"Good morning, Officer," Marcus said, his voice deep, calm, and steady. He slowly raised his hands to chest level, palms open, still holding the notebook and pencil. "Can I help you?"

"Drop what's in your hands! Drop it now!" Mitchell yelled, closing the distance rapidly. He was now only ten feet away. His hand was resting on the grip of his service weapon.

"Officer, this is just a notebook. I'm taking structural notes for the—"

"I said drop it!" Mitchell screamed, drawing his Taser and pointing it squarely at Marcus’s chest. The red laser dot danced erratically against the faded fabric of Marcus's jacket.

Marcus slowly opened his hands, letting the notebook and pencil fall into the damp grass. "Alright. They're dropped. I am unarmed. I am the lead engineer for—"

"Shut your mouth! Turn around! Face the bridge!" Mitchell commanded, his adrenaline clearly spiking, fueled by a manufactured sense of danger.

"Officer, you are making a mistake. My ID is right inside my jacket. Let me show you—"

"Do not reach inside your jacket!" Mitchell roared. Without warning, as Marcus turned to comply with the order to face the bridge, Mitchell lunged. He grabbed Marcus by the collar of his heavy jacket, kicked the back of Marcus’s knee, and shoved him violently downward.

Marcus was a large, strong man, and he could have easily resisted, but he knew that doing so would mean his death. He went limp, allowing himself to be forced into the muddy bank of the creek. He landed hard, his cheek pressing into the cold, wet earth, the very soil he had been lovingly analyzing just minutes before.

Mitchell dropped his weight onto Marcus’s back, pressing a knee sharply between his shoulder blades. The pain was sudden and sharp, a stark reminder of an old shrapnel injury from Fallujah. Mitchell grabbed Marcus’s left arm, wrenching it behind his back, and snapped a heavy steel handcuff onto his wrist.

"Stop resisting!" Mitchell yelled, though Marcus was perfectly still.