There was a light on in the house window, so Rufus was certain that the subject was either at home or extremely careless. Seeing as they'd gotten the call about him yesterday, there was a chance that it was the later—but he would give credit where it was due, and in his experience these sorts of criminals had learned to hide their tracks well. But they were only human, and to err was in their nature. That was the reason Shinra never feared smugglers. Their identity would bob to the surface sooner or later; friendship and loyalty were such meager things in comparison to the terror Shinra could conduct.
This was the part of the job Rufus didn't like. Sometimes these anonymous tips were fruitless, posted by a bitter friend or rival or someone who thought it would be amusing to watch Shinra show up at an innocent man's house, guns a'blazing. There was a supposition that the victim was innocent until shown to be guilty and so on and so forth. Rufus thought that was a load of bull. Treading on glass as to not disturb the wrongfully accused was a poor way to catch actual criminals. Rufus demanded results. His father was the chief of the department and he left no elbow room for failure. He had been promoted when he was just a few years older than Rufus, and every day Rufus had his fingers crossed for retirement, a stray bullet—just something that would allow him the chance to step up and demonstrate to the world precisely how deserving he was.
"Shinra," he barked, rapping loudly on the door with his knuckles. "Open the door now." Rufus was accompanied by a team of two other men, dressed in all black with the word SHINRA printed across the chest in bold white. Rufus, being an esteemed senior member, wore an outfit of white and a bulletproof vest in case the subject was hostile. The young man's eyes narrowed at the door as he waited, mentally counting down the seconds in his head. Time was always of the essence. If the man fled, they'd be left with evidence but no head. A load of well-read books was of no use to him.
