HFfC: CH 21: The First Domino

Legolas stood, his movements as graceful and fluid as a forest stream. "Thank you, my fellow brothers," he said, his voice a smooth, melodic tenor. The others nodded in acknowledgment.

"First and most importantly," he continued, "I need to get out of here."

The others shifted in their seats, their attention sharpening. Legolas elaborated further. "My chosen path requires me to be at the heart of the fashion and luxury goods industry. With all due respect to our current home, this naval duchy cannot truly support that ambition."

"Whoa, whoa," Erwin said, holding up a hand. "You still need time. The Silent Night will come in five days. I don't think it's wise for anyone to be traveling outside the city barriers right now, especially when it's this close."

"Which god is prophesied to attack this time?" Legolas asked.

"Information from Duke Orion's court suggests that this Silent Night may be a continental-level event," Sebas interjected, his voice grim. "It would indeed be wise not to go out."

Soma frowned. "Is that credible intel?"

"It comes from several of my bugs placed among the nobility in Evercrest," Sebas confirmed. "And they all say the same thing. The entire kingdom is on edge."

"Okay," Zero said, his voice taking on the tone of a final authority. "We will facilitate your departure, Legolas. But I cannot let you go until you are ready."

"I do know how business works," Legolas countered.

"I'm sure you do," Zero said. "But it's not enough. You will stay here for two to three months, until I say you are ready."

"But Zero, I need to–"

"Just do what I say," Zero said, not letting him finish. "You also need to expand your fashion knowledge. Gojo Wakana's skill base is in crafting Hina doll clothes. You need to adjust that yourself. To design for the human form is an entirely different stage. I can't let my clones go out into the world unprepared."

Erwin chimed in, his voice calm and supportive. "He's right, Legolas. It would be ideal for you to have this time. Don't get caught up in the tempo of what the rest of us are doing. We each have our own path, and our own timeline."

Legolas paused, taking in their collective counsel. "Understood," he said finally, a graceful nod of acceptance. "Then I will require more books to fill my time."

Erwin smiled. He snapped his fingers. In an instant, several towering rows of bookshelves shimmered into existence, lining the walls of their section of the Hub. "There," he said. "It's all the books I've read from the Evercrest Royal Library, about three-quarters of their entire collection. You can find almost anything you need in there."

Legolas looked at the massive, manifested library in awe. "Is the content... accurate?"

"Don't underestimate my Conan brain," Erwin said with a smirk. "I even corrected some of their historical and scientific texts with our modern knowledge to be better."

"Good," Zero said, satisfied. "So Legolas stays for now."

"I will begin preparing the logistical requirements for your eventual departure," Sebas added. "A rune-car and several thousand Sols should suffice as a starting fund."

"Just observe things in this duchy first," Erwin advised. "Who knows where inspiration might come from."

Legolas gracefully sat back down. "Alright. Thank you."

Zero stood, drawing the meeting to a close. His voice resonated with a quiet power in the Hub.

"Look at us," he began, his gaze sweeping over his four brothers. "A few months ago, I was alone. Now, we are five. Erwin is reforming the Watchers from within. Sebas is consolidating the underworld. Soma has given us a home and a source of power. And Legolas is preparing to build our legitimate face to the world. We have a plan. We have a purpose."

He took a breath. "The world is dangerous. A continental Silent Night is coming. But we are stronger together than we ever were apart. We are the Animus Council. We are one mind, one will." He smiled. "Let's get to work."

One by one, their forms dissolved, leaving the Animus Hub. All except for one. Legolas was left alone in the vast, silent space. He stood, walked over to one of the towering bookshelves, pulled out a thick volume on the history of textile manufacturing, and began to read.

…

Sebas's consciousness returned to the real world. He opened his eyes to find Misela still curled around him on the couch, her head resting on his chest. He gently extricated himself.

"Misela," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Ready the double-prong plan."

She stopped, her playful demeanor vanishing in an instant, replaced by the sharp focus of a loyal lieutenant. "Right now, Master?"

"It is our opportunity," Sebas said, walking over to the large, detailed map of the city's criminal territories that hung on his wall. "I have just realized we have a perfect stage waiting for us."

Misela stood and gave a deep, respectful bow. "Yes, Master." She then left the room without another word, her movements swift and purposeful.

