Chapter 25: Power Overload - Part 2
POV: Kole Martinez
Tuesday morning arrived gray and muted, filtered through blackout curtains that transformed his apartment into cave-like sanctuary against the harsh world outside. Mandatory medical leave stretched ahead like empty battlefield where Kole fought wars against his own enhanced memory, replaying crime scenes with mechanical precision that refused mercy or respite.
Forty-seven hours since the breakdown. Forty-seven hours of perfect recall torturing me with traumatic details I can never forget.
The darkness helped with light sensitivity, but nothing quieted the relentless replay of accumulated violence that his photographic memory preserved with supernatural clarity. Every victim's scream, every blood spatter pattern, every moment of human suffering catalogued and stored for eternal retrieval.
Perfect memory as perfect curse.
Gift that keeps giving pain.
A firm knock interrupted his isolation, followed by Terry's distinctive voice calling through the apartment door with characteristic warmth and concern.
"Martinez! Terry knows you're in there. Terry brought breakfast and Terry's not leaving until you eat something healthy."
Terry conducting wellness intervention. Of course he is.
Kole opened the door to find Terry holding bags from an organic café, his expression mixing parental concern with professional determination to ensure squad member recovery.
"Terry's seen cops burn out before," Terry said, entering the apartment with the confidence of someone who'd decided intervention was necessary regardless of personal preference. "Terry knows what trauma looks like."
Terry knows what trauma looks like. But not supernatural trauma that can't be explained or treated through conventional methods.
"Working too hard, seeing too much—it catches up," Terry continued, unpacking breakfast with systematic efficiency. "Terry's been there. Terry knows the signs."
The signs. What signs does Terry think he's reading?
"I'm fine, Sarge. Just needed some sleep."
"Martinez, Terry's going to be straight with you. What happened yesterday wasn't fine. That was breakdown territory, and Terry's not letting anyone on Terry's squad suffer alone."
Breakdown territory. Accurate assessment for wrong reasons.
Terry settled onto the couch with determination that suggested this conversation would continue until he was satisfied with Kole's mental health status.
"Terry gets therapy," he said with characteristic directness. "Regular sessions, professional help, dealing with stuff that Terry can't handle alone. There's no shame in needing support."
Therapy. How do I explain supernatural memory overload to a therapist?
"Doctor, I have perfect recall of every traumatic thing I've witnessed, and I can't forget any of it because I'm actually a transmigrated consciousness with impossible abilities."
That conversation ends with involuntary psychiatric hold.
"Terry's going to give you some names," Terry continued, producing business cards from his wallet. "Good people, experienced with law enforcement trauma, confidential and professional."
Law enforcement trauma. Real condition that requires real treatment for real psychological problems.
Not supernatural consciousness dealing with enhanced abilities that shouldn't exist.
"Sergeant, I appreciate the concern, but I don't think therapy is the answer here."
Terry's expression shifted to gentle but firm insistence.
"Martinez, Terry's the strongest guy Terry knows, and Terry still needs professional help dealing with the job. Talking to someone doesn't make you weak—it makes you smart."
Terry offering perspective from personal experience. Genuine care wrapped in practical advice.
That can't help with my actual problem.
The morning progressed with steady stream of Nine-Nine visitors, each squad member contributing their unique form of support to what they'd clearly identified as mental health crisis requiring collective intervention.
The squad has discussed my "episode." Everyone knows something's wrong.
Jake arrived with terrible coffee and good intentions, settling into awkward concern that mixed genuine care with characteristic inability to discuss emotions directly.
"So," Jake said, fidgeting with coffee cup while avoiding direct eye contact, "rough case, huh?"
Rough case. Understatement of the century.
"Yeah. Rough case."
"You know, if you need to talk about... stuff... I'm not great at feelings, but I'm available for listening or drinking or whatever helps."
Jake offering emotional support despite being uncomfortable with emotional conversations.
