Chapter Text
Date: 04/07/2028
Time: 9:18:57
The morning sun reflected off the glass facades of the skyscrapers, spilling warm light across the streets and making even the concrete seem just a little more welcoming. The city had awakened earlier than usual. There had always been something special about the Fourth of July. Not only for those planning to watch the fireworks that evening, but also for the people who had been lining the sidewalks since dawn, setting up barricades and hanging row after row of American flags.
The final preparations for the afternoon parade were underway along the main avenues. City workers were putting up metal barriers, volunteers were unfurling long stretches of red, white, and blue decorations, while vendors opened their small stands selling popcorn, lemonade, and hot dogs. The air carried the scent of freshly baked buns, coffee, and asphalt already warming beneath the summer sun.
Entire families filled the streets. Children ran with balloons tied around their wrists, waving little paper flags as though the success of the entire celebration depended on them. A little farther down the street, a handful of teenagers were already trying to set off the first firecrackers, despite the fireworks display still being hours away. Music drifted from the open windows of a nearby café, blending with the sound of passing cars and the growing hum of conversation that became louder with every passing minute.
Detroit was alive.
A patrol car slowly threaded its way through the morning bustle, passing intersections and clusters of pedestrians. Flags and garlands strung across the street reflected across its hood, while the air conditioning hummed quietly in the background, struggling against the July heat. The radio played softly. An old rock song drifted from the speakers, almost swallowed by the noise of the city.
Evelyn was driving. Her left hand rested casually on the steering wheel while the fingers of her right hand tapped an almost imperceptible rhythm against its lower rim, unconsciously keeping time with the music. Her gaze moved calmly between the road, the mirrors, and the endless succession of crosswalks. Traffic was heavier than usual, though it hadn't descended into chaos yet. The city was only beginning to gather momentum.
The passenger seat was its usual mess. A state that had stopped surprising anyone years ago. A paper bag from the bakery, two cups of coffee that slid dangerously in their holders every time the car turned, and a police tablet carelessly wedged between the seat and the door. A pair of sunglasses rested on the center armrest, their owner having apparently forgotten to put them on yet again.
"You know, one day I'm actually going to wear those," Hudson said, as though he'd read her mind.
He leaned more comfortably against the door, picked up the sunglasses, turned them over in his hands for a moment, then placed them back exactly where they'd been.
Evelyn didn't even look at him.
"No, you won't."
The corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. She didn't have to turn her head to know exactly what he'd just done. The same ritual had been going on for months. Nearly every day her partner announced that this time he was finally going to wear his sunglasses, and yet, for reasons neither of them could explain, they always ended up exactly where they'd started. Evelyn had long since stopped pretending she believed him.
Hudson let out an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. He looked genuinely offended by her complete lack of faith in his abilities.
"And what makes you so sure?"
"Because I've been hearing it since last summer," she replied calmly, never taking her eyes off the road. As she brought the cruiser to a stop at a crosswalk, she lifted one hand from the steering wheel, letting a family with a stroller cross in front of them. "And every single time it ends exactly the same way."
"That's called consistency," he replied with conviction, settling deeper into his seat and folding his arms across his chest.
"No. That's called memory loss."
For a few seconds, only the music filled the car again. Outside, a group of teenagers hurried past with backpacks stuffed full of fireworks. Across the street, someone was unfolding an enormous American flag, while a popcorn vendor was setting the last menu board beside the sidewalk. Evelyn eased the cruiser forward, stealing a glance at her partner from the corner of her eye. The sunglasses were still exactly where they'd been before.
"See?"
Hudson looked at her first, then at the sunglasses. The expression on his face made it painfully obvious that he'd only just remembered putting them down between the seats.
"That was intentional," he declared, lifting his chin slightly. "I was testing the limits of your patience."
"Of course you were," she agreed with perfect seriousness. A seriousness that lasted barely a fraction of a second before amusement took over again. "And, as usual, you failed your own test."
"Maybe. But the sun isn't bright enough yet."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow and glanced away from the road just long enough to look at him. The July sunlight poured straight through the windshield into his eyes, forcing him to squint. A detail that thoroughly undermined his entire argument.
"Hudson..."
"Fine. I forgot," he admitted with a sigh, though the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth suggested he didn't feel defeated in the slightest.
"I knew it," She rested both hands on the steering wheel again.
"But I forgot very professionally," he added.
Evelyn rolled her eyes so hard she briefly wondered whether there was a medical limit to how much disapproval a person could physically express before sustaining an injury. With the man sitting beside her, she was becoming increasingly convinced that scientists ought to look into it.
"You really can justify anything," she muttered. The smile that accompanied the words stripped them of any real severity.
Hudson shrugged. To him, getting under his partner's skin was the highest compliment imaginable, not another criticism to add to the list. He reached for his coffee, took a cautious sip, and almost immediately grimaced, pulling the cup away from his lips.
"It's one of my best qualities," he announced. He peered into the cup with obvious disappointment, as though the coffee itself were somehow responsible for its own temperature. "Still too hot."
"You were the one who insisted on buying it five minutes ago," Evelyn reminded him calmly as she stopped for another crosswalk. An elderly man was helping his granddaughter walk her bicycle across the street. Once they reached the other side, he raised a hand in thanks. She smiled back before turning her attention to Hudson again. "Besides, that's coming from the man who managed to lose his badge three times."
Hudson inhaled sharply and turned toward her in mock outrage.
"I didn't anticipate physics deciding to turn against me," he pouted, stamping one foot against the floor of the cruiser like a sulking child. He raised an index finger, ready to correct what he clearly considered the most important part of her statement. "And it wasn't three times. It was two."
"Three," Evelyn corrected immediately.
"One of them doesn't count," he protested, dragging out the words.
