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Chapter 1

Morning Blues

The asphalt glistened brightly as police cruisers shone their flashing lights across the scene. Outside ‘Ye Olde Curiosities’ antique shop, Officer Arikado stood guard. His gaze briefly caught on a peculiar shadow atop a nearby building. However, with the chaos around him, he dismissed it as a light trick. His colleagues’ shouts were barely audible over sirens’ wail. A crowd of curious onlookers gathered around the scene. Some in hoodies, eyes wide with morbid curiosity, others clutching their phones like lifelines, kept at bay by wooden roadblocks, their collective breath held in a mix of fear and fascination. The neon colored sign from the ‘Lucky Pearl Bar’ bathed the crowd in a kaleidoscope of colors. Gun at the ready, Arikado approached the shop’s aging automatic doors, plastered with peeling flyers for lost cats and discount cigarettes. They groaned open, revealing chaos.

“Please, officer, don’t damage anything,” he pleaded in a thin, trembling voice.

“As if anything could survive this chaos,” Arikado thought, flashing back to his daughter’s laughter, now a stark contrast to the darkness enveloping him.

His captain’s voice cut through the din. “Our only interest is getting whoever is in that building out.” He imagines Captain Yuan standing with straight shoulders, looking just as tight and official as ever.

Arikado’s presence was a silent testament to his decade-long tenure, each step heavy with the weight of countless nights like this one. He moved with the grim confidence of someone who knew too well the burden of his badge, each stride a prayer for survival in this dark, unforgiving night. His uniform was a study in formality: a dark jacket, buttoned to the throat, hugged his frame, the fabric heavy with purpose. The peaked cap sat squarely on his head, lending him an air of authority. The white armband emblazoned with the word “POLICE” in bold letters left no doubt about his profession.

The officer muttered to himself, “You tell ’em, boss,” under his breath. Arikado’s heart raced, each beat a drum of dread as he stepped into the darkness, his mind screaming for retreat even as his duty pushed him forward. A chill slithered down his spine as the halogen bulb flickered out, leaving him to breathe in ragged gasps in the suddenly cold, dark air. He raises his hand to his shoulder and presses the radio switch. “Shit, I can’t see anything.”

“Arikado, you scared of the dark or what?” Vince’s voice crackled through.

“Shut up Vince,” Arikado growled. His irritation was clear. However, his chest pounded with a fear different from the usual concern about entering old, unused shops with possible armed suspects. This was a living fear, a gripping dread. It clawed down his throat and stole the air. “No, I mean it’s darker than night, I can’t see anything.” Taking a few steps forward Arikado squints his eyes gazing into the shadows making out an assembly of shelves knocked atop an inky mosaic of assorted objects. “So much for keeping the place undamaged, damn what the hell happened here? So it looks like someone messed this shop up.” A rustle from his left side, possibly from someone hiding, made Arikado turn sharply. He raises his gun pointing to the unknown stretch. “Come out with your hands where I can see them.” He shouts, convinced the haunting void is occupied. A woman stepped out of the darkness. “Never seen anything like this – not in all my years. What is she?” He noticed her strange appearance. “Put your hands up!”

A red glare flashed, followed by screams. Arikado’s eyes widened as a sharp pain exploded in his stomach, blood splattering the tiles beneath him. Before he could react, he was thrown across the room, his body crashing into the wall with a yelp.

The officers heard both Arikado’s hollering and thunderous crash. Gesturing with his hands pointing at the door, the captain hollers “Get in there now! Move!” Adhering to their superior’s orders, the other officers rush into the salon with their guns drawn; safety’s off. Arikado screamed in agony in the corner. In the shadows, the silhouette of a woman stands, her hair spread as though static stretched out each lock. “On the ground.” Another officer yells as she raises her hand revealing electric sparks. The room was lit by strobes of muzzle flash, each spark reflecting in the wide, terrified eyes of the officers. Their breath caught in their throats as bullets met an unseen barrier.

Panic devoured the crowd, sending them rushing like a river dispersing far away from the action. This left only the brave or foolish to observe. The remaining onlookers clutched the barrier to get a better view. The officers stopped their pushback and watched in horror as the building flickered.

