[Next day]
Jake stood near the elevator doors and watched the doors close.
Captain Holt and Terry left for a high-level meeting downtown.
Jake turned slowly toward the bullpen and raised one hand like a priest about to begin a sacred ritual.
"They are gone," he said with solemn certainty. "Ceremonial bagel."
Boyle stood ready beside his desk like he had trained his entire life for that exact moment. Without hesitation, he tossed a plain bagel across the bullpen.
Jake snatched it clean out of the air.
"Flask."
Hitchcock reached into his jacket pocket and produced a silver liquor flask that looked older than most of the precinct furniture. He tossed it underhand toward Jake with surprising accuracy.
Jake caught that too.
He twisted the cap open and tilted the flask over the bagel. Clear liquid dripped slowly into the soft center of the bread. The smell of cheap alcohol spread faintly across the bullpen. Jake threw it back to Hitchcock.
"Flame."
Boyle extended his arm like a knight offering a sword. A lighter sat ready in his palm. He lit the bagel up.
At the same time, the side room door burst open.
Scully stepped out with his chest puffed out and his arms stretched wide like a stage performer greeting a grand audience. He was wearing a horn helmet.
His voice boomed across the bullpen as he launched into a loud operatic note that rattled the glass of the nearby windows.
"AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Rosa used the side of her boot to kick a dented metal bucket across the floor.
The bucket slid fast across the polished tile and spun once before it reached Jake.
He stopped it with the sole of his shoe and threw the burning bagel into the bucket with perfect aim.
Fire burst upward in a sudden bright flare.
Scully hit the climax of his note and held it with impressive lung power.
Jake stepped back and opened his arms wide with a triumphant grin that stretched across his entire face.
"Let the games begin."
Cheers erupted across the bullpen.
...
[Break room]
Amy, Rosa, Boyle, Ray, Hitchcock, and Scully sat together in the break room. Before them was a long table, covered with white cloth.
In front of them was a standboard with pictures of the participants. At the top, it said: Jimmy Jab Games.
Gina stood beside it. She wriggled her fingers around her mouth and made a trumpet sound, "Tututuuuu-tutututuuuu."
Jake walked beside her and said, "Welcome to the Jimmy Jabs." He looked around the room. "We play for pride. We play for the phone numbers of Rosa's friends, but most importantly, we play to watch Amy lose." He pointed a finger at Amy.
"Nope. This is my year," Amy said confidently.
Scully chimed in with a smile, "This is my year too."
Amy made a slightly disgusted face. "Please don't align yourself with me."
Jake said, "Why not? Neither of you has ever come close to winning. You're exactly the same..." He shook his head with a little grin. "...Just a couple of Santiagos."
Gina giggled.
Jake continued. "But the real prize is..."
Gina dragged out a brand new chair.
"...a brand new ergonomic chair with lumber support and leg rest, donated to NYPD by our favorite..." Jake pointed a finger toward Ray. "Raymond White."
Ray gave a slight nod.
"Over to you, Gina," Jake said before taking his seat.
"As usual, the loser of each event is eliminated from the games and the winner gets a bonus in the final round," Gina explained as she walked forward and pulled down the cover from the table.
A metal tray sat underneath.
On the tray rested a mountain of chicken wings that had turned a disturbing shade somewhere between gray and brown. The skin looked dry and slightly wrinkled. A thin film of cold grease had hardened along the edges. Next to the tray sat an open bottle of violently red hot sauce.
The smell rolled across the room like an invisible fog.
Amy recoiled first. Her entire face twisted. "Oh my God."
Boyle leaned forward slowly, eyes wide with horror. "Those wings have seen things."
"That is just nasty, but I've had worse," Ray said with a smirk.
Scully rubbed his hands together. "I once ate a three-day-old burrito from under my desk. This is nothing."
Hitchcock nodded solemnly beside him. "Solidarity."
Gina swept her arm toward the table with dramatic flair. "Event one. The Wing of Shame. Two-week-old chicken wings retrieved from the communal fridge, served cold, paired with the hottest sauce we could find in the evidence locker. Rules are simple. Eat as many as you can without puking, crying, or tapping out."
She raised her hand.
"On three. One. Two. Three. Go!"
They all grabbed a wing at the same time.
Boyle took one bite, chewed twice, then froze. His face turned a shade of green nobody had ever seen on him before. He dropped the wing back onto the tray and shoved his chair back. "I can't. I can't put that in my mouth. It's my love of life."
