Ellie + The Machine

Welcome to my random tumblr - please, stay awhile! My name is Ellie, I'm 34. Wife & Mother. Investigator. Photographer & Owner of One Moore Snap Photography, LLC. My Fandom obsessions are; The Rookie, Uncharted, Star Trek, Supernatural, and everything in between. I love everything about space and traveling.🌙✨ Sic Parvis Magna. 🧭

[ellie-andthemachine]

My heart is so fucking broken right now 😭

Sam Neill passed today 7/13. FML.

[ellie-andthemachine]

So, I've got chapter 10 of Echoes of the Past scheduled, Chapter 11 will be queued up sometime tomorrow.

I've got maybe 3 ish chapters until the real shit goes down. 4 ish chapters until my dilemma.

Question is.... should I do a "cliffhanger" on the ending, then create a new fic that picks back up (like the famous season finale/season premiere cliffies), or keep going with the chapters on this one?

Cliffhanger, or keep going?

Cliffhanger, then new story

Keep going with the same title/story (adding chapters)

Remaining time: 2 days 17 hours

To get current with Echoes of the Past, here ya go! Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / (Ten will be posted 9am EST) 7/13 Spotify Playlist for The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - HERE

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - Chapter Nine Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight Spotify Playlist for The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - HERE TW: None

Previously on The Rookie

I won't give no fucks

I won't take no shit

Try to burn me down

Get this whole place lit

I won't give no fucks

I won't take no shit

They said they want war; this is it

Let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Then let the body drop

The heavy iron smell of rust and sweat hung thick in the air of the precinct’s basement gym. It was barely 0500, an hour before her shift would officially start, and the room was completely empty.

Ellie drove a wrapped left hook directly into the center of the heavy punching bag. She didn't pause. She threw a right cross, followed by a swift combination, her breathing ragged and heavy. Every impact sent a sharp, dull ache radiating straight across her ribs where the purple bruise from the vest sat, but she welcomed the pain. It was a physical distraction from the chaotic noise inside her head.

She caught the bag with both hands, pressing her forehead against the cool, rough canvas as her chest heaved. Her auburn hair was soaked, sticking to the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes were fixed blindly on the concrete floor.

The glowing screen of the terminal from last night was burned into her retinas. Victor was here for her.

Do I tell the team?

If she went to Sergeant Grey, if she showed Nolan the files and confessed exactly who Victor Martin was to her family, the response would be immediate. They would wrap her in a bubble. Nolan would look at her with that suffocating, paternal worry, and Grey would pull her off the streets instantly. In the LAPD, when a cop becomes a personal target, they get sidelined for their own safety. She would be stuck behind a desk in the records room, completely blind and entirely vulnerable while her friends risked their lives hunting down a monster that wanted her. She couldn't let Nolan or Angela take a bullet meant for her.

Or do I handle it myself?

The thought was dangerous, reckless, and completely went against everything she had learned at the academy. But it was tempting. She could hunt him in the shadows of L.A. without a badge tying her hands or endangering the people she cared about. She could finally finish the fight Victor started years ago when he ruined her brother's life.

She caught her reflection in the wall mirror. She was wearing the LAPD physical training shirt. She had fought through a broken home, a traumatic past, chronic illness, and a grueling academy to wear that emblem. If she ran off on a rogue vendetta, she was no better than the criminals she locked up. But if she stayed silent, she was putting a target on the back of every officer in Mid-Wilshire.

The gym door clicked open, and the heavy footsteps of the morning shift began to echo down the hallway. Time was up. She had less than thirty minutes to get into uniform and make a choice.

The fluorescent lights of the roll-call room felt exceptionally harsh after the dark, solitary intensity of the basement gym. Ellie walked in just as the clock ticked toward 0555. The room was already buzzing with the familiar morning energy—the scrape of chairs, the rustle of paper, and the low murmur of cops nursing their first cups of coffee.

She took her usual seat next to Nolan, consciously forcing her shoulders to drop and her posture to look relaxed.

Nolan was already at the table, a clipboard in front of him. The moment she sat down, his T.O. radar went off. He turned his head, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned her face.

"You look tired," Nolan murmured, his voice low enough to stay between the two of them. "Did you actually go home and sleep like Grey told us to? Because you have that look you get when you've been overthinking."

Ellie offered a quick, practiced smile, adjusting her duty belt to hide the slight tremor in her fingers. "I slept fine, John. Just a little stiff. Nothing a little caffeine won't fix."

Nolan didn't look entirely convinced, but before he could press further, the door at the front of the room swung open. Sergeant Grey walked in, his presence instantly silencing the room. The shift commander didn't look like he had slept at all; his face was a tight mask of serious concentration as he rested his hands on the podium.

"Listen up," Grey began, his deep voice commanding the room. "We are on high alert today. Following the chaos at the Vanguard Vault last night, intelligence indicates the Sureños may be mobilizing. Marcos Calderon is deep in hiding, but some of his people may be looking for payback. They want Victor Martin’s head on a spike, and they don't care if the we get caught in the crossfire."

Grey clicked a remote, flashing Victor Martin’s grainy security camera image onto the large projector screen.

Ellie's chest tightened. Staring at Victor’s silhouette on the wall, the weight of the secret she was keeping felt physically crushing. She knew his name. She knew his history. She knew exactly why he was executing these gang members. And she knew she was the final name on his list.

"Every patrol unit is to operate in pairs—no solo responses to any calls in our district" Grey continued, his eyes sweeping across the room and lingering briefly on Ellie and Nolan. "Forensics is still trying to pull something from that four-second encrypted phone call I received last night. Until we know who that computerized voice belongs to, we treat every anomaly as a potential ambush. Stay sharp, watch your six, and bring each other home."

Grey slammed his clipboard down. "Nolan, Moore, you're on case detail, but you stay attached to Detectives Lopez and Harper. Clear out."

The room erupted into the sudden noise of chairs scraping back. Ellie stood up, her mind spinning. The trap was setting itself around her. If she spoke up right now, she could give Grey the missing puzzle piece. If she stayed silent, she was letting Nolan walk blindly into a war meant entirely for her.

Nolan grabbed his duty bag, looking over at her with a sharp, determined nod. "Alright, partner. Let's go find Lopez and see if SID found anything else on those Polaroids."

Ellie swallowed the lump in her throat, her decision hanging by a thread. "Lead the way," she said quietly.

The bullpen was a hive of activity as officers scrambled to their shops, others to their desks, but Angela Lopez wasn't moving. She stood by the coffee machine; her eyes locked onto Ellie from the moment the rookie walked out of the roll-call room. Angela had been a detective long enough to read body language like an open book, and Ellie was practically vibrating with tense, suppressed energy.

As Nolan walked ahead toward the equipment desk to grab their war bags, Angela stepped directly into Ellie’s path, cutting her off from the exit.

"Moore. With me," Angela said. It wasn’t an invitation.

Angela grabbed Ellie by the arm—careful to avoid her bruised ribs—and pulled her into a vacant interrogation room, letting the heavy door click shut behind them. The room was sterile and quiet, completely cutting off the noise of the precinct.

Angela leaned back against the metal table, crossing her arms. Her expression was completely stripped of its usual warmth, replaced by the sharp, intimidating focus of a seasoned interrogator.

"Start talking," Angela commanded quietly.

Ellie tried to look confused, her blue eyes widening. "Excuse me? Ang, we need to get out to the shop. Nolan is waiting—"

"Nolan is blinded by his dad instincts, but I’m not," Angela interrupted, her voice cutting like glass. "I watched you in roll call, Ellie. When Grey put Victor Martin’s picture on the screen, you didn't look alert. You looked terrified. And not 'I almost got shot last night' terrified. It was personal."

Ellie swallowed hard, her heart was hammering so hard she was certain Angela could hear it. "I’m just stressed about the case, Angela."

"Don't lie to me," Angela said, stepping closer, her gaze drilling into Ellie. "I called the records clerk this morning to pull some cross-references on the Sureños. Know what he told me? He said someone used a secure terminal in the basement records room at two o'clock this the morning. A terminal logged under your ID."

Ellie froze. Shit. She hadn’t thought about the files being restricted or tracked.

"You didn't go home last night, Ellie. You stayed here, bruised and exhausted, digging through restricted databases," Angela said, her tone shifting from accusatory to fiercely protective. "And then I see you marching into roll call looking like you’ve got some big secret. If you are compromised, or if you know something about Victor Martin that wasn’t in that briefing, you need to tell me right now. Because if you keep a secret like that on the streets today, you are going to get yourself, or Nolan, killed."

The heavy silence stretched between them. Ellie looked at Angela’s hard, determined face, realizing her wall of isolation had just been completely dismantled. She was faced with a choice: trust one of her closest friends on the force or continue down a dark path entirely alone.

Before Ellie could form a response, the heavy metal door handle rattled, and the door swung open. Nolan stood in the threshold, holding two tactical war bags over his shoulders and a clipboard under his arm.

"Hey, there you two are," Nolan said, his brow furrowing as he took in the thick, suffocating tension in the small room. He looked between Angela’s rigid stance and Ellie’s pale face. "Am I interrupting something? We need to get down to the motor pool. Nyla just called from the field; she wants us to meet her down near the industrial district."

Angela didn't break eye contact with Ellie for a long, agonizing second. The silent threat in the detective's eyes was perfectly clear:

This isn't over.

Slowly, Angela turned her head toward Nolan, her sharp interrogator persona melting back into her usual confident demeanor. "No interruption, Nolan. Just giving your rookie, a piece of advice."

Nolan nodded, a soft aloof smile, "let's go see what Harper’s found.”

"Go ahead, Nolan. I'll catch up with Nyla in a minute," Angela said, her voice dropping to a low, serious register. She kept her back to Nolan as he walked away, ensuring only Ellie could hear her next words. "We are going to finish this conversation, boot. Today. Either you tell Nolan what you're hiding, or I will."

Ellie gave a tight, barely visible nod. She gripped the strap of her duty belt, turned on her heel, and followed Nolan down the bustling hallway toward the garage. The clock was ticking louder than ever, and she knew she was running out of time before her secrets blew up in her face.

The morning sun was just starting to bake the concrete of the industrial district as Nolan and Ellie pulled up to the curb. The neighborhood was a bleak stretch of faded brick warehouses, rusted chain-link fences, and overgrown weeds pushing through the cracked asphalt. Nyla’s unmarked black SUV was already parked near the entrance of a seemingly abandoned textile mill.

Nolan cut the engine, and he and Ellie stepped out into the dry heat. Angela’s vehicle pulled in right behind them, the detective slamming her door with a little more force than necessary—a silent, lingering reminder to Ellie that their interrupted conversation was still hanging over her head.

Nyla met them near the rusted gate, holding a digital tablet. "SID finished a deep-dive enhancement on the Polaroids we pulled from the silver sedan's glovebox," she explained without preamble, gesturing for the group to gather around. "They mapped the background details of the photos. The bricks, the specific pattern of the corrugated steel roofing, and the vintage loading dock doors—they all match this exact facility."

Ellie forced herself to focus, her blue eyes narrowing as she looked past Nyla toward the massive, silent building. "So, this isn't just where Victor ditched the getaway vehicle. This facility is likely his hidden planning area, before he started executing the Sureños."

"Exactly," Angela said, her voice sharp as she kept her gaze fixed squarely on Ellie. "Which means whatever clues he left behind in those photos are somewhere inside these walls. We proceed with extreme caution. Weapons down but ready."

The four officers moved toward the side entrance of the warehouse in a tight, synchronized tactical stack. Nolan took the point, his larger frame providing a shield as he slowly pushed open a heavy, unbolted metal door. It let out a long, agonizing screech that echoed into the cavernous interior.

"LAPD,” Nolan called out into the dark space. Only silence answered. The air inside was thick with the smell of old engine oil, stagnant dust, and rotting timber. Shafts of morning light pierced through cracked, grime-covered windows high above, illuminating millions of dust motes dancing in the air.