Between flashes, the woman’s twisted and distorted smile spreads. Her fingers splayed wide open stopping the bullets in mid-air, hovering for a moment as if impacting something unseen then dropping to the floor with a metallic ping. The woman’s milky white eyes flashed a blinding light that shattered the glass in the room. A supernatural wind turned the shards into a storm of shrapnel tearing through the officers’ bodies.

The officers are propelled through the panned windows, their remains rolling in pieces across the bloodied roadside. Officers scramble for cover behind their cars as razor-sharp glass fragments pelt everything in their path. Kneeling over their hoods they aim into the flare of silhouettes, hearts pounding, gripping their triggers, bodies tight.

Darkness returns to the still storefront glistening with the first beams of morning light. The silence goes from unsettling to straining, the sound of low moans and cries for help drowned out by the tension. Splintered glass shards pepper the metal of police cruisers embedded deep into their chassis shimmering in the dawn. Several officers scream out in pain as they too fell victim to the razor projectiles.

From the darkness, the woman emerged through the shattered door frame, her posture defiant. Her eyes gleamed with wild intensity, her smile a jagged line of teeth against her bronze-gold skin. Her gymnast-like form sparkled with each step. ‘On your hands and knees!’ The captain’s voice cut through the chaos, authoritative yet strained. Blood dripped from her, pooling in rivers at her feet.

Instead of complying, the woman takes a bloody step forward. A slight chuckle escapes her strange feral grin. One officer shakes pulling the trigger releasing a single shot from the chamber with a loud pop. A lead-antimony alloy dot flies right at the woman, but it stops mid-air and falls to the ground. “It’s a witch!” an officer screamed. In a frenzy, the patrol opened fire, but each bullet was met with sparks of electricity, bouncing and fizzling away from the conjurer’s shield. Step by step, she got closer and closer to the officers shielded behind their cars. She turned her head in the stuttering, jerky motion of a broken mechanical doll. She raised her arm and shot a blast of lightning destroying a police cruiser and turning the nearby officers into a pulpy mess of tangled parts.

Spotting an opening an officer draws his saber. He charges the monster raising both arms to slash her in the back. Mid-swing, the woman turns, slicing him in half with an invisible force. He splits open from the shoulder to the hip spraying warm blood as he falls to his side.

The roar of screeching tires alerts the strange lady. Her eyes grow wide at the dissonance as two trucks barrel at the end of the street. She looks up from the officer’s split body grinning towards the rushing freight. The heavy armored vehicles plowed through parked cars. They also knocked down street signs and benches, shattering everything in their path. The truck driver turns his wheel and slams the brakes. This causes the massive automobile to spin around with its cargo port pointed in the lady’s direction.

Her eyes locked onto the trucks, anticipation sparking within them. A chilling cackle cut through the air, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it. Tension thickened as the hangar door groaned open, revealing the colossal, steel-plated form of a humanoid machine, its very presence an omen of what was to come. It stamped out the back splintering the pavement under its weighty triple-toed foot. The gargantuan body, standing twelve feet tall, resembled an armored knight. In its mechanical three-fingered grip is a long specialized rifle with cables and cords snapped into the machine’s forearm. The automated servos whine with each movement as they stride forward. A new group of armored officers runs from the barricade of trucks assembling themselves into several small squads. Their bulletproof vests and shoulders are clearly marked with the SDP decals.

As the colossal machine emerged, the officers’ expressions shifted from fear to awe and desperate hope. Their eyes, previously wide with terror, now tracked the machine’s movements with a glimmer of salvation. The sight of this armored titan, its metallic limbs gleaming under dim streetlights, brought a palpable shift to the atmosphere. 

One officer, his face streaked with sweat and blood, whispered, “Thank God,” his voice barely audible in the chaos. Another, a young rookie whose hands shook from adrenaline and fear, found his grip on his gun steady, his voice gaining strength as he muttered, “Maybe we stand a chance now.”

