«We’ve got a Code 3 situation. Possible hostage. The suspect is a young woman, allegedly armed». The radio dispatch pours the words down his ears. Running past the strip-club, the glare of the gigantic neon lights nearly blind him, calling him out from his own self-absorption. Just like God slapping him around. Time to wake up, you ridiculous sample of a man. He fights his own thoughts as he approaches the hospital. He fights his fear. He fights the world.

His boot gets entangled in a newspaper page that clings to its tip. He looks down, disregarding it, and continues to run. His dark glasses fly out from his shirt, but he doesn’t stop. If someone else dies during his shift, it won’t be this time. At least, let it not be this time. Please, not this time. He leaps from the street to the curb and instantly goes to his sidearm at the sight of two dim shapes, cut against the shadowy walls of the hospital. Officer Eizenberg unholsters his gun, not feeling the need to be polite on this night. He raises the weapon, takes aim through the see-through glass sliding doors of the Hathian General and slows down, starting to make a textbook approach of a suspect. The doors slide open and he finally steps foot in the Hospital.

«Police!». He calls out from the lobby, as soon as he notices the obvious glare of a sharp steel object. Growing in Brooklyn, surviving in Hathian, struggling to be a living cop, Jake has no doubt this is a knife, like any other knife in any other place in America. He pulls the safety off without hesitation and steps closer, trying to look over the front desk. His eyes open wider. The woman behind the desk looks up at him. Their eyes meet for a moment. His heart feels like it’s going to jump out from his chest. A knife is being pressed against a woman’s neck. She’s going to kill her.