Touching and completely inadequate for supernatural memory overload.
Amy's contribution involved systematic approach to stress management, arriving with color-coded organizational materials and evidence-based psychological techniques.
"I've researched optimal recovery strategies for investigative trauma," she announced, spreading charts across his coffee table with characteristic thoroughness. "Sleep hygiene, exercise protocols, mindfulness meditation, cognitive behavioral techniques—"
Amy treating psychological breakdown like academic problem requiring systematic solution.
"Amy, I appreciate the research, but—"
"Stress management is quantifiable science, Martinez. These techniques have documented effectiveness rates for law enforcement personnel experiencing job-related trauma."
Job-related trauma. If only it were that simple.
Charles appeared with elaborate array of comfort foods crafted specifically for emotional healing, explaining the psychological benefits of each dish with characteristic over-analysis.
"Chocolate releases endorphins," he explained while unpacking gourmet cookies. "This soup contains ingredients scientifically proven to reduce cortisol levels. And this tea blend includes chamomile for anxiety management and—"
Charles expressing care through food preparation. Sweet and overwhelming.
"Charles, you didn't need to—"
"Food is love, Martinez. Love is healing. Therefore, food is healing. It's simple mathematics."
Simple mathematics for complicated problems that can't be solved through nutrition.
Rosa's approach was characteristically direct, suggesting physical outlets for psychological pressure that couldn't be addressed through conversation or analysis.
"Gym. Punching bag. Run until you can't think," she said simply. "Sometimes the brain needs the body to get tired before it'll shut up."
Physical exhaustion as mental health strategy. Rosa's practical approach to trauma management.
Might actually help, if the trauma weren't supernatural in origin.
Captain Holt's contribution came through formal scheduling of mandatory wellness evaluation, bureaucratic care disguised as administrative requirement.
"Detective Martinez," he announced over the phone with characteristic precision, "you're scheduled for fitness-for-duty evaluation Thursday morning. Dr. Morrison specializes in law enforcement psychological services."
Fitness-for-duty evaluation. Holt ensuring my mental health doesn't compromise squad safety.
Also ensuring I get professional help whether I want it or not.
Even Gina participated from afar, sending text messages that mixed humor with surprisingly accurate psychological insight.
"Taking mental health days is totally normal, Mystery Mike. Even robots need software updates sometimes. 🤖💙 #SelfCare #MysteryMikeMaintenance"
Gina's robot theory hitting closer to truth than anyone realizes.
Software updates for consciousness that doesn't belong in this reality.
Alone again as evening approached, Kole confronted the fundamental isolation of his impossible situation. The squad's support was genuine, touching, and completely inadequate for addressing supernatural memory overload that couldn't be explained or treated through conventional methods.
"They care enough to help with problems they don't understand. But the problem isn't PTSD or job-related trauma or any condition that appears in psychological diagnostic manuals."
"The problem is that my brain perfectly stores every traumatic thing I've witnessed and refuses to let me forget any of it because I'm not actually human. I'm a transmigrated consciousness with enhanced abilities that are consuming me from the inside."
"How do I explain that to people who care about me? How do I share this burden when sharing it requires revealing everything about who I really am and where I really came from?"
"Jessica called three times today. I almost answered, then didn't. How can I burden her with trauma I can't explain without exposing the fundamental lie of my entire existence?"
"Powers that were supposed to make me exceptional have made me fundamentally alone. No one can truly understand or help because no one can know what I really am."
"The greatest cost isn't physical pain or mental exhaustion. It's the isolation of suffering from something I can never explain to anyone who cares about me."
His phone buzzed with another message from Jessica: "Worried about you. Call when you're ready. Love you."
Love you.
Words that should bring comfort but only emphasize the weight of deception.
She loves someone who doesn't really exist.
Kole stared at the message while his enhanced memory replayed every moment of genuine connection they'd shared, contaminated by knowledge that his entire identity was fabrication designed to hide impossible circumstances.
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