"The Change is Forever."
A metal door shuts and a body falls. We run. Liam rams the door. I'm blinded by fire, burning in the night. Sage looks at me, defiance in her eyes, flecks of gold in brown. I bust a console and cut wires. I rearrange them like war has rearranged me. The car starts. I drive away. We're blown off the cliff. The ocean looks small, and grows and grows and grows as we rush towards it, gravity sucking us in. Sounds of waves that were once soothing become an anthem to the nightmare.
We break through the surface. Sage saves my life, but so many around me are dead.
...
I splashed water on my face, a tremor wracking my body at the feeling. I breathed in deep, held it there, and let it go like they taught me.
One. Two. Three.
My body had been punctured by bullets. My skin had been scarred by shrapnel. My bones had been broken and snapped back into place. Nothing compared to the night that overrode every dream for the last year. The night that had me skip showers for weeks before I could take one without crumbling in panic.
The sink drain gurgled as I watched the water circle it, like I was trying to wash away the pure terror, my hand still gripping the faucet handle. I looked in the mirror, relieved to find bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks. All signs that I was still alive. Breathing. Something I'd never take for granted ever again.
I checked my watch. 0432. Couldn't ever manage to sleep past then.
They told me that would go away with time, but plenty of time had passed, and it hadn't gone anywhere. I shook my head and left the bathroom, turning off the light so as to not wake up Sadie. She was still sleeping in our bedroom, painted in moonlight filtering through our sheer curtains. My running gear waited in the living room, and I snuck down the hall to get changed. Sadie had yelled at me multiple times for leaving clothes all over the place, but she didn't understand that they were left there like tactical caches for times like those.
I removed clean socks from the dryer, something she also yelled at me for – leaving them there. When it came to those – socks, she was a hypocrite, but it worked to my advantage. She didn't trust the android to put them away the way she liked them.
He stared at me from the living room, and took a step forward out of his charging station.
...
I come home with an arm in a sling and a crutch under my leg. Nothing compares to the phantom pain in my chest, in my lungs, burning from saltwater – from almost drowning. Sadie opens the door for me, but I freeze in the doorway. Roger stares at me from the living room.
"Your parents sent it as a gift. They were at the first CyberLife trade show in Detroit and got one hell of a deal." Sadie tells me. "They upgraded, and sent Roger to help nurse you back to health."
"They sent...an android?"
"He helps me around the house. Makes it so I can actually work and not worry about Tali being here alone. And he's going to help us get you back on your feet."
"They have thoughts, Sadie. Feelings. We shouldn't–"
"David," she puts a hand on my good arm. "I know you've been through a lot. But he's just a machine."
She's brainwashed – fed the propaganda, and ate it up. They make the rest of us sound like we're crazy so we lose credibility, like we're all just traumatized and making shit up.
I stare at her hand. Her wedding ring. I stare at the diamonds inlaid in gold. I think of the diamond mine.
I realize the Marine Corps was done with me long before I was done with them.
...
"Good morning, Mr. Allen." The sound of Roger's voice made me jump.
I wanted to choke him. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me 'Mr. Allen?'"
"I'm sorry. Mrs. Allen continues to change my settings. Would you prefer 'Staff Sergeant Allen?'"
"Do we look like we're on base?"
Roger looked around. "No. We are in Detroit, Michigan."
"Yeah..." I sighed, looking at my Medal of Honor in its case on a shelf. "Yeah, we are."
My parents gave us this house. It was paid off, within a good school district, and well maintained, thanks to my dad. Growing up, I never thought it would be mine one day. But they'd insisted, right before they packed up and moved to Florida to retire. Dad always did like taking his boat out on the water. The scenery in Florida certainly beat Michigan.
They originally told me it was a vacation, that they'd even booked a rental car and an android helper. Putting my opinions about android labor aside, I asked her how that worked.
"You can ship them so that they're there when you arrive, or you can rent one when you get there."
Their trip wasn't a vacation, though. They left for good. I missed them. Seemed like just when I was out – just when I finally had time to see them regularly, they took off.
After a year in Jacksonville, North Carolina – after a year on MCB Camp Lejeune, we'd made the long move to Detroit after I was officially discharged. After the Marine Corps officially gave up on my rehabilitation. Our life was still in boxes, and I applied to 20 jobs a day. But there was work for me on the outside, not in an office. Not in Detroit. For any interview I managed to scrape up, by the end of it – I'd leave convinced that I was just a mark towards their human interview quota.
Pension aside, my severance and unemployment was drying up. Dad was a hard ass about it, told me I was doing something wrong. Said no one wanted to work, and I was just being picky. I couldn't get mad – I'd seen first hand what war did to him. Told myself that there wasn't any truth to those criticisms, that it hadn't hit me that bad. "Not yet," is what my mom told me.
I never wanted to put Sadie through what my dad put my mom through. Put us through. At least my wife was still excited to have me around. Even a year later, Sadie and Tali hadn't stopped smiling since I limped through the doorway back on base – despite all the mess I brought with me.
"Would you like a running partner?" Roger asked, breaking my spiral.
I shook my head clear. "What?"
"Would you like me to accompany you on your run this morning?"
My brows creased. "People do that?"
"Do what?"
"Go on runs with androids?"
"Yes." He answered simply, "Mrs. Allen never goes on her afternoon runs without my company. She says it is for her safety."
"Good," I slipped my sneakers on. "Too dangerous for a woman to go running alone."
"She says the same thing," Roger smiled. "She also mentioned that she's able to run with headphones on when I'm around, which-"
"She does what?" I snapped, "What if someone sneaks up on her? What if someone swerved and she didn't hear a horn? What if-"
"I watch for any and all hazards, Mister-...Staff S-...sorry, what name should I address you by?"
"David."
"David. Yes. Apologies."
I sighed, waving him off. "I'll be back soon."
I had no interest in arguing that early in the morning. He said something as I moved to leave, but I didn't hear what it was. I opened the door, a gust of wind greeting me, and froze in the doorway. Sadie's earphones were on the stand.
No, it's not safe. Yes, drown it all out.
I stared at them for what seemed like forever. To listen to music, to hear nothing and say nothing and just lose myself...how long had it been?
"Fuck it." I muttered, snatched them off the small table and ran outside, closing the door behind me.
