rest. I can still remember that assault course on the first day we were training. My lead on everyone else was insane, and even still, only Ethan can rival my strength, and Hiroshi my endurance. This god, if he even really is real, must have something for, or against me. Letting me above everyone else, a way to show a gift? Or a way to shove me to the front of the line, and get me killed first?
“Hiiiiii guuuuuys!” Yells Emma, kicking open my apartment door. I swear I locked it…
“Hello, Amaya. Isabella,” Hiroshi says, before turning to Jay, who is now looking at me in confusion. “Jay?”
“Y-yeah?” Jay sputters.
“I’ve heard a lot of you,” Hiroshi smiles. “I’ll for sure be hearing more. From your own mouth.”
“Don’t scare him!” Emma complains, punching Hiroshi’s arm. When the fuck did Emma get so confident? “I’m so sorry about him, he’s a weirdo…” She then proceeds to throw herself onto the bed next to Jay, spreading her arms out.
“He’s not scared. Riiight?” Hiroshi asks, making direct eye contact with Jay, while unholstering his pistol and placing it on the desk next to the bed. Maybe don’t pull out a weapon when comforting someone?
“Ok, fucking hell. You two, don’t kill him.” I tell them. He already looks petrified from Emma poking him. “Food is in the cabinets and fridge, we’re on the regular radio too. Don’t contact us though.” We’re going.”
Me and Isabella don our gas masks, before grabbing our rifles and walking out.
I will admit, walking through the apartment complex in full counter-terror gear (the marked uniform came with a patch reading ctsfo on the back), with grenades hanging off our vests, isn’t the greatest way to stay lowkey. But, we both agreed it’d be funny, so here we are.
Lo and behold, after going down the stairs, we get some extremely concerned looks from the residents in the lobby. Hell, there’s a kid hiding behind his mother, who also looks mildly scared, to say the least.
I stop for a second before rummaging through my pocket, to find a starburst that I forgot about.
“Here you go.” I try and say gruffly, trying not to immediately give away the fact I’m just a random kid.
He trembles for a moment, before quickly snatching it out my hand, and then retreating behind his mother again.
Rude.
As I start walking again, his mother quickly signs a thank you, and immediately turns to her child.
Maybe exposing children to positive experiences with the police early will stop them from hating us later on. Who knows, maybe this kid will sign up when he’s 18 because of me? Wishful thinking, I know.
Either way, I’m lagging behind. I can already see Isabella idling the car up front…
“Control, this is Raven-Trojan-22. In position for raid. Confirm authorisation, out.”
It’s a dark night, not helped by the fact the moon is being blocked by the massive fucking warehouse we’re about to scale. There’s a few pedestrians scattered here and there. Good, the more people record us (for once we actually want that), the better.
“Raven-22 this is Lima, Tango Hood. Authorised. Godspeed, out.”
Time to move it. I can feel the pressure rising.
I nod to Isabella, before jumping out the car, and starting the ascent up the ladder.
“Bodycam on?” I ask her.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Another nod.
Perfect.
Alright, smash, gas, flash, clear. That’s it. Simple as that. With this being the only known warehouse within Bedfordshire, taking this out should put a dent in their operations.
After climbing the ladder, me and Isabella crouch down near the skylights…
The warehouse is completely lit up, though we can’t see anyone. Pallets upon pallets of boxes lay on shelves, some partially opened. Used cigarette butts litter the ground, as well as discarded vinyl gloves. Filthy fuckers.
“Ready?” I ask Isabella, whispering over the PRR.
“No.”
“Good. Smash and gas.”
The glass breaks easily after a well placed hit from our rifles, and we start tossing down the CS. These pins are harder to pull out than you’d think. Canister after canister, tumbling into the warehouse, leaving a trail of its noxious fumes behind it.
“Chimney.” I command over the radio, while affixing our rappel lines. Easier than you’d think, just smashing 2 hooks in place and attaching our ropes to them.
You can hear frantic shouting and coughing from the warehouse below.
Good.
“Remember to cover your eyes.” I tell Isabella, holding onto the rope for dear life. No harness or nothing, we just get told to hold on and deal with it…
Flash and clear. Then I can go home.
Or, the poor excuse of a home called my apartment.
Kick off the skylight. Throw in a stun grenade.
The bang pierces through our ear defenders.
Meaning it’s piercing their skulls, too.
We quickly drop down, rifles raised. There’s too much gas in the air to see far.
“Shoot on sight.” I say to Isabella. No risks.
We keep walking through the warehouse, occasionally finding the unconscious bodies of what I can only assume to be the syndicate members on the floor. Maybe we tossed in too much CS.
“Hassan! Hassan!” A voice cries out, coughing violently. Giving away your position, now? “They’re here!”
A deafening bang. Gunshot? Missed us.
We keep moving.
There’s a silhouette ahead.
A single shot. It crumples, letting loose a groan of pain.
This is going surprisingly smoothly. Maybe we gassed the place up too much.
Looking up, everyone on the weird metal second floor is also unconscious, with weapons scattered on the floor.
“Come out, fuckers.” Another voice calls out.