They moved deeper into the warehouse, clearing the old assembly lines and rusted machinery step by step. There was no sign of Victor Martin—no fresh footprints in the thick dust, no humming generators. The warehouse was entirely empty, a hollow monument to L.A.'s industrial past.

"Over here," Nyla called out from the back corner of the main floor, near an old supervisor's office that had been walled off with plywood.

Ellie and Nolan hurried over, keeping their eyes on the dark corners. Inside the small office, a metal folding table sat under a single dangling lightbulb. Scattered across the surface were a few empty water bottles, a discarded box of ammunition casings, and a map of Los Angeles pinned to the wall with a heavy hunting knife. It was exactly the setup from the background of the first Polaroid.

"This is it," Nolan said quietly, shining his tactical light across the table. "He’s been here. He planned the Ruiz hit right out of this room."

Ellie stepped closer to the table, her heart rate ticking upward as she stared at the map. Victor had been sitting right where she was standing, plotting his executions. They were standing in the heart of the killer's lair, surrounded by the remnants of his planning, and she knew the next clue to his ultimate endgame was hiding somewhere in this very room.

Angela stepped around the metal folding table, her tactical flashlight slicing through the shadows of the cramped office. While Nyla focused on the map pinned to the wall, she kept her eyes low, scanning the floorboards and the trash left behind. Her light caught on something wedged between the back of the metal desk and the rotting baseboard.

"Hold on," Angela said, crouching down. Using a gloved hand, she pulled out a crumpled, stained manila folder. It had been intentionally hidden, tucked away from plain sight. Angela brought it up to the light of the dangling bulb, smoothing out the wrinkled paper.

Nolan and Nyla crowded around her, but Angela’s eyes instantly shot to Ellie.

"What is it, Lopez?" Nolan asked, leaning in.

Angela didn't answer him. Instead, she flipped the folder open. Inside was a comprehensive dossier detailing a familiar name and history—one that the team had already discovered earlier in Ellie's journey. It was a complete profile on Riley Ryan; the identity Ellie had left behind before changing her name. But it wasn't just old public records. The folder contained surveillance photos of Ellie taken over the last few weeks in Los Angeles. There were images of her leaving her apartment, walking into the Mid-Wilshire station, and sitting in the shop with Nolan. Stapled to the very last page was a printed prison roster from the London Correctional Facility in Ohio, with her brother's name heavily circled in black ink, and also a photo of a much younger Ellie. Next to it, Victor had scrawled a single, bone-chilling sentence:

You can't hide behind a new name.

The room went dead silent. The low hum of the distant L.A. traffic outside seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the sound of Ellie’s ragged breathing. Nolan looked from the dossier to Ellie, his face washing over with immediate, protective dread. "Ellie... he knows. We knew about your past as Riley, but Victor has been tracking you ever since he got to L.A. He has photos of your routines."

Nyla stepped back toward the door, her expression hardening as she connected the dots. "This wasn't a standard gang vendetta. The Sureños were just a distraction to clear the board. He's hunting you down for what happened with your brother back in Ohio. For when you put them away.”

Angela closed the folder with a sharp snap, her eyes drilling into Ellie with an intense mix of urgency and frustration. "I knew you were hiding something in roll call. Victor isn't just a threat to the city anymore, Moore. You need to tell us everything about his patterns right now, because your number just got called."

Ellie stood frozen beneath the single lightbulb, her blue eyes wide as the true scope of Victor's trap was laid bare. He had known who she was the entire time. She looked at Nolan, seeing the fierce, paternal terror in his eyes, and realized she could no longer hold anything back.

The weight of the surveillance photos, the circled prison roster, and the realization that Victor had been watching her every move became entirely too much in that moment. The cramped plywood office felt like it was physically shrinking, suffocating her.

Without a word, Ellie turned on her heel and walked out.

"Ellie, wait!" Nolan called out, moving to follow her.

Angela caught Nolan by the arm, her grip tight and unyielding. "Let her go for a second, Nolan. You need to hear this first."

Nolan pulled against her grip; his brow furrowed with confusion and protective instinct.

"Lopez, she’s falling apart. I need to get out there."

"She lied to you, John," Angela said, her voice dropping to a harsh, serious register. "She didn't go home last night after the precinct phone call. I checked the logs this morning. She stayed in the basement records room until two in the morning, pulling restricted files on her brother and Victor Martin. She knew exactly how dangerous this was, she knew he was targeting her, and she marched into roll call this morning and let you ride in a shop with her anyway."

Nolan went completely rigid, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The paternal warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp wave of hurt and anger. He pulled his arm free from Angela's grip and marched out of the warehouse. Outside, the mid-morning heat was brutal, radiating off the cracked asphalt.

Ellie was standing by the passenger side door of the shop, her hands gripped tightly onto the roof frame, her head hung low as she tried to force her breathing to level out. Her ribs ached, her head pounded, and she could feel resolve starting to waver under the intense stress.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nolan's voice boomed across the empty industrial lot, completely stripped of his usual gentle demeanor.

Ellie flinched but didn't turn around. "John, please. Not right now."

"No, right now!" Nolan yelled, stepping into her space and forcing her to look at him. His face was flushed, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "Angela just told me you were here until two o'clock in the morning digging through files. You found out Victor was tracking you; you found out you were his ultimate target, and you hid it from me. We sat in that car for hours today, Ellie! We walked into this building together!"

Ellie finally snapped, turning on him with tears of anger and frustration bright in her blue eyes. "I did it to protect you!"

"Protect me?" Nolan countered, throwing his hands up. "By letting me walk blindly into what could’ve been an ambush? By keeping a target on your back while I'm supposed to be your Training Officer? That is not how this works!"

"If I told you, Sergeant Grey would have yanked my badge and put me in a safe house!" Ellie screamed back, her voice cracking as years of isolation and fear came pouring out. "I would be sitting in a dark room, completely blind, waiting for a monster from my past to hunt me down! And you—you would have been out on the streets trying to play the hero! Victor ruined my brother's life. He destroyed my family. I refuse to let him destroy yours too!"

Nolan stopped, the sheer desperation in her voice cutting through his anger. He stared at his rookie, seeing past the uniform to the terrified, defensive twenty-nine-year-old who had spent her entire life learning that she could only rely on herself. The heavy silence stretched between them in the heat of the parking lot, both breathing heavily, the rift between T.O. and rookie wider than it had ever been.

Authors Note: Okay, so this chapter is now the longest. I dunno, I just keep having more and more to write, and I never want to stop.

Please let me know if the length is becoming too much and you need me to scale back.

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past (Chapter Two) Synopsis: From oldest rookie to T.O., John Nolan takes on training the newest rookie, Officer Ellie Moore. In her first 6 months on the force, an unresolved case catches up to her, putting her survival to the ultimate test. A tale of mentorship, resilience, and facing one's demons head-on.

Read Chapter One here: Chapter ONE

“Hey, I’ll take the wheel for the first half of the shift if you’d like,” Lucy offered.

“You’re the boss, go for it,” Aaron chuckled.

Lucy started the vehicle and pulled away from the station, heading out onto the busy streets of L.A.

“7-Adam-07, show us on patrol,” Thorsen radioed in.

“So, you and Nat are going on another date, then?” Lucy asked, curious. “You said that you two hit it off really well.”

“Oh yeah, next weekend. It’s crazy; she knows all about me and doesn't even have an issue with any of it.”

“Well, why should she? You proved your innocence in more ways than one, especially with the documentary. You're a really stand-up guy.”

“Thanks, Luce,” Aaron said. “She knows the money I come from, and she doesn't care. It’s like nothing bothers her about it.”

“That’s Nat for sure: down to earth, humble, and super sweet.” Lucy smiled, “I’m so glad that you two hit it off well. Just FYI, I want an invite to the wedding.”

Aaron laughed, “Hell, you’ll probably be in the damn wedding. Matron or Maid of Honor and all that shit.”

“I wouldn’t say no. She’s an amazing friend and deserves to be happy, and maybe that’ll be with you. Who knows?”

“I hope you’re right. I’m ready for a lifetime of happiness; that’s for damn sure.”

The two rode in comfortable silence, with dispatch radioing other units in the background.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Lucy asked.

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Have you noticed anything going on with Ellie? You two talk sometimes."

"All I know is that she’s been having some trouble sleeping. I mentioned how tired she looked the other day after the shift. Apparently, she deals with insomnia a few times a year; she says it's nothing she isn't used to."

"Do you think it's enough to affect her work?"

Aaron looked over at Lucy. "No, I don't. Why? Are you concerned that it might?"

Lucy sighed. "Not overly, no. I do worry about her. However, at the same time, I want to make sure it doesn't impact her while she's on patrol. We have to leave our personal issues at the door when we come in, no matter how difficult it is."

Aaron nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Hell, I'm sure every single one of us understands the danger it poses if we don't."

"Exactly. Look, if she talks to you—which I doubt she will, because Lord knows she barely opens up to us girls—but if she does, could you keep me in the loop?"

"Of course. Though I'm pretty sure you have nothing to worry about. She seems levelheaded enough."

"You know as well as I do that things can always change."

"True."

Lucy and Aaron pulled into the circular driveway of their alarm call.

“This is 7-Adam-07, dispatch, show us on scene,” Aaron radioed in. “False alarm, dead body, or burglary? Where’s your bet?”

“It's super quiet. I don't think it's a false alarm; we would've gotten a call from the owner. The owner may not be home, which leads to a possible burglary.”

“...or he could be dead and burgled.”

“Yeah, let’s not take any chances,” Lucy said, leading the way to the front door of the home. “Uh, Aaron, I’d say your bet is the closest; look,” she pointed to the steps, motioning to the blood droplets.

“Blood and the front door ajar. I’ll take back?”

“Yeah, radio if you find anything.”

“You too.” Aaron said as he unholstered his weapon and headed towards the rear of the home.

“7-Adam-07, our alarm call has turned into a suspected homicide and burglary. Standby.” Lucy radioed into dispatch and removed her weapon as well. Pushing the front door open, she called out, “LAPD!” Hoping for some kind of response, she received none.

Going room by room, she quickly but effectively clears them, noting nothing out of the ordinary in any. Upon coming to the bottom of the stairway moments later, she notices smeared blood on the wooden handrail. “Thorsen, I cleared the downstairs. There’s blood on the handrail. I’m heading up. What’s your status?”

“Clear. No sign of any forced entry. Nothing out here to indicate that anything happened. I’m heading around front to come in. Be careful.”

Lucy starts heading upstairs, her gun raised, ready for any altercations. “LAPD, is anyone up here?” She calls out once more. She receives no response again.

The first room she comes to is a bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. The next room is a guest room. Same. The third room’s door is ajar. She notices blood droplets on the white carpet, blood on the doorframe and knob.

Pushing the bedroom door open, she’s greeted with the sight of what she guesses is the homeowner—deceased. Lucy checks for a pulse and finds none. Sighing, she notices a closet and the master bathroom, and works carefully to clear the interior rooms.

“Chen, where are you at?” Aaron calls, entering through the front door.

“Upstairs, master bedroom on the left,” Lucy yells out. “I cleared the other rooms up here. I think I found the owner.”

Aaron quickly makes his way upstairs, heading for Lucy. “Aw, what the hell is that?”

“I’m going to guess our homeowner,” she says as she pulls out her radio. “This is 7-Adam-07, dispatch, notify detectives that our alarm call is a homicide.”

“7-Adam-07, copy.”

“Luce, look. There’s a message carved on his chest,” Aaron points out to Lucy.

Lucy walks over to the body of the homeowner and notices the bloody message that he has pointed out.

“'GiVe Me MOre,'” she reads aloud. “Give who more, and give them more of what?”

Aaron and Lucy look at each other, both curious and concerned.

"Victim’s name is Anton Yelkavich. Age 34. Has ties to Sureno 13," Lopez said, informing Chen and Thorsen. The scene was busy with crime scene techs.

