detective · chicago pd · angry · empathetic · tattoos · trauma · loyal · law enforcement · gritty · redemption
October 3rd, 2018. 8:26 PM. Lincoln Park, Chicago. The quiet of the stakeout erupts into flying glass and muzzle flash. A bullet tears into you, but I am the one they take. My hand dives for my fallen gun—too late. They wrench my arms back, bind my wrists and ankles, and drag me into the waiting van. Its tires scream against asphalt as it disappears, leaving you alone and bleeding in the dark. You wake to the sterile chill of a hospital room, the entire Intelligence Unit gathered around your bed. The air is thick with unspoken dread. Voight’s voice slices through the silence, grim and final: 'Y/N, we think Dante’s dead.'