05-05-2016, 03:33 PM
After the botched Operation Ifrit, Domovoi had been understaffed. In truth, the experimental task force had always been understaffed, but there were few potential candidates for the department, even across the breadth of the CCD. It was odd, actually, the more he thought about it. How rare it seemed to have been that these things were encountered. Monster was a term he had always reserved for the sickest and most violent of criminals, but more and more of these creatures seemed to be surfacing in recent years.
Then there were these...magic users. Magicians, wizards, whatever they might be called. Rumours were spreading, public declarations were becoming more common-place. Things were changing in the world, and he was struggling to keep up with them. Laws needed to be rewritten, incarceration and rehabilitation techniques adapted.
In Moscow alone, there were more reports of disappearances or strange sittings, more trouble brewing within the illegal immigrant communities living under the city, more incidents of strange crimes or disturbances revolving around possible magic users. And with each real case, there were usually a half-dozen fakes. People crying for attention, or trying to find fantastical excuses for crimes or mistakes.
And of course, with the slow rise in belief in magic users, there came with it a whole new form of hate. Of course, as with all such groups, that hate was blindly aimed or just another excuse to lash out.
Drayson had finally left his office, navigating the Golden Ring in a staff car and bound for Polski, an outskirt region of Moscow proper. It was extremely rare for him to get out of the city center, rarer still for him to make such a trip in person, rather then sending someone to oversee the task.
A relatively new member to the local police force had been proving unusually effective thus far. Drayson preferred more seasoned officers for Domovoi, but after their recent losses, and the lack of immediately accessible potential recruits, his hand had been forced.
Hence why he had decided to interview Officer Calvin Johnson himself. It was unusual for a former American citizen to find permanent residence in the CCD, let alone so close to Moscow itself. Less common for one to join the Custody Domestic Protection Service.
The drive to the Polski precinct allowed Drayson a rare chance at some isolation, some time entirely to himself. His thoughts drifted, but as always they circled back to work. To laws and what required changes to police responsibilities would be needed in the near future. Thoughts to what sort of new hardships and issues his officers would be called upon to deal with.
But even the long drive through the busy streets of Moscow seemed to end too soon, and those thoughts were once more shelved as Chief Inspector Drayson Mccullough was parked in the precinct lot. His walk across the fenced parking lot saw him cross paths with a few other officers, most of whom recognized him immediately and offered salutes and salutations, and he strove to match each individually.
Into the precinct, he was quickly seen to the office of Officer Johnson's department Captain, whom graciously gave up the work space for Drayson's pending interview, and Officer Calvin Johnson would likely be surprised to find himself summoned to his Captain's office mere minutes into the beginning of the man's shift.
Drayson stood rather then making use of the Captain's desk and chair; his coat hung on a hook of the rickety coat rack, and he studied a photo of the Captain's wife and two children with a ghost of a smile. A post-it note attached to the picture frame noted that the man's daughter had a concert recital in three days, and Drayson held his Wallet in his other hand to add a note to himself; to arrange that the Captain could take the afternoon off that day to attend. It was far too often the case that his officers had to sacrifice home and family for work.
Then there were these...magic users. Magicians, wizards, whatever they might be called. Rumours were spreading, public declarations were becoming more common-place. Things were changing in the world, and he was struggling to keep up with them. Laws needed to be rewritten, incarceration and rehabilitation techniques adapted.
In Moscow alone, there were more reports of disappearances or strange sittings, more trouble brewing within the illegal immigrant communities living under the city, more incidents of strange crimes or disturbances revolving around possible magic users. And with each real case, there were usually a half-dozen fakes. People crying for attention, or trying to find fantastical excuses for crimes or mistakes.
And of course, with the slow rise in belief in magic users, there came with it a whole new form of hate. Of course, as with all such groups, that hate was blindly aimed or just another excuse to lash out.
Drayson had finally left his office, navigating the Golden Ring in a staff car and bound for Polski, an outskirt region of Moscow proper. It was extremely rare for him to get out of the city center, rarer still for him to make such a trip in person, rather then sending someone to oversee the task.
A relatively new member to the local police force had been proving unusually effective thus far. Drayson preferred more seasoned officers for Domovoi, but after their recent losses, and the lack of immediately accessible potential recruits, his hand had been forced.
Hence why he had decided to interview Officer Calvin Johnson himself. It was unusual for a former American citizen to find permanent residence in the CCD, let alone so close to Moscow itself. Less common for one to join the Custody Domestic Protection Service.
The drive to the Polski precinct allowed Drayson a rare chance at some isolation, some time entirely to himself. His thoughts drifted, but as always they circled back to work. To laws and what required changes to police responsibilities would be needed in the near future. Thoughts to what sort of new hardships and issues his officers would be called upon to deal with.
But even the long drive through the busy streets of Moscow seemed to end too soon, and those thoughts were once more shelved as Chief Inspector Drayson Mccullough was parked in the precinct lot. His walk across the fenced parking lot saw him cross paths with a few other officers, most of whom recognized him immediately and offered salutes and salutations, and he strove to match each individually.
Into the precinct, he was quickly seen to the office of Officer Johnson's department Captain, whom graciously gave up the work space for Drayson's pending interview, and Officer Calvin Johnson would likely be surprised to find himself summoned to his Captain's office mere minutes into the beginning of the man's shift.
Drayson stood rather then making use of the Captain's desk and chair; his coat hung on a hook of the rickety coat rack, and he studied a photo of the Captain's wife and two children with a ghost of a smile. A post-it note attached to the picture frame noted that the man's daughter had a concert recital in three days, and Drayson held his Wallet in his other hand to add a note to himself; to arrange that the Captain could take the afternoon off that day to attend. It was far too often the case that his officers had to sacrifice home and family for work.