“Man, I’m dead!”

Gideon spat a loud, aching breath before falling squarely on his back onto the pitch. His uniform was drenched from neckline to waistline, BO barraging his snout. His face squeezed.

“Ugh… I need a shower,” the captain murmured like a zombie, his brain rotting from the fruits of exhaustion. He rewarded himself with a minuscule nod—working himself to the bone was nothing short of the norm expected of him. Even when disabled, he knew what he signed up for and would keep exerting himself. It’s part of the job description, after all. So there was nothing to write home about when he was sweating buckets and close to kicking the bucket mentally.

Everyone had limits.

“Ey, Physics Major!” Hilario’s voice from the stands shook him partially from his aimless daze. The lieutenant chewed on something as he spoke. “Don’t you know that you barely have any freaking balance anymore? Know when to draw the line—”

“Whatever, what’s”—he stalled and huffed—”the time?”

“Like…” Hilario chewed more, presumably checking his phone as he ate. “Six… Near six-thirty!”

“Ah… 6:30.”

So we’ve been here for an hour. Right on schedule.

He breathed out, letting the morning silence soothe his heart rate. There were many hours until the evening when he’d have to tighten his uniform and take to the playing field. A field not dedicated to a school’s recreational activities but one that called for the primal competitiveness in one’s psyche—the dog-eat-dog world. He clutched his chest with a tired hand as if he were feeling the itch of death’s scythe crossing his heart and forcing him to pump more sporting blood.

Calm down. Damn. We have a chance to win.

That’s what life was about: chances. Things could happen. Things that work in his favor. Things that don’t work in his favor. Anyone could die at any moment—the last five years of disaster have been an empowered testament to that notion. And there was nothing anyone could do about it, which wasn’t a grand revelation.

That also meant that there was no point in sulking about it.

I was born in a country close to Australia. Surely I got some genes to wrangle a croc.

So he smiled to himself despite his beating heart. After all, despite the adaptiveness of fear, he’d make light of the circumstances and do what he had to do.

“Want one?”

“Yes!”

“Aight.”

The crunching of grass with the smooth skinning of an orange urged Gideon to attempt the futile effort of standing up, shaking before falling. He kicked his legs up.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna try that again?” Hilario’s face hovered over his, the man retracting his nails back to normal size. “Repelling the ground like that is not gonna get you back on your feet—”

“I have to get it right eventually. If I get downed in a confrontation, I’m basically use—”

“Gimme your hand—”

“—less for the duration of—thanks, mate.”

Hilario helped Gideon to his feet, giving the man his peeled orange and the peel.

“Yo, I’ve—”

“Stop being afraid to ask for help. I’m always here—”

“Yeah, I know. You’re my right hand.” He dangled his right arm in front of Hilario’s face. His cheeks rose, his body shaking from both heaving and stifling laughter. He picked at an orange slice with his teeth as he fought the battle of bursting into laughter in front of the other officer’s unimpressed gaze.

“I… Hmm.” Hilario collected himself, breathing in and out. “How do you still have the capacity to take this stuff lightly? Also, ouch.”

“I keep telling you: I’m fine. I think I’m getting better at turning corners—”

“You still trip a lot—”

“I know, I know.” Gideon began vacuuming his orange slices, juice seeping into his palm as he messily ate. “The mistakes are being fixed—speaking of mistakes—”

“Be careful of your shirt—”

“—I was gonna say something a while ago.” He inspected his shirt for stains for a second before carelessly going back to talking. “Wild take, but I feel like we should be able to be shirtless on the job.”

An understandable pause settled, but Hilario’s expression didn’t, as he shifted through many phases of confusion.

“Is it…” He smirked clumsily, trying to find the words to answer the captain’s wild idea. “Man—is that even legal?”

“Should be—”

“We have female officers.”

Another pause. Gideon pursed his lips.

