Brooklyn Nine Nine

Chapter 2: Back on the Beat

The air outside was crisp and cool, the sun barely rising over the Brooklyn skyline as Jake Peralta — or rather, Jackson in Jake's body — stepped out of the apartment building.

There it was.

The Mustang.

A classic Ford Mustang GT, black with silver trim, parked just where he'd expect it. It looked like a beast, even while idle. Jake gave a low whistle and slowly circled it, appreciating the sleek body, the custom rims, the sheer cool of it.

"Okay Jake," he muttered with a grin, "credit where credit's due — you've got taste. And it's in bad condition"

He slipped into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirrors, and fired up the engine. The car purred to life with a deep rumble. Jake smirked. He pulled out of the lot and hit the road, weaving through the early morning traffic toward his new workplace — the 99th Precinct.

The precinct was just coming to life when he arrived. Jake parked his car in his usual spot — because he remembered the spot thanks to those memories — and made his way inside.

A couple of uniformed officers passed him by in the lobby.

"Morning, Detective Peralta," one of them greeted.

"Peralta," nodded the other.

Jake gave them an easy smile and a casual, "Morning, fellas," without missing a beat. Reflex. It came natural, like muscle memory.

He took the elevator up, hands in his jacket pockets, and when the doors opened, he stepped out into the bullpen of the Nine-Nine. It was quiet. The desks were mostly empty, only a few officers milling around. The smell of stale coffee lingered in the air. He walked over to his desk and sat down.

Captain Holt joins in a week, he recalled. Still time before the tone of this place changes forever.

He glanced at the stack of unsolved case files on his desk. Three of them. Thick, slightly coffee-stained manila folders with official NYPD seals. He opened the first one.

Case File 1: Robbery — Case #0451-R

Location: Benson Jewelry Store, BrooklynDate of Incident: Two weeks agoReport Summary:Masked suspect entered the premises at 8:37 PM. Suspect displayed a semi-automatic handgun and forced the manager to open the safe. Escaped with an estimated $78,000 in merchandise. No security footage (camera was spray-painted). Witnesses report the suspect was male, approx. 6 feet, wearing a hoodie and ski mask. Getaway vehicle: possible black sedan, no plates.

Jake sighed. "Classic stick-up. No prints, no footage, no solid ID. Cool, cool, cool…"

Case File 2: DUI — Case #0463-T

Location: Atlantic Ave & KingstonDate of Incident: Three nights agoReport Summary:Driver: Natalie Carmine, 29.Stopped after erratic driving. Blood alcohol level: 0.15. Claimed to be heading to a friend's place. Vehicle contained two open containers. Witness saw her run a red light. Suspect is niece of a minor city council member. Charges pending.

"Ugh. Political connections," Jake muttered, tapping the folder. "This one's gonna need delicate handling."

Case File 3: Homicide — Case #0439-H

Location: Apartment complex on Pacific StreetDate of Incident: One month agoVictim: Marlon Briggs, 41, male.Found dead in his kitchen — blunt force trauma to the head. No signs of forced entry. Wallet and phone still on him. Neighbors report arguing the night before with an unknown male visitor. Crime scene reports muddy footprints, size 11. No matches in the system. No murder weapon recovered.

Jake's brow furrowed. "Now this one's interesting."

"Whoa," a voice broke his focus. "You're here early."

Jake looked up. Amy Santiago stood in front of his desk, a coffee in hand and an eyebrow raised. She looked genuinely surprised.

"Detective Santiago," he said, sitting up a bit straighter, smiling.

"You're never here before me. Are you sick? Did you lose a bet? Blink twice if you're being held hostage."

Jake chuckled. "Nah, just... decided to make a few changes. You know. Self-improvement, minimal debt, less laziness, more adulting."

Amy blinked. "That's... oddly responsible. Who are you and what have you done with Jake?"

Jake smirked. "I've been possessed by the ghost of a responsible adult. His name's Jackson."

"Is that a joke or– actually, never mind. I'm just glad you're not three hours late for once."

"Three hour is an..." Jake was saying when.

They were interrupted by Sergeant Terry Jeffords' booming voice from across the bullpen.

"Morning, squad! Let's get roll call going. Briefing room in five!"

Jake stood up, gathering his notes. Amy followed, sipping her coffee.

Inside the briefing room, the detectives took their usual spots. Rosa leaned back in her chair. Boyle had a giant bag of what looked like gourmet meatballs. Hitchcock and Scully were, as usual, half-asleep.

Terry walked to the front, clipboard in hand. "Alright, team. The new captain arrives in one week. So let's keep the precinct clean and our case closures high."

There were a few groans.

"Tough," Terry continued. "Now, case updates. Peralta — what's the status on those three open files?"

Jake stood up. "Jewelry store robbery — still following leads. No prints, no footage, but I'll re-interview the manager. DUI case? Political niece, but paperwork's clean. Murder case — nothing solid yet, but I'm planning to canvass the neighbors again. Something feels off."

Terry nodded. "Good. Keep at it."

"Already on it, Sarge."

"Boyle, you're with Diaz on the hit-and-run in Prospect Heights. Santiago — you're up on the smuggling case. Meet your contact at noon. Hitchcock, Scully—"

"We're on lunch duty?" Scully asked hopefully.

"No. You're reviewing desk complaints."

Groans.

"Dismissed!"

Everyone scattered. Jake walked back to his desk, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up the murder file again.