Work Text:
“That guy looks familiar,” Officer Kuroda said from his seat next to Officer Cueva.
She turned immediately, looking over the line of new recruits. Blüdhaven was a city, but it was a smaller one, and most of the people who worked for the local government were born-and-raised.
“Which guy?” she asked, scanning the line. None in particular stood out to her as being oddly familiar, but then again she was horrible with faces and names.
“Black hair, third from last,” Kuroda nodded in the direction of the recruit.
Cueva followed the line down to the end where— goddamn that was one gorgeous man. The police-issued tee did nothing to hide his well-built and proportional torso, and the cargo pants did wonders for his waist and ass. If the kid weren’t twenty-one, maybe twenty-two, (and if Cueva wasn’t engaged to the literal love of her life), she might consider making a move.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, studying him a bit closer. Now that he’d been pointed out, there was something familiar about him.
Maybe it was the piercing blue eyes or the shiny fall of his unstyled black hair, but something about him caused a niggling sensation at the back of her mind.
She nudged the officer at her other side, whom she knew was heavily involved at the police academy. “Yo, Marino.”
“Yeah?”
“You helped train some of the new recruits, right?”
“Yeah.”
Kuroda leaned around Cueva and pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the recruit line.
“Who’s that guy towards the end of the second row; tall, black hair, blue eyes?”
“Oh,” Marino said, never one for too many words. It was what made him the perfect trainer. He didn't take shit from anyone, newbie or veteran. “His name’s Richard Grayson.”
“Do we know him from somewhere? He seems familiar.”
Marino’s brows furrowed, and his lips pursed—whether it was in thought or confusion, Cueva couldn’t tell.
“Doubt it,” he said after a moment. “He grew up in Gotham. Moved here after he graduated high school, I think.”
Cueva let out a low whistle. Blüdhaven to Gotham was basically moving from one shithole to another. Let alone joining the force in either city. Most people moved out of the two cities, not into either one.
“Hm. Right,” she said absently. Maybe he just looked like some model or actor she had seen on TV. All handsome men nowadays tend to look the same.
Cueva sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. She focused her attention on the front of the room as she pondered. On the projection screen against the wall, a Blüdhaven Police Department badge and the title ‘Taser Seminar’ were displayed in blue and gold. The seats were set up in rows facing the screen with a table against the far wall that had boxes of donuts and a commercial coffee urn atop it.
“Hi y’all,” Lieutenant Yates said into the podium mic at the front of the room. The powerpoint presentation moved onto the next slide that just read ‘SIT THE FUCK DOWN,’ with the Blüdhaven PD’s logo still faithfully underneath it. Cueva discreetly pulled out her phone to snap a picture of it and use it as a reaction meme in one of her work group chats. “We’re gonna start the seminar soon, everyone please take your seats.”
Everyone in the room, new recruits and seasoned officers alike, all found a place to sit.
It always began with a little presentation on how to use a taser, why one should use caution when wielding a taser, and finally the recruits would get to experience a 5 second shock firsthand.
It was something of an initiation ceremony. A tame hazing, if you will. It was Cueva’s favorite part of the academy, ever since she joined the force three years ago. Twice a year, the new recruits would all gather in the largest conference room at the Central Blüdhaven Police Station and receive a lecture on proper use of force, followed by a firsthand experience of a taser shock. Five seconds of continued exposure.
Most of the recruits were fresh out of high school or community college and had never experienced something like this in their lives. Most of them screamed or cried when getting shocked.
Immediately, the more seasoned cops could figure out who was going to last on the force and who would leave before their first year of probation was up.
“It’s important for an officer to experience things like mace and a taser so that you know the effects of the harm you can inflict. If you went out into the world without this knowledge, you might be inclined to tase anyone who gives you a hard time simply because it’s not a lethal use of force,” Yates said, reciting everything from memory. “It is still a use of force, and it’s damned painful. It fosters empathy and forces you to think twice about immediately going for the weapon.”
The lecture continued for another twenty minutes: statistics, case law, department policy. A handful of body-camera videos demonstrating both proper and improper deployments. Lieutenant Yates had clearly given this presentation dozens—if not hundreds—of times before. He clicked through each slide with the rhythm of a man who could probably recite the entire PowerPoint in his sleep. He never once glanced back at the projector screen.
The recruits, meanwhile, slowly stopped taking notes.
It always happened around the same point. Somewhere between physiological effects and medical contraidications, somebody would realize the practical demonstration wasn't just a demonstration.
They were going to be the demonstration.
Cueva watched the understanding spread down the rows like a wave. Shoulders stiffened. Knees bounced. One kid quietly excused himself to use the restroom and came back looking as though he'd considered climbing out the bathroom window. The veteran officers were considerably less sympathetic.
"Five bucks says buzz cut cries," someone whispered behind her.
"Nah," another replied. "Guy with the snapback on. He's got ‘quitter’ written all over him."
Cueva rolled her eyes. "You're both wrong. It'll be the Marine."
"Former Marine."
"Even funnier."
Lieutenant Yates eventually clicked to the final slide.
"Questions?"
Silence.
"Fantastic," he said. "Let's make some memories."
A Sergeant in the first row stood up and whirled around to face the new recruits with a truly devilish smile on his face. “Alright recruits, line up.”
All the newbies stood and formed a line against the far wall. Grayson ended up towards the back. Then the shocks began.
