The horn blared from the control tower.
"12th Precinct, you're up. Course Alpha: Hostage Rescue. Threat level high. Live sim. Move to the start line."
Kate adjusted the strap of her training vest one last time and gave a single nod to her team. Esposito fell in on her left, Ryan on her right. Behind them came three more from the 12th: Detective Marcus Hale, a former Marine who moved like he was still wearing eighty pounds of gear even when he wasn't; Officer Lena Torres, small, fast, and already famous in the precinct for never missing a headshot in quals; and Sergeant Paul "Biggs" Biggsby, who carried the breaching shotgun like it weighed nothing.
They jogged to the yellow start line painted across cracked asphalt. A digital timer hung above the entrance to the kill house: 00:00 blinking red.
Kate took the lead as usual. "Standard stack. Espo and I take point. Ryan, Hale, you're second rank, cover the long angles. Torres, Biggs, rear security and hostage recovery. We clear room by room. Three hits and you're out, so don't eat paint. Hostages are vests marked green. Threats are red vests. Prioritize speed, but don't rush past active shooters. Questions?"
No one spoke. They all knew the drill.
A recorded voice crackled over the speakers. "Scenario start. Go."
Kate snapped her training carbine to her shoulder and moved.
The first structure was a mock two-story office building. They hit the exterior door in tight formation. Torres popped a flashbang through the gap; white light and sharp noise bloomed inside. Kate and Esposito flowed through the breach together, cutting left and right.
Two red-vested "terrorists" were already turning toward the noise. Kate double-tapped the first in the chest. Esposito put three quick rounds into the second's center mass. Both members dropped to their knees, then flat on the floor, arms spread in the universal I'm-out gesture.
"Clear left," Kate called.
"Clear right," Espo answered.
They pushed forward into a hallway lined with cubicles. Hale and Ryan moved up, covering the T-intersection ahead. Torres and Biggs stayed at the six, scanning behind.
A red vest popped from a doorway twenty feet down. Hale's carbine barked twice; blue bloomed across the man's vest. He staggered back, hands up, out.
"Push," Kate said.
They flowed around the corner into an open bullpen area. Three more threats waited, crouched behind overturned desks. One stood up fast, raising a pistol.
Torres was already moving. She slid low, took the shot from one knee. Blue splashed the shooter's face shield. He flopped backward like a puppet with cut strings.
The other two opened up. Paint rounds snapped past. Ryan caught one in the shoulder plate, grunted, but stayed in the fight. Esposito returned fire, dropping one. Kate flanked left, used a filing cabinet for cover, and put controlled shots into the last threat. The actor raised both hands and sat down hard.
"Threats down," Kate called. "Hostages?"
Biggs pointed. "Far corner. Three greens."
They advanced carefully. Three training center staff sat zip-tied to chairs, green vests bright under the overhead lights. One of them, a middle-aged woman playing the part, whispered "Thank God" as Torres cut the plastic ties with her training knife.
"Hostages secure," Torres reported.
"Exfil route is south stairwell," Ryan said, checking the laminated course map clipped to his vest.
They moved again, faster now. The stairwell was narrow. A single red vest waited at the landing above, leaning over the railing. He sprayed paint down the stairwell in wild arcs.
Hale stepped into the open, took a round to the thigh, cursed, and still got his shot off. The terrorist jerked, blue on his neck, and tumbled backward out of sight.
"Lead's hit," Hale said, voice steady. "Still mobile."
Kate didn't hesitate. "Keep moving."
They cleared the second floor in under ninety seconds. Another flashbang, another breach, another three threats neutralized with surgical precision. Torres took a paint round to the arm but stayed in the stack. Ryan caught one across his chest.
"Damn it!" He cursed and took cover.
The final room was the largest: a mock lobby. Four hostages knelt in the center, hands on heads. Six terrorists, spread out, using teller counters and flipped over desks for cover.
Kate signaled. They fanned out along the entrance. Esposito lobbed a smoke grenade low; gray clouds rolled across the floor.
"Go go go," Kate said.
The team poured in.
Paint rounds cracked in every direction. Hale and Biggs laid down heavy fire from the left flank, forcing two threats to duck. Torres and Ryan moved right, picking off shooters who poked their heads up. Kate and Esposito drove straight up the middle.
