Opening the diagnostics interface, I scanned the damage reports. The first thing that caught my eye was a critical systems notification my body needed a reboot. Energy reserves were nearly drained, and my systems were running over 50% above normal load. No wonder I felt like I'd been run over by a truck.
I tapped into the police comm grid incident reports and distress calls flooded the screen. This wasn't random. This was a coordinated op a full-scale attack. But for what?
So many resources poured into this district a place mostly known for its nightlife and residents. That could only mean big money was involved. Entertainment zones were under Valentinos control, so someone was clearly gunning to knock them out. Could've been the Sixth Street gang they'd been eyeing this turf for a while. And now, the Tyger Claws were showing up too.
But why launch such a loud assault? Drawing so much attention? It didn't add up. There had to be more to it. Or maybe… something completely different.
But I was just a grunt. What was I even doing thinking like this? Old habits, I guess. Back then, they'd have assigned me to investigate something like this. I'd have dug to the bottom of it. Now? It was pointless.
"Are you joining your sergeant?" a man with a medical badge asked.
"Yes. I'm currently in a non-operational state. I can't act without my sergeant," I replied, sticking to protocol. Trainees weren't authorized to act independently. And personally, I just needed to make sure Damian would make it.
They loaded Damian into the med transport, and I took a seat beside him. The medic quickly connected stabilization devices, assessing his vitals.
The monitor fed me the report: severe internal bleeding, multiple trauma sites. Immediate surgery required. His condition was critical but not hopeless.
"Sir, do you require medical attention?" asked a female medic.
"No. I need a ripperdoc to swap out some parts," I said flatly.
"Understood," she nodded.
We arrived at the main clinic not long after. The place was packed overflowing with casualties. It looked like a war zone. I knew there'd be even more people here if not for one simple fact: this place only treated those with money or assets. The rest were left to die outside.
We were lucky cops had medical coverage, at least while on duty. Off-duty? You were on your own.
I sat down in the waiting area, hoping for news on Damian. The minutes dragged on, each second stretching longer than the last. The weight in my mind was back same as always. Whenever I started analyzing things, system strain would spike.
System Load: 59%.
Once it hit 60, the warning would flip to red Cognitive Failure Risk and the system would flash alerts. The percentage crept higher, and I could feel reality slipping, becoming blurred, insubstantial.
Then they came.
Pink butterflies flickered through the room, filling my vision. A strange effect I'd seen it once before. Back then, I was in critical shape, focused only on reaching a safe zone. Now, I was relatively secure. I could afford to stop and figure out what the hell was going on.
The butterflies danced before my eyes, vanishing and reappearing. Wherever they fluttered, static followed glitches warping the room into chaotic strings of symbols. Briefly, those symbols twisted into words but they were distorted, unreadable, like something was actively keeping me from seeing them clearly.
That's enough for today, I thought, and shut down my active consciousness, setting a trigger to wake me if anyone called for me.
The next thing I knew, I was back home.
I stepped outside and the world around me fragmented. Broken, incomplete.
So this is how it'll be from now on.
**********************************************************
After some rest, I switched back to active mode. The moment I came to, I saw a boy and a girl standing right in front of me, studying my face with curious intensity. They looked about six years old and were drawing lines on my face with a marker, completely absorbed in their play.
I stood up without reacting to their actions and headed toward the reception desk. After only a few steps, I stopped abruptly. Their faces… they seemed familiar. Where had I seen them before?
I turned around but the children were gone. Only a few scattered people remained in the waiting area.
The last time, someone had also drawn something on my face in the train. But I never caught a clear glimpse of the boy's face back then. I moved toward the nearest reflective surface and checked. No markings. Nothing. Hallucinations?
Maybe a side effect of entering the critical stage.
"What's Sergeant Damian Todd's condition?" I asked the woman at the reception desk.
"One moment. He recently underwent surgery. He's resting now," the nurse replied.
"What room is he in? I need to confirm his status."
"Room 214," she said.
I made my way to his room. It was close to six o'clock. Checking the police comms again, I saw the situation had mostly stabilized. Most incidents had been resolved. An order came through: temporary leave until Sergeant Damian Todd recovered.
When I reached his room, I stepped inside. Damian was already conscious. Impressive, what modern medicine could do his injuries had been dealt with, and he was awake.
"Matthew…" Todd's voice was weak as he looked at me.
"How are you?" I asked, sitting beside his bed.
"I'm fine. Not my first time," he said with a tired smile.
"I'm sorry. It's my fault. We should've pulled back. I never should've pushed the chase, or worse, jumped into a fight."
Back when I got behind the wheel, I made a choice. And that choice got him hurt.
"It's okay. It's our job," Damian said softly.
"You know… I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Most of the time, my partners paid the price. I always went places others wouldn't. And the cost… was their lives. Never mine."
I stared at the floor.
"So that's where your death wish comes from," Damian said with a faint grin.
"You have a family. I don't want them to hear that I got you killed. Maybe I should transfer… to a different department, somewhere I won't be a liability." My voice dropped lower. "Whoever they assign to me, I forget they're just human. And I drag them into places they should never be."
"Don't be rash. Things happen. Let me recover, and we'll talk," he replied, still trying to smile through the pain.
"All right. You know…" I began, but the door opened before I could finish.
A group of children of various ages burst into the room, followed by a woman in her thirties. According to the database, this was Damian's wife and their kids.
"Daddy!" the children cried out, rushing to hug him as he smiled and welcomed them with open arms.
Realizing I was intruding, I stepped back toward the exit. Then I turned to look at the scene this family, alive and loving.
I looked away, bitterness rising in my throat. I had a family once. But I destroyed it… along with myself.
A tear would've rolled down my cheek but I'm not human. I'm a machine.
The children's faces I don't remember them. I don't remember what my wife looked like. Why was I brought back?
To suffer again?
Lost in thought, I wandered slowly back to my quarters.
Broken in body. Broken in soul.