Darkstone Code
Chapter 255 - 0253 Influence [This - is sponsored by reader "AdequateFx" - 5/8]

Chapter 255: 0253 Influence [This Chapter is sponsored by reader "AdequateFx" - 5/8]

The cold air hitting him as he exited the room caused a senior investigator at the Sabin branch of the FBI to take a sharp breath, clearing his slightly muddled head.

He patted his face several times, wrapped himself more tightly in his coat, muttered a few complaints about the weather, and then headed towards the car parked by the roadside.

The female investigator following him had also had a bit to drink, and her cheeks were flushed. The cold wind helped cool down her nearly burning face.

"You drive!" the male investigator said before getting into the passenger seat.

The female investigator obediently sat in the driver’s seat, inserted the key into the ignition, and started the car. She was silent, or rather focused, but the male investigator in the passenger seat could sense something on her mind.

As the car slowly moved forward and left the neighborhood, he pursed his lips, "Do you think I did something wrong?"

The female investigator didn’t speak, just shook her head while keeping her eyes on the road. Yet, the male investigator knew he was right.

"You think we shouldn’t get close to Lynch, shouldn’t drink with him, shouldn’t leave in such a...," he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, "merchant-like way, right?"

Although the female investigator said nothing, her expression said it all. The male investigator sighed, "When I first started, I was like you, always thinking I’d be the nemesis of evil, that I’d catch every criminal, with nothing stopping me."

"But do you know how I think now?"

The female investigator’s attention was drawn to him. Just then, they stopped at a red light at an intersection. She shook her head, "I don’t know."

The male investigator looked at the sky outside and sighed deeply, "Only if we are alive and keep our jobs do we have a chance to uphold justice."

"You think Lynch is just an ordinary merchant, but he’s not. He’s on very good terms with Mark and the mayor and was reportedly invited to the President’s inauguration celebration."

"The most crucial part is, he’s very wealthy. Do you understand the value of money?"

The red light outside started blinking. The female investigator bit her lip but continued shaking her head.

The male investigator chuckled, "You know, but you don’t want to face it."

"He could easily make us lose our jobs. For people like us, doing this type of work, losing our identity isn’t exactly a pleasant situation."

"Soon enough, there will be an example to help you understand that some things mean nothing to some people..."

"What I’m doing isn’t just protecting myself!"

Elsewhere, the police who confirmed the alarm was false began returning to their posts. However, those dispatched to search Vera’s home were instructed to head directly back to the police station, with others taking over their task.

Such occurrences are rare but possible. In this case, the police were merely assisting the FBI investigators in the search, not the main entity.

The female police officer, who had humiliated Vera, had just stepped out of the car when the director’s assistant appeared, informing her that the director wanted to see her.

In the Federation, the police system comprises a local police station and numerous sub-stations, with the local station focusing more on administrative tasks rather than routine police work.

The police sub-stations are the frontline police stations responsible for most police duties.

Each sub-station has a director as the highest-ranking officer overseeing daily operations, so the rank-and-file officers could see the director daily, although it’s only the director of a police sub-station.

The female officer adjusted her appearance outside the director’s office, even sucking in her stomach to avoid looking "bloated."

Recently, social discourse suggested that the police force lacks combat effectiveness because they are too fat and lazy, which blamed the disappointing performance of the police during the major strike as a form of venting frustration.

For the police, though, this became a troubling issue.

After a knock on the door and receiving the director’s consent, the female officer entered the office.

The sub-station director glanced at her, set aside his work, and after a moment of observation, spoke in a calm, emotionless tone, "There’s been a complaint about your rude and unreasonable attitude during enforcement, and a fast-food restaurant lodged a complaint about you demanding an extra cup of sugary orange juice and an extra patty when buying a meal every day. Is there any truth to this?"

The female officer had an incredulous look on her face when he finished. Rude and unreasonable enforcement...if that’s the behavioral standard, most officers in the Federation’s police force wouldn’t meet the director’s expectations.

They deal with potential or actual criminals. They can’t afford to plaster on a front-desk clerk’s smile and nasal twang to politely say, "Have you committed a crime, sir?" or "Would you like to surrender, sir?" Such nonsense wouldn’t work. They have to be forceful to intimidate these individuals.

Most complaints about police attitudes in enforcement don’t trouble officers. Typically, they have to write a report to explain what happened and brush things off in front of the media.

Regarding the fast food place, the director spoke the truth, but she didn’t adamantly demand those things. She only hoped they’d throw in something extra since she bought a meal for two, but alone.

Wouldn’t that be normal? Even ordinary people might make such a request.

The sugary orange juice and extra patty were voluntarily given, and she didn’t have much to do with it. From what she knew, most officers there would be given an extra juice or coffee.

The female officer was about to explain when the director waved dismissively, cutting her off. "Alright, your expression tells me it’s all true, hand over your badge and gun, the disciplinary department will investigate."

"If everything checks out, you’ll be back, but if there’s a problem..." the director paused slightly here, "I hope you will come forward."

The female officer wanted to argue but was again denied a chance, "Badge, gun, and make sure to close the door on your way out!"

Reluctantly and with suppressed rage she couldn’t channel, the female officer placed her badge and gun on the director’s desk, then left, slamming the door behind her.

The director watched the slightly quivering door and sighed lightly.

There were no actual complaints; it was just an excuse. The fast-food place staff wouldn’t be dumb enough to complain over a trivial matter like an extra drink or patty.

What really forced his action was a call from the district police chief, saying she’d offended someone and it was best to let her step away from work, handle it coldly, and then reassess.

At home, the female officer brooded, staying in her room for two straight days. Even her husband and child asked if something happened, but she said nothing.

She didn’t want her problems to affect her family’s life and cause them worry.

Then, one afternoon she received a call from her child’s school asking them to come in.

Her husband, a blue-collar worker in a tough job market, couldn’t take time off, sending her alone to the school.

She’d visited there before, where people regarded her police uniform with fear and deference, but not this time in plain clothes.

Entering the principal’s office, she saw her son, a lovely boy in his early teens, in tears. His expression teetered between stubbornness and the grievance of seeing a loved one, bursting into cries.

The female officer awkwardly sat in a small chair, struggling to fit her large figure within.

"...ma’am, your son was caught stealing at school..."

Before the principal could finish, her son protested loudly, "That’s not true, I didn’t!"

The principal coldly regarded the pair, "I don’t intend to call the police, but I hope you take him home and speak to him. When I deem appropriate, he can return."

Baffled, the female officer led her mischievous but usually well-behaved child home.

As a police officer, she trusted her son’s firm sense of right and wrong, knowing he wouldn’t do such a thing. But the accusations from his peers, teachers, and principal left her uncertain about what to believe.

As the silent mother and son arrived home, she unexpectedly saw her husband’s shoes at the door—far too early for him to be back from work.

Heading into the living room, she found her husband downtrodden and exhausted on the sofa, clutching a bottle, already intoxicated.

Upon seeing her, the man broke down, sobbing. Between tears, he wiped his face, "They fired me, worked for them nearly ten years, no reason, just fired me..."

She stared blankly at her son and husband, unsure what to do; her life had turned into chaos in a blink.

In a side mirror, she caught her own reflection - gazing at her confused face, a sudden partial understanding dawned: maybe these events made sense after all.