How are there still men standing?
More bangs. Shattering glass behind us.
Dive.
“Fuck. See him?” I ask over the PRR.
“Right of arc.” Isabella replies.
Peek up. There’s someone in a full hazmat suit, holding what seems to be a rifle.
Heavy weaponry indeed.
We return fire onto him, letting the volley of rounds pierce through him.
He stays standing.
“What the fuck?” I yell over the PRR. No one just fucking takes that many rounds of 5.56 and stays standing. He’s still fucking shooting too, rounds whizzing over us.
“Get his head.” Isabella replies.
“Too risky.”
Fuck.
I peek up again, to see him frantically trying to cock his rifle.
Jam?
Good.
I rush out from what little cover we had, and tackle the guy straight onto the floor. Felt like I ran into a fucking wall.
He drops.
I raise my rifle and let loose more rounds into his body, listening to his screams.
No risks.
Now my uniform is all bloody.
“Oi, Aya. Look at this.” Isabella says to me, pointing over to the right.
It’s almost impressive. They’ve got the most movie looking production line fucking possible. Beakers, tubes, a massive pot under the chimney, money scattered across tables.
It only really takes a single look at the sheer number of discarded needles on the floor surrounding to see what’s being made.
Heroin.
Clearly the guy in the hazmat suit had some, too, with his fucking inhuman resilience.
The CS is starting to settle, and there’s no one left standing in sight. I can count atleast 12 bodies. Blood pooling around some. Blood painting their clothes.
“All stations, this is Raven-Trojan-22. Code 0. Chaul end warehouse. 12 casualties. Out.”
That’s all of Luton’s policing and ambulance resources used up tonight.
“What now?” Isabella asks, kicking the rifle from the hazmat guy around.
“We wait for everyone else to get here.”
Taking a closer look at one of the pallets, it’s insane. Bricks upon bricks of what looks like cocaine. This is literal millions worth of drugs, in a single fucking box.
Maybe we could’ve made more money working with the syndicate instead.
###
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell.
Walking back into the apartment, tired, and the first fucking thing I see is Emma standing behind Jay, who’s fucking dressed in a skirt and polo shirt?
“Look at him Aya!” Emma exclaims, gesturing to Jay. “He’s so cute now!”
“Help…” Jay hoarsely whispers.
Hiroshi is just sat on my bed, using his phone.
God.
“Emma. What the fuck.” Isabella asks.
“The fuck was that I thought he’d look nice in Aya’s skirt, so I forced it on him,” Emma responds, matter of factly. “And I was right! If only I brought my makeup palettes.”
I’m too tired to deal with this. It kinda fits him, anyways.
I shove my rifle onto the desk, and strip off my vest. Feels like heaven dropping those heavy ass plates off.
“Aya, check the reddit post.” Isabella tells me.
“We uploaded it 10 minutes ago.”
“Doesn’t matter. Check.”
We managed to upload our footage to reddit immediately, and the news agencies are editing it first. Probably censorship stuff…
(r/CombatFootage)
Leaked bodycam footage showing british police officers raiding a drug warehouse (VIDEO)
(202406110132.mp4)
Comments:
u/capybararara: american officers - turning their bodycam off. british officers - “Bodycam on?” biggest difference in training i’ve ever seen
u/pipboy282: i think people dont get hte fact that even though most british officers dont carry guns, the ones that do are INSANELY good
-> u/beelzebublover292: hell yeah. like, they fucking barged a guy twice their size down and shot him. and there was only 2 of them against a whole warehouse. and theyre female officers.
u/calm_sprinter_850: Those guys stood no fucking chance. These CTSFO officers are cracked.
-> u/22767814687: bro they literally started cracking jokes with the paramedics at the end its wild
---> u/trianglelover: just a bit o banta yeah
“It’s all praise.” I tell her. I mean, I’m flattered.
“Mmm.”
“Alright, it’s 1am. Emma, Hiroshi, get outta here. I’m tired and I want to sleep. You too, ‘bella.” I tell them all.
“Awww, can I take Jay with me?” Emma asks, pouting at me.
“No. Nononononono.” Jay moans, shaking his head while looking down in shame.
“Maybe next time. Go get changed, Jay.” I respond.
He quickly rushes into the bathroom, holding the hem of the skirt while doing so. Cute.
“Alright, see you later, Amaya.” Hiroshi says, walking out with Emma and Isabella.
About time I got some peace.
I throw myself back onto my bed. Today was fucking hectic.
I’ve killed atleast 3 people today. But that’s not that important.
We’ve taken down a massive target. The scientific services estimated £150 million of equipment, drugs and weapons in that warehouse. That’ll make a real hole in their operations.
Can’t believe I’m still alive. That hazmat guy. That’s the second time a single wrong move would’ve killed me.
I still can’t comprehend the gravity of what I do. What’s done to me.
Is that why REMSC chooses kids? The inability to grasp what they’re doing? I’m sure regular CTSFO officers could’ve done what we did.
Maybe that is why. Maybe we’re being used.
Maybe joining this was a risk I shouldn’t have taken.