Sebas stared at the map. He picked up a red marker and drew a decisive 'X' through the territories of two other major gangs: The Crimson Vultures and The Honey Badger Syndicate. He was so confident in his plan that he already considered them dealt with. It would be a fine gift for Erwin when his time in field training began.

…

Two days later, Misela sat face-to-face with Guilon, the boss of The Cardinal Wolves, in one of the Pavilion's most exclusive suites. Several of his lieutenants stood behind him as bodyguards. Misela, acting her part, took a slow, elegant drag from her long smoke holder.

Guilon took a sip of the tea a courtesan had poured for him. "The rumor that the Hao Pavilion has the best tea in the city seems to be true," he rumbled, his eyes fixed on her.

Misela exhaled a perfect smoke ring. "Fufufu," she purred. "Is it the tea you find so pleasing, Guilon? Or my presence?"

Sebas, standing behind her chair like a silent, loyal advisor, simply observed.

"Leave us alone," Guilon grunted to his men. His lieutenants, after a moment's hesitation, bowed and retreated to a lower floor. Guilon then looked at Misela's entourage. "Shouldn't you do the same, as a courtesy?"

Misela shooed away Amanzio and the courtesans with a wave of her hand.

"And your advisor?" Guilon pressed, his eyes on the veiled man.

"No," Misela said firmly. "He stays. How do you think I got to where I am? Do you think I have the muscle to bend a man like Amanzio to my will?" She gestured to Sebas. "I have the brains because I have his."

Guilon just nodded, accepting the half-truth. "Alright. Let's get to the point. What kind of charade are you playing?"

"Whatever do you mean, Guilon?" Misela asked, a picture of innocence.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "I've been preparing to take Amanzio's territory for months, and suddenly, you appear out of nowhere and sweep it all up."

Misela chuckled. "Fufufu, you are one paranoid man, Guilon. My presence is merely fate taking its rightful place."

SLAM!

Guilon slammed his meaty fist on the table. "Bullshit, you wench! Tell me the truth! Why did you give me those two Watcher officers?"

Misela performed her part perfectly. She flinched, a look of genuine shock on her face, which she then tried and 'failed' to hide. Guilon saw the flicker of confusion and fear in her eyes. She cleared her throat. "It was... a gift," she stammered. "A gesture of cooperation for our future partnership... in the spice trade."

Guilon's mind raced. 'Her reaction... she didn't know about it. So the deal with the cops wasn't her direct order. It must have been a lower-level play.' He felt a surge of confidence. 'Damn, I've been careless. She doesn't have as tight a reign on her people as I thought. And my man Difos has already made contact with them.' He felt he now had an advantage, a crack in her armor.

He straightened his suit and stood. "I will think about your offer," he said, his tone now condescending. As he walked past her, Misela spoke, her voice regaining some of its sultry confidence.

"A word of advice, Guilon," she said. "Don't involve yourself with the Badgers and the Vultures. There's a war coming. It's a spectacle to be enjoyed, not participated in."

She then turned and left, leaving him to ponder her words.

Guilon walked away. As he passed the sullen, defeated-looking Amanzio on a lower floor, he discreetly passed him a small, folded note, then left the Hao Pavilion with his men.

Amanzio waited until they were gone, then opened the note. It was a location and a time. A cooperation offer. He looked at it for a moment, then walked to a nearby decorative brazier and tossed it into the flames.

…

Back on the 31st floor, Amanzio re-entered the office. "They took the bait," he confirmed.

"Of course they did," Misela said, tossing her hair smugly. "I'm a good actress, after all."

Sebas, who had been observing the city from his window, turned to face Amanzio. "When you meet with him, you will mention the 'double-prong plan'. Let it slip. It will give your words the weight of an insider's knowledge and increase your value to him."

Amanzio bowed, a new, steely resolve in his eyes. "Yes, boss. See you on the other side." He then left to attend the clandestine meeting.

Misela watched him go. "Do you think he's trustworthy enough to be a double agent like this?" she asked Sebas.

A serene smile was hidden beneath Sebas's veil. "I have already put the fear of the gods inside that man," he said. "It has quite effectively filled the space where his traitorous side used to be."

Misela's own smile turned predatory. "It does feel good," she purred, "to wreak havoc on three fronts at once."

"We already have our sights set on the world," Sebas replied, turning back to the window. "It is their fault for not seeing us as an enemy." He raised a glass.

"To the world," they said in unison.

