Name's Kruger. Joe Kruger. Detective Kruger if you're giving me an order,Kruger if you're a friend and just plain Joe if you're a dame. I've been in the PPD longer than most - seen a lot of things. This scar? Heh - don't ask how I got it. Let's just say that I didn't get any medals, but down in Kings Row - no one bothers me any more. None of those fancy metal suits or calling in Longbow backup. I've got a badge, a gun, and more experience than some hotshot kid who wants to stamp around in power armour punching gangsters through walls.
It was a night like any other March night here. Cold wind from up the coast, the kind of rain that gets under your collar and makes you think of hot coffee and a warm office. Anything compared to being out on the street, cleaning up after capes.
It was a warehouse on the edge of Galaxy City - big place, construction company. Not the Family, this company was too small-time for them. Local firm, I think I knew the guy who ran the place thirty years ago, but he's long gone. The Lieutenant called me down here - called when I was on my way home. I told him it was pot roast tonight, and that he could go to hell. He laughed - he knew what I was going home to was a scrawny old cat with bad eyesight and a cheap ready meal from the corner store. The wife walked out a decade ago, leaving me with an alimony settlement to make and a headache. He might be younger than me, but the Lieutenant is sharp. When it comes to hero busts gone wrong, I'm his go-to guy. Some of the guys on the team hate the heroes, some are like kids in a candy store and follow them around. Me, I think there's good and bad, just like with
anything.
This case though, it was mostly bad. Got to the place just as the uniforms were playing fast and loose with the crime scene tape. They'd half the block marked out before I got there. The warehouse roof was just smouldering now, rain doing a better job than the Fire Department. Fair's fair though- Hellions were having a wild party up in Steel Canyon and half the place went up, or so the radio said. Some rookie who couldn't even grow a real beard was trying to tell me his theory on what had happened but I gave him the trademark Kruger stare and he stepped back fast as you like.
Inside was a mess, a real mess. I'd seen it enough times before, big picture was the same but the details are always different. Some guys on the force would have written it up there and then, standing at the doorway looking in, but not me. The reason they call me "Accountant" Kruger is because I do the paperwork. Sure, I've had rough patches and -been- rough at times, but I've never just arrested the first guy at the scene, or taken things at face value. In this line of work, you need to keep your eyes open - especially with capes around.
The rookie beat cop tells me they've got security tapes of the incident, and do I want to watch them. I tell him to get me a coffee and wait in the warm somewhere - I always look things over first for myself before seeing what the cameras tell me. Don't trust anything except your own eyes. Not even that much sometimes.
The capes came in the front door, four or five of them. They must have met the first gangsters just inside the door, judging by the scorch marks on the walls and wrecked furniture. Hellions or Skulls most likely, nothing flashy - just good old fashioned street gangs with a smattering of superpowers for the guys in charge. But mostly just small-time thugs with baseball bats, kitchen knives and cheap imported pistols that blow up in your face. Small-time thugs who rushed a group of technicolour vigilantes throwing fire, bullets and who-knows-what back the way. Here, the gangsters ran into more than they could handle. Bodies are gone, but that's our amazing teleport grid for you. Great if you're in a car accident or want someone you've arrested taken away fast but useless if you want good crime scene work. Forensics do overtime these days, trying to piece things together.
A few twists of the corridor and I'm in a big loading bay - this is where it all fell apart for the heroes. Around the doorway into the room the walls are black with soot and I can taste smoke in the air. It was the roof above this room that had caught fire - I can see the cloudy night sky between the beams above. A few metres into the room is a heap of weapons - knives, a few cleavers, sledgehammers and baseball bats - like I said, street thugs. The weapons are all in a rough circle, with a clear space in the centre. The first time I saw an arrangement like that, it was my first day out on the beat, and the old hand I was with waited to see if I'd work it out. Back then, I couldn't. Now - I've seen it too many times but it still makes me shiver - and that's not just the draught coming from the
wrecked roof. One of the heroes, a big guy most likely, made a stand here. Either charging in ahead, or buying the others time to make an escape. He would have been surrounded, maybe twenty to one judging by the weapons - a real hero, or else real stupid. Looking at the state of the weapons, it was probably a last stand. It's always the big dumb guys who try to hold til the last. The smart guys are the ones ducking out the door and fetching their big, bad friends.