“Yes, optional, obviously—”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Sure—”

“I feel that this fat-as-hell uniform slows us down a lot, and it’s not like we deal with many gun cases anymore. It’s just freakshows with wacky powers and—”

“Ok? But aren’t you the same person that says to expect anything—”

“Well, yeah. I’m not saying that gun cases can’t happen. Especially now, people need them as much as ever to defend themselves from loonies.” Much to Hilario's dismay, Gideon devoured the rest of his orange, getting juice on his shirt. The captain paid no mind to it. “But most to every school has been shut down for years, and kids are now in online learning for as long as we know it. We won’t have another school shooting for a long-long time, and that’s this country’s trademark.”

“So that’s why clothes are useless?

“Sometimes you have to go against the grain to perform better. The widescale temperature increases make us sweaty anyway.” He rubbed his fingers against his palm as if to clean up the juice. “I’m joking to some extent. When we fall, clothes protect us. And I certainly don’t have the tough skin to endure the pains of tripping so much when I run. But, I mean, it’s something to take note of. An idea.”

Hilario furrowed a brow. “You have a weird mind—”

“Not at all—”

“Is this something you’re gonna suggest to the chief?”

“He’ll probably demote me if I say something so stupid, or I’m just overexaggerating.” He began walking back to the stands, crunching the peel in his hand. “I’m not gonna let my job and reputation slip away like that, as nice as the thought of running down LA streets shirtless is.”

“Why didn’t you come in, like, casual wear for this morning’s exercise?”

Gideon looked back at the other officer, noting that he wasn’t in uniform and was wearing a vest and a pair of shorts. The sight made him feel the drenched weight of his attire, bogging down on him like gravity.

“Well”—he disposed the peel into a nearby bin—”it keeps me grounded.”

The captain slumped into a chair, regulating his breathing. He smiled. “You always ask a lot of questions.”

“What’s wrong with that? It feels like I learn something new from you every day—”

“I mean, nothing wrong with that at all.” Gideon grabbed a squeeze bottle next to him and held it near his lips. He swirled the rejuvenating bottle as if he were taking a shot. “But I’m not that interesting.”

He took a swig, skying the drink. Hilario took a seat next to him, expressing concern.

“Whatever suits you.”

They sat in silence, but it was far from comfortable. Even if the morning peace surrounded them on the empty school grounds, an air of tension found its way in the radiated winds. And they’ve been breathing it in for endless days, including moments when the threat of a murder hobo hid from the daylight.

“You think we’re gonna get a hold of him tonight?”

Gideon glimpsed at the officer, the latter nibbling his nails like a rat. It made his snout itch just watching. The captain scratched the itch, like any person would.

“Anything can happen. There’s even a chance that he could start killing people at day without us knowing and break what we thought was a cycle—”

“Eff’ me. Nah—don’t even think that—”

“I will—”

“That’s a terrible thought to have when we’re the ones at the frontlines—”

“And there’s a chance that I can be wrong about that.” Gideon struck a finger up before Hilario could interject. “There’s nothing to ‘think’ about when we’re dealing with something of this nature. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not praying for our downfall, as much as that’s also a possibility. I’m just saying that hoping for complex things to happen is pointless. So—”

A phone’s ringing broke the sticking point between them. However, an impasse didn’t exist; they weren’t new to arguments, and Gideon couldn’t count all of them on the fingers of his hand.

“Hypocrite.” Hilario handled the ringing phone, checking the caller’s name. His features softened, his voice lowering in preparation to answer. “You keep talking about morale, but here you are, not even trying to at least believe in the possibility that this stupid case can end today in our favor—let me take this.”

“Aight.” Despite his bones screaming, he lifted himself from the chair, staggering towards the field. “Say hello to Coleta for me.”

He reached the empty field—the grassy one and the one in his mind. As the phone’s ringing stopped, he tried to shield his mind from the background noise, stretching his legs with focused eyes.

“Hey, dear!”

Hypocrite… That’s a new one, Hilario.

“Yeah, Gideon and I are almost done. He said hello, by the way... Yes, I’ll be back home soon.”

Things like this just aren’t that simple anymore.

“Yeah, I think I can pick some up on the way back, that’s if my captain over here stops breaking his tired body. How much do you need?”

I need a lot of strength to keep me alive. I could die at any time. We all can.

