Here's a random story for you. A New York Cop. Don't know how plausible this is, or how it would fit. It's pretty unpolished. This is basically a testing the waters fic- it might be rewritten and reuploaded or simply abandoned. I would really appreciate in-depth feedback for this one.
It was a mild day in New York City, with the sun peeking out from behind the clouds and the temperature just below freezing. At approximately eleven in the morning, the city was alive and in full swing, the streets bustling with vehicles and pedestrians. The city vibrated with energy. For the eight million people that called the city home, it was a pleasant day.
For Rose, it was anything but a pleasant day. She pushed a pedestrian aside as she dashed along the sidewalk. "Out of the way! Police! Sorry!"
"Fuck you, bitch!" the man shouted at her, flipping her the bird. Partly because of events halfway across the country and partly because of one close to home, satisfaction with the police force was at an all-time low.
She would have sighed if she wasn't running at full tilt. People rarely cooperated with the police. Sometimes it was only a sort of passive resistance, swearing at them, squirming, and generally just making things difficult. Despite her lithe frame, Rose could easily manhandle perps twice her size, but it was still annoying.
Then there were the ones that tried to fight. They usually found out that she was a lot tougher than she looked and that she had a mean right hook. And then there were the ones that ran, like this pathetic convenience store robber.
Rose was pretty quick on her feet. Coming up behind the unkempt but fairly athletic criminal, she put on a final burst of speed and tackled him to the ground.
"What the fuck? I have rights! I may be black, but I ain't a fuckin' terrorist!" the man complained, squirming as she roughly cuffed his hands behind his back.
"Yeah, and today was supposed to be my day off." It was true. She'd actually been heading back to the station at the end of her shift, stopping at the 7-11 to pick up donuts. She hated the things, but it was her turn to pick them up for the office. She had been trying to decide which kind of Slurpee she wanted for herself when she heard shouting from the front of the store.
Once upon a time, she might have been more tactful about the whole thing, but after a few years on the force, her tolerance had dropped sharply, and she'd immediately drawn and shouted at him to drop the gun and put his hands up. He'd dropped the gun, but he'd also started running.
"Bull shit!" the criminal shouted, enraged.
She hauled her charge up, almost slamming into a geeky-looking guy holding up "Sir, I'm going to ask you to put the camera away."
He didn't listen, instead shouting back something about First Amendment rights. Rose ignored him, instead turning and leading the perp back to her squad car. "I have had enough shit for one day."
Rose flopped back into her overstuffed couch. The newscaster on TV was harping on about some airplane that crashed in Taiwan, but she wasn't paying any attention. She held a sturdy picture frame with a faded, crinkled photograph in it, staring intently at the photograph with a half-finished bottle of scotch abandoned on the table beside her.
It was a reminder of a time she couldn't remember. She knew the woman with red-streaked white hair and grey eyes was her. A crimsonette girl of perhaps four or five, with brightly shining eyes of the same colour, sat in her lap. A blonde-haired girl with violet eyes stood grinning in front of them. Behind them was a large, blonde man with an equally broad smile.
The girls would be almost grown up by now, she realized. The picture was one of the few things that was on her when she woke up in a hospital bed ten years ago. She had no idea how long before that the picture was taken. She looked maybe ten to fifteen years older in the picture, so it couldn't have been that long.
She remembered their names, though. Taiyang. Ruby. Yang. She knew they were her children and he was her husband- or at least she thought she did. Were they really? Nobody had ever filed a missing persons report, nobody had ever come looking for her. Maybe they'd already broke apart or worse.
It was one of the many things she couldn't remember.
When they asked her what happened, she couldn't remember. It had been traumatic, but she didn't remember what it was. When they asked her who she was, she couldn't remember. She'd taken the name Rosalind Drake, but it wasn't the one she was born with.
Rose felt right, though.
She did have a few answers. When they asked her where she was from, she eventually came up with an answer- Vale. There were a dozen places called Vale in the United States alone. When they asked her what the bits of metal found next to her were, she'd responded that they were her weapons.
What her weapons were or why she was carrying them, she couldn't answer. Grimm- a word that evoked dread in her and confusion in everyone else- was the only answer that she could come up with.
It was a classic case of retrograde amnesia. Doctors had been optimistic at first, but after a year had passed they'd realized Rose would probably never get her memories back. Her body had recovered faster than anyone could have hoped for, but her mind was another matter entirely.
She put the picture down in its place of honour, took one more drag from the bottle, and decided to try to get some sleep tonight.
It wouldn't be much.
So, where do I go from here? I'm not sure. I could just leave it as a dark-ish oneshot, probably expanded to 2-3 times its length. I could make it a sort of miniseries, and in that case I'd probably do the reveal a lot slower.
I'm sure the question on a lot of minds is "Is this an Emergence tie-in?" The answer is that I'm not sure yet. It could fit into Emergence, but I'm worried that it might conflict in tone and direction, and I'm worried about how realistic this really is in a fic where realism is a high priority.