The seasoned officers, recognizing the significance of the SDP insignia, exchanged knowing looks. These were no ordinary police. These were the legendary Special Defense Police. Men whose abilities were unparalleled. One of them, a sergeant with numerous close calls under his belt, let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his eyes never leaving the machine as it prepared for battle. “This is what we needed,” he said to no one in particular, his voice carrying a mix of relief and grim determination.

Captain Yuan, however, maintained his stern demeanor, his eyes sharp as he assessed the situation. “Stay sharp!” he barked, his command slicing through the momentary calm. “We’re not out of this yet. Keep your heads and guns ready. She’s still dangerous.”

The officers responded with renewed vigor, their movements more coordinated, their resolve bolstered by the mechanical behemoth now standing as their ally. Each officer drew strength from the machine, their fear transmuting into fierce resolve. They prepared for what might be their last stand or victory over the supernatural adversary they faced.

The older SDP Officer Hwaii walked toward the chaos, now in command having clearly taken over from Captain Yuan. Dressed in a black captain’s trench coat, he removed his hosed mask with a hiss. His graying black hair framed an experienced, weathered face. “Let’s finish this,” Hwaii yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos. He pointed to one officer hiding behind their police cruiser near the rear of the barricades. “Get these assholes out of here,” he motioned with his hand to the remnant of onlookers.

Sparks danced in the air, tracing long streams across the asphalt. From the lady’s grimace comes a low growl. Discarded litter from around the city floats like leaves in a vibrant spiral wind. The armored suit takes a measured step in front of the group squaring off with the strange girl. The machine lowers into a sniper stance, its pilot aiming the barrel directly at the woman. With a loud scream, she sends forth a bolt of electricity at the machine leaving a trail of fire in the blast’s wake. It strikes the armor causing a massive spark to turn its white plastic plating cyan in the flash, its red light emitting diodes dim for a moment. The ground flares for several seconds after the shot, lightning tethers rolling before fizzling out.

The woman, now resembling a monster with her wild blonde hair, anticipated the machine’s next move. The first shot from the machine’s rifle ricocheted off her shield, sparks flying as it ricocheted off her shield. She laughed, a sound like breaking glass, but her victory was short-lived. The machine adjusted its sights, returning to normal. A single flash from the muzzle finally severed her leg above the knee, sending it spinning away. She tumbles as her limb flies like a bowling pin away from her body rolling and spinning on the ground. She lands with a thud that sounds like breaking ribs, sprawling out on the cool pavement.

Hwaii chuckled, “Well done. Now pack that thing up so we can get out of here.” Several armored police rush in toward the girl with yellow plastic ties and syringes along with a large yellow plastic body bag. An officer kneels to place the cuffs on the woman grabbing her wrist. She turns her head to look at him giving a taut pout. With her other arm she pushes herself up grabbing his neck with the arm he was trying to cuff. Before the man can speak, her fingers press into his neck, choking him. A powerful blast blows his head to pieces with shotgun ferocity. “Kill her.” Roars the older man. The officers draw their guns, blowing her body full of holes. One last scream can be heard in the gunfire roar as her mutilated body dances side to side.

High above the storefront on a rooftop, a shadowed figure in a cloak stood, observing the carnage below. With a sigh, they murmured, “What a pity, the lady hadst shown promise.” Below, Arikado leaned against a squad car, wincing as medics tended to his wounds. His thoughts were a tumultuous mix of relief and sorrow, the night’s horrors etching fresh perspective on his badge and duty.

~

Images of a dull, burgundy light flashed in Apricot’s mind as she lay buried deep in slumber. An annoying buzzing rang in her ears. As the fog of sleep lifted, she opened her eyes to see her room transitioning between a red glow and shade, the source being the blinking alarm clock on her nightstand. Her eyes focused on the crimson digital numbers: 8:23 AM. A yelp escaped her lips as panic gripped her chest. The school day was slipping away with every second she lingered in bed. With a spark of animation, she leapt out of bed, sending her covers cascading to the floor.

Her uniform hung from a polished bronze curtain rod, the green and white fabric with yellow stripes gleaming under the morning light. Not wasting any time, Apricot snatched the uniform in her hand, placing an arm through the long sleeve. She moved through her room. While adjusting her green and white, yellow trimmed sailor, she glanced over at her makeup. She decided she didn’t have the time for that today, even though it pained her to admit it. “Maybe just eyeliner, that only takes a moment.” She reasons.

