My Uncle, Grian.

Worry

The patrol returned empty-handed to the police station. Sure, a lot of blood had been spilt but none of that blood was the kind they were looking for. Sam was there to watch his comrades kill an elderly couple in their own home, all because they were suspicioned harborers of the two hybrids that had escaped the soldiers the other day.

It was sick. It was a sight that would chill someone to the bone, make their stomach twist and churn or maybe even render them unconscious. Sam was unfazed, though. As uncommon as it was for the community to not witness such brutality and cruelty, for him it had been as simple as brushing his teeth in the morning. He could hold a gun, aim at someone's head and it would feel like opening an umbrella in rainy weather. That simple.

That didn't make murder any less horrible. He felt like a monster each time put his finger on the trigger but he'd learnt to detach himself from his feelings in those moments. It was horrible, it was cold, it was inhumane and above all, it was completely unneccesary. Perhaps that was the worst part; it didn't need to be done but Sam couldn't speak up.

One wrong word and he could wave his life goodbye. Being in the policeforce before the Hybrid Purge begun had its perks and one of them was not needing to hide like his kin. One of the downsides was that he couldn't help his own, lest he was considered a traitor to those who had the upper hand in the world: the humans and more specifically, the government.

That time with the child in the electronics shop had been one of weakness, one that could've landed him in a lifetime of torture and pain had someone called him out on his bluff. It had been years of cooperation and team-building that got him out of that one and for the child, it had been luck that it was Sam who had decided to clear the backroom personally. Then, again, at the house of the escapees –the only people who had been prepared enough to leave through a window when the soldiers came knocking on the door– he'd been relieved to hear that no one in the block had seen them run away.

Some furniture had blood on it, though. In the bathroom trash there were bloody tissues and discarded sutures that had been collected for blood tests. Regardless of the results, Sam knew that whomever had been wounded was a hybrid.

"Hello, Commander Quackity." he greeted the captain of the department.

The commander was a stand up guy, kind and friendly with the ranks above and below him. With his natural charisma, he had plenty of connections outside of the police force, making him quite a valuable yet dangerous man to keep an eye on.

One such contact had been President J. Schlatt, who had been one of the first hybrids to be purged. His children hadn't been found in the Schlatt Manor, so they hadn't followed the same fate –not in Sam's knowledge, anyway.

Sam wouldn't say they were close enough to be friends; no, not quite. They'd known each other for a long time, though, and they respected each other. Plus, Quackity didn't look at him any differently than he did anyone else, as most humans in the building did.

"Lieutenant Dude, good afternoon!" Quackity acknowledged him with a sharp grin and equally sharp, dark eyes. "I heard you didn't find them."

"They left through a window before we could catch them." Sam simply responded, keeping his voice nice and even. "We searched the house and brought back some blood samples, though. "

Personally, Sam wasn't one for formal speech. He didn't care for it as much as the higher ranks did and while it was considered beast-like and risky, when it came to Quackity, it didn't really matter. As long as the job got done, the man didn't care how you spoke to him –it was another story if the words were an outright attack, though.