So I walk it through, step by step. The heroes come in blasting and punching, spread out into the room and find that they've got a whole convention of punks. Maybe it goes tense for a moment, but it's always the same story - you've got a bunch of goons, and a bunch of do-gooders. They stare at each other, someone says something dumb, then it gets messy.
The heroes gave a good account of themselves, I can see they beat the gangsters back from the doorway, and judging by the state of some equipment, they wrecked whatever the operation was here - low grade Superadine most likely. Kind of stuff that'll turn you pale green but leaves all the hardcore types to laugh at you. Something went wrong, maybe there were some older jacked-up gang leaders here, and about halfway across the loading bay, you can see things going wrong. There are bullet casings everywhere in a wide arc, and it looks like frost across a wall of crates on the other side of a conveyer belt. The thugs must have come at
them from all sides here, maybe with guys up on the gantries firing down.
Then it gets quicker - the heroes fall back to the doorway, and I can see the telltale dust outline on the concrete floor where one of them must have been yanked back to the hospital after taking one too many hits. My guess is the gunner - no bullet casings on their retreat route. Back at the doorway, the last piece falls into place - the roof wasn't an accident. Whoever was throwing fire around punched a hole in the roof for an escape - they would never have made it back down the corridors with gangsters on their heels. Several of the heroes took off into the air, leaving behind someone to hold the line while they regrouped or, more likely, just plain ran for it. Poor guy left behind maybe couldn't fly, maybe volunteered.
I'll never understand capes. They'll probably be back tomorrow night though, with extra friends, but the gangs are long-gone. They'll be in another warehouse by now, in another part of the city.
The rookie brings me a coffee, and takes me to the security office. The surveillance tapes agree with me, for the most part. It was the Skulls, after all that. Bunch of death-obsessed idiots doing it for thrills. The heroes look like kids, all dressed up and cocky - kicking in doors and trying to act professional. It was worse than I thought, in the loading bay. One of them goes down right away - walks in with her hands flinging glowing energy around and takes a sledgehammer to the face. Away to the hospital before she's hit the floor. That leaves them one down and it's like the gangs are having a party that the heroes crashed. And they don't take kindly to gatecrashers. You can tell the guy with the machine gun was the leader of the heroes, but when he goes down on the retreat back to the door, they fall to pieces. The fire-girl taking out the roof for a getaway
is the only sensible choice any of them make from when they get into the loading bay - everything else is wrong. Fighting their way in, trying to get back to the door, then that stupid, heroic last stand. The last guy makes a good account of himself - he'll probably go on to do well, if the
hospital patch him up. He keeps the Skulls busy until the fire-throwing girl and another of the guys have made their escape. Eventually sheer weight of numbers takes him down, but it's a good fight. If you like watching someone who knows they can't win.
I guess it's just another night for the heroes, just another mission to fight crime, injustice and all that. It was just another night for the criminals too - fighting a bunch of costumed vigilantes.
And it's still early in the night for me, and I've got to get across to the edge of Skyway City. A random vehicle stop turned into a pitched battle, and someone watching from the precinct thinks the same gang who were holed up here are now taking hostages and making demands. I'd like to get there before the heroes do - maybe get some answers. A flashy costume and snappy name doesn't add up to the same as good old-fashioned police work.
Just as I'm leaving, the rookie asks if I can get the fire girl's name if she turns up - she's just his type, he says. I tell him he's out of his league, but I know he won't listen. He'll learn though.
--
spidermonster.
Posted
wow that was really good and i mean it i could not stop reading . will there be a next one?
