Realistic or Modern KNOCK KNOCK - A S.W.A.T 4 / READY OR NOT INSPIRED RP

[Hard Boiled]

As Sock examined the last bedroom of the killhouse, he learned that had they continued, Blue team would've come across not one, but two armed suspects hiding in the closet, and straight through the wall was Red team with their human shield crisis - a lesson in over-penetration, had anyone decided to magdump.

Crow listed one thing after the next with barely a pause, like the words were already meditated before the questions were asked.

"Ca-CAW!"
A passing patrol officer teased the bird as he spoke, eliciting little more than a huff from the more-than-used-to-it SWAT officers.

"Good," Guts nodded once, removing his magazine and chambered round. "What else?"

And a lot of our mistakes seemed to come from loss of momentum and lack of speed. But I think we're on a good trajectory, compared to our last runs.

"I agree, even if that's an oxymoron; we lose momentum, we lose everything. But, yes, you're right, we did-" BANG!
Guts was briefly interrupted by Silver's flashbang. "-of our boxes. Any last thoughts, ladies?" He looked to Giggles and Gem, who had remained quiet until now. "I don't want to be around when Cross trips and shoots someone."

 

[Valky-Nyan]

​

Jane "Giggles" Gaewska >Status: Active
>>>Location: Killhouse

Giggles shrugged her shoulders a little. Gagglefucking in the middle of work wasn't what she should have done, and she thought that she should have known better. She should have. But, it wasn't the most egregious of errors. Her thumb ran up and down a piece of MOLLE webbing on her carrier as she listened to the debrief. Her eyes darted to and fro, and she fell silent for a moment.

"Yeah."

Another pause that felt like an eternity as Giggles picked through her own brain in search of the right thing to say. The split was great, angles of domination were upheld very well, it was just the confusion that happened in the moment which she got hung up on.
Oh well.

Life went on, and there wasn't a point in crying over spilled milk.

"Any last thoughts?" Giggles echoed and tongued the inside of her cheek. A roll of her shoulders. An adjustment in posture. "No, not really. I'd just like to be more liberal with gas deployments. Pump a building full of gas at a moment's notice, storm in, use the extra kit to our advantage. People can't function inside a big cloud of gas without equipment — we can. Identify bad guys, pop-pop, in and out, five minute adventure."

She let her sub-gun hang from the one-point sling as she folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know — I could've and should've known better. But, hey..."

"Happens, don't it?"

~

 

[Hard Boiled]

Identify bad guys, pop-pop, in and out, five minute adventure.

Giggles' optimism caused Guts to chuckle himself as he nodded along to her feedback, holding his vest by the straps. He was a firm believer that her nickname came not from her own giddiness, but from her ability to slice through tension like a hot knife through butter. "Every team needs a Giggles," he'd always conclude when talking about her.
"Well, I'd love to use all the CS in the armory, but you know how it is these days, especially since Portland^*. I can see the headline now: 'LSPD Gasses Children!'" He spread his hands like he was projecting a title, a reserved smile spreading across his face. "I'm joking, but you get what I mean. We can't just use it as a one-size-fits-all tool for every barricaded suspect."

"Alright, that's enough workshopping." Guts declared as he stood from the folding chair, patting Giggles on the shoulder as he passed to place his rifle back on the rack. "Just don't be so hard on yourself. Happens, right?"

The team removed their equipment, hanging their vests in their lockers and securing their weaponry, save for the service pistols on their hips. Guts kissed his fingers and touched the photo of his wife stuck to the inside of his locker as he always did before closing it, and turned to the nearby stairs.

"On me. Elmer Fudd wants a word with us before we clock out."

Gold element followed Guts out of the basement, past the rotting ceiling of the patrol lockers, past the empty holding cells, around a crew of consulting electricians, up a second set of stairs, and finally to the administrative offices. Guts knock-knocks on the door twice, and a grumpy voice calls back.
"Enter!"

The officers file in, alternating sides almost reflexively as they surround the meeting table, occupied only by Chief Haggerty and two plainclothes officers whom Guts recognized as OCID detectives.
"Evening, sir."

"Oh, enough with the 'sir' crap. You don't need to act like choir boys just 'cause Vice is in the room." The Chief dismissed, eliciting a courtesy laugh from half of the room. "Sit down."

Guts finds a seat directly across from the Chief, his unit on either side of him. On the table, one of the detectives is huddled over a small stack of manila folders, the other clacking away at an HP laptop until the officers sat, prompting her to half-close the screen.

"The detectives here wanted to speak with you again about the upcoming Food Wall operation." The Chief introduced, then waved to pass attention to the man next to him.

"Thank you." Acknowledged the detective with the folders. "You look well, Adolfo. How're the kids?"

