197Os
Player
This is RAD man. Keeping the lingo alive, you dig?
THIS IS YOUR CONTENT WARNING: DRUG ABUSE AND VIOLENCE ALONGSIDE TOPICS OF PROSTITUTION.
"I signed up because I used to sleep on benches..."
Cold Nights: P1
Floors are cold, and metal benches are colder. The expression “hit rock bottom” didn’t begin to describe the desperation of the woman lying across the pavement of the dilapidated shack they’d been living in. Her chest hurt, sore from many nights of labor on a stomach long empty. Empty of what she needed. Full of everything else.
Shame held her close. It was the only thing now that did. Her matted hair and dirty skin marred any hope of a respectable future. Memories of the man she’d loved ran down her cheeks like stinging pools of amber honey. Love had its thorns, undeniable at this point. She remembered the rain that night. The night she’d walked home, to find the TV on in the living room. The house was dark inside, save for that blaring fluorescent light, illuminating the couch in front of it. Standing from the hollow doorway, she had no way of knowing what had befallen her. What’d befallen them. The horrible thing lay sprawled across the couch. His mouth agape in some grotesque picture of inhuman selfishness. Sorrow was distant. How could it be any different? Anger took up the mantle. Was it wrong to defile him that way? To beat a dead horse? Her husband, the man who’d been raising her son? To say he was raising him was a stretch. His eyes were open, pupils dilated. An overdose, surely. An act of greed. Of gluttony and selfishness. Couldn’t he have taken her with him? She only stopped when her arms gave way, causing that great fall to the carpet below. Leon lay dead, the belt still tightened like some unholy adornment around his arm. His arms fell open in worship to a never-ending embrace. Death had left its mark, it's gallop long into the crowded streets.
It cried from the other room—that bastard.
The second arrived during that sleepless night. The horsemen bellowed, “What now?” Torturous, reminders of the horrible scene that befell her. “It’s over.” The voice rang out, beckoning her. “What of him?” Her desolation was unknowable. Desperation leads to choices of haste. Hatred, to choices of ruin. Her sorrow was her own; need she worry about him now? Worry about the child that lay in the room beside her? Darkness swept in, like a curtain. The fire alarm, long overdue for replacement, beeped as a bedside monitor.
Two deaths, in one night.
Time carries forward, the living, and the dead. None are left behind. The difference is choice. The dead have no choice, carried on past decisions and potentials unknown, unbothered. The living, steer their way through trials and hardship. Honor is far from either. Was it honorable? The way she sold herself to anyone willing to pay? Honorable the way she chose to beat him senselessly, simply because he reminded her so much of that man she’d loved? Was it his fault? Did he decide to have his eyes? Choose to have his nose or his lips? Choose to speak with a cadence that made her sick to her stomach, because every syllable left her standing back in that damned doorway? Did he choose to carry the name of the man who’d left them both behind?
The third horsemen, whispered when the men came and went. Sultry comforting words of gratitude, fake and hollow, like artificial sweetener. Cheap, and easy; her advertisements read. It kept the roof up. Pillars of sin, and death for the temple she couldn’t call a home.
He didn’t call it one either.
Laying awake at night was hard enough, laying awake at night hearing that twisted ritual from your mother's room? Disgusting. Knowing that it kept the roof you were staring at, up? The park was more comfortable anyway. Crickets sang lullabies he’d never heard. Cars sometimes sounded like ocean waves as they passed, if you were tired enough. He’d been robbed a few times. Only losing small coins or the occasional granola bar. He eventually learned just to leave his things at home. Winter was the worst. He didn’t have the clothes for it, and oftentimes his sleep deteriorated. The solace of being alone left nothing to be desired. It was paradise, to the tired mind. He often grew tired of voices, constant heckling, and insults, crossing the boy's road like stones to the wheels of a skateboard.
“Tell your ma’ I said thanks.” They sneered. “I might even be back.”
He wondered if words were worth the use. Sharper than a double-edged sword. He was never one for weapons. Live by it, die by it. Words cut both ways.
The outstretched hand held a gun.
“Look man, isn’t this what you wanted? To get your mom out of that shit?” The voice asked, in a hushed tone. “You pull this shit off, and we’ll both be set. Don’t be a bitch now kid.”
The barrel was colder, heavier than he’d thought. He couldn’t help but feel some semblance of gratitude toward the man. He hadn’t been hungry for days. Didn’t he owe them this? He stepped forward into the street, his hand tucked inside the brown bomber jacket. The snub-nose was easy to conceal. Small, and short, the .38 fit comfortably within the jacket's inner lining. The man living in that house deserved it, didn’t he? He was hurting his friends, a roadblock to the people who’d shown him kindness. His legs felt weak as he made his way forward, knocking on the door.