…

Amanzio played his part to perfection. He arrived at the designated location, a high-end tailor shop that served as one of Guilon's fronts, acting listless and lifeless. He let the TCW lieutenant, Difos, shove him roughly out of the rune-car. 'A power play, huh?' he thought to himself. 'Alright. Let's dance.'

He let them lead him into a back room where Guilon was waiting. The TCW boss immediately put on a show of magnanimous hospitality.

"Hey, hey! Let my friend sit!" Guilon boomed, pushing his own men aside. "Come, come, Amanzio. Sit here." He patted the dust off Amanzio's coat and led him to a comfortable sofa, pouring him a generous glass of expensive whiskey. "Thank you for coming all this way, my friend."

Amanzio stared blankly into the glass. "Why do you keep calling me your friend?"

"An enemy of my enemy is my friend," Guilon said with a toast.

Amanzio still didn't drink. "I'm not an enemy of anyone," he said, his voice a hollow monotone. "Not anymore."

Guilon sighed dramatically. "What happened to you, man? You used to be so passionate, so full of vigor. Remember that time you almost put a bullet in my head over the dock-workers' union? Ahahahaha!"

Amanzio remained unresponsive, his face a mask of dead-eyed apathy.

"What happened?" Guilon pressed, his voice now a concerned whisper. "Tell me. What do they have on you that could break a man like this?"

Amanzio finally put his glass down, lowered his head, and covered his face with his hands. "I don't... I can't," he choked out, his voice trembling. "I can't say."

This only made Guilon more intrigued. "What happened? Those two Watcher officers... they were yours, weren't they?"

Amanzio's head snapped up, a flicker of something, relief? hope? in his eyes. "So, they made it to you? Good. At least that advisor bastard didn't have his eyes on the Watchers. If he knew, he would have burned the whole kingdom down to cover his tracks."

Guilon's mind latched onto the key words. Advisor bastard. So, it was the veiled man pulling the strings.

"What is it, Amanzio? What did they do?" Guilon pressed, leaning in. But Amanzio clammed up again, shaking his head in fear.

Guilon changed tactics. "The woman... Misela... she told me to stay away from the Badgers and the Vultures. From what I know, the Honey Badgers and the Crimson Vultures are in talks to form an alliance. What makes her so confident to warn me away?"

Amanzio's act was flawless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock and terror washed over his face. He began to stammer, his eyes wide. "Sh-she told you that? The... the plan... she told you?" He looked around the room as if the walls had ears. "Then it's already too late."

…

Several blocks over, Officer Valdi and his partner responded to a call. A report of "suspicious sounds" inside an abandoned warehouse on the riverfront.

"It's probably just kids pranking us," Valdi said with a sigh, pulling the rune-car to a stop. He grabbed his heavy-duty runic flashlight and stepped out. "Stay here, I'll check it out."

He pushed open the massive, groaning metal door and stepped into the cavernous, dark space. The beam of his flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. He did a slow, methodical sweep of the ground floor, combing around rusted machinery and stacks of old crates. Finding nothing, he pointed the beam upwards, towards the high ceilings and catwalks.

His partner, who had disobeyed his order and followed him in, froze in shock.

Valdi's own eyes followed the beam up, and his blood ran cold. He stopped, his dismissive attitude completely gone, replaced by the grim focus of a seasoned officer. He reached for the crystal radio on his shoulder.

"Dispatch, 12-Adam-45," he said, his voice steady despite the horror of the scene. "Be advised, I have a 187 in progress. Warehouse at 1500 Riverfront Drive. Male victim, DOA, suspended from a ceiling hook. Requesting RHD Homicide, SID, and the coroner. Over."

The radio crackled back. "Copy, 12-Adam-45. 187 DOA, warehouse at 1500 Riverfront Drive. RHD, SID, and coroner notified. Hold the scene, Code 4. Over."

"12-Adam-45, 10-4," Valdi replied. "Holding the scene. Out."

He lowered the radio, the professional mask momentarily slipping as he took in the full sight. The bloodied, brutalized body hanging from a meat hook in the center of the warehouse made his stomach churn.

…

Forty-five minutes later, the warehouse was a whirlwind of activity. Detectives Celvise and Morhan arrived to find Wolfe already on scene, inspecting the body which had since been lowered onto a gurney by the coroner's team.

Wolfe saw them and walked over, his face a grim mask. "It's one of the Honey Badger's top lieutenants," he said without preamble. "So, what do you think of the M.O.?"

