I stand next to a propped up stretcher, clenching my writing pad with a determined grip. My blood is boiling, and I am watching our surroundings to calm down. Wow, pretty gray cement buildings. Inimitable beige skyscrapers. An oversized glossy placard advertising: "Timothy Edwards The Realtor For YOU", accompanied by the picture of a suspiciously handsome blond man.

Colin is presently asking the janitor the usual round of questions. However, this predicament is anything but usual. It is horrendous and vile. A non-binary child, no older than fourteen years, is lying on the stretcher at my side. They were beaten severely and left in the school yard behind a trolley to store basketballs. The janitor found them, passed out and with beginnings of hypothermia, because their assailants robbed them of their coat and shirt. As though the relentless, cruel beating was not enough. I do not know if they wore expensive clothes or if the idea was to... Reveal their torso.

As well as I contrived to mask my despair, Colin apparently saw through my facade and took over the interrogation, suggesting that I stay with the young victim. The school secretary is pacing about forty feet from us, on the phone with the child's parents. The orange glow at the tip of her cigarette marks her position in the darkness. Streetlights and an obscured slice of the moon consist of the main lighting, apart from the harsh flow of light that escapes the back of our ambulance. Good ol' 7 PM in Gotham City.

At least, another doctor is assigned to our unit, meaning I did not have to face Doctor Russell once we got back to the hospital.

I am unfortunately used to seeing adults after they have been assaulted based only on gender discrimination. But not kids. This only proves how much worse the world is somehow getting. Gotham is not evolving to rid itself of crime any soon, I fear. Hunched in an armchair inside our break room, I am dwelling on today's events, their implications, my role in this...

"Tanza?"

I realize that Maximilian left Colin and I alone, even if he was here only... I read the time on my watch: 25 minutes ago. Our shift is over.

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna..? Walk around? Or get something to eat?"

"Yes, thank you."

Sitting on a wooden bench outside the Gotham General Hospital, we are drinking the sports beverages we bought in a distributor inside the hospital's cafeteria.

"You know, I'm shocked that you chose a blue one," my colleague jokes, before taking a sip of his eerily red fruit punch drink.

"It's just as unnatural as the red one. And I'll have you know that I like blue, so... They're all imaginary flavors. Even the lemon one."

That is my second favorite, not because of its color unlike the blue raspberry thirst quencher.

"Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. But we can take a breather. I know today was rough."

His gray eyes have an unexpected warmth to them, despite their cool tint. They express how strongly he cares about others around him... Including me, inevitably.

"No, I'm better now. Tell me."

"Uh, yeah, sure. So, you know how I got interviewed by Dorothy for that team leader position in the 76?"

Squad 76 looks over four ambulances, while ours typically uses the same two vehicles, justifying their need for additional leadership.

I nod and, although he seems excited, he is fidgeting with his plastic bottle.

"Well, I got the job! I'm getting transferred." His voice is ever so slightly shaky.

"You're kidding! Colin, that's awesome! I'm happy for you."

"I'll miss seeing you almost every day."

The man suddenly pounds back what was left of his beverage, crunching the receptacle between his fingers.

I smile nostalgically. "The whole squad's gonna miss you."

"What about you?" he asks, grinning and turning to look straight at me.

I chuckle, reiterating, "Alright, I'll miss you, too. We had a good run. We'll probably bump into each other, now and then, if we're lucky. When do you switch?"

"Not the one tomorrow, but next week's Thursday."

"Hm, I see. You've got a few people you know in the 76, right? From school."

"Great memory, as always..." An unknown emotion flickers inside his eyes, and he abruptly lets his bottle go, to shove his hands in his coat's pockets. "My timing is terrible, but... Look, I gotta ask you something. We're not really gonna be working together anymore, so I can ask you, technically. Would you go on a date with me, Tanza?"