In the kitchen, Jasper was already at the table, his eyes glued to the TV. Instead of cartoons, emergency news bars from Okabe News Network scrolled across the screen, reporting a recent police standoff. A well-dressed reporter, her deep red swing coat fluttering in the morning breeze, spoke with a professional calm that belied the urgency of the news she was reporting.. Apricot imagined the reporter was thrilled to have such a story, while someone else was undoubtedly the unfortunate subject. “What are you watching?” she asked, her voice sharp with the exasperation of a sister all too familiar with her brother’s antics.

“Oh, you’re up.” Jasper snickered. “Your alarm woke me up. It’s annoying how you don’t seem to be able to turn that off. But look at this!” His eyes widened, glued to the screen, now more fascinated than annoyed. “The police had another standoff.” Apricot hated how smug her younger brother was. The least the little brat could have done was wake her up if he knew she was oversleeping.

Opening the fridge Apricot found several leftovers and a few pre-made dishes still wrapped in plastic. Most likely her father’s meals as he often got home late from work. Over time, they became like a museum of the past few dinners. She grabbed a half carton of milk, drinking from the cardboard fold out, a few eggs and a stick of butter. “You know you could be a good boy for once and help your big sister Jazz.”

Jasper laughed, “You could be responsible for once and get up.” His eyes were always fixed on the screen, gasping. “Wo, there is blood everywhere.”

Apricot lifts her head from the fridge looking up at the image of bodies and limbs and pools of blood spread like modern art over the wide pavement. “Jasper Signa! You know you are not supposed to watch this stuff!”

Jasper mumbles, “It’s just the news, and Mom’s not here anyway to scold me, so leave me alone.” This was a typical excuse for Jasper, who often sought the thrill of adult news when unsupervised.

“But Dad is home.” The color drains from Jasper’s pale face as he turns his head over to see his father standing over his shoulder. He touches Jasper’s back. “What is this?” he asks in a raised tone. Apricot felt satisfaction knowing her Dad had caught him being a jerk. She springs up closing the fridge door with her foot. For breakfast, she began cooking an omelet on the stovetop burner.

“It’s the news… Some robbers attacked many people. They had to get the SDP.” Jasper chirps with a hint of fascination in his voice. “Look, Dad, it’s a Sachiban model 4!”

“Huh, I see. Well, your sister’s right, your mother would be furious if she found out you were looking at this. Turn it off.” He commands before walking over to Apricot. “And Missy you are late for school. Think you have time for breakfast when you are already late?”

Apricot mutters, feeling in the pit of her stomach that he is right.

~

Racing through the throng of morning commuters, Apricot’s mind raced with worry over her string of late arrivals at school, each delay like a notch on her belt of failures. If she does not hurry, she will be late to catch the next train. She trots through the slow-moving morning crowd. When she reaches the end of the road, she discovers that the stretch to the train has been barricaded. Rushing up to the barricade she is scolded by a tall man in uniform. “Hey girl, go around the other way.” He shouts at her. She can see medical crews on the other side shifting bodies and zipping them into bags. “This must be where the attack happened,” Apricot thought. “Didn’t you hear me?” The man yelled at her again. “Turn around!” His hands were now redirected back to where she came from.

With a sigh, she turns back down the morning street as if walking through a current in the wrong direction. Slipping through the unyielding people quickly became maddening. Regardless of any manners she once held, Apricot pushed through the onlookers as she was sure as hell not intending to miss a train to school.

Several blocks down was another railway but it was not her usual route. Still it would get her to the university if she was fast. After a short sprint, the station was in sight. However, her heart fluttered when she saw the train had already boarded passengers and room was becoming scarce. She burst into a full sprint through the cluttered streets bumping into people saying “Sorry” as she did. Just before the doors closed, a young man held the train door open with one arm and reached out with the other.

The cart moves as Apricot picks up pace running faster, her hand outstretched reaching for the man’s open palm. He lunges forward gripping the train door. Gripping her fingers, he lifts her off the ground and into the threshold of the train’s closing doors before slamming shut behind her. “Hey there, you almost missed your train.” He chuckles.