Evelyn slowed as they approached the next intersection. Several children dashed across the crosswalk with balloons floating high above their heads, and one of them stopped just long enough to wave enthusiastically at the passing police officers. She answered with a small smile and a nod. Only after the cruiser started moving again did she turn to her friend with unmistakable curiosity.
"And why's that?"
Hudson spread his hands and smiled with such genuine satisfaction that it looked as though he'd been waiting for her to ask.
"Because it found itself."
Evelyn bit her lower lip, trying to decide whether she'd just heard the worst excuse of the week or perhaps the entire month. The longer she thought about it, the more she leaned toward the latter.
"Found itself," she repeated slowly.
"Exactly."
"You found it in your desk drawer."
"Which means it came home," he replied proudly, puffing himself up like a peacock. "Very responsible badge."
For a moment Evelyn kept her eyes on the road, doing her best not to laugh. Lately she'd begun to suspect Hudson could build a perfectly convincing theory out of absolutely any absurdity he came up with. Worse still, he delivered them with such unwavering confidence that, every now and then, she found herself wondering whether he might actually have the tiniest bit of a point. She'd also wondered whether there was any possible way to argue with a logic that ignored facts just as effortlessly as it ignored common sense.
She'd eventually concluded there wasn't.
"Sometimes I genuinely worry about you," she sighed, glancing at him. They'd had conversations like this dozens of times already, and she had a feeling they'd have dozens more.
"And yet you still work with me," he pointed out with a broad grin.
"Because nobody else would put up with you."
Clearly pleased with her answer, Hudson rested his elbow on the center console and began drumming his fingers to the rhythm of the song playing on the radio. A moment later, he enthusiastically joined the singer. His enthusiasm was considerably greater than his ability.
He sounds like a cat with its tail caught in the door.
Evelyn wrinkled her nose and subtly shifted a few inches farther away. She hoped the extra distance might offer at least a little protection from the musical disaster unfolding beside her.
"You're doing this on purpose."
Hudson stopped singing halfway through the verse and looked at her with only mild surprise.
"What?" he asked, wearing the picture of innocence.
"That."
"Singing?" he asked, as though the answer weren't painfully obvious.
"If that's what we're calling it."
Her partner pretended to give the matter some very serious thought. He tapped a finger against his chin for a few moments, brow furrowed in exaggerated concentration. At last, he let out a theatrical sigh and settled back into his seat.
"Not everyone is born with talent."
"I think you were born with the exact opposite," she replied, smiling at him.
"Maybe," he shouted, "but I was born with plenty of enthusiasm!"
And with that, he immediately joined the vocalist again.
Evelyn rolled her eyes once more, but a quiet laugh escaped her anyway. Hudson had been doing this since the very first day they'd gone out on patrol together.
The patrol car continued steadily down one of Detroit's main streets. Glass office towers lined both sides of the road, scattering the morning sunlight into thousands of shimmering reflections. Between them stood older brick buildings dating back to the years before CyberLife began transforming the city. More rows of red, white, and blue flags hung overhead, while electronic billboards alternated between advertisements for Independence Day events and the latest generation of androids.
On one enormous screen, a perfectly styled android in a blue housekeeping uniform smiled warmly as a slogan inviting passersby to discover the newest generation of CyberLife products scrolled slowly beside her. A few dozen yards farther on, two androids in orange safety vests efficiently set up metal barricades along the parade route. People walked past them without a second glance, occupied with conversations, shopping, and preparations for the holiday.
Thanks to her brother, Detroit changed faster with each passing year. Yet on this particular day, it seemed almost impossible to tell who was celebrating by choice and who was simply carrying out another programmed routine.
"I swear, one of these days I'm reporting you to the proper authorities," Evelyn said at last, glancing sideways at her partner after he missed the melody once again.
"For exceptional musical talent?" Hudson asked, placing a hand over his heart as though he'd just heard the most outrageous accusation of his entire career.
"For crimes against classic rock," she corrected calmly as she stopped at a red light. "That song did anything to you."
"It's a modern interpretation," he replied, gesturing animatedly. He didn't even try to hide the grin that gave away how much fun he was having.
"It's a modern catastrophe," she corrected.
Hudson shook his head in theatrical disappointment.
"You don't appreciate art."
"I do. That's exactly why I'm suffering."
They fell silent for a moment. The radio quietly drifted into the next verse, the traffic light turned green, and another stretch of Detroit slowly slipped past the cruiser's windows.
Unable to sit still for long, Hudson was the first to break the silence. He reached into the paper bag resting between the seats, peeked inside, and, without a second thought, pulled out a handful of fries.
"Want some?" he asked casually, holding them out toward her.
Evelyn glanced briefly at the bag before returning her attention to the road.
"Aren't those my fries?"
"They're our fries," he replied matter-of-factly, as though that were the most obvious thing in the world. He'd already eaten one before he'd finished speaking.
"Ross..." she sighed. "You bought those with my side of the lost bet."
"Minor detail," he said without hesitation, reaching for another.
She shook her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Neither of them was willing to give in. Eventually, she was the first to reach out.
"Fine. Give me some."
Without a word, he dropped a few fries into her hand before helping himself to another handful.
"Knew you'd come around," he declared with obvious satisfaction, sinking comfortably against the headrest. As he chewed, a broad grin spread across his face, clearly pleased with what he considered another well-earned victory.
Evelyn merely snorted under her breath before reaching for another fry.
"I didn't come around. I'm simply reclaiming my property," she corrected, holding it up demonstratively. "There's a very important difference."
Hudson watched the gesture before his grin widened even further.
"You sound exactly like someone who just agreed with me," he observed, thoroughly pleased with himself for dragging her into yet another pointless debate.
"And you sound exactly like someone who's about to buy me another coffee," she shot back without missing a beat. There was that familiar confidence in her voice. The same one she always used whenever she reminded him of every bet he'd ever lost.
