TheBattlehammer

(Continuing a series of RPG related short fiction, diddly to do with GB)

It’s a dog’s life, as a homicide cop in Detroit. Actually, I say that, never seen a real dog. Sure they’re in the holo-vids, and I understand they were common before the collapse. I’m rambling, but to be honest, I’m putting off making a call. There’s only so many times a day you can tell some mother her son took a wrong turn, bumped into the wrong guy.

Ok, Detroit is a hole, and these precincts are some of the worse. I thought as a cop, I’d make the streets a little safer. But DCPD Inc are such a tight ass corp. Ok, I get a roof over my head, and 3 squares a day (if you count kibble, which sadly I do). But practically everyone on the streets is packing more heat than I am. Armour, yes, ours isn’t too bad. There’s posters all over the station DO NOT ATTEND WITHOUT YOUR TACTICAL blah blah. Every now and again we get a rookie, think they can go out unarmoured. Last about 5 minutes, and it’s getting bad for morale. Well, bad for recruitment, DCPD give a shit about morale. How can you have morale here, when your average joe sees nothing, hears nothing, and will probably pull a piece on you?

The really depressing thing is the punks on the street, they have their gangs, their culture. The corporates, the real ones, they’re in a bubble. They’re protected all the while. And there’s us. Sure your partner will get your back, but DCPD – all they care about is the paperwork.

I suppose that’s a little unfair. I am a company asset, I guess, and there’s been times when you’re hunkered down, fully automatic AP flying, and C-SWAT answer the call. Gotta love C-SWAT, when they’re available. Because they are the baddest boys on the block, and they give a shit about collateral. By the time C-SWAT get in, ain’t no onlookers anyhow, everyone unconnected is hull down somewhere.

And we do occasionally make a bust. Take some sicko off the streets, although they don’t usually come quietly – well, why would you, you know what you’re going to get? Makes it a little sweeter; sorry ma’am, I know it won’t bring Johnny back, but the guy who sold him for parts is in the ground…