06-19-2015, 06:37 PM
Paperwork. There was never any shortage of it, it seemed. Although to be fair, there wasn't really much paper involved these days. Consciously, he was aware how much more efficient the various holographic screens that crowded the air around his desk where a more traditional monitor would have sat, but at the same time he preferred the tactile sense of doing things in a more physical manner. And of course, being able to physically see how much work was left, and how much had been completed already was its own source of motivation.
He paused briefly, sitting back in his chair to sip a cup of cold coffee, and waved his hands in the air somewhat more robotic then a person more comfortable with the screens might have. New screens popped up; reports out of other Dominances that had key words flagged as of interest to him. Most were mundane; the origin place of a new designer drug that had been popping up in DI was being tracked down in DIV. Alkaev's son had popped up again finally, home in DIII; the boy had been laying low, likely waiting on his head of security to get out of jail. Flagged for dangerous driving, but of course there had been no charges laid.
An American, who was banned travel to the CCD, was believed to be back in DV. Facial recognition and audio identification software had flagged Derrick Schwartz, formerly Ahmad al-Hamoud, in the region formerly known as Kuwait, his old stomping grounds. If it proved true, it would cause no shortage of issues, but the presence of foreign fighters was nothing new. The uprising had lost some of it's initial religious overtures, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but the fighting was still bloody, and their social media campaigns were gaining some ground painting the violent extremists as 'freedom fighters.' It was often disheartening to think of how circular time seemed to be. Forty years later, and nothing had really changed.
Those reports were moved aside. He would peruse them later, perhaps assign some resources to try and track any others, Minutemen or otherwise, that had entered the area in recent weeks. His focus shifted back to Dominance I, his legal jurisdiction. Further reports on ongoing investigations, internal investigations on the CDPDS, secret investigations into the internal affairs office tasked to route out corruption in the police force.
The attack on the cafe he had been at with Torri, scant minutes after his departure kept coming back to mind. The attacker had been in the restaurant, even then, and he had missed it. He had been distracted. Understandably so, perhaps, but it was no excuse. His man there had taken control of the scene quickly, however. Over all, things had been managed about as well as could have been expected, and further justified the Domovoi task force.
He stared at the reports, then sighed quietly and picked up his Wallet, thumbing through the various screens before sending Victoria a simple text message. A cowardly move on his part, perhaps. Rather then phoning her directly, he was relying on a text message of all things. Foolish. But of course, she, like him, was likely at work. A modest request for another lunch meet some time, when she was available of course.
He paused briefly, sitting back in his chair to sip a cup of cold coffee, and waved his hands in the air somewhat more robotic then a person more comfortable with the screens might have. New screens popped up; reports out of other Dominances that had key words flagged as of interest to him. Most were mundane; the origin place of a new designer drug that had been popping up in DI was being tracked down in DIV. Alkaev's son had popped up again finally, home in DIII; the boy had been laying low, likely waiting on his head of security to get out of jail. Flagged for dangerous driving, but of course there had been no charges laid.
An American, who was banned travel to the CCD, was believed to be back in DV. Facial recognition and audio identification software had flagged Derrick Schwartz, formerly Ahmad al-Hamoud, in the region formerly known as Kuwait, his old stomping grounds. If it proved true, it would cause no shortage of issues, but the presence of foreign fighters was nothing new. The uprising had lost some of it's initial religious overtures, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but the fighting was still bloody, and their social media campaigns were gaining some ground painting the violent extremists as 'freedom fighters.' It was often disheartening to think of how circular time seemed to be. Forty years later, and nothing had really changed.
Those reports were moved aside. He would peruse them later, perhaps assign some resources to try and track any others, Minutemen or otherwise, that had entered the area in recent weeks. His focus shifted back to Dominance I, his legal jurisdiction. Further reports on ongoing investigations, internal investigations on the CDPDS, secret investigations into the internal affairs office tasked to route out corruption in the police force.
The attack on the cafe he had been at with Torri, scant minutes after his departure kept coming back to mind. The attacker had been in the restaurant, even then, and he had missed it. He had been distracted. Understandably so, perhaps, but it was no excuse. His man there had taken control of the scene quickly, however. Over all, things had been managed about as well as could have been expected, and further justified the Domovoi task force.
He stared at the reports, then sighed quietly and picked up his Wallet, thumbing through the various screens before sending Victoria a simple text message. A cowardly move on his part, perhaps. Rather then phoning her directly, he was relying on a text message of all things. Foolish. But of course, she, like him, was likely at work. A modest request for another lunch meet some time, when she was available of course.