“Hey kid, what’s up?”
The man in the doorway stood, staring down at him with a face of concern. Did he look so noticeably nervous? Had he already lost? The figure looked kind, his face mature and worn, his hair neatly pushed to one side. He wore a white button-up shirt and loose trousers. Darby saw a kid run by behind, in the house.
“No- sorry to bother you.” He shook his head.
He walked down the steps, back across the street, and handed the gun over.
“He’s got a kid man.”
“So? What the fuck is your problem? He’s been fucking with our operation, locking up our boys, and we needed you to take care of it. Food ain’t free Leon, we asked you to do a job, you do it, dig?”
“Don’t- fucking call me that.” His mind had cut off as the name was spoken, turning to walk away. He wished he hadn’t, some nights.
They took it out on his mom.
The issue with prostitution is that oftentimes abuse goes unreported for fear of losing income. He heard as they did it though. They’d hire her, only to leave her bruised and bloodied, a mess on the floor.
The fourth horseman.
Lying on the park bench as he often did, the boy felt the wind, before hearing the trees rustle above him. It was closing in on winter. Solitude reached its paramount as a shiver invaded him. Footsteps broke the silence that had permeated the park. He glanced to groggily observe what appeared to be a group of four young men, clad in black. Another attempted robbery. Fantastic. Darby immediately, and slowly sat up, wiping the remnants of sleep from his eyes. But he was given no courtesy.
A man’s fist came careening towards him, landing a cold blow to Darby’s cheek. It felt as if he’d been hit with a wooden bat, his eyes now blurry as the pain began to course through his body. The cold made wounds sting, and part of him wondered if he’d already started bleeding. As he doubled over, a foot lodged itself within his ribs, and then another cracked itself against his forehead.
What was going on? He thought. Normally robbers would assume he was homeless, or leave when they realized he didn’t have anything on him. A beating like this was unheard of. He felt his consciousness slipping away. What would they do to him if he passed out?
Anxiety was to the internals, what a kick to the mouth was to the externals. He felt a warm trickle down his face as his lip was split open by a boot sole. The men never spoke a word throughout the ordeal. It was as if fate itself had manifested into an infernal symphony of torment for Darby and Darby alone. When he’d stopped moving, the men decided enough had been done, and took their leave. He slipped, satisfied with their absence into a panicked sleep. It was likely his wounds would become infected, sure of his face's new deformities. He could hardly breathe nasally, likely broken. His jaw was sore and felt out of place, his eye hung loosely in its socket. Throughout his sleep, he recalled suppressed cracks and pops, as the beating occurred; reassuring him that he was certainly in less than fortunate circumstances.
He woke up in a hospital. Slightly panicked, the bright lights showed like the sickly pale of an autopsy table. As he sat up, he was immediately met with a searing jolt of pain from his head. To call it a headache would have done the catastrophic reaction an injustice. His entire body felt bruised as if he’d been hit by a car. He tried to open his mouth, before feeling a painful tug as fresh wounds threatened to tear open. He’d been wired shut. His jaw had been broken as he’d thought. This didn’t feel right, he felt insecure, and unsafe, only now setting in how close he’d been to dying on that concrete. It was undeniable, that he wasn’t alright, as tears welled up in the boys' eyes. Damnit. How was he even going to pay for the hospital visit? His ma didn’t have money for this. Who’d taken him in the first place?
A few moments later, as if on queue a police officer walked into the room, closing the door behind him. His shoes audibly tapped as he made his way inside slowly. He looked to be an older man, in his fifties or sixties. He took a few steps towards the bed, before glancing down with a slow nod. The old man’s face was tired; undeniably. Wrinkles and scars painted pictures of wisdom hard won. The gaze that fell upon Darby wasn’t one of a father; despite his inexperience with a father's gaze, that much was clear immediately. It was more distant. That of a grandfather. Some mixture of disapproval, resentment, and humorous entertainment. It was odd, the immediate sense of comfort he felt around the man. As if he wanted to know him, to be like him. None of this could be said, of course, with the wires restricting his jaw; and none of it would’ve been said regardless.
“How you holdin’ up kid?” The man said, his voice matching his appearance. It was deep and gravel-y. He could’ve been a damn good blues singer, Darby thought. “Well, I guess you couldn’t answer me if you wanted to.”
The man took a seat on the foot of the bed, gruffly grunting as he did so. “Those four men, I saw ‘em runnin’ off so I decided to have a walk over and see what was goin’ on.” He paused looking down toward the floor. “Found you layin’ on the concrete all busted up.” He paused, silence engulfing the room temporarily. “You get a good look at any of ‘em?”
The boy shook his head, staring at the man in partial awe. The old man's hair was peppered with grey, and a badge sat tucked over his belt. He wore cowboy boots, under gray trousers, and a tucked-in button-up shirt.