Kate dropped to a knee behind a planter, took careful aim, and put blue on two terrorists in quick succession. Esposito rolled behind a desk, came up shooting, and eliminated a third.
One of the remaining threats tried to grab a hostage as a shield. Torres was faster. She snapped off a single round that hit the terrorist square in the chest. He released the hostage and fell back, hands raised.
The last two threats broke and ran for the rear exit. Ryan and Hale cut them off from opposite sides. Double-taps and both of them dropped.
Silence fell, broken only by heavy breathing and the faint hiss of cooling training weapons.
Kate swept the room one last time. "Threats neutralized. Hostages safe."
The recorded voice returned. "Scenario complete. 12th Precinct time: 15 minutes, 17 seconds. Zero eliminations. Minor hits. Stand by."
The team lowered their weapons. Hale rubbed his thigh where the paint had soaked through. Torres flexed her arm and grinned. Ryan clapped Esposito on the shoulder.
Kate looked at the hostages. All three gave thumbs-up. The first one said. "Nice work."
Kate turned to her team.
"Good work. Clean and fast. Now we watch the Nine-Nine try to beat that."
Esposito smirked. "Peralta's gonna lose his mind when he sees the timer."
Ryan chuckled. "He's probably already planning three different revenge speeches."
...
[10 minutes later] [Elle didn't make it. We'll see her side in the next chapter.]
The horn sounded again.
"99th Precinct, move to the line."
Jake was already walking, carbine up, grin sharp.
"Alright, nerds and warriors," he said. "Let's go win a children's karate trophy."
They formed up at the yellow line.
Ray and Jake took the point. Rosa and Amy took the left. Terry took the right and Boyle at the rear.
Jake leaned toward Ray. "No pressure, but they ran fifteen seventeen."
Ray did not look back. "Then we run faster."
The buzzer went.
Ray moved first. He hit the first door and rushed inside as if he had already seen the layout. He cut left. Jake cut right. Two red vests were mid-turn when blue rounds struck center mass.
Both dropped.
"Clear," Ray said.
"Clear," Jake echoed.
They pushed into the hallway. Rosa slid past Amy and covered the long angle at the intersection. A red vest stepped out too early. Rosa put two clean shots into his chest before he finished raising his weapon.
Terry moved up like a wall, covering the open office on the right. Boyle stuck close behind him, eyes wide but focused.
They entered the open area.
Three threats behind overturned desks.
Ray shifted right, forcing the closest shooter to adjust. Jake dropped low and fired under a desk. Blue splashed across a kneecap and chest plate.
Amy took the second target with textbook shots.
The third tried to flank left.
Rosa was waiting. She sprayed the guy with paint pellets.
"Hostages," Boyle said, pointing.
Three green vests in the far corner.
Terry moved in, shielding them with his body while Amy cut the zip ties.
"Move," Ray said.
They rushed to the stairwell.
A shooter leaned over the railing.
Ray stepped forward into the open before anyone could call it out. He fired three tight rounds up the angle. Blue marked the attacker's face shield.
The man dropped.
Jake stared at Ray's back for half a second. "Okay. Cool. That was dope."
"Focus," Amy snapped.
They went to the second-floor hallway.
Ray slowed for a fraction of a second at the corner, then tossed a flashbang inside.
Bang! They entered.
Two threats went down instantly to Rosa and Terry. A third tried to retreat through a side office.
Boyle surprised everyone, including himself. He stepped in and landed two clean shots to the back plate.
The actor threw his hands up.
"I got one," Boyle breathed.
"Proud of you," Jake said as they moved past him.
The final room waited.
There were six terrorists in the room and four green-vested hostages kneeling in the center.
Jake signaled. They spread out along the entrance.
Boyle lobbed a smoke grenade. Thick gray rolled across the floor.
"Go," Jake said.
They flooded in.
Paint rounds snapped everywhere.
Terry and Ray took the left side. Terry boomed the shotgun again, forcing two threats to duck. Ray moved fast. He leaned out, fired twice, dropped one terrorist, then rolled to new cover and took out another.
Rosa and Amy went right. Rosa snapped off headshots. Amy covered her angles with textbook precision. Two more threats went down.
Jake drove straight up the middle. A terrorist tried to grab a hostage. Jake slid to a stop, dropped to one knee, and put two quick rounds into the man's chest. The actor released the hostage and fell back, hands up.
