"All units be advised we have a hostage situation on Lost Avenue, a local drugstore is being held up by a suspected EDP, be advised the suspect has a gun. Assistance requested."
Reagan looked at Dentor. "That's a 10-4, officers Reagan and Dentor are a block away and will assist," she called in.
Dentor looked at Reagan. "A little eager, aren't we, Syl?"
"Don't call me Syl," Reagan immediately responded.
Dentor shrugged and drove.
"Give me the meds!" the man should, pointing a gun at the pharmacist.
"S-sir, I can't give you medication without a prescription!" the woman protested.
The man fired the gun at the ceiling. "Charlie Jamison. LOOK ME UP!"
Reagan and Debtor ran in, guns drawn. "Sir! Put the gun down!" Reagan commanded.
Charlie shook his head. "No...no I need my meds! I NEED 'EM!"
Reagan cocked the gun. "Sir, don't make me tell you again. Put the gun down!"
The man pointed it at her, and she reacted on instinct. Her gun fired, and Charlie's dropped. "You...you shot me," he said dumbly, before the crimson in his abdomen showed and he collapsed to the ground. Reagan shook.
Dentor took a pulse. "Call a bus, Reagan!" he instructed.
Reagan snapped out of her stupor. "We need a bus at Lost Avenue, one victim, GSW to the abdomen, suspected internal bleeding," she said as she ripped his shirt and pressed it against the wound. "Stay with me," she commanded. "Stay with me!"
He didn't respond.
At the funeral, Reagan appologized to the family. The parents smiled sadly and said there was nothing to be done with Charlie, and in some ways it was a blessing. A boy, Charlie's brother, glowered at her. Everyone cried except Reagan. She didn't see much of a point to it. A man who was unstable and truthfully a danger to those around him had died, and the world was a little bit safer because of it. Didn't the people bawling their eyes out understand that? He was dangerous.
Sylvia Reagan swore then and there, she'd never cry over something as inconsequential as a stranger dying.
Ever.
ns 15.158.61.46da2
