WilliamDArand
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Swing Shift (CH1)
🕑 Added 2018-12-06 17:11:59 +0000 UTC -Paranormal Urban Fantasy. An Arand Novel-
Cold Coffee
Groaning, Gus rubbed at his eyes. No matter how much he ground his fingers in though, it wouldnât change the view.
Sighing, he leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling above him.
The view there wasnât much better honestly. Unless you liked the stucco perfect squares you found in office buildings.
Getting to his feet Gus went over to the coffee machine and wrapped it with a knuckle. The glass was cold through and through.
Which means that damn coffee is like ice.
Muttering under his breath Gus fished his mug out of the sink next to him, filled it with some of that black nastiness, and put it in the microwave.
Flicking the popcorn button Gus sighed and stared blankly into the appliance.
Rotating slowly the âPancakes!â porcelain cup was his whole world.
When the timer ended, he found himself staring back at him in the darkened glass.
His reddish-brown hair reflected oddly in the poor reflection. Reaching up with one hand he fingered the two inches of length. Letting go he ran a hand over his face, staring into his dark-brown eyes.
Looking pretty tired there, bud.
Opening the micro-wave Gus grabbed his cup and went back to his desk. Sitting down he was treated to the lovely login screen that loved to immediately pop up after a single minute of inattention.
Setting the cup down to one side, Gus immediately typed in his credentials.
With a chime, the screen flashed back to the home-screen for the Paranormal Investigations Department.
Gus smirked as he opened the file he was filling in with information from the hard-copy report.
Not quite like it is in the stories.
Kinda hard to keep all that shit under wraps with cameras on every corner, and in every personâs hand.
Then again, I suppose that makes it more surprising that the majority of everyone out there doesnât know.
Filling in the box for ânumber of citizens awareâ with a single digit, Gus shook his head.
Or is it people donât want to know. They see something, then write it off, or explain it away themselves.
Finalizing the report with a tap of the enter key, Gus leaned back in his chair and looked around.
He was alone of course. There was never anyone around during his shift. Technically it was the swing shift for the department. What was normally called graveyard in other places.
Except it was the middle of the day.
Glancing at the clock, Gus saw it was about noon.
âFuck it, lunch it is,â he grumbled, getting to his feet. Opening the drawer to his desk, Gus pulled out his sig and the magazine for it.
It wasnât a personal favorite of his, but it was department issue. Department issued, modified, and made to handle the various ammunition they used.
With a fluid motion, Gus had the weapon loaded, and chambered a round. Flipping the safety on, he slid it into his shoulder holster, then went to get his coat.
***
Sitting on a bench outside the Rit Memorial Hospital, Gus was trying to enjoy his lunch break.
Thankfully the entry to the emergency room and ambulance entry was nearby, but not directly in front of him.
It made eating easy, as well as keeping him well away from prying eyes.
Feeding off the fear of others was awkward when they were watching. Quite doable, but uncomfortable.
Taking in a deep inhalation as the fear of the emergency room pulsed brightly as someone was wheeled through the doors. It filled him, gave him strength, and made him feel infinitely better.
Being a Boogieman wasnât all it was cracked up to be. But at least the meal requirements were significantly easier to come by.
I mean really. All things considered, it could be worse.
I donât even have to bother anyone to eat.
Hospitals, dentist offices, and normal police departments were great places to eat.
The greater the fear, the intensity of it, the quicker Gus fed. The better he fed.
Getting to his feet, he felt quite a bit better.
Full and satiated.
If things went well he wouldnât have to feed again for several days. Even though it was easy, and he didnât actually cause anyone distress in his feeding, it still felt weird.
Hi, Iâm Gus, the Boogieman. I sup on your fear and worst thoughts. Donât worry, itâs harmless, just⊠really fucking ooky-spooky, yeah?
Shaking his head, Gus strolled toward the front of the hospital without much of a care of a worry. Being part of an almost extinct species wasnât particularly fun.
