[Three Days Later – 9:06 AM | Nine-Nine Bullpen]
Jake Peralta leaned over the corner of the bullpen, squinting like a war general surveying enemy territory. He had two things in hand: a pair of binoculars he absolutely didn't need indoors and a coffee cup that had long gone cold.
Beside him, Boyle stood with a notepad labeled in huge block letters:
OPERATION ROOKIE WATCH ☕👀
The O's were hand-drawn magnifying glasses. The dot in the "i" was a frowny face.
Jake hissed, "He's doing it again."
Boyle squinted. "You mean... existing?"
"No. The desk. Look at his desk. It's immaculate. Like no one's even breathed near it."
They both turned to Raymond's workspace. Pristine. Organized. No coffee rings. No snack wrappers. Not a single Post-it note anywhere. His notepad was perfectly aligned with his pen, like it was set-designed.
Raymond himself was typing silently, focused, boots dry, although everyone else had soggy cuffs from this morning's rain.
Jake leaned back and sipped his cold coffee like it was whiskey in a noir movie. "You ever seen boots that clean in this precinct? It's Brooklyn. Our water's 70% pigeon spit and shit."
Boyle nodded solemnly. "Mine smells like someone boiled gym socks in beef broth."
Jake pointed dramatically. "Exactly!"
Just then, Amy walked by with a file under her arm. She gave Jake a side-eye. "You're still on this?"
Jake stopped her. "Amy. I need you to hear me out."
Amy sighed. "Is this going to be like the time you thought Terry was secretly auditioning for Dancing with the Stars because he wore tap shoes once?"
Jake raised a finger. "First of all, those were very tap-y loafers. And second, this is different. Raymond White is suspicious."
Amy turned toward Raymond. The man was typing, reading, sipping coffee with robot-level precision, then typing again. He hadn't looked up once in fifteen minutes.
Amy frowned. "…Okay, yeah. He's weirdly… efficient. But as I've already said, stop wasting time and get to work."
Jake leaned in. "And Holt praised him yesterday. Praised. Out loud. With syllables."
Amy froze. "Wait. Holt praised him?"
Boyle chimed in, "He said, and I quote, 'Good work, Officer White.'"
Amy blinked like she'd been slapped. "It took me weeks to get Holt to say 'Nice effort.' And that was after I stopped a jewelry heist and then a car theft! He said it with the same tone he uses for toast."
Jake gasped. "See? Now you get it. He's not just a rookie. He's a robot. Or assassin. Or robot assassin."
Amy looked back at Raymond's desk. Still perfect. Still robotically functional.
"Okay," she said slowly. "I'm in. But only because if he skips the promotion ladder and leapfrogs me, I will riot."
Boyle fist-pumped. "Yes! We have a team!"
[Later That Day – "Recon Mode"]
Amy's Task: Dig into Raymond's files.
Boyle's Task: Find out what Raymond eats for lunch.
Jake's Task: "Intimidate passively through hallway loitering." (His words.)
They executed the plan with all the finesse of a toddler heist movie.
Amy tried to sneak a peek at Raymond's personnel file on Holt's desk… and got caught when Gina walked by and said, "Oh, cute. You're committing federal crimes again."
Boyle followed Raymond to the breakroom to observe lunch behavior. Raymond pulled out a container of plain grilled chicken and broccoli, and Boyle whispered, "He's either ex-military... or a serial killer on a low-carb diet."
Jake spent 27 minutes leaning against the hallway wall like a spy in a shampoo commercial, then pretended to bump into Raymond "accidentally."
Jake: "Whoa! Didn't see you there, Ray-dar."
Raymond: "…I was standing still."
Jake: "Exactly. Classic ninja move. Smooth."
Raymond: "…I'm just getting coffee."
Jake (whispering): "So was Lee Harvey Oswald…"
[Later – Interrogation Room 2 – Totally Unauthorized Briefing]
The trio sat around a whiteboard Jake labeled "WHO EVEN IS RAYMOND WHITE?"
Under "LIKELY ORIGINS," Jake wrote:
Alien.
Russian sleeper agent.
FBI plant.
Batman, but more Batman-y.
Amy added:
"Secret Task Force."
