beginner's luck

To say Wyatt was excited was an understatement.

And a vast one at that—he had long since been counting down the days, starting from his early years in Kelp Town leading all the way to the present, being one of the rare few who could boast the privilege and the luck of always knowing what he wanted to do.

Because from his earliest years to his very latest one, Wyatt’s dream was to help others. 

It would’ve started, most definitely, with all the time he spent in the office of his parent’s workplace—they worked as police officers, keeper of both peace and of justice, and chances were, if Wyatt was not in school or occupied with another commitment, he was spending time at the offices of the KTPD. 

Even now, though the details have been muddled with time as they usually are, he remembers those days fondly, and attributes both them and the people that worked there—his parents included—as a major reason why he got to where he was today.

The eel in the mirror gave him a bright grin, looking spry and spiffy in his new uniform. 

Wyatt had woken earlier than necessary, in large part to sheer anticipation, but it meant he could get dressed with enough time to admire how his work attire fit him. Of course, he’d already done something similar when the clothes first arrived, but there was something about doing so on his first day that felt different. More official. 

Much, much less like a fantasy, which had been the general mood for the past months, ever since his internship had been confirmed. Wyatt had to keep reading the confirmation message just to make sure, and it felt like he did so at least once a day. For similar reasons, he also spent time familiarising himself with the streets he’d be patrolling, enough that he’d practically committed them to memory. Whatever would help make it feel more real. 

With one last outfit check—after yet another straightening of his already perfectly aligned tie, of the badge pinned to his suspenders and smoothing the wrinkles that may or may not actually have been there—Wyatt decided that he was ready. If he left now, he would still be early, but at least not so much so that it would be as if he was metaphorically pressing his face into the glass of the front windows to take an overeager peek inside.

Whatever the case, it was of little exaggeration to say that Wyatt’s life had been building to this moment, and he was going to make the absolute most of it. 

---

It did not take long after Wyatt’s arrival at the precinct to see the strength of his dream tested. 

While he was certain enough in his desire to aid others that he knew nothing could ever quash it completely, that did not mean it was immune to periods of wavering. Whether because of self doubt that had an insidious habit of growing between both lull periods and times of high stress, or like now, when—

‘So you’re the newbie, huh?’ 

Only mere seconds had passed before Wyatt decided he did not like Jackie. Something that was admittedly out of character for him; Wyatt was not the type for snap judgements, but something about Jackie… bothered him. 

Maybe it was the way he put up his feet on the desk. Or the lazy grin that seemed a permanent fixture, one he flashed rather toothily when he told Wyatt that he looked forward to not being the greenhorn that everybody pushed their work onto. 

‘Don’t mind him, Wyatt.’ 

A reassuring hand rested itself on Wyatt’s shoulder, and the ire that had built to a near burst rather quickly had fizzled out. If he had any time at all to think, it would’ve been a little concerning how quickly Jackie had annoyed him, but sometimes that’s just how it was.  

‘Well, well, well… look who it is.’ Jackie’s grin had not budged, only this time, it was no longer directed at Wyatt. ‘Johnny the babysitter.’ 

Johnny sighs, but does not bother engaging. ‘The chief’s looking for us, if you’re done with introductions.’ 

Wyatt gives another glance around the room. Around him, the other cops and detectives were occupied at their desks, and in truth, the brief conversations he had with each were a little… disheartening. Their responses had been indulgent, but ultimately half hearted, especially when he brought up why he worked so hard to get where he was in the first place.  

The fact that they were so obviously humouring him was, in short, embarrassing. It was the exact kind of unbearable, prickling heat that flared when one’s enthusiasm was not returned, not even to a lesser degree—nowhere near enough to feel validated, that was for sure. 

Still, it was something he quickly got over, given that, as his parents very much instilled within him, a passion for helping others was nothing to be ashamed of—even if some people believed it childish or naive. That, and he was Wyatt—he always was one to bounce back quickly. 

Either way, it was fine. If they were too busy with reports and other deskbound duties, including chatting amongst themselves about rumours, then Wyatt would just have to pick up the slack. This is what they hired him for, after all. To make a difference. To make the world a better place. To make it easier for citizens to live their lives.

And he would. Mark his words, he would. 

---

‘Remember, today we are meant to be taking it easy.’

‘Got it.’

 ‘No running off.’

‘Yep.’ 

‘Sticking to the plan like we said we would.’ 

‘Absolutely.’ 

‘...Wyatt, are you even listening?’ 

He was. He swears he was. He just also happened to be multitasking, scanning the crowds they walked past for anyone that looked suspicious. 

One thing he had gained from the other police officers, aside from a lacklustre first impression, was that there were a bunch of unsavoury types causing trouble with the locals. A gang of ruffians that were calling themselves The Swarm had established a firm foothold in the city, and while authorities were a little miffed about it, nobody seemed to be in a rush to deal with the problem. 