It was pitch black out. The wireless earphones paired with my watch, and I put on the first song that came up. And I ran. I couldn't hear my own breathing. My own footsteps...much less anyone else's.
Maintain situational awareness.
I shook my head.
No. You need this. Stop.
I just wanted to be free from my "original programming," of the procedures and orders ingrained in my mind by the Marine Corps. I was no longer a tool. No longer just a weapon. I wanted to turn it off. I wanted to escape. I didn't want to be a Marine anymore, I wanted to be a father again. A husband. A son. A person. I fought so hard for freedom only to discover I had none.
I ran faster. Harder. I wanted to forget.
They're going to take you by surprise.
There was no one to worry about. I wasn't surrounded by enemies. I wasn't going to get shot at. I had to keep going. I had to prove to myself that I was-
You left them unprotected. Go back home.
They'd be fine. I had to break away. I had to break free.
I ran so fast, and so far – aimlessly bounding through the night with no direction. For the first time in over a decade, I could go where I wanted, when I wanted, all without needing to ask a damn CO for permission. I could take control of my life – but I didn't know how.
An hour passed, and I wasn't in Old Redford anymore. The world had scrolled by in blurs of fences, brick buildings, cement blocks, red lights, chirps at intersections – and I'd missed all of it. Another 20 minutes went by, and I was somehow downtown, which looked so different than before. Digital signs replaced physical ones, streets were being dug up for hardware to make self-driving cars operational – nothing was the same. I wasn't the same.
I kept running, faster now.
I cut through Hart Plaza. Tali loved to go there when she was little when we visited my parents. It was one of the few places left on Earth that I had nothing but great memories of. Nothing to taint it. Just Tali's smiling face as I put her in front of statues and benches and took pictures with her. She loved it when her "daddy" was home. Now she looked at me like I was her favorite actor and she couldn't believe I was in front of her. She calls me "dad" now. When did that change? I missed all of it.
I closed my eyes and ran, ran, and ran until I couldn't anymore. Something stopped me abruptly as I collided with it.
The air left my lungs as it plowed into my chest. I lunged forward and my hands instinctively caught hold of a railing – a silver bar. I stared at a cement block, but it was wet. The smell of freshwater hit my nose. I looked up. I ran the entire stretch from my house to the Detroit River.
The black water rolled two feet in front of me. Small, gentle waves slapped against the ledge below – a dark void between the United States and Canada with the CyberLife tower on Belle Island in the middle, keeping watch. The tower's lights twinkled in the water like fire, waiting to pull someone in. Waiting to pull me in.
A wall. A body. A car. A splash.
My legs burned, my knees throbbed, and it didn't help when I fell to them. I grabbed the silver bars of the fence keeping me from falling in. Looked at the river through those bars like a jail cell, gripping them so hard my knuckles turned white, and I cried. Everything that built up came out and I was sobbing in the most unmanly, emasculating way possible. Something my dad taught me never to do, and his dad taught him. Much like everything else about myself I couldn't control, my body did what it wanted anyway.
The anger boiled. The pain flared. The alienation of being tossed into a world that I defended with no place to fit into it finally took hold. 6 months on bedrest. 3 in physical rehab. And the other 3 spent packing the house and leaving. My life on the outside had just begun, but life as I knew it was over.
The water called.
I removed the earphones from my ears, returned them to their case, and dropped them in my pocket. With new clarity, I listened to the water roll into the cement that I sat upon. It was a sound that would never be calming – not after what happened, but maybe it could provide the release I sought; the watery grave I should've died in instead of so many others that never made it home. I stood, wiping my face with my shirt and swiping away the pebbles that'd embedded themselves in my knees the same way the trauma embedded itself in my soul. I gripped the railing with both hands, letting out a long breath.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I looked back to the tower on Belle Island, the gravestone that marked the final resting place of countless androids under my command. A fresh wave of guilt crashed over me as I asked myself how many I sent back to that place in pieces...mentally, or physically.
A booming laugh echoed along the water, then – the sound dispatched against my thoughts of despair. I thought I'd imagined it; heard something from a faint memory before it happened again. That's when I saw them: two men in uniform walking along the river, one with coffee in his hand, the other with a half-eaten sandwich, waving it around wildly in the middle of telling a story.
I took in a long, drawn out breath, and let it go slowly. I straightened my back and scrubbed my face. The two officers walked by behind me, and I didn't think anything of it until one of them addressed me directly.
"Morning, sir."
I swallowed, wetting my throat before answering, "Morning."
The footsteps stopped.
"What's wrong?" The other cop asked.
I turned my head to dismiss any concerns, but then I realized – he hadn't been talking to me. His partner, the one who said good morning, was staring at me.
"David?"
My face crinkled and I squinted. The sun had just barely begun to come up, and my eyes were shit. But when the man took a few steps towards me, I saw his face, clear as day. The deadliest helicopter pilot that'd ever had the misfortune of watching my ass.
My guardian angel.
"Chris?"
"Holy shit, it is you. Hey!" He chuckled, a warm smile on his face. "What the hell are you doing here?"
We met halfway, clasping hands in a firm grip, pulling into that brief, solid, one-armed clap on the shoulder that often substituted for a hug between men like us.
"I live here now, up in Old Redford." I nodded vaguely back toward the way I'd run. "Parents gave me the old house when they took off for Florida." I gave him a small shrug, "You know how restless old people get when they retire."
"Yeah, especially your old man..." Chris paused. "He served too, didn't he?"
"Sure did. Thirty-five years before he hung up his boots."
Chris nodded slowly, regarding me with a sort of quiet respect that still felt awkward, making my skin prickle. He rested one hand on his duty belt, his half-eaten sandwich momentarily forgotten, hanging at his side in the other. My eyes flickered to the man next to him, responding to the feeling of being watched. Measured. We just stood there, the assessment mutual – his silent distrust igniting my distrust, until Chris seemed to shake himself back to the present.
"Oh, shit, sorry. Still waking up." He straightened his posture slightly, a reflexive adjustment that was pure military habit bleeding through. "David, this is my partner, Officer Gavin Reed." He gestured with his sandwich-hand. "Gavin, this is Staff Sergeant David Allen."
"Hey." Reed lifted his chin, put his hand in his pocket, and took another sip of his coffee.
