Issac wasn't able to get over his embarrassment from losing his composure, though Ink tried his best to convince the guy it was normal. The guy grabbed both of their glasses and downed the whiskey, made his apologies, and took off to his bedroom without ever looking at Ink.

The ex-cop had helped a vast number of people get through that breaking point in the past. For him, it was one of the hardest parts of being an officer. And it was one of the reasons he'd ended up leaving the force. It broke his heart every time he had to console someone. He felt their pain like a solid kick to the core. Stupid empathy.

Some guys on the force would laugh at him. They never became invested in the victims around them. Ink often chalked it up to them being egocentric, but who knew? They probably just had a way of shutting off that part of themselves. His boss, and good friend, Joe, had understood him, though.

Joe was older than he was by about twenty years, he'd been on the force for fifteen years when Ink had joined the precinct. They'd been made partners when he'd first started. Joe watched as the deaths and bad experiences of those victims began to weigh Ink down. It was that man who pulled Ink aside and told him he should find something else to do with his life.

“You can't keep going on like this, son,” Joe had said as he passed Ink a coffee.

Markus had taken the cup with one hand and rubbed his face with that other, before responding, “I know. I really do know. But if I'm not here, who will take care of them? Who will be there when the world is falling down around them?”

“It's not your job to do that for them, that's why we call relatives and friends to come help them,” Joe's gruff voice was gentle.

“So many don't have that support system, Joe. Look at poor Avery,” Markus's voice almost broke when he said the little girl's name. Ink had saved her from the streets after she'd seen her big brother stabbed to death in a gang brawl.

Avery had been living homeless at the tender age of eight with her thirteen-year-old brother. Ink had been undercover in the area trying to pin down the leader of a small crime syndicate. His path crossed with the gang fight right as one of the opposing faction was lunging for the girl with a knife. The girl just stood there crying, in shock over her brother's death.

He'd had just enough time to dodge in front of her with his arm raised to protect her. The knife had sliced deep into the meaty part of his forearm. Ink grabbed the man's wrist and broke it with a twist. The knife dropped to the ground. Markus, then, punched the gang member with all his force, felling the guy momentarily.

It gave him enough time to turn, grab the little girl, and run. He ran his ass off, and when he heard someone chasing him, he ran some more. He broke his cover when he'd called in reinforcements to save his ass. That had been his last undercover job.

Avery had cried on his shoulder for what felt like an eternity, and Ink's heart broke with hers. That had been five months before Joe's little talk with Markus.

“She was lucky you were there, but you're giving too much of yourself. You're turning into a ghost of yourself from the stress,” Joe pointed to Ink's body and how skinny he'd become.

Ink still had muscle, but his usual bulk had disappeared. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes looked haunted. He looked bad. He looked like he'd been one of the victims, instead of the police officer who'd helped them through it.

“Quit the force, Markus. You're a damn fine cop, but it's killing you. Find something else to love,” Joe sat down next to Markus in the plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room. They were waiting on another victim to get out of surgery so they could question her. He put an arm over Ink's shoulders. “You can always volunteer and find other ways to help people.”

Ink ran a finger over the raised scar from the knife wound as he thought about the past. Now, it was covered by a tattoo of Excalibur, and a woman's hand jutting out of what looked like water as she clutched the hilt of the sword.

It was seventeen days after Joe's little intervention when Benton had cornered him at his tiny rent house. The boy had only barely turned nineteen. His brown hair had thick honey-colored highlights that caught in the artificial light. “You look like shit,” The boy said without preamble.

“Thanks,” Ink had said with a huffed laugh.

“Fuck this, come work for me,” The boy's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, looking as stubborn as any teenager Ink had ever seen.

“Doing what?” Markus laughed again, “Security?” God forbid. He'd go crazy with that kind of job.

“Don't be an idiot,” Benton huffed. “You'll be one of my programmers. You have skills that you're wasting as a stupid police officer.”

Benton had started SlideRuleGames a month after he'd turned eighteen. Ink knew their first game had skyrocketed in popularity before it had even left its beta stage. It was how they'd met.

Some jealous kids beat the living crap out of Benton and left him for dead behind a local business. Ink had found Benton and thought he was a homeless kid. The boy said he had no parents, so Ink took him to the doctor's and paid for the care. He then let the kid crash on his couch for a week, never realizing that the boy was actually a millionaire CEO of a gaming company.

Benton had used the time to come to grips with the fact that his newfound success had a shitty side. Once Benton had healed up enough, he disappeared, only to turn back up with cash to pay for his medical bill and for “renting” his couch while he got his head straight. (Ink had obviously refused the money.)

They'd become friends in the week that Benton had spent in his house, which was how the boy knew Markus was a fantastic programmer and a decent gamer. Ink started to turn the boy down, but he paused. Joe had told him he needed to find something else to love, and he did love gaming. It was the one outlet that seemed to help him get through things. Could he do it? Could he quit his job as a cop and work for Benton?

The answer was yes.