Celvise and Morhan looked at each other, the same thought passing between them. "It's The Crimson Vultures," Celvise said. "The brutality, the hook, the public display... it's their signature."

"Or a CV-inspired copycat," Morhan added.

"It's strange, though," Celvise mused. "The word on the street was that the Badgers and the Vultures were about to form an alliance."

Wolfe let out a dry, humorless snort. "They've been fighting over this territory since before you were born," he grunted. "An alliance between them was never going to happen."

"We're short-handed as it is," Morhan said, sighing as she looked at the barely-there perimeter of officers. "The last thing this city needs is a full-blown gang war when we can barely secure a single crime scene."

"This is likely the beginning of one," Celvise said grimly.

Wolfe's jaw tightened. "Well," he said, his voice a low growl, "maybe we should pay a visit to both sides. Press upon them just how bad it would be if they were to take this any further."

Morhan sighed. "It might slow them down, but they're not going to listen to us."

"It's not going to stop them," Celvise agreed, a cynical but resolute look on her face. "But it's worth a try."

…

Several hours later, Wolfe's patrol rune-car rolled to a stop in front of a grimy, nondescript building that served as the Honey Badgers' headquarters. He stepped out, the sounds of loud music and clacking pool balls spilling out from the open door.

Inside, several of the gang's cronies were hanging out, playing pool and drinking. One of the lieutenants, a burly man with a shaved head, stepped in front of Wolfe, blocking his path. "Can I help you, officer?"

"I'm here to see Damocle," Wolfe said flatly.

"He's not here," the lieutenant lied.

Wolfe's gaze drifted past him. In the back of the room, a large badger beastman with a scarred, blind left eye was lining up a shot. He sank the ball easily into a corner pocket, and his men cheered.

"And yet, I'm looking right at him," Wolfe said, walking straight past the lieutenant.

Damocle, the Badgers' leader, looked up from the table, a predatory grin on his face. "Ahh, officer. Wanna join a game? A little stake can make your day, that's what they say."

"Or break your bank so bad you decide to run and hide in your base," Wolfe retorted coolly.

Damocle's smile vanished. "What are you doing here, officer?"

"I'm here to offer my condolences," Wolfe said casually. "Your top lieutenant was found dead today."

"I heard," Damocle said, his attention already back on the pool table. He lined up another shot. "He was with me since day one, too. A real shame." He sank another ball. "Well, we'll do what we can for his family."

"Plot a little revenge, perhaps?" Wolfe pressed. "Against the one who did it?"

Damocle made another shot. "Look, officer, if you know the name, tell me. Otherwise, I'm in the middle of a game."

Wolfe reached out and picked up the white cue ball from the table, the action bringing the game to a dead stop. "Enough theatrics," he said, his voice a low growl. "You know the name."

Damocle finally straightened up, leaning on his pool stick. "Look, I don't want this getting out of hand any more than you do, right?" he said, his tone a perfect imitation of a reasonable man. "You think I'd plot to retaliate or do something stupid against Cason?"

A beat of silence. He'd said the name. The leader of the Crimson Vultures. Wolfe looked around, at the casual demeanor of Damocle, at the way his men were all here, playing pool, drinking... providing an alibi. It clicked. This wasn't a wake. It was a waiting room. The hit wasn't being planned. It was already in motion.

"You already sent them," Wolfe said, his voice flat with realization. He reached for his radio.

He saw it then. A slow, triumphant smile spreading across Damocle's scarred face as he leaned on his pool stick.

Wolfe keyed his crystal radio. "Celvise, Morhan, heads up," he said, his voice urgent. "When you get to the Vultures' HQ, there's a problem coming your way. Now!"

…

Celvise and Morhan's rune-car had just pulled up across the street from the Crimson Vultures' base, a converted auto-body shop. Celvise was about to respond to Wolfe's frantic call when she saw it.

A black, unmarked rune-car, its windows tinted, sped down the street. As it passed the front of the auto-body shop, the windows lowered, and a storm of runic gunfire erupted, tearing through the metal garage door and shattering the front windows in a hail of lead and magic.

"Get down!" Celvise yelled, both she and Morhan taking cover behind their car door.

The runic gunfire stopped as quickly as it had begun, and the black car sped off, disappearing around the corner. They didn't have time to get a license plate or a clear look at the occupants. Their only priority was the aftermath. They stood, drew their weapons, and ran towards the now-silent, smoking ruin of the Crimson Vultures' base to check for casualties, and to see if the gang leader, Cason, was still alive inside.

