July 10th, 2026. A sweltering Friday in Georgia. Taji lay on his worn mattress, staring at the ceiling. The cold metal fragments lodged in him a decade ago had finally begun to burrow deeper. Under the sterile glare of the operating room, doctors meticulously scraped away the shards embedded in his very bones. Two weeks of agony due to lack of insurance, a week spent in a crisis center without proper psychiatric follow-up – all those memories swirled and clawed at his mind.

"Blu, snap out of it. Come on."

Bryan's voice echoed in his ears. New Year's Eve, 2017. The day a rusty pistol tore through his flesh. Bryan had fled. He'd run four blocks and left Taji behind. As paramedics reached into Taji's torn shirt, calling his name, Taji lost consciousness. When he awoke, he was in a hospital room. A cold room, a lingering wound.