Out-Of-Character (OOC) Section
IGN (In-Game Name):
NewJortz (Applying with)
nupm
nupb
nupr
Discord Name & Tag:
bryce (frbryce)
Which timezone are you in?
CDT (Central Daylight Time)
List your current and past IC/OOC faction applications:
[DENIED] | Counselor Application
[DENIED] | KPD Application I
[DENIED] |KPD Application II
[ACCEPTED] | Reporter Application
[DENIED] | KPD Application III
[DENIED] | Lawyer Application
[DENIED] | KPD Application IV
[DENIED] | Priest Application
Describe your activity on the server:
I am very active on the server. I try to log on almost every day, sometimes for hours. I sometimes lose my sense of time while I am on the server. I have over 5 weeks' worth of playtime, and I have been playing on the server since June of 2022. I spend a lot of time partaking in a variety of roleplay scenarios, working on my character development, and coming up with more and more lore for my characters. I enjoy building connections between characters, even if that is casual conversation, or larger story lines, or sudden events that happen in the moment. Outside of roleplaying on the server, I enjoy being involved in community discussions both in the OOC chat and on the forums. I enjoy participating in server-wide events as much as I can, as a lot of them are great ways to meet new people, which keeps the Roleplay experience fresh and engaging. Being a part of large events is something that brings me joy because it challenges me to stay creative and adaptable. Overall, I'm dedicated to being an active and reliable person who helps keep the community entertained and engaged.
I will make two graphs, one for my schedule during the summer and another during the school year.
This is my schedule during the school year.
NewJortz (Applying with)
nupm
nupb
nupr
Discord Name & Tag:
bryce (frbryce)
Which timezone are you in?
CDT (Central Daylight Time)
List your current and past IC/OOC faction applications:
[DENIED] | Counselor Application
[DENIED] | KPD Application I
[DENIED] |KPD Application II
[ACCEPTED] | Reporter Application
[DENIED] | KPD Application III
[DENIED] | Lawyer Application
[DENIED] | KPD Application IV
[DENIED] | Priest Application
Describe your activity on the server:
I am very active on the server. I try to log on almost every day, sometimes for hours. I sometimes lose my sense of time while I am on the server. I have over 5 weeks' worth of playtime, and I have been playing on the server since June of 2022. I spend a lot of time partaking in a variety of roleplay scenarios, working on my character development, and coming up with more and more lore for my characters. I enjoy building connections between characters, even if that is casual conversation, or larger story lines, or sudden events that happen in the moment. Outside of roleplaying on the server, I enjoy being involved in community discussions both in the OOC chat and on the forums. I enjoy participating in server-wide events as much as I can, as a lot of them are great ways to meet new people, which keeps the Roleplay experience fresh and engaging. Being a part of large events is something that brings me joy because it challenges me to stay creative and adaptable. Overall, I'm dedicated to being an active and reliable person who helps keep the community entertained and engaged.
I will make two graphs, one for my schedule during the summer and another during the school year.
This is my schedule during the school year.
Monday | Tuesday | Wednseday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday |
| On Monday, I usually get on at 4:00 pm CDT, possibly a little earlier, and usually get off at 2:00-3:00 am CDT. | On Tuesday, I usually get on at 4:00 pm CDT, possibly a little earlier, and usually get off at 2:00-3:00 am CDT. | On Wednesday, I usually get on at 4:00 pm CDT, possibly a little earlier, and usually get off at 2:00-3:00 am CDT. | On Thursday, I usually get on at 3:30 pm CDT, possibly a little earlier, and usually get off at 2:00-4:00 am CDT. | On Friday, I usually get on at 9:00 am CDT, possibly a little earlier, and usually get off at 2:00-4:00 am CDT | On Saturday, I should be on all day. | On Saturday, I should be on all day and I usually get off at 2:00-3:00 am CDT. |
This is my schedule during the summer.
Monday | Tuesday | Wednseday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday |
| On Monday, I should be on all day. | On Tuesday, I should be on all day. | On Wednesday, I should be on all day. | On Thursday, I should be on all day. | On Friday, I should be on all day. | On Saturday, I should be on all day. | On Sunday, I should be on all day. |
What is your motivation for applying?:
My motivation for applying comes from a deep interest in law enforcement in real life. Due to my interest in such, I believe I would enjoy law enforcement roleplay and the challenges it might offer. I have always enjoyed roles that involve structure, discipline, and critical thinking. And I believe being a part of the KPD would give me would give me the opportunity to engage with all of these aspects in a meaningful way. I find it very rewarding to be a part of roleplay scenarios where actions and decisions have real consequences, which shape not only my character's story but also contribute to large arcs on the server. I respect how KPD maintains the order and fairness, ensuring that roleplay stays immersive and engaging for everyone involved. I'm drawn to the idea of handling complex situations—whether it's responding to emergency calls, conducting investigations, or resolving conflicts—and portraying the realistic balance between authority and empathy that defines good policing. The role offers a chance to explore serious and detailed sides of law enforcement, including paperwork and writing reports.I believe all of those add depth and make it more authentic to the server. Aside from the responsibility of policing itself, I am especially motivated by the idea of becoming a part of the team that relies on trust, communication, and mutual respect. I value working with people who share a commitment to high-quality roleplay and who push each other to improve while also keeping a supportive atmosphere. Overall, I am applying because I'm drawn to the challenges and engaging roleplay that the KPD offers. I'm drawn in by the variety of scenarios officers can encounter, from handling emergencies and investigations to navigating complex situations that require careful judgment and empathy.
What knowledge do you have of Police Work?
Reading has taught me that being a police officer involves much more than just following the law. The primary objectives are to protect people, keep the peace, deal with emergencies, and make sure that everyone feels safe. I understand that it requires good communication, sound judgment under pressure, and strict adherence to rules and regulations. I am also aware that officers must act professionally, gather evidence, and write reports even under pressure. This means playing a role-playing character who can keep everyone calm, adhere to rules, and find a balance between authority and compassion.
Ranks
Main Division
Commissioner
Captain
Lieutenant
Sergeant
Corporal
Patrol Officer
Detective Division
Detective Superintendent
Detective Chief Inspector
Detective Inspector
Detective Sergeant
Detective Constable
Duties
Patrols - Patrols are an important part of Police Work, officers go out on patrols daily, which gives more experience to the newer officers and keeps Karakura safe.
Deskwork - You assist citizens, process bail, and coordinate visits.
Taking reports - is a key part of deskwork because it helps document incidents and starts official investigations.
Raids - Raids are planned searches for contraband, carried out safely and lawfully.
Interrogating - Interrogating means questioning suspects or witnesses to gather facts, clarify details, and obtain truthful statements, all while respecting legal rights and proper procedures.
CCTV - CCTV involves monitoring camera feeds to watch for suspicious activity, track suspects, and gather evidence to help keep the city safe.
Arrests - Taking individuals into custody, following legal procedures, and ensuring safe transport or detention.