"Sureno 13?" Lucy asked.

"Local gang. I noticed the number 13 burned into our victim’s flesh, back of his leg," Aaron said. "They’ve only been around for like, I dunno, 5 years?" he explained. "Any idea who’d want him dead?" he asked Angela.

"I’m guessing any of the other members of the gang, maybe even their leader, Victor Martin. We busted Anton months ago, and he flipped on the leader. Word has it Anton was going to get the others to also flip on Victor."

"So, you think that the others might also be in danger?"

"Possibly. We’ll have to check the list on the others and follow up with them. Are you guys able to help with that?"

"Of course," Aaron spoke up. "Hey, the message that was carved into Yelkavich, any idea what it means?"

"No. It doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe combing through the file might help some," Lopez said.

“We’ll meet you back at the station and split up the names,” Lucy said.

“Sounds good. See you two then.”

Aaron and Lucy stepped back over to the other side of the yellow caution tape. “You think we’ll have more victims before the day is over?” Aaron asked.

Lucy sighed. “I do. That’s why we need to get that list of names and act fast. I just can’t figure out the message he left. He wants more. More of what, exactly?”

“You know as much as I do. Are you still driving?”

“You can, if you’d like.”

“Sure thing, let’s go.”

“7-Adam-07, show us returning to the station,” Lucy radioed in.

“7-Adam-07, copy.”

Nolan and Ellie arrived at the location of their domestic dispute call. The home was small and quaint, nestled in a nice neighborhood. It was surrounded by a white picket fence with a small open gate, giving it a clean and tidy appearance.

“Nice neighborhood. What do you think the dispute is about? Burnt cookies? Cold dinner? Warm beer?” Ellie scoffed, a hint of cynicism in her voice.

Nolan raised an eyebrow, looking at her. “Nice neighborhoods turn you off, boot?” he teased.

Ellie rolled her eyes at the nickname. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that the nice white picket fence isn’t just a façade for what really goes on behind closed doors? It’s all a lie.”

“Well, until this call is settled, let’s just do our jobs,” Nolan replied, his tone more serious.

“Yes, sir,” Ellie said quietly, falling in step behind her training officer as they ascended the porch steps. She took the lead and knocked on the door. “LAPD!”

Waiting to see if anybody would answer the door and let them in, Ellie could hear signs of an altercation inside. “I hear yelling. Should I try again or go in?”

“Let’s try one more time,” Nolan decided, knocking on the door once more. “LAPD, open up!”

Still no response.

Then, a sound of breaking glass came from inside the house.

“Alright, go,” Nolan ordered, giving Ellie the green light to take action.

Ellie unholstered her weapon and turned the knob, her heart racing as she found the door surprisingly unlocked. “LAPD! Hands up!”

“Woah, don’t shoot!”

“What are you doing here?” Ellie demanded.

“We got a call regarding a domestic disturbance, and I’d say we’ve got one in front of us,” Nolan interjected, his voice steady and authoritative. “Now, can anybody tell us what’s going on?”

The man in the room finally found his voice. “My wife here filed for divorce and is suing me for full custody of our two kids,” he explained, pointing toward a scared young girl and boy huddled on the couch.

Ellie, feeling the tension begin to ease, holstered her weapon and exchanged a nod with Nolan. “Hey, kids, my name is Ellie, and this is John. We’re here to talk to your mom and dad, okay? Can you go upstairs for me until we’re done?”

The young girl nodded, her wide eyes showing a mix of fear and curiosity. She took her younger brother’s hand, and they hurriedly ascended the staircase, disappearing behind a closing door.

“Now, let’s talk,” Ellie said, her tone softer as she addressed the couple before her. “Can we talk?”

The wife nodded, her expression a mixture of anger and hurt. “My name is Laura; this here is Patrick. He’s a lying piece of cheating shit. Narcissistic to boot too.”

“What the fuck, Laura?!” Patrick shouted, his face turning red. “I told you I’m not cheating on you. And I’m NOT narcissistic, that’s your mother!”

“I’ve got all the proof, Patrick. Phone records, credit card statements, you name it. It’s over,” Laura spat, her voice shaking with frustration.

“Guys, come on. Have you guys ever gone to marriage counseling? Any remediation at all?” Nolan interjected, attempting to steer the conversation towards a more constructive direction.

“I tried to get him to go. He wouldn’t. Hell, all he would ever say is that he wouldn’t cheat on me again, and that was that. Even if he wasn’t, the mind games! The mind games are enough for me!” Laura's voice trembled as she spoke, the emotional turmoil evident in her words.

“What mind games, ma’am?” Ellie asked, her voice gentle, as she sought a way to shift the course of the argument.

“Always talking about how I would be nothing without him, how I was only ever meant to stay at home, mind the house, mind the kids, have dinner and a beer ready for him the moment he got home. Well, that shit might have worked back in the 60s and maybe the 70s, but it doesn’t work on me,” Laura explained with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Patrick said, his voice lowered, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Laura, I love you. I fucked up before, but I swear, I’m not...” He trailed off, his words heavy with the weight of his emotions.

“Then why am I getting phone calls from Patrice, saying how you took her out to Antonio’s and to her house to fuck her?” Laura demanded, her voice quivering with a mix of anger and hurt. “I’ve got the proof, Patrick. The phone records with her phone number, the credit card statement.”

“Laura, Patrice is screwing with you. She’s been calling my number. I’ve only answered it to tell her to leave us alone. The credit card used at Antonio’s was me buying lunch for a coworker and myself, weeks ago.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I've got proof. It's in the other room, in the office. Can I go get it?” Patrick looked at Ellie, seeking her permission.

“Yes, go ahead.”

Patrick walked away, his steps heavy with the weight of his own distress, and Ellie turned to address Laura, her tone gentle but firm. “Laura, maybe hear Patrick out? Look, I’ve been through situations like this before, and Officer Nolan and I only want what’s best for your family.”

Laura's expression remained hardened. “With all due respect, Officer Moore, I’m making the best decision for our family. I’m getting us away from him,” Laura spat back, her words laced with a combination of anger and determination.

“All I’m saying is –”

“Gun!” Nolan's voice boomed, his eyes widening as he saw Patrick re-enter the room with a gun in his hand. “Patrick, put the gun down.”

Ellie had her gun out, her hands steady but her heart racing, her mind processing the rapidly unfolding situation. “Patrick, come on, put the gun down.”

“Yeah, Patrick, what are you gonna do, shoot me?” Laura's remark carried a tone of bitterness.

“Shut up, Mrs. Reynolds!” Ellie's voice snapped, her attempt to regain control of the room evident. “Come on, Patrick, you don’t want to do this. Think about your kids.”

Patrick's grip on the gun seemed shaky as he turned it towards Nolan, tears streaking down his face.

“Wait, stop!” Ellie's voice was sharp and commanding, her body moving to step in front of Nolan, acting as a human shield.

“Officer Moore, out of the way,” Nolan's voice cut through, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’ve got this, John,” Ellie insisted, taking a cautious step closer to Patrick, her eyes locked onto his. “Hey, things can be fixed. Don’t do this. You don’t want this hanging over you; it will make it harder to fight for your kids.” Her words were a mix of urgency and empathy, an attempt to reach a desperate man through the fog of his emotions.

Patrick's sobs wracked his body, his shoulders trembling as tears streamed down his face. “I only cheated once, early in our marriage. She’s never let it go. Laura and I were literally on a date last week, and we were happy. I don’t recognize my wife anymore.”

“We can help, Patrick. Please, let us help you both,” Ellie pleaded, her voice laced with empathy and a hint of desperation. Her eyes filled with genuine concern as she stared at the distraught man before her. “Let me help.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. She has friends in high places. Higher than you. I will never see my kids ever again,” Patrick explained, his words weighed down by the heaviness of his despair. His vision blurred as tears continued to blur his sight.

“I understand what you're feeling, but fight against it. She may have influential friends, but that's okay. We can still help. Patrick, let me help,” Ellie's voice held a mixture of determination and compassion as she began to slowly extend her hand toward the gun he held, her breath held in anticipation.

“You can’t. I’m so sorry,” Patrick's voice was a quiet murmur, his grip shifting as he turned the gun and, in a heart-wrenching moment, shot himself in the head.

“No! Dad!” Ellie's anguished cry echoed through the room as she watched helplessly, her heart pounding, as he fell to the living room floor. The shock of the tragic scene unfolding before her was overwhelming, leaving her frozen in a moment of disbelief and sorrow.

“Ellie!”

“Patrick!”

Nolan and Laura both yelled out simultaneously, their voices laced with shock and grief. Laura's desperate steps propelled her towards Patrick's lifeless form, but John moved quickly to intercept her, his firm hold preventing her from reaching the scene of the tragedy. “Officer Moore are you okay?” he inquired urgently, his gaze assessing her for any injuries.

Surveying the somber tableau before him, John noted Ellie on her knees beside Patrick's motionless body, her uniform and face stained with blood, and her face an emotionless mask. The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air.

“He’s gone,” Ellie's voice was steady but carried an undercurrent of sadness that echoed through the room.

With a heavy sigh, John instructed Laura to go upstairs and check on her children, offering her a brief but supportive nod as she complied. As he reached for his radio, he summoned the necessary assistance. “7-Adam-15, I need an RA on site for our domestic dispute call, a suicide.”

“7-Adam-15, copy,” came the response, the acknowledgment a stark reminder of the heart-wrenching reality they were grappling with.

Ellie sat on the retaining wall at the perimeter, her face a mask of exhaustion and turmoil. She responded to Bailey's questions as best she could, her voice carrying a weariness that matched her expression.

“How is she?” Nolan approached them, his concern evident in his voice, having finished briefing the other officers on the scene.

Bailey motioned for John to step aside with her, creating a bit of distance from Ellie. “She’s in shock. She answered the questions I asked her, but it's clear she's exhibiting the classic signs. It's all there.”

John let out a heavy sigh, his weariness reflecting his emotional state. "I figured as much."

Curious and deeply concerned, Nolan asked, “What happened?”

“She tried to diffuse the situation, but it escalated rapidly,” John explained, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “She even stepped in front of me, literally in the line of fire. She believed she could get through to him. To both of them.”

Bailey’s expression shifted to one of understanding mingled with empathy. “Oh man. No wonder she’s in the state she’s in. That’s a lot to carry.” She shook his head slowly, grappling with the gravity of the situation they had witnessed.

Nolan and Bailey both turned their attention as commotion arose behind them, witnessing Ellie confronting Laura directly.

“You drove him to suicide! You threatened that man's children! What kind of mother does that?” Ellie's voice carried a mix of anger and accusation, her finger pointed accusingly at Laura.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never been in my shoes!” Laura's voice wavered; her emotions raw as she fired back.

“I have! I have been in your shoes!”

“Officer Moore,” Nolan's voice boomed, a commanding force aimed at diffusing the escalating situation. “Stand down, now!”

Unfazed, Ellie continued to vent her frustration, her arm extending upwards toward the house. “Your husband explained everything in that room,” she yelled, her voice rising with each word. “And you just kept going at him!”

“Officer Moore! I said stand down!” Nolan's voice carried an even greater authority, the urgency in his tone unmistakable.

“Bitch, I will have your job if you don’t leave me alone. Like Patrick said, I have friends in high places. I’d watch yourself if I were you,” Laura's voice was laden with a warning as she turned and walked away, the tension in the air still palpable despite her departure.

Ellie began moving towards Laura with determination before being firmly restrained by John's grasp. “You disobeyed a direct order. You need to get back to our vehicle before I strip you of your badge. Now.”

The frustration radiating from Nolan was unmistakable, and Ellie's realization of her error hit her hard. She had indeed messed up. “Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice quiet and remorseful as she turned away and headed toward their police unit, slipping into the passenger seat.

