꒰👁️꒱ 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖆 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

First Responder

      No matter how many times I did the job it never felt any better. Sweep the house, neutralize the enemy, get out, is what I repeated in my head every time–every time I got an order over the radio, telling me that another house near my location was attack by those things a pit grew in my stomach. Saying that sentence over and over again would calm be down and remind me of what I had to do. Sometimes I could only wish that the government has kept things the way they were: no one responds to alternate calls.
      But there were too many casualties, too much money loss, so they decided to change that. Maybe when more responders are fill up the Mandela Grave Yard they'll reverse it. So, once again, I'm in my car. The familiar scent of a new car filled my nose. My old car had deep gash marks on the side and the window was broken due to an alternate attack. Some days I can't help but wonder if their large claws will eventually slice through me. The air around me felt still and silent, which was usual when I responded to a call like this, but it managed to crackle with life which wasn't usual.
       I pulled up to the house and withdrew my weapon immediately. I was here to neutralize, not necessarily help, I reminded myself. I slowly popped open my car door and ducked down low as I approached the house. The front door stood open slightly with blood splattered on the welcome mat. I cringed as my boot pressed on the rough material combined with the dark, thick fluid. I took another step and my boot nudged something solid, but not hard. I flicked my flashlight on and saw an arm. I bit my lip and dragged the light to the persons face, holding my breath. I let out a sigh of relief as I realized it was an alternate. Their face was grotesque: elongated eyes and stretched pupils, mouth agape with a second row of sharp teeth.
      I pulled my radio up to my lips and whispered, "target neutralized. Going to search for survivors." I was quickly met with disapproval from the captain. "Officer, do not proceed. The target is neutralized, return to your post." I ignored the captain and continued, turning down the sound of my radio. I crept up the stairs with my gun drawn and checked the right room to my right, throwing the door open and looking under the bed and in the closet. Nothing. Next was the bathroom.
     I cautiously approached the bathroom, shining a light on the curtain. The hair on my arms stood up as four shadows were casted on the wall behind the figures. "Pull the curtain back and out your hands up," I demanded, aiming my weapon. There was hesitance but I saw a small braceleted hand pull the shower curtain back to reveal a mother, father, and two little girls. My arms and legs suddenly felt heavier than usual and a chill ran down my spine. I couldn't tell why.
      Maybe it was the fact that it was a family this time and not just a singular person living alone. Maybe it was the fact that I once had a family, too—a life outside of this job, before my rank was changed, before they moved me to a different unit. I don't know why my face started to feel as if it was melting, which I've trained myself to keep in check. I don't know why the parents pulled their children behind them to shield them from me, or why their cries of terror fill the room. It was so loud. I don't know why my arms and legs started to painfully stretch and cause sickening cracks and pops to echo through the small bathroom.

And then I remembered once more, I was here to neutralize, not help.