"Advanced CIA mole."
"Slightly too handsome for real life?"
Boyle added:
"Maybe he's just really disciplined and good at his job, and you guys are spiraling out of insecurity."
Jake and Amy stared at him.
Boyle added a new box:
"Also possibly a vampire."
Jake nodded. "Better."
[Across the Precinct – At That Exact Moment]
Raymond looked up from his desk for the first time in 20 minutes. He sipped his coffee, then glanced around, sensing the weird energy.
He stood up.
Jake, whisper-yelling: "He's up! CODE WHITE. I repeat... CODE WHITE."
Jake, Amy, and Boyle peeked over the edge of the cracked interrogation room door like middle-schoolers watching a substitute teacher fight a vending machine.
Boyle, dropping his notepad, "Oh my god, he's approaching Sergeant Jeffords. Do you think he's reporting us?!"
Amy, peeking through the blinds, "Shhh. Just observe."
Raymond reached Terry's desk.
"Lieutenant."
Terry looked up from a stack of reports. "White. Something on your mind?"
Raymond held out a file. "Case you asked for. Double homicide in Flatbush. I found a pattern in the victim profiles. Might be connected to an old gang sweep from '08, case 437-K, if it's still archived."
Terry took the folder, flipped it open, brows knitting together as he scanned the first page. He didn't speak right away.
Then he looked up and nodded. "Good work."
Jake's eyebrows shot up. "He complimented him."
Amy leaned closer. "Terry never uses 'good work' unless he means it."
Boyle whispered, "Sometimes he just grunts and hands me protein bars."
Back at the desk, Terry leaned in slightly.
"You sure about this pattern? Could be a coincidence."
Raymond shook his head once. "No. It's clean. Same placement of injuries, same timing, same method. Different boroughs, but there's a common thread in the victims' community ties. I'll pull the old arrest logs and cross-reference."
Terry studied him for another second, then set the file down. "Do it. And keep me updated."
Raymond nodded and turned back to his desk. The trio ducked back behind the door like they'd just dodged a laser beam.
Jake whispered, "Okay. Terry respects him."
Amy said, "I've seen Terry rip into officers for sloppy paperwork. He barely raised an eyebrow. What does that mean?"
Boyle's voice was low. "It means we're in way over our heads."
Raymond picked up another folder from his desk just as Rosa entered the bullpen, moving like a loaded weapon. No wasted steps. No glances. She zeroed in on Raymond.
He didn't flinch. Just handed her the folder without a word.
She scanned it fast, nodded once, and said, "Let's go."
Raymond grabbed his jacket. The two walked out of the precinct without a pause.
The door swung shut behind them.
Amy blinked. "She didn't say anything snarky."
Jake just stared. "She didn't threaten him."
Boyle whispered the only words any of them could process.
"She trusts him."
There was a long pause. Then Jake leaned toward the whiteboard, picked up the marker, and added one final note:
Rosa Diaz is compromised.
...
[Later that Noon – Breakroom]
The coffee pot hissed like it was done with everyone's nonsense. Jake, Amy, and Boyle stood near the vending machine like three detectives about to interrogate a witness who'd just lawyered up.
Rosa walked in, calm as always, heading straight for the coffee like she didn't notice them. But she did.
Amy was the first to speak. "So… you and the new guy."
Rosa filled her cup.
Jake stepped in. "Let's skip the games. You're not yelling at him. You're not threatening him. You didn't roll your eyes once when he corrected a witness statement."
Boyle added, "You nodded at him. Like a full, respectful nod. Not the head-tilt you do before an arrest."
Rosa sipped her coffee.
Amy crossed her arms. "Just tell us what's going on. Did he get some dirt on you?"
Rosa looked at them, eyes cold and unreadable. "You three need to stop watching so much bad TV."
Jake shook his head. "Nope. I'm calling it. You two know each other. Probably an old flame. Something messy. He disappeared. You buried the past. And now he's back. And you're so not over it."
Amy blinked. "Wait, what?"
Boyle whispered, "Wait! Chemistry? Old flame?"
Jake turned to her. "Think about it. Mysterious. Silent. Brooding. Looks like he's always doing mental math. Rosa lets him walk next to her instead of behind her. She talked without her usual deadpan face and didn't even punch him. It's been like three days. That's chemistry."