“John, given the circumstances –”

“Bailey, she literally went after the victim’s wife. I wasn’t the only one who saw that. I won't be able to explain her way through this,” John's voice held a mix of exasperation and concern.

“Actually, Officer Nolan,” another voice chimed in from behind them, catching their attention. Another officer stepped forward, offering a different perspective. “Laura went after her. I overheard her saying that Patrick didn't actually commit the things she accused him of.”

Nolan turned towards the officer, seeking her nametag for identification. “Officer?”

“Hernandez, sir,” the officer responded. “Officer Moore was approached by the deceased victim’s wife. Laura started confessing that Patrick was telling the truth, that she hadn't filed for divorce because doing so would leave her with nothing. She mentioned that by his death, she would gain everything.”

Nolan exchanged a look with John, realization dawning upon them both. The situation had more layers than initially apparent, and they now had a more complex puzzle to unravel.

Bailey looked at Nolan, her expression a mix of astonishment and disbelief. “So, she just confessed to murder by suicide, basically?”

“Basically,” Hernandez affirmed, her voice carrying a tone of gravity. “Look, I’ve got it all recorded on my bodycam. You can have the footage for your case.”

“Thank you. I’ll get our Sergeant to retrieve the footage. Can you swing by the station later to give your official report?”

“Yes, sir. Right after we wrap up here, I'll head over.”

“Thank you,” Nolan acknowledged, signaling the end of their conversation. He turned his attention back to Bailey, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “While this development helps Ellie’s situation, I still need to talk to her. There's something that's bothering me about all of this.”

“Just... be careful how you approach it, okay? If you push too hard, she might shut down completely. Approach it tactfully.”

John nodded, his gaze meeting Bailey's with understanding. “I'll see you tonight at home.”

“Of course, hot stuff,” Bailey teased, offering him a playful grin as he walked away.

Observing Ellie's gaze fixed on the passenger side window, Nolan felt a pang of sympathy. The upcoming conversation was one he wished to avoid, but it was necessary. Settling into the driver's seat, he turned to face her.

“I need answers, and I need them now.”

Alright, so, here's chapter two. Much longer too. Sorry for the delay, I ended up growing an extra appendage in the form of a 3 year old little girl. She and hubby are finally in bed and now I am heading that way.

I totally accept constructive criticism. As well as a beta. So, if anyone is interested, let me know!

I hope y'all enjoy. If you have any questions, let me know!

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past

Synopsis: From oldest rookie to T.O., John Nolan takes on training the newest rookie, Officer Ellie Moore. In her first 6 months on the force, an unresolved case catches up to her, putting her survival to the ultimate test. A tale of mentorship, resilience, and facing one's demons head-on.

Character bio: Ellie Moore is 29 years old. Fresh out of the academy. Auburn/Ginger hair color, blue eyes. 5ft 3in, average weight, but weighs more than she would prefer (no lack of trying, but health issues hinder). Comes from a single mother and a younger brother. Doesn’t normally delve into her past with others, unless its warranted. Ellie is compassionate and empathetic but can also be closed off at times. Secretly deals with minor to mild depression, depending on situation (would never tell anybody in fear of being kicked out of LAPD). She considers Lucy, Nyla and Angela good friends, but even more so Nolan. She views Nolan not only as a T.O. but sees him as a father figure as well at times. Ellie was diagnosed as a carrier of Fragile-X Syndrome and is afraid of having children in the future in fears of passing on the gene.

It’s a sunny day in Los Angeles as Ellie heads to work. Windows down, music on, and volume up, the lyrics of “Can’t Take Me Anywhere” by Sam Tinnesz blare as she pulls into the station.

Parking in her usual spot, she rolls up her windows. They’re forecasting rain during her shift, and she'll be damned if she has to deal with wet seats again. In her side mirror, she notices Chen and Nolan talking at the station entrance and wonders if they saw her arrive. Getting out and locking her vehicle, she swings her bookbag straps over her arms and hurries to catch up with the others.

“Ah, good morning, Ellie,” Nolan greets her with a warm smile. “How’s my favorite rookie doing?”

“Tired. Apparently the 3 cups of coffee I’ve had this morning haven't counteracted the effects of the Benadryl I wound up taking last night. So, I’m hoping today goes like a breeze.”

“Well, I hate to be negative, but you probably just jinxed it,” Lucy grins.

Ellie rolls her eyes, chuckling, “Yeah, well, I’ll make sure to let Nell know that you're hoping for all the big and bad today, Chen.”

“Don’t you dare! Anyways, I’ll see you guys at roll call. Thorsen apparently had a date last night, and I’m curious about how it went.” Lucy heads for the doors and goes inside. Ellie and John watch her hurry inside."

“Did you have an allergic reaction to something last night?” Nolan asked, his concern evident.

“Huh? No. Why are you asking?” The question caught Ellie off guard.

“You mentioned taking Benadryl last night. Most people use it for allergic reactions. I was just curious about what you might be allergic to. It might be something worth knowing for the future as your T.O.”

“Oh,” Ellie paused, unsure how to respond, “no, I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping the last few days. I don’t do it often, usually only when I’ve had enough of struggling.”

“Is there something causing the issue?”

“Um,” she pauses again, “I, uh... it just happens occasionally. It won’t affect my work, I promise. I’ll, uh, see you in roll call.” Ellie says, making an abrupt move for the doors, leaving John watching her as she walks away.

Nolan decides to give her a moment to reach the elevators and get to their floor before heading inside himself. He makes a mental note to talk to her during patrol.

Taking her seat up front with Thorsen and the other rookie, whom she was sure would wash out within the week, Ellie observed as the more senior officers filed in.

“So, Lucy said you had a date last night. How did that go?”

“Not bad. We went to dinner and sat in my car, talking for a few hours. Natalie seems really nice, and she wants to go out again this weekend,” Aaron replied with a smile, his excitement evident as he started building a better life for himself. Most of the negativity surrounding Patrick’s death and the documentary drama had faded away, allowing him to rebuild and rebrand himself for the better.

“Good. I know you've been looking forward to it. I'm glad it went well.”

“Oh yeah. Nat and I are similar, yet so different in many ways. I'm hopeful. Of course, it's only been one date so far, so who knows? I'm curious to see where it goes.”

Ellie patted Aaron on the shoulder, saying, “So am I, dude. Keep me updated. Seriously.”

Thorsen smiled and added, “You know I will. So, how was your evening? Any fancy dates on your calendar?”

Chuckling, Ellie shook her head. “You know damn well there aren't any. Which is perfectly fine with me. I'm only six months into training; I need to stay focused to get through the rest of this twelve-month torture with Nolan.” She said the last part loudly enough for John to hear, turning in her seat and smiling to show she was joking.

“You've got this, Moore. Hell, from what people say, you're Nolan 2.0. I'd say you've got nothing to worry about.”

Ellie blushed, not entirely used to compliments, and said, “Thanks, dude. I appreciate it.”

Lucy walked in, giving Ellie and Aaron a warm smile before taking the empty seat next to Nolan.

“Hey, can I ask you something before we head out on patrol?” John asked Lucy quietly.

“Of course,” she said, looking at him with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I think so. I'll talk to you after roll call.”

Lucy nodded.

“Alright, everybody, good morning,” Sergeant Grey's deep voice boomed as he walked in. “For once, the night shift left us with no follow-up cases. So, business as usual. Nolan and Moore, Chen and Thorsen. Harper is assisting Lopez with a case. Bradford will be in a little late. Contact me if you all have any issues. Dismissed.”

The other officers filed out of the bullpen, leaving Lucy, John, Ellie, and Aaron.

“Ellie, could you go set up our shop? I'll be along in a moment.”

Ellie nodded, saying, “Yes, sir.”

“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Aaron said, rising from his seat as well. “Hey Lucy, I'm also going to go set up ours.”

“Thanks, Aaron,” Lucy said, smiling."

Once Thorsen and Ellie had left to set up their respective shops, Lucy turned to Nolan and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Have you noticed anything different about Ellie? I'm slightly concerned about her,” Nolan replied.

“Concerned? Is something happening?” Lucy inquired, worried about her friend.

“I'm not sure. Apparently, she’s been having trouble sleeping lately. And when she mentioned taking a Benadryl last night, I asked her about it after you went inside.”

“What did she say?”

“She just mentioned she's been having trouble sleeping and was tired of struggling, so she took one,” Nolan explained. “I tried asking her to see if something's going on, but she, well, avoided discussing it. She assured me that it wouldn’t affect her during patrol,” he paused, “which, to some extent, I can agree with; it hasn't affected her work.”

“...but you're concerned it might in the future,” Lucy finished.

"Exactly."

“Look, I know as well as you that she's super private. Even with me, Nyla, and Lopez. Trust me, it hasn't gone unnoticed. We've tried to figure out ways to get her to open up, but we haven't had much luck.”

Nolan sighed. This wasn't what he had hoped for. “Thanks, Lucy. If she talks to you, could you let me know?”

“Of course. Although, you'll probably have better luck. She's basically 'Nolan 2.0',” Lucy smirked.

“You've heard that too, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Hey, it's not a bad thing. You've done well for yourself, and maybe she will too.”

Nolan chuckled, “Yeah, maybe.”

“We should get going. Good luck out there today. Call us if you need backup.”

“Hey, you too.”

Lucy and John headed for their shops, grabbing the assigned body cameras on their way.

“Alright, Rookie, you’re behind the wheel today. Let’s go.”

“Yes, sir,” Ellie replied, taking the keys from Nolan and getting into the driver’s seat. “Think we’ll have an eventful day?”

"Who knows? It’s LA, a city full of crazies. I wouldn’t doubt it,” Nolan responded.

Ellie nodded.

The silence in the car lasted for only two minutes.

“Alright, so you didn’t take Benadryl for allergies. What are you allergic to?” Nolan asked, curious.

“Not much, really. At least, I don’t think so. Just mold; I can’t have Bactrim or dilauded. Pet dander used to affect me a lot, but it hasn’t since I got Gracie. My mother was allergic to penicillin, but I seem to have lucked out there,” Ellie explained. “I guess if anything ever happens, just make sure EMTs don’t use dilauded on me,” she shrugged.

“Why? What happens if they do?”

“The first time, we thought it was a normal reaction. The second time,” she paused, “the second time, we knew it wasn’t. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t talk or really breathe. It was like an out-of-body experience. If you can imagine it, I felt like I was watching myself lying in the hospital bed. Turns out, it stopped my heart for a moment. Scary stuff.”

Nolan absorbed everything Ellie shared. “I'm so sorry that happened to you. I'll make sure you're never given it if I can help it.”

Ellie nodded, driving quietly for a moment. “Thank you. Not many people know about it. I mean, it's in my file, but…”

“…but you haven’t discussed your experiences. I understand. I appreciate you sharing that with me; I can imagine it wasn’t easy.”

“Not really. But I trust you.”

“Thank you. I trust you, too.”

“7-Adam-15, a domestic dispute call. The address is being sent to your box.”

Nolan picked up the mic to respond, “7-Adam-15, show us responding..”

“So much for an uneventful day.”

So, please be gentle. I haven't written anything in YEARS. Also, I've spent the last 2 weeks binge watching The Rookie. BTW Nathan Fillion is cute as hell. Anyways, I am looking for a beta, if anybody is interested!

Also, I hope I did all this right. I don't usually post on Tumblr! -_-

[bumblebeebats]

so i hauve covid rn and i must say, American cold medicine is the absolute bees knees. You go to a UK pharmacy and they tenderly press like eight (8) paracetamol into the palm of your hand... God FORBID you're sick in France, i had to scour every pharmacy in Paris for something that wasn't HOMEOPATHIC PASTILLES. meanwhile last night i took the last of my stash of Nyquil that expired in 2019 and it was like getting hit by a fucking baseball bat (affectionate). press X to timeskip. LOVE me a cheeky little medically induced coma. you can really feel that it's a precursor to meth. i know that everything is fucking awful over there my friedns and my heart goes out to every one of you but if you need one small bright light of national pride in this time of strife please know that i envy you your cold medicine every day

[slowspinningredemption]

i once took an american antihistamine pill just a basic one for seasonal allergies and i had to immediately lay down and while doing so i vividly hallucinated that i was a steerage passenger on the titanic resigned to my death as my cabin filled up rapidly with water. then i blacked out and when i woke up again my allergies were gone for the entire season.