The single word was rough, clipped. He squinted, his cool grey eyes taking me in with unnerving scrutiny. His brown hair was short, practical, and his rolled-up uniform sleeves revealed forearms covered in dense, intricate tattoo work – faded with time but clearly riddled with stories.
"We uh, served together." Chris added quickly, trying to bridge the sudden chill, "Ran a few operations together back in the day."
I snickered, "More like – you flew, I ran."
"Great, another goddamn 'hero.'" Reed rolled his eyes, words carrying the unmistakable edge of a New York accent, "Just what this city needs."
"Gavin, don't start your bullshit." Chris warned, the earlier warmth gone from his voice, replaced by weary exasperation. He rolled his neck, casting a brief look skyward as if praying for patience. "Please, dear God, not now."
"Don't start what shit? Your 'veteran' buddies are half the problem around here." He snorted, "Drugs, theft, murder, domestic violence – I mean shit, they're worse than the drug dealers." He chuckled over the rim of his coffee cup.
"Officer Reed, was it?" I asked.
"Oh no..." Chris held a hand up to me. "Look, he fires from the hip, but he's a harmless idiot. Don't let him-"
"Yeah, that's me." Gavin lowered his cup, looking at me directly now. "What's it to you?"
"You ever disarm a man before he draws his gun with one hand behind your back?"
"Nope."
"Want to learn?"
Gavin looked at Chris, who viciously shook his head "no," and then Gavin laughed out loud.
"Yeah, okay wise guy." He shrugged, still laughing. "Let's see what you've got."
"Can't." I lifted each of my legs to stretch them, looking at the ground as I rocked on my heels, and then I looked back up to him. "That would be assaulting a police officer."
"Ohhh, I see." He swiped his nose, looking around with a cocky smile, "You think you're tough, eh?"
"I know I'm tough, and I've got the medals to prove it. Difference is, I'm not hiding behind them like you're hiding behind that badge. So don't start with me." I pointed at him. "It won't end well for you."
"Alright, alright, how 'bout we take it down a few notches. Allen, put your knife hand away." Chris walked in the middle, his hands up to each of us.
Gavin opened his mouth to say something, and Chris pointed his sandwich at him. "Keep your mouth shut before I have to pick you up off the ground. I won't save you."
He did, in fact, shut his mouth after that.
"Look. David. Things are happening around here." Chris hooked a thumb on his belt, shifting weight to one leg. "I went from 'First Lieutenant Miller' to 'Officer Miller' basically overnight. It felt like a step back at first, but people here need help just as much as they did out there. You should really think about it."
"Think about what?"
"Being a cop." He shrugged innocently.
"Wait," I blinked a few times out of shock. "The DPD is still hiring humans?"
"Yep. Lots of 'em. And they've got a mean veterans' preference policy."
"Don't remind me." Reed rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
Both of us ignored him, and I refocused on our conversation. "I don't know...Sadie freaked out when I applied to be a security guard, much less a cop."
"Hey, if I could convince Nina it was a good idea after everything she saw?" Chris chuckled – but it was loaded, "I'm sure you can eventually get Sadie on board."
"Yeah, that's a fair point." I smirked. "Nina is a real hard ass..."
"Rah." He said casually, taking a bite from his sandwich. "Tougher than Henderson ever was, if I had to compare the two."
"Jesus...don't summon that crotchety bastard."
We shared a laugh, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet morning air by the river. The moment faded, bringing reality back, and I glanced at my watch. Multiple messages and a missed call from Sadie. Shit.
"Speaking of which...gotta head back," I said, struggling with how I was going to say goodbye.
"Let us give you a ride home," Chris offered immediately. "Old Redford's like, what, over ten miles from here? You ran all that way?"
"We're a taxi service now?" Reed groaned, sighing.
"Oh shut up, man." Chris shot him a look, "You never drive anyway."
I didn't like Gavin's attitude, but my legs felt like lead, and pride wouldn't get me home before Sadie really started worrying. I definitely overdid it getting here.
"Yeah," I finally conceded. "That would be great. Thanks, Chris."
Chris waved me over, and we started walking back – even while Gavin Reed mumbled under his breath the whole walk back to their cruiser.
...
The radio chatter filled the cabin, and Gavin was usually the one to answer. It seemed like a quiet night, but I wasn't going to say that out loud and put that bad luck on them.
"I was fifteen the first time I was in the back of one of these." I smirked, looking out of the window, a big metal grate dividing me from them up front.
"Fifteen?" Chris looked in the rearview mirror as he drove. "What took you so long?"
"Not a whole lot of trouble to get into around here. Had to get creative."
"Not a whole lot of..." Chris laughed. "Man, we grew up in very different parts of Detroit."
"Where are you from?"
"Forest Park."
"Ah..."
"Yeah. Grandpop was always too stubborn to leave, but my dad got us out as fast as he could. Lived on-base most of my life."
"Heard that." I leaned back in my seat. "What about you, Reed? Where are you from?"
"Not around here."
"He's from Queens." Chris filled in the blanks, ignoring a searing glare from his partner. "Then Ann Arbor. Spent a lot of time upstate."
"Upstate New York, or Michigan?" I asked Gavin, still trying to extend an olive branch.
"Both." Chris answered after my peace offering failed. He took a deep breath, winding up for something. "A city kid, a suburbs brat, and...uh...me, walk into a bar." He started, then trailed off, "Ah, there's a joke in there somewhere, you just gotta find it."
"Tch..." Gavin was not impressed.
As we got closer to the house, Chris got more and more quiet. He didn't really spark any conversation after that. But once we parked, he shifted in the driver's seat, turning more towards me. He rested his elbow casually on the center console, wrist draped loosely over the top of the steering wheel, pinning me with a look.
"Stop by Central at 0800 today." He gave me a sad smile. "I'll put in a good word with the right people."
His insistence made me uneasy. I couldn't commit to that, not yet. And I knew if I didn't get out of this car soon, we'd be sitting outside my house long enough for Sadie or Tali to notice the cruiser, and that was another conversation I wasn't ready for.
"Yeah, okay. 0800. Copy." I said, trying to sound agreeable while reaching for the door handle.
My fingers found the lever. I pulled. Nothing. Locked tight. I tried the handle again, then instinctively reached for the lock pin near the window – also unresponsive. I looked up, meeting Chris's eyes. He was watching me, the earnest expression gone, replaced now with a faint, knowing smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Mean it?"
