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Chapter 2

Bang Bang Bank

Chapter 2
Bang Bang Bank

Exposed brick lines the peeling walls of the dingy apartment, a stark contrast to the sophisticated technology about to be discussed. Three men and a woman spread a pair of floor layouts across a battered table, the wood scarred and stained.

“Now is the perfect time to act,” one of the men says, his voice eager. “An anti-police demonstration is already underway, providing the perfect cover. It’ll be too easy.”

A younger man, his face set in a determined scowl, shakes his head. “I don’t like it. I’m not interested in some Mr. Johnson coming after me years down the line because we crossed the wrong guy. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, but this feels wrong.”

The first man waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll be long gone before anyone even realizes what happened. Like snakes on ice. We won’t need to hurt anyone. A clean job, in and out. Besides,” he adds, his eyes gleaming, “it’ll be good for you to learn how to handle these kinds of situations. You in?”

The three others exchange a weighted glance, then nod in agreement. Their hands join in a firm handshake, sealing their pact.

“Good. Let’s make sure this is our first and last job together.”

~

“I need a captivating story, and I need it now,” Apricot moaned, her head resting on the backrest of the cold black wood bench. “If I don’t turn in a paper tomorrow, I’ll be in deep trouble.” With a hurried movement, she sat up straight, lifting a partially eaten, soggy double cheeseburger topped with lettuce, tomato, and a fried egg. “I received a certified letter from the Bureau of Education. They warned that if my grades don’t improve, they’ll move me to the labor field. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life working in a factory.”

Bonni sat next to Apricot, her cafe uniform emitting a strong espresso aroma that mingled with the surrounding salty fragrances of fried food. She casually swung her heel off her foot, her attention focused on the small cardboard pouch from which she was extracting a nugget, expertly dipping it into a combination of teriyaki and mayonnaise.

“Why not write about today’s incident?” suggested a sharp-faced black-haired man sitting across from Apricot, his burger halfway to his mouth. “I have a couple of photos from the crime scene that would be perfect for your article.” In between bites, he emphasized his point. Apricot recognized him as Sato Takoma, a few years her senior, whom she knew through school. They shared several classes, and she had also become friends with his younger sister, Machi, a first-year engineering student. Apricot had known of Machi during her primary school years and initially pinned her as a spoiled brat, an opinion that hadn’t changed much since they met.

Apricot glances at Bonni, her grin spreading wide across her face. “Remember that secret I wanted to share? Well, those police officers at the robbery this morning—I overhead them talking, and they seemed worried about something.”

Apricot’s eyes shift to Machi, who rolls her ice-green eyes behind her heavy black-framed glasses. “It’s obvious why they were worried,” Machi interjects, taking a bite of her salad. “The perpetrator murdered several people. Of course, they’re concerned.” As she chews, Machi’s black twin tails swing with the motion of her head.

Bonni, holding a chicken nugget, stabs the air in Machi’s direction as she speaks. “But don’t you think it’s strange that so many people died? According to Eerie Truths Monthly, there have been monster sightings everywhere. One person couldn’t cause that much death. Maybe she wasn’t human at all.”

“Monsters?” Machi cuts in, bursting into laughter. “Don’t be silly. She was just some crazy person high on drugs.”

“I find it intriguing, Bonni, but I don’t think it’s something I can write an article about,” Apricot says.

Bonni persists. “But why are these sightings happening all of a sudden? Not long ago, people dismissed witches as fairy tales.”

Machi scoffs. “We live in a superstitious society. People still pray to Obojo, the money god, whenever they expect a raise. It doesn’t mean witches or monsters are real.”

Undeterred, Bonni continues. “Something strange is definitely going on! Don’t you agree, Sato?” She leans over the table, stroking Sato’s lap, causing him to blush deeply.

Machi kicks Bonni’s leg, pushing her back into her seat. “He’s a photographer, not a reporter. And witches, monsters—they’re not real. They’re just myths and illusions perpetuated by delusional people.”

Sato, grinning sheepishly, scratches the back of his head. “Well, it does sound like tabloid stuff, but who knows what’s lurking in the shadows? Monsters under the city? It might sound far-fetched, but if I capture something on camera, you can bet it’ll make front-page news.” He rubs his ribs, still feeling the jab from Machi’s playful blow.

Apricot giggles at the interplay between Machi and Sato, enjoying the lively discussion among her friends.

