Third Operations Team
1300 Words
At the gate of the compound on 8800 South Highland Drive.
Julian smiled. “Evelyn Moore—what brings you here?”
“I’m looking at apartments,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then casually, “You?”
“Same,” Julian blinked. “Small world.”
“Really?” Her big, bright eyes widened. “Doesn’t the department have dorms?”
“Yeah, but too many people. I’m not used to it. Figured I’d rent my own place.”
“Ah.”
She nodded playfully, then extended her hand with easy confidence. “Since we bumped into each other—proper introduction. I still don’t know your name.”
“Julian Ashcroft.”
“Julian,” she said warmly. “Thank you.”
He knew it was for the alley—for saving her life. He played it off. “Just doing my job. No need for thanks.”
She gave a mock salute, eyes sparkling. “Respect to the officer!”
“Come on—let’s head in together,” Julian said. Pretty girls always got under his skin a little, and now that he had some stability, the itch was there. At least talk a bit longer.
“I’m done. Already signed,” she said brightly. “My coworker’s grabbing groceries. We’ll head out when she’s back. If you rent here, we’ll see each other around. When I get paid, dinner’s on me.”
“I’ll see if the place works first.”
“I work at the Network Broadcast Division—not far from the department. See you.”
“Later.”
They parted. Julian walked inside; she left with her colleague. He realized too late—he hadn’t asked for her number.
…
Inside the compound.
Victor sat on a stone bench, waving. “Julian—over here!”
Julian jogged over.
“Heard you talking at the gate. Who was it?” Victor asked. “Sebastian too?”
“No—just ran into the girl from the k********g. Quick chat.”
“???” Victor froze. “The girl? Where?”
“Chill. She’s gone.”
“What’s she doing here?” Victor fired questions. “With who? What’d she say?”
“She works at Network Broadcast—close to the department. Came to look at apartments. Bumped into me.” Julian sounded annoyed. “Why the interrogation?”
“She renting here?”
“Seems like it.”
Victor frowned, thinking hard, then looked at Julian. “You still need a roommate? I cook.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“I’m serious, man.” Victor rambled. “We split rent. Good times—”
“Later. Show me the place first,” Julian cut in. “I’ve got to get back soon.”
“Fine, fine.”
They stepped into the main unit.
The apartment Victor found was about 350 square feet—basic furniture, freshly painted walls, clean enough. The landlady wanted 300 NeoDollars a month, paid six months upfront.
Steep, but fair. The compound sat in Salt Lake City’s administrative hub—steps from the Network Broadcast Division, Municipal Administration, Police Department, Transportation Bureau. Easy commute. Explained the coincidence with Evelyn.
The Sixth District’s new currency, NeoDollars, had only been in circulation a short time—strong purchasing power, roughly ten times pre-Cataclysm yuan. Three hundred NeoDollars was like three thousand old dollars. Julian’s monthly salary was only five hundred. Rent would eat most of it after food.
Typical bottom-tier life in the district: costs rising, resources shrinking, too many people chasing too few jobs. Explains Sebastian’s desperation for promotion—higher rank meant higher pay.
Victor saw Julian hesitating over the price. “Most guys in the department don’t live on salary alone—except cowards like Sebastian who just kiss ass. You’re not that type. You’ll find side income soon enough…”
“You got gray money?” Julian asked sideways.
“Of course.”
“What kind?”
“I lean on the johns and pimps. Pay protection or I make trouble.” Victor said it shamelessly.
Julian was speechless.
“Forget the math. Rent it,” Victor pushed. “I’ll crash sometimes.”
Julian thought it over. Hard to find better or cheaper on short notice, and the location was perfect. “Fine. Six months.”
…
Later that afternoon. Team Three office—under fifty square meters.
Nine young officers in uniform stood at ease.
Captain Marcus Vale smiled at the group. “Quick word. Julian’s new, but he took down Matsushita clean and rescued a k********g victim. After discussion with the chief and team leadership, we’re appointing Julian acting squad leader for Team Three.”
The men exchanged glances, then clapped warmly.
“Julian’s personal third-class merit is already submitted. Rank will follow. No hard feelings—he earned it. I’ve always said: prove yourself in First Team, I’ll push you up. Same for everyone.” Vale pulled Julian forward. “Introduce yourself.”
Julian stepped up—crisp pale-green uniform, two bars on his shoulder—saluted. “Julian Ashcroft. Looking forward to working with you all.”
In the crowd, Sebastian stared, a bitter taste in his mouth.
Just days ago he’d picked this rookie up himself. Now, in less than forty-eight hours, the rookie was his boss.
Hard to swallow.
“I’ll say it again,” Vale continued, smiling. “We wear the uniform, we follow the rules. Julian’s new, but anyone giving him grief or slacking—don’t expect me to play nice.” He turned to Julian. “Chat with your team.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No need for thanks.” Vale left with a wave.
In the office, Julian eyed the group, pulled a pack of Marlboros—the kind he rarely smoked himself—from his pocket. “I got lucky on the case and ended up in charge. Experience-wise, I’m behind most of you. I’ll be counting on everyone for the work ahead. Relax—have a smoke.”
He passed the pack. The oldest in the group, on the left—Caleb Frost, four or five years on the job—took one, tore the pack open smoothly. “Nice stuff, brother. Real tobacco?”
“Gift from a good friend.”
Caleb lit up, inhaled deep, passed the pack on.
“Sit, everyone,” Julian said.
Smack.
Caleb suddenly clapped Julian’s arm, laughing. “This hits different. You’re all right—generous.”
The slap landed right on Julian’s graze from the Matsushita shootout.
Julian winced, stepped back, frowned at Caleb.
“Frost—Julian’s injured,” Sebastian said quietly, already calling him by rank.
“s**t, where?” Caleb asked bluntly.
“Grazed by a round taking Matsushita.”
“Just a graze? No big deal. Get some meds. Skip the shots—costs half a month’s pay these days.”
Julian eyed Caleb, smiled thinly, and waved the others to sit.
Ten men total—three Thai-Chinese, one African descent, six locals. The Sixth District’s northeast roots made Chinese the official language; even the minorities spoke it fluently, with local accents.
After brief introductions, they dug into the drug trafficking files.
…
Evening. Julian finished checking Team Three’s two beat-up patrol vehicles downstairs and returned to the office.
Empty—except Sebastian and the African-descended officer poring over clue boards.
“Where’s everyone?” Julian asked.
“Frost took them out on something,” Sebastian replied.
Julian frowned. “We’re supposed to review the case tonight. He just left without a word?”
“Personal business, I think.”
Julian sat, expression blank, fingers tapping the desk phone.
Frost testing him already?
First official day leading Team Three—and the challenge arrived.
- Writer
