[The briefing room]
Jake Peralta burst through the door like he was entering a concert pit instead of a Monday morning roll call.
"Happy Tactical Village Day!" he shouted, moving down the line of desks with both hands up for high-fives like a man who'd just been told the bar tab was on the city.
Scully slapped his palm so hard the sound cracked. Hitchcock followed with an enthusiastic double-tap. Rosa gave him the barest finger-bump version of a high-five—still more than she gave most people on a good day. Amy met him with perfect form, Charles practically leapt out of his chair to connect, and even Gina offered a lazy palm that somehow felt condescending.
Holt watched the entire performance from the head of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Terry stood beside him, huge arms folded, one eyebrow slowly climbing.
"Peralta," Holt said once the high-five circuit was complete, "I'm happy to see you are excited about departmentally mandated training exercises."
Jake spun toward him, grin wide enough to show both rows of teeth. "It's the most fun day of the year, something you wouldn't understand because you are not programmed to feel joy."
Holt didn't blink. "Yes. But my software is due for an exuberance update next quarter."
Jake's grin faltered for half a second. "You know, when you play along with the robot jokes, it kind of ruins my enjoyment of them."
Charles nodded vigorously from his seat, as though Jake had just spoken a profound truth.
"Yes," Holt said, voice perfectly level. "I know."
Jake turned in a slow circle, taking in the whole squad. "Anyway. Tactical Village Day is awesome. We get to test a bunch of cool new weapons, there's always a brand-new training situation, and..." He pointed forward with one finger like he was directing traffic. "Last year's was a prison break. It got super violent."
[Flashback]
Jake dove sideways into a narrow hallway, paint rounds popping off his training Glock in controlled double-taps. Two "inmates" in orange jumpsuits spun dramatically as bright blue splotches bloomed across their chests. He slid the last few feet on his knees, came up in front of the hostage dummy, and yelled "Clear!" while simultaneously shooting the final perp square in the face shield. The man staggered backward theatrically, arms windmilling, before collapsing in slow motion.
[Present time]
"It's like being in an action movie," Jake finished, eyes bright.
Terry cleared his throat and glanced sideways at Holt. "It's also a good opportunity for us to let off steam and bond as a unit." He turned to face the rest of the squad. "Everyone gets into it."
[Flashback]
Rosa and Amy moved down a mock corridor, paint rounds cracking in perfect rhythm. Rosa's shots were surgical; Amy's were textbook center-mass.
Behind them, Terry charged like a freight train, a bright-orange training shotgun shouldered, booming blue paint across three targets in one sweeping arc.
"ARGGGG!!!" Terry screamed while shooting.
Scully, somehow, had a fake M4 and was laying down what could only be described as "enthusiastic suppressive fire."
Charles sprinted past all of them, holding two flashbangs, pins already pulled with his teeth. He lobbed both grenades with a gleeful "Boom, baby!" and then immediately dove behind a crate as the room filled with white smoke and the sharp pop-pop-pop of training rounds.
[Present time]
Back in the briefing room, Amy raised both hands slightly. "Needless to say, the Nine-Nine has never had a perfect run."
"True," Charles said, nodding solemnly, "but Jake has been the finalist for Coolest Kill two years in a row."
He looked around at the others as though they might not believe him. "That's every precinct sending around their footage. All the cops vote. It's a very prestigious honor."
Jake waved it off, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "It's not a big deal. All you win is a children's karate trophy, so…" He gave a half-shrug, trying and failing to look indifferent.
Holt gave him a knowing look.
"You desperately want it, don't you?"
Jake's eyes flicked to the side, then back. "So badly. I'll stop at nothing to get that trophy." His voice rose suddenly, half-joking, half-serious. "I'll shoot you all in the face if I have to!"
He sucked in a breath, pumped one fist halfway into the air, and added in a much softer tone, "Go team."
"By the way, where is Ray?" Charles asked, looking around the room.