They burst through the bullet-riddled doors of the auto-body shop, shouting, "Watchers!" Their rune-guns were already up, sweeping the smoke-filled room.

The stench of cordite and blood hit them first. The main garage was a scene of carnage. Several of the Vultures' enforcers were laid out on the floor, their bodies riddled with holes.

"Clear!" Morhan yelled, after checking the back offices.

"Morhan, come here," Celvise's voice was tight, strained.

Morhan ran over to the main office. Celvise was kneeling on the floor. Lying in a protected position behind a flipped-over poker table, as if he'd been shielded by the others, was a young man, barely out of his teens. His eyes were open and vacant.

Celvise and Morhan looked at each other, the same grim realization dawning on them. "Fuck," they said in unison. It was Cason Rivera's son.

Celvise was already on her crystal radio, her voice a clipped, professional monotone that betrayed none of the horror she was witnessing.

"Dispatch, 11-David-20. Be advised, we've got a 187, male victim, confirmed DOA, possible gang-related. Location is 950 East Soto Street, inside the warehouse. Shots just fired, drive-by, suspects fled eastbound in a black rune-car, model Suburban. Request additional units Code 3, and notify Gang Enforcement Detail. Over."

The radio crackled back. "Copy, 11-David-20. 187, male DOA, gang-related, suspects last seen eastbound in black Suburban. Units rolling Code 3, GED en route. Over."

Morhan's mind was already three steps ahead, calculating the inevitable, bloody fallout. An eye for an eye. The whole district was about to erupt. "Dispatch," she added, keying her own radio. "Be advised - victim is the son of Caros Rivera, confirmed gang leader. Request authorization to detain Rivera, protective custody, until Homicide and Gang Enforcement can secure him. Over."

"Copy, 11-David-20. Victim identified as Rivera's son. Authorization granted - take Rivera into custody for his protection. Units will meet you at the Rivera residence. Over."

"11-David-20, 10-4," Celvise confirmed. "We'll move on Rivera, Code 2, until cover arrives. Over."

Without another word, they were out the door, running to their car. Celvise turned on the car and punched the gas, the rune-car tearing through the streets on its way to the Rivera mansion.

…

They arrived to find a scene of controlled chaos. Patrol officers had already secured Caros Rivera, who was struggling against their grip, his face a mask of confusion and rage.

"Hey! HEY! What the fuck is going on here?!" he roared. "I haven't done anything!"

Celvise got out of the car, her expression grim. "Cooperate, Caros. It's for your own good," she said, as the officers guided the powerful gang leader into the back of a Watcher car.

Morhan came around to the driver's side. "Alright," she said to her partner. "You're the one questioning him."

"Why not you?" Celvise shot back, exhausted.

"It's your day," Morhan said with a tired grin.

Celvise groaned, slumping against the car for a second. "Ughh, it's always my day."

Morhan just laughed. "Blame your luck."

…

The interrogation room was a sterile, cold box. All four walls were mirrored, one of them a one-way mirror looking out into a darkened observation room. Inside that observation room, Captain Céline Dubois stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Beside her, Morhan watched the scene unfold.

"Are you sure you don't wanna swap?" Celvise asked, her hand on the doorknob to the interrogation room.

Morhan just chuckled, a low, tired sound. "Just get the damn confession, Kaelen."

Celvise rolled her eyes, then pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a definitive, heavy thud.

Caros Rivera leaned back in the bolted-down metal chair, the picture of arrogant confidence despite being in police custody. His muscular arms, covered in the intricate tattoos of the Crimson Vultures, were crossed over his chest. He looked up as Celvise entered.

"You've moved up in the world, Caros," she said, her voice calm and even as she sat down across from him.

He was still agitated from his arrest, his eyes blazing. "Do I fucking know you?" he snarled.

"I hooked you up a couple of times when I was working patrol," she replied, her demeanor relaxed, unbothered by his aggression.

He leaned back, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Oh, yeah. The elf boot." He smirked. "Didn't recognize you without the standard-issue getup on. Congrats on the promotion. You look good out of uniform, baby."

"Oh, I know," Celvise said, her tone flat, refusing to take the bait. She slid a thin file across the metal table. "We're here about the body that you hung from a hook at the Riverfront warehouse. Hook and display. Such an attention seeker."