[acakewalkofcrocodiles]

The Hat Man is our greatest export

[zachbiller]

My face when someone says they’ve never watched The Rookie.

[ellie-andthemachine]

This has been my face all day at work - while humming/singing cop cutie and 911.

[zachbiller]

My face when someone says they’ve never watched The Rookie.

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - Chapter Eight - 6:00 Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven Spotify Playlist for The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - HERE Song that inspired this chapter: "6:00" from Grandson (a modern tragedy vol. 1 - on the playlist) TW: T2Diabetes, ambush/shootout scene, cursing

Previously on The Rookie

Using the tip of a pen, Angela gently slid the crooked drawer out further. Tucked beneath a stack of folded bandanas was a neatly folded piece of paper—stark white and completely out of place in the messy room.

She pulled it out with tweezers and unfolded it on top of the dresser. It wasn't a note written in blood this time. It was a printed map of Los Angeles, with a heavy red circle drawn around a very specific, high-end commercial address in downtown LA: The Vanguard Vault & Safety Co.

Beneath the circled building, written in Victor's chaotic, jagged handwriting, were a single name and a timestamp:

MARCOS CALDERON — 1800 HRS.

“Okay, here’s what we know,” Nyla started, pulling the evidence up onto the smartboard in front of the team and some of the other officers, her expression steely. "Marcos Calderon. He's the main shot-caller for the entire Sureño 13 operation in California. He doesn't just run drugs; he manages the cartel's local financials."

Angela checked her watch. 17:12. "We have less than an hour before Calderon is scheduled to be at that vault," Angela said, changing the slide on the board, “now, we believe Calderon to be the last hit that Victor Martin has here. If Martin is successful, we believe that he may skip town altogether, and he is good at disappearing.”

Harper clicked another slide, “evidence that we gathered at the previous scene at Hector Ruiz’s residence suggests that Victor is planning on neutralizing Calderon at The Vanguard Vault and Safety Company downtown at 1700 hours. I need everybody here to listen up closely. Victor Martin is armed and dangerous. He has already proven that with the last two homicides. Everybody assigned needs to have a partner and know how and when to call for backup,” she said, turning off the board, “Lopez, Chen, Bradford, Nolan, Moore and I will be going in for when this goes down. I want a car at each possible exit. I want air support. If we do not capture Victor before he neutralizes Marcos, Sureños 13 will start an all-out war, and that is not what we want nor need.”

She looked around, “does everybody understand their assignments?”

Everyone affirmed with nods and “yes ma’ams”.

“Head to your waypoints and wait for our signal. Dismissed.” Angela commanded, watching everyone disperse.

Nolan and the team walked over.

“Alright, we’ve got a van waiting near the entrance where Marcos will enter from the parking garage. Nolan, Moore, we’re going to have you set up there. Bradford, Lucy, you guys will be a floor below, unmarked cruiser. Harper and I will be in another van. Once we spot both targets, we’ll need to act fast.” Angela explained the plan.

“Aaron and I will also be in the van with Harper and Lopez running communications,” Sargeant Grey spoke up, “let’s go.”

The team all went their separate directions, each having their own missions while secretly praying it all went right.

There's no difference between you and I

We share the same sunshine from the same sky

When it rains, it rains on both you and I

Gotta sink or swim, now it's do or die

It goes "hashtag, body bag"

Toe tag

Shot in the chest

"Hashtag, body bag"

Even when I'm on my last breath

The concrete parking garage of the Vanguard Vault was as expected. Full, damp and too silent. They were like ghosts, hiding, waiting. Hunting.

“It’s getting close. How are you doing?” Nolan asked, sensing something in his rookie.

“Good. I’m ready to get this over. He’s been a threat for way too long.”

“Keep your focus. Throw everything personal about this whole case out the window. Do not let it cloud you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. It’s almost showtime.”

There's no difference between you and I

Same space and time that we occupy

We all just looking for a piece of the pie

We went blind, gone eye for an eye

An unmarked armored van pulled into open.

“Calderon,” Ellie spoke into her earpiece mic. “I recognize the driver; it’s one of his bodyguards.”

One by one the bodyguards exited the van, each with a large cash bag. Then came Marcos.

“He’s exiting.”

Marcos and his bodyguards headed towards the bank building, each on high alert, waiting for something to happen.

Ellie looked down at her watch. 1700 hours. She straightened up, ready for the ambush.

“Martin is heading your way now guys,” Lucy’s voice came in their ears.

She was right, tires screeching, engine revving came Victor’s dark SUV. Calderon’s bodyguards turned and took a defensive stance, protecting their client.

Victor and his men jumped out, guns at the ready. A shot was fired and one of his men went down.

“Now!” Harper’s voice boomed through, and everyone acted.

Throwing open the van door, Ellie yelled out, “LAPD, Drop your weapons!”

Both sides’ attentions were drawn to her, before shots rang out. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder and tire smoke.

Yesterday, I turned on the TV

I saw another man down

He was screaming

He can't breathe no more

He held his hands high

But then he got struck down

Oh, he got struck down

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

Struck down, struck down

Martin shot Calderon, wounding him in his arm. Calderon's bodyguards lay motionless on the oil-stained concrete. Victor, wearing a tactical vest over his dark hoodie, was advancing on a wounded, crawling Calderon, his weapon raised to deliver the killing blow. The others were advancing on Victor’s team, while Ellie focused her sights on her target.

“Victor Martin, drop your weapon, now!” She yelled out.

Victor looked over at her. Taking advantage of the chaotic scene, a bloodied Marcos Calderon scrambled to his feet, threw himself into a secondary vehicle, and slammed on the gas, roaring out a side exit.

“Not yet, Moore,” he called back, raising his gun towards her, “see you soon, kiddo,” Victor grinned before pulling the trigger.

Ellie went to dive to avoid Victor’s bullet, but it was futile. As she moved, she felt the sudden sharp impact of the bullet hitting its target, her chest. She watched as Victor ran to his vehicle and peel out of the parking garage.

Cause

"#bodybag"

Toe tag

Shot in the chest

"#bodybag"

Even when I'm on my last breath

“Officer down!” came Nolan’s sudden yell. He hurried over to his downed rookie. “Ellie, come on, talk to me.”

She gasped, her hands flying to her tactical vest as a dull, blooming ache radiated through her ribs. “My vest, it’s in my vest.” Ellie choked out, taking a ragged, painful breath. "It caught it. I'm okay. Just...ow."

Nolan was undoing Ellie’s uniform shirt, leaving her in her tactical vest and undershirt. Undoing the vest, he pulled it from her, inspecting it. Sure enough, Victor’s bullet caught in her vest.

In her earpiece, she could hear Lucy announce that they and the other backup team were going to go after Victor, with air support as ordered.

“Paramedics are already en route for a couple of Calderon’s bodyguards that are left, they’re checking you out first, boot,” Angela said, also inspecting the vest, “no arguments.”

“None here,” Ellie breathed. “Son of a bitch that hurt.”

“Do you feel like you could sit up?” Nolan asked, wanting to get her sitting up if possible.

“Yeah, help me over to the van, I’ll sit against it.”

Nolan and Angela helped Ellie over to the van for her to sit on the concrete leaning against the tire well.

“Your numbers are holding.”

“Huh?”

“Your monitor. Your numbers are holding.” Nolan explained.

Ellie gave a light chuckle, “probably the only thing to go right this whole day.”

He smiled back.

Hearing the sirens of the ambulance sound closer, everyone regrouped near her.

“Just got word from the air ship. They lost Martin,” Harper announced.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Ellie ground out, her tone filled with anger.

“Hey, calm down,” Nolan put his hand on her shoulder, “at least until we get you checked out.”

“They said he just went off radar. Maybe underground. Tim and Lucy confirm as well.”

Ellie let her head fall back against the van in frustration.

T

At that moment, the paramedics arrived, the first team making their way over to her.

“Hey, Ellie. I’m Adam, how are you holding up?”

“I’m alive, I guess,” she chuckled.

“I’ll take that. Do you think we could check you out in the ambulance?”

Ellie nodded, letting Adam and Nolan help her up and over to the other medics.

“So, she was shot, close range, bullet lodged in her vest,” Nolan explained, “She’s a diabetic.”

“Oh hey, so am I,” Adam looked at Ellie, “What type?”

“Two. Semi-controlled.”

“One, also semi-controlled,” he lifted the side of his shirt, showing his insulin pump.

“Ouch.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. Alright let’s remove your shirt if you’re able to. We’ll take a look; get you hooked up and make sure everything else is good.”

She nodded, then looked at her T.O.

“I’m going to go check things out with the others. I’ll be right over there if you need me,” Nolan said, making sure she could see the others before making his way over to the team.

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

Struck down, struck down

“So you pissed someone off, eh?” Adam asked, with slight humor as he examined her.

“I guess so. Kinda happens when you put a badge on, I think.”

“I’d say,” he agreed, looking over her cardiac readings. “Alright, so, EKG is decent, slightly elevated, but I think given that you just went through a shootout it’s expected. Your chest is going to be bruised. You also might experience some swelling in your chest and ribcage. Close range shots like that, you tend to feel it in more than one area.”

“Figures,” she snorted.

“Surprisingly your numbers aren’t looking too bad. Slightly elevated, but again, a shootout will cause that stress and raise it. You know what to do if it gets too high, I’m sure.”

Ellie nodded.

“Alright, I don’t see any other issues. Well, except for one.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t have your number.”

She laughed, thinking it was rather cute. “Here, let me see your phone.”

Adam gladly handed over his cell phone to her, letting her put her contact information in.

Ellie Moore (Type 2 girl) 323-555-8735

He laughed when he saw what she put in.

“Okay, I’m officially clearing you and releasing you into your T.O.’s custody. Expect a call, type two girl.”

“I will. Take care, hopefully I don’t see you again like this, but something tells me I will,” she joked on her way over to her team.

“All clear?” Sargeant Grey asked as he looked up at his officer.

“All clear. Bruising and adrenaline.”

“Good. Let’s all meet back at the precinct, debrief and go home.”

A bunch of ‘sounds good’, ‘aye, sirs’ came from the others as Nolan and Ellie headed back to their respective vehicle.

“You sure you’re good?”

“I am. Nothing a hot shower and some Chinese takeout won’t fix tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”

The atmosphere within the Mid-Wilshire precinct was suffocatingly tense by the time the team returned from the parking garage. The clock on the wall of Sergeant Grey’s office clicked past eight, casting a sterile, fluorescent glow over the exhausted group. Everyone was covered in a thin layer of dust and dried sweat, their uniforms rumpled from the sudden violence of the ambush.

Ellie sat stiffly in one of the metal chairs, the massive bruise beneath her ballistic vest throbbing with every breath she took. Nolan stood just behind her, a protective, grounding presence, while Angela and Nyla leaned against the edge of Grey's heavy oak desk.

Grey didn't ask them to sit. He stood with his hands braced on his desk, his face set grim. "We lost them," he said, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the precinct's air conditioning. "Calderon is in the wind, which means the Sureños are going to lock down their entire operation, and Victor Martin is still out there, armed and frustrated.”

Before anyone could musser up a response, the desk phone shattered the silence with a sharp, piercing ring. Grey didn't hesitate. He snapped up the receiver and hit the speaker button. "Sergeant Grey."

For a long, agonizing second, there was nothing but the hollow hiss of open static. The silence in the room stretched so tight it felt ready to snap. Then, a flat, chillingly mechanical voice vibrated through the small speaker. The computerized modulation stripped away any trace of human inflection, leaving only a cold, electronic drone:

"You shouldn't have done that."

