My stomach was turning as I sprayed more bleach solution onto a bloodstain on the floor of the ambulance. The droning whir of ventilation and rumbling engines was drowned out by the headphones wrapped around the back of my head. I fought to keep my secondary tongue in my mouth, already feeling the burn of chemicals along it from an accidental scenting earlier.

  Dutch was running sanitizing wipes along the equipment bays further in, his own dwarven rock hammering loud from the cab. As the last of the bloody stain soaked into the rag in my claws, I sighed aloud, one hand on my stomach. It rumbled underclaw, hunger gnawing at my bones. My head rose, the Dwarf having stopped wiping, saying something.

  Pulling my headphones off, my head cocked to one side. "What?"

  "Cops behind ya, Vidr. Said they wanted a quick statement about the poor sod you put a round in." He rumbled. His eyes stayed on my snout for a moment. "I'll finish this up." His steel-toed boots thudded off the deck of the ambulance as he grabbed more cleaning supplies.

  Turning, there were the same two officers who had been at the nightclub. "Vidr, was it? Station just needs a quick rundown of your involvement, then you can head back to work." Officer Halsin said, his name embroidered along his plate carrier.

  "Sure. Fine. Somewhere else, preferably." I said, hissing in annoyance, handing my spray bottle and rag to Dutch.

  "Yeah, sure." Halsin nodded. His partner, Officer Nathan, looked pale, but moved steadily. When he turned, there was still a decent-sized dent in the back plate of his carrier. The two officers led the way into the staff room, now occupied by six other EMS staff, two in a chess match, with the other four kicking back, watching TV. The Karma Klub was on the news.

  Halsin sat down at a table, Nathan laying out some papers for him and gingerly taking his own seat. I threaded my tail through the hole in the back of my seat, landing heavily. "What do you need from me?" I hissed.

  "Nothing much. Quick description of what happened. End of the day, you stopped the threat and got your patient back in mostly one piece. File on you says you're ex-CGM, and your performance confirms that. Won't see any issues with us." Halsin promised, hands up, calmingly.

  "We arrived on scene to treat the patient and transport them back to hospital care. While Officer Nathan and I were moving the gurney, the original perpetrator came through the front door, shot Nathan, and engaged us. I had a patient to secure, so I did that." I rattled, arms crossed.

  "Perfect. Self defense and defense of a peace officer. Just getting the formality out of the way. Keeps us all on the books. Though I do wish you wore blue, instead of yellow." He admitted with a chuckle.

  I held his gaze for a long few moments before shaking my head. "Not for me, Officer. " Behind my bored expression, I held back the emotions the words brought. At Halsin's confused look and Nathan's slightly widened eyes, I chuckled. "That others may live, Officer. That others may live." With that, I stood and slipped back into the garage.

  The heavy door fell shut with a bang behind me as I leaned against the railing of the gantry, looking down on the vehicle bay. Another rumble ran through my stomach as I lit a cigarette, claws clanging against the metal mesh of the stairs as I descended to the concrete floor. Dutch was packing away the cleaning supplies on the cart, rubbing the back of his neck. Our gurney had been brought out and loaded into the ambulance's patient cabin.

  "Dunno about you, scales. But I'm hungry. Let's catch some breakfast before we get dragged out again, eh?" Dutch asked, stretching. He slammed the back doors of the ambulance shut, ambling around to jump in the driver's seat. I blinked, taking a deep drag from the cigarette before dropping it, crushing the stub to ash under my boot. Then I dropped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. Dutch was tapping away on his commlink, free hand starting the engine.

  "Sure. I was about to ask." I yawned, leaning back in the seat, tail pulled around to my front, idly carding through the feathers at its tip. As we exited the garage, the rain threatened to drown out my thoughts, hammering against the cab. Dutch pulled a hard turn, and off we went.

  The restaurant itself was nothing special. Another forgettable greasy-spoon diner, its name forgotten by the time I was sitting back in the passenger's seat, full and bored. The day blurred past—four gunshot wounds, ten frequent flyers, and six poor corporats dehydrated in their cubicles. Dutch had called it a shitty Christmas song.

  

  //11-01-2099 - - 19:47//

  Dutch had parked us off Main Street, watching the city's nightlife crawl from the shadows and into the neon spotlight. I almost choked on the hot coffee I was drinking when that itching sand began to crawl up the data cable of my radio.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  <> Dispatch chattered in my ear. The droll dispatcher from that morning had left, a chipper woman having taken their place. Her voice had the dull hisses of another Saurid. Dutch groaned loudly as he flicked the windshield wipers on again.

  "CCT012, Code 2, copy." He rumbled as the wipers screeched against the glass.

  <> She twittered, words clear despite the warbling vocalization underneath them.

