The Wreck

Only face precinct sergeant waters. Oh where's this? Yeah? Yeah? Well, you need an ambulance there? Which car is involved and whose height? You are in the muster room at the 21st precinct, the NERV Center.

A call is coming through. You will follow the action taken pursuant to that call from this minute until the final report is written in the 124 room at the 21st precinct. Alright, there's an ambulance on the way. I heard the radio call. That's right. It's all taken care of. Okay, I'll make the notification.

21st Precinct. It's just lines on a map of the City of New York. Most of the 173,000 people who edged into the 9th-10th of a square mile between Fifth Avenue and the East River wouldn't know if you asked them that they lived or worked in the 21st. Whether they know it or not,

the security of their homes, their persons, and their property is the job of the men of the twenty-first precinct. The twenty-first one hundred and sixty patrolman, eleven sergeants, and four lieutenants of whom I am the boss.

My name is Canelli, Frank Canelli. I am Captain in command of the twenty-first. I was working my night to work. When I came into the station house at three twenty-five p.m., I signed the blotter and went directly into my office where I changed the uniform.

Then I sat down at my desk to sift through the volume of reports and communications that had accumulated since I was last on duty nearly twenty-four hours earlier. At two minutes before four I walked out into the muster room where I went behind the desk and turned out to platoon for the four to twelve to it.