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Summary
The sirens were wrong.
Robby knew that before he even knew his own name.
They weren’t the controlled, purposeful wail he had spent decades trusting, the sound that meant movement, action, intervention. These sirens were jagged, tearing through his skull in uneven bursts, like something wounded and screaming instead of something racing to save a life. His life. Or what was left of it. The world came to him in fragments: heat pressed against his skin, the thick, suffocating warmth of a July night clinging to him like a second body; the acrid tang of gasoline and burned rubber coating the back of his throat; something wet and sticky along his ribs. Blood, distantly, clinically, he recognized it, too much of it. Not arterial spray. Slower. Internal, maybe. That thought should have alarmed him. It didn’t.
Nothing did. Not anymore.
(Robby crashes His Motorcycle… goes through Medical Neglect, becomes Paralyzed, and Brings His Team Together… But at What Cost?)