  "CCT012 copies. Security guard with lacerations, bleeding controlled. Stable scene." Dutch grumbled.

  <> She chimed before jumping to another line.

  "Enjoy the rain she says," I growled. "From the Dispatch building, she says it."

  "Lucky lizard." Dutch agreed, already rolling us onto the street, red and blue lights strobing against the streaking rain. The city streaked by as the ambulance left the Jewel at the city's heart, and across The Bench, and into the industrial Bleed.

  The ambulance bounced along the uneven road, cracks in the asphalt filled in with tar snakes and gravel. Flashing in the gloom of the rain were the lights of a police car, parked halfway through one of the many industrial gates that sealed off the lots. An officer standing near its trunk waved at us.

  Dutch pulled up alongside him and rolled my window down. "Do we need to turn in, or is the patient able to walk this far?" I asked. The name on the officer's carrier rig read 'Officer Kulkin.' The thick tusks of an orc jutted from his lower jaw.

  "He can. I'd just check on him before he moves. See what's going on. Bit of a doozy, this one," he said, devolving into a belted-out laugh.

  "What about the perpetrator? Is he in need of aid? Dispatch said he was high?" I pushed, scowling at the sky as rain began splattering off my head as I slid out of the passenger's seat. He laughed again.

  "No, probably not. Just high and dry. Head on in. You'll see," the orc snickered, shaking his head. My own cocked to one side in curiosity that I immediately regretted, a drop of rain landing directly in one eye. I hissed, moving in.

  I carefully stepped over puddles of rainwater mixed with pearlescent engine oil and gods-know-what-else. The scene and Dispatch's call made much more sense as I looked over the scene in front of me. The security guard, a burly human, sat idly under an awning attached to the main building, bandages already wrapped tight around his arms, as he held a patch of gauze against his side. The other officer stood beside him, taking his statement. But neither could keep their focus on the conversation for long.

  Both kept looking at what sat on the muddy ground in one of the many aisles between stacks of old cars. A long industrial forklift, with another orcish man in the driver's seat, holding the wreckage of an old sedan twenty feet in the air. A woman with beady red cybernetic eyes was shrieking from the top of her lungs, words mostly drowned out by the rain. "I have rights! Citizens' arrest was made no longer possible! Arrest this tusker !" Her bob cut hair was soaked, pinned to her skull by the rain.

  The orc was cackling, unable to sit up straight. Every word out of the woman's mouth sent him curling up on himself in laughter. "What the fuck circus have I just walked into?" I asked, tapping a toe claw twice, reaching for my cigarettes. I stopped as I felt the heavy nylon of my paramedic's jacket, my job forgotten for a moment in the absurdity.

  The officer spoke, an elvish woman with 'Officer Nettle' embroidered on a patch on her rig. "Perpetrator has been arrested here, now, three times. Old catalytic converters and motherboard theft. Keeps coming back. I would say the high and mighty have now fallen low, but..." Her slender features creased into a barely contained smile.

  "YOU! PARAMEDIC. I CAN'T HELP ME!" she screeched.

  "Your airways sound just fine. Breathing is patent. So no." I called back, ducking under the awning's shadow. The security guard winced as he laughed, shaking his head. I knelt, running the scanner in the palm of my hand over him. None of the cuts had struck arteries or organs. Most had stopped in the stab vest he wore. "Well. Pretty much nothing for me to do for you here, except run an IV in the rig. Feeling alright, sir?" I asked.

  "Fine enough, thank you. Just hurts to laugh at the canary." He snorted, wincing again. I helped him stand slowly, guiding him through the rain. The woman kept shrieking obscenities as the officers had the orc lower the wrecked sedan. Dutch was slapping his knee, wheezing with laughter, having moved to follow me. He hadn't made it further than the corner of the warehouse.

  

  //11-02-2099 - - 05:48//

  The rest of the night went past with another dozen calls. Finally, Dutch wheeled us into the garage for the last time. No sunrise had come to greet us on our last stretch of road for the shift, still hidden behind clouds and leviathan air freighters.

  Silently, we both trudged into the locker room. Dutch slipped to the back to shower. I slid the heavy jacket off, a dizziness almost overtaking me as its heavy weight left me. I pulled my civilian jacket on silently and stalked out of the hospital back into the rain. Only the heat of my vest kept me going as I fell into the driver's seat. A glowing, amber envelope slid into view, burning through the vignette of exhaustion along my peripherals. Its contents made my head thud against the steering wheel.

  //The Selector has sent you a message!//

  //Contents: Good work today. I and I are sure to reason that you make a good doc on the street. Be at Zion's kitchen, 21:00 sharp. Dinner and detes then. Jah be with you, scaled bredda.//