They say people who become cops do so because they couldn’t save someone. If that was true, down in New Hope it was because you hadn’t saved yourself. Growing up in this city had a way of making you feel helpless. You watched as couples fought, careless pedestrians got mugged, crime lords bought out another complex and implemented their own brand of rent control.

Whoever said there’s honor amongst thieves must have lived in a city too. Everyone was either a threat or a target, it seemed. When the only thing you could trust about a community was that they were waiting to hunt you down and sell all the pieces, you were never disappointed. You were polite to the dealers, the pimps, the woman down the hall who used to have a husband—you didn’t have to be a criminal but had to respect the nature of crime, see? Some people deserved their fate, but it wasn’t your place to deal that fate to them whether they walked home with blood on their hands or handed you a baggy when running.

Oddly enough, not much changes after you earn your badge. People give you looks, don’t always pass you the bag, but otherwise the same civility was there. Corrupt cops were nothing new—just because you had a tin star didn’t mean you were looking out for anyone else. The city had watched you grow up, nurtured you and sang you the same violent lullabies as everyone else. The local mob sent delegates every now and then to see if you had blind spots, the pimps offered their ‘Blue Discount’, the woman down the hall offered tips on getting blood out of your clothes before the stain became permanent.

Life was a dull grey and you were just another smudge in the scenery. Perhaps that was why it was so surprising that your captain tossed your name out to play consultant to a not-so-far precinct.

“You have a good head on your shoulders. You know how things around here work,” he said. “You know what to look for and what to do about it.”

Your temporary assignment was in the classier end of the city, almost a suburb of mansions, really. Sharp green lawns set off the red brick foundations and sapphire blue shutters, gold knobs polished to perfection along the fence posts. It was almost an hour by bus, having to switch lines twice before walking the last four blocks. The station had a wall of glass windows, cleaned every morning and evening to prevent smears and fogging. A cheerful, sky blue reception area met visitors with smiles and plush seating. The receptionist didn’t drop his smile once while directing you past the bullpen and to the captain’s office.

“You the sergeant from the inner city?” A professional looking woman asked. She seemed stern, but anyone in her position would have to be. She lacked the same haunted look as your chief, though not so haggard. “You came with quite the recommendation! I’ve never heard old Gammers compliment anyone before, so you must be special, Sergeant Lewis.”