Terry replied. "Ray went ahead to Tactical Village about twenty minutes ago. Said he wanted to get eyes on the opponent team early. Scope the setup, check the course layout, maybe intimidate someone with a single raised eyebrow."
He paused, then added with the tiniest smirk, "This year it's the 12th Precinct."
Jake's entire body language collapsed like someone had yanked his battery cable. The fist he'd half-pumped dropped limply to his side. His shoulders sagged. Even his hair seemed to deflate a little.
"Noooo," he groaned, dragging the word out until it occupied three full seconds. "C'mon. No. Not them. They have ex-special agents. Ex-military. Not to mention..." He made a dramatic two-handed gesture toward the ceiling like he was summoning a curse. "...Kate Beckett. She's like… best of the best. She once shot a perp's gun out of his hand while doing a barrel roll. I saw the bodycam footage. It's not even fair."
Amy pressed her lips together, then glanced up at Holt like she was checking for permission to speak trauma aloud.
"Two years ago," she said quietly, "we lost badly against them. Like… embarrassingly badly. They wiped the floor with us. They had this one ex-special unit guy who moved like he could see through walls. And Beckett... she flanked us three separate times. I still have nightmares about that flashbang she dropped right in front of Boyle."
Charles shuddered theatrically and hugged himself. "I can still taste the smoke. And shame. Mostly shame."
Rosa leaned back in her chair, legs kicked out, arms folded. She looked almost bored, but her eyes had that sharp glint they got right before she enjoyed something violent. "We have Ray this time," she said, voice flat but certain. "And Elle. They weren't there two years ago. This time it'll be different."
Jake blinked twice. Then, like someone flipped a switch behind his eyes, the energy flooded back in. His spine straightened. His grin returned slowly at first, then wide and feral.
"Ohhh yes," he said, nodding to himself. "Oh yes. Revenge time." He clapped once, loud enough to make Hitchcock jump. "Sweet, sweet revenge. We're gonna paint that entire 12th Precinct blue. Beckett's gonna have more splotches on her than a Smurf at a paint fight. And that karate trophy? It's coming home with me. I'm engraving 'Jake Peralta – Coolest Kill 2026' on it before we even leave the parking lot."
Holt raised one eyebrow a microscopic distance.
"An admirable level of delusion, Peralta. I trust you'll channel it into something resembling tactics rather than… whatever this is."
Jake spun toward him, pointing with both index fingers. "You're gonna eat those words, Captain. You're all gonna eat those words. Except maybe you, Rosa, you can just sip them through a tiny straw like the cool kid you are..."
Rosa gave him a death glare.
"...or not." Jake took a step back.
Terry clapped his huge hands together once.
"Alright, Nine-Nine. Gear up. Bus leaves in fifteen. Let's go remind the 12th why they should've stayed in Manhattan."
Jake was already halfway to the locker room, walking backward so he could keep talking.
"This is it. This is the year. Beckett's going down. The trophy's coming home. And I'm buying everyone tacos after we win. Even you, Hitchcock. Extra guac. You've earned it."
"You don't have any money," Amy said.
"Yeah, I don't. This is just a motivational figure of speech," Jake replied with a grin.
Then he pointed at the ceiling one last time, voice rising to motivational-speaker levels.
"FOR THE NINE-NINE!"
The squad answered with varying degrees of enthusiasm:
"FOR THE NINE-NINE!"
....
[Meanwhile...] [Tactical Village – Staging Area]
The late-morning sun bounced off rows of shipping containers painted in faded gray and olive. Mock urban streets stretched in every direction: plywood storefronts, rusted chain-link fences, overturned cars, and the faint chemical tang of old paint rounds lingering in the air. Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew, followed by the muffled pop-pop-pop of a training run already in progress.
Ray stood near the entrance to the 12th Precinct's staging tent. He was checking the sight picture on a training carbine when he heard footsteps approaching from the left.
He looked up.
