I'm a hardened Law Enforcer. I've seen a lot of things that would sicken the average citizen. But when the crime involves younglings... It still takes a long while to sink in. I was one of two non-Special Forces agents dispatched to the scene of a shooting at a primary education institution. But the shooter had already done his damage, and killed himself, by the time we'd gotten there.
The other non-Special Forces agent was a new Runner, my new partner. She didn't talk very much, and I barely noticed her sometimes, but I noticed when she had to leave my side and turn away from the scene.
I touched her shoulder. "I know how you're feeling right now, but we've got a job to do. Come on."
She came with me willingly toward the crowd, and I continued to speak.
"You know, I deal best with numbers. I suppose that it just helps to know. Twenty-seven dead at the scene. Twenty younglings. Six adults. One shooter. One the school psychologist. One the headmistress. A twenty-eighth victim surfaced after, the shooter's mother at their home. But numbers never make it any easier once you see the faces. I've spent many a rechargeless lunarcycle haunted by the faces of the young victims. You look at this kind of tragedy, and you think... well, do you have nieces or nephews this age?"
She nodded.
I tapped my wrist. "My nephew is this age. I suppose that no matter how many times you see things like this, it never gets easier. You look around, and you think... 'dear Primus... this could've been Blade. This could've been my family.' And you feel for the families, but you know that you'll never be able to understand their pain. They've lost irreplacable parts of their lives, and you realize that it could have been you."
She bit her lower lip component, and looked up at a mother who'd been forcibly dragged off of her youngling's body. She cast her optics down to the ground.
"I know everything is hard to handle right now, but... I've got to tell you. It doesn't get easier. It never will. You can look at it through as many sets of numbers and number combinations as you like, but it never changes the fact that these younglings will never grow up, and fulfill their potential. Mechs like this, that shoot up primary education institutions, are sick. And I'll let you in on a secret: I'm glad they don't call me in when the shooter's in custody and alive. I'd kill the son of a glitch myself."
She looked up at me.
"You know I'm not an emotional mech. But events like this just make me so angry. And it sickens me when the shooter takes their own life, because personally, I believe that mechs who do this should live with their guilt."
She touched my shoulder, and I realized how bitter I sounded.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to get emotional, it's just that-"
She hugged me. I was a little startled at the sudden contact.
"... Thanks, kid. I needed that."
This might seem like a random fic, but it's written with a purpose. In Newton, Connecticut, which is a little over half an hour away from me, a gunman entered an elementary school and killed twenty-six people and himself, after killing his mother at their home. Twenty of his victims were children. My heart goes out to all of the traumatized adults and children, as well as the families who've lost sons and daughters, and the families of the teachers and staff members who lost their lives.
This story is dedicated to all those who won't see Christmas.