The night was quiet, the kind of silence that speaks louder than any siren. Connor leaned against his patrol car, his eyelids heavy from the weight of a long shift. The badge on his chest glinted under the streetlights.

A call came through the radio: a drunk driver, a minor crash, no major injuries. Routine, yet every call was a roll of the dice, and upon his arrival at the scene, he realized that this call was anything but.

The car was pretty much smashed beyond repair, and the scent of burnt rubber filled his nostrils as he stepped out of the cruiser. But as he walked towards the driver sitting on the curb with his head cradled in his hands, he noticed the man looked incredibly familiar. even with his face obscured. He noticed the shaggy blonde hair first. Then the ripped up jeans and the cut off shirt— not much different from what every other gangbanger wore these days, but the tattoos all over this guy‘s arms… Connor knew those tattoos. suddenly, the man looked up, and a mix of dread and recognition painted Connor’s weary features.

"Dodge?" Connor asked, his voice stained with disbelief.

Dodge looked up, and Connor found himself almost taken a back at how much different he looked since the last time they had spoken. His eyes, adorned with dark circles, reflected the chaos that raged within. His face, sunken in from years of drug abuse and drunken nights, looked like it hadn’t been shaved in months. Connor barely recognize the man sitting before him.

Fancy meeting you here, huh?’’ Dodge said, flatly, running a calloused hand through his thick blonde curls and shifting his weight on the curb. His words were slurred, and it looked as if he might teeter over at any moment.

Connor's mind raced, the law and friendship colliding. "What are you doing, Dodge? Drunk driving? You're better than this."

Dodge scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Better? Since when? You've been Mr. Perfect since we were kids. I was always the one left behind." He stopped to spit blood onto the concrete and wipe the sweat from his brow, wincing as his shirt sleeve brushed a cut above his eye. "But I’m sure you don’t remember any of that. Do you, Officer Golden boy?"

Connor knelt beside him, the past flooding back. He thought back to the last time that he and Dodge had spoken, when he had begged him to seek some help. He could still see the look of disgust he had received in return, as if he had been insinuating that he was better than Dodge. "We used to dream of being heroes, remember? Racing down the streets, pretending to save the day."

"Yeah, and who ended up the hero?" Dodge's words were sharp, but his voice broke. "Not me. I took a different path, and you know it."

Connor's hand hovered over his handcuffs, feeling the weight of his duty heavy on his shoulders. "I tried to help you, man. I tried to pull you back. You know I never gave up on you, bro. You’re the one who stopped talking to me, remember?’’

"Yeah, I remember. Clear as day, actually. I pushed you away. Because that's what I do, right? Push away the ones who care." Dodge's defiance was crumbling, revealing the vulnerability beneath.

Connor's fingers grazed the cold metal of the handcuffs, each click in his mind echoing the finality of the law. But as he looked down at Dodge, something within him fractured. The man before him was more than a drug-dealing criminal. He was the living memory of a friendship that had once been unbreakable.

He recounted the years of their childhood. All those days they spent after school, hanging out in the treehouse Connor‘s dad had built for them when they were only about 12 years old. They had begged him for it for months, till finally, he caved and even let them help him build it. He remembered riding their bikes through the woods, out to the creek and sitting there till the stars came out. Sometimes they would stay too late, and Connor‘s mom would lose her shit. His parents had basically had two sons, since Dodge’s dad had bailed, and his mom had turned to drugs and alcohol. . They had grown up on the exact same street, shared the same dreams. But somewhere along the way, Dodge had veered off path. He had gotten lost— Severely lost. And it seemed like the harder they tried to reel him back to shore, the further adrift he would float.

Connor jolted back to reality as Dodge’s pitiful blue eyes met his. Suddenly, all he could see was the shrapnel of a broken man remnants of what was once his very best friend.

"I don't want this life anymore, Connor,’’ Dodge cried, his words slicing through the night. "I'm tired of running, tired of hiding in the shadows."

Connor's heart clenched. His duty as a cop screamed at him to act, to do what he was trained for. But his soul, intertwined with the memories of their shared past, held him back.

Tears now streamed from Dodge’s eyes as his voice cracked under the weight of his inner turmoil. ‘’I don’t wanna do this anymore. I can’t keep living like this,,’’ he pleaded, almost desperately, burying his face in his hands to stifle his sobs.

As Dodge spoke to Connor, his body language revealed the depth of his despair. His shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of his words. His trembling hands fidgeted nervously, while anguish filled his once defiant gaze. With each word, he seemed to shrink, as if the weight of his past sins was physically crushing him. This man— who so many viewed as a hardened criminal – had melted into a scared little boy right before Connor’s eyes.

As he crumbled, so did Connor‘s resolve. He knew the system, knew that once Dodge was in it, the chances of him finding his way out were slim. He could arrest him, but would that save him?

"Dodge," he started, dusting off the curb to take a seat next to his long lost friend. He placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. . ‘’You don’t have to keep living like this, man. Let me take you somewhere. Let’s get you some help, dude. There is so much more to life than this shit.’’

Dodge's gaze met Connor's, a storm of emotions playing across his face. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of decisions and consequences.

Finally, he nodded, his tears tracing their paths down his blotchy cheeks. "Fine," he breathed out, the word a testament to their shared history and the flicker of hope in the darkness. ‘’Fuck it. Let’s do it,’’ he said, wiping the tears away as his jaw tightened with determination.

Connor helped him up, leaving the handcuffs at his side. Together, they walked to the cruiser, not as cop and criminal, but as two friends facing a new dawn. And in that moment, Connor realized that the line between right and wrong isn’t always a straight one. But in his heart, he knew that he had made the right decision.