Taking care of inmates - Supervising inmates, ensuring safety, addressing needs, and maintaining order in detention facilities.
Items
Police Baton
Handcuffs
Police Radio
Stun Blaster
Breathalyzer
Pepper Spray
Trandquilizer
Riot Shield
Gas Mask
Crowbar
Luminol Spray (ItemRP)
Disposable Latex Gloves (ItemRP)
First-Aid Kit (ItemRP)
Body Cam (ItemRP)
Why is Police important to SchoolRP?
The police play an very important role in SRP because they help keep order and balance. With criminal activities, gang conflicts, and general mischief happening across the city, there needs to be a force that can respond appropriately and ensure that things don't end up spiraling out of control. The presence of the police adds realism and consequences to actions, which prevents crime from becoming overwhelming or disruptive to the players who prefer casual or school focused roleplay. They serve as a counterbalance to the crime factions, that every choice characters make comes with potential risks and unfavorable outcomes, which keeps the server fun and engaging for all who are involved.
Beyond just enforcing rules, the police play a large role in the server's lore and immersive atmosphere. Patrols, investigations, interrogations, arrests, and raids are all events that create tension and excitement, giving players the chance to be a part of important rp scenarios. These interactions encourage creative roleplay, whether someone is playing an officer, a suspect, or simply a civilian caught in between the two. The police also help protect players from harassment by enforcing IC rules, which helps keep a safe and fun environment.
Overall, the police play a key role in SRP because of the fact that they bring structure and realism to the server. Their being there alone allows for interesting rp scenarios daily
Do you acknowledge that if training is held whilst you are online, you are needed to attend or you will be punished?
Yes, I understand that if a training is held, and I am online, I am supposed to attend, or else I will face punishment.
In-Character (IC) Section
What's your character's full name?:
"My name is Ōuyáng Míngzhé."
How old is your character (if accepted)?:
"I am twenty-six years old."
What are your character's gender and pronouns?:
"I am a male, I go by He/Him."
Please select your highest academic role at the time of writing this application:
(Grade-12/Bachelors/Masters/PhD):
"I have a bachelor's in Communications."
What languages does your character know besides Japanese?:
"The only language I know other than Japanese is Mandarin."
Describe your character; how they look, what makes them unique?
Ōuyáng Míngzhé is a mixed-race male, half Chinese and half White, with striking pale blonde hair down much past his shoulders and blue eyes you could get lost staring into, which makes him visually unique, especially as someone who grew up in Beijing. Ed's around six feet tall or 182.88 cm, and has an athletic build from martial arts training. Personality-wise wise Ed is calm, thoughtful, and highly observant, which was shaped by his growing up navigating two very different cultures. What makes him stand out is his ability to connect with people from different backgrounds and handle tense situations with empathy and clear communication.
How does your character act in a professional/casual situation?
In a work place situation Ōuyáng Míngzhé is cool and collected and respectful. He speaks reflectively and deliberately, keen to avoid being misinterpreted, having as he does experience the complexity of cultural boundaries. He stays calm and collected even in the face of danger, and he tends to think things through before he jumps into something. He’s detail-oriented, a keen observer of body language and devoted to following protocols and procedures to the letter. He values clarity and honesty in communication, and tries to resolve conflicts gently, professionally and compassionately, instead of aggressively.
In a more casual setting Ōuyáng is much more at ease, but is still courteous. He’s friendly but not gregarious; light, quiet conversation allays him, and so does light, quiet humor, when you get to know him. He has a droll, understated sense of humor and loves to listen as much as talk, offering sincere interest in the experiences of others. He’s not one cut out for the spotlight, and he likes to hang out in places where he can have some peace: cafes, forest walks or small gatherings. He is sensitive to the feelings of others around him, and he tries to reach out to those who feel on the outs. Whether on the job or in his free time, Ōuyáng is characterized by a quiet confidence and respectful demeanor, forming authentic relationships with people based on the merits of mutual consideration.
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What is their outlook on the idea of co-workers & teamwork?
"I see coworkers and teamwork as very important roles, particularly in the line of police, where trust and communication can save lives. To me, you build a good team on being respectful, honest, acknowledging that everyone has each other's backs, no matter what. I've learned that different people have different skills. It is essential to listen, support, and help each other grow as a whole. I'm not someone who tries to steal all the shine or stand out; I'd much rather see the whole team succeed. Growing up between two cultures taught me how to overcome differences and work with all types of people. I believe that the more a team values each other's skills, the stronger they are. family. I believe that we should look out for each other like family."
What's your character's backstory?
"The Echo of Two Worlds" -1999
Ōuyáng Míngzhé was born in Beijing, a city that had both a traditional history but also modernization. The capital, spread with skysc****rs that towered over ancient temples, shaped Ōuyáng’s earlier years and created his sense of identity. Ōuyáng Míngzhé was the child of Jian Míngzhé, a Chinese-born civil engineer steeped in his roots, and Susan Parker, an American cultural attache serving in Beijing. Theirs was a marriage symbolic of two worlds uniting, and Ōuyáng’s childhood was a reflection of that special balance.
Ōuyáng’s home life from the start was a reflection of the East-West blend. Jian was a humble man of discipline, instilling into his son the Confucian virtues of respect, accountability, and diligence. His evenings were typically reserved for poring over blueprints or debating infrastructure developments that contributed to Beijing's skyline, and he insisted Ōuyáng live a life as serious and dedicated. However, Susan brought lightness and imagination into their household. Her American sensibility encouraged communication, curiosity, and expressing emotions, traits that sometimes struggled with Jian's more introverted personality, but ultimately led to the widening of Ōuyáng’s experience.
Ōuyáng grew up in Beijing's Chaoyang neighborhood. The neighborhood was a blend of older hutongs — tight, narrow streets that were lined with courtyard houses — and newly built residential skysc****rs, which were proof of China's rapid development. As a boy, Ōuyáng would outrun his peers in the alleys, catching whiffs of food on the street, and the sounds of Mandarin instructions with the rhythms of Western popular music coming from his mother's radio.
School life was where Ōuyáng first struggled to reconcile the issues that came with his mixed heritage. Having studied at an international school that catered to displaced people as well as locals, he learned alongside pupils from multiple cultures. But Ōuyáng often found himself between two worlds — speaking smoothly in Mandarin and English, but sometimes feeling as if he didn't quite fit in with either the Chinese students, who thought of him as "too Western," or the expats, who thought of him as "too Chinese." This position drew out of Ōuyáng a lifetime quest for answers about identity and belonging.
His parents' hopes were high but different in style. Jian valued academic success above everything else, pressuring Ōuyáng to succeed in math, science, and history to satisfy their family's expectations and have a stable future. Susan, however, supported Ōuyáng in fulfilling his artistic side. She allowed him to take guitar lessons and keep a journal, writing regularly about how he perceived the world. These artistic pursuits were an outlet, allowing Ōuyáng to sort out the complexities of life.
