Chapter 19: Chapter 19: The Briefing Room

The parking lot was an anthill that someone had kicked. Guys in half-dressed riot gear were everywhere, the air thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and the sharp, clean scent of gun oil. It was the smell of a department bracing for impact. I nodded to a few familiar faces, getting the same look back: a mixture of ‘glad you’re not dead’ and ‘what fresh hell is this?’

Inside, it was the same organized chaos, the familiar scent of stale coffee and industrial floor cleaner doing a poor job of masking the panic. The noise was a low, controlled hum, but the tension was a live wire.

Upstairs, guarding the briefing room door, was a kid. He couldn't have been more than a few months out of the academy. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hand hovering near his holster like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. His name tag read PETERS. He looked terrified enough to shoot his own foot.

“Chief’s in a meeting,” he stammered as we approached. “I can’t let anyone…”

I didn't have time for a debate. I pushed past the kid and opened the door. “Chief, I need to talk to you.”

All eyes snapped to me. The room was a sea of brass, all clean uniforms and disapproving frowns, and it smelled like stale coffee and arrogance. Not a single one of them had a smudge of dirt on their uniform. They were planning a war from a climate-controlled office while the world burned outside.

In the center of it all, standing over a map of the city, was Chief Dobson. He was a mountain of a man who still looked like he could wrestle a bear and win. His eyes, sharp and clear under a bushy grey brow, took in my blood-and-grime-covered state.

“Holy hell, Elias,” he rumbled, his voice a gravel-pit of authority and genuine concern. “You look like you've been through a meat grinder.”

Before the Chief could say more, a voice, thin and reedy, cut in from the side. “Who the hell are you to interrupt a command briefing?”

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For fuck's sake, here we go. I didn't even have to look. Captain Howard. I kept my eyes on the Chief, refusing to give Howard the satisfaction of my attention.

“You look like something the cat dragged in. And then shot,” Howard sneered, his voice getting louder, clearly pissed that I was ignoring him. “Go suit up.”

He wasn't wrong about how I looked. The grime under my nails was a mix of gunpowder, gravel, and monster guts. The blood on my shirt wasn't all mine. I wondered what a forensics report would make of that.

My gaze never left Chief Dobson. He was the only one in the room who mattered. “Monsters,” I said, my voice low, directed only at him.

A slick, oily smirk spread across Howard's face as he stepped directly into my line of sight, forcing me to acknowledge him. He turned to the Chief, playing to the crowd. “You hear that, Chief? Officer Stormson is scared of a few rioters. Calling them monsters.”

Rioters. Right. I pictured one of the looters we'd seen with a stolen TV facing down the lizard that had torn a bull in half. My money was on the lizard. Every time.

A few of the other desk jockeys chuckled, a pathetic, sycophantic sound. They'd never seen what I'd seen. They had no idea what was crawling out into the daylight.

Howard looked at the Chief, expecting a pat on the head. He didn't get one. Chief Dobson’s face was a granite slab, his eyes unreadable.

“Everyone out,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. It wasn't a request.

I could see Howard’s oily smirk evaporate as he stood next to Chief. “But sir, we need to plan…”

“Out, Howard. Now.”

The captain shot me a look that promised retribution before filing out with the others. The door clicked shut, leaving Kira and me alone in a room that suddenly felt very quiet.

Chief Dobson folded his arms across his massive chest, his gaze sweeping over the two of us, lingering on the grit and blood that seemed out of place in his sterile command center.

“Explain,” his expression cool and expectant.