"Thanks, 2-John. They're doing fine." Guts greeted in return, crossing his arms impatiently. Whenever detectives called S.W.A.T into a meeting, it more often than not turned into, as one of his squadmates succinctly put it, "a dick-measuring contest".
"How can we help you?"

"Well, to start, you can stop doing target practice during my afternoon nap!" The detective joked, though no one seemed to find it amusing besides him.
"We wanted to go over the specifics of the raid as it's laid out with you, just to make sure we're all on the same page. Why don't you tell me about the op?"

"Don't you know everything already? I'm sure the plan is in those folders of yours somewhere."

"I just want to know what you know." 2-John replied, not bothering to mask the condescension in his tone. Guts glanced at Crow and Sock to his left incredulously, then turned back to the detective.

"We're executing a high-risk warrant service on one Lian Niu, owner of the Food Wall Chinese restaurant on charges of felony weapons modification and felony criminal sale of a weapon. Your boys believe he's using the restaurant as a front to sell Glock switches and other illegal firearms paraphernalia upstairs. Your mole is posing as a buyer, and once the sale is complete, we move in for the arrest."

"Good to know you're paying attention!" The detective patronizingly praised. "However, there's been a development that needs to be addressed. We've just received word that Niu will be meeting with a very high-value target, very soon." He finally opened a file, sliding it across the table for all five operators to see.
"Alex Jimenez, known in Colombia as La Navaja."

Within the folder was a thick rap sheet, paperclipped to dozens of crime scene photos capturing shooting victims organized by which gang - or family - they belonged to. Most were shot directly in the head at point-blank range, sometimes in public, sometimes not. It all depended on whether the solicitor simply wanted a nuisance gone, or whether they wanted a message sent. All of this, as per the blurb on the front of the hefty packet, placed Jimenez squarely at the top of OCID's most wanted.

"We've been trying to bag this guy for years. If we can get him and Niu in one fell swoop, that would be a massive win for the entire department. Not only would it confirm intention from Niu, making the trial a breeze, but we're also taking a killer scaring the Hell out of everyone off the streets!"

Guts furrowed his brow at Jimenez's mugshot before him, taking note of physical features he would be able to recall. Receding hairline. Short. Big ears. He listed.
"Okay... And what else?" He pried, sensing a "but" coming on.

"And, we want to stress that it would really drive the nail home if you brought him in breathing. If we march this sonofabitch out in handcuffs in front of the whole city, that could really dig up old supporters in the community and garner some much-needed funding!"

Guts flipped through the photos, passing the rest of the folder to his right.
"John, this isn't the type of guy who leaves in cuffs." He objected. "He's gonna shoot it out with us, I'm sure of it. I can't promise we'll take him alive."

"Oh, come on, where's that can-do attitude we all know? Don't they call you Guts? This is your chance to get your name in the paper!" Goaded the detective.

"Already had my name in the paper, John." Guts started to lean forward in his chair, his unit bracing by his side. For now, they knew better than to interrupt a discussion between supervisors.

"Alright, gentlemen, enough!" The Chief quickly intervened, his returned presence compressing the disdain into the men's cores.
"Gold, I trust you to take the lead on this. The revised initiation time will be 2300 hours, Sunday, one week from today. Priority is still Niu, but this Jimenez actor is a big bonus. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Guts responded, only then moving his gaze away from the detective and back down to the photos.

"Oh - I'm going to need those back." 2-John waved a hand towards himself.

Taking a second to maintain his composure in the face of blatant taunting, Guts collected the contents of the folder from his unit, reorganized them exactly how they were, and slid it back.

"That's all. Stay safe, Gold."

"Likewise, Chief. Have a good night." Guts eyed the detective once more as he rose from his swivel chair, leading his team out in the same order they entered and closing the door behind them.

"You heard the man!" He jingled satirically, swinging a bent arm up his chest as he made for the exit. "Imagine being that guy's wife. Poor woman."

As the officers entered the parking lot, the chill of the Los Sueños night intertwined with the familiar stench of trash and exhaust washing over them, Guts turned to address his squad once more before they split for their cars.

"Look, I don't think I need to say it, but if that cabrón Jimenez tries us, drop him." He asserted, slightly raising a hand in emphasis. "That means you, Sock, no B.J.J."
"Don't get killed over fucking John Johnson. Are we clear?"

Spoiler: *

"Portland" referring to an incident during the 2020 protests in which Portland police were accused of greatly overusing less-than-lethal equipment such as tear gas, rubber bullets, and stinger grenades, causing permanent injuries and mass uproar.

 

[Solar Daddy]

"Ca-CAW!"
A passing patrol officer teased the bird as he spoke, eliciting little more than a huff from the more-than-used-to-it SWAT officers.