At home, Mandarin and English were spoken freely back and forth, and Ōuyáng learned to code-switch — not just from one language to another, but from one way of being, one attitude, to another, depending on the company. When he went to his father's family gatherings, respect for elders and old mores prevailed, while his mother's friends supported combative arguments for social justice, art, and freedom for individuals.
With the diversity of cultures, Ōuyáng was sometimes alone. Classmates sometimes taunted him for being half-white, and feeling he never belonged made him grow scars that would deepen his empathy for others who were like him — outsiders. Rather than hiding, Ōuyáng channeled the feelings into motivation. He was an excellent student, he was on the student government, and worked at neighborhood community centers, helping families and kids who were immigrants with school problems.
Martial arts were a big part of Ōuyáng’s life. Jian enrolled him in wushu lessons at the age of seven, both to connect Ōuyáng to his Chinese heritage as well as instill discipline and self-confidence inside him. Ōuyáng developed not just physical skill but a deep admiration for the philosophy within the movements — inner strength, patience, and balance. His father helped in these and even occasionally went to tournaments with him, beaming with pride over his dedication.
By the time Ōuyáng entered his early teenage years, his identity was continuing to develop. He found himself a cultural ambassador in many ways, being the link between friends from multiple backgrounds. His bi-cultural existence was not free of conflict, but it proved to be a source of strength and depth. He realized at an early age that communication and empathy could clear up misunderstandings, a lesson he would come to apply to his career path in law enforcement.
Family was a component of the building blocks of Ōuyáng’s life. Although his parents showed love and discipline differently from each other, their encouragement was unlimited. Table conversation at dinnertime ranged from Jian's stories of the city development of Beijing to Susan's accounts of life in the United States. Ōuyáng’s extended family in Beijing provided him with encouragement and tradition, and Susan was close to her family in Oregon, grounding Ōuyáng in his American heritage.
Those initial years in Beijing were surrounded by cultural interchange and self-discovery, which laid the foundation for Ōuyáng’s later life. They influenced his outlook, instilling in him respect, resiliency, and the value of community. When it was time to leave Beijing for college and opportunity, Ōuyáng carried with him the lessons of his childhood — a bi-cultural heritage, both a challenge and a blessing.
"The City Within" - 2012
The glow of bright lights and the buzz of Beijing's traffic always gave the impression that the city was alive. During winter, the city experienced a rare gentleness. Ōuyáng Míngzhé understood these differences deeply by his teenage years; for example, the fast-moving world blended with centuries-old culture and hectic moments around the city, tempered by tranquil periods in concealed tea houses.
Ōuyáng entered his teenage years carrying the unique weight of his identity. His pale blonde hair had darkened slightly in childhood but grew lighter again during his aging, shimmering like pale gold under the Beijing sun. His blue eyes—so rare in the streets of Beijing—drew attention, curiosity, and sometimes unwanted scrutiny. Shopkeepers would look at him but ask if he was Russian or European due to his blue eyes. Classmates would sometimes joke, calling him "yangren," which means foreigner, despite his flawless Mandarin.
At thirteen, Ōuyáng’s height grew taller than most boys his age, his limbs slightly awkward at first. Martial arts helped him adjust. His father kept him enrolled in the wushu classes, and by junior high, Ōuyáng was competing in local tournaments. His pale hair tied back in a traditional martial arts ribbon, Ōuyáng became a familiar sight in the gym, fluidly executing complex routines with quiet intensity.
Yet inside, he wrestled with questions he could barely put into words.
He remembered one evening in eighth grade vividly. It was spring, and the scent of flowering magnolia trees drifted through the open windows of their family apartment. His mother sat at the kitchen table, sketching designs for an upcoming cultural exhibit. Ōuyáng was flipping through a social studies textbook, studying a chapter on “Modern China in the Global Age.” A photo showed foreign businessmen in suits shaking hands with Chinese officials.
"Mom," he blurted suddenly. "Do people think I'm... not Chinese?"
Susan looked up from her pencil sketch. "Why do you ask that, sweetheart?"
Ōuyáng shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Some kids say I'm not Chinese because of my hair and eyes."
Susan was quiet for a moment. "You are Chinese. And American. You're both, Ōuyáng. And that's something special, not something wrong."
Ōuyáng nodded but wasn't sure he believed it.
At school, he often felt like a guest in both cultures. He envied his Chinese classmates whose family names were steeped in local history. Whose grandparents lived in courtyard homes filled with ancestral portraits. He also felt out of place among the children of expats, whose conversations sometimes slipped into jokes about "weird Chinese food" or how crowded the city was.
Ōuyáng was deeply immersed in his studies as he sought to discover a place where he felt accepted and understood. Particularly during his language classes, he received accolades for composing essays in both Mandarin and English. Ōuyáng became a member of the student council because he wanted to assist in integrating local students with international ones. Teachers remarked on Ōuyáng’s ability to soothe disputes; rather, his calm voice, coupled with gentle yet strategic phrasing of words, made it easy to bring people together.
He had always enjoyed spending time in solitary places such as his bedroom, which offered him the opportunity to play music on his guitar or the narrow hutongs that he would stroll through deep in thought during the evening hours while wondering about how his life fit together.
One winter, a short but impactful friendship changed the way Ōuyáng perceived things. A new student had arrived in the middle of the school year: Michael Zhao, a Chinese-American boy from Los Angeles. Michael’s skin was the tone of an olive, he had a California accent, and no shame about being different. He wore a Los Angeles Lakers jacket, listened to American hip-hop, and was open about feeling "in-between."
"Dude," Michael said one day during lunch, "You're like me. We're not half anything. We're double."
Ōuyáng blinked. "Double?"
Michael grinned. "Yeah! We got two cultures, two languages, and two ways of looking at the world. It's an advantage. Own it."
It was a revelation. For the first time, Ōuyáng saw his identity as a gift, not a problem.
Michael only stayed for a year before his family returned to the United States, but their conversations would plant seeds that would shape Ōuyáng’s entire life.
Throughout high school, Ōuyáng carried this newfound confidence. He took up poetry, writing verses in English and Mandarin about identity, belonging, and the city life. He even volunteered at community centers, helping international families settle into Beijing. Teachers praised his leadership skills and his compassion, and his parents began to realize that Ōuyáng possessed a rare sensitivity—a natural bridge between worlds.
Still, some nights Ōuyáng would stare at his reflection, pale blonde hair loose around his shoulders, and wonder: "Where do I belong?"
By graduation, though, one thing was certain: he was determined to find his place—and to help others find theirs, too.
"Becoming the Bridge" - 2017
Leaving Beijing was one of the hardest things Ōuyáng had ever done.
At eighteen, he boarded a plane headed for the United States with only a single suitcase and a guitar strapped to his back. His mother wept openly at the airport, pressing dried mangoes and herbal tea into his hands, while his father clasped Ōuyáng’s shoulder firmly, murmuring, "Show the world who you are."
Ōuyáng landed in Seattle under gray skies and the gentle rain. For the first two days, he felt completely lost. Despite his perfect English, he was suddenly aware of how different everything felt—the openness of strangers chatting in line at coffee shops, the wide roads and giant pine forests, the scent of ocean air rising from the bay.
