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After about two hours of watching gang members stroll by, secure in the knowlege that flipping the bird was not a crime O'Shay was bored.
He looked longingly across the street, at the liquor store. "God, a bottle of Jamison's would help cure the tedium." He knew he had a drinking problem, and head shrinkers would probably trace it back to his father's death at the hands of the 5th Column. He should be out solving crimes, not passing out.
Michael O'Shay, his father, never wanted his son to be a cop, the same way all working men want their son's to do better. He was a hard man, in the traditional Irish manner. A tough disiplinarian. Children were not equals, they were offspring, end of discussion. When Ryan went against his fathers' wishes and joined the acadamy, his father protested. He went to run down some leads on the 5th column instead of going to his son's graduation day.
So on that day Ryan recieved two badges reading O'Shay. His... and his fathers. They took his dad away and left him with a perfectly folded American Flag, a tin badge, and an urn. Not that any of it mattered right now.
Ryan put his legs up on the desk, put the thought of Whisky out of his mind, and did the crossword. He waited.
"This is never going to work. Cops and costumes just don't mix."
Tick... Tick... Tick... Time went by at a snails pace. Ryan got takeout from a chinese restaraunt and returned to the office to find a man dressed like a member of the Paragon Globetravlers basketball team waiting at the desk. He shrugged, sighed and grabbed the application, and handed it to him. The man put a grocery bag down on the desk and started filling out the application.
"So who are you supposed to be, anyway?" O'Shay said.
"I'm Basket-Balla. Man this is alot of forms for something as trivial as this." He said.
"Just fill it out."
"Basket-Balla" shrugged and kept filling out the form. O'Shay was curious about the bag, but kept it to himself. Probably some of his Vigilante equipment. When the man finished with the form, he put it down on the desk and pushed the grocery bag tword Ryan. Ryan raised an eyebrow.
"I'll pick them up on friday," he said, "And lay off on the starch this time. Last time my shirt was so stiff it could stop bullets, man!"
Ryan slammed his head down on the desk and mumbled "The dry cleaners is in the NEXT building..."
Poor Ryan, what else could go wrong? Will anything ever go right for him? Join Detective Ryan O'Shea tomorrow, at this time, for more of this great copy!
Detective Ryan O'Shay opened the door, covered with Skull grafitti and sighed. The office space was small, cramped, and covered with grime. Someone had obviously been squatting there, before the Paragon City Police Department rented it out.
Our new home.
The PCPD "Working With Heroes" Committee, started by some bleeding heart vigilantee worshiper, had come up with the idea of taking REAL police officers, and teaming them up with members of the long underwear crowd. It was an attempt to bridge the gap between citizens wanting the protection of heroes, and police wanting to do their jobs without energy bolts wizzing over their heads.
The idea was that the "Superheroes" (Ryan spit at the thought) would be able to collect a city paycheck, the police could be seen as being "friendly" to the vigilantees, and the mayor could get the crime rate down just in time for election. Ryan had been chosen to head the Kings Row office.
He pushed the empty bottles of Night Train off his ratty, particle board desk, and slapped down a stack of applications.
It was going to be a long day...