“Ah…” He paused, nodding slowly. That’s alright.” The man stood up, walking across the room to a small side table. He picked up a glass of water with a red and white straw and brought it over to the boy. Only then did he realize how dry his mouth felt, and was immediately grateful. He helped slip the straw through the various wires crossing the boy’s lips.
“Any idea who’d want to do something like this?” The man asked, squinting.
Did he have an idea? Yeah. Could he tell a cop? No.
He shook his head.
Preferred Name: 198Os
IGN: 198Os
Discord: christisking.
Age: 21
Shortly describe five laws or behaviors that officers in the U.S. Have to follow:
1. Protection from unreasonable search and seizure, (Upholding both personally and extraneously) the fourth amendment of the United States Constitution. This ensures that officers of the law cannot intrude on citizens' right to the security of their property, and self-control, without proper reason–reasoning varying throughout states, however, for many it requires either a court-ordered warrant or base reasonable suspicion–. This helps to provide a groundwork for the independence and rights of the people, ensuring their safety from federal tyranny.
2. Use of force policies are integral to correct police procedure. Extending force beyond reasonable and necessary is wrong in every instance, and the freedom officers of the law are given regarding the use of force is a large responsibility. Incorrect use of force can lead to severe consequences, as officers become very much abusers of the tools they've been given out of necessity. This is antithetical to the purpose of the police: to "Protect and Serve" the people.
3. Correct arrest procedure is crucial to police procedure in the United States, due to the heavy significance placed on the freedoms of the people. This significance ensures explicit scrutiny is placed upon any and all arrests. Reading Miranda rights and booking procedures is a large part of the arrest process, as well as the grounds and differences between arrest and detainment.
4. Paperwork is a large part of a police officer's job as well, with report writing and documentation of both arrests and events being necessary parts of the job. Alongside this comes the officers' need for integrity. Officers are sworn to uphold the truth, and this includes the trustworthiness of documents and reports.
5. Community policing is an often overlooked requirement of the police's job, being responsible for forming and regulating relationships throughout the community. Building trust and relationships throughout the community through participation in civilian activity, and community events, helps strengthen the bonds and effectiveness of all police operations.
Why do you want to join the Echoes Police Department?:
I've been roleplaying in various environments for seven years now, beginning with a city-based roleplay in 2018, and spanning both Dungeons and Dragons and various roleplay servers–primarily through roleplayhub– this has given me significant history in character creation, writing, and interacting with other players in both urban and rural settings. When I heard Echoes was taking applications for officers of the law, I felt it'd be an interesting and fun way to integrate myself into the community through a faction near the beginning of the server. I believe the setting and concepts behind the server are interesting, and found myself more and more inclined to be a part of the growth of the server. I also had a friend, ThatOnePekae, who was accepted and, who I'd planned to enlist with for a fun character dynamic.
What would you do if you broke a law, and someone began to argue with you OOC?:
I'd respectfully ask them to keep the roleplay "in character" as the primary source of "in character" conflict. Breaking the law is something that can be roleplayed out, and if they'd like to make a report of believed misconduct, to do so through the server's report mechanics or by speaking with a staff member about the perceived issue. This would ensure the integrity of the roleplay, and dismiss any cause for argument out of character.
If someone is insulting you OOC for not following a common law (Such as reading their rights) what would you do/say?:
I'd ask them if they'd like me to correct the mistake in character, apologize, and if the insults continued, ask them to stop before continuing roleplay as usual if they continued,–as long as the insults were appropriate and in good taste– whilst ignoring the OOC attempts at provocation. Should the insults turn towards the unsavory; I would document and report the incident to staff. Belligerence is something that unfortunately occurs often within the roleplay scene, as–like it or not– people become invested in roleplay personally. This leads to a rock-climbing mentality, where people will grab hold of anything they can to possibly get them out of in-character situations.
What do you do if you arrest someone? Be short, but detailed:
First and foremost, ensuring the correct grounds for arrest would be a priority. This would include confirmation of identification, and or observation of a crime itself. Once grounds for arrest have been established, safe detainment and apprehension follow. During this, the individual should be informed that they are being placed under arrest, or are being detained–depending on whether a distinct crime has been observed– as the two have different grounds and rules surrounding their procedures. Once safe apprehension has taken place, the individual under arrest should be read their Miranda Rights, after which they'll be booked with personal information taken.
If someone is behaving strangely as if under the influence of illicit substances, what do you do?:
Once suspicion has been established, maintaining a safe distance is primary. Then, I'd likely ask questions regarding the person's feelings, "Are you feeling alright bud?" "Can you tell me your name?" "Do you know where we are?" etc. I'd then inquire as to whether or not the person had ingested alcohol or used any drugs. If at any point, suspicion of the use of a dangerous substance is established, I'd continue the procedure after calling for medical attention. This would ensure the person remains calm, as medics arrive. Field sobriety tests can also be administered, and arrest of the individual can follow, should enough evidence be gathered.
