At first, because I kept good care of my face and body, I could make myself look pretty (not that I’m trying to blow my own trumpet or anything), the offenders would hand over their weapons to me, no questions asked. Maybe part of it was that I could look scary when I wanted to…
Word travelled fast between offenders, and soon, they all knew that when they saw me coming, to run, as fast as they could, too!
This made my life slightly more difficult. I usually caught up with them quite soon after they’d set off, no matter how far behind I had been.
They never really stood a chance with me running, but they tried to get away anyhow. I’d ask them to hand over their weaponry when I caught up with them, and if they said no, I would have to take physical action.
Physical action usually meant wrestling them to the ground and pointing my pistol at their head and telling them to hand over their weapons.
It was comical to me, because I knew that I’d never use that pistol on them, unless they tried to kill me first.
I suppose that now you know what I do, I should start from the beginning; well, from when my letter was accepted. Yes, I mean the training.
First, they had me on the treadmills, and cranked the machines right up so that I was running flat out for long periods of time, and this impressed them, so I did an hour every day, morning and evening, until it was easy, then I did an hour and a half, and so on…
They then tested my ability to shoot with a gun. First close-up objects, then distant objects, then moving objects, and they found that I was a natural at this, so I didn’t need to do any more training in this area.
Then there was persuasive skills, and screaming classes because I needed to persuade the offenders into doing things not necessarily in my first year, but for future purposes (like now, for instance) and the screaming classes because if somebody tried to attack me, a loud noise would make them run away, or would in theory…
The training took all of two weeks, and then all I had to do every night was two hours on the treadmill as fast as it would go.
I was put into the actual job, on the third week.
Now, back to present day…
I’ve travelled to London, scanning the streets for any dodgy-looking people, in the alley-ways, in the less-crowded areas… nobody dodgy-looking at all…
But they’ve sent me here to look for a certain offender… All I have is a description of him, a list of weapons that he carries, and a five-year-old photograph.
All of this is usually enough, for me to catch the offender, but in a city this big, it’s going to be absolutely impossible.
Then I see out of the corner of my eye, there’s a man staring at me. I look back at him, and then he breaks into a run, so I chase him down the street, to the dead-end, where he is forced to stop.
“Don’t hurt me!” He squeals, and I notice that my hands are clenched into fists.
“Sorry – I’m looking for someone.” I muttered, and help him up from the floor, because he collapsed, I must have looked that scary.