ᴊᴜᴅɢᴇ Cassandra Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wronganswer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
barrayar2018-09-03 12:27 pm
wronganswer) wrote in barrayar2018-09-03 12:27 pm
(no subject)
Anderson keeps her senses tuned in even as she zip-ties wrists together, mindful that she is extremely vulnerable as the only officer surrounded by a group of burly bare-knuckles cage fighters. Fortunately, so far it seems like her gun is keeping them at bay; Judges are entitled to use lethal force when attacked, just about the only thing that gives them a prayer given the typical numbers of criminals they face. Her mild precognitive abilities and her gun combined tend to give her enough of an edge, but it's not perfect, and she still scans the minds around her as she works, efficiently lining up and reporting perps over her transmitter.
She falters and stops mid-word, then resumes her sentence, speaking into her shoulder mic. "All set, Control," she finishes. "Five for pick-up. I'll stay until transport gets here."
"Understood. Stay safe, Judge."
"Thanks," Anderson answers shortly, cutting the call. She turns at last to the final fighter, the second member of the third match-up, and the only person she hasn't cuffed in the wake of the hastily dispersing crowd. Anderson folds her arms, leveling a gaze at him. He's an intimidating figure, and if she hadn't felt his mind herself at the periphery of her attention, she'd never have guessed he was here for more than blood and guts and money.
"It's not too late to make that six. Tell me why you got caught up in all this, and maybe I won't haul you in." It's a sincere offer. She got a vague sense of him as a person, an unexpected depth of... integrity? Loneliness? Desperation? That last is felt as a keen edge. But she's a mind-reader, not a soothsayer. She doesn't know much more than that, and she can't afford to enforce the law on feelings alone. She needs justification if she's going to let him go.
She falters and stops mid-word, then resumes her sentence, speaking into her shoulder mic. "All set, Control," she finishes. "Five for pick-up. I'll stay until transport gets here."
"Understood. Stay safe, Judge."
"Thanks," Anderson answers shortly, cutting the call. She turns at last to the final fighter, the second member of the third match-up, and the only person she hasn't cuffed in the wake of the hastily dispersing crowd. Anderson folds her arms, leveling a gaze at him. He's an intimidating figure, and if she hadn't felt his mind herself at the periphery of her attention, she'd never have guessed he was here for more than blood and guts and money.
"It's not too late to make that six. Tell me why you got caught up in all this, and maybe I won't haul you in." It's a sincere offer. She got a vague sense of him as a person, an unexpected depth of... integrity? Loneliness? Desperation? That last is felt as a keen edge. But she's a mind-reader, not a soothsayer. She doesn't know much more than that, and she can't afford to enforce the law on feelings alone. She needs justification if she's going to let him go.