Chapter 28: The Training Evolution
Monday, November 12, 2018 - LAPD Training Facility, 9:04 AM
Tim Bradford's POV
The training scenario was designed to break rookies.
Simulated active shooter. Three floors. Office building layout. Hostages scattered across multiple rooms. Actors playing victims, suspects, bystanders. Real-time decision-making under pressure.
Most boots took fifteen to twenty minutes to clear the building. Made mistakes. Missed threats. Endangered hostages.
"Mercer's up," the instructor announced.
I watched from the control room. Grey beside me, arms crossed.
Mercer entered the building. Tactical stance perfect—exactly how I'd taught him. But there was something else. Confidence beyond thirteen weeks of training.
First room: he paused at the door. Two seconds. Then breached.
Suspect inside. Mercer disarmed him in four moves—techniques I'd shown him once, three weeks ago. Perfect execution.
"How long has he been practicing?" Grey asked.
"Not enough to be that smooth."
Second floor. Three rooms. Mercer cleared them without hesitation. Moved like he knew where threats were before opening doors.
Instinct. His damn instincts.
Third floor. Hostage situation. Armed suspect, gun to civilian's head.
Mercer didn't freeze. Positioned himself, used cover, negotiated calmly. When the actor-suspect shifted position—one second of exposure—Mercer moved.
Disarmed. Secured hostage. Arrested suspect.
Total time: eight minutes, forty-seven seconds.
Perfect score.
"That's not possible," the instructor said through the speakers.
Grey's eyebrow had achieved new heights. "Has he done this scenario before?"
"No. First time."
"Bradford, that was five-year-veteran performance."
"I know."
And that was the problem.
Locker Room - 10:23 AM
I found Mercer alone, changing out of tactical gear.
"That was impressive," I said.
"Thanks. You taught me well."
"Don't bullshit me, boot." I closed the distance. "I've trained twenty rookies. None of them performed like that. You're moving like you've been doing this for five years, not thirteen weeks."
He tensed. Subtle. But there.
"Your instincts are too good," I continued. "Your memory's photographic. You learned my fighting style in three weeks—styles that take years to master. What am I missing, Mercer?"
His jaw tightened. Calculation behind his eyes.
"I pay attention. I practice a lot—"
"Not good enough. Some people learn faster, sure. But not this much faster. You cleared that building like you'd memorized it. Knew where threats were before seeing them."
Silence. He was deciding how much to tell me.
"I'm not accusing you of anything illegal," I said, softer. "I'm saying there's something you're not telling me. And as your TO, I need to know if it affects your ability to do this job safely."
He met my eyes. Decision made.
Ethan's POV
Tim won't let this go. He's too smart. Too observant.
Partial truth. Enough to satisfy without revealing everything.
"My family has always been... unusually observant," I said carefully. "Good memories. Good timing. My mom used to call it being 'blessed.' Like we notice things other people miss."
"That's vague."
"Because I don't fully understand it myself." True. I didn't understand the transmigration or why I got these powers. "What I can tell you: I'm using every advantage I have to be good at this job. Because it matters to me. Because I want to save people."
Tim studied me. Long moment. Looking for lies.
My own lie detection stayed quiet. I hadn't lied. Just omitted.
"Alright," he finally said. "Keep your secrets. But Mercer? Whatever edge you have, it makes you good. Don't let it make you cocky. That's when people die."
"I won't."
"And if your 'instincts' ever tell you something that could prevent officer deaths, you tell me. Immediately. Even if you can't explain how you know."
Like Jackson's close calls. Like Armstrong's eventual betrayal.
"I will."
He nodded once. Started to leave. Paused.
"You're a good cop, Mercer. Better than you should be at thirteen weeks. I don't care if it's genetics, training, or divine intervention. Just don't get killed because you think you're invincible."
"I don't think that."
"Good. Because you're not."
Afternoon - Lucy Chen's POV
I found Mercer in the break room, staring at his coffee like it held answers.
"Tim cornered you about the training scenario."
"How did you—"
"Because Tim's been side-eyeing you all morning. And you look like someone who just got interrogated." I sat across from him. "What'd you tell him?"
"Family genetics. Good instincts. Vague enough to be true, specific enough to sound real."
"And he bought it?"
"He accepted it. Different thing."
I sipped my own coffee. "Tim's worried about you. That's his version of caring. He lost people before—Isabel, partners, rookies who didn't make it. When he sees someone with your skills, he wants to understand them. Because if he understands, he can keep you alive."
"I'm not trying to be mysterious."
"I know. But you are." I leaned forward. "Whatever secret you're keeping, Tim'll respect it as long as it doesn't endanger anyone. That's the line. Don't cross it."
"It doesn't endanger anyone."
"Then we're good." I stood. "Because you're one of us now. We protect our own. Even from themselves."
Ethan's POV - Evening, Driving Home
My phone rang. Emma.
"Hey, you."
"Hey yourself. Still on for Friday?"
"Wouldn't miss it. Where are we going?"
"Surprise. But dress nice. Not cop clothes."
"I own nice clothes."
"Prove it." Her smile was audible. "How was your day?"
"Training. Did well. Maybe too well."
"Is there such a thing?"
"When your TO starts asking questions about how you learned things so fast? Yeah."
"What'd you tell him?"
"Family genetics."
"Is that true?"
My lie detection stayed quiet. "In a way."
"You're full of secrets, Officer Mercer."
"So I'm told."
"Good thing I like mysteries." Pause. "Be careful at work. You sound stressed."
"Just being cautious. Nothing dangerous."
"Liar."
She was joking. But my lie detection fired. Because I was lying. Armstrong was dangerous. The investigation was dangerous. Everything was getting more dangerous.
"I'll be careful," I said. Truth.
"Good. See you Friday. Seven PM. I'll text you the address."
"Can't wait."
After she hung up, I drove home through LA traffic. Recalled the training scenario perfectly—every room, every decision, every move. My powers had saved time, saved theoretical hostages, earned perfect scores.
But they'd also raised questions I couldn't fully answer.
Tim knows something's unusual. Lucy knows I'm keeping secrets. Grey's been watching. Armstrong's escalating.
The walls are closing in from multiple directions.
But I'm also getting stronger. Powers approaching Advanced Phase. Each day a little faster, a little clearer, a little more capable.
Just have to stay ahead of the questions long enough to save the people who matter.
I pulled into my garage. Mansion dark and empty. Nolan's house lit up next door—normal family dinner, normal life.
I grabbed my phone, added to the Armstrong file: Pattern suggests escalation. Increased surveillance recommended. Timeline: unknown.
Thirteen weeks into rookie year. Powers evolving. Relationships deepening. Threats multiplying.
This is the life I chose. Second chance. Use it well.
I locked the file, went inside, and started planning for what came next.
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