Whether through lack of courage, motivation, or even skill, there was an apparent overall attitude of only dire threats requiring immediate attention. Which seemed like a semi-decent philosophy to emphasise the importance of prioritising… except for the fact that nothing in Moray Metropolis seemed to qualify as that dire just yet. How convenient.

Either way, while some would have dwelled on the disappointment of a dream souring in the daylight of reality, Wyatt was not one of them. Instead, it only made him more determined to prove himself, and while he was not immune to his own sense of self-doubt, the doubts of others only seemed to serve as fuel to strengthen his resolve. 

‘Wyatt.’ 

‘Huh? Woah!’

From how he almost barrelled into Johnny, it seemed he was also not immune to being clumsy. 

To Johnny’s credit, he only sighs good-naturedly. ‘Look, I know you’re excited, and I’m not telling you not to be. But you have the rest of your career ahead of you, so what’s the rush?’

Before Wyatt could explain that it wasn’t about the career he had ahead of him, but all those that were in need now, he notices—

‘Wyatt? Wyatt—’

The run he breaks into swallows the rest of whatever Johnny was about to say  into oblivion, but any thought on what it could have been disappears as Wyatt pursues a gut feeling. Because while he hadn’t been close enough to actually confirm anything, he’d been taught to trust his instincts, and right now, they were telling him something important was happening nearby. 

A blur of movement, and Wyatt catches the barest sight of a person ducking around a corner— one amongst many (all of which Wyatt deftly dodged and weaved his way through), and yet, the solitary being to have set off any alarm. 

After making the same turn, Wyatt finds himself arriving in a street far less populated with others—larger than an alleyway, but not much more beyond that. 

He’s given an unobstructed line of sight to perfectly showcase the mysterious figure, and perhaps the fact that it is so unobstructed is what makes him gain a sudden burst of courage—enough that he finds himself yelling out. ‘Hey you! Stop right there!’ 

Rather unsurprisingly, and even in spite of the authority in his voice, they do not obey, instead speeding up.  

Maybe a part of Wyatt had been hoping for the chase, because he easily matched it with a boost of his own, one that made his pace border into an outright sprint. All his years of training and dreaming had prepared him for this, and he’d be damned if he’d let this lead get away from him. 

Something clangs up ahead, and Wyatt finds out within seconds it’s the spill of a trash can. An obstacle, but one he clears with ease not by swerving nor changing course, but by simply leaping high enough and far enough for both it and the rubbish within not to matter. (It would matter after, of course—when clean up would come into play.)

His chasee’s next attempts are more direct—a glass bottle lobbed in his direction, some innocent passerby shoved into his path, even the strategic destruction of an object only just used to vault over a wall so that Wyatt was unable to follow.

Now that does give him pause. 

For a brief moment, he halts at a relative standstill in front of the impassive face of laid brick, eyes flickering over the bare concrete obstacle before all that time familiarising himself with the streets paid off. Given the layout of this area, there was very few possibilities as to where someone could run, so maybe if he could cut them off—

It would be a bit of a gamble, particularly since it relied on a set of factors that weren’t in Wyatt’s control, but…

Wyatt starts off again. This would technically be the longer way around, but he could shave time off by the valuable seconds if he aimed for some verticality. It was lucky that he was so fit, except it wasn’t luck at all, but the byproduct of hard work paying off. 

Not that it was entirely without its issues, mind you. Verticality meant having to gauge landings, and some of them were slightly higher than recommended. Wyatt’s also sure the hip he slammed into metal would ache for a while yet, but that was a negligible thought in the here and now.

As the streets and face pass in indistinct shapes, with physical hurdles ignored, used as leverage, or pushed aside, it’s not long before Wyatt’s eyes hone in on a familiar shape. This time, the vantage point he has from being above allows Wyatt to spot something he did not see last—an elaborately embossed ‘S’ on the back of a jacket. He was looking at a member of The Swarm. 

One last burst of speed, one last push to the absolute limit—Wyatt lept from makeshift platform to makeshift platform, before finally making the judgement call of a jump. 

In what borders on temporary flight, he soars and lands true.

Here. It’s here, in this exact moment, in this specific sliver of time that Wyatt feels as if he is where he’s meant to be. All those hours spent hoping and working hard for the sake of that hope, absorbing the encouragement and combating that self doubt… they were all worth it to be here.   

‘You’re under arrest for reckless endangerment,’ Wyatt hears himself say, and the words come too naturally to be anything other than a perfect fit. He probably would have added a jab about reckless littering as well, but as it stood, he was too in the zone for any jokes. 

The rest of his first day blurs by a pace that could only be described as dreamlike. At some point, Johnny had caught up to him, and though he had given a firm scolding, he had to at least commend Wyatt on a job well done. Their mutual return to the precinct had been even more unreal, given that it is there that Wyatt finds out the actual identity of the gang member—the leader himself. 

It’s only later that night when he’s collapsing into his own bed that Wyatt begins processing the absolute pandemonium that was his first day, and that came with it a small but telling confirmation—the fact that he couldn’t wait until his second day of work.

And his next, and his next, and his next… though, as Johnny had said earlier, that would all come in due time.