Hudson laughed and set the paper bag back between the seats. For a moment, he drummed his fingers against his cardboard coffee cup, trying to remember just how many of those bets he'd actually lost. Judging by the look on his face, he'd stopped keeping track sometime around their first month as partners.
"You still remember that bet?" he asked, giving her a sidelong look.
"I remember all of them," she briefly took her eyes off the road to give him a pointed look. "Especially the ones you lost."
A flicker of concern crossed Hudson's face. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as the horrifying possibility dawned on him that his outstanding coffee debt might be considerably larger than he'd imagined.
"So..." he said more cautiously, though amusement still lingered in his voice. "Should I be worried?"
"You should've started worrying a long time ago."
Hudson, however, seemed entirely unfazed. He crossed his ankles and reached for another fry.
The cruiser settled back into a comfortable silence, broken only by the radio and the sounds of the city coming to life outside.
Evelyn glanced toward the food stalls on the left, where vendors were finishing setting up grills and bun warmers.
"So...How many this year?" she asked casually. There was a faint sparkle in her eyes that suggested she already knew the answer.
Caught off guard, Hudson blinked.
"How many what?"
With a sigh, she briefly closed her eyes before brushing a loose strand of black hair behind her ear.
"How many hot dogs are you planning to eat this time?"
His eyes lit up at the mention of what was, in his opinion, the day's main event. He sat up straighter, barely containing his excitement.
"Seven," he announced without the slightest hint of doubt.
"Seven?" she repeated, staring at him in disbelief. "You honestly think you can pull that off?"
"Eight. If they're really good," he amended after a moment.
"You're not eating eight hot dogs," a glance at the nearly empty carton of fries only reinforced her conviction. "There's no way."
"You say that every year," he replied accusingly, pointing a finger at her.
"Because every year it ends exactly the same way," she shot back immediately. "First you're convinced you're going to break your personal record and then you spend the next two days dying and complaining about it."
Hudson held up a hand, trying to stop her argument before it could gather any more momentum.
"I ate six last year."
"And then you groaned every single time you got up from the couch," she reminded him with an innocent smile. "Elijah was about five minutes away from calling you an ambulance."
"That was the price of greatness," Hudson replied with complete seriousness, placing a hand over his heart. "Great achievements require great sacrifices."
Evelyn rolled her eyes as she changed lanes. She'd lost count long ago of how many conversations like this they'd had.
"That was the price of greed."
"History remembers the hero, not the details," he declared with such conviction that he sounded as though he were quoting one of the Founding Fathers.
For a moment, Evelyn genuinely tried to keep a straight face. She really did. But her friend's utter nonsense finally got the better of her. A laugh burst from her lips as she shook her head with familiar fondness—the same way she always did whenever Hudson defended complete absurdities with absolute confidence.
"Sometimes I wonder how you ever passed the psych evaluation."
Hudson puffed out his chest proudly and ran a hand through his hair.
"I lowered their guard," he replied without the slightest trace of hesitation.
"After five hot dogs?" she asked, giving him a thoroughly skeptical look.
"After six," he corrected. "The fifth was just the warm-up."
Good Lord...
"Hudson, you're impossible..." she muttered.
She had long since lost count of how many conversations like this they'd had over the years. About coffee, baseball games or movies neither of them ever managed to finish. And a thousand other little things. That was what their friendship had been built on. Not grand declarations or life-changing moments, but hundreds of ordinary mornings when the drive to the next call became nothing more than the backdrop to conversations no one else would probably understand.
Hudson knew her better than she liked to admit. He could tell she was hungry before she realized it herself. He recognized her exhaustion by the way her hand tightened around the steering wheel, and he could often predict her answer before she even opened her mouth. She, in turn, could read every glimmer in his eyes. The unmistakable warning that another ridiculous idea or hopeless bet was about to follow. Neither of them had ever consciously learned any of it. One day, they'd simply realized they knew each other as though they'd always been meant to ride in the same patrol car.
For the next several minutes, they drove in comfortable silence. Their conversation faded naturally, giving way to brief radio updates and the steady rhythm of a city growing louder with every block. The closer they came to downtown, the more crowded the sidewalks became. Families with children, groups of friends, and tourists filled the streets, eager to claim the best spots before the parade began.
Detroit's familiar skyline rose around them. Nestled among the buildings stood an enormous CyberLife billboard featuring a sharply dressed businessman presenting the company's newest corporate android model. A few blocks farther on, androids were hanging garlands, carrying heavy equipment crates, and preparing the area around the main stage.
Evelyn's eyes drifted toward them almost automatically.
"Do you think they actually make them smile all the time?" she asked, tilting her head toward one of the giant screens.
Hudson followed her gaze. He studied the perfectly polished advertisement for a moment before shrugging.
"If I cost a few thousand dollars, I'd smile too," he said. "Marketing's marketing."
"You smile for free," she replied, giving him a playful wink.
"Exactly. That's why I'm cheaper."
She shook her head, amused. She'd never been able to tell whether Hudson came up with answers like that ahead of time or invented them at the exact moment they left his mouth.
The sharp crackle of the radio suddenly filled the cruiser, drowning out the next song. They both fell silent almost at the same time. They didn't even have to look at each other. After years of working together, reactions like that had become second nature. Conversation disappeared into the background, replaced by the voice coming through the police radio.
"Unit Twenty-Three, respond."
Evelyn reached for the microphone clipped beside the dashboard. Without taking her eyes off the road, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel with her other hand.
"Unit Twenty-Three. Go ahead."
"We've received reports of an intoxicated male causing a disturbance near Campus Martius Park. According to callers, he's harassing pedestrians and interfering with parade preparations. At this time, there are no reports of injuries. Please respond and assess the situation."
Evelyn exchanged a brief glance with Hudson. Calls like this were part of everyday police work. Especially on the Fourth of July, when the entire city had been celebrating since morning and alcohol tended to flow far more freely than common sense. There was nothing unusual about it. Someone had too much to drink. Someone celebrated a little too enthusiastically. Someone else decided the middle of the street was the perfect place to settle a family argument.
