Memory Shards

Warsaw's Charger Bravo Massacre - Part 1

December 4th, year 3068

The sound of bullets echoes throughout the precinct's firing range. The sound of paper ripping in the far distance. Both sounds I've come to become accustomed to after five years here. It's something I have come to enjoy in a way - something I have found just fits the way I've lived up until now. Being a police officer, or part of a death squad wasn't exactly in my 10-year plan, but the pay is good. Besides, it's not like I plan on staying like this forever. I'll go back to studying someday. I don't particularly enjoy firing guns, it's just something I'm good at. I'm more interested in the dynamics and ballistics engineering aspects of it. But even then, I always wondered if others see what I see - I just visualize the bullet hitting the target before firing.
Firing a weapon is what I do - it's what I've always done for as long as I've had work. Despite my formal job description being "taking care of public security affairs and active shooter situations for local law enforcement", it doesn't feel appropriate at all, it doesn't feel like it actually encompasses my day to day - even though a lot of time is idle, or passive public safety, what I really do is shoot my weapon.
It just feels like second nature to me. I was born to shoot guns.
The screen flashes to my right, displaying the latest results of a 20-round magazine.
"Group 13, distance: 260 feet. Max deviation of 3.032 inches. Max horizontal deviation: 2.882 inches. Max vertical deviation: 1.992 inches. Off target horizontal: -0.299 inches. Off target vertical: -0.284 inches."
I've done better. All averages to the precision of roughly the size of an orange. This could do, but more testing is needed. I unload the empty magazine and pick a new one from the shelf - I load it back up and aim again.
"Commencing test group 14-," - An interruption, a gentle tap graces my shoulder; it's her. I unload the gun and rack the slide - chamber is clear. I put the gun down on the table and take off both my glasses and earmuffs.
"Fox Hound." - I call out to her as I begin to turn myself.
She's probably been waiting for me to stop shooting before entering the range - just behind that door.
"It's been a bit of a slow day." - She says while leaning against the table - still donning her uniform. I guess she's still got a few hours on the clock today.

"Maybe for you, I'm just starting." - I reply as I begin turning towards her.
We've always had different schedules, depending on the day. Come think of it, we rarely see each other nowadays, but I was the one who inducted her while she was a cadet four years ago.
"I just came to check on you, see what you're doing." - She says with her voice full of some other intent; a bit unlike her. "Same old?" - she asks, seeing how it's not yet time for me to clock in, already practicing close shot grouping.
"Same old." - I reply, looking at her in the eye. I'm not clueless, she's about to say something I don't want to hear right now. Things have been pretty hectic already as is. The city is changing, it's becoming harder each day to take care of the zone entrusted to us.

She breaks into a brief silence, sighing to herself - "I don't get why you keep practicing like this, you're already plenty good, better than anyone else here." - she mentions with an air of frustration in her tone. She's got something in her mind. She usually keeps to herself in most cases, and rarely goes to anyone when she's got a problem; not even when I was mentoring her.

"I only got good at it this way, it's all I'm good for here." - I retort while looking into those hazel eyes. She's got such a pretty face with sharp features, one that's difficult to look at when she's angry - not like she isn't difficult herself.

"It's all you ever do; you should take a break off things for a change, off the death squad, off the kill assignments, off this job." - Her voice doesn't once shiver for a second, not once doubting her train of thought, always so sure about everything; how so like her.

I know at this point it would be better to just not say anything, but somehow it just seems like it would make things worse. I know she cares about everyone; a lot more than she lets onto. I just know why she came to me specifically, she's probably the only one to notice how I've been acting recently. I appreciate this job a lot, I've got nothing but gratefulness for the opportunities I've had here. I know why I'm here; I can't just expect the world to stop for me to feel better - so I need to keep on keeping on.
"I couldn't ever take a break; they need me here." - I reply out to the air to kill the silence, I had to throw my head back for a moment - I can feel the stress building up just thinking about all this.