Author's Note: Yes, I realize Metaphysical Marathon is not finished yet, but here is the start of the story I plan on focusing on after its conclusion. Inspiration was just knocking on my door tonight, and I just wanted to get this written down. This is just a teaser, pretty bare, doesn't really reflect my complete normal style, but that's the point of the teaser; it just gives you a taste for the story. Part of the inspiration came from our current #Flashpointpack mission to see if we can all beat someone with a lead pipe in one time period. Last time, we all killed Sam in one week, so we figured we'd shake things up with pipes. When we're not coming up with these fun assignments, we spend our time having random conversations and debates on Twitter such as the use and nature of marriage and 45 minute conversations (with video and picture evidence) on whether or not David and Amy Jo used tongues when they were making out in Personal Effects. Yes, we rock. Oh, and thanks to all who have been reading Metaphysical Marathon. Chapter 15 of that inspired me to make this a lot more of a JAMMY piece.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint or a lead pipe.

Glasgow

Prologue: Pipes of Toronto

"We have five people being held hostage in the restaurant, one at gun point as a human shield. I'll be doing the negotiation. Spike, see what information you can get me on the subject. Ed, Sam, Raf, devise a tactical plan in case we can manage entry. Jules, Sierra One. Find a perch and get eyes on this guy."

The united members of Toronto's elite Strategic Response Unit Team One nodded in agreement to their assigned tasks from their boss, Sargent Greg Parker. Officers Ed Lane and Sam Braddock, as co-tactical leaders of the team, converged to design a plan of entry with the assistance of the team rookie, Officer Raf Rousseau. Officer Michelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti jumped inside the team's mobile command truck to begin his quest to gather information and access views inside the restaurant by establishing a link to pre-existing surveillance cameras; or rather, camera. This was a relatively low budget Ma and Pa style establishment with no reason for having more than one crime deterring surveillance device. The single camera's mere presence usually scared off any potential thieves. Greg himself gathered what little intelligence he had so far and prepared to make the initial negotiation call.

Officer Julianna "Jules" Callaghan, long-time sniper, repelling and tactical expert, and Second Negotiator of the team retrieved her sniper rifle from the trunk of her SUV. She hadn't had many opportunities to use the weapon in the past four years, not since Sam Braddock, former hot-shot JTF2 sniper and surprising the love of her life joined the team. He usually took the long distance shots that she and Ed used to mostly take. She didn't mind this role shuffle, knowing that she had a strong talent for negotiating and profiling; many members of the entire SRU believed she was being groomed to take-over for Greg as Sargent of Team One when he retired. She didn't pay much heed to these speculations, but did admit that she was a damn good negotiator and well-rounded officer, probably better qualified for the job of Sargent than anyone else on Team One. Although she relished the mental challenge of thinking and talking her way to peaceful resolutions, she had to admit that she was a bit excited to be stepping into her former main role on the team. She may be one of the best negotiators the SRU had ever seen, but she was also one of the best snipers it had ever known.

She grabbed her binoculars, the only piece of equipment as important to a sniper as his rifle, and scoped out the surrounding area, searching for a good perch. There were three five to seven story buildings adjacent to the establishment in which the hostage crisis was taking place. "Looks like the South building, five stories, 20 degree angle on the subject, is my best bet. Ed, Sam, you agree?" she asked the opinions of her riflemen team mates through her com link. For, that's what they were. Team-mates. They valued and respected each other's opinions, worked as a single unit to solve problems, relied on each other's actions to keep the whole team and the public safe.

"Copy, Jules. Sounds good. Should give us enough room to maneuver and stay clear of your line of fire," Sam responded from across the street where the tactical conference was taking place. He gave his binoculars to Ed to confirm this assessment. Ed agreed with a nod of his bald head and continued to map-out the potential tactical plan of entry.

"Spike, I'm making the first call. What have you got for me?" Greg asked from beside Spike in the command truck. He wanted all the information he could receive before initiating the negotiation and attempting a peaceful resolution of the problematic situation.

