User:Nextoy/Farside Pub/Security Measures

''My name is John Smith, and I am a security guard for one Farside Pub. Some may claim my role to be that of a bouncer, others as a guard dog. I think of myself as a hired peacekeeper.

I know it sounds like a glorified mercenary, but often times I can just sit in the back and watch as  the night unfolds. It's a very relaxing job in that sense, but wherever alcohol is fights can be expected.

However tonight I am writing of an incident where violence broke out while the assailant had still been sober.

Due to the nature of my job I earn ~$18/hour. This is because there are extra risks involved that a security guard would not normally have to deal with. I feel this story will best illustrate those differences.''

August, 2015. Clear weather, with temperature averaging in the low 80's.

The day started with me being woken up by a call on my cellphone. Unimportant conversation, friend going on about some game that just launched.

Heading downstairs my girlfriend, who had just moved in, had made me breakfast but was nagging about working graveyard shifts. I realize it's unhealthy, however Farside has good pay and they don't open until 7pm. Once she calmed down, I do remind her that I appreciate the concern nonetheless.

Afterwards I leave to visit my mother. I was a day late for my monthly visits, but she didn't seem to mind. Nothing unusual happened.

After a few miscellaneous errands it was time to go into work. I always found the five mile drive out of town to be calm and rather beautiful, despite most considering it a barren wasteland. Life does thrive in that desert, however, and that's what I find beautiful.

Once I got to Farside I immediately went into the employee break room to drop off some stuff. The manager asks me to keep a few things in the building in case of emergency. I personally find the difference in distance to between the break room and my car negligible, but I never argue it.

For several hours work went as usual. The bar opened, the regulars came in, and I yet again turned down an offer to play pool with one of the customers.

At ~11:30pm an unruly customer had entered and begun making demands. The footage and audio from security cameras is as followed.

A woman in her early 20's enters. She is dressed in baggy pants with two belts on. One belt wraps around her waist to hold her pants on, the other slips down the side and has the holster for a gun on it. The gun has no noticeable retention system, but also seems to be made of wood.

She wears a tank top that partially shows a sports bra underneath. It is plain black.

Her hair is dyed steel blue and shaved on one side while it extends to her shoulder on the other. It covers one of her eyes throughout most of the footage, though this appears to be a conscious choice.

“Greetings, worker. Tequila, top shelf.” Were her first words, directly to the barkeeper. He poured the shot, but immediately glared as she took it before having paid.

“What are you doing?” He asked, visually annoyed despite his voice not leaving it's usual patterns.

“Sampling. I can't be asked to pay for something that I don't know the quality of.” The woman had answered, giving a snicker to herself afterwards.

“Can't be asked, my ass. You ain't getting anything else or leaving until you either pay for that drink or fill out the form to start a tab.” The barkeeper had informed, his tone beginning to match his annoyed expression.

“As if! If I we're to do that at every bar I go to not only would I be broke, but my dignity would be irreparably tarnished!” She argued, visually angry and sounding as though the very concept offended her.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” The barkeeper asked, a single eyebrow being raised to partially break his gaze.

“I bet you would if I was a man!” She argued further, shouting at him now as I started walking up to them.

“Oh, one of these.” Could he heard faintly from the barkeeper just before she grabbed a hold of him. When she did frost started crawling up his shirt from her hands, the woman growling at the barkeep.

When I placed my hand on her the woman’s head snapped to me, glaring intensely as she barked out “What!?”

“Ma’am, would-” Was all I managed to get out before the woman started to go on a tirade.

“Ma’am? What makes you think I identify that way asshole!? And who are you to touch me like I’m some object!?” She screeched at me, frost forming around my hand as I pulled away.

“If you don't calm down I will have to restrain you.” I spoke through her tangent, causing the woman to punch me and send shards of ice along my gut as I stumbled back.

“Rapist! Who the hell do you think you are!?” She screeched again, with an off screen customer playing a hip hop song rather loudly off screen in response to her question.

The song in question seemed to be about surpassing one’s limits and “fight the power”, as the singer put it, but she shot an icicle off screen to silence the music before the song could proceed beyond a few seconds.

It was at this point that I drew my firearm, one M1911A1 and held it in stance, the gun trained on her chest.

For the record: it was loaded with FMJ rounds instead of any non lethal cartridge, and met the manager’s minimum requirement for raw power of an on the job carry gun.

“Calm down!” I shouted at the woman. She turned to me and shot forth another icicle, though I was able to shatter it before it could reach me.

“Stand down!” I shouted as she stepped back, emanating frosty mist.

During this time the barkeep had been looking over his bottles, grabbing a mostly empty one and throwing it. It hit her head and rendered the woman unconscious.

“Watch her. I’m calling the cops.” He told me, motioning for me to holster my firearm.

I did as asked, and in 48 minutes and officer showed up to bring her in. A special division made for taking care of Farside related crime, thus they were able to process the security tapes better.

Such ends the footage relevant to the story.

This was a successful end to what could have been a disaster. My job isn't easy, but there’s enough on the job support to keep me from worrying about my safety.

This is my story, and perhaps it is to continue with other occurrences.