To Horace Maley

Grab yourself a seat, start a fire and poke one of our resident vigilantes, average Joes or supervillains as much as you'd like.

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IamLEAM1983
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Location: Quebec, Canada

To Horace Maley

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Out here, and especially in my version of America, there isn't really any sort of required fitness standard for cops, past the academy. Are things different in Hope?

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IamLEAM1983
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Posts: 3440
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 12:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

As Horace Maley

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

He sighs.

"I get it, I'm the local hardboiled swine born with a skin-resistance mutation and high response times, your low-order superhuman who also drives by Arby's on Wednesdays. I pull stakeouts and end up with a few stains or bags under my eyes and bam, I'm the token Fat Cop. Har de fucking har...

With freaking superhumans and vampires crawling around, it's never been so much as a question that cops needed to abide by a certain minimum. S'kinda hard to enforce successfully and I could find handfuls of beat cops who haven't shown up for their physicals in years of service, so a lot of 'em sort of float on by until aptitude tests rear their ugly heads. Nobody knows why, but I was born with a marathoner's heart - I don't get winded much, if at all. Even with the pounds I've put on, it's like my cardiovasculars just shrug it off. Ain't a thing I can't power through that a mundane fitness guru can't, and don't ask my why. If you can put a knee down, fire, reload and get back up without touching the ground, you've got one-eigthth of the basics. There's a lot more to the basics than just this. Cops aren't expected to successfully tackle speedsters or even keep strength-enhanced types down, but they're expected to try at it for long enough to gather decent intel. Direction, estimated speed and behavior, cargo if any applies - that kinda shit. Considering the gamut of perps this city runs, we need a garden variety's worth of cops to handle 'em. Mundanes, humans, anthros, supernaturals of any stripe. Whoever's in the sector gets the call, and if a mundy can't hack it, orders are to pursue any leads until they can pass the baton to the next best available badge.

Considering my mileage and how I get along swimmingly with seemingly any figure of authority you stick on top of me, I'm stuck acting as Special Investigations' battering ram. I get the cases nobody wants, and I'm not against amping up the Slob card if it gets me an edge. Holden Hall gets the be-all, end-all shit, while I usually get vampires, squids or aliens who figure the be-all and end-all around here is limited to turning an apartment block into a cult cell or a goddamn apocalyptic coven. That or, y'know, your average Domestic Disturbance case that involves two undead old enough to tear a hole through the neighborhood over extramarital affairs..."

A scoff leaves his lopsided mouth.

"What, you thought SI didn't exist in here? They sure do exist, but it's not so much a question of what passes for Special in a city where virtually every other case has a supernatural edge to it as what slips under the radar... A case gets on my desk, around here, 'cause it seems too small-time to bother the Clank during tea-time or too personal to bother specialists in dealing with superpowered maniacs."

He clicks his tongue. 

"Let's say one of Magnus' joytoys loses its shit and goes on a rape spree, huh? Mayor's practically at Holden's teat, now he's got powers of his own, and there ain't a single image consultant in town that won't agree that going after Mister Clean-Pressed Warlock is bad PR juju, after he's pulled us out of the fucking Apocalypse by the skin of our teeth. Kulich has his own people's crap to deal with and most Exo-squads don't wanna do shit with one of Camp Lust's horndogs. Average badge couldn't, either. So you're left with me, or guys like me. A lot of the Rothchild guy's fellas are gonna work through the Academy all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, only to realize the only place anyone wants to deal with their Non-Euclidian shit is in my building.

Plus, I get a kick out of being pulled out of the metaphorical mothballs when some holier-than-thou jock fresh out of the written portions starts talking shit about folks born with ablative fat layers or really thick ruffs of fur. They pull their time on the track, and then here's my fat ass tossing my raincoat on the bleachers and wiping the floor with their Sterling Starr-wannabe routine."

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