A witness called in the incident—shouting between two sisters inside a home. In a neighborhood of one-story ranch houses and serene weather, it’s not exactly the scene of a domestic dispute. But Gloria Bent, a member of Community Board 7, goes in. One of the sisters, abutting her front door, urges Bent to get her other sister out of the house.

The woman’s tics and moaning drawl suggests she’s high and agitated. She fidgets with a pair of scissors. Bent notices her voice growing more impatient. “She’s in here, she’s bothering me; she’s telling me she wants me to get out of here,” said the trespasser.

In a swift beat, the woman lunges for Bent, scissors in hand, ready to stab. Bent, who unsuccessfully used soft-spoken commands, could’ve used a standard police gun to take out the woman, but it was too late. Angry eyes. Fade to black. “Oh my God,” whispered Bent.

Bent, who really works in healthcare, would’ve been dead. Lucky for her, it was a simulation that’s a reality for thousands of officers.

For Bent and the rest of Community Board 7’s Public Safety Committee, it was an unusual meeting. The committee, which usually discusses safety issues at the Board office, tested their mettle at Monroe College in Fordham, stepping into the shoes of a police officer.

At a time when officer-involved shootings (there were 21 reported police-involved shootings last year, according to NYPD data), especially those videotaped, have driven an even greater wedge between police and communities, Monroe College’s School of Criminal Justice has brought the issue to the forefront with a training simulator that puts would-be officers in vulnerable domestic or street encounters. The program, nicknamed the Law Enforcement Training Simulator, serves as one of several classes criminal justice students enroll in as part of their education, and a variation of what NYPD cadets go through at the Police Academy in the borough of Queens. There, cadets participate in a scenario with live actors portraying suspects, lending a more authentic experience.

Each tense exercise involves hair-raising decisions often coinciding with a dose of cautious paranoia. For participants, empathy follows.

“It helps you understand what they’re going through,” said Ernest Cooper, attending the exercise with Bent.

In a classroom at the college’s Jerome Hall, a large screen envelopes one side of the room. The screen plays a video featuring textbook domestic or street encounters between police and community residents. A laser weapon, designed to look and feel like a gun, is used during the presentation. Success, usually involving a suspect surviving an encounter, is determined by the professor.  If it appears a student has control over a mock scenario, a professor presses a button activating a version where the suspect obeys. If not, the scene plays out where a suspect flashes a gun, forcing the student to shoot.

“We tell the students this is not a game. This is not Grand Theft Auto. This is a real situation,” said Everett Faison, a professor of criminal justice at Monroe College. “It’s about not teaching the students deadly force.”

Each scenario was followed by a conversation on why the shooting was justified. In every instance, a weapon was shown or used prior to the shooting. This was illustrated in another incident where another Board member tried out the simulator. In this case, a suspect with a gun stuff to his backside was shot in the back.

“Anybody had a problem with the fact that she shot him,” asked Faison.

“She was justified,” said a guest.

“Why was she justified?”

“Because she saw a weapon about to be used to kill.”

“Even though she shot him in the back?” asked Faison.

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely right. A lot of people complain, ‘she shot him in the back.’ Why did she shoot him in the back?’ He had a weapon,” said Faison. “She saw a weapon and not only did he have a weapon but the way he grabbed it…He grabbed it full grip.”

But more questions came: why not shoot them in the leg? Why not a Taser?  Why not a swift kick to the chest?

“It really all varies. It could go from zero to 100 so quick and in a blink of an eye,” said Police Officer Michael Puente, the 52nd Precinct’s Crime Prevention Officer, attending the meeting. “And that’s how fast a knife could be pulled out or a gun.”