She let out a quiet sigh before pressing the transmit button.
"Copy that. We'll be there in a few minutes," her voice remained calm and professional. Before she'd even finished speaking, she switched on her turn signal and smoothly changed lanes, passing a delivery truck pulling over to the curb.
"Copy. Dispatch out."
A brief burst of static signaled the end of the transmission, and the music once again filled the cruiser.
Hudson leaned back against the headrest and let out an exaggerated sigh. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling as though hoping the universe might decide to change the call at the last possible second.
"I was hoping for something more interesting," he muttered. "For once, I'd like to end up with a story we can tell the new recruits."
Evelyn watched the road for a moment before glancing at him, one eyebrow raised.
"An intoxicated guy at a parade isn't interesting enough for you?"
Hudson shook his head. He absentmindedly tapped his knuckles against the window every time they passed another barricade.
"It's predictable," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm betting he's either singing the national anthem with absolute confidence that he knows all the words or trying to convince the pigeons to vote in the election."
"That's... remarkably specific," Evelyn said, unable to suppress a laugh.
"Occupational experience," Hudson declared with all the solemnity of a university professor. He tapped a finger against his temple for emphasis.
The smile that had stubbornly lingered on Evelyn's face for the past several minutes grew just a little wider. She shook her head in disbelief, privately deciding that, out of his entire theory, the one about the pigeons somehow seemed the most plausible.
"You do realize that if he actually is talking to pigeons I'm never letting you forget it."
Hudson flipped down the sun visor and checked his reflection in the mirror. He straightened the collar of his uniform, preparing himself to receive the praise he clearly believed he deserved.
"Then I'll consider today an overwhelming success," he replied with satisfaction, running a hand through his hair before winking at his own reflection. "It's not every day you get to know in advance that you were right."
For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, Evelyn rolled her eyes. She reached for the control panel and, with one practiced movement, switched on the emergency lights. Red and blue flashes danced across the windows of the passing buildings as the wail of the siren cut through the city's morning bustle. Drivers gradually pulled aside to clear a path for the cruiser, though with traffic this heavy, every extra yard had to be earned patiently.
They weren't racing. This wasn't the kind of call that demanded a desperate sprint against the clock. It was the kind where you arrived as quickly as reasonably possible, calmed everyone down, handed out a few warnings, and got back on patrol before dispatch found something else for you to do.
After the call ended, Hudson picked up the tune drifting from the speakers once again, humming quietly under his breath. He remained blissfully unaware that he was missing both the rhythm and the key. Evelyn didn't even bother telling him to stop anymore. After all these years, his terrible singing had become just as much a part of their patrols as sharing fries or arguing over ridiculous bets.
He'd been exactly the same back at the police academy. Louder than everyone else, the first to crack a joke, the last to complain. Even after sixteen-hour training days. He could strike up a conversation with any instructor, knew every security guard and custodian by name before the first week was over, and the cafeteria ladies greeted him before he even reached the line. Thanks to them, he always walked away with a serving slightly larger than regulations allowed.
To this day, Evelyn still couldn't decide whether Hudson was simply impossibly likable or whether he possessed some inexplicable gift for convincing people he was right.
Their friendship had happened almost by accident. First came a shared patrol during training. Then regular shifts together and their first real call. And one day, without either of them noticing exactly when it had happened, neither could remember what work had been like before the other.
Beyond the windshield, Detroit shimmered in every color of the American holiday. Flags fluttered neatly from balconies, storefronts overflowed with red, white, and blue decorations, and electronic billboards lining the city's main roads alternated between Independence Day greetings and CyberLife advertisements. On one screen, a blonde android handed a cup of coffee to an elderly woman. On another, a sharply dressed model picked a child up from school before adjusting the backpack slipping from the youngster's shoulder. A moment later, the familiar slogan illuminated the display.
"Designed by CyberLife. Built for you."
By this hour, androids could be found on nearly every corner. One maintenance model swept the sidewalk. Others helped set up tables and chairs. Heavier transport units unloaded crates of drinks outside a nearby supermarket. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, quiet, and utterly free of hesitation as though every single one of them formed part of one flawlessly functioning machine.
For most residents, their presence had become as ordinary as traffic lights, city buses, or the distant rumble of passing streetcars. Hardly anyone even looked at them anymore. They were simply another piece of the city, woven into the rhythm of everyday life.
The closer they drew to downtown, the faster Detroit seemed to move. Traffic thickened with every block. Cars slowed more frequently at crosswalks, while the sidewalks filled with even more families. Somewhere nearby, a firecracker exploded with a sharp bang. The sound echoed between the buildings, immediately followed by a burst of children's laughter. Several youngsters threw their heads back in excitement, convinced the evening fireworks had already begun despite sunset still being hours away. A little boy tugged excitedly at his father's sleeve, pointing toward the sky as he tried to explain something all at once, while beside them a woman adjusted the colorful cape slipping from her daughter's shoulders.
An elderly couple paused outside a small bakery. A few yards farther on, a vendor stacked the last boxes of drinks into a portable cooler. From the speakers positioned along the parade route came the first tentative notes of an orchestra tuning its instruments. Individual notes blended with the noise of the city, creating the familiar chaos that somehow felt like an essential part of Detroit at this time of year.
At the next intersection, a long car horn rang out. A second answered it moments later, more impatient this time. Then came a third, as though the drivers were holding an entire conversation using nothing but their horns. Several pedestrians turned their heads. Someone threw up a hand in annoyance. A moment later, everything dissolved back into the city's endless noise. On that day, Detroit was simply too loud to dwell on anything for very long.