He wasn't letting me out until he got what he wanted. He was holding me hostage. Son of a bitch.
I let out a frustrated sigh. "Chris, come on, let me out of the car."
"Okay, okay." He chuckled softly, holding up a hand but still not moving to unlock the doors. "Just promise me you'll actually be there. 0800. Central Precinct – 1301 Third Avenue. Don't be late, and don't flake on me." His tone turned serious again for a moment. "Because you know I will track your ass down."
"Alright!" I held my hands out, admitting defeat. "Fine! Jesus..."
"Mhm..." He finally hit the unlock button, the clunk echoing in the small space. Then he got out, shut his own door, and walked around to open mine. "Just lookin' out for you, brother."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." I moved past him, getting out of the car. "I just...this is all so much, so fast."
"Yeah." He closed the door, leaning against it. "You good?"
Chris wasn't stupid. He knew the answer to that already, it was all over his face.
"Miller, look." I deflected, keeping my voice low. "I just need to get inside before my wife starts asking why I'm chatting with DPD outside our house at zero-dark-thirty. Okay?"
"Fine." He pursed his lips. "See you later." He said it almost threateningly – another reminder that he'd be back if I didn't show up.
He started to turn away, walking around the front of the cruiser. The casual dismissal, after he'd pushed, felt wrong. Guilt pricked at me. He'd offered help, listened, given me a ride across town...
"Hey, Chris." I called out, stopping him. He paused by his driver's side door, turning back slightly, crossing his elbows casually on the car roof, waiting patiently with that cop stance he'd adopted. "Thanks for the ride, seriously. And, uh..."
The words caught in my throat. He waited.
"...Sorry to hear about Bradford." I finally managed, the name feeling heavy. "Never got a chance to tell you that."
The humor that lit up Chris's eyes and his "always-positive-outlook" demeanor faded away instantly. His jaw went rigid, forming briefly-lived, hollow pockets in his cheeks.
"Me too." He breathed out, "Damian was a good man. Damn good pilot, too." He swallowed hard. "Hope I never have to go through that again...losing your wingman like that, your partner in crime, it's..." He shook his head, unable to find the right word. "How did you do it?"
"...The first time?" I had to clarify, the ghosts of fallen friends instantly crowding my thoughts.
He just nodded, his eyes holding mine – searching.
"Well, I..." I stalled, the truth feeling inadequate, almost shameful.
What did I do? Did I ever deal with Talend's death? Fassi's? Rodriguez's? Did I ever deal with any of their deaths? Or did I just pack it down deeper each time?
Each memory made my hand tremble slightly, a betrayal I quickly hid by rubbing the back of my neck.
"...Named my kid after the first friend I lost," I admitted finally. "Tali. She hardly remembers 'Uncle Talend,' you know, she was just little back then. But she knows who he was, why her name matters." I shrugged, feeling exposed. "Other than honoring the memory somehow... you just give it time. And you be there for their family, if they'll let you. Best you can."
"Do you still talk to them?" Chris asked, his voice still low.
"Talend's family? Yeah. Fassi's folks, too. Rodriguez's..." I hesitated, "They don't really want anything to do with me anymore. Just made it worse for them. I didn't take it personally."
"You know none of that was your fault, right?"
"Knowing it and believing it rarely lines up." I shook my head, looking out at the sunrise. "Hard to see it that way..."
"Yeah..." Chris let out a long, shuddering sigh, the sound full of shared understanding. "Yeah, it sure as hell is."
We stood there in the heavy silence, the streetlights beginning to fade against the first hint of dawn as the weight of shared loss settled between us. Luckily, or inevitably, Gavin Reed shattered the moment, banging on the roof from the inside.
"Miller! Let's wrap it the fuck up! We got actual shit to do today!"
The crude interruption somehow broke the spell. Chris and I both let out surprised, weary laughs, sharing a look of mutual, eye-rolling exasperation directed at the car. We exchanged a quick, final wave.
"See you at 0800." I said, meaning it this time. Maybe just to prove Reed wrong, maybe to prove Chris right. Maybe both.
"10-4." He gave a tip of his hat – a new reflex where an old salute once lived. Duty shifted, not erased.
That moment stuck with me.
...
"Have a good run?" Sadie was standing in the middle of the living room with her arms crossed.
Shit.
I turned slowly, putting on my best poker face, "Yep!"
"Bullshit. Who was that?"
"Who was who?"
"The cops. What did you do?"
"I didn't 'do' anything, Sadie. That was Chris Miller. He's with the DPD now."
"Oh, wonderful. Just what we need around here." She said with more anger in her voice than I thought was rational. "More fucking Marines."
"You know, that's not the first time I've heard that today."
"Well, I'm tired of it. It's like no matter where we go, we can't get away. How are you ever supposed to–" She stopped.
I crossed my arms, eyes narrowing at her. "How am I supposed to what?"
She hesitated again, the cracks in her armor showing. She had tenacity, that was undeniable. She also had extremely obvious tells.
"How are you ever supposed to get back to normal?"
I just stared at her without words. I didn't blink. Hardly took a breath. Had to stop myself from grinding my teeth. "I'm getting a shower."
"David-"
I was already in the bathroom, slamming the door in her face and locking it.
The fact that I was getting a shower was a small feat all on its own, and she couldn't see that. She couldn't see any of those small victories.
Sadie was always the "strong wife." The "be a good mother at all costs," kind of woman. She was a pillar in my life that supported me through every trauma and hardship that I faced as an adult. But the operation in Africa, the one that left me more than just a little maimed, was different for her, too. Different in the sense that, as soon as she was done nursing me back to health, she immediately started pressing down on moving. Getting better jobs. Starting our new lives in Detroit, leaving Jacksonville behind for good. She pushed and pushed, and every conversation felt like a test. It was exhausting.
She didn't understand.
My entire life, I had always done what was best for my family, or what was best for the mission. Never once did I think about what was best for me.
Today, that would change.
...
It's ironic, isn't it? How decades of your life, your entire damn career, get condensed onto a single piece of paper. A resume – one page, maybe two, never three, or so the transition briefs always hammered home. Personally, reducing decades of service – the stress, the grit, the losses, the sheer effort – to a few bullet points under a neat header felt like a profound disservice. But this new battlefield was all about presentation, not substance.
