11-27-2014, 09:05 PM
The precinct in Golyanovo district was not known for being particularly large or well funded. It was in a part of DI's outskirts that had yet to benefit from the CCD's prosperity, and was known for violent and organized crime. The precinct dated back to the days of the former Soviet Union, and strongly looked the part. Unimaginative grey concrete, narrow windows covered in thick bars, and tall steps up to the entrance. And a wheel-chair accessible ramp, of course.
Two officers stood at the building's entrance, shoveling snow and salting steps long stained and worn by foot traffic. Through the doors led to a reception area, walled in on all sides and an older officer seated at a desk behind bullet proof glass, ready to process complaints or visitors.
Clearly seen beyond the reception desk was a large room full of dozens of desks, the area where the brunt of the precinct's paperwork was done. Those desks did not belong to individual officers exactly; they were communal, used as needed by the precinct's lower ranked staff, and beyond were offices or department-shared rooms for the more specialized teams or higher ranked officers and detectives.
The precinct was a three story fortress, meant to be intimidating in appearance and brutally functional. Efforts had been made in recent years to soften the building's interior; pictures were hung, inter-department sports league and competition trophies sat on shelves. Even plants. Real ones, not the plastic ones one might have otherwise expected. Carpet, and renovations to break up the featureless concrete walls with rich red brick or wood paneling. Anything to give the place a more pleasant feel.
Cells were in the basement, where criminals and hooligans were housed while waiting for processing. Few spent more then a night or two there before being released or moved to proper facilities. And below that was a subbasement that had been used to store old office furniture or forgotten paperwork for decades.
That area was newly re-purposed, and the smell of concrete dust and the sound of power tools could still be heard as the building's elevator, which hadn't moved in almost twenty years, was being repaired finally.
That subbasement held the entirety of Drayson's newly formed task force. A dozen detectives gathered from throughout the CCD, three dozen officers of similarly diverse origins. The task force's tactical team was away, being run through rigorous drills and scenarios to form the group into a functional team and to familiarize them with the unorthodox array of nonlethal weapons recently made at their disposal.
Every last member of the new counter-terrorism task force, dubbed simply 'task force Domovoi,' were among those like Drayson. The ones that had witnessed the inexplainable, be it monster or magic user, and had kept both their sanity and their jobs. Some had even made a career of dealing with explainable cases, always managing to find a way of writing the reports that seemed plausible, or in some cases, dealing with a problem in a fashion that never made it into a report.
Officers Konstantinov and Sokolov hadn't gotten the promotions to Detective they had hoped for, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Chief Inspector Drayson had pulled some strings and had the pair moved to the new task force, and both men sported the new unit patch on their uniforms with pride, although both had little doubt that the new job would come with unimaginable troubles.
The two men manned the guard room where led both the only staircase that reached the subbasement, and the doors to the still broken elevator, although there was no actual need. They were waiting for the unit's newest member, whom they were tasked to show around their new home.
Two officers stood at the building's entrance, shoveling snow and salting steps long stained and worn by foot traffic. Through the doors led to a reception area, walled in on all sides and an older officer seated at a desk behind bullet proof glass, ready to process complaints or visitors.
Clearly seen beyond the reception desk was a large room full of dozens of desks, the area where the brunt of the precinct's paperwork was done. Those desks did not belong to individual officers exactly; they were communal, used as needed by the precinct's lower ranked staff, and beyond were offices or department-shared rooms for the more specialized teams or higher ranked officers and detectives.
The precinct was a three story fortress, meant to be intimidating in appearance and brutally functional. Efforts had been made in recent years to soften the building's interior; pictures were hung, inter-department sports league and competition trophies sat on shelves. Even plants. Real ones, not the plastic ones one might have otherwise expected. Carpet, and renovations to break up the featureless concrete walls with rich red brick or wood paneling. Anything to give the place a more pleasant feel.
Cells were in the basement, where criminals and hooligans were housed while waiting for processing. Few spent more then a night or two there before being released or moved to proper facilities. And below that was a subbasement that had been used to store old office furniture or forgotten paperwork for decades.
That area was newly re-purposed, and the smell of concrete dust and the sound of power tools could still be heard as the building's elevator, which hadn't moved in almost twenty years, was being repaired finally.
That subbasement held the entirety of Drayson's newly formed task force. A dozen detectives gathered from throughout the CCD, three dozen officers of similarly diverse origins. The task force's tactical team was away, being run through rigorous drills and scenarios to form the group into a functional team and to familiarize them with the unorthodox array of nonlethal weapons recently made at their disposal.
Every last member of the new counter-terrorism task force, dubbed simply 'task force Domovoi,' were among those like Drayson. The ones that had witnessed the inexplainable, be it monster or magic user, and had kept both their sanity and their jobs. Some had even made a career of dealing with explainable cases, always managing to find a way of writing the reports that seemed plausible, or in some cases, dealing with a problem in a fashion that never made it into a report.
Officers Konstantinov and Sokolov hadn't gotten the promotions to Detective they had hoped for, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Chief Inspector Drayson had pulled some strings and had the pair moved to the new task force, and both men sported the new unit patch on their uniforms with pride, although both had little doubt that the new job would come with unimaginable troubles.
The two men manned the guard room where led both the only staircase that reached the subbasement, and the doors to the still broken elevator, although there was no actual need. They were waiting for the unit's newest member, whom they were tasked to show around their new home.