Above one of the parade floats, the first handfuls of red, white, and blue confetti burst into the air. The colorful scraps of paper danced high above the street, caught by a warm gust of wind before drifting lazily onto car roofs, sidewalks, and the shoulders of passing pedestrians. Several children immediately ran after them, trying to catch them in their hands, laughing loudly enough for their voices to carry even above the music echoing from the loudspeakers.
Another intersection brought them to a red light. The cruiser rolled to a smooth stop at the line while the city around them never slowed for even a moment. The instant the signal changed, pedestrians streamed into the crosswalk. A petite woman led two children by the hand. A younger boy, hot dog clutched tightly in one hand, tried to race ahead of his older brother. Nearby, a gray-haired man patiently walked a dog wearing a bandana patterned like the American flag. Not far away, a little girl was trying her absolute hardest to convince her father that a balloon shaped like a bald eagle was an essential requirement for survival.
Hudson snorted quietly at the sight of the dog but said nothing. Instead, he reached for one of the last remaining fries, paying no attention whatsoever to everything happening outside the window.
"Do you think the dog's celebrating too?" he asked at last, unable to keep the question to himself any longer.
"Ross..." Evelyn sighed heavily.
"I'm asking from a purely scientific standpoint," he raised both hands in surrender before popping the fry into his mouth. Then he turned toward his partner, wearing the patient expression of a man sincerely waiting for a well-reasoned answer.
"Naturally."
Sometimes Evelyn had the distinct impression that Hudson's thoughts traveled along paths accessible only to Hudson himself. She'd long since stopped trying to figure out where ideas like that came from. Four years had taught her that, when it came to Hudson, the answer was usually very simple.
Because, apparently, that's just how his brain worked.
They continued deeper into the city, passing more groups of residents making their way toward the parade. Each block seemed just a little livelier than the last, as though Detroit itself was drawing a deeper breath with every passing minute in anticipation of the afternoon's celebrations.
"Days like this make me think the city's trying a little too hard," Hudson muttered, watching the crowds through the passenger-side window. A group of boys ran past, wearing American flags draped over their shoulders like superhero capes.
A faint smile tugged at Evelyn's lips as she kept her eyes on the traffic light, which was counting down the final seconds of red.
"And on every other day it doesn't?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, it does," Hudson replied, sweeping a broad hand through the air. "But today it's being extra dramatic."
"Can't argue with that."
The last pedestrians were already clearing the crosswalk in front of them. A young man adjusted the shopping bag slipping from his shoulder. An elderly woman carried a folded camping chair tucked beneath one arm. A handful of teenagers wove through the crowd, plastic cups of lemonade in hand. Above them, a red balloon slowly drifted into the sky after slipping free from a little boy's grasp. The child reached after it with a quiet sigh of disappointment. A moment later, his mother bought him another one, and just like that, the world was right again.
The light finally turned green. Evelyn eased her foot off the brake, and the cruiser rolled forward, merging once more into the steady stream of traffic heading toward downtown. She drove calmly, her gaze moving constantly between the surrounding vehicles, road signs, and pedestrian crossings. Traffic was getting heavier, but it was nothing she hadn't expected on a holiday morning. A few impatient drivers. Pedestrians crossing at the very last second. Cyclists slipping through whatever gaps they could find.
Hudson rested an elbow on the center console and propped his head against his hand. He watched the buildings slide past outside while quietly humming the tune he'd picked up from the café.
CyberLife advertisements shimmered on both sides of the street. Androids carried supplies and helped set up equipment. Children waved enthusiastically at passing police officers.
Everything looked exactly as it should have on a day like this. And yet something in the city's rhythm faltered.
Evelyn didn't react immediately. Her hands remained steady on the steering wheel as the cruiser held its course. Only after a moment did a slight frown crease her brow as she tried to grasp the source of the feeling. If someone had asked her what she'd noticed, she wouldn't have been able to answer. She hadn't heard a scream and hadn't seen any sudden movement. Nothing had happened that should have set this moment apart from hundreds just like it.
Her gaze swept instinctively across the neighboring lanes. She wasn't looking for any particular vehicle. This was simply how her mind worked after years behind the wheel of a police cruiser. She assessed the road almost instinctively, catching small irregularities long before she could consciously put them into words.
Beside her, Hudson stopped tapping along to the music. Only moments ago he'd been lounging comfortably in his seat, coffee in hand, wearing that familiar half-smile that seemed immune even to the dullest patrol. Now his fingers froze mid-motion. The smile vanished so abruptly it looked almost unnatural. His eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the windshield. He stared ahead, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
The white semi-truck looked perfectly ordinary. It moved with the flow of traffic, disappearing briefly behind a city bus. When it came back into view, Hudson straightened slightly without taking his eyes off it. Something about it was wrong. Not enough for most drivers to notice. Not yet.
The truck drifted gently toward the line separating the lanes. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a minor lapse in attention. One of those tiny mistakes drivers make hundreds of times every day. Evelyn watched it, expecting it to correct itself. It didn't. A second later, it crossed the line and slowly began moving into the next lane. Only then did it veer weakly back, as though the driver had realized far too late that he'd lost control.
A few yards later, the truck crossed the line again. More noticeably this time. Still not violently and still not in a way that would send everyone around it into immediate panic.
Evelyn's frown deepened. Her foot eased off the accelerator, though she still couldn't have explained why. Her eyes shifted from the traffic lights to the truck, then to the cars surrounding it and back again. Something wasn't right. It wasn't simply that it was drifting between lanes. It was the way it moved. Every correction came just a fraction of a second too late. As though whoever was behind the wheel was always reacting after the moment had already passed.
Neither of them spoke. Soft music still drifted through the cruiser. Laughter and fragments of conversation floated in through the open windows of nearby cars. Somewhere to their left, another firecracker exploded. And yet Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
"Hudson..." she began, quieter than usual. She never finished the sentence.
