Our Queensland Police Commissioner solemnly announced, "Last week, on Tuesday, June 11th, Officers Jenkins and Sheer tragically lost their lives." His voice, amplified by the microphone, echoed throughout the stadium, where all Queensland police officers gathered to mourn this heartbreaking loss.

I stood there in silence, my mind numb. It pained me to hear the cries of the officers' loved ones. No amount of comfort could ease their grief. They were good police officers. They didn't deserve to go out that way.

The mourning ceremony lasted only a few hours, and then it was back to work.

"That’s all I really remember of the ceremony," I told my mom over the phone when she called to check in on me. But even as I spoke, my mind was elsewhere, haunted by the events of that tragic night.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. It's been a rough couple of days for you."

I gave a somewhat awkward chuckle. "Yeah, it has. Look, Mum, I gotta go. I need to get back to work," I said, pausing for a moment.

"Alright, dear. You stay safe," she said.

"Will do, Mum..." I hung up the phone.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, pulling out a cigarette as I walked through the dimly lit hallway of the police department, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. With each inhale, the smoke filled my lungs, offering a brief reprieve from the built-up tension within me.

My FTO entered the smoking room, the scent of tobacco clinging to his uniform.

"Hey, mate," he said, nodding in my direction. "Just a heads up, you've got your mental health check-up with the department psychiatrist today."

I scoffed and replied, "Really? I mean, I'm fine. Can't believe they really think I need to check in with a psychiatrist just because of this." "Look, kid," my FTO said, his tone firm but respectful, almost like a father speaking to his son.

"What happened that night is hard for any human to comprehend and come to terms with. You might feel like it's not necessary, but the police department deems it necessary."

"Yeah, right," I said, understanding his point.

I walked slowly through the police department to the psychiatrist's office. The station always had a weird and eerie vibe, with the lights in the hallway emitting a strange humming sound.

Entering the psychiatrist's office, I found the door wide open. The psychiatrist, Tiffany, introduced herself. She greeted me with a "hi," but her voice sounded almost robotic, devoid of any warmth or emotion. "I've been expecting you," she said.

I laughed awkwardly and replied, "Yes," with a forced smile.

"I want to start off by saying sorry. I understand how tough it must be to go through something like what you did," she said, her tone shallow. She leaned back in her chair and asked, "How are you?"I gave a small laugh and insisted that I was truly fine. "Really, I shouldn’t be here," I added, scoffing.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Silence filled the room, the only sound being the air conditioner filling the room with cold air, and the faint murmur of small talk coming from the front reception.

"I've looked through your file, Nathan," Tiffany continued, her voice calm as she flipped through the pages of my file. "You excelled in the academy, top of your class in everything. Impressive."

We spoke for what seemed like hours, though it was only 30 minutes. Despite my reassurances that I was fine, an unsettling vibe lingered in the room, making the conversation feel heavier than it should have been.

After a bit more conversation, I left Tiffany's office, the weight of her words still hanging over me. Making my way down to the garage, I climbed into my patrol vehicle. Today, I was on solo patrol duty. The police force was spread thin, with a severe shortage of officers. Despite the risks, I was authorized to patrol alone. My performance in the police academy and my track record during my time here had earned me that privilege.

As I sit in my patrol car, slowly cruising through the rainy and foggy streets of Brisbane's East side, the soft patter of rain on the windshield fills the quiet late afternoon. It's the first call of the shift, and the silence is shattered by the urgent crackle of the radio. Dispatch calls for any available units to assist another patrol unit dealing with a domestic dispute. There's urgency in the dispatcher's voice, urging us to move swiftly.

I grab the crackling radio, the sound of heavy rain drowning out its transmission. Swiftly responding, I say, "10-4, I'm available. En route to the location."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, the relentless rain making it hard to hear anything else. As I speak, the car momentarily loses traction, but I keep it steady, pushing through the storm to respond to the dispatch call.

Just three minutes away from arriving, another officer's voice crackles over the radio. They report that they've been attacked by one of the family members involved in the domestic dispute and EMS are needed.

"Holy shit," I said aloud. As I arrived at the scene, the stench of the homeless-lined streets filled the inside of my patrol car, almost suffocating me. I remember seeing this place on the news not long ago. It was named one of Australia's most homeless suburbs. The streets were lined with makeshift shelters and cardboard boxes.

I then alerted dispatch that I'm on the scene, but the words suddenly left my mouth as the suspects involved in the domestic disturbance grew more agitated by the presence of another officer. To add to the tension, we had their friend in cuffs, face first into the mud, the same person who had assaulted the officer.

Running from my patrol vehicle, I sprinted towards the other officers attempting to de-escalate the situation, screaming at them to stop interfering with the investigation and let us do our job. The situation felt suffocating; the closer people got to us, the more trapped I felt.

I quickly radioed for backup, urgently requesting more units to the scene as the crowd grew increasingly agitated.

I thought to myself, "How the fuck does this happen? We're just here to do our fucking jobs. Why won't these fuckers let us do it?!" I screamed at the agitated crowd to back the fuck up, pulling out my taser, and the other officers quickly did the same. The pouring rain only added to the chaos, mingling with the stench of the dirty, homeless-lined streets.

"Get back! Now!" I yelled over the roar of the rain, my voice barely audible above the crowd's angry shouts. But they kept coming.

By this time, dispatch got back to us, saying that we were stretched thin and the available officer was 20 minutes away.

I turned to the other officers on scene, shouting over the din of the crowd and the pouring rain, "We need to work together to get the people actually involved with the domestic dispute away from this situation!"

The chaotic scene unfolded on the front porch of a small, run-down house nestled in the suburbs of Brisbane, hidden away near the industrial area. It looked like a trap house, its shabby exterior a stark contrast to the upscale neighborhoods nearby.

"Oi!" I yelled to the other police officer, Sergeant Thompson, a no-nonsense veteran with a gruff demeanor. "Take these people away—the ones we were originally called for. Move them closer to our cars. It's only a few feet away from this crowd, but at least it'll give us some space."

Sergeant Thompson nodded, his expression serious as he barked orders at the officers closest to him. "You heard the man! Let's get these people out of here, slowly and carefully."

As we began to slowly move the people involved in the domestic dispute toward our patrol cars, Officer Stevens, a younger officer known for his calm under pressure, approached me.

"Think this is gonna calm them down?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

"I hope so," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "We need to get this situation under control before it gets any worse."

I yelled over the radio, "We need immediate assistance! The crowd is getting more violent!" Dispatch responds with a crackle, "10-4, two units on the way. They're 20 minutes out."

Officer Stevens overheard the radio chatter. "I don't even know if we'll survive with this fucking crowd," he muttered, his voice tense with concern.

As we struggled to maintain control of the escalating situation, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. The rain continued to pour, the crowd grew more violent, and backup was still minutes away. With tensions reaching a boiling point, I couldn't help but wonder if we would make it out of this situation unscathed.