Chapter 40: The Rookie Year Milestone
Monday, December 17, 2018 - Mid-Wilshire Station, Morning Roll Call
Sergeant Grey's POV
I stood at the front of the briefing room, roster in hand, looking at the three rookies who'd been mine for eighteen weeks now.
Chen sat forward, attentive as always, taking notes on her tablet. West looked relaxed, confident—a far cry from the nervous kid who'd frozen during his first domestic call. And Mercer...
Mercer looked like someone who'd earned his place. No more hiding behind wealth or deflection. Just a competent officer who'd saved lives and proven himself repeatedly.
"Before we get into assignments," I started, "want to acknowledge a milestone. Officers Chen, West, and Mercer hit eighteen weeks today. Halfway to your probationary evaluation."
Scattered applause from the room. The rookies looked embarrassed.
"All three of you have exceeded expectations. Especially given the complexity of recent operations. Major drug bust, multiple tactical responses, zero disciplinary actions—" I paused, glanced at Mercer. "—that stuck. Keep up the work. Make the next eighteen weeks as strong as the first."
After briefing, I pulled the three aside.
"Eighteen weeks is the dividing line," I told them. "This is where rookies either commit fully or start burning out. The shine wears off. The reality sets in. You realize this job is fifty years of what you've experienced in four months."
"Fifty years?" Chen repeated.
"If you're lucky and don't die or quit first." I let that sink in. "You three are committed. I can see it. But now comes the harder part—maintaining that commitment for the long haul. Not getting cocky. Not getting careless. Not letting success make you think you're invincible."
My eyes landed on Mercer specifically. Kid had saved West three times, broken protocol multiple times, operated with instincts that shouldn't exist. He wasn't invincible despite evidence suggesting otherwise.
"Understood, sir," they said in near-unison.
"Good. Now get to work."
Ethan's POV - Patrol with Tim, 10:47 AM
Traffic Stop - Manchester Boulevard
The Honda Civic had been weaving slightly. Not drunk-driving obvious, but enough. Tim hit the lights.
"Standard stop, boot. Let's see your form."
I approached the driver's side while Tim covered passenger. The driver was male, early thirties, hands visible on the wheel. Good compliance initially.
"License and registration, please."
He handed them over. I ran them through the system via my shoulder radio. Clean record. Vehicle registered properly.
But my danger sense was whispering. Not screaming. Just... something's off.
"Sir, any reason for the weaving?"
"Tired. Long shift." He glanced at his mirror, at Tim's position.
My danger sense intensified. Not immediate threat. But building.
"I'm going to need you to step out of the vehicle."
"Why? I gave you my license—"
"Step out of the vehicle, sir."
Tim recognized my tone, moved closer. The driver complied, hands visible, but I caught the telltale body language—weight shifting forward, eyes calculating distance to the tree line thirty yards away, muscles tensing.
He's going to run. Three seconds.
"Sir, turn around and place your hands on the vehicle."
He did. Tim began the pat-down.
Two seconds. He's got something he doesn't want found. Outstanding warrant, maybe. Or contraband.
"Clear," Tim said, stepping back.
The driver exploded into motion. Shoved past Tim, sprinted toward the tree line.
My danger sense peaked. Armed. He's armed and going for a position with cover.
I ran. Copy ability deployed Tim's pursuit techniques automatically—controlled breathing, efficient stride, weapon hand free, maintaining visual. My recall provided street layout from having patrolled this area before—the trees led to an apartment complex, multiple exits.
"Suspect fleeing on foot!" I radioed. "Heading toward the Manchester apartments!"
The suspect was fast. But I'd been training for months, building stamina, copying every efficient movement I'd observed. I closed the gap.
He reached the apartment complex fence, started climbing.
My danger sense exploded. Weapon. Right hip. He's going to draw at the top of the fence and fire.
Six seconds of warning. New record.
I processed everything in that stretched moment—his body position, the fence angle, my cover options, Tim thirty yards behind. Six seconds to react perfectly.
I dropped behind a concrete planter, drew my weapon, aimed.
"LAPD! Don't move!"
He was at the top of the fence now, reaching for his hip.
"Drop the weapon!"
He froze. Saw my position, my weapon, Tim approaching from his other flank. Calculated odds.
His hand moved away from his hip, raised in surrender.
"I'm coming down! Don't shoot!"
Tim arrived, covered him while I cuffed him. Found the gun—9mm, serial numbers filed off. Found the warrants—three outstanding, two violent offenses.
After backup arrived and took custody, Tim pulled me aside.
"Six seconds," he said. "You called the weapon six seconds before he reached for it. Six seconds before there was any visible indication he was armed."
"Good instincts?"
"Boot, I've been doing this fifteen years. I've seen good instincts. This isn't that." He wasn't angry. Just... measuring. "You knew. Not guessed. Knew."
"Tim—"
"I'm not asking for explanations. I'm stating facts." He holstered his weapon. "Whatever you are, whatever you've got going on—it's getting stronger. More precise. Six seconds is precognition territory."
"I can't explain it."
"I know. And I've stopped trying to understand it. But Mercer?" He looked at me directly. "Don't let it make you reckless. Having advance warning doesn't make you bulletproof. Sooner or later, even six seconds won't be enough."
"I know."
"Good. Let's get back to patrol."
End of Shift - 6:34 PM
Lucy Chen's POV
I was in the locker room when Emma Shaw walked in carrying a tray of coffees and that fancy organic sweetener Mercer liked.