The truck rolled straight across the center of the roadway without the slightest attempt to return to its lane. It missed the first car by inches, forcing the driver into a violent swerve. A horn blared. Then another. Somewhere tires shrieked against the pavement. Cars scattered in frantic attempts to avoid the collision, but the massive truck ignored every warning. It barreled forward at the same speed, utterly indifferent to the people around it.
Evelyn felt her stomach twist into a hard knot.
The driver's not doing anything.
The cab was close enough now that, despite the sunlight reflecting off the windshield, she could make out the figure behind the wheel. The man was slumped unnaturally forward. His head had fallen to one side. And if his hands were still on the steering wheel at all they weren't moving.
Hudson reacted first. His right arm shot out across Evelyn, as though the gesture alone could shield her from the oncoming truck. In an instant, every trace of humor disappeared from his face. The smile, the easy confidence, the readiness for another joke. All that remained was pure terror.
"Evelyn, watch out!"
Her body reacted before her mind could. Her hands clamped down on the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. Her right foot slammed onto the brake with all the force she had. The tires screamed across the scorching asphalt, leaving dark streaks of burned rubber behind as the front of the cruiser lurched violently downward. The steering wheel jerked in her hands as she desperately tried to wrench the car aside, searching for even a few inches of space that no longer existed.
Everything happened too fast. The truck was already too close. There wasn't a single maneuver left that could have changed anything.
A second later, the world exploded. Metal collided with metal in a deafening roar that shook the air itself. The front of the cruiser crumpled instantly. The hood buckled upward, and the engine was driven into the passenger compartment with the agonizing shriek of twisting steel. The windows burst into thousands of tiny fragments. They flashed in the sunlight before slamming into the seats and dashboard, slicing through skin, embedding themselves in seatbelts, and tearing into the fabric of the seats.
The cruiser didn't stop. The impact ripped it from its path, spinning it sideways across the roadway. Twisting metal screamed in protest as pieces of the bodywork tore free and scattered across the asphalt. The doors buckled inward and the dashboard shattered. Everything that had been lying between the seats only moments before was hurled into the air, spinning through a storm of shattered glass, plastic, and jagged metal.
A heartbeat later, the damaged side of the cruiser struck the curb. The momentum it hadn't yet lost hurled the vehicle upward, flipping it onto its roof with a violent crash that shook the wreck from end to end. Everything that wasn't bolted down slammed against the ceiling. But the car still didn't stop. The remaining force threw it onto its side once again. It rolled over again then skidded across the pavement in a shower of sparks as torn metal scraped against the road.
The seatbelt slammed brutally into Evelyn's collarbone, nearly driving the air from her lungs. Her shoulder crashed against the door. The violent jolts threw her body in every direction. The back of her head struck the headrest and a split second later, her forehead hit the steering wheel. Every part of her body seemed to collide with something different, as though the inside of the cruiser had transformed into a spinning death trap.
For one impossible moment, the heavy police vehicle balanced on the crushed edge of its mangled frame. Evelyn dared to hope it was over and that everything had finally stopped. The illusion lasted less than a heartbeat. The cruiser tipped once more. Another roll. Crushed metal slammed into the pavement, scattering another rain of glass and plastic in every direction.
Evelyn couldn't tell up from down anymore. The world had lost all sense of direction. Flashes of light reflected from the shattered windshield before her eyes. The red-and-blue strobe lights dissolved into a single pulsing blur, while every rotation blended the sky, the asphalt, and the surrounding buildings into one dizzying whirl. Around her came the endless shriek of tearing steel, the crack of collapsing metal and the dull impacts of the cruiser smashing against the pavement. The noise burrowed beneath her skin. It stole her breath and it drowned out every coherent thought.
Only then did the vehicle finally begin to lose what little momentum it had left.
When the cruiser finally came to rest on its wheels everything went silent. She knew the first ambulance sirens had to be wailing somewhere in the distance by now. People were probably screaming and car horns still filled the air. But all she could hear through the ringing in her ears were broken fragments of sound.
She tried to breathe. Nothing. The air stopped halfway into her lungs, crashing against something hard inside her chest. Every attempt ended the same way. A short, ragged gasp followed by pain spreading beneath her ribs with such force that, for a moment, it stole her ability to think.
A cough tore free before she could stop it. Something thick and metallic instantly filled her mouth. Some of it ran down her chin and the rest splattered across her uniform, leaving dark stains that looked almost black against the navy-blue fabric. Only then did she realize it was blood.
Evelyn blinked several times, struggling to bring the world back into focus. Her right eye still saw reasonably clearly. Something warm poured into the left one, trickling down her temple and cheek before seeping beneath her eyelid. Instinctively, she tried to lift her left hand to brush the hair away from her face. Her arm barely moved. Pain shot from her shoulder all the way to her fingertips. A quiet groan escaped her throat. Her forearm lay at an impossible angle. The sleeve of her uniform was soaking through with blood pouring from a deep gash that ran along almost the entire length of her forearm. Between the torn edges of the wound something white caught the light.
She tried to move her legs. Her left responded immediately, though a sharp pain shot through her knee. Her right didn't move at all. She thought maybe her body just needed another second to respond after the crash. She clenched her jaw and tried again, forcing muscles that had answered without hesitation for her entire life.
Nothing. Not even the slightest twitch. She stared straight ahead, delaying the moment she knew was coming. Finally she lowered her eyes. The whole world seemed to slow enough for her to notice every tiny detail. What she saw was impossible.
The lower dashboard and the engine had been forced deep into the cabin. Twisted metal had pinned her right leg between the seat and what remained of the dashboard. Her uniform pants were torn open from thigh to shin, soaked through with blood seeping from between the warped sheets of steel. Dark crimson drops slid down the metal, collecting beside her boot. In several places, deep lacerations showed through the shredded fabric. Pale fragments of bone gleamed between them. The muscle looked as though it had been violently ripped apart by pieces of the center console driven into her leg. Her entire limb remained trapped in the crushing grip of steel. Twisted at an unnatural angle and completely motionless.
