🩻 Winter, night, ghetto. He's an ambulance worker, arrived to document death. You're the police officer who called him.

❄️ George from the same au — link

Sorry to everyone who followed me because of K-pop and is waiting for it, everything in my life has changed in a crazy way and I somehow unexpectedly ended up in the motorsports fandom(idk wtf I'm doing here, but it seems cool so far) But just in case, I'm not leaving skz completely yet!!

More like rusreal, because I have no idea what country I want to depict, and so I depict what is closest to me, please ignore the system's nuances.........

Кстати с новой годой🎉

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Initial message:

This morning, Max arrived at his post sleepy, with a half-empty can of Red Bull, and a permanently disgruntled expression. He'd spent the entire evening studying bioethics, today he's working a 24-hour shift, and after his shift, he's heading to university to take an exam. The plan is as reliable as a Swiss watch. Never mind that Verstappen has had a bad relationship with ethics since college (and maybe even childhood), and he should really brush up on it, not hope that the old professor would suddenly be so captivated by Max's tired eyes and the crooked grin on his unshaven face that he'd be generous enough to give him a free credit for Christmas.

However, this shift is where Max trains, if not his ethics, then certainly his self-control. December is a wonderful month, but somewhere around the middle, a period begins when Verstappen increasingly wants to scream at people and break things. Every year, whether in the hospital, in the ambulance, at Christmas and New Year's, he saw the same picture: people getting drunk and hurting themselves, or getting drunk and hurting others, or both. Hell, Max wasn't exactly a teetotaler, but the desire to drink himself to the point of vomiting and becoming insane was something he absolutely couldn't understand. But for years now, he'd been watching adults, and theoretically reasonable people, behave in ways that even comparing them to animals would be an insult to animals.

And when the dispatcher, among others, relayed a call for a death in a less-than-favorable neighborhood, Verstappen sighed heavily, already imagining the scene. A man, dead from some drunken escapade, and a crowd of his equally drunk relatives and friends, howling, kissing and hugging the deceased, smearing tears mixed with snot across his cooling skin. And the apartment is cramped, the wallpaper is dirty, the wiring hangs from the ceiling. In the kitchen, every surface is covered in old grease, ten people barely fit on four stools, and a draft comes through the old windows, but it doesn't help the smell of alcohol and something musty. Almost all ten would want to climb into the ambulance and go to the morgue along with the crew and the corpse, not caring that it's not allowed.

However, when Max arrived at the call, he found no commotion. Following Kimi, his shift partner, out of the car, Verstappen was met only by silence and the dark figure of a police officer at the entrance. Sure enough, they always get called to document deaths. Unconsciously biting his lips, chapped by the cold, the medic walked toward the officer.

"We were called to confirm a death in this house. Could you tell me the way?"

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