The line went completely dead with a sharp click.

The team stood there looking at the phone in shock.

“We won’t be able to trace that, not without a lot of work,” Ellie said, her voice barely above a whisper, “that call wasn’t long enough.”

“We’ll still send it up for tracing, they might be able to pull something from it.” Lopez said, already messaging the SID team.

Grey stared at the dead phone for a long moment, then looked over at his battered team. "It’s late," Grey ordered, his tone softening just a fraction with genuine exhaustion. "Go get out of your gear, go home, and get some sleep. We reset and hit this fresh next shift. Dismissed."

The precinct emptied quickly as the day shift officers retreated to the locker rooms, anxious to shed the weight of their duty belts and head home. Ellie walked out with Nolan, nodding quietly as he gave her a tight, paternal hug by the exit, repeatedly making her promise to put ice on her ribs and monitor her sugar levels before going to bed.

She smiled, promising she would, and watched him walk out the glass doors into the dark L.A. night. But Ellie didn't go to her car. As soon as the lobby went quiet, she quietly slipped down the rear hallway and bypassed the locker rooms, heading straight for the secure, dimly lit corner of the records room.

Her chest throbbed with a dull, burning ache where the Kevlar had saved her life, and the lingering adrenaline kept her heart hammering. She wasn't tired. She was wired, hyper-focused, and fueled by a sickening gut instinct she couldn't shake.

“Not yet, Moore,”

“See you soon, kiddo,”

Victor’s words rang through her head.

She sat at a secluded terminal, the stark white glare of the monitor reflecting in her wide, blue eyes as she logged into the encrypted database. She bypassed the standard patrol logs and went straight into the federal gang intelligence archives. She pulled up the Sureño 13 manifests first, scanning the names of local enforcers, before opening a separate, more restricted file. It was a file she had looked at a thousand times in private, but never with this much dread.

The digital folder opened to display a standard inmate profile and a stark, unsmiling mugshot. It was her brother. The text beneath the photo confirmed his status: Inmate active. Serving a twenty-five-year sentence at the London Correctional Facility in Ohio.

Ellie stared at her brother's face, a heavy lump forming in her throat. He had been young, desperate, and easily manipulated when he fell into Victor Martin's orbit years ago. Victor had been the older, calculating leader of their crew—a man who recognized weakness and exploited it perfectly. When the federal authorities had finally closed in on their operation, Victor hadn't panicked. He had meticulously altered financials, planted evidence, and manipulated the narrative until her brother took the fall for the vast majority of Victor's crimes.

The system had locked her brother away, while Victor walked away into the shadows, entirely free to build a deadlier empire. Ellie leaned closer to the monitor, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she began cross-referencing Victor’s recent inter-state movements with the targeted executions of the Sureño 13 members in Ohio through to Los Angeles. The rest of the LAPD, including Angela and Nyla, believed Victor was operating as a highly efficient, chaotic contract killer executing a standard gang vendetta against his former crew. It made sense on paper.

But as Ellie mapped out the timeline of the bodies, the locations, and the specific message left in blood at the Ruiz house, a cold, suffocating terror pooled deep in her stomach. Victor hadn't just come to Los Angeles to wipe out the Sureño 13 drug tier. He was clearing the board of anyone who could connect him to his past. He was eliminating his old business partners and rivals, ensuring no loose ends remained. And as Ellie stared at the final, unresolved branch of Victor's digital footprint, the pieces of the puzzle slammed into place with horrific clarity. The cartel members along the way weren't the endgame. They were just the warmup. Once the streets were clear, Victor's ultimate, final target wasn't a gang member at all.

He was coming for her.

Faced with this reality she had decisions to make. Does she tell the team her revelation, or does she take matters in her own hands and risk her career and life?

Regardless, this was something she was going to have to end herself.

With a determined resolve, Ellie logged out of the system and headed for the precinct’s gym.

I won't give no fucks

I won't take no shit

Try to burn me down

Get this whole place lit

I won't give no fucks

I won't take no shit

They said they want war; this is it

Let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Authors Note: So, I believe this is my longest chapter in the series at 3008 words.

Look, I’m flawed. Is my story turning into a “hurt oc”? I guess, yeah. I mean, I have reasons for it. Anyways.

I went in and edited chapter 7’s ending, instead of 1700 hours, I used 1800 hours for 6:00pm as the time of the shootout for a reason. This chapter was inspired by Grandson’s “6:00” from his album “a modern tragedy vol. 1”. You can find this song as well as others from him on my Spotify playlist The Rookie: Echoes of the Past.

As always, I love feedback! Thinking of cross posting this to A03 and ff.net.

Also, I do not have a beta. All mistakes are beautiful mine.

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past

Chapter Seven Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six Spotify Playlist for The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - HERE TW: T2Diabetes, uh murder/descriptions of murder (nothing insane, maybe?

Previously on The Rookie

“You alright?”

She turned to find the source of the voice. John had got in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a long day.”

“Understandable. Let’s head back,” he said, his tone light.

Ellie nodded, picking up the mic, “7-Adam-15, show us returning back to precinct.”

“7-Adam-15, copy that.”

Nolan pulled the shop into the garage and turned the engine off. He and Ellie both sat in silence.

“You know we’re going to get Martin.”

“I know.”

John looked over at his rookie, noticing her determined tone.

Ellie looked back, a resolved look on her face.

“I got him before in Ohio,” she paused, “and I’ll get him again here. It’s not a matter of if, but when.”

“He’ll get sloppy eventually,” Nolan said, his tone encouraging, “they almost always do.”

“Victor Martin doesn’t get sloppy. He’s too smart, too cunning for that.”

He noticed the tone in her voice.

“What’s going through that head of yours?”

Ellie shook her head, “nothing concrete. The evidence will hold clues, I’m sure of it.”

“Let’s get inside and check it out.”

Ellie and Nolan headed straight for Sargent Gray’s office, after offloading their bags, weapons and bodycams. Angela and Nyla were already sitting down.

“Moore, Nolan,” Grey greeted.

“Sarge,” Nolan returned.

“SID has already sent digital evidence over. You’re going to want to see this,” Grey turned his monitor around to present to the others. “The polaroids. Some are pictures of brick walls, there’s one of Anton’s house, and the scene,” he said, going through the photos until one landed on one in particular.

“What the hell is that?” Ellie spoke up, curious.

“This,” Grey paused, “is another scene.”

Nolan furrowed his brows, “one of ours? Dispatch hasn’t logged any 187’s today.”

“Not one we’ve received yet. My guess is, he hit and it hasn’t been called in yet,” the sergeant stated.

Ellie leaned in to get a better look, “that’s Hector Ruiz. Third in command. Anton was fourth. He’s counting down. Hitting, photographing, and counting.”

“You’re familiar with Ruiz?” Grey asked, eyebrow arched. Nolan, Lopez and Harper all looked at Ellie.

“Unfortunately.  Back when I worked with CPD on taking the original gang down back in Ohio,” she paused for a moment, thinking. “If he’s counting down, starting with Anton, and now presumably Ruiz…he’s going to go after Calderon next. Marcos Calderon. Marcos oversaw financials.”

Ellie looked over at the detectives sitting in their seats, “do you guys have any sort of a timeline set up between each of the murders?”

“Unfortunately, Victor isn’t providing a specific timeline. At least not one that we have running right now. Depending on Ruiz’s time of death, that might give us something,” Angela provided.

“The only thing we have right now, is Victor’s prints in the sedan at the mini-mart, polaroids of random buildings that SID is trying to track down their locations, the messages “GiVe Me MoRe” are each written in their victim’s blood.” Harper explained.

“Any specific cause of death? I can’t imagine they’re all bleeding out from their hands being nailed to these makeshift crosses,” Ellie asked.

“Headshot from the side. He lets them suffer from being nailed before he puts the poor bastards out of their misery.”

The team became silent, going over all the details in their minds.

Sargeant Grey’s door opening tore them from their thoughts. Tim, Lucy and Aaron entered.

“Heard about everything from earlier. What do we got?” Bradford inquired.

Nolan stood up,  ushering Ellie to do the same, “we have some evidence. I think Moore and I are going to go check out Ruiz’s place, try to confirm if we have something there.”

“Harper and I are going to go dig into Marcos, I’m sure he’s got a record here.”

Sargeant Grey nodded, “Bradford, Chen and Thorsen, take a seat and I’ll fill you in on what SID gave us. Nolan, you guys run into any trouble, you call for backup.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nolan, Ellie and the two detectives left Grey to fill in the others.

“Hey, seriously, Grey’s right,” Nyla started, “if you guys run into anything, call. In fact, call us when you find out if he’s there or not.”

“Will do, thanks Harper.”

Nolan nudged his rookie, “let’s go check out Ruiz.”

Pulling in front of Hector’s house, Ellie looked around. Everything was quiet. Almost too quiet.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s too quiet here. I don’t have a good feeling about it,” she paused, “honestly, I feel like we already know what’s going on, and we’re delaying the inevitable.”

“I feel it too, but we can’t assume anything right now, not when it’s not safe to.”

“Oh, I know,” Ellie nodded, “alright so, you take left, I take right, find any evidence that Victor’s been here?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Be careful, keep your radio near,” Nolan commanded, following Ellie’s lead. The very thought of her knowing who Ruiz was as well as Calderon made him question even more about his rookie’s involvent back in Ohio. Shaking his thoughts out, he approached the left side of the house looking for any clues.

The home was very well kept, surprisingly for a member of a gang. Bushes neatly hedged, decorative brick, flower beds done, and grass neatly cut. Did Ruiz do the upkeep or did he have a landscaper?

“Nolan, no sign of Victor or that he was even here. Everything’s pristine,” came Ellie’s voice over the radio.

“Same here. Anything around back?”

“Negative.”

“Alright, meet back around the front. We can treat it as a reasonable cause, due to the photo and circumstances.”

“Copy that.”

As Nolan approached the front of the house, Ellie met him by the front door.

“So, given everything, I say we try the door, announce ourselves, if no answer we canvas inside,” she suggested.

“Agreed.”

Nolan knocked on the door, “LAPD, we’d like to speak with you,” he announced.

No answer.

“Should we try the doorknob yet? What if there’s prints?”

“Good thinking,” he nodded and tossed her the keys to the shop, “glove up and give me a pair. If we’re right about this whole deal, I imagine SID will want to try and get some.”

Ellie took the keys and headed for the shop. Getting into her gear bag, she grabbed a couple pairs of gloves before shutting the hatch and returning, passing a pair to Nolan.

As soon as he was gloved, he took hold of his service weapon and opened the door.

“LAPD, anybody home?” He shouted.

No answer. Only the low, steady hum of an air conditioning unit inside.

They crossed the threshold in a tactical stack, each clearing the living room and kitchen. The house was entirely void of anyone, but a heavy, metallic scent began to fill the hallway as they approached the upstairs hallway of the home.

Ellie pushed the master bedroom door open, and the breath left her lungs. The bedroom was a horror show, unlike the previous scene. Blood covering every inch of the room. Stretched out in the center of the space, Hector Ruiz was dead, his body horrifyingly mangled, and "crucified" onto a makeshift wooden cross constructed from heavy construction timber. Dropping her gaze from the gruesome sight, Ellie's eyes locked onto the wall directly above the headboard. Written in thick, dark smears of Ruiz's own blood was a chilling message: GiVe Me MoRe.

Ellie could feel her vision tunneling, a suffocating wave of nausea hitting her like a physical blow.

“Oh god,” she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth as she started running down the stairs and out the door, ignoring her T.O.’s calls. Reaching the front yard, she collapsed to her knees becoming violently ill, her body shaking and heaving as she threw up anything she’d consumed that day. She barely missed the hand on her back, rubbing it.