So, there I sat, feeling conspicuous and stiff in a rented suit I'd barely secured just two hours ago. The office itself amplified the feeling – modern, minimalist, with transparent glass walls that put me on display. I felt the occasional curious glances from people at their workstations, their eyes sliding over me like I was some out-of-place relic in their clean, bright world. And right in front of me, the man who supposedly held the key to my future – deciding if I landed this job, and by extension, still had a wife – was taking his sweet time reviewing that wholly inadequate summary of my life.
Captain Jeffrey Fowler.
Behind him, military credentials hung neatly displayed: a shadow box with a few medal ribbons – service, maybe valor, it was hard to tell from that distance – framed rank insignia, stripes. All things that would be in my living room if I'd ever finished unpacking. All trophies of a life I hadn't figured out how to showcase in this new one.
"You served, sir?"
"Yes." The reply was curt, his eyes flicking up to meet mine for only a fraction of a second before returning to the resume. Blunt. Minimal engagement.
Okay, not friendly waters then.
Army? Air Force brass? Navy? Didn't matter. Each branch slung crap at the others; it was part of the culture, ingrained deeper than doctrine sometimes. The Corps, admittedly, usually had the biggest mouth and the sharpest elbows. I held out hope that Fowler wasn't the type to hold that against every Marine who walked through his door.
"Says here you were honorably discharged." Fowler noted, tone – neutral.
"Medically retired under honorable conditions, sir," I corrected automatically, the distinction important to me, even if likely meaningless to him. "Can't say the process felt particularly honorable afterwards, given how the government handled the transition."
He didn't acknowledge the added context at all. Just made a small check mark on the paper with a pen.
"Did Veterans Transition Services help you write this?" He asked.
"Yes sir."
God, when was the last time I actually did this? Sat across a desk trying to sell myself?
Not for some dead-end gig that barely paid for gas, but a real interview? One where my skills might mean something again, one that could stop the damn financial clock ticking down in my head, maybe ease the constant strain simmering back home, change things and–
"Why, is it bad?" I blurted. "The resume?"
If I could've, I would've literally kicked myself in the ass. I really wanted to when he put my resume down, along with his glasses, and leaned back in his chair. He clasped his fingers over his stomach.
"Made some calls. Cashed in a few favors." He smirked. "Heard a lot about you, Allen. A lot that's not on this paper."
My heart stammered. What was I supposed to say to that? What had he heard? Did Henderson throw me under the bus? All questions I was asking myself instead of answering the question he asked me.
"All good things, I hope?" I tried to deflect with humor, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "Sir."
"Let's just say, if you were a show on Netflix, you'd have highly mixed reviews."
Right. There it was. The familiar wave of cynicism, just like all the others. Once again, I was wasting my time. I'd sit there for an hour, get my hopes up – more than I ever had, and get shot down in a poorly worded email farmed out between two to four weeks later.
"Okay." I took a bracing breath, deciding to cut my losses. "Captain Fowler, I appreciate you seeing me, but I don't want to waste any more of your time. I'll just–"
"I don't do standard interviews, David." Fowler cut me off smoothly, instantly reclaiming control of the room. "I'm a Police Captain, commanding this precinct. This isn't some corporate HR suite looking to fill a quota." He leaned forward, his gaze pinning me in my seat. "This meeting is happening for one reason: because two of my best officers – Chris Miller and, surprisingly, even Gavin Reed – advocated strongly for me to speak with you after the encounter this morning."
He let that sink in, watching me process it. Must've been hilarious.
"Now, I'm going to tell you something important. Consider it classified. So listen up. Take notes if you need to." He clasped his hands again, resting them firmly on the desk between us.
"The Commissioner wants a special task force established, effective immediately. Primary objective: enhanced security operations and threat response within Detroit city limits, specifically focused on emerging technological concerns and their intersection with extremist elements."
His eyes held mine, gauging my reaction. "Operationally, it'll function under the guise of an expanded SWAT unit – indistinguishable to outsiders. But its composition and mandate are unique." He paused. "The Commissioner wants this team exclusively human. He wants operators educated on current android capabilities and limitations, preferably through direct, recent field experience. And he needs them functional yesterday, meaning minimal institutional ramp-up – we need previously trained, vetted individuals ready to adapt quickly."
Fowler tapped my resume almost dismissively. "You check those boxes, Staff Sergeant. Obvious risks aside, you also bring leadership experience the initial roster lacks."
A human-only anti-android task force? Under SWAT cover? My mind struggled to connect the dots. What was he really offering here?
"You don't just walk in here and become SWAT command, though," Fowler continued, correctly anticipating my thoughts about rank and structure. "You'd enter the pipeline with everyone else selected. Start fresh, prove yourself within DPD structure. But," he held up a finger, "it would likely move faster for you than a standard recruit. The city just passed expedited hiring and training ordinances for qualified prior-service laterals – political necessity, given the steep rise in...certain kinds of crime lately."
He gestured vaguely. "Timeline? Figure three months intensive academy – modified for veterans. Assuming you graduate, maybe three months field training, partnered with seasoned officers, learning our streets while lending your expertise to help train the flood of new cadets coming through. Don't give me that look, I saw on your resume that you ran drill effectively."
I stayed quiet, processing. Academy again? FTO? Training boots?
"Look, I won't bullshit you." Fowler leaned back again, the formality dropping. "I have reservations. Significant ones. I'm not entirely sold on the idea of throwing someone only twelve months out of an active warzone behind a badge...the liability factor is huge. PTSD, adjustment issues, different ROE...it's a risk." He sighed, rubbing his temple briefly. "But my hands are tied. The Commissioner wants this team built now. Either I find people like you who fit the unique skill set, liabilities and all, or this whole initiative dies on the vine due to lack of qualified human personnel, and we lose valuable time."
"Why do I feel like there's another, bigger 'but' coming?" I asked, bracing myself.
"But," Fowler confirmed, "the primary concern Command has – the reason many decorated military guys wash out of policing – is autonomy versus chain-of-command. Out there," he nodded towards the window overlooking the city, "there isn't always a CO giving explicit orders second-by-second. There's no waiting for satellite confirmation before you act. You encounter a threat, you assess, you weigh policy against reality, you make the damn call. You decide what's best for your team, for bystanders, for the situation, right there and then. And you own that decision."