Posted
Very nice style, different perspective with a fun view of the different archtypes. Good job.
. will there be a next one?
Hard-Boiled Nights in Paragon City
Name's Kruger. Joe Kruger. Detective Kruger if you're giving me an order,Kruger if you're a friend and just plain Joe if you're a dame. I've been in the PPD longer than most - seen a lot of things. This scar? Heh - don't ask how I got it. Let's just say that I didn't get any medals, but down in Kings Row - no one bothers me any more. None of those fancy metal suits or calling in Longbow backup. I've got a badge, a gun, and more experience than some hotshot kid who wants to stamp around in power armour punching gangsters through walls.
It was a night like any other March night here. Cold wind from up the coast, the kind of rain that gets under your collar and makes you think of hot coffee and a warm office. Anything compared to being out on the street, cleaning up after capes.
It was a warehouse on the edge of Galaxy City - big place, construction company. Not the Family, this company was too small-time for them. Local firm, I think I knew the guy who ran the place thirty years ago, but he's long gone. The Lieutenant called me down here - called when I was on my way home. I told him it was pot roast tonight, and that he could go to hell. He laughed - he knew what I was going home to was a scrawny old cat with bad eyesight and a cheap ready meal from the corner store. The wife walked out a decade ago, leaving me with an alimony settlement to make and a headache. He might be younger than me, but the Lieutenant is sharp. When it comes to hero busts gone wrong, I'm his go-to guy. Some of the guys on the team hate the heroes, some are like kids in a candy store and follow them around. Me, I think there's good and bad, just like with
anything.
This case though, it was mostly bad. Got to the place just as the uniforms were playing fast and loose with the crime scene tape. They'd half the block marked out before I got there. The warehouse roof was just smouldering now, rain doing a better job than the Fire Department. Fair's fair though- Hellions were having a wild party up in Steel Canyon and half the place went up, or so the radio said. Some rookie who couldn't even grow a real beard was trying to tell me his theory on what had happened but I gave him the trademark Kruger stare and he stepped back fast as you like.
Inside was a mess, a real mess. I'd seen it enough times before, big picture was the same but the details are always different. Some guys on the force would have written it up there and then, standing at the doorway looking in, but not me. The reason they call me "Accountant" Kruger is because I do the paperwork. Sure, I've had rough patches and -been- rough at times, but I've never just arrested the first guy at the scene, or taken things at face value. In this line of work, you need to keep your eyes open - especially with capes around.
The rookie beat cop tells me they've got security tapes of the incident, and do I want to watch them. I tell him to get me a coffee and wait in the warm somewhere - I always look things over first for myself before seeing what the cameras tell me. Don't trust anything except your own eyes. Not even that much sometimes.
The capes came in the front door, four or five of them. They must have met the first gangsters just inside the door, judging by the scorch marks on the walls and wrecked furniture. Hellions or Skulls most likely, nothing flashy - just good old fashioned street gangs with a smattering of superpowers for the guys in charge. But mostly just small-time thugs with baseball bats, kitchen knives and cheap imported pistols that blow up in your face. Small-time thugs who rushed a group of technicolour vigilantes throwing fire, bullets and who-knows-what back the way. Here, the gangsters ran into more than they could handle. Bodies are gone, but that's our amazing teleport grid for you. Great if you're in a car accident or want someone you've arrested taken away fast but useless if you want good crime scene work. Forensics do overtime these days, trying to piece things together.
A few twists of the corridor and I'm in a big loading bay - this is where it all fell apart for the heroes. Around the doorway into the room the walls are black with soot and I can taste smoke in the air. It was the roof above this room that had caught fire - I can see the cloudy night sky between the beams above. A few metres into the room is a heap of weapons - knives, a few cleavers, sledgehammers and baseball bats - like I said, street thugs. The weapons are all in a rough circle, with a clear space in the centre. The first time I saw an arrangement like that, it was my first day out on the beat, and the old hand I was with waited to see if I'd work it out. Back then, I couldn't. Now - I've seen it too many times but it still makes me shiver - and that's not just the draught coming from the
wrecked roof. One of the heroes, a big guy most likely, made a stand here. Either charging in ahead, or buying the others time to make an escape. He would have been surrounded, maybe twenty to one judging by the weapons - a real hero, or else real stupid. Looking at the state of the weapons, it was probably a last stand. It's always the big dumb guys who try to hold til the last. The smart guys are the ones ducking out the door and fetching their big, bad friends.