Though it did make hiding easy. Especially with how easy it was for a Boogieman to live as a human would. Gusâs life was a fairly easy life in the world of paranormals.
Stepping out into the sidewalk, he was almost run over by a woman in a blazer and slacks. She had dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and a slightly brown skin tone.
She was also half a foot shorter than he was at five-foot six, but she looked feisty. Feisty and angry.
There was also an undercurrent of fear in her.
Her left hand hand lashed out and grabbed Gusâs right wrist, locking it to his side.
âWhy the hell do you have a gun?â she growled, her other hand reaching for his side arm.
Gusâs first response was to floor her to the ground. Floor her and stomp her head flat against the curb.
Thankfully heâd learned to curb those instincts since returning to civilian life. He wasnât running around in the desert with a rifle anymore.
Instead, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, holding her in the same way she was him.
âBecause Iâm a cop,â Gus said in a low voice. âNow how about you tell me who you are, before I decide I want to take you in for assaulting a police officer.â
The woman glared up at him, looking annoyed and angry at being stopped in her tracks.
âIâm a detective. Out of precinct forty-two,â she said in a hiss, trying to jerk her hand out of his grasp.
Snorting, Gus let go of her, then gave his right hand a wriggle.
âBit young to be a detective, eh?â Gus asked. He wasnât in the mood to be polite. His question wasnât purely a jab either though. She looked as if she were just old enough to have barely graduated the academy.
Which meant she was either a rising star in her precinct. Or something much worse.
Glaring up at him, the woman seemed to be considering her options.
âWhat, you angry that you failed the test? Didnât have enough support?â she growled. âDonât blame me for your own miss-steps. I earned mine through the normal channels, thank you.â
Releasing his hand, she gave him a once over.
âAnd what exa-â
There was a soft crackle on Gusâs portable radio. Being part of the PID he always carried one with him.
âCode eight,â said a calm voice without Gusâs prompting. The hair on his neck rose up, and he felt his skin go cold. âCat-one disturbance and E-break in public. Officer needs assistance. Rawlin High School.â
Turning away from the detective, Gus set off at a fast run for his car. Pulling the radio off his belt he held it up to his mouth.
âReceived code eight. This is Hellström, en route,â Gus said.
Code eight was an iron-clad rule in the PID. If you heard it and didnât have a collar, you went.
Getting into the driverâs seat Gus turned to the display screen and tapped in Rawlin High School while pulling his seat belt over his shoulder.
Beeping, the display populated the fastest route assuming no traffic.
Iâm only two minutes out. Thatâll make me practically the first backup unit.
Category one means I need my rifle.
The passenger door opened and the detective got in. Gus briefly considered arguing with her, but realized there was no point.
He needed to go. Now.
Someone from the federal office would wipe her mind of the incident by tomorrow anyways.
Toggling the emergency lights and siren on, Gus pulled out of the parking lot at full speed.
âSo⊠whatâs a cat-one E-break?â asked the detective.
Gus glanced over at the detective, then looked back to the road ahead as he slipped passed a stop sign.
âIf you stop here and now, you wonât get your memories wiped. You wonât get a red rubber stamp next to your name in the personnel files,â Gus said. âGoing any further will get you a whole laundry list of things thatâll fuck up your life.â
âMy memories wiped?â asked the detective, sounding confused and⊠unfortunately⊠interested.
âYeah,â Gus said, sliding through an intersection after making sure everyone was respecting the emergency lights. âWiped. They usually do a good job of only taking what they need to. But that isnât a guarantee. They also tend to peek around to see if youâve been up to anything you shouldnât have.â
There was a brief silence in his car.
âCat-one and e-break?â she prompted.
âRight, whatever. Category one disturbance, enchantment break,â Gus said pulling the wheel sharply to the left through another intersection.
Should be up ahead on the left.
Killing the siren and lights, Gus weaved his way through traffic, looking more like a crazy person rather than a cop.
