Chapter 2-3 - The Rookie: Former Seal

Chapter 2 – Echoes of Fallujah

Mid-Wilshire Police Station – September 15, 2015 – 6:13 AM

The sunlight was still faint when Derek pushed open the double doors to the men's locker room. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee and men's deodorant filled the air. Inside, the metallic sound of lockers opening and the hum of routine conversations among the patrol officers signaled the start of another day of duty.

Derek approached one of the lockers designated for new officers. He had already memorized his number: 172. Everything was arranged with military precision. His uniform hung symmetrically, his ballistic vest neatly folded on the metal rack. He adjusted each item with steady, meticulous hands. The movements were automatic, almost meditative, as if they were part of a sacred ritual that had been repeated thousands of times on bases around the world.

"Soldier or monk?"

The voice came from behind him. Firm, authoritative, with a hint of sarcasm.

Derek turned. A woman, with a proud posture, sharp eyes. Dark skin, hair tied in a flawless bun. She studied him like someone sizing up a diamond, searching for flaws in every facet.

"Officer Davis. Just out of college."

"Officer Talia Bishop. I was rookie of the day. Welcome to the jungle."

They shook hands. Talia's grip was strong, sure. There was a quiet authority there that didn't need to be voiced.

"You're the SEAL," she said, her eyes taking in every detail of his presence. "Everyone's talking already."

"Impressed or worried?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Neither. Just curious. I've never seen anyone come straight from war into civil chaos voluntarily. Some people want to escape the adrenaline. You seem to chase it."

Derek shrugged. "War was never about the adrenaline. It was about the mission. It's the same here."

She nodded. "The mission changes. But the strain is the same."

"Are you two going to keep philosophizing or are you going to report for the briefing?"

The gruff voice came from the locker room entrance. Derek recognized it before he even turned around.

Tim Bradford.

Briefing Room – 6:25 AM

The room was small, with faded beige walls, a row of frames with old photos from previous classes, and a tube TV in the corner that must have been retired by now. Several officers occupied the chairs, some still half-closed from sleep, others too excited for this hour.

Derek sat in the back, next to Talia. Angela Lopez hadn't arrived yet. He noticed the sidelong glances from the other officers. He'd dealt with this before a mix of suspicion, curiosity, and, in some cases, mild intimidation.

Then Tim entered.

The well-fitting uniform, the martial posture. But now there was something different a more tamed air of authority, tamed by years of urban patrol. He walked firmly to the center of the room and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear:

"Officer Davis."

Derek stood.

"Bradford," he replied, with a slight nod.

Tim crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between respect and defiance.

"Do you still remember Fallujah II?"

Derek nodded. "Impossible to forget."

Silence fell over the room for a moment. The more experienced patrolmen knew the weight of that battle. Some of the younger ones just exchanged glances, not understanding the context.

"You were on Team Three back then, right?"

"That's right. I was a two-year SEAL. You were a corporal in 1st Battalion, Bravo Company."

Tim smiled, a small smile, tinged with bitter remembrance. "You pulled me behind a door when the insurgent detonated his vest."

"You were about to go in without cover. I saw it on the thermal camera."

"I remember. You used an M4 with an ACOG sight, right?"

"I always liked the range."

Tim crossed his arms and studied him more closely now. "You ended up as what? Lieutenant?"

Derek shook his head.

"Chief Petty Officer."

Respect solidified on Tim's face. "Thirteen years. You've done more than most people I've known. Why did you leave?"

"My time is up. And... my purpose has changed."

The answer was simple, but true. There was no evasion, no sentimentality. It was the essence of someone who knows when it's time to turn the page.

Tim nodded.

— "Good to see you again. Just don't try to teach Sergeant Grey how to search a patrol car. He hates being corrected."

A few light chuckles spread through the room. The tension dissolved. Derek was human again, not just the military legend everyone was talking about.

Precinct Yard – 7:10 AM

After the briefing, where priority calls were assigned and routine announcements were passed along, Derek and Angela Lopez met by the patrol car. She was more relaxed than the day before, but still maintained her rigid professional demeanor.

— "I heard you and Bradford know each other."

— "Fallujah, 2004."

— "He seemed... impressed."

— "I think he remembers me pulling him away from a suicide bomber."

Angela whistled softly. "That's an intense way to make friends."

Derek just smiled.

"Today, you'll be observing. I'll drive, I'll board, you'll learn. No SEAL Mode until further notice."

"Understood."

They got into the patrol car. The city was already buzzing. Helicopters circled in the distance. Sirens wailed in the background, part of the permanent Los Angeles soundtrack.

"Do you think war experience will help you here?" Angela asked, as she turned on the siren to respond to a disturbance call on Venice Boulevard.