Gina pointed at him. "Boyle eliminated." She crossed his picture.
Rosa bit into hers next. She managed two chews before her eyes widened. She clapped a hand over her mouth, stood up fast, and ran for the trash can in the corner. She made it just in time. A retch echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone losing their breakfast.
Gina marked her out on the whiteboard with a dramatic X. "Rosa Diaz, eliminated. Next."
Amy powered through her first wing with grim determination. She swallowed, reached for the hot sauce, poured a generous amount on the second one, and took another bite. Her face contorted. "I can do this." Tears streamed down her cheeks. She kept chewing, jaw working like she was grinding rocks.
Jake pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.
Ray did the same from the other side. "Hey, give us a smile."
Amy glared at them through watery eyes. "You two are the worst."
Jake grinned. "These are going in the precinct hall of shame. Priceless."
Amy stared at the half-eaten fourth wing still in her hand. She gagged once, dropped it, and pushed away from the table. "I'm done. I can't do this."
Gina crossed Amy's name off. "Amy Santiago, eliminated. The photos will live forever."
Hitchcock went next. He ate four wings in quick succession, chewing methodically like he was reviewing a menu. Then he paused, looked thoughtful, and set the fifth one down. "Tastes like old gym socks marinated in sweat. I'm tapping out before it gets personal."
Jake attacked his pile with theatrical gusto. He shoved two wings in at once, chewed loudly, then froze. His eyes watered. He swallowed hard and coughed.
Ray went slower, more controlled. He ate one, then another, face impassive the whole time. The third wing went down without a visible reaction.
Gina marked him gone. "Hitchcock, eliminated. Solid effort."
Ray and Jake stopped and all eyes went toward Scully.
Scully kept eating. He finished the wing in his hand, reached for another, dipped it straight into the hot sauce bottle without hesitation, and bit down. Sauce dripped down his chin. He chewed contentedly.
The room went quiet except for the sound of his chewing.
Scully swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked around at the stunned faces. He shrugged. "You do realize these are free, right?"
Boyle gasped from the sink. "Free? That's your reasoning?"
Scully nodded once. "Free food is free food. Rules don't say anything about enjoying it."
Gina laughed so hard she had to brace herself on the table. "Scully wins round one. Everyone else, better luck next event."
Amy wiped her eyes with a napkin. "This is rigged. The man eats roadkill for breakfast."
...
[A Few Minutes Later]
Gina wiped the last tear of laughter from her eye and clapped her hands twice to regain control of the room. "Alright, losers and spectators. Round two is up next. Move it."
The eliminated players shuffled their chairs back while the remaining three, Jake, Ray, and Scully, stayed seated at the center of the action. Gina pulled a black cloth off a new tray that had been hidden behind the standboard.
Three rows of small plastic cups sat lined up like soldiers. Each cup held a different colored liquid, some murky, some bright, a few bubbling faintly. Labels had been scratched off or covered with tape.
"Event two," Gina announced with a flourish. "Blind Beverage Roulette. You drink whatever we hand you. You identify the drink correctly, you score a point. Wrong answer, you lose a point. First to five points wins the round. Wrong three times in a row and you're out."
She blindfolded all three with black bandanas tied tight around their heads.
Jake cracked his neck. "I was born for this. My palate is legendary."
Ray cracked his knuckles. "We'll see about that."
Scully simply hummed a little tune under his breath.
Gina started with Jake. She placed the first cup in his hand. He tilted it back and swallowed in one smooth motion.
His face scrunched immediately. "That is... pickle juice mixed with something sour. Wait. No. It's expired kombucha with a shot of vinegar."
Gina checked her master list. "Correct. One point to Peralta."
Next cup went to Ray. He drank without hesitation. His expression did not change at all.
"Black coffee that someone left in the microwave too long. Burnt and bitter."
"Correct. One point to White."
Scully got the third. He sipped, rolled it around his mouth like a wine taster, then swallowed. "Warm apple juice that sat next to the radiator for three days."
Rosa blinked. "How do you even know that?"
"Experience," Scully said simply.
The round continued fast. Jake nailed a suspicious blue sports drink that tasted like window cleaner. Ray identified a flat soda mixed with soy sauce without flinching. Scully powered through a cup of cold instant mashed potatoes dissolved in water and called it exactly that.
In the end, Jake and Ray tied at five points each while Scully had to drop out due to explosive diarrhea.
