Sally's Story: Early Morning Breeze

	The lady sighed, groggy still, as she fetched another coffee from the break room. A fingerful of coins dived into the machine, rewarding her with a steaming cardboard cup. The clock above her edged past midnight, the uniformed figures around her that haunted the graveyard shift with her flitting past as she returned to her desk. Slumping over to her stack of files and papers she got to sorting, nursing herself with a scalding sip every few minutes as her desk clock ticked inexorably onward. The vice detective hadn’t paid her back for the clothes he ruined yet and, with the Winter formal fast approaching, her little sister was jumping down her throat for *something* to wear, lest she die of embarrassment or some other infectious tween affliction. So here she was, working overtime, digging away at her own time. Why, if she could get her hands on that-
	“Yo, Sherry,” he said, slapping his hand on her desk. “You there?” In her cloud of resentment she’d failed to notice the detective, and his ‘partner’, and a pair of homeless men (?) saunter up before her. After a pair of deep breaths she turned, half-smiling to him.
	“Hello Vincent,” she grinned. “What can I do for you this fine night?”
	“I need you to ring up the commissioner, now,” he dropped, deadpan. “Get him here if you can, but have him get every precinct moving, and quick.”
	“Vincent, wh-”
	“Sher, there’s not time to dally, okay?” She rolled her eyes at the shortened name but, seeing those tired, tightening brown eyes staring back at her, she picked up the phone. Dialing the man by memory she left the phone in her off hand to ring, looking up at the detective. He gripped the lip of the desk with his hands, knuckles white and breathing slow, staring off and away into the distance. She’d never seen him like this before, his apprehension stirring the air around her.
	“It’s ringing,” she nodded quietly. She peered at the robot behind him, conversing idly with the two hobos gathered together.
	“Who the hell-”
	“Commissioner? It’s Templeton- Yes, I know it's one in the mo- Okay? Okay. It’s Vincent,” she said, pulling the handset away. “How important?”
	“Very.”
	“Very,” she repeated. “Here.” Vincent took the proffered telephone, cupping it to his head as the coiled cord grew taught.
	“La Fontaine,” he snipped. “Commissioner Craw-”
	“Dammit Vincent,” he yawned. “This better be damn important, I swear-”
	“It is sir, if you can get here that’d be best, but-”
	“But?”
	“Sal and I’ve got a ‘lead’?”
	“Oh? Are you in an interview right now? They ask for a lawyer or anything?”
	“Wha- No, sir, it’s worse than that. Remember how there were *four* of those chiefs, and we killed one? Well, we’ve got two of ‘em right here. They say that the weathermen are gonna be making a move on *something* soon-”
	“And they’re not in cuffs!? God-fuckin-dammit, Vince-”
	“Crawley! Listen to me here, you gotta get the police moving, now! I’m not playing. Get some guns into officers’ hands, spread ‘em out around the city. Activate SWAT, the whole shebang,” he spat. He sighed before continuing. “The mayor’ll need to know too, this could turn into something requiring the guard.”
	“Jesus,” Crawley whispered. “Stay there, I’m on my way.” The line crackled quiet, Vincent gingerly handing the phone back, suspiring slowly.
	“Vince, what’s gonna happen?”
	“I dunno Sher, I really don’t. Can- Can we talk later, please?” He slipped away to the trio before she could answer him, groaning internally.
	“Hey Vince,” the robot perked up. “I’ve been figuring out some of the details with the gentlemen, about ‘John’ mostly.”
	“What’ve you got?”
	“Just a description, but that’ll help a lot so we can find him once things… happen.”
	“Right, right,” he moaned, rubbing his forehead. “Do you… Do you have things under control?” The robot looked down briefly, thinking, before eyeing the detective, worried.
	“I do! Go get some rest,” she smiled. Vincent slipped away to the waiting couch in the break room, holding his head in his hands for a moment, dragging his hands across his face. Laying down he rolled over and conked out, slumber grabbing him in the folds of the department sofa.

	“Vince,” a voice clapped. Heavy hands hovered over his head, slapping together. Each boom popped his open a millimeter more before he was staring up at the broad nose and grey, dense curls of the Commissioner. “Ah, you’re finally awake.” A robot sniggered in the background.
	“Yeah, right,” he sniffed, sitting up. Standing to shake the man’s hand Vince saw the robot chatting quietly with the secretary, giggling with her. “How are things sir?”
	“Now’s not the time for pleasantries, Vince. Your rob- er, partner filled me in already with what’s going on. Those two… *gentlemen* were helpful too. Best case we have until nightfall again, worst case a few hours.”
	“Well then, what do you want until then?”
	“You can rest easy for now, but once the alarm goes up you’re on things, okay?”
	“Yes, sir.”
	“I’ll have someone wake you up once things start, in the meantime go back to sleep. I’ll handle the logistics, get dispatch cleaned up and things in place, okay?” Vincent reclined again, head resting haphazardly on the sofa’s arm.
	“Okay,” he yawned.

	“Vincent!” A voice cried for him. Arms flailing around himself he flung a corduroy jacket onto the floor where a waiting robot scooped it up. “It’s time to go!”
	“Shit, already?” He flipped his arm up, watch reading just past seven. Rays of sunlight pierced and bounced outside of the breakroom. Flinging himself from the couch he wiped down his jacket and straightened his tie. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
	The duo jogged out to the street, accompanied by their new companions, the one sober again and the other in tow behind him. Shining provisional badges clung to their chests, a last-minute deputization foisting them outside with the detectives. The secretary urged them onward, the precinct buzzing with crackling radios and jingling phone lines, hundreds of officers swarming the city as chaos descended.
	The four stepped out onto the frigid streets, the moist, sweet air cloying around them and following in as they piled into the car. The whine of sirens in the distance quieted with the doors shut, only to be replaced by the manic crackling of the radio. Voices in the dozens or more reported from across the city, calls concentrating in the west end. Vincent took a deep breath, engine roaring and warming as the car zipped away, its own siren joining the rising chorus that was awaking Beacon City that morning. The car was silent save for the cries of the radio, the same message from hundreds of officers- shots fired, officers wounded, perpetrators killed in savage exchanges of gunfire. The distant whip crack of gunfire echoed outside, the streets empty save for a handful of panicked pedestrians running into buildings. Cars were abandoned, stray on the streets for Vincent to weave through. Turning west, between the shimmering spires of the downtown offices, were boiling, fuming clouds of smoke in the distance. Vincent gunned the engine, each of his passengers lurching backwards, diving westward towards the flames, towards their conclusion. Sooty air swirled around them, stirred and carried in the early morning breeze.