Emily Torres's Questionnaire

Detroit, Michigan. I've lived here my whole life. It's nice enough. Not bad enough that I've felt the need to move, at any rate. My family's all here. Cost of living is... Manageable. My uncle owned his apartment, so I only have to deal with utilities. Owning property is very freeing, it's a shame you're not allowed to do it unless you're absolutely loaded, or evil, or both.

I haven't cleaned my apartment in a while. I just keep painting. It doesn't help. So I stop, and then I feel the need to paint again, something fresh. And then I stop because it doesn't help. Nothing has helped. I feel the need to do something productive but I can't stop focusing on the past.

I work as a paramedic for DMC Detroit Receiving Hospital. I'm good at my job. I like helping people. I make enough to fund my hobbies and pay my bills, though I'm not very liquid. I don't really have any incredibly expensive things to fund. I live close enough to work to take my electric scooter, so I don't have a car. I try to live as luxuriously as  I can, which often means I just succumb to sleep debt. I sure don't look well-rested, but I try my best to actually be so. I eat decently, I'm pretty good at cooking. I still feel adrift.

Gang violence. It's a problem. A populace's opinions on the local militias, be they government-funded or not, tends to be a reflection on their opinions of their rulers. Police, in their own way, are a gang as well. Some people think gangs are there to stick up for the little guy, but that's often not true. Gangs that contend with law enforcement in the name of protecting their own are often just as violent to their own. There are some gangs that are less criminally inclined, but frequently it's just another way to seize and abuse power, just without government approval. Police tend to be just as bad, but they supposedly are meant to be beholden to public scrutiny, which means they have at least some influence over their oppressors. In theory.

I have very rarely felt helpless. I've consistently been physically fit my entire life, and I've spent a lot of time learning a little about nearly everything in order to never feel out of my depth. It's something I've prided myself on.

Watching Aaron die was the first time I felt well and truly like there was nothing I could do. I've lost patients, of course, but usually to things that would have killed them anyway even if I was able to stabilize it. Sometimes there's nothing to do. But it's not a good feeling. Wasn't a good feeling. And it hasn't gone away.

Ayanda Abbasi, my co-worker. We frequently work together, as we've known each other a while. It helps to be in tune with your partner when lives are at stake, and they're reliable.

Cass Sobol, my friend. I haven't seen much of them lately, as I just feel... So trapped in my own world. But I've known them for years, and as soon as everything stops hurting I hope to see them again.

My father, Benjamin Torres. If you asked me a month ago, I doubt he would ranked anywhere in the top 50. But Aaron's death has been... Illuminating, for the both of us. He was never as close to his brother as I was, but he was still family. It all just feels so senseless. For the first time in years I'm actually happy to spend time with my parents. Sorrow shared is sorrow halved. But it's still sorrow, and half of infinity is still too large to bother counting.

That's a very odd way of phrasing that question. I had a fine time growing up. Dad did his best, Aaron was around most of the time. I'm not sure it was better, per se. But it was different, and it felt better. Or maybe it didn't.

I was hardly a social pariah in school, but it's a self-esteem thing to hang out with people that (at least seem to) have high self-esteem. Something I did not possess in droves. I did well, academically, but my general attitude was always something of note on report cards. Withdrawn, anti-social, generally frustrated by needing to exist in a public forum. It's better now, obviously, but I certainly wasn't lumped into any in-groups. Still, better to be forced to reckon with myself than ignore it.

It - or at least it seems like it - got worse around high school. Dad was easier to piss off, especially when I showed aptitude for things that weren't mechanical engineering, and sleeping on Aaron's couch always seemed easier than going home. Not that that helped.

What do you mean, "why not?" Romantic connection isn't the default. It's certainly not particularly common in my age group. I have a job with a notoriously high burnout rate. There's several reasons for it, one of it being long and odd hours that make socialization difficult. Not that I'm complaining about it. It's one of the perks, not being expected to always be "on".

In high school, I had a boyfriend. I wouldn't say I was "in love", but it is a relevant thing to mention. James... Didn't like women, but he was still a nice guy. I hope he's doing well.

Regular things. Dying in agony. Monsters. Parental expectations. Not death, because having a physically demanding job with hemophilia means that there's a high chance of randomly getting cut and bleeding out. Something I've adapted to. But I'm afraid of the rings I am because they suck. Dying in agony seems like a lot of work. I don't want to do that. Monsters can typically cause the former, or at the very least be generally a threat to life, and so they aren't something I'm inclined to tussle with either. Parental expectations are an annoyance, and is meant to be am "Arson, Murder, Jaywalking"-type response, but it's also a valid thing I've had to deal with. Dad has his opinions about my line of work, and about his brother's. Obviously it would be pretty embarrassing to actively admit you don't want your daughter in medicine, but it does mean his precious "family-owned and operated" business may have to soon lose its branding. Not that it really matters to anyone else - just him - but it's still a blow to his ego. That I don't like cars, I guess. Aaron did, he just also really liked painting. Not art though, just painting. I guess.

I don't really care about objects. "Anything you can easily and happily replace is something you shouldn't invest time into." Is what Dad said rather frequently, and I'm inclined to agree. I paint a lot. If everything I've ever painted suddenly went up in flame, I would not be able to care less. It's just not something that matters to me.

Aaron got me... I guess I would call it a "coming-out gift". Not for coming out to him, of course, but to Dad. Positive reinforcement, and all that. It was a cute little bracelet he picked up from some dingy boutique. I keep it... Somewhere. I don't remember where I last out it. Like I said, objects don't matter. But it was the gesture that counted, so I care about it slightly more.

Guess that makes me a pretty lousy niece, huh? Living in my dead uncle's apartment and I can't even bother to keep track of one damn bracelet.