Caros's arrogant expression faltered, replaced by one of genuine, raw confusion. He flinched. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he said, his voice dropping the bravado.

"Come on," Celvise pressed, leaning forward. "Everyone in the streets knows you and Damocle have been fighting over that territory for years. You hit his top man, Now, he hit your base. An eye for an eye."

Caros let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned back, the anger in his eyes replaced by a chilling pragmatism. "Trust me," he said, his voice low and serious. "If I were to make a move on Damocle's people, I wouldn't make a public display out of it. I would dispose of them so none of you could ever find the body."

In the darkened observation room, Morhan and Céline looked at each other. There was no lie in his voice, no deception in his eyes. It was the cold, hard truth of a professional killer explaining his methods.

"He's telling the truth," Morhan said quietly.

Céline's gaze was fixed on Caros, her mind already calculating the new, terrifying variable.

"Which means," the Captain said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper, "someone else is playing on our board."

…

The next morning, in Captain Dubois's office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Celvise and Morhan stood at attention as their new Watch Commander paced before the large window.

"We're short-handed, we have a power vacuum in the underworld, and now there's blood in the streets," Céline said, summarizing their bleak situation.

"Caros Rivera has been around for a long time," Celvise offered. "He climbed the ladder of the Crimson Vultures by being smart. He has legitimate business fronts. He's measured and calculating... until you push him into a corner."

"And Damocle is the young, wild successor to his late father," Morhan added. "He's not the type to wait for Caros to die of old age like his own father did. He's impatient."

"Did the night shift report any retaliation from Caros's side?" Céline asked, turning from the window.

"No, ma'am. None," Morhan replied. "Which, somehow, makes me more nervous."

"At least there are no new bodies," Celvise said with a sigh.

"Or none that we've found yet," Morhan countered grimly.

A sharp knock came at the door. "Come in," Céline called out.

It was Wolfe. He looked like he hadn't slept. "Ma'am," he said, his voice urgent. "My C.I. within the Crimson Vultures just gave me a tip. Damocle's Badgers are getting a gigantic shipment of spice later tonight. All of it is being hidden at one of their smaller, secondary bases."

Celvise's head snapped up. "Wait, wait... you said your C.I. is from the Crimson Vultures?"

"Yes, exactly," Wolfe said, a worried look on his face. "That's what's bothering me. My C.I. is a street-level kid. There is no way he should know about a shipment this big, especially one belonging to a rival gang."

"It must have been Caros," Morhan said, the pieces clicking into place. "He fed the information to the kid, knowing he'd run straight to you."

Monet, who had been standing silently by the wall like a shadow, raised her hand tentatively. "Excuse me, ma'am... why is this bad?"

Céline turned to her, a cold, calculating look in her eyes. "Because, Officer Montallet," she explained, "Caros Rivera wants us, the Watchers, to do his dirty work for him."

"I'm not following, ma'am," Monet admitted.

"Caros tipped us off so we can take Damocle's biggest asset off the board for him," Celvise explained patiently. "He wants to fight a war without losing any more of his own men."

Monet's face fell. "So... we're not going to act on the tip?"

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Céline's face. "Oh, no," she said, standing up straight. "We most definitely are."

She walked to the center of the room, her presence commanding the attention of everyone present. "It doesn't matter if Caros Rivera is trying to play us. Any chance we have to get that much spice off the streets and put a man like Damocle behind bars, we are going to take it."

Monet's face lit up, her professional enthusiasm momentarily overriding her sense of decorum. "Sweet! To the field!"

She realized her outburst a second too late. Wolfe, Celvise, Morhan, and Céline were all staring at her in dead silence. She immediately straightened up, her face flushing a deep red as she sheepishly clasped her hands behind her back.

Breakdown of Terms Used:

187 = Penal Code for homicide.
DOA = Dead On Arrival.
RHD = Robbery-Homicide Division.
SID = Scientific Investigation Division.
Code 4 = No further assistance needed at this time, scene secure.
M.O = Modus operandi mean mode of operating.
Code 3 = Lights and sirens, emergency response.
GED (Gang Enforcement Detail) = specialized unit for gang cases.
Protective custody phrasing = how detectives justify temporarily detaining the gang leader. It avoids saying “arrest” until formal charges exist.
Code 2 = urgent response, no lights/sirens.