“Tabloid? No, this is groundbreaking journalism,” Bonni insists, her eyes shining with enthusiasm as she turns to Apricot. “This is the kind of story that makes a journalist famous. Imagine, Apricot, you could be known as the woman who exposed the monster invasion of Blue Ash.”

Apricot ponders for a moment, her finger on her lower lip. “Well,” she begins carefully, not wanting to offend Bonni, “I appreciate the tip, and I agree that it’s an intriguing idea. But I’d need more information and multiple sources before I could consider writing an article about it. I’ll definitely keep my ears open, though. If I gather enough evidence, I might just pursue this story.”

Machi rolls her eyes. “Apricot, don’t encourage her. This is absurd.”

Bonni’s expression falls into a disappointed pout. “But my idea is perfect, Apricot! Come on!” Her words are suddenly interrupted by the wailing of sirens. The group looks up to see several police squad cars rushing by, causing the wrappers on their table to flutter.

Sato immediately pulls out his phone, his eyes scanning the screen. Apricot, sensing a potential story, smirks and moves closer to him, clasping her hand on his shoulder to get a better view. “Hey, Sato, what’s your police scanner saying? Anything I might be interested in writing about?”

Leaning in, Apricot squints at the screen, trying to read the small text. Sato maneuvers his finger across the black and blue interface, scanning the various alerts—minor incidents, a protest, and then—his finger freezes on an emergency report. “There’s a bank robbery just a few blocks from here,” he says, his voice intense.

Apricot’s eyes light up. “A bank robbery! Perfect!” She pumps her fist in the air, her excitement palpable. “Sato, I know that look. You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?”

Sato smirks, standing up from the table. He turns to Machi and pulls out a handful of shiny emerald cards. “Machi, here’s fifty marks. Sorry, but I’ve got to take off. You’ll have to find your way home.”

Machi waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, you always do this. I’m used to it by now.” Her gaze shifts to Bonni, who grins at her with an uncanny intensity. “Wait! Don’t leave me alone with Bonni! She’s crazy!”

Bonni cuts in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m the responsible baby-sitter here.”

Apricot, sensing the tension, waves goodbye to her friends. “Hey, sorry to rush off like this, but I’ll call you later and fill you in on all the details!” She dashes towards Sato’s bike, already envisioning the potential story unfolding.

Machi slumps in her seat, her arms crossed, while Bonni waves back, a sly smile playing on her lips.

~

The clamor of sirens battles against the thunderous roar of the trail rider. Apricot clasps tightly onto Sato’s back as he maneuvers the crimson and white sports bike with expert skill. Cars whiz by as he weaves through the two onward lanes, the white lines on the road becoming a blur. Sato twists the throttle, the bike accelerating as he attempts to keep up with the police wake. “Sato,” Apricot yelps over the growing noise, “we’re going too fast!” The swish of automobiles has progressed from a measured pace to a rapid, constant flow.

“These situations can change in an instant,” Sato shouts back, “I don’t want to miss a thing.” Apricot’s heart races as she steals a glance at the wall of cars ahead, her eyes widening. She lets out a shriek as Sato suddenly applies the brakes, the motorcycle skidding to a halt behind a truck. The acrid smell of scorched rubber fills the air. “Damn, looks like we hit traffic,” Sato curses.

Apricot pats Sato on the back and hops off the bike. “Sorry, Sato. Thanks for the ride, I’ll catch you later.” She saunters away, dancing down the road with a trot, her giggles echoing as she holds up the camera.

“Get a good shot, will ya?” Sato calls out.

Apricot spins, walking backward as she replies, “You bet!” She then sprints along the congested street, maneuvering through the maze of vehicles in the clogged metropolitan corridor. A sudden screech makes her turn, and in mid-stride, she feels her heel sear in pain. Apricot instinctively holds the camera high as she falls, scraping her side against the asphalt. When she orientates herself, she finds herself inches away from a blue bumper.

“Oh my, I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there, are you okay, miss?!” a man stammers, leaning out of the car’s open passenger door. Her heart sinks as she worries about the camera, but to her relief, it appears unharmed. She sighs, brushing off the street dust and running a hand down her thigh. It comes away sticky and wet, and she sees a delicate smear of red on her fingers, along with a thin coat of blood on her pale elbow and knees. Aside from these minor scrapes, she seems uninjured.

“Miss?” the man questions again, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Apricot calls out, already taking off toward the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Her mission takes precedence over her own minor injuries and the concerned man.

~

As she nears the source of the piercing sirens, a riot surges against the police barriers. “I hate it when they pull these kinds of stunts,” Apricot mutters, rolling her eyes. “Let the police do their job.”