Kate Beckett walked toward him in full tactical gear, black plate carrier over a long-sleeve shirt, hair pulled back tight. Flanking her were Ryan and Esposito, both already strapped with training vests and sidearms, looking like they'd been born ready for this. And trailing two steps behind, hands in his pockets, wearing a navy windbreaker and a grin that said he absolutely did not belong here but was enjoying it anyway: Richard Castle.
Castle waved his hand at Ray.
Kate stopped a few feet away. Her eyes narrowed slightly in recognition, then softened.
"Raymond White," she said. "Been a minute."
"Eight years," Ray replied. "2006. Spectre case."
Kate gave a small, real smile. "Who would've imagined that someone would nuke the whole syndicate and still get away with it without any investigation?"
Ray extended his hand. Kate shook his hand.
"Good to see you again, Beckett."
"You too."
Ryan stepped up next, offering his hand. "Kevin Ryan. Heard a lot about you. Mostly from her." He jerked a thumb toward Kate.
Esposito followed, grip strong. "Javier Esposito. Same. You're the reason she still checks her six twice."
Castle finally closed the distance, hands still in his pockets. He tilted his head, studying Ray like he was trying to remember the exact chapter where this character had last appeared.
"You followed her here?" Ray asked, eyes flicking to Castle. "Let me guess. You called the mayor?"
Castle's grin widened. "I prefer to think of it as moral support. Also, I may have mentioned to the commissioner that the 12th could use a… creative consultant for high-stakes training scenarios. He agreed. Enthusiastically."
Kate rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it. "He's here because he wouldn't stop asking. And because he promised to stay out of the actual course."
"Observer," Castle said, raising both hands in mock surrender. "I'm strictly an observer. No paint on me. Scout's honor."
Ray looked at him for a long beat. "You were never a scout."
"True," Castle admitted. "But I did play one on TV once. Does that count?"
Ray didn't answer. He just turned back to Kate.
"Your team looks ready."
"They are," she said. "Yours?"
Ray glanced over his shoulder toward the distant parking lot where the Nine-Nine bus was just pulling in. Jake was already visible, hanging halfway out the door, waving both arms like he was directing an airliner.
"They're… enthusiastic," Ray said. "And they have a score to settle. Two years ago your team left them looking like a Jackson Pollock painting."
Kate's mouth curved. "We did leave a few blue handprints on their egos."
Esposito chuckled. "That ex-Delta guy we had on loan? He still talks about how easy it was to flank the short one with the perfect hair."
"Peralta," Ryan supplied helpfully. "He's probably still mad about it."
Ray gave the smallest nod. "He is. Very."
A horn sounded from the range control tower. Ten minutes to the first walkthrough.
Kate squared her shoulders. "So. Same rules as always?"
"Same rules," Ray confirmed. "No hard feelings when we send you home covered in blue."
Kate tilted her head. "Big talk from the man who used to sit behind monitors."
Ray's expression didn't change, but the corner of his mouth lifted half a millimeter.
"Girl, you've no idea who I am," he said. "Besides, today I brought friends with guns."
Castle clapped once, delighted. "This is going to be fantastic. I'm already outlining the chapter in my head. Working title: 'Paintball Payback: The Nine-Nine Strikes Back.'"
Kate shot him a look. "Stay in the observer deck, Castle."
"Absolutely," he said. Then, quieter, to Ray: "I'm rooting for you guys. Don't tell her."
"How much did you bet?" Ray asked.
"Enough to buy the entire squad a steak dinner," Castle replied.
Ray chuckled and shook his head. "Alright." He shouldered the carbine and started walking toward the rest of his team.
Behind him, Kate watched him go for a second.
"Still the same Ray," she said quietly.
Esposito narrowed his eyes as he watched Ray walk. "You sure he's a tech guy?"
"Yeah, back then he was. Right now, I've no idea," Kate replied.
"Only one way to find out," Espo nodded.
Ryan grinned. "Think they've got a chance this time?"
Kate's eyes stayed on the approaching Nine-Nine squad.
"Let's find out."