His first weeks were overwhelming, to say the least. The lecture halls were massive. The student population seemed so diverse. He found himself both invisible and highly visible: some people assumed he was an international student, speaking to him in slow, careful English. Others complimented his unique appearance—his pale blonde hair and striking blue eyes stood out in any crowd.
Ōuyáng kept his hair tied back most days. Some of his classmates called him "surfer boy." Others were fascinated when they discovered he grew up in Beijing. He often found himself explaining his heritage:
“No, I’m not Russian. No, I’m not European. I’m Chinese and American. I grew up in Beijing.”
Over time, Ōuyáng settled into his classes. Communications were perfect—he loved studying how people connected, how cultures clashed or blended, how words or gestures could bridge enormous gaps. He found a new kind of confidence in college, speaking up in seminars, writing thoughtful essays, and engaging in lecture hall debates.
But the first real breakthrough came in his sophomore of college during a Cultural Identity seminar. The professor, Dr. Adrienne Clark, was a mixed woman who spoke openly about navigating dual worlds.
“Your identity isn’t a puzzle you have to solve,” she told the class one day. “It’s a story you get to write. You decide how you belong.”
Ōuyáng sat there stunned, those words echoing in his chest. Later that evening, he emailed Dr. Clark, thanking her for the lecture. They met for coffee multiple times that semester, talking about cultural code switching, microaggressions, and the quiet exhaustion of always explaining oneself.
Ōuyáng began writing poetry and essays about her experiences as a bicultural person under the guidance of Dr. Clark. One of the poems, "Skyline Between Two Worlds," was printed in a literary journal on campus. In it, he talked about how the lights of Beijing and Seattle would blend together in his dreams, how his thoughts would constantly switch between Mandarin and English, and how carrying different cultures can be both beautiful and heavy.
Past academics, Ōuyáng found peace in familiar practices. He joined a local martial arts school to continue his wushu training. At first, he felt awkward entering a dojo in Seattle, unsure how the American instructors would react to his Chinese techniques. But soon, he was helping teach classes, blending traditional forms with modern techniques. Martial arts stayed as his anchor—a physical meditation that kept his mind and his body in shape.
Ōuyáng also played guitar at his campus's open mics. Under the dim stage lights, he performed quietly acoustic songs, some of which were in Mandarin, some in English. His music, just like his poetry, became one of many outlets for everything he struggled to speak on in daily conversations.
As Ōuyáng approached his junior year, he began working part-time as a community outreach assistant at a local nonprofit. The organization Ōuyáng worked at helped immigrant families adjust to life in the U.S., offering translation services, resources for housing, and cultural workshops. Ōuyáng translated documents, ran after-school programs, and helped calm down conversations between frustrated parents and overwhelmed schools.
One day, a tense situation occurred when a Mandarin-speaking family arrived at the office. Their Chinese son, Kai, had been accused of shoplifting. The parents were angry and petrified; they didn't fully understand the legal documents they'd been given.
Ōuyáng sat with them for nearly two hours, translating the document word by word, helping them understand their rights, and calming their fears. He gave the staff social worker an explanation of cultural quirks, emphasizing that the family was extremely distressed by losing face and that empathy, not accusations, would work better.
The director of the nonprofit took Ōuyáng aside.
"Ōuyáng, you have an incredible gift. You’re able to bridge gaps most people can’t even see."
That moment stayed with him. For the first time, he realized he didn’t want to simply exist between cultures—he wanted to connect them.
By senior year, Ōuyáng was thriving. He served as president of the Multicultural Student Alliance, organized cross-cultural events, and started a campus blog featuring stories of students with different backgrounds. Professors praised his empathy and leadership. Friends described him as quiet but intense, driven by a sense of purpose that seemed deeper than just ambition.
But Ōuyáng also faced inner battles. Late at night, Ōuyáng would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the glow of the lights in the street filtering through his blinds. He wondered what he was supposed to do next. He wanted to do more than just work at a desk, a comfortable job; he wanted meaning. Something that would put his skills to use, his empathy, and his desire to keep others safe.
The answer to all of Ōuyáng's questions came the summer right before his graduation. Ōuyáng witnessed a mugging outside a coffee shop on his campus. A woman screamed as a man grabbed her purse and shoved her to the curb. Without thinking, Ōuyáng ran forward. He chased the attackers for two blocks, tackling them in an alley. By the time the campus police got to the scene, Ōuyáng was holding the perpetrator down; he was gasping for air, but was determined.
In the aftermath, an officer pulled Ōuyáng aside.
“You ever thought about law enforcement? You’d make a hell of a cop.”
That idea planted itself like a seed.
At first, Ōuyáng was hesitant. Could someone like him, soft spoken, poetic, culturally complicated, Fit into the world of law enforcement? He imagined being in a patrol car, flashing lights, radios cracking with codes. It felt so different from poetry readings and cultural festivals.
But the more they thought about it, the more it made sense. Police work wasn't only about brute strength. It was about communication, de-escalation, and understanding people from all types of different backgrounds. It was about protecting those who couldn't protect their selfs. Ōuyáng realized that his bilingual skills, cultural sensitivity, and calm under pressure were exactly what modern policing needed.
He started researching law enforcement careers. He read articles on community policing, mental intervention, and how departments were evolving to build trust with different communities. He reached out to local officers for interviews to help him get a better understanding, which is how he discovered the modern departments valued empathy and knowledge of different cultures.
By the time of graduation, Ōuyáng was convinced: this was his path. He wanted to serve. To protect. To bridge divides and ensure justice was fair and compassionate.
On his graduation day, Ōuyáng stood in his white dress shirt and gown, his pale blonde hair under the June sun. His parents flew all the way to Seattle from Beijing to watch him cross the stage. Jian hugged him with quiet pride. Susan stood there wiping tears from her face.
"I don’t know where you’ll end up, Ōuyáng," his mother said, gripping his hands. "But I know you’ll help people. That’s who you are."
Ōuyáng looked out across the campus he had learned to love. For the first time, he felt certain that his story was unfolding—and that he would write the next chapters with purpose.
"A Path Begins" -2021
After graduating from university, Ōuyáng Míngzhé returned to Beijing for some time, carrying both pride and uncertainty. The city, with the neon lights, old, rundown alleys, and a constant noise, the noise felt somewhat familiar, but somehow changed. The streets he once knew seemed smaller, almost like he had outgrown the place, or perhaps the place had outgrown him. He walked past the same narrow tea shops and ancient temples, now noticing details he had once ignored—the way the incense curled lazily around carved beams, or how the hush of the temples contrasted with the chaos outside.
Ōuyáng didn't know where he wanted to settle, Ōuyáng explored several jobs that allowed him to connect with people. He worked as a translator and cultural guide for firms, helping bring together foreign teams and local Chinese staff. His fluency in two languages and gentle way of listening made him a natural mediator. Sometimes, one wrong word could change the whole vibe of a meeting, and Ōuyáng found quiet satisfaction in resolving those tensions.