So I walk it through, step by step. The heroes come in blasting and punching, spread out into the room and find that they've got a whole convention of punks. Maybe it goes tense for a moment, but it's always the same story - you've got a bunch of goons, and a bunch of do-gooders. They stare at each other, someone says something dumb, then it gets messy.
The heroes gave a good account of themselves, I can see they beat the gangsters back from the doorway, and judging by the state of some equipment, they wrecked whatever the operation was here - low grade Superadine most likely. Kind of stuff that'll turn you pale green but leaves all the hardcore types to laugh at you. Something went wrong, maybe there were some older jacked-up gang leaders here, and about halfway across the loading bay, you can see things going wrong. There are bullet casings everywhere in a wide arc, and it looks like frost across a wall of crates on the other side of a conveyer belt. The thugs must have come at
them from all sides here, maybe with guys up on the gantries firing down.
Then it gets quicker - the heroes fall back to the doorway, and I can see the telltale dust outline on the concrete floor where one of them must have been yanked back to the hospital after taking one too many hits. My guess is the gunner - no bullet casings on their retreat route. Back at the doorway, the last piece falls into place - the roof wasn't an accident. Whoever was throwing fire around punched a hole in the roof for an escape - they would never have made it back down the corridors with gangsters on their heels. Several of the heroes took off into the air, leaving behind someone to hold the line while they regrouped or, more likely, just plain ran for it. Poor guy left behind maybe couldn't fly, maybe volunteered.
I'll never understand capes. They'll probably be back tomorrow night though, with extra friends, but the gangs are long-gone. They'll be in another warehouse by now, in another part of the city.
The rookie brings me a coffee, and takes me to the security office. The surveillance tapes agree with me, for the most part. It was the Skulls, after all that. Bunch of death-obsessed idiots doing it for thrills. The heroes look like kids, all dressed up and cocky - kicking in doors and trying to act professional. It was worse than I thought, in the loading bay. One of them goes down right away - walks in with her hands flinging glowing energy around and takes a sledgehammer to the face. Away to the hospital before she's hit the floor. That leaves them one down and it's like the gangs are having a party that the heroes crashed. And they don't take kindly to gatecrashers. You can tell the guy with the machine gun was the leader of the heroes, but when he goes down on the retreat back to the door, they fall to pieces. The fire-girl taking out the roof for a getaway
is the only sensible choice any of them make from when they get into the loading bay - everything else is wrong. Fighting their way in, trying to get back to the door, then that stupid, heroic last stand. The last guy makes a good account of himself - he'll probably go on to do well, if the
hospital patch him up. He keeps the Skulls busy until the fire-throwing girl and another of the guys have made their escape. Eventually sheer weight of numbers takes him down, but it's a good fight. If you like watching someone who knows they can't win.
I guess it's just another night for the heroes, just another mission to fight crime, injustice and all that. It was just another night for the criminals too - fighting a bunch of costumed vigilantes.
And it's still early in the night for me, and I've got to get across to the edge of Skyway City. A random vehicle stop turned into a pitched battle, and someone watching from the precinct thinks the same gang who were holed up here are now taking hostages and making demands. I'd like to get there before the heroes do - maybe get some answers. A flashy costume and snappy name doesn't add up to the same as good old-fashioned police work.
Just as I'm leaving, the rookie asks if I can get the fire girl's name if she turns up - she's just his type, he says. I tell him he's out of his league, but I know he won't listen. He'll learn though.
--
spidermonster.