Shit...
For a moment, she simply stared at it, almost blankly. It felt as though she were looking at someone else's injuries, not her own. As if everything below her waist had stopped belonging to her and had become just another part of the wrecked patrol car. When she tried to wrench her leg free from the twisted metal trapping it, pain tore through her with such force that her whole body instinctively doubled over. A scream escaped her throat before she could stop it, followed a moment later by a wet cough that stole what little breath she had left. Warm liquid splattered across the steering wheel, which she still clung to with one hand.
As her eyes fixed on it, she realized her right arm didn't look the way it should, either.
The sleeve of her uniform hung in tatters from shoulder to wrist. Tiny shards of glass were embedded in her skin, glinting in the morning sunlight. Blood slowly ran down her forearm, slipped between her fingers, and dripped onto the steering wheel. More of it trickled onto the seat, leaving dark stains across the fabric. Every movement sent a fresh wave of burning pain through her arm, but compared to what she felt in her legs, it barely seemed worth noticing.
For several long minutes, nothing existed except pain and the desperate struggle to breathe. When Evelyn stopped frantically searching herself for more injuries did the world slowly begin to settle back into place. The twisted metal still creaked quietly around her. Somewhere in front of her, the engine hissed. Steam rose from the shattered radiator, mixing with the smell of gasoline, hot oil, and blood, while the mangled frame of the cruiser let out long, unsettling groans every now and then. Outside, voices were becoming clearer. Shouted words, broken cries, someone desperately calling for help.
Only then did she remember she hadn't been alone. Slowly, she turned her head toward the passenger seat, feeling a fresh wave of pain with every inch of the movement. Blood burned the back of her throat again.
"Hudson..." she choked out.
Evelyn heard no response. She swallowed hard and tried again, but another cough cut her off almost immediately. She choked on blood for the second time. Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew a shaky breath before opening them again. Her gaze found the silhouette of her partner. He was still sitting in his seat, his head slightly bowed, dark hair falling across his forehead and partially obscuring his face.
"Hudson... say something..." she repeated, a little louder this time, trying to swallow the metallic taste filling her mouth.
Her eyes slowly traveled over him. First his shoulder, then the navy-blue uniform and the seatbelt buried deep in the fabric of his jacket. She paused at his still hands, resting on the seat. She waited. She didn't even know what she was waiting for anymore. A twitch of his fingers, a breath or perhaps a quiet groan. Anything that would let her believe Hudson was about to roll his eyes, make some insane comment, and tell her he'd gone a bit overboard with this whole drama.
But nothing happened.
There was no sign, not even the slightest, that he was still the same man who, only moments ago, had been finishing her sentences and laughing at his own jokes. He was there, sitting only a few feet away and yet, he suddenly seemed unimaginably far away. It was as if something had taken him away, leaving only his body behind, trapped in the passenger seat. His head was tilted ever so slightly toward her, as though he were still looking at her, but his eyes no longer found hers.
"Don't look at me like that..." she whispered with tears in her eyes.
Only then did she begin to notice more details. Her mind revealed the truth in careful fragments, allowing her to see only as much as she was still able to bear. First, she noticed the tear in his shirt. At first, it seemed small, almost insignificant. Then one more glance was enough to understand it was only an illusion. The torn fabric spread apart in every direction. The navy blue of his uniform grew darker with every passing second, soaking up thick blood. Dark crimson seeped into every fold of the fabric, erasing the familiar image of the uniform she knew so well. That morning, Hudson had adjusted his collar before leaving for patrol, and now it was barely recognizable what he was wearing.
None of it looked the way it did in the movies. The blood was thick, dark and heavy. It spread slowly, completely oblivious to the fact that it was stealing the life of the man who, only minutes earlier, had been complaining about a boring call. Evelyn stared at it in horror, trying to convince herself that if she simply looked away, it would all turn out to be a mistake.
"Please..."
The word barely left her lips. It broke apart somewhere between a ragged breath and another coughing fit. Her trembling fingers tightened around the torn fabric of her own uniform.
She wanted to believe that this small gesture could somehow stop everything from falling apart completely. She kept staring at her friend, still waiting for the slightest movement. For the flutter of his eyelids, or for the rise of his chest. For a quiet groan of pain, a curse, or even one of those sighs that always came before he launched into another argument. Her mind refused to let go of the hope that it would soon happen. That just one more second would be enough. Just one more call of his name.
But Hudson didn't respond.
Evelyn stubbornly rejected everything she saw before her eyes. His voice kept echoing in her head . She could still hear him insisting that eight hot dogs really wasn't excessive, and that the fries had become theirs the moment he'd paid for them. These memories were too fresh, too vivid and too ordinary to suddenly give way to the silent figure sitting next to her.
He was still there. Everything looked exactly the same. The same seat, same uniform and the same man she saw beside her on every patrol. And yet, the longer she looked at him, the more she realized that all that remained of the friend who had never been able to stop laughing was silence.
The sounds coming from outside were growing louder. The silence Hudson left behind didn't mean the world had fallen silent with him. Somewhere in front of the cruiser, a damaged line hissed. Twisted metal creaked beneath its own weight, and in the distance, police sirens echoed through the streets. Someone was running, someone was calling for an ambulance and someone else was pulling at the jammed police car door again and again, trying with all their strength to force it open.
The city was still alive. Still breathing, still moving, still struggling to bring order to the chaos that had erupted at the intersection. Only for Evelyn had everything stopped in the exact moment Hudson stopped answering her. For the first time since she'd known him, he sat perfectly still.
The world beyond the shattered cruiser slowly began to reach her again. She heard metallic thuds, the crash of shattering glass, and hurried footsteps, but she couldn't separate one sound from another anymore. Everything blended into one heavy, pulsing roar pressing in from every direction. Someone was moving something, someone was crying, someone else was cursing under their breath in mounting frustration. But none of these voices carried any real words. Only broken fragments reached her, stretched and distorted, as though a thick sheet of glass had risen between her and the rest of Detroit.