Crow smiled expectantly at the sound of his people, with the other officers knowing well he was unapologetic in his mannerisms.

Upon mention of the chief, Allen raised an eyebrow. It wasn't every day they stopped by as a team to visit the big man, but RED-ONE always enjoyed listening to the grizzled chief talk. Few had the same insight as Haggerty, and Fletcher was always eager to try and catch a story or three from him.

For the duration of the meeting, Crow remained respectfully silent to let Guts, Haggerty and Johnson deal with their business. It seemed the rest of the team was around just to listen in anyway, which Crow didn't mind. He could talk freely once the credits rolled. He of course kept his ears open, focused primarily on the description of the targets and the task at hand when the search warrant was to be acted on. Otherwise, Allen didn't keep track of every syllable. He always detested make-me-look-good behavior, which seemed to endlessly radiate from Johnson. At least twice throughout the meeting, Crow's head tilted to Sock with eyebrows up and eyes down, denoting his lack of care for the detective's presence or words as well as his general impatience.

When the meeting wrapped up, Crow snuck in a quick "Goodnight sir hope the family's doing well and you got all that property boundary business dealt with," directly after Guts' simple goodbye. Then, he followed out uniformly along with the rest of GOLD element.

Once out in the open air of the parking lot, Crow took a heavy breath. The stench of the city instead of processed air wasn't much better, but he'd always prefer the outdoors. "Got it, didn't intend on dying soon anyway. We make this clean, bag the suspects, take home the gold. Goes without saying this Jimenez guy is a problem, but you think Niu will be much concern?" Crow asked while giving his shoulder a stretch. Despite his question, Crow could barely keep his mind from his inevitable after-work plans; hanging out on the couch, cuddled up with his bloodhound, snacking on popcorn with a good movie.

 

[Maverick Six]

Jason "Sock" Ramirez // BLUE-TWO​

---

Even Sock cracked a grin at the mention of the headline. It was a decent question really. Though Giggles question made the ever Green Sock wonder if he was being a bit too serious in the moment. For now, those thoughts were easy to put aside. It was coming up on time to clock out. In his experience, there was little use in holding onto these things for long. When the gear came off, so to did his thoughts of the Killhouse.

Though his mind hadn't left his work quite yet. There was still yet the matter of the next task. And that was meeting with Elmer Fudd. Sock felt a bit wired after running through the killhouse, something almost akin to runner's high. He would be no less attentive here than he was before. Like everyone else, Sock followed Guts into the room filing in after him -- his eyes remaining ever aware of his surroundings as he did. The first thing to catch his eyes were the two "officers" at his side. Or more accurately, the detectives. For the most part, Sock was silent. But that didn't mean he wasn't there. While his eyes didn't move around the area, his face shifted ever so slightly as everything unfolded.

Sock took a seat with his hands on his lap. And listened. Obviously, Guts would be doing the talking. With a confidence in who he'd been given as a commander, Sock looked towards Guts, Crows and Giggles with a raised brow. His expression subtly souring at the way the question was posed.

Back and forth between the two continued. And Sock had to hold himself back from practically rolling his eyes or showing any signs of overt disrespect. But he still yet listened. And more over, he paid particularly keen attention as the man mentioned key suspects involved. Niu and Jimenez. The appeal practically ping pong balled in Sock's mind. He saw the merits of bringing in people alive. Something Guts knew well.

However, the way the detective put it didn't particular sit well in the stomach. He talked of fame and funding. And alas this was not the thing that gave Sock motivation. Long as he went home having done what it was he could do and made a decent enough living, he felt content. The things which drove him forward rest elsewhere than what the detectives want. He couldn't help but smell the stink of someone who was ultimately in it for themselves given the way he talked. And that wouldn't have been so bad, had the man not been talking about gambling their lives on a piece of shit like Jimenez.

Strangely, when Elmer Fudd but in between the two clashing bulls, Sock couldn't help but feel a wave of relief -- even if it followed the man back stiffening tone.

Sock rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms across his chest habitually. Greeted with the all too familiar scent of city stink. Admittedly however, he liked the sounds. The lights. He'd probably not trade it for anything else. The quiet was broken with a question.

In response, Sock placed fist in palm and squeezed. A POP! was heard as he made a stereotypical tough guy gesture -- cracking his knuckles. "Kickboxing it is then Sir. I'll knock the gun right out of his hands." He said with a sarcastic smile, before finally answering him truthfully. "Really though, I can't say I'm eager to roll out the red carpet for the guy. Whether he tries something or not, he gets the same treatment as everyone else." Said Sock. A scar in his shoulder ached from a lesson he remembered, writ in his own blood. Not something he wanted to relearn any time soon.

He had someone back home wanted to return to, after all.