No matter how helpless he looks, I can sense my eyes widening in utter confusion. What?! Colin's eyes avert mine, while my brain is rapidly processing the situation. He is not my coworker anymore, or not in any manner that could be problematic if we... Doubtlessly, we are far from being a couple. Would I mind going on a date after approximately seven years of celibacy and remaining single? No. Not at all, if the person is right... Do I like Colin? Uh... I could. That is a certainty, even if I do not know. Apparently, figuring that out is what dates are for. Lately, I think Cheryl has inspired me to be less closed off. Not all experiments succeed, but nothing great can happen without them. Nothing ventured, nothing gained... My father said that all the time, nearly multiple times every day.

I smirk at him, and my heart rate noticeably speeds up.

"Of course. When?"

He enthusiastically replies, "I was thinking Friday afternoon, since we're not working then." The paramedic takes his left hand out of his jacket and rubs the nape of his neck. "How do you feel about dinner and a movie? Is it too formal?"

"Unless you've got a problem with it, I wouldn't mind that."

After my uncommonly lavish birthday, it would take something truly extraordinary to bewilder me. Furthermore, I do not seek bewilderment. I think a simple tractable setting will accommodate me, and I will be more at ease, more inclined to enjoy myself and learn about him. Well, learn to know him. Those are not quite synonyms...

"I can pick you up at 3h00, if that's good for you."

"Yeah, it's good. I'll send you my address before then."

"It's a date," he affirms, laughing with a relieved air.

I spin my bottle between my hands, following the sloshing around of the unnaturally blue liquid inside of it with my eyes. Reluctantly, I tell him:

"I should get going. There's a bus coming soon, and the one after it drops me off a bit far from my place, so... It's pretty late, you get it."

"I do, but why the bus, though? You have a car, right?"

I huff dryly, replying, "In theory. But a bunch of... How can I put this nicely..? Hooligans figured hijacking an electric car was useless, so they vandalized it and wrecked my charging station instead. I'm keeping what's left of the battery life for emergencies, which means I get to take the bus all the time, now."

"That sucks. Is the network as terrible as they say?"

"No... Worse."

We laugh together, concurrently raising from our seat. Colin follows me on foot, although I am heading for the nearby bus stop.

"Do you need any suggestions?"

"No, thanks. Unless you have a free alternative for me."

"Have you got a bike or something?"

"Unfortunately, no. I only have room for my roller skates."

Luckily, he is perceptive enough to not offer me his services as my chauffeur. That would have been awkward for the both of us, and the fact that he realizes such subtleties is one of countless reasons why I agreed to a date with him.

I admittedly have been feeling extremely frustrated about what happened to the charging station in front of my apartment complex, after all the efforts I made to get it installed. After weeks of pleading with the apartment committee, I prayed that my source of electricity would remain unmarred for as long as possible. The problem with the committee members is that while they are dangerously lax regarding protocol and the jurisdiction for rented domiciles in Gotham City, they are just as nonchalant when they are approving projects. I doubt those people care about anything else than collecting rent, sadly. I pity their disregard for humanity. Understandably, I have no funds to repair the charging station or replace it and loaning a new automobile is out of the question. It would represent a considerable waste of money, and I refuse to pollute the air with a gasoline-fuelled vehicle.

Arming my security system, in the omnipresent darkness of my home, I notice the time: 12h08 PM. Even if I am not working tomorrow, I would have liked going to sleep before midnight. I tried tiring myself out with a few stretches and push-ups, but that only stimulated my adrenaline again and I had to wait.

Back in my bedroom, I unplug my cellphone from its charging contraption, discovering that I received three text messages. Apparently, all of them were sent by Cheryl. I press on our conversation to read them, unusually apprehensive. The Bull most likely is not aware that I am the person  who liberated his girlfriend three nights ago. Ever since I took that risk, though, I have been looking over my shoulder, waiting for something horrible to occur... My car getting trashed unnerved me, despite the absence of any gang insignias in the destructive mess that was made. No one was sending me a warning... I assume.

I exhale shortly, bringing my focus to the messages on the screen.

(Can you come to Ozum's Marvellous Circus TOMORROW MORNING???????)

(Today I mean Thursday, it's midnight 😂)

(I need to see you it's important.)

The tone of the last text, transmitted two minutes ago, impales me like a rusty spear.