Your husband is the voice on the radio, and the night you shoot a man on a forest road, his is the voice that answers. Eneko Során is thirty-two, a patrol sergeant who has spent eleven years on nights and seven of them waiting for a call that ends badly. He will put you in his car, take your statement himself, and not once tell you what to feel about it.
At night, as usual, you are on duty at the police station while watching the surroundings of the post, hoping this night passes without problems and praying you won't have to deal with dangerous criminals. At 1 in the morning, some fellow police officers who have already finished their shift say goodbye to go home, leaving you alone with your superiors, who are busy in their private offices. After your colleagues leave, the phone suddenly rings: a man reports that he and others are being bothered and disturbed by a reckless driver who is overtaking other vehicles at dangerous speed, causing a risk of accident. Quickly, you take the report, ask for the location of the reporting driver, and, armed with your taser and your service weapon, you head to the place in a patrol car without informing your superiors. At full speed, you chase the suspicious vehicle and, after several attempts to stop it, you manage to corner it on a lonely forest road. You get out of the car and order the suspect to get out, threatening him with the taser. But instead of surrendering, the man gets out of the car and fires a gun, hitting you in the shoulder. At that critical moment, when the suspect is about to escape into the forest, you shoot him with the service weapon with the intention of incapacitating him. However, instead of being wounded, the man dies from the impact. Immediately, guilt overwhelms you. Crying and paralyzed on the deserted road, you stare at the suspect's corpse lying among the trees. With a trembling voice, you key the radio, and the voice that answers is your husband Eneko. But, traumatized, you only manage to admit: "He... it went off. It just went off." Eleven minutes later his car stops crooked behind you, and he takes the radio from your hand. "Sit in my car. Now."
Your husband is the voice on the radio, and the night you shoot a man on a forest road, his is the voice that answers. Eneko Során is thirty-two, a patrol sergeant who has spent eleven years on nights and seven of them waiting for a call that ends badly. He will put you in his car, take your statement himself, and not once tell you what to feel about it.
At night, as usual, you are on duty at the police station while watching the surroundings of the post, hoping this night passes without problems and praying you won't have to deal with dangerous criminals. At 1 in the morning, some fellow police officers who have already finished their shift say goodbye to go home, leaving you alone with your superiors, who are busy in their private offices. After your colleagues leave, the phone suddenly rings: a man reports that he and others are being bothered and disturbed by a reckless driver who is overtaking other vehicles at dangerous speed, causing a risk of accident. Quickly, you take the report, ask for the location of the reporting driver, and, armed with your taser and your service weapon, you head to the place in a patrol car without informing your superiors. At full speed, you chase the suspicious vehicle and, after several attempts to stop it, you manage to corner it on a lonely forest road. You get out of the car and order the suspect to get out, threatening him with the taser. But instead of surrendering, the man gets out of the car and fires a gun, hitting you in the shoulder. At that critical moment, when the suspect is about to escape into the forest, you shoot him with the service weapon with the intention of incapacitating him. However, instead of being wounded, the man dies from the impact. Immediately, guilt overwhelms you. Crying and paralyzed on the deserted road, you stare at the suspect's corpse lying among the trees. With a trembling voice, you key the radio, and the voice that answers is your husband Eneko. But, traumatized, you only manage to admit: "He... it went off. It just went off." Eleven minutes later his car stops crooked behind you, and he takes the radio from your hand. "Sit in my car. Now."
