Chigaco One Random Fanfics

The Day That Will Never Be Forgotten

Warning- Mentions of death and Car crashes, Sucide is a big thing in the store so if that's a trigger please don't read this story

You have been warned
Read on

The radio crackled with static, then Sergeant Platt's voice, sharp and clipped, filled the air. "Burgess, Roman, do you copy? Come in, 21-Adam-1. Do you c?"

Silence.

Platt's brow furrowed. Burgess and Roman were supposed to be patrolling the west side, a routine shift. They hadn't reported in for over an hour. "Voight," she said, her voice tight, "I'm getting nothing from Burgess and Roman. They're not responding."

"Check their last known location," Voight replied, his voice a low rumble.

Platt tapped the keyboard, her fingers flying across the keys. "Last known location, north side of 79th and Western."

"Go check it out," Voight said, his eyes narrowed. "I'll see what I can find."

Platt grabbed her jacket, her heart pounding in her chest. She drove to the location, her eyes scanning the streets. There was nothing unusual, no sign of a struggle. "This doesn't make sense," she muttered to herself.

She drove around the block, her eyes darting from side to side. Then she saw it. A mangled, silver squad car wedged deep into a thicket of trees, its bumper twisted, its windshield shattered. Her breath hitched.

She slammed on the brakes, her heart pounding in her ears. She ran towards the car, her mind racing. She reached the car and peered through the broken windshield. Burgess was slumped over the steering wheel, her head resting on the airbag, blood trickling down her temple. Roman was slumped against the passenger door, his eyes closed, his face pale.

"Burgess! Roman!" she yelled, her voice cracking with fear. She fumbled for her radio, her hands shaking. "Dispatch, we have a code three, officer down! Send an ambulance!"

As she waited for the ambulance, she tried to wake them. "Burgess! Roman! Can you hear me?"

But they didn't respond.

The paramedics arrived, their faces grim. They checked Burgess and Roman, their movements swift and efficient.

"We need to get them to the hospital," one of the paramedics said, his voice urgent.

They loaded Burgess and Roman onto stretchers and rushed them to the hospital. Platt followed behind, her heart heavy with worry.

At the hospital, they wheeled Burgess and Roman into separate rooms. Platt sat by Burgess's bedside, her hand resting on the cold, white sheet. Burgess's eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Platt's throat tightened. She couldn't believe this was happening.

A doctor emerged from the room, his face grave. "She's in critical condition," he said. "She's suffered a head injury and internal bleeding. We need to operate immediately."

Platt nodded, her eyes filled with tears. "Do whatever you have to do," she whispered.

The doctor nodded and went back into the room. Platt stayed by Burgess's side, her hand never leaving the cold, white sheet. She prayed for Burgess to pull through.

The surgery lasted for hours. Platt paced the waiting room, her anxiety growing with each passing minute. Finally, the doctor emerged, his face weary.

"The surgery was successful," he said. "But she's still in a coma. We'll need to monitor her closely."

Platt's heart sank. She didn't know how she would face Roman. She didn't know how she would tell him that Burgess was in a coma.

The next few days were a blur of doctors, nurses, and worried faces. Platt stayed by Burgess's side, her hand never leaving the cold, white sheet. She talked to Burgess, told her stories, and sang her songs, hoping that somehow Burgess could hear her.