Amy squinted. "I mean, it would explain a lot."
Rosa stepped toward them, slowly.
The temperature in the room dropped three degrees.
"You wanna know what's going on?" she said, voice low.
Jake raised a hand. "If this ends with you stabbing me in the knee again, I'd like to formally withdraw my theory."
Rosa stared him down.
Then, very calmly: "He's smart. He doesn't get in the way. He doesn't waste time. And unlike most people in this building, he doesn't feel the need to prove he's clever every ten seconds."
She looked at each of them in turn.
"There's no rule that says I can't date someone in the department."
Jake's eyes almost fell out of his head. "Wait... Wait. So you're saying it's true?"
"I'm saying," Rosa said, taking a slow sip from her coffee, "if I were seeing him, there's nothing in the handbook that says I can't."
Boyle blinked. "But… I thought maybe…"
She cut him off with a glance sharp enough to sever nerves.
"You never had a chance, Boyle. You've seen me use a knife. Use that memory and cut it out. Move on."
Boyle's soul left his body. He lost his will to live for a few seconds.
Amy opened her mouth to speak but stopped.
Jake nodded slowly, absorbing the chaos like fine wine. "Wow. Okay. This just got way more dramatic than I expected."
Rosa walked past them, heading back toward her desk.
"If you're done gossiping like eighth-graders, get back to work. I've got a case. You've got no clue."
As she sat down, she glanced toward the bathroom.
Raymond walked in, adjusting his sleeve, unaware, or maybe completely aware, of the tension storm he'd just walked into.
Jake looked at Amy and whispered, "They're totally in love."
Amy whispered back, "You're an idiot."
Boyle whispered, "I'm gonna cry."
Rosa cracked her knuckles and said, without looking up, "If I hear one more whisper, I'll show you what a tactical pen is for."
The bullpen went quiet.
For about seven seconds.
Then Jake whispered to Boyle again:
"So... wedding or secret murder pact?"
Rosa stood up.
Jake ran.
...
[A few minutes later]
The office phone rang once on Holt's desk before he picked it up. One word from the other end was all it took.
His face didn't change. But the room felt colder.
He stepped out of his office and called in a voice that silenced even the air.
"Everyone. Conference room. Now."
Desks screeched. Chairs shifted. The bullpen locked into motion. Rosa stood without looking back. Jake, Amy, Boyle, Terry, Hitchcock, Scully, Raymond, and a few other officers followed in tight formation.
The conference room door clicked shut behind them.
Captain Holt stood at the head of the table, hands clasped tight behind his back.
"There is an active hostage situation at Westcourt Mall in downtown Brooklyn."
A ripple of reactions moved around the room.
"Reports say multiple assailants armed with military-grade weapons stormed the shopping center at approximately 3:09 PM. Witnesses say they're carrying heavy gear. Tactical vests. Helmets. AK variants. Explosives, possibly remote-detonated."
Terry's jaw clenched. Amy's hands froze on her notebook.
"Dozens of civilians inside," Holt continued. "Store clerks. Parents. Children. Security is down. Cameras have gone dark. All exits blocked. First response teams were ambushed. Two officers are confirmed down."
He paused.
"SWAT is unavailable. The city is overwhelmed. Three other coordinated attacks in the last six hours: airport, subway, and a government building. All teams are deployed. This situation is ours."
Silence filled the room.
No jokes or sarcasm. Just breathing.
"We will move carefully. We will act as one. And we will bring every hostage home."
Rosa's eyes twitched. Her hand instinctively touched the side of her ribs.
A memory returned uninvited.
The bar.
Gunfire.
Blood soaking the street.
Civilians down.
Her own mistake.
Her fingers trembled before she clenched them into a fist. She looked up straight at Raymond. He was watching her. Steady. Like he knew. Like he always knew.
Jake spoke next, his voice dry and flat. "Do we know who's behind it?"
Holt nodded. "Preliminary signature matches a splinter group linked to Ivan Preston. They call themselves 'The Second Dawn.' Their purpose is unclear. Their strategy is clear: chaos."
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