Spike sighed from his seated position. "Not much, Boss. From the pictures we've got, the subject is Preston Larson. Rap sheet for a couple of robbery attempts, but no known gang affiliation. Best I can tell, this is just a robbery gone wrong."

Greg nodded in acknowledgement. "Right. Just try to convince him to end this peacefully for a reduced sentence. No reason we all can't go home from this," Greg verbalized his planed strategy. "Does he have any known accomplices on this attempted heist?"

Spike shook his head in ignorance. "Don't see any on the surveillance, but he's been known to work well with others. The main thing is that hostage in his arms, Boss. Just gotta convince him there's no sense in using her as a human shield."

Greg nodded in agreement, his cell phone held to his chest waiting patiently to be pressed into service. "Sierra One, what's your status?"

Jules huffed at the top of the last of the five stories' flights of stairs. Being in near perfect physical shape, ready to sprint or run a marathon at the drop of a hat, she wasn't winded at all from the upward hump, she just wanted to announce her position gutturally before verbally. "Sierra One on the roof, 20 seconds away from being in position."

"Copy that, Sierra One. Initiating first contact with the subject," Greg reported as he dialed his phone.

Jules walked to the edge of the roof, detached the supports of her rifle, and settled into position. She cleared her mind of all thought and steadied her breathing in the course of lowering her heart rate. A good sniper shoots between heartbeats; slowing one's breathing gives a sniper more time to make the shot. "Sierra One, in position. I have the solution," she reported in a cold, steady, calm voice, a potential threat to many human lives in her cross-hairs.

"Thank you for talking to me, Preston. I just want everyone to go home safely from this situation today." Greg halted his negotiation and covered his phone's mouth piece with his gloved hand. "Copy, Sierra One. Wait for my Scorpio," he spoke calmly into his com link.

Jules remained silent, counting her heartbeats, focusing so much on them she could feel them reverberating throughout her body, counting them, just as she loved to count and feel Sam's beating heart against hers when she lay on the edge of sleep with him nearly every night now. Their relationship exposed and approved of, she never had to worry about giving-up this pre-slumber ritual ever again for fear of losing her job, her calling. She hoped she would get to feel his heart beating strongly against hers every night for the rest of her life; it's slow, steady rhythm lulling her to sleep. She counted her own heartbeats now, numbering them as if she were the stars in the night's sky as she stalked the subject with the scope of her rifle.

"Tactical plan of entry established, Boss. In position and ready for your go," Ed reported from his post outside the restaurant's back entrance. Sam was at the front entrance, while Raf stood behind Ed as back-up.

Greg reprised the one-man symphony of action he used with Jules to communicate with Ed. "Copy that, Ed. Stand by for action."

Just as he finished his order, the subject caught a glimpse of Sam off a reflective mixing bowl surface in the restaurant. He raised his gun from the downward position Greg had gotten him to assume and pointed it towards Sam. "What are you doing? What are you doing, Greg?" he shouted into the phone, gun poised to fire. "You gonna break in here, you go snipers on me?" He violently threw the phone on the floor in rage.

"Subject escalated to red. Sierra One, stand by," Greg ordered as he attempted to get Preston Larson back on the phone.

Irate at the perceived police slight, Larson raised his gun higher and fired it in Sam's direction.

"Scorpio, Scorpio!" Greg ordered.

But at the same moment as Larson fired, Jules on the roof top heard a nearly imperceptible shuffle of gravel behind her and used lightning reflexes to assess the situation only to see a hard lead pipe thrashing down towards her bare, unprotected head from the corner of her eye.

Her world went black a split second later.

The Scorpio shot never had a chance to ring-out through the summer day's sky.

Additional Author's Note: Yes, I promised the #Flashpointpack that I would beat Jules with a pipe, because apparently I enjoy torturing my favorite character. Also, if you can figure-out why this story is called "Glasgow," you deserve a cookie. Or one of MollyLyn's "I'm'a get me some" cupcakes.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think of this story so far and if you think you know what Glasgow means.

Thanks for reading,

Eals