"Maybe not as you think. In combat, the enemy is clear. Here, he might look like a victim. He might be on the other side of the door. This could be someone we should protect."

She shot him a quick glance.

"And you think you're ready for this complexity?"

"I think that's why I'm here."

Venice Boulevard – 7:36 AM

The call was for a couple's fight that escalated. Neighbors heard screams, objects breaking. Derek watched closely as Angela took charge of the situation, knocking firmly on the door of the second-floor apartment.

"LAPD! Open the door!"

There were quick footsteps inside. A woman opened the door, her face bruised, her eyes teary.

"He's got the kid! He's locked in the room with her!"

Angela entered first, her gun low. Derek followed her, without drawing it, alert, watching the corners, analyzing escape routes, checking for secondary entrances—combat instinct activated but controlled.

The man inside the room screamed, distraught. Her daughter cried. Angela positioned herself beside the door, looking at Derek.

"You're going to negotiate," she said. "Let's see if composure works outside the battlefield."

Derek nodded. He approached the door slowly, kneeling.

"Sir, this is Officer Davis. We don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to talk."

The man responded with incoherent shouts. The girl sobbed. Derek leaned in a little closer.

"You're a father. I have a younger sister too. When she was your daughter's size, I promised her I'd always keep her safe. And I kept my promise." Now it's your turn."

Silence. The tension in the room was palpable.

"It's not too late to show her you're still her hero. Do you want her to remember this day with fear... or with pride?"

A few more seconds.

The latch turned.

Angela went first, quick and precise. The man was handcuffed without resistance. The girl ran into her mother's arms.

Outside, when the situation had calmed down, Angela looked at Derek with something close to respect.

"Not bad, SEAL. You have a way with words."

Derek took a deep breath. His heart was still pounding, but his face remained serene.

"I've learned that not every war is won with weapons."

Angela smiled. For the first time, a genuine smile.

"Maybe you'll last longer than the others."

End of shift – 7:00 PM

Back at the police station, the sun was setting behind the buildings. Derek sat on the front steps, watching the civilians come and go on the sidewalk. Tim approached, taking a sip of iced coffee from a cup from the corner coffee shop.

"You fit in quickly."

"It's still the first day. I still have a lot to prove."

Tim stared at him.

"Do you think you've finally found your new purpose?"

Derek didn't answer right away. He surveyed the city before him. Chaotic, unpredictable, full of challenges and, somehow, full of beauty in its very chaos.

"I think I'm on the right path."

Tim nodded. They stood there in silence for a moment, two veterans who had survived hell and were now trying to build something in a world that demanded more humanity than strength.

Chapter 3 – Layers of Steel and Skin

September 16, 2015 – 2:04 PM

City Car 7-Adam-15 – West Los Angeles Precinct

The steady roar of the patrol car's engine echoed in an almost hypnotic rhythm as the vehicle glided through the sun-drenched streets of Los Angeles. It was Derek's second day on patrol with TO Angela Lopez, and the routine was beginning to take shape. Radio calls came in at varying intervals—disturbances, suspicious person checks, preemptive police presence in school zones.

Derek sat in the passenger seat, as protocol dictated. He watched the city with a watchful eye, absorbing patterns, details, the body language of people on the sidewalks, the sound of distant sirens, the roar of high-revving motorcycle engines running red lights.

Angela, behind the wheel, cast occasional glances at her rookie. He maintained an almost unshakable composure—his spine straight, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze constantly moving. It was as if he were still on patrol in the Middle Eastern desert, waiting for the unexpected.

But in that orderly, attentive silence, there was something compelling. She needed to know more about this man.

"You don't talk much, do you?" she said, breaking the silence, turning left onto Olympic Blvd.

Derek turned his face toward her, arching a slight eyebrow.

"I talk when necessary."

"I know. But I'm trying to get to know my new guy. I don't let someone spend two weeks in the passenger seat without even knowing which team they support."

Derek smirked. A subtle but genuine smile.

"I don't support any team. I like sports as a strategy, not as a passion."

Angela laughed.

"Are you always this... stoic? It's like you were born with built-in emotional armor."

"Actually, I was born in South Pasadena. Armor came later."

She seized the opportunity. There was an opening.

"So tell me: who was Derek Davis before the uniform?"

Derek stared out the window for a moment, as if sifting through memories organized like files in mental drawers. Then he turned to her.

"I'm John Davis's son. He was an LAPD officer for twenty-six years. He started in the Newton Division, then transferred to Hollywood. He retired in 2006."

Angela raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Really? So you already knew this world."