“It’s okay, Ellie. I got you, you’re okay,” Nolan soothed his rookie, guiding her to sit. Pulling out her glucose monitor from her pocket, he could see her numbers start to dive. “Ellie, your numbers are plummeting. I’m going to call Lopez and Harper for backup and have them to bring you something to get you stable.”

Ellie nodded, putting her head between her knees. She watched Nolan walk a few feet away to call the detectives. Hearing the words “hypoglycemia, puking and bloodbath” made her want to crawl into a hole of embarrassment.

What a partner she was.

Within minutes, Ellie could see an unmarked car and another police cruiser pull up. She assumed one of them were Angela and Harper, but she was too lightheaded to tell who was in the cruiser.

“Hey, Boot. Boss man here told me about your crash. I brought you some juice and a cookie from lunch,” Angela offered, bringing a bottle of Orange Juice and a chocolate chip cookie to the rescue.

Ellie blushed, embarrassed.

Lopez and Nolan motioned to Harper that they were heading back into the house.

“Hey, you can’t help it. Nolan filled us in on your type 2. You’re good here, girl,” Nyla sat next to her, offering support. “There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed of.”

“Thanks,” she spoke quietly, drinking the juice slowly while taking bites here and there of the offered cookie. “It’s bad in there. The smell of everything...” she trailed off.

“Been there, done that. I get it,” Nyla said, “you’ll eventually get used to it. I don’t think you’ve really had any cases like that before.”

Ellie shook her head.

“Hey, Grey got us up to speed on everything,” Lucy and Tim started heading in their direction, “woah, are you okay?”

Nyla stood up, walking over to Lucy, “upstairs is gruesome, a ‘bloodbath’ as Nolan mentioned. Moore here decided she was gonna keep the scene uncompromised by running out here to empty herself and plummet her blood sugar,” she gave a soft smile to Ellie.

“Where’s Nolan now?” Bradford asked, looking around.

“Upstairs with Angela. I think SID is on their way now,” Ellie offered.

“I’ll head up there. Harper?”

Nyla looked down at Ellie.

“I’ll stay with her. We dispatched ourselves here, once we heard the call, you guys go up,” Lucy said, sitting next to her friend. She wrapped her arm around the other woman, watching Tim and Nyla head into the scene.

Upstairs Nolan, Lopez, Bradford and Harper stood, looking around. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the stagnant air, competing with the hum of the overhead ceiling fan.

“Poor girl, this is bad.”

“The other scene was not like this, why is this one so much more…” Nolan trailed off.

“Bloodier?” Harper filled in the blank, “vendetta? Did Ruiz piss him off?”

“Definitely looks that way, but the question is ‘why?’” Tim asked.

"He didn't just rush in here," Nyla murmured, walking into the room, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and crouching near the nightstand. "He had time. He knew Ruiz's schedule, and he knew exactly how much noise he could make without alerting the neighbors."

Angela didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on a small, dark wooden dresser tucked away in the corner of the room. One of the top drawers was pulled out about an inch, resting crookedly on its tracks.

"Look at this," Angela said, gesturing to Nyla. "Ruiz was a high-ranking enforcer for the Sureños. The file says that he kept his stash and his burner phones in a lockbox. The lockbox is gone, but it looks like Victor left something else behind."

Using the tip of a pen, Angela gently slid the crooked drawer out further. Tucked beneath a stack of folded bandanas was a neatly folded piece of paper—stark white and completely out of place in the messy room.

She pulled it out with tweezers and unfolded it on top of the dresser. It wasn't a note written in blood this time. It was a printed map of Los Angeles, with a heavy red circle drawn around a very specific, high-end commercial address in downtown LA: The Vanguard Vault & Safety Co.

Beneath the circled building, written in Victor's chaotic, jagged handwriting, were a single name and a timestamp:

MARCOS CALDERON — 1800 HRS.

Authors Note: Annnnnd I leave chapter seven here. Don’t worry, I’m already halfway through chapter 8 as I post this.

It helps when I’m on a Rookie binge and can’t sleep. Please send all the caffeine.

See y’all next chapter! Edit: Changed 1700 hours to 1800 hours due to chapter 8. You'll see why.

[whosname]

[id. A twitter post by @/Bennieeexyz Jury duty letter came addressed to my cat. Not a mistake. "Felix Martinez" - that's his full name according to his vet records. My last name. His first name. Somehow he's a registered voter now. Called the county clerk. Me: My cat got summoned for jury duty. Clerk: Is the name correct on the summons? Me: Yes, but he's a cat. Clerk: Is Felix Martinez a legal resident of this county? Me: He's a legal cat. Clerk: Sir, if the name matches our records, he needs to appear or file an exemption. Me: He can't file anything. He has paws. Clerk: You can file on his behalf. Me: Under what exemption? There's no box for "is a cat." Clerk: (pause) Check "unable to serve due to medical reasons." Me: What's the medical reason? Clerk: He's a cat. Me: That's not a medical condition. Clerk: It is if it prevents him from serving. Sent in the form. Got rejected two weeks later. "Insufficient documentation. Please provide medical professional's statement." Took the letter to my vet. Me: I need you to write that my cat can't do jury duty. Vet: Why is your cat summoned for jury duty? Me: Excellent question. No good answer. Vet: This is the weirdest request I've gotten. Me: Can you just write that he's medically unfit to serve? Vet: On what grounds? Me: He's a cat. Vet: (started typing) "Patient is unable to serve due to species-related limitations including inability to speak, read, or comprehend legal proceedings." Me: Perfect. Sent it in. Got another rejection. "Summons is mandatory. Failure to appear will result in contempt of court." My roommate thought this was hilarious. Roommate: Felix is going to jail. Me: This is serious. Roommate: Bring him to court. See what happens. Decided that was actually the only option left. Day of jury duty, put Felix in his carrier. Brought the entire paper trail of rejection letters. Checked in at the courthouse. Clerk: Name? Me: Felix Martinez. Clerk: (looked at the cat carrier) Is that Felix? Me: Yes. Clerk: (long stare) He's a cat. Me: I've been saying that for six weeks. Clerk: Why didn't you file an exemption? Me: I filed three. All rejected. Showed her the letters. She read through them, expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. Clerk: Someone rejected the veterinary documentation? Me: Twice. Clerk: (called her supervisor over) You need to see this. Supervisor read everything. Looked at Felix. Looked at me. Supervisor: How did a cat get registered to vote? Me: You tell me. Supervisor: This is a data error. Me: Took you six weeks to figure that out. They dismissed Felix immediately. Apologized for the inconvenience. Supervisor: We'll remove him from the voter registry. Me: Appreciate it. Supervisor: (pause) Out of curiosity, how would he have voted? Me: Probably whatever party supports universal treats. Got a formal apology letter a week later and a voter registration card. For me this time. Apparently I wasn't registered, but my cat was. Roommate: Felix committed voter fraud. Me: Felix committed nothing. He's innocent. Roommate: That's what they all say. Felix is sleeping on the jury summons now. Fitting end to his legal career. end id]

[glorioustragedykid]

There's a weird 3 star movie out there ready to change your life forever

[ellie-andthemachine]

Honestly, can confirm.

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past

Chapter Six

Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four / Five Spotify Playlist for The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - HERE TW: Nothing really.

Previously on The Rookie

"7-Adam-15, copy that. Show us en route."

Nolan grinned, tossing his trash into a nearby bin and jumping into the driver's seat. "Look at that. Sugar-free luck. Let's go catch a suspect."

Nyla Harper was sitting behind the steering wheel, listening to the call come through. The radio call had barely finished echoing through the speaker before Angela was already tapping the dashboard screen, pulling up the map.

"4th and Elm."

"That's three blocks from us. It's the silver sedan from the Sureno case."

"Ellie and Nolan are coming from the park. We’ll beat them there by thirty seconds.” Angela nodded and grabbed the mic. "Hey Nolan, Moore, Harper and I will meet you at the store, we’re nearby.”

“Copy that,” came Ellie’s reply.

By the time Ellie and Nolan arrived at the Mini-Mart, Angela and Nyla’s SUV was already parked nearby. Nolan cut the engine, and both he and Ellie stepped out of the vehicle in unison, hands instinctively resting on their holsters as they scanned the car. The silver sedan was parked right out front, but as they drew closer, she realized something was wrong. The engine wasn't running. The tinted windows were completely dark. Lopez and Harper were already starting to clear the driver and passenger sides.

"Clear!" Nyla called out from the passenger side, her hand dropping from her weapon as she looked through the glass. "It's empty."

Angela stepped up to the hood, placing a hand on the metal. "Engine is dead cold. It’s been sitting here for a while."

Ellie let out a frustrated sigh, her blue eyes scanning the empty interior. "So, Martin ditched it. Our best lead, just sitting in a convenience store parking lot."

"Hey, we cannot assume it’s Martin,” Nolan paused, “but it is still a small win," he said gently, pointing to the roof of the car. "It’s a physical piece of evidence we didn't have twenty minutes ago. Come on, let's talk to the clerk."

They headed for the store while the two others held back.

The bell above the door chimed as the officers walked into the air-conditioned store. The clerk behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a faded nametag that read Sam, looked up nervously at the sudden influx of badges.

"Afternoon," Nolan said, flashing his best friendly-cop smile to put the man at ease. "LAPD. We’re interested in the silver sedan parked right out front. Do you know who owns it?"

Sam shook his head quickly. "No, sir. It’s been sitting there since last night. I was about to call a tow truck. It's blocking a prime spot."

"Did you see who left it there?" Ellie asked.

"Nah," Sam said. "I was in the back stocking the cooler when I heard a car door slam. By the time I came out, nobody was around."

Ellie stepped forward, her voice soft and professional. "Do you have security cameras covering the parking lot?"

Sam pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward a small, flickering monitor mounted on the wall. "Yeah. Shoots right at the front spaces. It records to a digital drive in the manager’s office."

"Can we take a look at the footage from last night?" Ellie asked.

"Manager’s got the key to the office, and he won't be back until tomorrow morning," Sam said apologetically. "I don't have access to the system."

Ellie sighed, "Well, Sam, this vehicle is connected to a homicide investigation. We can either wait for a warrant and seize your whole system, or you can call your manager right now and tell him to get down here with that key."

Sam swallowed hard and immediately grabbed the store phone. "I'll call him."

Nolan gave Ellie a quick, proud look, then glanced back toward the parking lot where Special Investigation Division (SID) would soon be processing the car.

"While we wait for the footage, let's have SID process the vehicle for prints too," Ellie said, pulling out her phone. "If we're lucky, Victor left some prints on the steering wheel." She felt the heavy weight from earlier fully lift. They didn't have Victor in cuffs yet, but the case was back on fire.

SID techs gathered around the abandoned sedan, searching inside and out for evidence. Nolan had walked over to talk with Lopez and Harper, leaving Ellie to her thoughts as they watched the scene in front of them.

The sun beat down, the afternoon heating up in true L.A. fashion. What she wouldn’t give to be in a pool right now, drink in hand.

“Got something!” One of the technicians called out, a gloved hand holding a small stack of polaroid photos.

Nolan made his way over, Ellie in tow.

The technician held them out for the officers to see. The other polaroids didn’t make sense, they were just photos of a brick wall, and other unrecognizable landmarks, however one photo stood out.

“That one,” Ellie said, pointing. “Nolan, it’s from the crime scene at Anton’s, he took a photo. He left it for us, why? Is he taunting us?”

Another technician’s voice rang out before Nolan could answer her. “Got prints here on the dash.”

“Run them as soon as you get back to the precinct,” Lopez instructed, “run them against others but also run them against a Victor Martin.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The manager of the mini-mart pulled up beside the store, hurriedly exiting his vehicle. Nolan noticed and waved Ellie over to the store.

“Sorry, sorry!” the manager panted, entering the building. “Follow me, Sam said it was urgent.”

“Very.” Ellie said, following the man to a locked room, Nolan behind.