Gina clapped her hands again to pull everyone's attention back to the center of the break room. The energy in the space had shifted from queasy laughter to pure anticipation. She stepped in front of the three remaining competitors, though Scully had already excused himself to the bathroom with urgent steps and a muttered apology about his stomach staging a full revolt.
"Final round," Gina declared, voice ringing with ceremony. "The Jimmy Jab Gauntlet. You start here in the break room. You run the full obstacle course we set up across the precinct floor. You hit every station, no shortcuts. When you reach the parking lot downstairs, two spicy hotdogs wait for you on the hood of Terry's minivan. Finish your hotdogs. Then you sprint back up using only the stairs. First one to touch the finish line wins the entire Jimmy Jabs and claims the chair."
She gestured toward the doorway where the course began. Chairs had been stacked into a low hurdle right outside the break room. Beyond that, a row of traffic cones zigzagged through the bullpen desks. Someone had strung caution tape across the hallway like a finish-line ribbon at knee height. A pile of old case files waited in the copy room to be jumped over like hurdles. The elevator doors stood taped shut with bright yellow crime-scene tape to force the stairwell route on the return trip.
Jake bounced on the balls of his feet, already grinning like he had won. "This is my moment. I've trained my whole life for spicy meat and stairs."
Ray stretched his arms once, calm and focused. "Let's see how it plays out."
Gina raised her hand like a race starter. "On my mark. Three. Two. One. Go!"
Jake exploded forward first, vaulting the chair stack. Ray followed right behind, moving fast, clearing the chairs without breaking stride. They hit the cone zigzag together, shoulders brushing as they weaved through the desks. Jake knocked one cone over with his hip and laughed it off.
They reached the caution-tape barrier at the same time. Jake dropped low and slid under it on his knees like a baseball player stealing home. Ray simply jumped over it. The copy-room file pile came next. Jake leaped it with arms windmilling for balance. Ray hurdled it cleanly, landing soft and already accelerating toward the stairwell door.
They went down the stairs.
Jake took them two at a time, railing gripped tight. Ray matched him step for step, breathing even, eyes locked ahead. They burst out into the parking lot together, chests heaving, sweat already shining on their foreheads.
Terry's minivan sat parked under the fluorescent lights. Two foil-wrapped hotdogs rested on the hood, steam curling up from the paper. The smell of chili, jalapenos, and questionable precinct-grade sausage hit them like a wall.
Jake snatched one first, tore the wrapper open, and shoved half into his mouth in one bite. His eyes watered instantly. "Holy mother of spice. This is war crime food."
Ray picked up the second one. He took a measured bite, chewed once, swallowed, then went for the rest without pause. Heat bloomed across his tongue and down his throat, but his face stayed neutral. He finished his hotdog in four quick bites, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at Jake.
Jake was struggling. Sauce dripped down his chin. His cheeks flushed red. He forced the last bite down, gagged once, then threw both empty wrappers into the nearby trash can with dramatic flair. "Done!"
They turned and sprinted back toward the stairwell doors. Jake hit the stairs first, pounding up them with wild energy. Ray stayed close, matching pace, but something shifted in his stride halfway up the first flight. He slowed deliberately, letting Jake pull ahead by half a landing.
Jake glanced back once, saw the gap, and pushed harder.
Ray kept his speed steady but controlled. He rounded the final landing a full five steps behind. Jake burst through the door into the bullpen, arms raised, chest heaving. He sprinted the last stretch and slapped both hands down on the finish line tape Gina had stretched across the break-room doorway.
"Winner!" Jake shouted, spinning around with pure triumph. "Jake Peralta takes the Jimmy Jabs! The chair is mine!"
...
[Later that day]
Jake sat on his new chair and rolled over to Boyle's desk.
"Why do I feel like everyone was giving me weird looks after I won?" He asked.
"You don't know?" Boyle asked.
"Know what?" Jake asked with a large grin.
"Everyone knows..." Boyle replied, closing his file and he was about to tell Jake that Ray let him win, but when Rosa gave him that death glare, he had to take a step back because he is too young to die. "...how great you are and they are jealous of your new chair."
He pointed at the others' chairs.
"Look at their chairs. They are all old and worn out and look at yours, Jake. Brand new. So, how do you expect them to react?"
Just then, the elevator door opened. Terry and Captain Holt stepped out.
"Great news, everyone," Holt announced loudly. "Madeline Wuntch has been kidnapped."