He paused. "Now...judging by your service record, Staff Sergeant...making independent, even unconventional decisions wasn't generally your weak point. That same initiative apparently got you into serious trouble more than once, yet according to after-action reports, it also achieved objectives others couldn't when things went sideways."
He held my gaze. "Let's be blunt. You were never by the book. You never followed regs to the letter. You were never what the Corps considered a 'model' NCO. All things considered, you were a pretty bad Marine, Staff Sergeant."
A short, humorless laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Fowler didn't laugh with me.
"Sorry, I've, uh..." I scratched at my ear. "I've made that joke before, sir."
"I am not joking."
"Yes, sir." I straightened up, focus snapping back.
He shook his head slightly, rubbing his temples as if warding off a headache. "Harboring the CyberLife tower has put a target on this entire city. We're seeing increased traffic – sophisticated weapons, precursor chemicals, illicit data smuggling, you name it. It's flooding in, coordinated, and it's all orbiting that." He gestured towards Belle Isle. "The analysts agree – it's not if things escalate into something major, it's a matter of when."
Captain Fowler pushed his chair back and stood, walking over to a massive digital display dominating one wall. His reflection moved across the glowing city map overlaid with hundreds of shifting icons. "Squad cars, patrol zones, active calls, officer vitals...the whole damn nervous system." He shook his head again, looking at the sheer volume of data.
"When that time comes – and it is coming – we need this task force ready. Up for a challenge most street cops aren't equipped or cleared for." He turned back from the map, his gaze sharp. "Are you up to that challenge, Allen?"
The question, the real question, finally laid bare.
"Yes, sir," I answered immediately, the old instincts kicking in. "Against all enemies – both foreign and domestic." I quoted the Oath of Enlistment. But alongside those old instincts came old habits; feeling the need to lock down the parameters. "This expedited path relies on graduating the academy?"
"Correct. No exceptions."
"But my acceptance into the upcoming prior-service academy class is guaranteed?"
"Yes." His voice flattened again. "I'll see to it personally."
"Thank you, sir." I was exhilarated, relieved, ready to move forward with my life only hours after wondering if it would be easier to end it. "Assuming everything goes as planned, who will be assigned to my team?"
Captain Fowler laughed, then – I hadn't thought he was capable of it.
"Assigned? No, not assigned. It's your job to build this team from the ground up." He waved me off, sitting behind the desk. "You've got six operator slots under your command, so choose wisely."
He put his glasses back on, pointedly picked up my resume again as if filing it away mentally.
"Put together your preliminary roster – names, qualifications, rationale. Be back in this office at 0600 tomorrow, ready to present it."
The timeline was insane, but the challenge... "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet," Fowler said, his eyes still on the paper. "Just don't disappoint me."
I stood there for another beat, feeling slightly stunned, like a recruit getting chewed out and promoted simultaneously. A mental bobble head. "I won't, sir."
My mind was already racing – contacts, skill sets, who was even available...and beneath that, the gnawing question of how the hell I was going to break this news to Sadie.
"One more thing," Fowler said, his eyes still down, already sorting through a different file on his desk as if the major life decision he just dropped on me was already past business. "One of our officers specifically asked to speak with you once I was done. Says you two know each other. He's waiting for you down there, break room on your left." He nodded. "Now, I have work to do, and break time is over, Marine." He smiled then, glancing up with an unexpected, albeit shallow, warmth. "Dismissed."
"Sir." The word was automatic, ingrained. Before my conscious mind could fully process the context shift, decades of muscle memory took over. My back straightened, muscles tensing into parade rest, and my right hand snapped up beside my brow in a crisp, perfectly executed salute.
I froze, realizing what I'd done, heat instantly flooding my face. Idiot. I thought, starting to awkwardly lower my hand.
A short, genuine chuckle escaped Captain Fowler. It wasn't mocking – more understanding than anything. He offered a slight, dismissive wave.
"Go on, David." He said, the amusement lingering. "Don't keep your welcoming committee waiting."
...
Chris was waiting in the pastel-colored break room. Fluorescent lights hummed, reflecting off cheap laminate tables – a universe away from a dusty field tent, but somehow less honest. He wasn't alone either. But instead of his dickhead partner, who I now owed a 'thanks' to; someone tall, light-haired, blue-eyed, and shockingly familiar stood next to him.
"Holy shit," A grin split my face, genuine surprise cutting through as I reached him, taking his offered hand. "Royal? You're here too?"
"The one and only." Ryan Royal replied, his grip firm, that familiar daredevil spark still dancing in his eyes. The pilot with balls of steel, backed by a stack of commendations and a post-Urgent Fury 'fit for duty' slip that proved he was still cleared hot.
I turned to Chris, shaking my head. "Miller, you didn't tell me this crazy asshole was here. I might've reconsidered."
"Nah, you wouldn't have," Ryan clapped me on the shoulder. "Stop playing hard to get."
I laughed, but the humor faded as the reality set in. "Seriously, how'd you end up trading a cockpit for this outfit?"
"Got dragged kicking and screaming by this crazy asshole." Ryan nodded at Chris, taking a deliberate sip of his coffee. "Apparently, DPD needed a quota filled for washed-up, adrenaline-junkie Marines."
"What can I say?" He popped his collar. "Military recruitment wasn't for me, but I bring all the best talent to the DPD, baby."
"Right..." I said dryly. "Well, I haven't even passed the entry exam yet, so maybe hold off on the recruitment bonuses."
"We put the good word in with Fowler for you," Chris assured me, leaning an elbow on a nearby counter, his tone turning more serious. "Although," he admitted, glancing between me and Ryan, "I didn't know the specifics until Royal here filled me in – this new task force gig."
"Wasn't that supposed to be classified?" I arched my brow, confused.
"Saw the internal posting for the team lead." Royal crossed his arms, shrugging. "Sounded tailor-made for your particular brand of crazy. Told Miller, Fowler should grab you." He added casually, "I'm attached to SWAT now, Unit 31."
"I mean, shit, you know what it's offering then..." I cocked my head. "Why didn't you apply?"
Ryan's easy posture tightened just a fraction. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't have noticed. "Eh, Unit 31...good team. Solid guys. But they're..." He looked away for a beat, his gaze distant. "Let's just say, they need everyone they've got."
"What Captain Modesty here isn't mentioning," Chris interjected, leaning in. "is that Command probably took one look at his flight record and decided they didn't want him leading anything that couldn't handle an unscheduled barrel roll five feet off the ground."
