Chapter 11 - The Rookie: Former Seal

Chapter 11 – Echoes of Yesterday

September 25, 2015 – 2:11 PM

Mid-Wilshire Police Station – Officers' Lounge

The station was eerily quiet. The phones didn't ring like bells on a stormy day, and the radio station seemed to have taken a rare day off. No chase. No robberies in progress. Just the usual sounds: the sound of mugs hitting the countertop, carefree footsteps, and the subtle hum of printers on a lazy cycle.

In the officers' lounge, the air conditioning blew gently, combating the heat outside. Angela Lopez sat at the table with a thermos of coffee in her hand, legs crossed, her posture relaxed. Across from her, Officer Talia Bishop sipped something that looked healthier—green tea, perhaps, with lemon slices floating in it.

"So…" Talia began, with a smirk, peering over the rim of her mug. "How's training Robocop going?"

Angela let out a short laugh, leaning forward.

"You have no idea. The guy has the focus of a sniper and the discipline of a monk. It's like riding around with a NATO operations manual in the passenger seat."

"Is he that cold all the time?"

"Not always. He has layers. And there are times when you can tell he's trying to adapt to our rhythm. He listens a lot, observes everything, and when he talks... it's always useful."

Talia nodded slowly.

"Like the guy who never gets bad grades but doesn't want to outshine anyone."

"Exactly. But he's already outshining just by staying silent. His track record is scary."

"SEAL, covert operations, speaks three languages... and on top of that, he has a law degree? Yeah. He's the complete package."

Angela smirked.

"But it's funny... he's as lethal as he is kind. A walking paradox. And the strangest thing? I like that."

Before Talia could say anything, booted footsteps echoed in the hallway. Captain Zoe Anderson and Sergeant Wade Grey entered the room. Zoe held a thin folder of reports, while Grey chewed something that looked like mint gum—his new stress-busting habit, according to internal rumors.

"Officers," Zoe said in her usual formal tone. "Calm day, finally."

Grey crossed his arms, looking around as if wary of the tranquility.

"Too calm. When the silence drags on, I expect a time bomb."

"Or a shootout in Koreatown," Angela murmured.

Zoe smiled. "But until that happens, tell me—how's our most famous rookie doing?"

Talia nodded toward Angela.

"She can answer better."

Angela shifted in her chair, her smile still intact.

"Derek Davis is... a lesson. Not just because of his resume. He observes like an investigator, acts like an operator, and respects every rule as if it were written by him."

Grey let out a nasal laugh.

"That doesn't sound like a complete compliment."

"Yeah. Because sometimes it's hard to break through his shell. But little by little, you see who he is. He cares. He just doesn't show it in the usual way."

Zoe nodded.

"I'm glad. He still seems like an enigma. He doesn't say much, but he's already earned the respect of even Rourke—and that's not easy."

"Earlier today, he taught a class on homelessness. It wasn't even deliberate. He just did it. And the newbies watching even stopped taking notes to watch."

Grey raised an eyebrow. "Derek Davis being didactic? That's what I wanted to see."

At that moment, the door opened. Derek walked in, his uniform impeccable as ever. His uniform was tight, his tactical belt in place, his eyes alert.

"They called me?"

"We were talking about you," Angela said, with a mischievous smile. "All compliments, I swear."

"That worries me."

Talia stood up, curious.

"Davis, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you still have photos from your time in the SEALs? Like... of the field, of the team, from that period?"

Zoe turned to him, now curious too.

"That's a question I've wanted to ask myself. You look like you stepped out of a war movie, but no one's seen the trailer."

Grey crossed his arms.

"And everyone's wondering... were you that different back then?"

Derek smiled. And for the first time, it was an open laugh—no irony, no shyness. Something between surprise and nostalgia.

"Very different."

Angela turned in her chair.

"Now you have to prove it. Otherwise, this will become an urban legend by the end of the shift."

Derek pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He typed something, scrolled through albums and private folders, until he found what he was looking for. He handed the phone to Zoe first, who took it carefully, as if she were about to open a classified military secret.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

Grey moved closer to see too. Talia quickly moved to stand beside him, and Angela stood up to be last.

The photos scrolled on the screen:

Derek Davis with his thick beard, eyes hidden behind ballistic sunglasses, camouflage clothing, and a face smeared with dust. In one, he smiled discreetly next to four other armed men, all in nonstandard uniforms. In another, he was sitting on a rock somewhere in the mountains, writing something in a notebook. Another showed him wearing a cap and civilian uniform, looking like a civilian, but with such an attentive gaze that it would be impossible to mistake him for a tourist.

"You looked like a movie mercenary," Talia said, swiping her finger to the next image.

"I looked exhausted," he replied, without losing his calm tone.

Angela saw one of the photos and stopped.

"This one... you're actually smiling. Where was it?"

Derek looked.

"This one was in Jalalabad. We were returning from a successful mission. No one was hurt. We rescued three hostages. It was a rare victory."

Zoe handed the phone back.

"It's strange to see you with a beard."

— "It was standard in the field. It helped with integration among civilians. Also... it was practical. No mirrors, no time to shave."

Grey nodded, now more serious.

— "You've seen a lot, Davis. And yet... you look whole."

Derek put away his cell phone.

— "The scars are there. I've just learned to live with them."

Angela returned to her chair, her eyes still returning to the images in her mind.

— "You've changed. But you haven't lost yourself. That's rare."

Derek looked at her. He said nothing. But she understood.

War shapes. Peace reveals.

And on that silent afternoon at the Mid-Wilshire police station, amid coffee, laughter, and light conversation, everyone there understood a little more about this man made of steel and silence who, behind his rigidity, carried a living story.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 11