The 164th Precinct of the Coruscant Security Force’s Underworld Department, Northern Region was housed in- and around a large support column between Levels 1296 and 1289. A 7-story monstrosity constructed of reinforced transparisteel, the police station precariously loomed over the aptly-named Peacekeeper Plaza and was widely regarded as the most secure location in the entire area; accessible only through the building’s ground floor at level 1290 or, for those with the proper clearance, the “subterranean” parking garage at level 1289. While the surrounding area was considered relatively safe by Underworld definitions, ensured by the presence of law enforcement personnel and a high number of Guardian-class police droids, not five minutes could pass by without a CSF-airspeeder racing out of the garage, responding to suspicious activity somewhere else in the precinct with screaming sirens and a matching haste.
As Lieutenant Nesota Kynnovan pulled her Panther-class police interceptor into an empty space at the back of the parking garage that morning, her emerald eyes briefly fell upon the familiar sight of two colleagues who, dressed in their heavy leather and metal armor, scrambled to put on their helmets and adjust their facial masks as they ran towards their BARC-speeders. By the time the blonde-haired Coruscanti had disembarked from her own airspeeder with her black rucksack hoisted onto her back and her helmet propped beneath her right arm, the two BARC Patrol-officers were long gone already; leaving only the sound of their echoing sirens behind.
Just a normal day at work.
For security reasons, the elevator at the far end of the parking garage only went up to the ground floor. From there any of the other elevators, which were located on the other side of the reception area, could be taken up all the way to level 1296 but not without first being subjected to the watchful gaze of the desk sergeant. Sergeant Bolt, as he was affectionately called by the sentient police officers of the 164th Precinct, was a Guardian-class police droid who had once sustained damage while reporting to a domestic disturbance; losing an arm as he prevented an infuriated Rodian woman from attacking her unfortunate husband. Instead of requesting a replacement droid and start up a process that could potentially take months, the maintenance staff decided to take the damaged Guardian to the local Jawa instead, where he was repaired with the best available replacement part –the arm of an old B-1 Battle Droid- and subsequently repurposed as desk sergeant.
Upon spotting Nesota walking towards his desk, Sergeant Bolt shifted his attention away from the complaining Ithorian on the business side of the counter and spoke up with the masculine voice common to all Guardian-class police droids. “Lieutenant Nesota Kynnovan, Major Crime Unit.” As Nesota held her pace and turned her emerald eyed-gaze towards the desk sergeant, the droid continued. “You have one new visitor, awaiting your arrival in your office.” The blonde-haired Coruscanti replied with a polite nod and, as she made her way towards the elevators on the other side of the reception area, she could hear how the Sergeant interrupted the Ithorian’s steady stream of complaints by mentioning something about paperwork being required to be filed in three-fold.
Nesota’s office, which was located on the fifth floor of the building, was a small room not much different from the other offices in the building. It was sparsely decorated with a metal desk --upon which a pile of paperwork had been collected that seemed almost impossible for one person to process-- and three chairs; two on the business end of the desk, one of which also had a pile of paperwork on top of it, and a slightly larger one on the other side. She had managed to fit a small cabinet into the office, placing it against the right wall opposite of the large holographic bulletin board that took up most of the other wall. The whole was illuminated by three lights on the ceiling, one of which was broken, and the artificial light coming in from the transparisteel plates that made up the entirety of the back wall behind the desk. Perhaps the view over the Peacekeeper Plaza five stories below was the most impressive thing about the entire office. It certainly was the cleanest thing about the office without question.
As Nesota opened the door, her emerald eyes came to rest upon the near blonde-haired woman sitting in the one free chair. Knowing that the blonde woman would have a serious problem if she sought out the Major Crime Unit, let alone voluntarily wait in the ruin that was her office, the blonde-haired Coruscanti placed her helmet onto the cabinet and dropped her rucksack on top of the various datapads littering the unoccupied chair before putting two cups of hot stimcaf on her desk. The brew was strong enough to desaturize one’s dreams and quite possibly burn paint off the wall, exactly the way Nesota liked it, and as she took one for herself she shoved the other one a little closer towards the woman. “Here, stimcaf.” With those words, which left her soft pink-glossed lips on a tone that almost bordered friendly, Nesota sat down in her own chair and began to look at the woman from over a pile of paperwork. “What is it I can do for you, miss...?” While her voice was somewhat friendly-ish, Nesota raised her eyebrow to finish the unspoken inquiry into the woman’s name and the reason for her visit.
[member='Seo Linn']