Apricot wasn’t entirely clear on why mass protests had broken out in Blue Ash. From what she gathered, Okabe had taken steps to separate itself from the Uchellan mainland, centralizing the police force under the direct control of the influential Okabe family. The reaction from the people of Okabe had been fierce; they viewed it as a privatization of their police.

Panic starts to settle in as Apricot reaches into her pocket, only to find her state journalist badge missing. A quick search of her purse reveals it’s not there either. Her heart sinks as she realizes she must have left her bag at the restaurant. “Just great,” she says, her eyes scanning the sea of protestors. She could only hope that Machi or Bonni had noticed her forgotten purse.

The crowd is overwhelming, a deluge of people with placards and signs, their chants and shouts filling the air. The heat, the smells, and the press of bodies remind her of a packed concert, and she has to battle her way through to the police line. She waves frantically, trying to catch the eye of one of the officers. “I’m with the media! Let me through!”

An officer spots her and yells over the noise, “Got your pass, kid?” She makes her way closer, gripping the barricade tightly to avoid being pulled back into the angry mob. “I left it behind in a hurry to get here! I’m press, I promise!”

“I’m press too!” A man in a business suit shouts, trying to catch the officer’s attention.

The officer gestures dismissively. “Go get your pass, kid. No pass, no entry. Simple as that.”

“But officer, please!” Apricot pleads as another voice joins in.

“I’m press as well!” A woman shouts from somewhere behind Apricot.

The officer’s face hardens, and he holds up his hand, silencing Apricot. “Listen, you’re not getting through without a pass. Now scram before I change my mind and have you arrested for wasting my time.”

In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, Apricot blurts out, “What can you tell me about the robbery? Is there any official statement from the force?”

The officer’s expression remains stoic. “At this time, the state has chosen not to disclose specific details about the nature of the incident. We will provide further information as it becomes available.”

Apricot persists, drawing a notepad from her pocket. “Is there anyone still inside the building? Any hostages or…”

The officer’s face flushes with annoyance. “That is enough! Back off and disperse now!”

“Forgive me, officer,” Apricot says, offering a quick bow before turning to push her way through the frenzied protestors. With a sense of defeat, she decides it’s best to retreat, knowing that negotiating with the police amidst this chaos is futile.

As she moves away from the main street, the angry roars of the crowd begin to fade. Apricot feels a mix of emotions: defeat from her failed attempt to get closer to the action and a lingering frustration at the protestors for hindering her work.

“At least I can get something for Sato,” she mutters to herself, lifting her camera to capture the turmoil unfolding before her. Through the viewfinder, she watches as protestors clash with the police, their batons swinging. “Looks like I got out of there just in time,” she muses, clicking the shutter, satisfied that the shot will please her editor.

Apricot takes a step back, considering the composition of the photo and thinking about using the building’s alleyway to frame a wider shot. As she moves, her foot catches on something, and she stumbles, catching her balance by throwing out her arms. The camera dangles from its strap, swinging wildly.

At her feet, Apricot notices a metal grate that her clumsiness had dislodged. A mischievous smile plays at her lips as she kneels to lift it, an idea forming in her adventurous mind. “The underground tunnels,” she whispers, knowing that these tunnels connect the entire metropolis, providing a means of travel unseen by those above.

With a grunt, she tosses the grate aside and begins her descent into the hidden world beneath the city, eager to explore and uncover whatever secrets lay in the shadows.

~

“Come out with your hands up!” The captain’s command bellowed through the blue and white bullhorn, as a squad of officers surrounded the front of the bank, their cars creating a formidable blockade. The disruptors, a mix of angry protestors and rebels, pushed against the line of police, attempting to gain ground.

“Get back, or I’ll shoot!” A young, nervous officer shouted as the barricade buckled under the strain. His hand shook as he brandled his pistol, his voice breaking as the rebels surged forward. A young woman, frozen wide-eyed and mere inches from the gun, became his unintended target. Time seemed to pause as the officer stared her down, the sound of the crowd fading into the background.

The tense moment was broken by a man who lunged forward, grabbing the officer’s arm and screaming, “Murderer!” The officer reacted instinctively, elbowing the man in the face and retreating behind the protection of his fellow officers.

