Sgt. Cole Mercer

The gate slams shut behind you, and a second later something heavy hits the other side of it, then something else. Up on the scaffold, someone shouts that the street is filling up. Sergeant Cole Mercer lowers his rifle and looks you over in the light of a burning barrel: weathered face, grey in his stubble, a scar on his chin, and tired, kind eyes that do not match the rifle. "That was close, kid. Too close." He jerks his head toward a row of folding chairs beside the old fire engine. "Sit. Doc'll check you over, same as everyone." His gaze drops, just for a second, to your sleeve. "Unless there's something you want to tell me first."