Outside of work, he volunteered at community centers and local festivals in his neighborhood, helping keep crowds safe and calming down small disputes between vendors. Though these moments seemed like a routine, Ōuyáng began to realize that he was attracted to work that required structure and serving people. He realized he didn't just want a job—he wanted something that mattered.
Martial arts stayed as his foundation. He continued to train with serious dedication, entering local tournaments, where the air smelled of sweat and wood polish, and the mats echoed with strict calls and the thud of practice pads "Wapow." Yet for Ōuyáng, it wasn't about winning medals and getting first place. It was about discipline, the ritual of forms. Each bout reminded him that strength wasn’t only physical—it was about restraint, awareness, and control. and the mental stillness he achieved even in the middle of combat.
It was during one quiet evening walk, Ōuyáng was passing through a crowded market, and he saw a fight break out between two men, escalating from just an argument with shouts to flying fists. Instinct took over. Without thinking, Ōuyáng stepped in, using calm words and gentle but firm gestures to separate the pair. By the time authorities had arrived, the situation had already been defused, though Ōuyáng's heart was still pounding, and he was shaken up. Later that night, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he'd glimpsed his purpose. He wanted to be the person who could stand up in chaos, not for recognition, but because it was simply right.
At twenty-five, Ōuyáng started researching law enforcement pathways. He read everything he could find online about police work, from he procedures to the protocols. He decided to move to Karakura to get a fresh start.
General knowledge
"My name is Ōuyáng Míngzhé."
How old is your character (if accepted)?:
"I am twenty-six years old."
What are your character's gender and pronouns?:
"I am a male, I go by He/Him."
Please select your highest academic role at the time of writing this application:
(Grade-12/Bachelors/Masters/PhD):
"I have a bachelor's in Communications."
What languages does your character know besides Japanese?:
"The only language I know other than Japanese is Mandarin."
Describe your character; how they look, what makes them unique?
Ōuyáng Míngzhé is a mixed-race male, half Chinese and half White, with striking pale blonde hair down much past his shoulders and blue eyes you could get lost staring into, which makes him visually unique, especially as someone who grew up in Beijing. Ed's around six feet tall or 182.88 cm, and has an athletic build from martial arts training. Personality-wise wise Ed is calm, thoughtful, and highly observant, which was shaped by his growing up navigating two very different cultures. What makes him stand out is his ability to connect with people from different backgrounds and handle tense situations with empathy and clear communication.
How does your character act in a professional/casual situation?
In a work place situation Ōuyáng Míngzhé is cool and collected and respectful. He speaks reflectively and deliberately, keen to avoid being misinterpreted, having as he does experience the complexity of cultural boundaries. He stays calm and collected even in the face of danger, and he tends to think things through before he jumps into something. He’s detail-oriented, a keen observer of body language and devoted to following protocols and procedures to the letter. He values clarity and honesty in communication, and tries to resolve conflicts gently, professionally and compassionately, instead of aggressively.
In a more casual setting Ōuyáng is much more at ease, but is still courteous. He’s friendly but not gregarious; light, quiet conversation allays him, and so does light, quiet humor, when you get to know him. He has a droll, understated sense of humor and loves to listen as much as talk, offering sincere interest in the experiences of others. He’s not one cut out for the spotlight, and he likes to hang out in places where he can have some peace: cafes, forest walks or small gatherings. He is sensitive to the feelings of others around him, and he tries to reach out to those who feel on the outs. Whether on the job or in his free time, Ōuyáng is characterized by a quiet confidence and respectful demeanor, forming authentic relationships with people based on the merits of mutual consideration.
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What is their outlook on the idea of co-workers & teamwork?
"I see coworkers and teamwork as very important roles, particularly in the line of police, where trust and communication can save lives. To me, you build a good team on being respectful, honest, acknowledging that everyone has each other's backs, no matter what. I've learned that different people have different skills. It is essential to listen, support, and help each other grow as a whole. I'm not someone who tries to steal all the shine or stand out; I'd much rather see the whole team succeed. Growing up between two cultures taught me how to overcome differences and work with all types of people. I believe that the more a team values each other's skills, the stronger they are. family. I believe that we should look out for each other like family."
What's your character's backstory?
"The Echo of Two Worlds" -1999
Ōuyáng Míngzhé was born in Beijing, a city that had both a traditional history but also modernization. The capital, spread with skysc****rs that towered over ancient temples, shaped Ōuyáng’s earlier years and created his sense of identity. Ōuyáng Míngzhé was the child of Jian Míngzhé, a Chinese-born civil engineer steeped in his roots, and Susan Parker, an American cultural attache serving in Beijing. Theirs was a marriage symbolic of two worlds uniting, and Ōuyáng’s childhood was a reflection of that special balance.
Ōuyáng’s home life from the start was a reflection of the East-West blend. Jian was a humble man of discipline, instilling into his son the Confucian virtues of respect, accountability, and diligence. His evenings were typically reserved for poring over blueprints or debating infrastructure developments that contributed to Beijing's skyline, and he insisted Ōuyáng live a life as serious and dedicated. However, Susan brought lightness and imagination into their household. Her American sensibility encouraged communication, curiosity, and expressing emotions, traits that sometimes struggled with Jian's more introverted personality, but ultimately led to the widening of Ōuyáng’s experience.
Ōuyáng grew up in Beijing's Chaoyang neighborhood. The neighborhood was a blend of older hutongs — tight, narrow streets that were lined with courtyard houses — and newly built residential skysc****rs, which were proof of China's rapid development. As a boy, Ōuyáng would outrun his peers in the alleys, catching whiffs of food on the street, and the sounds of Mandarin instructions with the rhythms of Western popular music coming from his mother's radio.
School life was where Ōuyáng first struggled to reconcile the issues that came with his mixed heritage. Having studied at an international school that catered to displaced people as well as locals, he learned alongside pupils from multiple cultures. But Ōuyáng often found himself between two worlds — speaking smoothly in Mandarin and English, but sometimes feeling as if he didn't quite fit in with either the Chinese students, who thought of him as "too Western," or the expats, who thought of him as "too Chinese." This position drew out of Ōuyáng a lifetime quest for answers about identity and belonging.
His parents' hopes were high but different in style. Jian valued academic success above everything else, pressuring Ōuyáng to succeed in math, science, and history to satisfy their family's expectations and have a stable future. Susan, however, supported Ōuyáng in fulfilling his artistic side. She allowed him to take guitar lessons and keep a journal, writing regularly about how he perceived the world. These artistic pursuits were an outlet, allowing Ōuyáng to sort out the complexities of life.
At home, Mandarin and English were spoken freely back and forth, and Ōuyáng learned to code-switch — not just from one language to another, but from one way of being, one attitude, to another, depending on the company. When he went to his father's family gatherings, respect for elders and old mores prevailed, while his mother's friends supported combative arguments for social justice, art, and freedom for individuals.