Gideon put two sweaty fingers to his neck, feeling the rapid pulse weigh on him more alongside the uniform.

“Right… Ok, I’ll see you soon. Love you!”

His heart squeezed. Then he huffed, squeezed the fabric of his heavy uniform, and began buttoning any loose buttons.

Maybe I am a hypocrite. I mean, I’m not different from anyone else. I’m not some special case.

He patted the dark patches on his sleeves.

Some things in this life still remain unchanged… Some things are still simple.

He fastened his silvery badge, darting away from its silver lining to trace the prestigious letters engraved in the dead centre.

There are things that don’t need explanation or questioning. Heck, I don’t even know why I keep talking to myself like this. I wish I could get that point across to you.

“Yo, cap! Quit trying to exercise more! Training is finito.”

But not only are you too stubborn for me to tell you—as much as I love our banter…

He slowed his breathing and faced the lieutenant, his face flushed from the heat. Wherever the heat was coming from, all he knew was that it was burning him up from the inside and out. It left no scars or tarred flesh—it simply left him driven.

Cheekiness surfaced on his tense face. “The grind does not stop!”

I have a job to do.

***

“Right! Time to get work!”

Cosima hadn’t heard Sinjin shout that loud in a while; he was always respectful of the people living atop and below them. Even behind the dark bedroom walls, his voice broke through the barricades.

And it got closer, the door bursting open. Light spilled into the room in his wake.

“Cosimama, good news!” Sinjin jogged to her, holding her by her shoulders with care. His bright face startled her, especially as he was about to deliver news foreign to her. “The road has finally been announced cleared after three days! They said they towed a few unoccupied or damaged cars and sent them to a tow yard they named—I’ll go today! I have the affidavit ready to prove our car’s ownership!”

He let go of her shoulders, the ghostly touch lingering. He scattered around the room, sliding on his shoes and picking up a neat folder at the bedside table with his wallet. She couldn’t understand it.

“How can you be sure that the car isn’t destroyed?”

Sinjin shot her a quizzical look. “Why are you being so pessimistic? This is our car here! I have faith, and you should, too, ‘kay?”

“I’ll”—Cosima breathes out air and not her pessimism—”try.”

Sinjin stared at her, his brightness fading before he attempted to pick it up again.

“They said your phone would be all fixed by Friday noon.” He paused as Cosima deflated, lying flat on the bed. “At least they could fix it.”

Three days…

Her hands subconsciously clasped around the ghost of her phone. Days felt like an eternity—they always did in this slow burn of life. She’s spent too long in this room, staring at the walls and letting the heat get to her.

“I know your answer, but do you wanna come with me?”

Cosima did as he expected. “I’m fine.” She balled up on the bed.

Sinjin sighed, shuffling to the curtains and yanking them open, the cosmic light entering the room. He clicked open the window and left it slightly ajar.

“I know the air isn’t some freaking holy water, but you’re gonna suffocate yourself.” Sinjin shoved one of his hands into his pockets and trailed towards the door. He performed a check on the items in his hand. “I may be out for a while. I’ll pick up some groceries. Maybe I’ll just stroll around the city or something. I’ve been getting some headaches lately.”

Cosima shuffled a bit to catch a better picture of the man’s grey look.

“Get well soon.” An equally grey response.

“Hmm.” He departed from the darkness, leaving the room’s door wide open. “If you need anything, use the PC to contact me on WhatsApp. Don’t forget to use your cane. And… be mindful of what you do on the PC.”

The front door opened.

“Love you.”

The door shut without any physical love. The ghost of a kiss crept to her forehead.

She sighed heavily, her face dropping into her hands. All that remained in the apartment were her and the ghosts that mocked her.

Social media also mocked her, but she still craved a distraction—an escape from the things she couldn’t see or experience anymore.

It was an escape from reality, and a single word drummed against her head and loosened her hands from the ghostly phone.

PC.

She attempted to fight the thought.

He said I can only use it to contact him.

She glanced towards a cane near the bedside.

Then she looked away as if the clutch was a ghost.

He’ll be disappointed.

Did she have the spirit to restrain her urges?