"Dr. Shaw," I greeted. "You looking for Mercer?"
"Is he here?"
"Should be. He and Bradford just cleared from a pursuit arrest." I checked my phone. "Yeah, he's signing off now."
Emma looked nervous. Unusual for her. She was normally composed.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm surprising him. Is that weird? Showing up at his work with coffee?"
"That's adorable, not weird. Trust me, boot's going to love it."
"Boot?"
"That's what Bradford calls him. Means rookie. It's almost affectionate coming from Bradford." I grabbed my bag. "Come on. I'll walk you out. The guys will be in the parking lot."
Ethan's POV - Parking Lot, 6:42 PM
I was headed toward my car when Jackson spotted Emma first.
"Mercer! Your girlfriend's here!"
Emma stood by my car, coffee tray in hand, looking both confident and slightly embarrassed. The entire evening shift was clearing out—everyone saw her.
"Dr. Shaw," I said, approaching. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood." She handed me a coffee. "Hospital's twenty minutes away, so that's obviously a lie. I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?"
"That's absolutely allowed."
Lopez walked past, grinned. "Mercer's got a doctor girlfriend. That's so practical."
"Man's thinking ahead," Jackson added. "Built-in medical care."
"Also she can tell when he's lying about being fine after dangerous pursuits," Lucy pointed out.
Tim appeared from the station entrance. "Dr. Shaw. You're enabling his coffee addiction."
"Someone has to. He runs on caffeine and stubbornness." Emma handed out coffees to everyone. "I got enough for the whole team. Consider it thanks for keeping him alive."
"That's mostly his own doing," Lopez said, accepting a cup. "He's surprisingly hard to kill."
"I've noticed." Emma looked at me. "Can we go somewhere? Or do you have plans?"
"No plans. Your place or mine?"
"Yours. I want to see the mansion in daylight. Properly tour the place."
Jackson and Lucy exchanged glances. "Oh, this is serious. Daytime mansion tour. That's commitment."
Tim drank his coffee, studying us. "Don't die doing something stupid, boot. Your girlfriend would be very disappointed."
After everyone scattered, Emma and I stood by my car in the fading December light.
"They really are your family," she observed.
"Yeah. They really are."
"Good. You need people who understand."
We drove to my place in separate cars. She'd never seen it in full daylight, never really toured it properly beyond the quick walk-through during the party.
Ethan's Mansion - 7:23 PM
"You really do have money," Emma said, standing in the foyer staring at the chandelier.
"I really don't care about it."
"I know. That's why I like you." She moved through the rooms, taking in the Italian-phase decor, the home theater, the ridiculous dining room table that could seat twenty.
We ended up on the back patio, watching the pool lights shimmer against darkening sky. LA's glow painted everything orange and purple.
"This is what you needed," she said. "Space big enough for all those people to gather. A place to build family."
"My parents would've liked that. The house being used for community, not just status."
She pulled me down onto the outdoor couch, settled against my side. "Tell me about them. Your real memories, not the deflection version."
I told her about the original Ethan's parents. The charity events, the business empire, the expectations. Told her about inheriting everything at twenty-two and not knowing what to do with it. Told her about the academy, the decision to be a cop, the family's confusion turning to support.
Told her everything except the transmigration. The secret I'd never tell anyone.
"They'd be proud," Emma said. "Using the money for good. Saving lives. Building something that matters."
"I hope so."
We sat there as night fell completely, LA's ambient noise a constant soundtrack—sirens in the distance, helicopters overhead, the city alive and moving.
"Eighteen weeks," Emma said. "Halfway to your evaluation. How does it feel?"
"Real. At first this life felt borrowed. Like I was playing a role. Now it's just... mine."
"Good. Because I'm in it now. Your life. And I don't plan on leaving."
"Even when it gets complicated? When I save someone's life through impossible instinct and can't explain it?"
"Especially then. That's when you need someone who doesn't demand explanations. Who just trusts you're doing good."
I kissed her. Long, unhurried. The kind of kiss that promised futures and tomorrows and all the complicated messy beautiful things that came with building a life with someone.
When we broke apart, she was smiling.
"Take me inside. Show me where all those impossible instincts come from. I want to see your brain space."
I showed her my office. The whiteboard where I'd planned the heist. The filing cabinets where I kept case notes. The locked drawer where the Armstrong file lived, though I didn't mention that.
"This is where you think," she observed.
"This is where I plan. Where I try to stay ahead of the bad things."
"Can't prevent everything, Ethan."
"I know. But I can prevent some things. And that's worth trying."
She pulled me away from the office, back downstairs to the ridiculous couch in the living room that my mother had insisted was "European luxury."
We ended up tangled together, Netflix playing something neither of us watched, Emma's head on my shoulder, my arm around her waist.
"This is what you transmigrated for," she murmured, half-asleep.
I froze. "What?"
"Not transmigrated. Transformed. This is what you changed your life for. To build something worth protecting."
She said transformed. Not transmigrated. Just my paranoia hearing what I fear.
"Yeah," I agreed quietly. "This is exactly what I changed everything for."
She fell asleep. I stayed awake, my recall capturing every detail—her breathing, the weight of her against me, the ambient safety of having someone who trusted me completely.
Eighteen weeks ago I woke up in a stranger's body with impossible powers and meta-knowledge, terrified of exposure and failure.
Now I had Jackson's brotherhood, Tim's trust, Emma's love, Nolan's friendship, Lopez's respect, Grey's acceptance. Now I had a team, a family, a life worth protecting.
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