[NYPD Nine-Nine – Briefing Room | 9:00 AM]
The squad sat in their usual seats, nursing morning coffees, still carrying the quiet buzz of their recent commendations. The atmosphere, while light, shifted quickly when Captain Holt stepped to the front of the room with a remote in hand and a fresh file under his arm. His posture was even more rigid than usual, and his expression carried the weight of urgency.
He clicked the remote. The first slide appeared: a scorched storefront. A toy store. The plastic signage had melted, the walls were blackened, and the only recognizable object left was a half-melted Tickle Me Elmo, contorted in agony.
Holt cleared his throat.
"In the past forty-eight hours, Brooklyn has seen a series of targeted arsons. Four toy stores have been completely destroyed by fire. All occurred between the hours of 2 and 5 AM. Each location was hit with precision. Accelerants were used. The fires spread quickly. No alarms were triggered until it was too late."
He clicked again. Another charred building appeared. Then another. A stack of stuffed animals, half incinerated, sat like a crime scene memorial in the last photo.
"Each site was equipped with CCTV systems. Yet none of them captured the arsonist: no images, silhouettes, and zero sign of forced entry. The footage either cuts out during the critical moments or never records the attack at all. We are running blind."
Jake leaned forward and whispered to Boyle. "I think we are dealing with a ghost."
Holt turned to him. "Not a ghost. This is a person. Possibly more than one. They know how to avoid surveillance, and they know exactly what they are doing."
Amy raised a hand. "Are these locations connected? Same owner? Same brand chain?"
Holt nodded slightly. "We considered that. The first two belonged to a local chain. But the third was privately owned. The fourth belonged to a company that shut down last year and only reopened recently under new ownership."
He moved to the whiteboard and wrote a single word in large black letters: WHY?
"The motive is unclear. Nothing was stolen, no signs of entry, and no demands so far. The fires are the message. But we do not yet know what the message is."
Boyle shifted in his seat. "So, someone's just torching toy stores for fun? Who hates toys that much?"
Jake raised a hand. "Someone who never got a Red Ranger for Christmas."
Amy frowned. "Or someone may be trying to hide something. Toy stores are often used as fronts for smuggling operations. It's not uncommon thanks to the cheap retail space, easy product flow, and regular shipments."
Terry leaned in, arms crossed. "Could also be intimidation. Send a message to someone through fire. Or erase evidence."
Holt clicked the remote again. A map of Brooklyn appeared with four red dots marked across it.
"The locations form a pattern. Roughly triangular, with the last point near the western edge of Crown Heights. That's where the fire occurred this morning. The FDNY is still processing the scene. Arson team confirms the use of industrial accelerants. Same type as the other three."
He set the remote down and looked at the squad.
"This is your new priority. I want patrols increased around any active toy stores in Brooklyn. I want every one of them cataloged, cross-referenced, and flagged. We are looking for purchase orders, break-ins, missing shipments, recent insurance claims, new hires, and old leases. I want eyes on everything. If this is about money, ownership, revenge, or even something more creative, we will find out."
Jake raised a hand. "Are we splitting up?"
"Yes. Jake and Boyle will visit the latest scene. Coordinate with FDNY and interview any nearby residents or staff. Amy and Rosa will follow the business trail. Investigate owners, property managers, and anyone with a financial link to these stores. Use unmarked vehicles and keep your visibility low. I do not want our arsonist spooked."
Jake leaned back in his chair and tapped the table with his pen like a detective in a bad cop show.
"So we're dealing with a guy who moves in silence, leaves no trace, and only comes out at night? That's pretty ghosty behavior. Ray, you sure this isn't one of your side gigs?"
Raymond didn't look up from his coffee. "If I were behind this, I'd have burned all my targets at the same time. And you wouldn't even know till everything and everyone turned to ashes."
Jake blinked with an awkward grin. "Okay, wow. That was... really unsettling. Like, compliment-level unsettling."
"That's so cool," Boyle said with a smile. "You see the way he said that?"
Rosa was occasionally stealing glances at Raymond.
Amy glanced up from her notes. "Captain, with all due respect, four detectives on a case that so far involves no deaths, no thefts, and no suspects feels like... a lot. We just wrapped one of the biggest ops in recent precinct history. Shouldn't this be a job for arson detail?"
Holt nodded, then picked up the file again. "Under normal circumstances, yes. But this case was assigned to us directly by the Deputy Chief of the Department."
Everyone in the room stiffened.
Jake narrowed his eyes. "Wuntch?"
Holt confirmed it with a tight nod. "Yes. Wuntch."
Boyle let out a soft groan. "That explains so much. Too much."
Holt stepped forward, face grim, voice firm. "She believes this precinct's recent commendations were a fluke. She is convinced we are only one mistake away from collapsing back into mediocrity. So, she has given us an arson case with no suspects, no leads, and no clear motive, and she expects us to fail."
Jake leaned forward. "She wants us to fall on our freshly polished, medal-wearing faces."
"Exactly," Holt said. "And if we do not produce a meaningful breakthrough within forty-eight hours, she will use her authority to slash our already dwindling budget. That includes electricity, training allowances, vehicle maintenance, and she might even take that vending machine."
The room went dead silent.
Then, from the far corner, a loud crash echoed as Scully dropped his coffee. It splashed across his lap, but he didn't even flinch.
Hitchcock stood slowly, one hand gripping the back of his chair like he needed it to stay upright. His face had turned a shade of pale usually reserved for ghosts and expired mayonnaise.
