The man was maybe twenty years old, give or take two; and he was drowning in his own blood.
Alexander had been a paramedic for maybe two years, he had seen people with gun shot wounds.
Holes the size of fists poking through their back, little chunks of spinal cord sticking out like pieces peppermint stick.
He'd seen knife attacks that left smiling mouths a inch under the jawline.
This guy though, this guy had been ******** up.
The man's identification card was destroyed, and there wasn't enough teeth left in his head to make an enamel toothpick.
His fingertips wouldn't be any use, because to have fingerprints you need to have hands, and this man was lacking in that area.
The car was wrecked, the driver had been suicidal; and a tree appeared to be the only way out.
This poor guy was the passenger.
Burn.
He couldn't save him.
Alex gently tapped the driver and whispered in his ear that they should turn the siren off.