Chapter Text
Los Sueños is one of those cities that never sleeps. Usually it was kept up by a bustling economy, unfortunately over decades it has changed in favor of aggressive riots slowly spreading across all the districts. No other city in the US could compare to its level of chaos and inequality, especially in the last 30 years, as they penetrated every street no matter how beautiful or dirty it was. Yet, in spite of the decline, there were still people who proudly claimed Los Sueños as their home, as a place of their everything—family, work, heritage. For them were the memories that matter, the ones of refreshing breeze coming from the coast, of sun rays warming people’s skins, of unique if not a bit bizarre architecture. All of that most likely could be felt anywhere else in the world, but no, Los Sueños made it special and remarkable. The City of Dreams may had fallen into the disharmony, but its residents had never stopped dreaming. Some of them at least. Majority, elders to teenagers, had lost faith in any betterment and came to terms with the city's downfall unaffected by the loud cries of the people. Regardless of the police presence in every district and even their interventions against most vile crimes, nothing could bring order to the chaos. All policemen acknowledged their actions are of futile nature in the grand scheme of things. Only the last loud SWAT operation on an abandoned resort resulted in some sort of relief among the people, and criminals as well, though how it achieved thus that remained unknown.
Things seemed to go well for the Los Sueños population and—taking this opportunity—that is why LSPD’s SWAT team has decided to celebrate one of their teammates’ birthdays with rounds and rounds of beers and shots in one of many bars in the city. Tormented with daily horrors of their job, the men cherished the singular moment of peace with the utmost gratitude. It had been a while since they went out on the town like that to purely enjoy each others drunken jokes and card games that were slowly turning more chaotic with every shot poured down their throats. But among the happy team there was one man missing—their leader, David “Judge” Beaumont, who alienated himself from his team after they became too drunk for his liking. Sitting alone in a corner of old leathered booth with a half pint of beer untouched for a little while in front of him, David watched his teammates with an absent and slightly disgusted gaze. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t like drunk people no matter who they were, but as a policeman dealing with the most heinous suspects and the most traumatizing victims, he especially never wanted to get drunk. He knew what the alcohol could do, how it alters people’s mind and turns even the most calm officer into a beast and oppressor himself. He didn’t want to be like that, Los Sueños had enough criminals and it didn’t need more. Two, at most three, pints were all that he could stomach before things would go south.
And there he was, with his second still unfinished beer trying to process all that had happened up until that moment, trying to put puzzle pieces together and somehow make any sense out of the city's madness. At first glance not a lot of events had direct ties to the chaos outside, maybe except the school shooting and riots of the veterans or their assassination attempt — these two had a right to upset the public. But what about the rest, David wondered as he leaned back in his seat. How did Scott know me? This guy was definitely mentally sick with the sheer amount of the USIA docs he got but the tape… Why me? I am just a cop doing my job, a heavy sigh escaped his nostrils. It had been few months since the events at the Sullivan’s Slope and there was still so many things he didn't understand. Whatever Gerard Scott was referring to sounded bizarre, yet at the same time David felt it wasn't just rambling of a schizophrenic older man. He remembered he went through some training before he started working in Los Sueños but that was all. The rest was a mystery—even to him—that he didn’t like to talk or think about. Over the years he accepted that a large chunk of his memories left his mind and would most likely never come back. It was nothing to ruminate on anyway. All he needed was knowing how to do his job and as long as he remembered his ex-wife Liz and their kids he was fine.
But am I really fine? Another heavy exhale, followed by a single sip of already lukewarm beer. David’s mind started to wander into dark corners as he began to realize something about himself. How can I do what I do and not feel anything?Through the years he had seen a few officers resigning as they couldn't handle the traumatizing weight of the missions they were sent on. PTSD caused by dealing with a pedophilic ring or extensively violent terrorist group was a reason of suffering for many in the LSPD. He still remembered a face full of dread of one of his teammates after discovering the Voll’s basement. The sheer fright in his eyes, glistening from the tears building up in inner corners. He left the station a day after and never came back. And Beaumont? At best he felt disgusted upon finishing the job on site, but not a single tear had fallen on his cheek nor a shiver went down his spine. It was as if someone turned off parts of his brain responsible for feeling something more than indifference. It was a useful skill to have as a SWAT officer, he couldn’t lie, yet—after a longer consideration and finally leaving the glass empty—David started to notice that there was something inevitably wrong with him. He wasn’t able to pinpoint what exactly it was, not in that moment at least, but he tried to guess anyway looking around in search of any clues to the great mystery of his psyche.
The empty glass—a symbol of relaxation and time well spent for others; for him it reminded him of all the people devastated by the alcohol, of the fellow officers who fell into the trap of its destructive comfort.
No answer.
His gaze wandered to other part of the building.
A window—streets of Los Sueños, usually full of chaos and contradictions, were pleasantly quiet that evening but it didn't mean the devil halted his work. Everything just moved to side alleys and abandoned buildings until the problems would eventually reemerge to the surface. He knew it would happen, but what he could do about it? He was just a cop, maybe from the SWAT, but still just a cop. This city, first and foremost needed reforms, someone competent tackling the issues to find a solution to them. Without this all the police's work was futile as there always was someone to fill up the void after previous criminals.
Still no answer.
Groan.
David shifted his eyes to a couch not too far from the bar.
His team—the only “family” that he had left and even so he couldn't bring himself to leave his comfort zone of alienation. The silence of loneliness was too peaceful in his mind to let it be disturbed by others. Being by himself meant not having to care about people's feelings, opinions, and dealing with their moods; it let him but for a moment forget about the atrocities men commit in the name of their own desires. Humans were vile creatures—he knew that well—and yet he couldn’t force any stronger emotions out while looking back at the scale of Los Sueños corruption. It all just felt… normal? Like it had its place in the city from the beginning. No one could convince him otherwise.
David glanced over a teammate, his red face was resting on a table, next to small puddles of his own tears. He could hear how others were trying to cheer him up and say the evil had been defeated, but everyone in that room knew it wasn’t true. Saying that Los Sueños was safe to any degree simply meant lying to yourself, but who didn’t need that from time to time just to make themselves feel better?
Judge didn't. He knew the city was lost and there was little he could do to save it, to save its residents from its decaying state. If not kids who could've been abused, then regulars at the diner at least. Unfortunately, even if he did that, there was always a chance someone else would commit similar acts. But again, ultimately it was a daily life in Los Sueños and he couldn’t change it by himself. Emotional detachment was helpful for dealing with that, but he couldn't stop wondering if that didn’t make him into a bad person. After all, every LSPD officer had to take a day off or two to process a traumatic intervention or mission. Everyone but him.
“Should I really be like that”? David murmured staring emptily at an undefined point in front of him. Slowly his mind began to create some sort of a singular puzzle piece to its own mystery.
“Why can't I be normal“? His body started to shiver under a weight of a realization of his own misery.
“What the fuck is wrong with me”?