"I did. But I didn't choose him because of that. I chose him because of what I saw in his eyes. Even on the hard days, he believed he could change something. My mother... Elizabeth Davis, was a criminal defense attorney. She worked on both sides: prosecution and defense. She retired in 2010 after winning a federal case that nearly killed her from stress."

Angela was silent for a moment. This wasn't the kind of biography she expected to hear. There was substance, complexity.

"And siblings?"

"A sister. Angel. Twenty-five. She's pursuing a master's degree in clinical psychology at USC. I've always wanted to help people who feel more than they can understand. She's the sensitive soul of the family."

Angela smiled, imagining the scene: a home with a former cop, a tough lawyer, and two children on completely different paths.

"You seem... balanced. I mean, no one goes through what you went through without carrying some kind of weight. How do you do that?"

"Acknowledging the weight, without letting it control me. I've learned to distinguish what's mine and what's the world's. And to keep the two separate."

She stared at him for a second longer. There was something enigmatic about him. An absurd control, but not cold. He wasn't a machine. He was a man who had learned to tame his own monsters.

"Okay... important question now."

Derek looked at her curiously.

"What kind of music do you listen to?"

"Pop."

Angela almost slammed on the brakes in shock.

"Seriously?! You, with your size and movie-warrior face, what do you listen to? Taylor Swift? Katy Perry?"

Derek gave a soft laugh—one of the few she'd seen from him so far.

"Not exactly. I like well-produced melodies. I like the clarity of pop structures. Doesn't mean I don't listen to other things. But sometimes, after a long day, putting on Sia's 'Chandelier' helps me unwind."

Angela laughed, genuinely surprised.

"You're a mystery, Davis. A SEAL who reads Kant, listens to pop, and hasn't freaked out about my style yet."

— "I read more Clausewitz and Sun Tzu than Kant. And psychology, criminal law... I like to understand how people think. And how structures work. Maybe that's why I studied law on my days off between missions."

— "Did you read law on your days off... between missions... in Afghanistan?"

— "Actually, at the base in Ramstein, Germany. It had a decent digital library."

Angela shook her head, smiling. She was starting to enjoy having Derek by her side. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with a mirrored piece: as it fit together, it reflected you back.

3:26 PM – Suspicious Approach Call – Peak Boulevard

The radio crackles. A nearby call. Two men prowling the entrance to a convenience store, apparently armed. Lopez accelerates. Derek already readies his tactical belt, scanning the surroundings as the patrol car stops two blocks away.

"You stay with me. No heroics. Let me assess the approach."

"Understood, TO."

They exit the patrol car. Angela takes the lead. Derek walks half a step behind, as per rookie protocol. They spot the two men. One of them touches something in his pocket. The tension rises.

"LAPD! Hands where I can see them!" Angela shouts.

The men raise their hands. One of them, hesitantly, looks down at his pocket. Angela already pulls her gun.

Derek sees the movement. He senses the hesitation. And makes the move before her.

"Calm down!" he says, his voice firm, authoritative, but not aggressive. "Don't lower your hand. We'll resolve this here, now. If you're innocent, you'll leave, no problem. But lowering your hand now could be the worst decision of your life."

The man freezes. Silently, he raises both hands. Angela searches them. In his pocket, only a pack of cigarettes.

After the men are released unarmed, just standing near the store waiting for an Uber Angela stares at Derek.

"Good read. He was going to do the stupid thing of pulling out the cigarette. You stopped me from reflexively pulling the trigger."

"It wasn't a threat. It was fear. His body language showed no intent to attack."

"You're quick at reading threats. Is that training or instinct?"

"Both. But mostly listening. People talk a lot with their bodies."

Angela nodded. She was beginning to realize that Derek wasn't just a well-trained soldier. He was an observer, an analyst. A rare and valuable type.

6:47 PM – End of patrol

Back at the police station, Lopez parked the patrol car with the same precision he applied in his life. The sun had already set, and the city lights were taking on orange and pink hues.

Inside the locker room, as they gathered their gear, Angela turned to Derek.

"You know, you're starting to surprise me. I didn't expect you to be someone so... human."

"Expected what?"

"A robot programmed with war tactics, cold eyes, and short sentences."

Derek gave a small laugh.

"I'm a human being with a military background. Not the other way around."

Angela stared at him for a moment longer. Then she nodded.

"Good work today, Davis. If you keep it up, I might even say it was worth putting up with you."

"It's an honor, TO."

"And tomorrow you drive. But if you put Taylor Swift on the radio, I swear I'll throw you out of the squad car."

"No promises, TO."

Angela left laughing.

And there, in the silence of the locker room, Derek finally felt something different. It wasn't adrenaline. Or vigilance. It was something harder to find after years in conflict zones.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 2-3