Chapter 1: Rookie Officer

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A police car was driving down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, New York. Link was behind the wheel, and as a rookie officer, getting to drive the car wasn't something he took lightly.

Sitting in the passenger seat was his instructor, Detective Rami Bellon. However, today, he was dressed in plain clothes.

During the year-long probation period, the instructor would spend one day dressed in civilian attire, sitting silently in the passenger seat, while the rookie officer patrolled and handled any cases that came their way.

This phase usually occurred towards the end of the probationary period. Many rookies faltered here, ultimately saying goodbye to months of hard work and their hopes of becoming full-fledged officers.

But Link remained calm, driving the police car along his regular patrol route, as he had for the past few months.

Today seemed to be a lucky day. Not a single incident had come through, and he hadn't spotted any traffic violations either.

The police car approached an intersection, and the traffic light ahead turned red. Link brought the car to a stop behind a Ford sedan. He then reached for the car's computer and typed in the license plate number of the vehicle in front.

Random license plate checks were common practice. In a place like the United States, with its vast number of vehicles, many were not roadworthy.

Additionally, many wanted criminals and fugitives drove vehicles, so random checks had proven to be an effective way to apprehend individuals.

"Hmm?" Link paused after entering the plate number. Surprisingly, the police database had no information on the vehicle. This was concerning.

He didn't immediately turn on the siren or lights since the current location wasn't suitable for stopping. Once the light turned green, Link followed the car, waiting for a better opportunity.

As traffic thinned out ahead, he activated the lights and siren.

"Woo-woo..." The siren blared, and the driver of the vehicle ahead signaled and began to pull over. Link also signaled, positioning his car to block the lane behind, preventing any cars from rear-ending them. It was a form of protection for the vehicle in front.

Link maintained a safe distance as he parked and unbuckled his seatbelt before stepping out of the car.

His right hand rested on the holster at his right hip, where he carried a Glock 19. This compact version of the Glock 17 still held a 15-round standard magazine. He had two spare magazines on his left hip.

Link approached from the left, positioning himself slightly behind the driver's side of the vehicle, using the car's B-pillar for cover. His instructor, Rami, approached from the right.

The driver had already rolled down the window and held out her driver's license. It was only now that Link could see that the driver was a Black woman, dressed formally, suggesting she had a professional job.

Instead of taking her license immediately, Link leaned in slightly and said, "Ma'am, the reason I pulled you over is that I couldn't find any information on this vehicle in the police database."

As an officer, he was obligated to inform her of the reason for the stop.

The woman didn't seem panicked but instead asked, "Why did you run my plate?"

Her question was leading. If Link couldn't provide a sufficient reason, she could accuse him of racial profiling.

Link wasn't fazed. He still didn't take the license she offered, as he hadn't yet asked for her documentation.

"Random check," Link explained. "At the last traffic light, I happened to stop behind you, and then I entered your license plate number. It's a common practice for us officers." He continued, "Of course, there are other reasons for checks too, like poorly registered vehicles from motels, or cars behaving strangely."

"Random checks are routine."

"I see," the woman nodded, still holding her license out.

Link then asked, "Is this your vehicle?"

"No, it belongs to my workplace," the woman replied. "It's a government vehicle."

"Alright, please hand me your driver's license," Link said, finally extending his hand to take it. After inspecting it, he returned to the police car.

It was likely that this woman worked for the government, possibly in the legal field. Their conversation had been full of traps—ones even seasoned officers might struggle to navigate.

But with Link, she wouldn't get away with anything. He wasn't an ordinary person.

Link radioed headquarters to check the plate and entered the woman's ID into the onboard computer. Sure enough, she was a local court prosecutor.

Headquarters couldn't find any information on the license plate either, so Link asked them to check with the local court. This time, they returned with information: the vehicle was a classified government car.

This situation was outside of Link's authority as a rookie officer. The issue was likely a disconnect between the police and government databases, but it wasn't something he could handle.

Link returned the license to the woman and said, "Ma'am, you're free to go now."

"No issues?" the woman pressed, still testing him.

"After verifying with headquarters, this car is a classified vehicle from the local court," Link replied. "The court has provided assurance, so you're good to go."

"I understand, but I'll be reserving my right to take this further," she said, perhaps feeling her pride had been hurt.

"Of course, that's your right," Link replied, turning away without further acknowledgment.

His instructor, Rami Bellon, remained silent throughout. The two returned to the car, and Link started the engine, continuing their patrol.

This was a day shift, but it had lasted twelve hours, until 8 p.m., when they finally returned to the station. However, they were immediately called into the captain's office.

"Tell me what happened today," the captain said bluntly. It seemed the prosecutor had called in.

Link recounted the events, and then Rami provided his version. After hearing them both, the captain didn't see any issues.

Link added, "The plate check was done at the intersection of XXX. There should be surveillance footage available from the cameras there."

"I'll look into it. You two can clock out now," the captain said, waving them off.

Link didn't ask for feedback on his performance—that was for his instructor to handle. As long as he wasn't fired the next day, he figured he'd done fine.

And indeed, there were no problems. Link was soon promoted to full officer, though he was transferred to a new precinct—Midtown West, which covered the infamous Hell's Kitchen.

Link didn't complain or appeal the transfer. He didn't throw a fit, claiming it was unfair. Instead, he packed up his locker, gathered his uniform, and left without hesitation.

Hell's Kitchen was notorious for its gangs, rampant crime, and frequent gang wars. It was an extremely dangerous place.

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(End of Chapter)