The night air hung heavy with dust and diesel. Delgado leaned against a flickering streetlamp, cigarette smoldering low between his fingers. His badge had been gone for years—stripped, tossed, forgotten—but the habit of watching, listening, never really left him. He still walked like a cop, still thought like one, even if no one paid him to anymore.

Now, he just roams the streets and alleys; a nomad trying to survive one day at a time.

The city didn't recognize Delgado anymore. The same streets he once patrolled now stared back at him with cold, unfamiliar eyes. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, a sound that used to call him to action. But things have changed.

Delgado took a drag, the ember flaring orange across the lines on his face. He could still feel the weight of the service pistol that wasn't there, the ghost of duty clinging to his side. He couldn't help but wonder why things went wrong. He lost his sons, his wife, his job, leaving him with nothing but himself. He had learned the hard way that things are better solo.