Apricot blushed before saying “Yeah, thanks to you I didn’t.”

“You got caught up in the detour, huh?” Cortez asked. His voice was friendly but his eyes scanned her in a way that made Apricot uncomfortable. “He’s kind of forward,” she thought, stepping back slightly.

Apricot nodded. “Mmmhmmm, so, did you?”

“Nah, but quite a few people complained about it. “I kind of figured.” He leaned forward, grabbing hold of the headrail. “It’s crowded here this morning. This route is empty. I heard from the morning news they had to shut down the whole subway system in Ginzu for emergency repairs after last night’s incident.” Apricot nodded. She could tell he was waiting for her to say something but didn’t. His eyes rolled before he sighed. “So, what brings you out this lovely morning?”

“Ah, I am off to uni. I ah, I’m studying journalism.” Apricot felt a small swell of pride; her choice to study journalism wasn’t just an academic pursuit but a calling, a beacon in the chaos of her morning rush

The guy smirks. “Journalism, huh?” He shrugged dismissively. “You got a camera?” The question struck Apricot as odd and her face showed it as her eyebrows squished together. “O’ I figured a journalist would be into photography. I have this camera I am selling. Thought you might want to buy it.”

“Ah, no. I’m not looking to try photography.” A lie but she assumed the camera was probably stolen or broken.

The young man nodded his head. “Oh yeah, well, if you ever change your mind, I ride this train nearly every morning. The name’s Cortez. You know, in case you’re looking for something… or someone,” he said, his words dripping with an unspoken agenda. At first, Apricot thought he was coming onto her but after a moment Cortez raised his hand waving to her and said “See you around ok.” Then he blended into the crowd of people losing himself among the sea of bodies.

~

Apricot’s cheeks were rosy. Her clothes were soggy from the long jog into and through the university’s entrance corridor. She gazed up at an LCD screen displaying a government broadcast along with the current time neatly boxed in black and white in the upper right corner. The time was 10:04 AM. Intense anxiety comes over her as she rushes through the sparsely populated halls that twisted into something like a maze. “The detour, they will keep the door open.” Apricot thought to herself to at least edge some of the tension. When she saw the classroom door of 1403B, she could see that the off-white paper shade was already drawn down from the glass door window. Reaching for the door knob, she found substantial resistance from the metal fastenings. With a grunt, she tried again in vain as the knob only jiggled with little give.

Taking a few steps away from the door, Apricot lowers her head. A tightness flowed down her face to her fingertips ending at her toes. She paused for a moment before sighing even longer. “Late again,” she thought.

Blue Ash on a weekday is not much different from any other bustling city, a shadow of the population. Apricot passed people dressed in various fashions along a narrow street. The tantalizing aroma of barbecued chicken skewers, grilled over charcoal, wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of street vendors’ spices. Food carts and street vendors line the sidewalks. The shops that line the road are very diverse selling trinkets, clothing, and various consumer goods. Apricot had always liked this street which seemed more like a shopping center to her.

“Stupid detour. I would have made it if not for that.” Apricot mumbled to herself. “Just my luck.”

One shop that caught Apricot’s eye was a shop window selling the latest style spread across mechanical dolls, posing in various positions. Apricot found the mechanical dolls unsettling – their eyes were too lifeless, too dead, despite their almost human poses. There was something dead about the eyes. The discordant symphony of programmed synthesizers from the nearby arcade pulled Apricot’s attention away, promising a temporary escape from her morning’s misfortunes. “I have little else to do.” She thought to herself of being drawn in by blinking neon lights.

Inside, it smelled of a piped scent that covered the humid heat generated by body sweat and cigarette smoke. Spread across the walls were various machines flashing each playing an assortment of tunes that blended together to form that iconic sound. It’s quite a cacophony but Apricot associates it with excitement. One game, in particular, was the flavor she needed to cheer herself up. Capnom’s side-scrolling hack and slash called Queen Of Dragons.