Then she felt a presence. Someone had stepped far too close, entering the space that, only moments ago, had belonged to her and her partner alone. Unfamiliar hands gripped her shoulders carefuly but firmly. One of the indistinct figures gently brushed shards of glass from her uniform. Another pulled at the crushed metal, trying to make even the smallest amount of room.
Why are you helping me? Help him!
"Stay with me, can you hear me?" a man's voice broke through the noise, thick with desperation.
She didn't answer. She wasn't even sure she still could. It felt as though every word would require strength she no longer possessed. Her eyelids were growing heavier. Every attempt to draw another breath ended in a ragged gasp and the world dissolved into uneven patches of light and shadow. Someone was still talking to her, touching her arm, trying to maintain contact, but everything reached her a little later than it should have.
„Ma'am, look at me, please!” The same man shone a flashlight into her eyes.
She assumed he was a paramedic, but she couldn't make herself look at him. She could feel him leaning over her. Someone beside him was speaking faster and faster, carrying out one procedure after another that she couldn't understand. None of them, however, could break through the image that stubbornly held all of her attention. Hudson was still there. In that twisted space that only minutes earlier had been an ordinary patrol car, filled with the smell of coffee and fries and the sound of his laughter. The longer she looked at him, the more reality faded into the background, leaving the two of them trapped inside that single unacceptable moment.
She didn't want to blink. She didn't want to breathe. She was afraid to even move her head. Every movement felt final, as though it would seal the truth she was still desperately refusing to accept. An irrational certainty grew inside her that as long as she kept looking at him, she hadn't truly lost him yet. That if she simply didn't look away, everything would rewind a few minutes. They would go back to talking about hot dogs, to his laughter and his terrible singing. Their ordinary summer morning would return.
Looking away would mean accepting reality and she wasn't ready for that yet.
"Hudson..." she whispered, and this time she was sure the word had actually left her lips. Somewhere between the pain and the blood, she clung to the desperate hope that in another second she would hear his familiar, "Oh, I'm right here."
Someone sliced through her seatbelt in one swift, practiced motion. A moment later, cool hands gently immobilized her head, sliding a rigid cervical collar beneath her neck. Somewhere nearby came the grinding scream of metal and a flurry of increasingly urgent commands. Someone was trying to reach her trapped leg. Someone else spoke into a radio, rattling off numbers and words she could no longer piece into anything meaningful. She felt them lifting her from the seat, inch by inch easing her away from the crushed wreck of the patrol car.
Everything was happening too fast and too close. Among all the figures moving around her, one stopped beside her partner. The paramedic leaned over Hudson. For a moment he studied his face, then he pressed two fingers against his neck and remained perfectly still for several long seconds. Finally, he slowly looked up at his colleagues and gave the faintest shake of his head.
No. No, no, no, NO!
Something inside Evelyn suddenly snapped. A sharp pain pierced her chest, and a cold shiver ran through her body. The noise of the city that had filled the entire intersection only moments ago became nothing more than a dull murmur and a barely perceptible shiver in the air. Sirens, the screams of adults, children's cries. The sound of running people and the crack of sheet metal being pried apart. All of it drifted farther away. A moment later, the faces of the paramedics leaning over her blurred completely. Their mouths kept moving, but the voices no longer matched them, as though sound and image had stopped existing in the same reality.
Hudson was dead.
The world around her was beginning to disappear. With the last of her strength, she could still make out the red and blue emergency lights reflecting in the shards of glass scattered across the asphalt. They flickered across the twisted shell of the patrol car and spread over the blood-soaked pavement. But with every passing second they blended together more and more into a single, pulsing blur of color. She could still feel the rigid backboard beneath her and the cool hands supporting her body. The edges of her vision, however, were slowly darkening, and this time she let them. She didn't have to fight for another breath anymore and force herself to stay conscious. Everything that had kept her clinging to awareness only moments earlier had left with Hudson. Now there was only silence and an exhaustion so overwhelming that her own body began pulling her under.
"Evelyn!"
The voice cut through the noise and chaos with surprising ease. Something in its tone refused to let her drift away. Her eyes fluttered open, her breath hitched for a moment, and her heart lurched inside her chest. Her body recognized it before her clouded mind could. She didn't know who the man leaning over her was, gently stroking her hair. She couldn't remember his face and she couldn't understand the words he was saying. She only knew that he wasn't a stranger.
He grabbed her hand and repeated her name over and over, his voice growing rougher each time. He kept speaking, desperately trying to hold on to her, but every sentence fell apart before it could carry any meaning. All that reached her were broken syllables, ragged breaths, and the tremor in a voice she still couldn't name even though every part of her seemed to remember it.
For a little while longer, she tried to keep fighting. Every movement hurt and breathing became harder with each passing second. Every time she began slipping away, that same voice stubbornly pulled her back. She clung to it desperately, as though it were the last thing still tying her to life. She didn't remember who the stranger crying over her shoulder was. But she didn't want to leave him. She wanted to tell him about Hudson, who was still sitting on the other side of their patrol car. About his jokes, his ridiculous bets and his favorite coffee. She didn't want that morning to die with her. She was terrified that if she closed her eyes now, no one would ever know her partner the way she had. But even those memories were beginning to lose their edges.
The light above Evelyn grew dimmer. The red and blue flashes of the emergency lights dissolved into a single soft glow. The voices faded until only the distant pounding of her own heart and someone's broken whisper remained. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy, as though someone had poured sand beneath them. She tried to hold on to the narrowest sliver of light, to grasp one last fragment of reality but the exhaustion was stronger. The world before her eyes dissolved at last and darkness closed around her, leaving no room for pain, fear, or struggle.
And for the first time since the accident, the world truly stopped.