First Day

The next day, Ethan woke up early, feeling more energized than he had in a long time. The effects of the physical enhancement potion were undeniable. His muscles felt lighter, his mind clearer. With so much energy to spare, he laced up his running shoes and set out for a jog along Route 6.

After finishing his morning workout, he took a shower, got dressed, and grabbed his truck keys.

He drove into town, parking in the lot next to the police station. Before heading in, he made a stop at Myers Restaurant, a familiar spot. The moment he stepped inside, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled his senses. He ordered his usual—pancakes and black coffee.

After finishing his breakfast, he walked to the police station. The lobby was mostly empty, except for Alma at the reception desk. She looked up and smiled as he approached, then handed him a heavy service bag.

—Here you go, Ethan. Your new uniform,— Alma said.

—Thanks, Alma,— he replied with a grin, taking the bag from her.

Since the station was still quiet, he headed straight to the locker room. Standing before the mirror, he pulled on the crisp dark blue uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles. The weight of the black combat boots felt familiar, grounding him. Once fully dressed, he adjusted his posture and took in his reflection. Something about the uniform made his presence feel more commanding.

A voice called out from outside. Ethan quickly stuffed his civilian clothes into his work bag and stepped out.

By now, the entire Banshee Town Police Department had arrived. Brock stood in the main hall, flanked by two officers. Noticing Ethan in uniform, he gave a nod of approval and extended his hand toward them.

—Officer Emmett Youngs.—

—Officer Siobhan Kelly.—

Ethan turned first to the tall, broad-shouldered man with dark skin. He had a relaxed but confident stance. Ethan extended his hand.

—Ethan Morgan.—

Emmett smiled and shook his hand firmly.

—Call me Emmett. Welcome to Banshee Town PD.—

Ethan turned to Siobhan next. She had striking features and thick braids pulled back from her face. She gave a curt nod before shaking his hand.

—Nice to meet you,— she said, her voice even and professional.

The introductions were followed by a brief swearing-in ceremony. Brock pinned the pentagonal police badge and department insignia onto Ethan's chest. Unlike larger departments, Banshee Town PD had only one private office—for the chief. The rest of the officers worked in the main hall, their desks arranged in neat rows.

After tucking the service bag under his desk, Brock led him to the equipment room.

—Let's get you geared up.—

Inside, Brock handed Ethan a bulletproof vest. It was heavier than it looked.

—Go on, put it on. You'll get used to it,— Brock said.

Ethan pulled the vest over his uniform and adjusted the straps. Next came the utility belt. He secured his police radio, anti-theft holster, handcuffs, key pouch, spare magazine, pepper spray, and a retractable baton.

—Not a fan of tasers?— Brock asked when Ethan didn't pick one.

Ethan glanced at the tasers lined up on the shelf.

—I'll pass. They're too situational. I'd rather rely on non-lethal rounds if needed.—

Brock raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.

For firearms, the department only offered three choices. Ethan dismissed the Smith & Wesson .38 revolver immediately—too few rounds, not enough power. That left the M1911 and the Glock 17.

He picked up the Glock, testing its grip. Its reliability and 17-round magazine made the decision easy.

—Good choice,— Brock said, nodding in approval. —Now let's see how you handle it.—

He led Ethan to a small shooting range next to the equipment room.

—Show me what you've got,— Brock said after demonstrating the basics. He stepped aside to watch.

Despite the original owner's academy training, this was technically Ethan's first real-life shooting session. Yet, he felt no nervousness. He walked to the firing position, gripping the Glock in his right hand, and took a steady breath.

—Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!—

He emptied the magazine in quick succession before lowering the pistol. The light recoil barely registered, thanks to his enhanced strength. He even felt like he could handle something much heavier, maybe even a Desert Eagle.

When the dust settled, the target's center was almost obliterated.

Brock let out a low whistle.

—Damn good shooting. Looks like you've trained well.—

Ethan only nodded, reloading the magazine with practiced ease.

—When we patrol, besides the standard gear, we can keep a shotgun or an M4A1 in the car. You'll be riding with me for the next three days, so no need for extra equipment just yet. I'll help you gear up later.—

—Got it.—

—Go reload your ammo. I'll be waiting outside.—

Ethan picked up a spent shell casing, turning it between his fingers before taking a deep breath. The scent of gunpowder was oddly satisfying. He smirked, wondering just how far his marksmanship could go with further improvements.

After reloading his magazines and securing them to his belt, he adjusted his uniform and headed outside.

By the time he reached the parking lot, Brock was already in a standard-issue Crown Victoria. Ethan climbed into the passenger seat, and Brock started the engine.

—We'll take a drive around the outskirts. There's an indigenous casino out there,— Brock said, pulling onto the road.

—The Chino tribe is right next to our town. Every month, after receiving government subsidies, they come into Banshee Town to spend money and drink. Sometimes, things get messy. We've had jurisdictional disputes in the past.—

As they drove, Brock gave Ethan a rundown of the town's dynamics. At one point, they passed a sign that read Savoy Gentlemen's Club.

—That's Kai Proctor's place,— Brock said, noticing Ethan's glance.

Ethan turned back to him.

—What's his deal?—

—He runs most of the crime in the area—extortion, prostitution, drugs, murder, you name it.—

Ethan frowned.

—And you haven't done anything?—

Brock let out a dry chuckle.

—We've tried. But at the last minute, witnesses disappear, evidence goes missing. Nothing sticks. He's slippery as hell.—

After a pause, he added,

—The new sheriff should be arriving soon. There'll be a welcome party. You'll meet him then.—

They fell into silence as the car rolled through the intersection. Ahead of them, an old truck wobbled down the road, its taillight shattered.

Brock narrowed his eyes.

—Looks like we've got our first stop.—