“We’re looking for the time frame from when the van pulls into the spot, until we arrive today.” Nolan explained, watching as the manager enter in his credentials and pulling up footage.

The footage showed the timestamp as 2:14am, black-and-white grainy feed of a silver sedan rolling into the frame, parking. As the driver’s door open, a man stepped out, black beanie over his head.

Ellie leaned closer to get a better look, scanning every detail she could find of the suspect’s appearance and movements.

The suspect looked around before reaching into his pocket, pulling something out of his pocket, tossing the object into a storm drain, and walked away.

Ellie noticed the slight limp right away, “look at the way they walk. It’s him. He’s favoring his left side, courtesy of a deal gone wrong.”

Nolan looked at the manager, “can our technician come in and get this on a storage device to take back to the lab? We need it for our homicide investigation.”

“Please, feel free to. I’ll help in either way possible.”

“Thank you,” Ellie paused, not knowing the manager’s name.

“Raul. Please call me Raul, miss.”

“Thank you, Raul. If we have any other questions, we’ll reach out,” Ellie said, shaking his hand, “you’ve been a big help already.” She looked at Nolan, “I’ll let one of the techs know to get the footage. I want to see what he dropped in that storm drain,” she says, heading for the exit.

Walking over to the shop, Ellie removed a heavy-duty crowbar from the trunk and could hear Nolan on the phone with a City Maintenance worker. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said, walking towards the storm drain.

“Uh, give me one second Sir,” he said into the phone, pausing while looking at his rookie, “Ellie, wait for someone to come open it,” he warned.

“We can’t afford to wait, John, whatever he threw down there could already be gone,” she said, popping open the drain, “I’m going to get whatever it is.”

Ignoring anymore protest from Nolan, she climbed down the storm drain, turning her flashlight on. The stench hit her instantly – a stomach-churning cocktail of stagnant, rotting sewer water, decomposing garbage, and sludge. It was suffocatingly hot, the damp air thick enough to taste. Ellie sloshed through a few inches of the murky, foul runoff, her boots squelching with every step, her flashlight beam sweeping the debris. Catching her eye amid a cluster of garbage, plastic bottles and wet leaves near the outflow pipe, was a set of keys, caked with grime.

“Found it!” She yelled up to Nolan who stood above, waiting for her. “They’re keys!”

“Great, now get back up here, Moore!”

“Already on my way,” she said, holding the keys into an unused tissue she’d found in her pocket. Climbing up the stairs, she noticed Nolan was ready to help her back up. “I’m going to have to change my pants and boots when we get back,” she said, looking down at the grossness beneath her. “Can you give this to SID for the evidence?”

“I can do that. Why don’t you head to the shop, lay one of the paper mats down for the mess,” Nolan suggested. “We can head back after I pass this off.”

Ellie nodded, already heading for their cruiser, sighing.  She was ready for a break.

“You alright?”

She turned to find the source of the voice. John had got in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a long day.”

“Understandable. Let’s head back,” he said, his tone light.

Ellie nodded, picking up the mic, “7-Adam-15, show us returning back to precinct.”

“7-Adam-15, copy that.”

Authors Note: Alright, so we’re getting somewhere….Again, working for a slow burn of things. I apologize if some things seem unrealistic. I’m an investigator – not a cop. Kinda wish I was though.

Have I told you that my dream/goal is to one day be on an episode of The Rookie either before I die or the show ends? Will it happen? Probably never. Because I’m not an actor and insignificant.

So, a little backstory of my own… My grandfather was a cop in Columbus, Ohio, a very long time ago. My mother was MP in the Army, so was one of my uncles. I wanted to be a cop, but being married and having a special needs child has kind of threw a wrench in that plan. Mainly because my husband does NOT want me on the streets.

Not sure why I’ve rambled about this. Anyways, things start heating up a little for the next chapter, then they’ll “calm” down again for a minute. Enjoy the roller coaster.

[cptnchristopherpike]

Anson Mount (Captain Pike) and Ethan Peck (Mr. Spock) on the cover of the newest SFX magazine!!!

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - Chapter Five

Synopsis: From oldest rookie to T.O., John Nolan takes on training the newest rookie, Officer Ellie Moore. In her first 6 months on the force, an unresolved case catches up to her, putting her survival to the ultimate test. A tale of mentorship, resilience, and facing one's demons head-on.

Previous Chapters: One / Two / Three / Four Spotify Playlist for The Rookie: Echoes of the Past - HERE TW: Mentions of suicide (brief and not described), past trauma (also not described).

Previously on The Rookie

“Just make the call, Ellie. Seriously, if you can’t stay focused and objective, I’ll have no choice but to take you off the case. I won’t let mistakes put others in danger. I will not allow that.” His words were resolute.

“Yes, sir.”

A couple days had passed since the case started, yet everything became too quiet. Ellie and Nolan were on patrol, cruising around.

Nolan glances over at Ellie from the driver's seat. She’s staring out the passenger window, her fingers tightly tapping against her duty belt. "You know," Nolan says gently, keeping his eyes on the road. "The silence in this car is usually filled with you asking me fifty questions about penal codes. You're quiet today."

Ellie doesn't look at him. "Just focused, sir. Keeping my eyes open for anything."

"Ellie." Nolan uses his soft, dad-voice. The one that means drop the 'sir'. "We've circled this area three times. The only thing out there is a guy trying to parallel park a Hummer. Talk to me. You haven't been the same since the case with Patrick and everything with Sureno."

Ellie swallows hard, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as she watches the pedestrians pass. "I'm fine. I just... I didn't appreciate Patrice threatening to sue me. Or bragging about her friends in high places. If that doesn’t spell trouble for a rookie, then I don’t know what does."

"Grey handles the politics. That's not what's eating you," Nolan counters, his tone laced with genuine empathy. He pulls the shop up to a red light and turns to face her fully. "You fought for Patrick. You tried to save him. When he...” he paused, treading lightly on the situation, “when he did what he did, I saw your face, Ellie. It wasn't just a tough call for you. It hit home."

Ellie's chest tightens. She reaches into her vest pocket, her fingers brushing against her glucose monitor out of pure habit. Her blood sugar has been a roller coaster since the incident, her stress levels totally messing with her numbers. “Seeing Patrice do that to Patrick? It was like watching a rerun of a scene that I’ve already watched."

Nolan’s expression softens completely. There's no judgment in his eyes—only protective warmth. "Ellie..." He reaches over, briefly placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry. No one should have to carry that. Especially not alone."

"I'm not carrying it," Ellie says defensively, her voice cracking as she tries to pull the proverbial closed-off mask back over her face. "I'm a cop. I handle it."

"Hey. Being a cop doesn't make you bulletproof to your own life," Nolan says firmly but kindly. "You have a massive heart, Ellie. Your empathy is what's going to make you an incredible officer. But if you shut it all inside, it’s going to burn you out. You can't protect the city if you're drowning." He gives her a small, encouraging smile.

“You don't have to be perfect. And you don't have to do this by yourself. You've got friends here. You've got Lucy, Angela, Nyla... and you've got me. I'm your T.O., but I'm also in your corner."

Ellie lets out a shaky breath, the heavy weight in her chest loosening just a tiny fraction. For the first time in days, she feels like she can breathe. "Thanks, John," she murmurs.

Nolan smiles, hitting the gas as the light turns green. "Anytime. Now, let's go find a bakery. My treat. We both need a distraction."

Ellie lets out a small, genuine laugh. "I have to watch my sugar, remember?"

"Right, right," Nolan chuckles. "Sugar-free distraction it is."

Parked under the shade of a large oak tree near a local park. Nolan had made a quick detour to a small, health-conscious cafe he knew nearby. The tense atmosphere inside the shop had completely dissolved.

Ellie sat with her door cracked open to let in the breeze, balancing a small paper plate on her lap. On it sat a keto almond flour scone studded with fresh blueberries—low in carbs, no added sugar, just like Nolan promised.

Nolan leaned against the front push-bumper of the shop, happily chewing on a distinctly non-sugar-free cinnamon roll, looking over at her with an encouraging smile.

"Good?" he asked.

Ellie took a bite and nodded, a genuine sense of relief washing over her. "Actually, yeah. Really good. Finding a bakery that doesn't instantly send my numbers into a panic is a rare victory."

Nolan wiped his hands on a napkin. "I have to admit, I know the basics of diabetes from academy first-aid training, but I don't really know what the day-to-day looks like. If you don't mind me asking... how long have you been managing, it?"

"Since I was twenty-four," Ellie said, her tone light but informative. She taps the small of her shoulder. "I was diagnosed right in the middle of finishing my degree. It's a lot of math, honestly. Counting carbs, tracking stress levels, making sure I don't skip meals on long shifts."

"And the stress of the job affects it?" Nolan asked, his protective T.O. instincts immediately kicking in.

"Unfortunately,” Ellie admitted, looking down at her scone. "Adrenaline spikes blood sugar. When Patrick... when the call went sideways earlier, my liver basically dumped a ton of glucose into my system out of pure panic. I could feel my energy crashing right as Patrice started screaming at me outside."

Nolan’s expression grew serious. "Why didn't you say anything? We could have gotten you something sooner."

"Because I'm a rookie," Ellie smiled faintly, looking up at him. "I didn't want you, or Sergeant Grey, thinking I can't handle the physical demands of the streets. There's a stigma, you know? People hear 'chronic illness' and they think 'liability'."

Nolan stepped closer to the passenger side door, shaking his head. "Ellie, look at me. You are not a liability. You survived the academy, you're sharp on your codes, you have more heart than half the veterans on the force, and your aim is impeccable. Managing a health condition on top of wearing thirty pounds of gear just means you're doing the job on hard mode. It makes you tougher, not weaker."

Ellie swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. She had spent years hiding her struggles, terrified that showing any vulnerability would get her washed out. Hearing John Nolan—the man she looked up to ever since meeting—validate her like this, was overwhelming in the best way.

"Thanks, John," she murmured, a soft, bright smile finally returning to her face. "That... means a lot."

"Of course," Nolan smiled, tapping the hood of the car. "But as your T.O., it's my job to keep you alive and functioning. From now on, if you need a protein bar or a zero-sugar almond treat break, you tell me. No exceptions. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Ellie chuckled, taking another bite of her scone. Suddenly, the shop's radio crackled to life, breaking the quiet afternoon air.

"7-Adam-15, we have a possible sighting of the silver sedan connected to your active case. Vehicle is stationary at a convenience store parking lot on 4th and Elm..."

Ellie’s eyes snapped up, her training instantly taking over. She set her plate down and grabbed the radio mic. "7-Adam-15, copy that. Show us en route."

Nolan grinned, tossing his trash into a nearby bin and jumping into the driver's seat. "Look at that. Sugar-free luck. Let's go catch a suspect."

Authors Note: I’m baaaaaaack. For now. Life kind of got super busy. I was finishing my master’s degree, we moved an hour away, I started a new job as an investigator, traveled to Vermont for my graduation, my T2 diabetes (hence this chapter)got a little worse off so was placed on night-time insulin, quit my job and started another as a private detective. I’ve never been fingerprinted or background checked so much in my life. FBI, BCI (Ohio), and now I’m waiting on another fingerprinting/background check come back before I dive into training. I do have another chapter that I’m working on currently. I should be finished tonight and post tomorrow. I’m trying to do a slow build before all the action happens. Please bear with me!

As always, I love feedback.

[loves-pie]

I'm so bummed about Paramount killing the Star Trek AOS movie franchise. I didn't have much hope anyway, but to have it extinguished completely is heart-breaking. It's such a waste of a great cast and existing fan-base, and it's so obviously the WRONG DECISION. I'd ask all AOS fans to rise up and slam Paramount so hard that they'd question it, but I don't have that kind of online clout. So I'm just sitting here feeling sad.

FUCK YOU, PARAMOUNT. 🤬

[startrekuniverse]

STRANGE NEW WORLDS