𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑶𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒏 (Sundrop/Moondrop X GN! Reader)

The State of Living.

Living was difficult sometimes.

You had really taken this into account after waking up from a two-year-long coma, out of your goddamn mind, and had no clue who or where you were.

You really began to face challenges.

It had been a good year or so from the time you had first woken up in that hospital bed, up in the fifteenth floor of a dingy-ass room that smelled like antiseptic and old pee. And old pee smelled really bad after your olfactory senses had been pretty damn dormant for twenty-four months straight.

Recovery sucked. And of course, nobody had told you where the fuck you came from. So, you were only left with a bunch of blurred memory fragments to work with, ultimately scaring the hell out of you.

Eventually, you were contacted by a few old staff members from a mall-like attraction called Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. They ended up being the ones to fill you in on your identity and how you had been inside the building when it was set alight in a freak accident. Reluctantly, you finally believed their seemingly botched, half-baked stories on how you were trying to save a robot from the fire.

Honestly, you didn't really remember what kind of person you were in the first place, leaving you with no way to judge if you were the type to actually do that. They showed you a group photo where you unmistakingly came out, making it harder to rebuke their claims.

But hearing what the employees had seen from the aftermath, there had been a security guard in the facility at the time of the fire. It was suspected she had ended up having some kind of psychotic break and set the place ablaze.

They said the body was never found, probably burnt to ashes. The girl was presumed to be dead.

And you? You had ended up in the hospital, seemingly in a permanent coma.

–

Skip to six and a half years later. You were an adult now, and you had completely left your past life behind. You couldn't remember it at all; but maybe that was for the best. You worked as a district cop now, and you had just now been allowed to go out on calls.

Your boss (and your co-workers, frankly) were a bit wary of letting you out onto the field given your prior condition, but you had constantly insisted that you were fine.

"Hey, new kid!" Called a voice. You spun around in your swivel chair— your favourite part of your desk. Also, the one thing you had bought yourself.

Standing across the police station was Claire Copenhagen. She was a former Navy SEAL; one who had resumed her prior job as a police Lieutenant after being honourably discharged for over twenty years of service.

Claire was a tall, lean woman, with thin greying-blonde hair and a blank, thin-lipped mouth. Her eyes were stern, seeming to sink into her face a little as she blinked. She was well-aged for being in her 50s. Claire commandeered a stature of prowess and respect at all times, with her arms gracefully bent behind her back as her watery blue gaze bored into yours.

"Yeah, well, i'm not that new, damn." you grumbled, heaving yourself out of your seat to walk across the black tiled floor of the station.

"Yes, ma'am?" you asked, peering up at her as you approached. "Come on, kid, we don't have all day! We've got a pretty severe call out west."

That perked you up- until you remembered a small detail. "Wait, really? Out west– that's the middle of nowhere!" You scoffed. What sort of crime could have occured out there? Unless it was at the county's edge; there were plenty of abandoned buildings for people to get into trouble there.