âThe list of things that could mean is kinda short. Troll, ogre, warlock with a broken contract, something like that,â Gus said looking to his left.
Then he saw it. Or what he assumed it was. There was a mass of teenagers all standing outside of a large set of buildings.
âQuestion timeâs over,â he said.
Pulling into a side street that ran parallel next to the school he drove down as quickly as he dared. The wall was replaced with a chain link fence. He could see up ahead where it opened, but it was locked shut with a padlock.
Wedging the corner of his car against the point that it opened, Gus gassed the engine once.
There was a strange pinging noise, and then the locking mechanism sheared off from the gate. Pulling the car back several feet, Gus popped the trunk, turned off the car, and got out.
Grabbing his SCAR-H he grabbed several magazines as well.
âWhat the hell is that?â the detective asked.
âDepartment issued cat-one rifle. Iâm personally not a fan of it, but they won the contract so⊠here we are,â Gus muttered, loading the weapon with a mag. With a negligent pull of his fingers, he racked the slide. âGrab the shotgun, fill your pockets with shells. Need to go.â
âThis is insane,â said the detective.
âNot really. Itâs definitely a bit abnormal I guess, but itâs not the first cat-one this month,â Gus pulled off his jacket and flicked it into the trunk. Glancing at the detective who was stuffing her jacket pockets with shells. âClose the trunk when youâre done.â
âThis is Hellström, moving to scene. Last known position of cat-one?â he asked into his radio.
âCode eight is main building agent. Proceed with caution. Reported as Troll,â came back the dispatcher.
Gus pulled the rifle up into his shoulder and held the weapon.
It felt right.
He felt right. Holding a rifle, adrenaline pumping in his veins, heading into danger.
Not in the sandbox anymore, idiot.
Moving at a jog Gus was heading toward the main building of the school. It was a large three story building that looked like a giant rectangle made of bricks and windows.
âYour name is Hellström?â asked the detective, moving along beside him.
âYeah. I go by Gus. You?â he asked.
âVanessa,â said the detective.
âFine, Vanessa,â Gus said reaching the door. Flinging it open he was momentarily stuck when Vanessa rushed in first, the shotgun fetched up in her shoulder.
âItâs a Troll,â Gus said, following her in. âYou can expect it to be big, green and very-â
There was a roar from down the hall. It was followed a wall literally being knocked down. Stepping over the rubble was a massive monstrosity of a creature. Itâs head was bumping the ceiling and it was partially hunched over. Itâs shoulders practically went from wall to wall.
It looked like a moving green wall.
âLoud,â Gus finished. Lifting his rifle he pointed it at the Troll, slipping his finger up against the trigger.
âSir,â Gus called out, getting the Trollâs attention. Trolls always responded best to respect. âPlease put your hands up, and donât move. A-â
Roaring at the top of its lungs, the Troll started moving forward toward the two police officers.
There was no fear in the Troll. None at all.
After tapping into his other inherited ability, telepathy, Gus knew where this was going. There wasnât a single rational thought in any way shape or form, in the Trollâs head. Just rage.
Unrestrained, animistic, rage.
Gus waited as long as he could, hoping the man would snap out of his berserker rush. Except it didnât happen.
Gus realized that the Troll wasnât stopping. That there was no going back from this point.
Then he pulled the trigger, centering the muzzle at the charging Trollâs center.
It wouldnât be hard to aim, Trolls were big. But center-mass was center-mass.
Set to full auto, the assault rifle emptied itâs magazine in the blink of an eye. The rapid fire booms of the shotgun followed the retort of the rifle.
It was all absolutely deafening.
Explosions of green blood and flesh went in every direction as the Troll was hit repeatedly. As if it were hit with actual explosives, giant craters in itâs flesh became visible.
Tapping the mag release, Gus reloaded his rifle as quickly as he could, and brought it back up.
The Troll was staggering to one side, slumping against the wall. Black blood pumped out of its gaping wounds.
Dropping to itâs face, it laid there unmoving.