If someone will not give you their identity, and you do not have probable cause, what do you do?:
I'd explain the need for the information, and reiterate the legal rights of the person, before respecting their decision and utilization of their rights, allowing them to leave. Unless grounds for detainment are established.
If someone refuses to Identify themselves because of the 5th Amendment, but you have probable cause, what do you do?:
I'd explain grounds for detainment, and now –no longer asking– demand identification. Should the person refuse whilst probable cause has been established, I'd arrest the person on grounds of obstruction, failure to identify, or resisting arrest depending on conduct. The person can then be booked, and the interaction documented.
Provide us with your character's backstory. Please try to limit yourself to more or less 1500 words:
Darby Hammer was born on December 7th, 1957. Drug addiction took his father early, passing at the age of 31 from an overdose. Living in Manhattan, his mother struggled to make ends meet, working various jobs before eventually falling into the trade of prostitution. Darby’s youth growing up surrounded by the illegal trade, was full of the disgusting filth surrounding the underbelly of New York at the time. Despite this, Darby kept his head down as best he could. Comments about his mother’s career came flying overhead, comments about his deadbeat dad just as often; however he continued his way through school, becoming a social outcast in the process. Gangs were alluring. It couldn’t be denied that his life, surrounded by crime and illicit activity made them increasingly attractive to a young lonely kid. Having a family, a route to become strong, to become someone, was undeniably necessary. The trouble for Darby was, that he recognized the darkness of that decision. His mother was being abused and used by the very same people who chose to turn towards that life, thugs and criminals. Ultimately, he understood his abuse came from the very path he had very recently found alluring. A curtain removed itself from the shriveled corpse of crime. It was seen for what it was. Darby studied enough to accomplish something unheard of for a child of his upbringing, a full ride to Hunter College. Although it was a walk, Darby found it quite the same, keeping his head down, and devoting himself to doing what he was told. He found himself increasingly drawn away from the urbanscape, enjoying more and more, to sit in the few natural bastions left within the city, watching as the birds lept from tree to tree, and the squirrels ran up and around various branches. Throughout his time in college, there were many times he’d fall asleep and spend nights in the parks throughout Manhattan, often being shaken awake by various police officers; surprised to learn he wasn’t homeless, but had just dozed off. Eventually, the officers grew accustomed to his habit, deciding to leave him where he was, until morning when they’d inevitably have to move him, as people had shown up to wander the grounds. At the time, Darby had been studying general topics, unsure what to major in, however, the kindness of the police, as well as the rather quickly growing forensic science program within the college, pushed him towards his calling. He graduated from Hunter College with a bachelor's in forensics, before throwing a dart at a map and moving off to East Falls, to enlist. The small town feel seemed to spark his excitement, and he quickly grew fond of its quiet lamplit streets and tall forests. Darby felt ready to begin a new life, finally feeling separate from his upbringing, distant from his past.
Name:
Darby James Hammer
Age:
Twenty-seven years of age.
Education:
Highschool Diploma, Bachlors in Forensic Science
Why do you want to be an officer in our community?
My degree lends itself to law. Moving into town, I figured I could be of some help to the department. I need a job, and the community always needs officers. Seems like a good fit. I plan to stay in town for a while, I like all the nature. Would suck to see it overrun with crime. I don't want to live around crime, I've had enough of that for a lifetime.
Have you had any previous training or teaching in our academy?
Unfortunately no, but I'd certainly be open to it. I'm entirely new to the community, so training would be appreciated, without a doubt.
What responsibilities do you hold as a police officer?
The motto is to protect and serve. I'd say that's the baseline and the summary. Everything beyond that is an accessory. Despite that, protection and service have wide and spanning definitions. Serving the people individually yes, but also the community as a whole. Protecting the people of course, but also the property therein, and the rights of each individual. Peacekeeping is also something under the umbrella. Keeping things calm and secure, and ensuring proper process, moving towards justice.
Do you plan on advancing our staff hierarchy?
Do they get a pay raise? I'd assume so. That'd be nice. Yeah, I plan to advance up the ranks. Though I hope to establish myself somewhere eventually, stability is good, even if at the cost of promotion. Regardless, I assume promotion is a sign of proper work, and I do proper work. Hierarchy should come as a side benefit to doing my job well.
And, your real motto is "Serve and Protect"
A neon yellow sticky note was attached, with scrawled handwriting. Barely legible in fact. Squinting, one could make out the words:
Thanks for the recommendation, Mae, the town does look nice! I do want my lighter back though.