The last two threats broke for the rear exit.
Boyle sprinted, surprisingly fast. He cut left and fired from the hip. Blue hit one in the back. The man spun and dropped.
Ray was already moving to intercept the final threat. The guy was hiding behind a turned-over desk. He barrel-rolled and fired once. Blue bloomed across the terrorist's chest. The guy raised both hands and sat down.
There was a moment of silence.
"Clear," Rosa said.
"Clear," Terry echoed.
Ray scanned the room once more, then lowered his weapon.
"All threats neutralized. Hostages safe," Amy called.
The loudspeaker crackled.
"Scenario complete. 99th Precinct time: 15 minutes, 10 seconds. Zero eliminations. Minor hits."
For a second, nobody reacted.
Then Jake exploded.
"FIFTEEN TEN. FIFTEEN TEN. THAT IS SEVEN SECONDS OF PURE VICTORY."
He ripped off his helmet and pointed toward the observation deck where the 12th was watching.
"Beckett. Did you see that? That was pure carnage."
Terry laughed, clapping Ray hard on the shoulder. "That was tight."
Amy said with a smile, "That was the cleanest run we've ever had."
Rosa walked up to Ray and said, "You were so hot when you were shooting." She grabbed his collars pulled in for a hard kiss. Ray kissed back as he pulled her up in his arms. Rosa wrapped her legs around his waist and continued to smooch without a care in the world.
"Oh, okay," Jake simply grinned. "Go ahead. We'll wait just outside."
Charles took out his phone and took a quick snap.
Terry gave him that look.
"What? I think this photo will be perfect for their wedding card or portfolio."
...
[That Night] [The Winchester Rooftop Bar]
Castle did not believe in subtle celebration.
The rooftop bar overlooked half the city. Glass railings, soft golden lights strung overhead and a live jazz trio in the corner. The kind of place where the napkins were folded like origami and the menu did not list prices.
Jake stepped off the elevator first and froze.
"Oh no," he whispered. "This is rich people air."
Castle clapped him on the back. "Relax. Tonight we celebrate excellence. And I already told them to bring out the good stuff."
"What good stuff?" Boyle asked, eyes wide.
Castle grinned. "Yes."
A waiter appeared almost instantly with trays. Expensive whiskey. Champagne that looked like it cost a car payment. Plates of steak sliders, truffle fries, shrimp cocktails, and something tiny and artistic that nobody could identify but everyone ate anyway.
Jake looked at the table.
"Oh my God. Castle, what did you do?"
Castle sipped his drink casually. "I told them to keep it coming."
Terry stared at the steak platter. "Terry loves free prime cuts."
Rosa leaned back in her chair, drink in hand. "If this is what losing looks like, we should beat you more often."
Kate smirked. "Next time it'll be different."
Ray smirked. "We'll see about that."
Espo and Ryan were busy eating and ogling one of the female singers.
Holt stood near the edge of the rooftop, hands folded behind his back, looking out over the skyline like he personally owned it. He turned slowly.
"An impressive showing today," he said. "Both teams demonstrated discipline and restraint. The Nine Nine demonstrated slightly more."
Jake raised the trophy high.
"Yes, we did."
He was holding it... A tiny karate kid mid-kick on a plastic base. It gleamed under the rooftop lights.
Jake hopped onto a low bench and held it up dramatically.
"Charles. Pictures. Now."
Boyle scrambled into position, phone ready. "Okay. Pose. Look powerful."
Jake squared his shoulders and held the trophy like a sacred relic.
"Say something cool," Boyle instructed.
Jake lowered his sunglasses in slow motion even though it was night.
"Justice is fast. And slightly immature."
Click.
"Another one," Boyle said.
Jake turned sideways, pointing the trophy at the skyline.
"Seven seconds. That is all it takes."
Click.
"Last one," Boyle said. "Give me cinematic."
Jake crouched like he was about to leap into action, trophy extended.
"Coolest Kill 2014. Write it down."
Click.
Boyle examined the photos like a proud parent. "Oh yeah. That is the Christmas card."
Castle raised his glass.
"To the Nine Nine. For finally beating us without needing emotional therapy afterward."
Kate raised hers. "And to the 12th. For pushing them hard enough that they had to earn it."
Glasses clinked.