With the diversity of cultures, Ōuyáng was sometimes alone. Classmates sometimes taunted him for being half-white, and feeling he never belonged made him grow scars that would deepen his empathy for others who were like him — outsiders. Rather than hiding, Ōuyáng channeled the feelings into motivation. He was an excellent student, he was on the student government, and worked at neighborhood community centers, helping families and kids who were immigrants with school problems.
Martial arts were a big part of Ōuyáng’s life. Jian enrolled him in wushu lessons at the age of seven, both to connect Ōuyáng to his Chinese heritage as well as instill discipline and self-confidence inside him. Ōuyáng developed not just physical skill but a deep admiration for the philosophy within the movements — inner strength, patience, and balance. His father helped in these and even occasionally went to tournaments with him, beaming with pride over his dedication.
By the time Ōuyáng entered his early teenage years, his identity was continuing to develop. He found himself a cultural ambassador in many ways, being the link between friends from multiple backgrounds. His bi-cultural existence was not free of conflict, but it proved to be a source of strength and depth. He realized at an early age that communication and empathy could clear up misunderstandings, a lesson he would come to apply to his career path in law enforcement.
Family was a component of the building blocks of Ōuyáng’s life. Although his parents showed love and discipline differently from each other, their encouragement was unlimited. Table conversation at dinnertime ranged from Jian's stories of the city development of Beijing to Susan's accounts of life in the United States. Ōuyáng’s extended family in Beijing provided him with encouragement and tradition, and Susan was close to her family in Oregon, grounding Ōuyáng in his American heritage.
Those initial years in Beijing were surrounded by cultural interchange and self-discovery, which laid the foundation for Ōuyáng’s later life. They influenced his outlook, instilling in him respect, resiliency, and the value of community. When it was time to leave Beijing for college and opportunity, Ōuyáng carried with him the lessons of his childhood — a bi-cultural heritage, both a challenge and a blessing.
"The City Within" - 2012
The glow of bright lights and the buzz of Beijing's traffic always gave the impression that the city was alive. During winter, the city experienced a rare gentleness. Ōuyáng Míngzhé understood these differences deeply by his teenage years; for example, the fast-moving world blended with centuries-old culture and hectic moments around the city, tempered by tranquil periods in concealed tea houses.
Ōuyáng entered his teenage years carrying the unique weight of his identity. His pale blonde hair had darkened slightly in childhood but grew lighter again during his aging, shimmering like pale gold under the Beijing sun. His blue eyes—so rare in the streets of Beijing—drew attention, curiosity, and sometimes unwanted scrutiny. Shopkeepers would look at him but ask if he was Russian or European due to his blue eyes. Classmates would sometimes joke, calling him "yangren," which means foreigner, despite his flawless Mandarin.
At thirteen, Ōuyáng’s height grew taller than most boys his age, his limbs slightly awkward at first. Martial arts helped him adjust. His father kept him enrolled in the wushu classes, and by junior high, Ōuyáng was competing in local tournaments. His pale hair tied back in a traditional martial arts ribbon, Ōuyáng became a familiar sight in the gym, fluidly executing complex routines with quiet intensity.
Yet inside, he wrestled with questions he could barely put into words.
He remembered one evening in eighth grade vividly. It was spring, and the scent of flowering magnolia trees drifted through the open windows of their family apartment. His mother sat at the kitchen table, sketching designs for an upcoming cultural exhibit. Ōuyáng was flipping through a social studies textbook, studying a chapter on “Modern China in the Global Age.” A photo showed foreign businessmen in suits shaking hands with Chinese officials.
"Mom," he blurted suddenly. "Do people think I'm... not Chinese?"
Susan looked up from her pencil sketch. "Why do you ask that, sweetheart?"
Ōuyáng shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Some kids say I'm not Chinese because of my hair and eyes."
Susan was quiet for a moment. "You are Chinese. And American. You're both, Ōuyáng. And that's something special, not something wrong."
Ōuyáng nodded but wasn't sure he believed it.
At school, he often felt like a guest in both cultures. He envied his Chinese classmates whose family names were steeped in local history. Whose grandparents lived in courtyard homes filled with ancestral portraits. He also felt out of place among the children of expats, whose conversations sometimes slipped into jokes about "weird Chinese food" or how crowded the city was.
Ōuyáng was deeply immersed in his studies as he sought to discover a place where he felt accepted and understood. Particularly during his language classes, he received accolades for composing essays in both Mandarin and English. Ōuyáng became a member of the student council because he wanted to assist in integrating local students with international ones. Teachers remarked on Ōuyáng’s ability to soothe disputes; rather, his calm voice, coupled with gentle yet strategic phrasing of words, made it easy to bring people together.
He had always enjoyed spending time in solitary places such as his bedroom, which offered him the opportunity to play music on his guitar or the narrow hutongs that he would stroll through deep in thought during the evening hours while wondering about how his life fit together.
One winter, a short but impactful friendship changed the way Ōuyáng perceived things. A new student had arrived in the middle of the school year: Michael Zhao, a Chinese-American boy from Los Angeles. Michael’s skin was the tone of an olive, he had a California accent, and no shame about being different. He wore a Los Angeles Lakers jacket, listened to American hip-hop, and was open about feeling "in-between."
"Dude," Michael said one day during lunch, "You're like me. We're not half anything. We're double."
Ōuyáng blinked. "Double?"
Michael grinned. "Yeah! We got two cultures, two languages, and two ways of looking at the world. It's an advantage. Own it."
It was a revelation. For the first time, Ōuyáng saw his identity as a gift, not a problem.
Michael only stayed for a year before his family returned to the United States, but their conversations would plant seeds that would shape Ōuyáng’s entire life.
Throughout high school, Ōuyáng carried this newfound confidence. He took up poetry, writing verses in English and Mandarin about identity, belonging, and the city life. He even volunteered at community centers, helping international families settle into Beijing. Teachers praised his leadership skills and his compassion, and his parents began to realize that Ōuyáng possessed a rare sensitivity—a natural bridge between worlds.
Still, some nights Ōuyáng would stare at his reflection, pale blonde hair loose around his shoulders, and wonder: "Where do I belong?"
By graduation, though, one thing was certain: he was determined to find his place—and to help others find theirs, too.
"Becoming the Bridge" - 2017
Leaving Beijing was one of the hardest things Ōuyáng had ever done.
At eighteen, he boarded a plane headed for the United States with only a single suitcase and a guitar strapped to his back. His mother wept openly at the airport, pressing dried mangoes and herbal tea into his hands, while his father clasped Ōuyáng’s shoulder firmly, murmuring, "Show the world who you are."
Ōuyáng landed in Seattle under gray skies and the gentle rain. For the first two days, he felt completely lost. Despite his perfect English, he was suddenly aware of how different everything felt—the openness of strangers chatting in line at coffee shops, the wide roads and giant pine forests, the scent of ocean air rising from the bay.