Gus pulled out his radio.
âSuspect is down, in need of immediate emergency medical attention,â Gus said. âGonna need Enchanters on site.â
âReceived,â replied the radio.
Setting his rifle down to one side he immediately went over to the downed Troll and started doing what he could for him.
âWhat the hell did I just fire? My hands are aching and my shoulder feels like itâs broken,â Vanessa said.
âUh⊠basically it shoots small rockets filled with blessed materials, and silver,â Gus said, trying to find a pulse in the Troll. âWorks for most things.â
It was weak. Almost not there at all. Holding his fingers there, Gus literally felt it stop, and cease to exist.
Shit.
Gus grabbed his radio again.
âI need a doc who can work on Trolls. No pulse here and I donât have the tools to work on a Troll,â Gus said.
âAffirmative. Medical en route,â reported back the dispatcher.
âI donât⊠I donât even knowâŠâ Vanessaâs voice trailed off.
âYeah, well, you wonât real soon. Those Enchanters are gonna pop your memory. Donât fret it,â Gus said.
Trying to turn the Troll over, Gus had no luck with it.
Damn it!
There wasnât anything he could do about this one. Not a damn thing. Trolls were almost impossible to help without being in the right place at the right time.
Sighing Gus went to press a hand to his head and stopped. It was covered in black blood.
Staying put, as that was the doctrine for the situation, Gus waited. Feeling helpless.
Going to have to do a walk-through by the watch-commander, get interviewed, and probably⊠probably have more counseling sessions later.
Great.
***
Four hours later, and with another report to file and fill out, Gus was staring at his computer screen again.
He needed to get this bit of work done because he already knew heâd be put on administrative leave for the next few days.
It was standard practice and procedure, even for the PID.
Most of the report would be standard. Especially since he wasnât the first responding officer. Thatâd been someone from another precinct. Someone whoâd had their head pulled off by a very angry Troll.
Shaking his head at the thought, Gus focused on his screen.
He filled it out as best as he could, right up to the point where he got to the list of impacted citizens. Those who would now be classified in the âknowâ and get flagged accordingly.
He typed in the detectiveâs first name, and realized he didnât know her last name.
Not that it matters. Sheâll get her day wiped and thatâll be the end of that. With any luck sheâll get a bonus for her assistance.
Finalizing the report, Gus leaned back in his chair as the file was submitted.
The cleaning lady was emptying a trash-can across the way. She was always here at the end of his shift.
Being the swing shift meant that the best time for cleaning was during the day, right before the âday shiftâ came on duty.
Adjusting her cap, the woman dumped another small trash bin into her much larger one.
Reaching under his desk Gus fished out his own trash can and held it out to her.
âHere,â he said. It was something they did almost every day. He saw no reason to make her work around him while he was here.
âThank you,â she said, emptying the trash bin, and setting it down next to his desk rather than hand it back. Without another word, she was moving on to the next desk.
As was the normal case, she had a flash of fear whenever she got close to him.
He figured it was just the aura he put off. There were a number of people that seemed to inherently have a negative reaction to him.
Picking up his coffee cup, Gus took a sip, and immediately spat it back out into the cup.
It was cold.
Again.
Except the day was over now. It was the end of his watch.
Setting the mug back down he tried not to think about his day. Except he kept coming back to the fact that heâd killed an unarmed Troll today. A Troll in a rage that heâd not seen before.
Something out of history books that simply didnât happen anymore.
Then his computer blanked out and the screen locked.
Rolling his eyes, Gus got up, and ended his day.
âHave a good night,â Gus said to the cleaning, lady, heading for the door.
Comments
Yissnakk
The 229 Legion (nicely named :)) and the 320 do have variants with a manual safety - for the P320 it was a requirement of the US Military to have one.
Tyler Jansen
Side note: police issue Sig's are usually a P229, P226 or P320...none of which have a manual safety to flip off (FYI).
Joshua Toennis
Awesome start!