Tasers are a fucked-up thing. They make a person’s muscles contract violently; an electronically-induced seizure. When the taser prongs are secured into a person’s back—which they usually are—they can sometimes even induce a contraction of the diaphragm. In other words, most people tend to scream or let some type of noise out. If not because of the shock, then because of the sheer pain.
The first recruit screamed before the current had even finished cycling.
The second managed about three seconds before his knees buckled.
By the fifth, the room had settled into a predictable rhythm.
"TASER, TASER, TASER!"
Click-click-click-click.
Swearing, groaning, laughter from the back. Somebody nearly threw up. Another recruit insisted he was fine before immediately lying flat on the mat for a full minute. Every demonstration ended the same way: shaky legs, embarrassed laughter, and a newfound respect for departmental equipment.
Finally, Richard Grayson stepped up to the mats and linked his arms with the officers. He didn’t look nervous like every other recruit had, a fact that Cueva filed away for future use.
“Ready?” Yates asked.
“Ready,” Grayson confirmed.
“TASER, TASER, TASER!” the Lieutenant called, before the telltale sound of the taser deploying filled the air.
Cueva remembers her first time getting tased.
She doesn’t remember the noise she let out, but she does remember the sheer, blinding pain, white-hot against her back. She remembers feeling like it was going on for an entire hour. She remembers the feeling of her legs giving out and being lowered to the mat in front of her, and her muscles spasming like she’s just finished the most intense workout of her life.
She’s seen many people react well to the taser. A few who’ve lived a life of crime before straightening up and joining the force. One tall, big-boned man who was probably a linebacker in his school days. A girl who’d locked up against the pain but, when it was over, compared it to her worst period cramps.
Richard Grayson flinched, tensed, but didn’t make a noise. The sound of the taser—a foul, electric ticking and buzzing—carried through the room. Grayson doesn’t scream, didn’t even groan. In fact, his face only had the slightest hint of discomfort; a twinge between his brows and a crinkle at the corners of his closed eyes. He looked like a man battling a particularly biting headache.
Not at all like a man currently experiencing 50,000 volts of electricity into his back.
“Holy shit,” someone behind Cueva mumbled.
Holy shit, she conferred internally.
The count of five ends and Grayson took a huge gasping breath, the only noise he’s made since he linked his arms with the officers to his right and left. He didn’t collapse down to the mat like everyone else before him. He trembled, his muscles responding to the sudden and prolonged contraction, but hardly needed the support the other officers are giving him.
“Damn,” he cursed, letting go of the other officers.
“Damn,” Lieutenant Yates agreed a little incredulously.
“Are we sure it was properly deployed?” the officer to Grayson’s right asked.
“I put the prongs in by hand,” Lieutenant Yates said. “They were properly deployed.”
“Oh, they were in,” Grayson confirmed, a little weakly. “That hurt.”
“Okay, next recruit.”
Grayson stepped away, just the slightest bit shaky in the knees. Like he just finished running a mile, not getting injected with thousands of volts right into the back.
“That never gets easier,” he mumbled as he passed Cueva on his way to find a chair to collapse into.
What the fuck did he just say?
“I want him,” Kuroda said, inexplicably.
Cueva turned to him, expression carefully blank. However, Kuroda had known her long enough to see the judgement in her gaze. “Like… carnally, or…?”
“No, pendejo,” Kuroda punched her in the shoulder. He’s been around her so much that he’s started to pick up her vocabulary via osmosis. “I want to be his FTO. He won’t cry during a car chase like my last assignment did.”
“Ooh…” she winced in solidarity. “They still on the force?”
“Nope. He lasted four months.”
Cueva sighed fitfully and returned her attention to the next recruit, whose face had gone so red she wondered if he would burst a blood vessel. News traveled fast through Central Station.
By lunch, the story had already grown.
The new kid didn't even flinch.
Didn't make a sound.
Held a conversation while getting tased.
By the end of the shift, someone was claiming he'd smiled through it. Tomorrow morning, Cueva had no doubt she'd hear he'd asked for a second round. Cueva had watched the whole thing happen and knew ninety percent of what they were all saying was bullshit.
Still...
She'd never seen anyone react like that.
"What was his deal?" she asked Marino as they gathered the folding chairs later that evening. “Grayson, the one who barely reacted.”
Marino shrugged.
"Couldn't tell you."
"He ex-military?"
"Nope."
"Football?"
"Didn't ask."
"Secret serial killer?"
"Statistically unlikely."
"See, that's somehow worse than saying no."
“I aim to please.”
Cueva mutters insults under her breath as they finish cleaning up the conference room.
“They’re getting sworn in on Saturday. I guess that means we’re getting our FTO assignments soon. Did you sign up to be one, Cueva?”
Cueva nodded, snagging one of the donuts from the refreshments table as they walked past. Let it be known that she is not one to shy away from a stereotype. Not when the donuts are so damn good.
"Hope I get somebody competent," she said around a mouthful of jelly donut.
"That's optimistic."
"Look man, I'm tired of spending eighteen weeks teaching people how to parallel park."
Saturday night, as she finished up her reports and was about to head home, Cueva checked her email.
Ofc. Mariel Cueva,
Thank you for applying to be a Field Training Officer (FTO) for this class of Police Academy Graduates. You have been assigned Police Officer I Richard Grayson.
Your assignment will last 18 weeks, beginning this coming July 2nd.
For any questions or concerns, email or call the office of the FTO Program.
Regards,
Sergeant Anton Drayton
FTO Program Coordinator