His first weeks were overwhelming, to say the least. The lecture halls were massive. The student population seemed so diverse. He found himself both invisible and highly visible: some people assumed he was an international student, speaking to him in slow, careful English. Others complimented his unique appearance—his pale blonde hair and striking blue eyes stood out in any crowd.
Ōuyáng kept his hair tied back most days. Some of his classmates called him "surfer boy." Others were fascinated when they discovered he grew up in Beijing. He often found himself explaining his heritage:
“No, I’m not Russian. No, I’m not European. I’m Chinese and American. I grew up in Beijing.”
Over time, Ōuyáng settled into his classes. Communications were perfect—he loved studying how people connected, how cultures clashed or blended, how words or gestures could bridge enormous gaps. He found a new kind of confidence in college, speaking up in seminars, writing thoughtful essays, and engaging in lecture hall debates.
But the first real breakthrough came in his sophomore of college during a Cultural Identity seminar. The professor, Dr. Adrienne Clark, was a mixed woman who spoke openly about navigating dual worlds.
“Your identity isn’t a puzzle you have to solve,” she told the class one day. “It’s a story you get to write. You decide how you belong.”
Ōuyáng sat there stunned, those words echoing in his chest. Later that evening, he emailed Dr. Clark, thanking her for the lecture. They met for coffee multiple times that semester, talking about cultural code switching, microaggressions, and the quiet exhaustion of always explaining oneself.
Ōuyáng began writing poetry and essays about her experiences as a bicultural person under the guidance of Dr. Clark. One of the poems, "Skyline Between Two Worlds," was printed in a literary journal on campus. In it, he talked about how the lights of Beijing and Seattle would blend together in his dreams, how his thoughts would constantly switch between Mandarin and English, and how carrying different cultures can be both beautiful and heavy.
Past academics, Ōuyáng found peace in familiar practices. He joined a local martial arts school to continue his wushu training. At first, he felt awkward entering a dojo in Seattle, unsure how the American instructors would react to his Chinese techniques. But soon, he was helping teach classes, blending traditional forms with modern techniques. Martial arts stayed as his anchor—a physical meditation that kept his mind and his body in shape.
Ōuyáng also played guitar at his campus's open mics. Under the dim stage lights, he performed quietly acoustic songs, some of which were in Mandarin, some in English. His music, just like his poetry, became one of many outlets for everything he struggled to speak on in daily conversations.
As Ōuyáng approached his junior year, he began working part-time as a community outreach assistant at a local nonprofit. The organization Ōuyáng worked at helped immigrant families adjust to life in the U.S., offering translation services, resources for housing, and cultural workshops. Ōuyáng translated documents, ran after-school programs, and helped calm down conversations between frustrated parents and overwhelmed schools.
One day, a tense situation occurred when a Mandarin-speaking family arrived at the office. Their Chinese son, Kai, had been accused of shoplifting. The parents were angry and petrified; they didn't fully understand the legal documents they'd been given.
Ōuyáng sat with them for nearly two hours, translating the document word by word, helping them understand their rights, and calming their fears. He gave the staff social worker an explanation of cultural quirks, emphasizing that the family was extremely distressed by losing face and that empathy, not accusations, would work better.
The director of the nonprofit took Ōuyáng aside.
"Ōuyáng, you have an incredible gift. You’re able to bridge gaps most people can’t even see."
That moment stayed with him. For the first time, he realized he didn’t want to simply exist between cultures—he wanted to connect them.
By senior year, Ōuyáng was thriving. He served as president of the Multicultural Student Alliance, organized cross-cultural events, and started a campus blog featuring stories of students with different backgrounds. Professors praised his empathy and leadership. Friends described him as quiet but intense, driven by a sense of purpose that seemed deeper than just ambition.
But Ōuyáng also faced inner battles. Late at night, Ōuyáng would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the glow of the lights in the street filtering through his blinds. He wondered what he was supposed to do next. He wanted to do more than just work at a desk, a comfortable job; he wanted meaning. Something that would put his skills to use, his empathy, and his desire to keep others safe.
The answer to all of Ōuyáng's questions came the summer right before his graduation. Ōuyáng witnessed a mugging outside a coffee shop on his campus. A woman screamed as a man grabbed her purse and shoved her to the curb. Without thinking, Ōuyáng ran forward. He chased the attackers for two blocks, tackling them in an alley. By the time the campus police got to the scene, Ōuyáng was holding the perpetrator down; he was gasping for air, but was determined.
In the aftermath, an officer pulled Ōuyáng aside.
“You ever thought about law enforcement? You’d make a hell of a cop.”
That idea planted itself like a seed.
At first, Ōuyáng was hesitant. Could someone like him, soft spoken, poetic, culturally complicated, Fit into the world of law enforcement? He imagined being in a patrol car, flashing lights, radios cracking with codes. It felt so different from poetry readings and cultural festivals.
But the more they thought about it, the more it made sense. Police work wasn't only about brute strength. It was about communication, de-escalation, and understanding people from all types of different backgrounds. It was about protecting those who couldn't protect their selfs. Ōuyáng realized that his bilingual skills, cultural sensitivity, and calm under pressure were exactly what modern policing needed.
He started researching law enforcement careers. He read articles on community policing, mental intervention, and how departments were evolving to build trust with different communities. He reached out to local officers for interviews to help him get a better understanding, which is how he discovered the modern departments valued empathy and knowledge of different cultures.
By the time of graduation, Ōuyáng was convinced: this was his path. He wanted to serve. To protect. To bridge divides and ensure justice was fair and compassionate.
On his graduation day, Ōuyáng stood in his white dress shirt and gown, his pale blonde hair under the June sun. His parents flew all the way to Seattle from Beijing to watch him cross the stage. Jian hugged him with quiet pride. Susan stood there wiping tears from her face.
"I don’t know where you’ll end up, Ōuyáng," his mother said, gripping his hands. "But I know you’ll help people. That’s who you are."
Ōuyáng looked out across the campus he had learned to love. For the first time, he felt certain that his story was unfolding—and that he would write the next chapters with purpose.
"A Path Begins" -2021
After graduating from university, Ōuyáng Míngzhé returned to Beijing for some time, carrying both pride and uncertainty. The city, with the neon lights, old, rundown alleys, and a constant noise, the noise felt somewhat familiar, but somehow changed. The streets he once knew seemed smaller, almost like he had outgrown the place, or perhaps the place had outgrown him. He walked past the same narrow tea shops and ancient temples, now noticing details he had once ignored—the way the incense curled lazily around carved beams, or how the hush of the temples contrasted with the chaos outside.
Ōuyáng didn't know where he wanted to settle, Ōuyáng explored several jobs that allowed him to connect with people. He worked as a translator and cultural guide for firms, helping bring together foreign teams and local Chinese staff. His fluency in two languages and gentle way of listening made him a natural mediator. Sometimes, one wrong word could change the whole vibe of a meeting, and Ōuyáng found quiet satisfaction in resolving those tensions.
