At the entrance of the villa, Jack Hoyt stood there, taking in the sprawling estate and pristine surroundings, a flicker of envy passing through his eyes. Houses in Beverly Hills started in the millions, and the high-end ones easily climbed into the tens of millions. On a patrolman's salary, he could work his entire life and never come close.
Must be nice to be rich.
Still, envy was as far as it went. Jack didn't indulge in unrealistic fantasies, nor did he resent the people who lived here. Right now, his biggest goal was simple—get promoted, earn more, and make detective.
"Mr. Greco."
When Luca stepped out, Jack flashed his badge and greeted him properly. Luca opened the garage door and motioned for him to move the wrecked cars inside.
While Jack worked, Luca quietly observed him. Early twenties, just like in the original storyline—already had a child, stable family, the textbook definition of a regular American cop. Nothing flashy, nothing extraordinary. The kind of guy the system runs on.
Except for one thing—his sense of justice was a little too strong. Too rigid. Too clean.
"Officer Hoyt, are you working under Vincent? Did he send you?"
Vincent? Jack thought that'd be nice—getting noticed by someone like Vincent—but shook his head.
"I'm just following orders. Patrol duty, you know how it is. Anyway, cars are parked. That Mitsubishi's totaled, but the GTR? Mostly cosmetic damage. Plenty of parts still usable—you can fix it."
He added that last part sincerely. It'd be a shame to let a car like that go to waste.
"Goodbye, Mr. Greco. If there's anything else, call the station."
"Hold on."
Luca pulled out his phone. "Give me your number. Since you're handling this, I'll contact you directly if anything comes up."
Jack hesitated for a second, then nodded. Nothing wrong with that—and having a wealthy contact didn't hurt.
Luca handed him a business card as well. "You've heard about the union cases, right? You guys on patrol are doing the heavy lifting out there. If you find anything, call me."
That was mostly a formality. A patrol officer like Jack wouldn't normally get close to cases like that. Still, Jack accepted the card.
[Character: Jack Hoyt]
[Rank: B]
[Skill: Principle of Justice]
Effect: A passive trait for the incorruptible. Upholding official police duties and procedures increases Trust with law enforcement agencies by 10%. Openly refusing to cooperate with corrupt officials or declining bribes results in a 30% reduction in Trust with tainted officers and internal factions.
[Learning Requirements]Bond : Friend or higher | Cost: 60 Skill Fragments
[Bond Status: Attention]
Luca raised an eyebrow. A clean, straightforward trust-based skill—and cheap to learn, too. The downside? Basically irrelevant to him. Mafia life meant dealing with corrupt cops whether you liked it or not.
"So he hasn't been assigned to that guy yet…" Luca thought.
That "guy"—a certain narcotics officer—was infamous. A badge on the outside, gangster on the inside. Extortion, blackmail, robbery—he did it all. The only twist? He targeted other criminals, which gave him a thin layer of justification.
Most gangs didn't dare fight back. Why would they? He was the law.
Luca usually didn't mind corrupt cops who understood the rules. But this one? He crossed the line. Bullying the weak, dodging the strong, calling it survival—it was pathetic. And now that he'd crossed paths with the his ally (Russian), he was about to find out what "real consequences" looked like.
"So I actually helped him that night…" Luca muttered, slightly amused.
He'd meant to do a small good deed—ended up indirectly saving a walking disaster.
In the original storyline, Jack would join the narcotics division chasing a promotion, only to end up under that same officer—and get a brutal wake-up call. A real "training day." One day was all it took to show him the system's ugliest side.
Luca picked up his phone and called the Russians.
"How much time did you give that narcotics officer?"
"Two days. He needs to come up with a million. Why—did he piss you off too? Want us to take care of him?"
"Take care of him?" Luca repeated, thoughtful.
Honestly… not a bad idea.
In the original timeline, the guy would eventually get himself killed anyway—shot in the street by the Russians after Jack unknowingly disrupted his payoff.
After a brief pause, Luca said, "Yeah, he crossed me. I'll handle it."
"Fine by us," the Russian replied. "We've got plenty on him already—drug deals, kickbacks, extortion. Even the local police hate him."
That checked out. If even fellow officer couldn't stand you, you'd really messed up.
Luca hung up, already forming a plan. Maybe he could use this situation to push Jack's bond up to "Friend" in a single day—and grab that skill while he was at it.
Training day?
Let's see who's training who.
Back at the station, Jack reported in and then asked his superior, "Sir, has my application been approved?"
The older officer leaned back, studying him. "You sure about this? Narcotics isn't patrol work. You'll be dealing with the worst of the worst."
"I need this opportunity," Jack said firmly.
"You could get promoted staying in patrol—just slower."
Still, his superior kept trying. He knew Jack too well—too honest, too rigid, not nearly flexible enough. The kind of guy who didn't fit in with the "unofficial" side of the department.
And narcotics? That was a goldmine for people looking to make extra money.
Jack didn't play that game. Which meant he'd either get crushed… or worse.
"Jack, think it through," the boss said, glancing at a photo on his desk. "You've got a baby at home. You need stability, time with your family."
Jack smiled. "I know the rules, sir. I aced the written exam."
The boss just stared at him.
That's not what I meant, kid.
But in the end, he waved it off. "Fine. Day after tomorrow, report to Alonzo Harris. Pass his evaluation, and you're in."
"Thank you, sir."
Jack left, eyes bright with ambition. Step one: narcotics. Step two: detective. Step three… who knows? Maybe one day he'd own a place like that Beverly Hills mansion.
Behind him, his superior sighed. "Still too young."
Two days later, Training Day
Instead of the station, Jack met Alonzo Harris at a coffee shop. According to Harris, real narcotics cops worked the streets, not desks.
First impression? Not great.
Harris was crude, foul-mouthed, throwing around inappropriate jokes—dragging Jack's wife into it didn't help. Jack didn't like that. Not one bit.
Then came the "fieldwork."
They rolled up on a group of street-level dealers. Jack expected arrests. Instead, Harris just confiscated their weed and walked away. No paperwork. No charges. Just intimidation.
Jack didn't realize it, but they'd just stepped into someone else's territory. Those dealers weren't supposed to be there. Harris wasn't enforcing the law—he was enforcing someone else's rules.
Then things got worse.
"You ever smoked?" Harris asked, handing him a pipe.
Jack blinked. "No."
"You're narcotics now. You gotta understand the product."
"I became a cop to stop people from using it."
Harris smiled—slow, unsettling. "If you don't play along, how am I supposed to trust you?"
And then there was the real reason.
Harris needed money. A lot of it. One million, to be exact—owed to the Russians. And he had a plan: eliminate one of his own informants, steal the cash, and use Jack as cover.
This wasn't training.
It was a setup.
"Last chance," Harris said, voice dropping.
Jack still refused.
Harris slammed the brakes in the middle of the street, pulled a gun, and pressed it to Jack's head.
"If I were a dealer, you'd already be dead," he snapped. "Go back to patrol. I don't want cowards in my unit."
That hit home. Jack wasn't afraid of the gun—but he was terrified of losing this chance. The promotion. The future. The life he wanted.
And, yeah… that mansion didn't help either.
After a long breath, Jack reached for the pipe.
Right then, a car rolled up beside them. The window slid down, revealing Luca's calm, familiar face.
"Officer Hoyt," he said lightly, "I didn't know you had a thing for marijuana."
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