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[~22nd May 2001~]
[~LAPD. Mid-Wilshire Station~]
Los Angeles.
The city of Angels.
Oh how wrong they are. This city is a cesspool for every fucking sin known to mankind.
Hollywood had its claws deep into people with aspiring dreams, most of the time turning them into tweakers, hobos or sex pets.
That's what naivety coupled with ambition does to the people of this city.
Not to mention the evasive distribution of drugs, arms and artifacts from black markets. Gangs had their territories strictly marked and gun violence was a daily occurrence.
I can't wait to start the day.
“-There would be absolutely no special treatment.” Captain Nicole read through the pages while I slurped in the chocolate shake.
Her eyes shooting up for a moment before she continued.
“And during the shift, you will follow every command of the officers.” She mentioned seriously with a frustrated gasp of air escaping her lips, she tried to hide her displeasement while I fidgeted around the now empty cup.
“Do you understand?”
I narrowed my eyes judgingly and threw the cup back in the air, her eyes followed them as they fell precisely on the dumpster close to the door.
“I know how things work, Captain.” I replied sternly, an expression that may come out as weird from a 14 year old but I didn't bother.
My eyes roaming around the room before they gazed over the glass revealing the gallery of a busy day of Police personnel.
Everyone seemed way too busy, no one spending a moment more on a spot than necessary.
“I must report every detail I find to the Head of investigation, I must not touch anything I find at the crime scene, I shouldn't disturb or stop the officers from doing their duty.” I listed out as a sigh escaped my lips at the end.
The captain let out a tired sigh as she closed the file and gave me a look of concern and worry.
“Robert, you would be exposed to direct visual trauma and that is not something we can help you with, do you really want to do this?” She asked.
I gave her a sad smile and slowly nodded.
Just as a silence began to settle, someone walked in, his footsteps were heavy but not shallow, middle aged, his erythemic controlled slow breaths only proved it further.
His legs hit the bin and he stumbled forward slightly and just before he was about to fall, he regained his balance.
“Can I help you?” Nichole asked, glancing towards the arrival.
“Officer John Nolan reporting for duty?” He replied unsure of himself, his eyes fidgeting back to the galley, the uniform in his hand fluttering as he did.
I smirked, turning around, I saw a white man, middle aged with slicked black hair and a check shirt, looking like a fish in a desert, very out of place.
“Did you get punked, Officer Nolan?” I asked with a chuckle. His eyes narrowed down on me and they showed a tinge of recognition.
“No, ma’am, I-.” He tried to explain to Nichole but she immediately cut him.