A chill ran down her spine as the machines dimmed; a slight flicker passed over the screens, signaling a temporary power drop. “Crap, the power is going out,” she thought. When a specter of breath faded into the open air from her mouth, she felt cold as if she had walked into a freezer. The cold faded as quickly as it came but not before causing all the machines to reset. “You have to be kidding me. What is up with this day?” Apricot growled. Each one had started their boot sequences which caused her to moan of boredom. The appeal of battling against pixelated monsters had left and with it herself.

She continued to wander the vitrines until finding herself on a side street she didn’t know. The shops around here were different; dusty old places long forgotten. She passed a hardware store, an electronics boutique, and a pawn shop with a grimy exterior and dark windows, giving it a dubious appearance. She also passed second-hand stores and a small market called Wiseman’s.

The people wandering these streets had a rougher, more menacing appearance than those in the busier areas. If previously reminded Apricot of people without care, these made her feel in danger. She walked past several men giving her unwelcome glances and grins that said everything she needed to know about them. She decided it would be prudent to return to a more populated street. However, when she turned the corner, she was welcomed by four guys kicking another man in the ribs. He barked out as each strike slammed into him knocking his body from side to side. Terror surged through her as she witnessed the brutality, her voice cracking as she shouted, “Stop!” As the guys turned to look at her, she realized the folly of her reflexive action.

Now she had an audience of four hard-looking men. The tallest one delivered one last kick into the guy’s face. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. Remember to punk the rest. If not, get the hell out of town or else.” All four men walked toward Apricot, her throat clenched. Without a glance, the four passed her. She looks down at the man who spits blood out of his mouth.

As she looks at the man on the ground, she recognizes him. It’s the guy she talked to on the train. Apricot narrowed her eyes as she asked, “Are you all right?” Do I need to call the cops?

“No.” He groans while rising to his feet. “Don’t do something stupid like that. Stay out of it. It’s none of your business, reporter.” Apricot knew from her journalism courses that sometimes the best action was inaction. She watched Cortez limp away, her heart racing not with fear for herself but with concern for him. She’d learned the hard way that getting too close could make you part of the story, not just its teller.

Apricot recalled an assignment she had written a few weeks ago, detailing the violent drug trade. This Cortez character was likely neck-deep in it, and she sure as hell didn’t want to end up in the same situation.

Unlike most, Apricot appreciated the hidden aspects of life, the stories that lurked beneath the surface. This fueled her passion for journalism—a passion that required a State Sponsored Journalist license.

After several streets, Apricot sees a familiar sign “Utopian Theaters” and knows where she is. Further down the road is a small cafe called “Hot Shots.” When Apricot enters the cafe, he is greeted by the strong scent of brewed espresso. Inside the decor, a pleasant chocolate wood color accented with soft greens and red pastel windows. Soft music played, giving a sense of privacy without overwhelming the space. As she walked to the counter, the smell of fresh baked goods wafted causing an almost Pavlovian salivation to occur. “Hey girl, I thought you had school.” Apricot looks up to see Bonni Wilox’s bright blue eyes, one of her best friends from high school.

“Bonni!” Apricot chirps with delight reaching over to the counter to hug. “I did not know you worked here?”

“Yeah, well, I needed a part-time job. Turns out you can’t be a movie star without one.” She laughed. “So what brings you here?”

“I was late for class. A stupid detour blocked my train,” Apricot shrugs.

“I’ve got a story for you,” Bonni whispered with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, her voice dropping to an excited hush as she leaned closer. “I overheard the cops talking about that. They spoke of the boss being upset about not getting the robber alive.”

Despite the allure of a breaking story, Apricot remembered her ethics professor’s words: “Your life is not worth a headline.” She decided to let this one go, choosing her safety over the fleeting thrill of immediate news. Apricot gives a funny expression. “How is that a story?” While Bonni was a delightful friend to Apricot, was a bit flighty. She often imagined stories and struggled to submit to reality. 

“The way they were talking about it was not like the typical upset they had to kill her but… like they wanted her for some reason.” Bonni leans over onto the counter drumming her fingers against the polished wood. “I will tell you more about it later but right now is there anything I can get you?”

Apricot nodded her head before touching her cheek. “Just a coffee with vanilla and a spot of half and half.

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