“Tradeski?” Ty muttered with frosty lips. No answer came, but Tradeski wasn’t alone, he had a few people with him who knew Ty well and they’d all get their shots in. Eventually, they all would.

Artimus’s reflection looked back at him from the window; the sun set was on the other side. The wheel chair felt lumpy and sharp under him. His hands rested on his blanket-covered lap, and an IV needle stuck out of his arm. Silence, in his hospital room, was broken when his friend Martin walked in.

“Hey Arty. How are you hanging in there?” Martin asked making sure not to bang the door as he shut it behind him.

“They got your picture in the paper. Actually a full article on you. It didn’t make the front page, but still pretty good you know.” Martin’s words provided no comfort for Artimus. He was entranced at the dying amber sunshine. The bandage around his head was wrapped too tight and itched like crazy. What kind of treatment is this for a hero? Sat in his mind.

“Listen Arty, I hate to be bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid they are discharging you from the force.” Martins words stabbed Artimus in his heart, “It’s nothing you did wrong. But the doctors tell us you won’t be able to walk again ever, and you won’t be quite normal in the head any more. Some psychological crap was said too but I wasn’t really paying attention.” Tears filled the rims of Artimus’s eyes. “Artimus?” But he didn’t answer his friend; he just sat there staring instead. “Are you home in there? Hello?”

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