A Clear Conscience

In Laios, my most dreaded day had come. Performance reviews. I hated doing these; they were the biggest source of anxiety for me no matter how long I’d been on the force. First, being the subject of them, and second, being the guy responsible for ending careers if I see something I don’t like. Any leeway given could turn into a scandal; I had to be thorough and impartial. One bonus, however, is that Hue had compiled tons of footage of my officers before he shut himself in his room; I’ve got lots of material to work with here.

First up, my biggest worry, my Orcs. Let’s start with Biru. Hue had flagged certain timestamps of concerning behavior of his. On my screen, the big boy approaches a rowdy tavern, filled with farmers and laborers. Dressed in his tight-fitting uniform, which had been up-sized once already, he pushes his way silently through the crowd, spilling drinks, causing some patrons to angrily shout, before immediately shutting up once they saw the beast that had bumped into them. He’d zeroed in on a patron that racked up a tab, refusing to pay. The barkeep wanted him gone, having given a gentle pointing gesture.

Biru gently taps the man on the shoulder. He cranes himself around shouts slurs at Biru for “interrupting” him. Green-skin. Buck teeth. Pea-brained bricklayer. They sound quaint, but to Orcs, those are fighting words. To my surprise, Biru stands there, with a smirk.

“You leave. Now.”, he booms.

The drunkard shoves Biru in the chest. He doesn’t budge, which sends the guy hurtling backwards into the bar, losing his balance. Here comes the trouble. He sizes him up, clenches his fist, and sends a haymaker right at Biru’s face. It bounces off of him effortlessly, leaving a small mark, and the drunkard tumbles to the ground from the momentum. He stumbles to his feet again, shouting obscenities. He winds up another punch. In a swift, beautiful motion, Biru raises his hand and delivers the most incredible, satisfying slap across the man’s head, sending him hurtling to the ground, crumpled against the wall. The whole bar had gone silent watching this, and cheered in amazement. Biru tossed the unconscious man over his shoulder and hauled him out of the bar, getting pats on the back and congratulations all the way.

The next few videos were nearly identical. Idiots pick fights with him, and he’d knock them out almost instantly. A few highlights were him picking up trash, and collecting an old lady’s laundry that had fallen to the street from her window, expertly launching it two stories up into her hands. Biru gets a commendation.

His fellow Orcs had more of the same. A group of them had responded to a man with a knife call. Three Orcs rushed him, tackled him to the ground, and one suffered a stab wound to the stomach. They broke his arms like pretzels; he gave up quickly after that. The stab wound would have required hospitalization if it were a human, but this green giant just shrugged it off, bandaged it up, and finished his shift. Tough bastards.

One Orc had lost his temper. A noble had spat on the ground in front of him while on foot patrol. He picked the guy up by the scruff of his shirt and made him apologize at his feet. An official complaint was lodged. I have to reprimand him, even though he was right to be offended. That noble was lucky not to be ripped in half. In another video, the Orcs and our singular bear captured shoplifters and dragged them, kicking and screaming, all the way to the jail. Overall, I wonder if my worries about these big boys were overblown.

The Dark Elves, of course, drew no complaints. Their footage was wholly uneventful. They’re invisible most of the time, and provided almost all of our on-the-street intelligence. The formula worked out beautifully: Dark Elves spotted a wanted suspect, Orcs sprinted to their location, tackled them, and hauled them in, kicking and flailing. Seldom would they ever engage with suspects beyond mere chance encounters. What surprised me is the quality of their reports; they had flawless writing and attention to detail. I only wish these guys were with me in my old department; they’d make everyone look like slackers. Considering they’d had no formal training beyond our course, Munin did a hell of a job.

The humans, thankfully, dealt with the vast majority of calls for service. The very first one I wanted to watch was Patrick, our resident old Brit. Sure enough, there he is, walking down the street, cane in hand, smiling and greeting passersby. He spots a mugging ahead of him; a ruffian is wrestling with an old man for his wallet. Patrick breaks into a sprint, drawing eyes from all around him, his walking cane clattering to the pavement behind him. He draws his baton. With a solid THWACK, he cracks the young man on the head, and he falls to the floor, crying. Conan and his young sidekick come sprinting up behind and quickly wrestle the would-be robber into handcuffs. Professional, quick, and competent. I can’t help but be proud of them.

Next, the Firemen. Those seven, ridiculous-looking, mustachioed walking giants. It’s impossible to tell them apart. Fred tells me they’re all in some kind of blacksmithing club together. I can’t imagine what goes on there. Surprisingly, they handled many of the public service calls, the non-emergency stuff, paperwork, helping the elderly, cats stuck in trees, public appearances, and financial fraud complaints. Despite looking comical, they’re very careful report writers. I watched as all seven of them strode down the sidewalk in one of the refugee neighborhoods. One of them rounded a corner, peering into a dark alleyway. Several men were smoking some kind of illicit substance. As soon as they saw him, they tossed their pipes onto the concrete and sprinted for their lives. One look was all it took. A Dark Elf was watching them, and catalogued each one of their addresses, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. They’d been marked for surveillance to track down their dealer.

The rest of the humans did admirably. Scarface, as I call him, had four use-of-force incidents since he’d been hired on. Each one was wholly justified, in fact, he took it too easy on them. After reviewing all this footage, I’d realized why I hadn’t had anyone come running to my desk, saying “We have a problem!”. By some miracle, these wholly unqualified men had adapted perfectly to policework, and they’re doing a great job.

I had my reservations about allowing this style of policework here. That was before I truly understood the situation; with the kind of nonsense happening here every day, maybe Patrick was right about giving freedom to my officers. The culture is completely different here – no one hates us for doing our job. There’s been no complaints about brutality; my boys exercised extreme restraint, just like I’d taught them. Given the insane events this week, I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Of all the things that had gone wrong, thankfully, my officers didn’t contribute to that.

I quickly got to work drafting commendations and promotions. Only the one Orc got a reprimand, and I’ll talk it over with him personally so that he understands it. The rest of the day passed in a blur; I had gotten into a groove with my paperwork. My itinerary was unusually quiet today. As the sun set, I swung open my front door to find Leia smiling at me from the living room. She’s been extra supportive lately; I find myself relying on her more and more. I almost think she’s flirting with me.