Jake blinked. "Wait. What did you just say?"
Holt looked him square in the eye. "The vending machine is on the list. She wants it gone."
Scully gasped, then clutched his chest. "You mean the machine downstairs? With the turkey jerky? The limited edition dill pickle chips? The peanut butter puffs?"
Hitchcock took one trembling step forward. "Captain. You can't let her do this. That machine has... options."
Boyle raised an eyebrow. "You two literally have a mini fridge full of sausage in the breakroom. You eat pickles out of a coffee mug."
Hitchcock ignored him. "It's not about hunger. It's about freedom."
Scully nodded so hard his glasses bounced. "That machine is the only place in this building where dreams are still alive."
Jake turned to Holt, eyes wide. "Sir. We've let Wuntch do a lot of evil. She installed the slowest elevators. She approved the cursed coffee supplier. She once sent us defective printer toner that leaked like a crime scene. But if she touches that vending machine... she declares war."
Amy sighed. "We need to stay focused. This is exactly what she wants. Distraction, chaos, vending-machine-related despair."
Boyle raised a finger. "Not to be dramatic, but I once saw Scully punch a wall when his bag of spicy shrimp puffs got stuck. And I don't think it was drywall."
Scully was already pacing like a man on the edge. "They just added a new smoothie option. Strawberry-mango. They only stock one a day. Sometimes, I get it. Sometimes... I don't. But I always believe."
Jake leaned over to Rosa. "If Wuntch takes that machine, Scully's going full Joker."
Rosa shrugged. "I'd help him."
Terry rubbed his temples. "We're not losing the vending machine. Because we're not going to fail. We're going to figure out who's behind these fires, and we're going to do it fast. Right?"
Everyone nodded, though Scully was still mumbling something about "honey mustard pretzels being an endangered species."
Holt turned back to the board. "Then you have your assignments. Forty-eight hours. I want results. This is not just about the fires. It's about our precinct's reputation, our resources, and apparently... cheddar crisps."
Jake shot a finger in the air. "Sir. Just one request."
Holt narrowed his eyes. "What is it, Peralta?"
Jake looked dead serious. "If we solve this, we upgrade the vending machine. Two smoothie slots. No debate."
Holt stared at him, unblinking.
Then he gave the faintest nod.
Jake whispered to Amy, "Write it down. That was a verbal contract."
Amy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
As everyone stood and gathered their gear, Hitchcock gently helped Scully to his feet like they were survivors of some great tragedy.
"I'll see you later, buddy," Scully said, glancing longingly at the hallway.
Jake clapped his hands. "Alright, team. Let's go solve some fire crimes."
Raymond took one last sip of his coffee, stood, and followed Rosa out the door.
Behind them, the vending machine glowed softly in the hallway, unaware of the war being fought in its name.
..
[Parking Lot]
The precinct's parking lot buzzed with shifting gears, squealing tires, and detectives loading gear into unmarked vehicles. A faded wind carried the scent of city heat and coffee. Well, just another busy day.
Rosa stood beside her bike, adjusting her shoulder holster. Raymond approached from the opposite side. He was already in his patrol gear. The badge gleamed faintly on his chest. His hair was combed, and his calm demeanor hadn't shifted an inch since the briefing.
Rosa glanced at him. "You're not coming with us?"
Raymond shook his head once. "Captain's orders. I'm on patrol duty today. South Brooklyn sector, overlapping the eastern grid. I'll be circling the old warehouse zones and checking for movement near abandoned lots."
She nodded. "Thought you might want to help torch-hunt."
"I would've. But patrol rotation is due, and Holt said this case has enough muscle. He's not wrong."
There was a short pause. A semi-truck rumbled past on the street just outside the lot.
Raymond took a slow breath, looked at her with the same steel calm he always wore.
"Good luck with the arson case," he said. "Don't get burned."
Rosa gave a faint smirk. "I never do."
"By the way, nice bike. Custom engine, looks supercharged, and custom exhaust. Nice," He said before turning toward his cruiser without another word.
She watched him leave with a little smile.
Just as she reached for her keys, Jake popped up out of nowhere like a caffeinated meerkat.
"Hey," he said, in a tone far too casual to be innocent.
Rosa did not look at him. "No."
Jake blinked. "I didn't even ask anything yet."
"You're about to."
Jake stepped in front of her with a practiced smile, hands folded as if that made him look more credible. "Okay, look. I've been doing some... digging."
"I swear to God, Jake."
"No, listen. Just hear me out. I've been thinking... White shows up out of nowhere. He's absurdly trained. He speaks Russian. He breaks necks like he's opening soda cans. And Holt trusts him way too fast. Like, suspiciously fast."
Rosa gave him a slow look. A warning look.
Jake pressed on, undeterred. "What if... just what if Raymond White is Holt's illegitimate son? Like, from back in the day. Maybe a donation situation. You know. Fertility clinic. Mystery mom. Boom. Ghost ninja baby. And since both of you look so close... Did he say anything about his past?"
Rosa didn't respond. She just stared. Her jaw didn't move. Her arms didn't twitch, and she didn't blink. Her glare intensified with the weight of a thousand blunt weapons.
Jake took a single step back. Then another.
"Right. Right. Right. Right. Cool, cool, cool. Message received. Will drop the subject. Forever. Gotta go. Definitely not checking the birth records later."
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