Eran Tybor didn’t quite know what he was doing wrong; everytime there was a crime reported, he’d respond to the report but so far five out of five times he’d arrived second. The victims had been interviewed, the criminals sentenced. He’d pulled over off the road, ceased his endless meandering cruise through the district and sat motionless, distractedly staring at the Lawmaker in his hand. His mind couldn’t help but question himself; he found himself ever drifting close to the murky miasma of doubt. Doubt was the archenemy of a Judge, one cannot doubt himself and still enforce the Law. Had he lost his touch? Had his stay, as a shrivelled husk of the man he once was, destroyed over a decade of experience and a further two decades of training?

No, not his training, he silently corrected himself; he felt law a raw recruit again, someone who’d just been given his badge and sidearm. There was one vital component missing from that system though; he had no enthusiasm, no drive to be out here again. He’d been shot to pieces once and been told he was likely to never Judge again. Then after a festering infection had wracked his body for three months which doubled his hospital stay he’d been offered every desk job under the sun for the Hall of Justice. One small, seemingly inconsequential fact had dragged him back from the very abyss of despair and renewed his purpose to be a judge again.

A wily old instructor had suggested that he sit in on a few of his lessons; they were training 8 year olds kids, so full of life, joy, and exuberance. He’d marvelled at their passion, been invigorated by their youth; soon he began to rebuild his body and passed his retrials. Only now there was a problem; he had achieved his goal. He was a judge now so what was his purpose? Tybor used to think duty and justice was his calling but he could hardly be sure anyway. For now he sat under the bridge of a freeway, barely noticing the sound of the cars screaming past as his consciousness wandered the long, lonely groves of his mind.

He was broken out of his sombre trance by the beep of his communicator alerting him to the arrival of a new urgent message; such an alert caused a frown to erupt across his face. Surely there’d be better people to send an urgent request to then a Judge just coming off a 14 month recovery. His curiosity got the better of his concern as he jammed the button down and he heard the unmistakeable voice of Judge Dredd booming out of the speaker; even if there wasn’t a caller ID every Judge recognised this iconic voice. He was a figure of legendary status and here he was being personally requested.

It would’ve been too easy to get caught up in the awe of the moment, overconfident even at the hint of Dredd needing their help but that was in itself an oxymoron. If Dredd wanted you, it meant it was bad. Without hesitating to ponder the matter anymore he clambered back onto his bike and sped off, noting how the civilians on the road manoeuvred out of the way of a speeding Judge. They knew to respect, obey and assist however they could, less they end up on the wrong saw of the Law, a truly harsh mistress in Mega-City One.

Tybor cast his mind back, trying to dig up the shreds of knowledge he had in his mind; they were chaotically stored and difficult to grasp but he soon began to remember what he knew of Sector 301. It was an absolute hellhole, one of the most backwater, crime infested and undesirable places to live in all of Mega-City One. He’d have to keep his wits about him and his trigger finger ready because some of the local gangs just might not be able to resist taking a shot or two at a judge. 

After a few tense moments gliding through the outskirts of the sector he found himself nearer and nearer to Asbury Tower. There was clear evidence that the people were even more uneasy here; even the presence of a judge made them more fearful. This could not be a good omen; they didn’t appear to be criminals and for them to fear the presence of a judge meant whichever gang ran this block didn’t want judges snooping around. He pulled around the final corner and noticed a Judge had already arrived, by the body shape the Judge appeared to be female; even a close body match to his old partner – Johnson, surely not. He’d heard Judge Johnson over the call but it was a common designation so he didn’t think that much of it. Yet sitting here now, he could almost sense the other half of his old partnership sitting across from him even with her being around a hundred metres away. 

He’d never been visited from her when he’d been interred in hospital, he assumed that she either hadn’t been told for some obscure bureaucratic reason or she simply hadn’t cared. He wasn’t sure which held more truth; even if he cared to discover because the truth had rarely proved to be a comfort in his experience. He pulled up next to her, setting his bike down alongside of her and stepped off warily, still keeping an eye out on the surrounding buildings, ready for the slightest hint of hostile movement. His eyes picked up the [i]Johnson[/i] on the badge and his heart leapt into his mouth as the obscurity of ignorance once again clouded his mind.

“Good morning Judge Johnson, Judge Tybor reporting in. Is Dredd around?” He spoke is staccato, short sentences as he wasn’t sure if she’d recognize him; if it was her after all– he was thinner than he’d ever been, his voice more shallow, and his movements more ragged. He didn’t carry himself with quite the same aura of courage that he once had; those red hot bullets had burned most of his former bravado out of him along with who knows what else.