"Wow, Miller..." Royal mocked offense.
"I mean, hey, I've got six operator slots." I leaned forward, "I'd be lying if I said having you two watching my back hasn't come to mind."
The refusal was instant, and synchronized, though their expressions differed.
"Nope." Ryan shook his head.
"Not a chance." Chris echoed.
"Oh, okay. I get it." I hung my head, shaking it. "Fancy fuckin' flight officers sending in more 'enlisted' to do their hands dirty. Message received."
"Whoa, hold up there, Staff Sergeant. Look, you guys down there run off of three things:" Ryan held up three fingers, ticking them off. "Caffeine, nicotine, and spite." He dropped his hand. "But between twenty years of that, and the absolute clusterfuck that was Urgent Fury...specifically that last flight...I'm done chasing that high."
"He's right." Chris shrugged. "I put my time in too. No more high-risk nothin' for me, either. Shit, I wouldn't even do Unit 31 with Ryan if they gave me Hazard Pay."
"But DPD has air support, right? Or are you grounded completely?" I asked Chris, still finding it hard to reconcile the pilot I knew with this.
"No more flying." He shook his head unconvincingly. There was regret in those words. "Can't do that to Nina again. Not after everything she's already sacrificed just dealing with my shit all these years."
That was a punch to the chest. Or a knife. His words mirrored my own fears about Sadie, about Tali.
Chris immediately backpedaled. "Sorry, man, didn't mean to dump–"
"No, don't apologize," I cut him off, the frustration turning inward. "You're right. Going after this job was selfish."
"Sometimes it's alright to be selfish, Allen." Ryan put his hand on my shoulder. "Can't be the point man for everyone else forever. Sometimes you gotta pick the route that keeps you moving forward."
"And you've earned that right, times ten." Chris added. "Not like any of us can be picky in this job market, anyway..."
"Tell me about it." I muttered, rubbing the tense muscles at the back of my neck. "My parents gave us a fully paid-off house, but if I don't pin down a job, we're gonna lose it. And Sadie...she's worked odd jobs her whole life. None of those around anymore with the androids."
"Preaching to the choir, man." Chris hooked his thumbs on his vest.
"Heads up." Ryan went into a more rigid form, his face changing to make himself seem more professional. "Fowler's watching from his office. Showtime's over, gents. Look sharp."
I looked around, taking it all in – the bullpen beyond the lounge, the uniformed officers moving with purpose, the low hum of chatter and electronics. A world with structure. A mission. A team.
Despite the risks, despite the potential cost... I needed that in my life. I couldn't live without it. It may not have even been a possibility if it wasn't for those two idiots, either.
"Listen," I said, turning back to them. "Thanks again. For... you know. Putting your necks out with Fowler." I hesitated, the words feeling inadequate. "Feels damn good to have brothers watching my six again."
"Semper Fi, brother." Chris shook my hand before Ryan did the same.
"Semper Fi." He echoed, his grip solid.
While we all went different ways leaving the lounge – them back to duty, me towards the precinct exit with the monumental task Fowler had just dropped in my lap – I felt that connection linger. That specific, forged-in-fire sense of family you only get from shared hell. I couldn't lose that. Not again.
Sadie and Tali...they'd just have to understand.
Or, God help me, I'd find a way to make them.
...
The house was unusually quiet when I got home. There was typically some sort of background noise filling the living room, but the only sound permeating the silence was Sadie rinsing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.
"How'd your interview go?" She asked, dropping the last plate a little too hard in the bottom rack.
"Uhm..." I pulled at the tie choking me, starting to get undressed. "Great...?"
"Oh, wonderful!" She shoved the rack in and slammed the dishwasher shut before turning around – crossing her arms, leaning the small of her back against the counter. "Remind me, was this for the warehouse job or CyberLife security?"
"CyberLife security." I lied, knowing she knew it was a lie. Maybe a small, spiteful part of me wanted to piss her off. I almost prematurely resented her for how I expected her to react. She was just proving me right.
"Really?" She gave me a fake surprised face. "Because Deborah from HR called, asking why you never showed up."
I sighed, slipping out of my suit jacket and laying it over the arm of our couch. "Sadie–"
"Where were you, David?"
"At the police station." Without looking up, I unbuttoned my shirt at the wrists and rolled up my sleeves. "I met with the Captain. He's putting me up for a position, but I have to go through the academy first – expedited, maybe six months total pipeline into the new task force. Lead my own team eventually. The end."
I wriggled my watch off, tossing it on the stand near the door.
"You..." She started laughing, and sat down at the kitchen table like she wasn't able to stand anymore. "You what?"
"Detroit is becoming less and less stable, and more of an international target. With some training, he wants me at the forefront–"
"David, stop–"
"The benefits are better than anything the military ever offered. The salary will be almost triple. I couldn't say no."
Instead of massaging her temple, she slammed her hands down on the table. "But you APPLIED!" She shot up out of her chair. "You knew you'd never have to say no. You knew they'd hire you in a heartbeat. And you didn't TELL ME about it!"
"I didn't apply to ANYTHING, okay?! It fell in my lap!" I yelled, all the frustration finally tearing through. "Chris Miller, Ryan Royal, and some jackass from Queens all put in a good word for me and set up a meeting!"
"And you fucking WENT!"
"Yeah. Yeah, I fucking did." I took a step forward, jabbing a finger at her – anger making me reckless. "You know how hard it's been for me out here, Sadie! I'm damaged goods – like a feral fucking dog no one wants within ten feet of their prized poodles. What the fuck was I supposed to do when someone offered me a real purpose again? Say 'no thanks?'"
Her hands balled into fists at her sides, knuckles white. The sad, angry tears that I'd grown far too familiar with started to well in her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake.
My anger deflated slightly. "I need this, Sadie," I said, my voice softer now, taking a hesitant step closer. "Maybe this helps me get back 'to normal.'" I reached out, wanting to pull her in, needing the contact. "That's what you want, isn't it? For things to be normal again?"
"I want you to be home, David!" She slapped my hand away, the sound crackling in the tense room. "I want you to be a father to Tali! I want you to help me raise our daughter." She cried harder, then – her voice cracking. "I want you to be my fucking husband again!"
Her words hit me in the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. Not her husband? After everything I'd sacrificed, everything I'd endured for them? The accusation ignited a blinding rage that clawed its way up my throat.