Outside of work, he volunteered at community centers and local festivals in his neighborhood, helping keep crowds safe and calming down small disputes between vendors. Though these moments seemed like a routine, Ōuyáng began to realize that he was attracted to work that required structure and serving people. He realized he didn't just want a job—he wanted something that mattered.
Martial arts stayed as his foundation. He continued to train with serious dedication, entering local tournaments, where the air smelled of sweat and wood polish, and the mats echoed with strict calls and the thud of practice pads "Wapow." Yet for Ōuyáng, it wasn't about winning medals and getting first place. It was about discipline, the ritual of forms. Each bout reminded him that strength wasn’t only physical—it was about restraint, awareness, and control. and the mental stillness he achieved even in the middle of combat.
It was during one quiet evening walk, Ōuyáng was passing through a crowded market, and he saw a fight break out between two men, escalating from just an argument with shouts to flying fists. Instinct took over. Without thinking, Ōuyáng stepped in, using calm words and gentle but firm gestures to separate the pair. By the time authorities had arrived, the situation had already been defused, though Ōuyáng's heart was still pounding, and he was shaken up. Later that night, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he'd glimpsed his purpose. He wanted to be the person who could stand up in chaos, not for recognition, but because it was simply right.
At twenty-five, Ōuyáng started researching law enforcement pathways. He read everything he could find online about police work, from he procedures to the protocols. He decided to move to Karakura to get a fresh start.
General knowledge
Can you legally own a pocket knife in Karakura?
“As far as I know, it’s illegal to own or carry a pocket knife in Karakura. Even small blades are considered prohibited weapons under local laws, and carrying one could lead to an arrest for carrying an illegal weapon and being charged for possession of illegal weaponry as well as a fine of around 150k with a sentence of 3 months, so it’s definitely not worth the risk.”
Name 5 medical items that do NOT require a prescription
“Sure—that’d be things like cough syrup, an eye patch, glasses, a wooden cane, and a hearing aid. All of those you can usually buy without a prescription.”
If you see your co-workers physically abusing an inmate, what should you do?
"If I witnessed my fellow employees in another facility physically abusing an inmate, I immediately would intervene to cease the abusive behavior If I could safely do so, protecting the rights and safety of those in custody is a part of an officer’s job. If I survived the immediate danger, I would write up the incident and report it to my supervisors, or to internal affairs, and detail for them everything I had seen. “There is no place for physical abuse in any part of our society, including the police department,” he continued. “Officers have to be accountable to maintain the public’s confidence in the department."
What should you do if you see your co-worker being assaulted?
"The first thing that I would like to do is protect their safety if, via my eyes, I saw my co-worker getting assaulted. I would immediately step in, applying necessary and legal force to interrupt the attack and calling for additional help or medical aid if necessary. When the situation was safe, I would assist in assessing for injury, preserving evidence and documenting things accurately to report. It’s crucial to intervene quickly and protect one’s fellow officers, as well as to make sure that suspects are, indeed, being handled in the appropriate manner and lawfully."
What do you do if you find out that your co-worker is corrupt and is helping criminal organizations?
"If I learned that my coworker was corrupt, and was working for the criminal gangs, I would collect all reliable, accurate evidence possible without putting anyone, including me, in immediate danger. From there, guilty until proved innocent. When given the info, I would take the info straight to my chain of command or to IA (internal affairs) the way things are supposed to be done. I do, however, think that corruption is a threat to put a damper on the trust and goodwill upon which law enforcement depends, and a danger which puts the lives of both officers and the people in their jurisdiction at risk. It may be uncomfortable, I would move to see that the law is fairly and consistently applied, including to the betrayal of one’s duty."
How would you react to a criminal trying to bribe you?
"If a criminal offered me a bribe, I’d say, ‘No, I can’t take that bribe,’ and I would say to this criminal, ‘The fact that you want to influence me with money or benefits in order to take action is something that is illegal and inappropriate. I would remain as calm as I could, not escalate the situation if I could avoid it and take in as much as I could in terms of evidence about the attempt to bribe me — my best evidence of the exact words used, if any physical evidence was involved and if there were any witnesses. At a time when it was safe and reasonable to do so, I would report the incident to my supervisor and chart it as clearly as I could. Taking a bribe is contrary to what I believe and undermines the trust people have in law enforcement."
“As far as I know, it’s illegal to own or carry a pocket knife in Karakura. Even small blades are considered prohibited weapons under local laws, and carrying one could lead to an arrest for carrying an illegal weapon and being charged for possession of illegal weaponry as well as a fine of around 150k with a sentence of 3 months, so it’s definitely not worth the risk.”
Name 5 medical items that do NOT require a prescription
“Sure—that’d be things like cough syrup, an eye patch, glasses, a wooden cane, and a hearing aid. All of those you can usually buy without a prescription.”
If you see your co-workers physically abusing an inmate, what should you do?
"If I witnessed my fellow employees in another facility physically abusing an inmate, I immediately would intervene to cease the abusive behavior If I could safely do so, protecting the rights and safety of those in custody is a part of an officer’s job. If I survived the immediate danger, I would write up the incident and report it to my supervisors, or to internal affairs, and detail for them everything I had seen. “There is no place for physical abuse in any part of our society, including the police department,” he continued. “Officers have to be accountable to maintain the public’s confidence in the department."
What should you do if you see your co-worker being assaulted?
"The first thing that I would like to do is protect their safety if, via my eyes, I saw my co-worker getting assaulted. I would immediately step in, applying necessary and legal force to interrupt the attack and calling for additional help or medical aid if necessary. When the situation was safe, I would assist in assessing for injury, preserving evidence and documenting things accurately to report. It’s crucial to intervene quickly and protect one’s fellow officers, as well as to make sure that suspects are, indeed, being handled in the appropriate manner and lawfully."
What do you do if you find out that your co-worker is corrupt and is helping criminal organizations?
"If I learned that my coworker was corrupt, and was working for the criminal gangs, I would collect all reliable, accurate evidence possible without putting anyone, including me, in immediate danger. From there, guilty until proved innocent. When given the info, I would take the info straight to my chain of command or to IA (internal affairs) the way things are supposed to be done. I do, however, think that corruption is a threat to put a damper on the trust and goodwill upon which law enforcement depends, and a danger which puts the lives of both officers and the people in their jurisdiction at risk. It may be uncomfortable, I would move to see that the law is fairly and consistently applied, including to the betrayal of one’s duty."
How would you react to a criminal trying to bribe you?
"If a criminal offered me a bribe, I’d say, ‘No, I can’t take that bribe,’ and I would say to this criminal, ‘The fact that you want to influence me with money or benefits in order to take action is something that is illegal and inappropriate. I would remain as calm as I could, not escalate the situation if I could avoid it and take in as much as I could in terms of evidence about the attempt to bribe me — my best evidence of the exact words used, if any physical evidence was involved and if there were any witnesses. At a time when it was safe and reasonable to do so, I would report the incident to my supervisor and chart it as clearly as I could. Taking a bribe is contrary to what I believe and undermines the trust people have in law enforcement."
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