07-02-2014, 10:58 PM
At Ivan's warning, Drayson signaled for the crew chief to hold back as he pressed forward. He hadn't drawn his weapon, and instead held both hands out to be clearly seen; one held the mostly empty bag, the other was entirely empty. First contact with squatters was always a dicey thing, but at least this time he had another cop at his back. Ivan was untested, but had proven reliable so far.
He could hear the faint scoffs and mutters of whoever was hiding near the fire; a woman, he suspected, although it could just as easily have been a femininely voiced man, he supposed. Probably the more likely option; women didn't usually travel alone down there. Wasn't safe.
He was suddenly confronted by the arrival of another man, staggering weak and confused out of a nearby door and a hallway beyond, and the out-cry of the hidden person ahead of him. A woman, he was sure of it now from her tone. And beyond, there were sounds of...something. Perhaps he had thought it a distant rumbling of a metro train passing by, but that was just his mind trying to trick him into blissful ignorance. No, that sound was much closer then he had attributed it.
Well, he had brought Ivan along to test the man. He would have preferred ghost stories and suspicions rather then something concrete; the task force wasn't ready for this sort of trouble, and Drayson would have preferred a shotgun, at the least. The bag was dropped; likely one of these two newly arrived squatters; the wounded man or the hiding woman, would help themselves to it in their retreat.
"I am Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough."
He pulled his sidearm, a SIG SAUER Equinox, somewhat outdated at first glance until one took into account the modern features. The pistol grip sported sensors coded to his biometrics, a built in laser sight, and chambered to .45s rather then .40s. There had been a discussion or two in the past that he should have favoured a .50 pistol, like the classic Dessert Eagle, but he wasn't so lacking in self confidence to need to compensate with so large a pistol.
The name and title probably meant nothing to the two; he still assumed each to be squatters, not the sort to be brushed up on local law enforcement outside of knowing what they looked like to best avoid them. "Mr Mikhailov, get these two out of here. Mr Sarkozy. On me."
The man needed medical attention, and the woman...well, he hadn't actually seen her yet, but he strolled past her hiding place and her fire, moving towards the not-so-distant sounds of struggle, simply assuming she would take Mr Mikhailov's lead and get to safety. "Mr Sarkozy. You are not fond of tight spaces. Well, you had best stow that discomfort for the time being."
The view ahead began to clear; a petite figure seemed locked in a sword fight with a very large, lumbering beast. No...not lumbering. It was almost impossibly fast for it's size. Drayson racked the action on his pistol and glanced at Ivan. Drayson knew fear; but the mark of courage was not to untouched and unknowing of fear. It was to know it and overcome. To press on no matter how much one's mind screamed that it was the worst possible idea.
Ignoring that primal cry had always been easy for Drayson. There was a line in the sand, between those that looked to him and his police for protection, for safety and normality in their lives. Between those people, and them that lurked in the shadows, committed evil acts, preyed on the innocent. And creatures like what stood before him. And he refused to let them cross that line.
He could hear the faint scoffs and mutters of whoever was hiding near the fire; a woman, he suspected, although it could just as easily have been a femininely voiced man, he supposed. Probably the more likely option; women didn't usually travel alone down there. Wasn't safe.
He was suddenly confronted by the arrival of another man, staggering weak and confused out of a nearby door and a hallway beyond, and the out-cry of the hidden person ahead of him. A woman, he was sure of it now from her tone. And beyond, there were sounds of...something. Perhaps he had thought it a distant rumbling of a metro train passing by, but that was just his mind trying to trick him into blissful ignorance. No, that sound was much closer then he had attributed it.
Well, he had brought Ivan along to test the man. He would have preferred ghost stories and suspicions rather then something concrete; the task force wasn't ready for this sort of trouble, and Drayson would have preferred a shotgun, at the least. The bag was dropped; likely one of these two newly arrived squatters; the wounded man or the hiding woman, would help themselves to it in their retreat.
"I am Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough."
He pulled his sidearm, a SIG SAUER Equinox, somewhat outdated at first glance until one took into account the modern features. The pistol grip sported sensors coded to his biometrics, a built in laser sight, and chambered to .45s rather then .40s. There had been a discussion or two in the past that he should have favoured a .50 pistol, like the classic Dessert Eagle, but he wasn't so lacking in self confidence to need to compensate with so large a pistol.
The name and title probably meant nothing to the two; he still assumed each to be squatters, not the sort to be brushed up on local law enforcement outside of knowing what they looked like to best avoid them. "Mr Mikhailov, get these two out of here. Mr Sarkozy. On me."
The man needed medical attention, and the woman...well, he hadn't actually seen her yet, but he strolled past her hiding place and her fire, moving towards the not-so-distant sounds of struggle, simply assuming she would take Mr Mikhailov's lead and get to safety. "Mr Sarkozy. You are not fond of tight spaces. Well, you had best stow that discomfort for the time being."
The view ahead began to clear; a petite figure seemed locked in a sword fight with a very large, lumbering beast. No...not lumbering. It was almost impossibly fast for it's size. Drayson racked the action on his pistol and glanced at Ivan. Drayson knew fear; but the mark of courage was not to untouched and unknowing of fear. It was to know it and overcome. To press on no matter how much one's mind screamed that it was the worst possible idea.
Ignoring that primal cry had always been easy for Drayson. There was a line in the sand, between those that looked to him and his police for protection, for safety and normality in their lives. Between those people, and them that lurked in the shadows, committed evil acts, preyed on the innocent. And creatures like what stood before him. And he refused to let them cross that line.