"When the fuck did I stop being any of that, huh?" The question exploded out of me. "When you were pregnant in high school, and your parents kicked you out on your ass, I dropped out to get a GED so I could enlist because that was fast money! I worked my ass off to become a Marine! And after I did, we had our own house, you and Tali had everything you needed, and I never strayed from you ONCE!"
"What do you want me to say? Thanks for paying the bills while you were overseas since I was stuck at home with the baby? Thanks for not screwing around while you were deployed? Thanks for not hitting me when you came back like my friends' husbands did? You want credit for basic decency while I raised her alone?" She laughed, bitter, shaking her head. "No." Her voice cracked again, but then she screamed. "I think all you ever wanted was to be over THERE, because it was easier than being HERE!"
"You think I wanted to miss Tali growing up?" My voice was rough, almost choking. "You think I wanted to be fucking halfway across the world, worrying about you two all the time?!"
"Can you both just SHUT, UP?"
Tali was standing at the top of the stairs leading to the basement where she basically had her own mini apartment. She loved it down there and very rarely wanted to leave. She also knew better than to talk to us like that, but she didn't give either of us the chance to speak. She dropped her loaded duffle bag on the floor, pointing a finger at me.
"It was really hard on both of us to be here without you all the time." Then she looked at Sadie, "But dad did what he had to do so we didn't have to struggle. You were miserable while he was away, and now you're punishing him for being home." Then back to me, "You went to like two counseling sessions and haven't done shit to help yourself otherwise." She slung her duffle bag over her shoulder and stormed between us, heading for the door, "Neither of you owe anything to each other. Fucking get over it and move on. Come on, Roger."
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" I yelled after her.
"Sarah's, where it's quiet!"
"Who the fuck is Sarah?!"
The front door slammed, and she was gone, her robot "buddy" following her.
"Who's Sarah?" I repeated myself, asking Sadie this time.
"Her new friend at school." Sadie sighed, sat on the counter, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes down from a shelf in the dishes cabinet. "Her parents are nice, and I checked their record. Nothing crazy, just some speeding tickets. Roger walks with her when she goes over."
She put a cigarette in her mouth and sparked it, ashing in the sink after cracking the window behind it. She hardly ever smoked. Quit after she found out she was pregnant, and kept it under wraps for Tali's sake.
"I just want you home, Dave." Her face dropped to her hands. "I want you safe for once."
Her confession struck deep. I finally understood the core of her anger wasn't just about this job, but about the accumulated cost of my entire career on us. I moved closer then, not forcing contact, just standing near, letting the quiet fill the space between us for a moment.
"Hey. Listen to me." I waited until she slowly lowered her hands, her eyes red-rimmed and searching mine.
"This job...it's not a 9-to-5. I won't lie to you." I kept my voice steady, needing her to hear the reality. "Special units like this...the hours are long when things are hot. There'll be call-outs at all hours. Danger. There might still be holidays cut short, or plans that get blown up." Fear flickered in her eyes, and I pushed on anyway. "It's not perfect, but Sadie...it's here. In Detroit. Not Kandahar, not some jungle halfway around the world. It means I get to come home. To this house. To our bed. Even if I get called out late, I'll be back."
She watched me, silent for a long moment, chewing on her lower lip. I could almost see her weighing the known hell of deployments against the unknown risks, all tangled up with our desperate need for stability.
"You'll actually be home." She finally whispered, clinging to that core difference.
"Yeah." I reached out slowly, gently tilting her chin up so our eyes met fully. "In the same time zone as you and Tali, and close enough to bitch about the Lions losing." I smirked.
Her head finally lowered, resting against my chest. Her arms came around my waist, tentative at first, then holding on tight, burying her face against my shirt. The rigid line of her back softened slightly.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, her voice muffled.
I rested my chin on the top of her head, rubbing her arm. "Me too."
We stayed there like that, her cigarette going out in the sink. She never could finish one anymore, which was good. Even better, I was in the clear, and I wouldn't have to file divorce papers any time soon.
"Alright, so..." I pulled away just enough so she could see my face. "I need you to take me to Kinko's since we can't afford a printer."
She laughed. "Why can't you drive?"
"Because," I admitted, shifting my weight and wincing as pain shot through my knees from the earlier run, "my very highly-trained body decided to stage a rebellion after an extended sprint this morning."
"Translation?"
"Knees are shot."
"Seriously?" Sadie stared at me, her eyes widening slightly. Then, throwing her head back, she laughed – a real, full laugh this time. "You hurt yourself going for a run, and Captain Fowler thinks you're ready for SWAT?"
"Hey, muscle strains heal fast. Besides..." I grinned, my hand finding the curve of her waist. Her skin was warm under the thin cotton of her shirt; a territory I'd charted a thousand times before, yet somehow felt new tonight. My thumb traced small circles just above her hip, feeling her breath catch. "Most things still work just fine."
I didn't wait for an answer, closing the distance, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was equal parts apology, relief, and a desperate reaffirmation of us. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, then yielding as the tension between us transformed. She tasted faintly of cigarettes and coffee, of home and history and everything I'd ever wanted.
Her hands slid up my chest, one curling around the back of my neck, fingertips threading through my hair. I backed her against the counter, my palms skimming down her sides to her hips, pulling her tight against me. A soft, broken sound escaped her throat as she arched into me.
"God, I've missed you," she breathed against my mouth, her eyes half-lidded and dark with want. Not just the physical – we'd managed that even through the worst times – but this: the raw, unguarded connection that deployment after deployment had threatened to sever.
"I missed you too," I murmured, trailing kisses along her jawline, down the column of her throat. "But I'm here now...and I'm staying."
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt – impatient, needy. I caught her wrists, pinning them gently against the counter behind her. "Slow down," I smiled into her kiss, "We've got time."
She shook her head, eyes fierce and bright. She tugged one hand free, cupping my face. "We've wasted enough time already."
I released her other wrist, surrendering to the urgency between us. Her shirt joined mine on the kitchen floor, followed by the rest of our clothes, leaving a trail toward our bedroom. The argument faded to background noise, the uncertain future momentarily held at bay.
The change was forever – in my scars, my nightmares, the way I moved through the world. But what hadn't changed, what couldn't be broken, was this elemental force between us.
And right now, there was only this.
Home.