12-01-2014, 08:15 PM
The two Ukrainian born officers heard and saw her coming; cameras in the stairwells. The security system was still being set up, but the simple closed-circuit camera had been an immediate requirement. It was brutally rudimentary in the scope of modern technology; one of the techs had found the camera, wire, and monitor in one of the old storerooms in the subbasement, and had gone about setting it up in short order. But there was advantages to low-tech things sometimes.
The two men were standing when she entered the guard room, and Officer Sokolov produced a simple manila file folder which he held out to her as Officer Konstantinov offered to shake her hand, "I am Yurik Konstantinov, and this is Sokolov. The Chief wanted us to meet you, show you around. But I have to warn you, there isn't much to see. Not yet at least."
The file folder had some information on the building and neighborhood, as well as the location of her reserved parking spot and what paperwork she would need to fill out to be able to move freely around the precinct they were under. That done, he turned and pushed open the door behind them, and lead her into the rest of the office.
Unlike the main floor, there had been no efforts made yet to hide the fact that the building was once an old Soviet era police station. Or, more likely, KGB office. There was no thought given over to aesthetics in the construction, and while the main floor was obviously undergoing the renovations to soften that image, the subbasement had no such aspect yet.
The task force had a over fifty names on the roster, but few were actually on location yet. Some were still being transferred from distant corners of the CCD. What had likely once been isolation cells or questioning rooms had been repurposed into offices, and a few walls had been knocked down to make a central communal work space, with one corner blocked off by heavy duty bars to form the task force's armoury, where a dismal selection of next-generation non-lethal weapons were stored. And a far more thorough selection of more conventional weapons. Body armour and other gear was stored there as well.
Some of the old cells were still reserved for that purpose; anyone that the team arrested would not be kept in the general population, after all. And in light of how dangerous they could be, keeping them contained and safe was going to require far more then what had worked for the past few thousand years. Bars alone would not keep one of these 'magic users' confined.
And that was where the team's medics came into play, and their supplies of drugs with which to keep any arrested magicians unconscious. It was an unpleasant necessity, at least until a better option could be found. Almost certainly, some countries developing similar teams simply shot to kill, but Drayson was not about to be the one to develop such an approach to the problem.
Alex was then shown to her own office; another of the rather unimaginative grey concrete rooms that was perhaps a bit narrower then a more conventional office, but certainly not too small. A desk had been set up, as well as a bookshelf and filing cabinet, but all were surely Soviet era recycling; old and unimaginative too. But they would serve for the moment.
No computer had been installed yet; Drayson could only cut through so much of the administrative red tape. Konstantinov nodded to the room and gave her an amused grin, "This one is yours. Elevator will be working next week some time, so please hold off on bringing in anything heavy until then?"
He meant it jokingly; easier to wait and use the elevator then to lug stuff down the stairs.
The two men were standing when she entered the guard room, and Officer Sokolov produced a simple manila file folder which he held out to her as Officer Konstantinov offered to shake her hand, "I am Yurik Konstantinov, and this is Sokolov. The Chief wanted us to meet you, show you around. But I have to warn you, there isn't much to see. Not yet at least."
The file folder had some information on the building and neighborhood, as well as the location of her reserved parking spot and what paperwork she would need to fill out to be able to move freely around the precinct they were under. That done, he turned and pushed open the door behind them, and lead her into the rest of the office.
Unlike the main floor, there had been no efforts made yet to hide the fact that the building was once an old Soviet era police station. Or, more likely, KGB office. There was no thought given over to aesthetics in the construction, and while the main floor was obviously undergoing the renovations to soften that image, the subbasement had no such aspect yet.
The task force had a over fifty names on the roster, but few were actually on location yet. Some were still being transferred from distant corners of the CCD. What had likely once been isolation cells or questioning rooms had been repurposed into offices, and a few walls had been knocked down to make a central communal work space, with one corner blocked off by heavy duty bars to form the task force's armoury, where a dismal selection of next-generation non-lethal weapons were stored. And a far more thorough selection of more conventional weapons. Body armour and other gear was stored there as well.
Some of the old cells were still reserved for that purpose; anyone that the team arrested would not be kept in the general population, after all. And in light of how dangerous they could be, keeping them contained and safe was going to require far more then what had worked for the past few thousand years. Bars alone would not keep one of these 'magic users' confined.
And that was where the team's medics came into play, and their supplies of drugs with which to keep any arrested magicians unconscious. It was an unpleasant necessity, at least until a better option could be found. Almost certainly, some countries developing similar teams simply shot to kill, but Drayson was not about to be the one to develop such an approach to the problem.
Alex was then shown to her own office; another of the rather unimaginative grey concrete rooms that was perhaps a bit narrower then a more conventional office, but certainly not too small. A desk had been set up, as well as a bookshelf and filing cabinet, but all were surely Soviet era recycling; old and unimaginative too. But they would serve for the moment.
No computer had been installed yet; Drayson could only cut through so much of the administrative red tape. Konstantinov nodded to the room and gave her an amused grin, "This one is yours. Elevator will be working next week some time, so please hold off on bringing in anything heavy until then?"
He meant it jokingly; easier to wait and use the elevator then to lug stuff down the stairs.