Chapter 1: A New Day at the 99
[9:00 AM – 99th Precinct Bullpen – September 17, 2013]
The precinct bullpen was a symphony of controlled chaos, a messy but familiar rhythm of ringing phones, shouted case numbers, and the persistent hum of a vending machine. To Adam, a transmigrator who had woken up in the body of an NYPD rookie, it was all a terrifying, glorious dream. The air was thick with the scent of burnt coffee and cheap donuts, a scent he knew from a thousand late-night TV binges. He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he was just a human, a fan who had been given a backstage pass to his favorite show. But the moment was short-lived. A loud, high-pitched argument broke through the familiar hum, a chaotic, vibrant energy that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was Jake Peralta, arguing with Captain Raymond Holt.
This isn't real, Adam's internal monologue began, a frantic, multi-threaded debate against his own mind. This is a TV show. This is a script. I am a fan, a ghost in a machine. I am not real. But the smell of the coffee is real. The hum of the vending machine is real. The chaos is real. And the fear… the fear is terrifyingly real. A small, shimmering blue holographic screen, visible only to him, flickered to life in the corner of his eye. It was his [DIS], his Detective Intuition System. The system was a silent, unfeeling partner, but its first message was a chaotic, beautiful surprise. [SYSTEM: First day at the 99th? What's with the Captain's face? It looks like someone told him his favorite sweater was out of style.] The message was not robotic; it was snarky, a chaotic reflection of the precinct's humor.
"Beep boop, Captain Robot," Adam whispered, a small, involuntary laugh bubbling up in his throat. He had to stifle it, to shove it down, to hide it from the people around him. He was a ghost, a professional liar. He had to be smart. He had to be clever. He had to be a ghost.
A woman with a face as impassive as granite, the precinct's civilian administrator, Gina Linetti, walked past him. Her eyes, narrowed to a slit, were scanning him with a look of pure, theatrical amusement. She had a smirk on her face, a silent question in her eyes. Adam felt a cold dread settle in his gut. He was a fan, a ghost, a professional liar. But he was also an actor, a man who had to pretend to be someone he was not.
He walked over to John Nolan, who was standing beside him and peering at the shimmering map with a furrowed brow. "Adam, you're the new rookie?" Nolan said, a kind, friendly smile on his face. "It's nice to have a partner who's not… well, you know." He gestured to the other detectives, a playful, self-deprecating smile on his face.
"I'm just a guy who wants to be a good cop," Adam said, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. "And I'm old enough to know that being the 'old rookie' is a lot harder than it looks."
Nolan laughed, a genuine, warm sound that made Adam feel a little less like a ghost. "You'll get used to it," he said. "This place is... a lot. But it's also a family. A very, very weird family."
A loud, high-pitched voice cut through the air. "Nolan! Adam! My office. Now." It was Captain Raymond Holt. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes a piercing, cold blue that seemed to see right through Adam's facade.
Adam's internal monologue went into overdrive. He's testing me. He knows something. How much? Is this a trap?[SYSTEM: Predictive analysis of Captain Holt: Probability of a direct confrontation is 98%. Recommended action: Be a boring, by-the-book rookie. Your charisma is high, but your professionalism is a liability. Do not engage in witty banter.]
Adam walked into Holt's office, his back ramrod straight, his hands clasped in his lap. He was a soldier, a pawn, a man who was acting on instinct, on training, on the cold logic of a past life. He was a ghost who was a professional liar. He had to be smart. He had to be clever. He had to be a ghost.
"Officer Nolan," Holt said, his voice a low, gravelly monotone. "You've been assigned to Officer Bishop. She's a good training officer. Don't make her job harder than it already is."
"Yes, sir," Adam said, his voice a neutral, professional tone.
Holt looked at him, his gaze unwavering. "And Officer Nolan, a new case has come up. A burglary at Mr. Googy's electronics store. I want you to work with Detective Peralta. And I want you to solve it."
"Yes, sir," Adam said, his voice still neutral.
Holt's lips twitched almost imperceptibly, a fleeting sign of amusement that was gone before Adam could be sure it was ever there. The system didn't register it as a significant data point, but Adam filed it away. A potential point of leverage. He responds to the absurd.
As Adam exited the office, a new, vibrant blue holographic screen, visible only to him, flickered to life in the corner of his eye. It was his [DIS], his Detective Intuition System. The system was a silent, unfeeling partner, but its message was a clear, impossible challenge. [SYSTEM: New Mission: Solve the Googy's Electronics burglary before Jake Peralta. Mission: Impossible.]
Adam looked at the glowing mission prompt, the words "impossible" ringing in his mind. But a new, unsettling feeling—a sense of determination—settled in. He was a ghost, a professional liar. He had to be smart. He had to be clever. He had to be a ghost. The game had just begun.