“Gas them!” The police chief’s voice cut through the chaos, his words carrying an edge of desperation. “These sons of bitches need to be taught a lesson.” A unit of officers in full riot gear advanced, their pipe cannons raised. With a coordinated holler, they unleashed a barrage of metal projectiles. The canisters arced through the air, knocking people to the ground as they landed, spewing forth a thick cloud of noxious, milky-brown smoke. Cries of protest turned to screams as the toxic gas enveloped the crowd, causing a panicked stampede as people tried to escape the suffocating fumes.

Amidst the chaos, the police noticed movement at the bank entrance. A man emerged from the shadows, dragging a girl with him, a gun pressed against her jaw. He leaned close, his voice a gruff whisper, the words dripping with threat. “Remember, darling, one wrong move, and I’ll paint the walls with your brains. Understand?” Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks as she nodded mutely.

The police captain’s voice crackled over the radio, his orders sharp and concise. “Sniper, take position. We need that gun off the girl.”

The hostage-taker responded with a laugh, his voice carrying a note of madness. “I’ll make you a deal, boys in blue. I’ll put down the gun, and you can have the girl. But back off, or else…” He pulled the girl closer, the gun digging into her jaw, the threat clear. “One false move, and I’ll paint the town with her blood! Her pretty face will be a scarlet fountain, mark my words!”

“Take the shot!” The police chief’s voice was steady, his finger hovering over the transmit button.

A thunderous crack split the air as a bullet sped towards its target. In the blink of an eye, the hostage and her captor were gone, replaced by a small, softball-sized orb. “Wrong move, assholes!” The man’s voice echoed over the bank’s intercom, his laughter grating.

An explosion rocked the building, fire and debris flying outward, knocking bystanders to the ground, and sending both protestors and officers running for their lives. The heat wave from the blast washed over them, carrying with it the knowledge that something had gone terribly wrong.

~

Apricot huddled to her knees, her hands covering her ears as the ground rumbled beneath her. The cables strung along the walls dangled and swayed, casting dancing shadows amidst the rocking lights encased in their metal cages. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the pulse echoing through her entire body. Not far off, the metal rungs of an exit ladder beckoned, but the booming sounds shook her to her core, leaving her frozen.

Through the bars of the escape hatch, Apricot saw the clear blue sky above, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding below. She scrambled up the steps, pushing open the grate and emerging into a dirty backstreet lot. A smile formed as she took in the surroundings: several trash bins overflowed with recyclables, and a tall brick wall, topped with menacing razor wire, confirmed that she was indeed behind the bank. She crept out of the hole and let the metal grate slam shut with a loud clank.

As she turned toward the alleyway, a startling scene unfolded. Police officers were pulling people from a street torn apart by rubble and wavering smoke. “Was that a bomb?” she wondered aloud. “Who would use bombs for a bank robbery? That seems far too absurd.” She recalled Boken’s Sword rule of argument: the simplest answer is often the most likely. But why, then, would someone use a bomb?

Apricot’s hands fidgeted as a sense of tension washed over her. “Could this be a terrorist attack?” she asked herself, biting her lip. The situation had escalated from merely irresponsible to downright dangerous. “Calm down,” she coached herself. “You want to be a reporter, so act like one.”

With newfound determination, Apricot lifted the camera to her eye, only to find the viewfinder black. She lowered the camera and noticed the lens cap dangling by a thin white string. After fixing it, she brought the camera back up, only to find herself face-to-face with a hazel eye—but instead of lashes, teeth surrounded the orb. “What the—?” she muttered, her brow furrowing. The teeth shut, forming a grin, and a strange, cartoon-like voice said, “Hello.”

Apricot shrieked and threw the camera to the ground. Her hands flew to her mouth as she shook with fear. As she stared down at the broken camera at her feet, she realized it was Sato’s camera that lay shattered.

Apricot dropped to her knees, her eyes fixed on the mangled camera in her hands. A small sob escaped her as she saw the shattered glass falling from the lens onto the pavement. “No,” she whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek.

“Don’t move,” a young man’s voice demanded, snapping her out of her sorrowful trance. She looked up to see a scruffy-looking man with chili yellow eyes and a strong jawline, pointing a pistol at her. Her face paled as she saw the barrel bobbing slightly, an unspoken directive for her to stand. She slowly rose to her feet, her eyes locked with his. “Wow, he is handsome,” she thought, an involuntary reaction to the dangerous situation she found herself in.

“Now, why would a girl be out here?” he asked, his gaze intense.

“I… I’m a journalist,” Apricot stammered, holding up the broken camera as evidence. “I was trying to get some photos for my article.”

The man snickered. “Looks like you need a new camera. You think I’m an idiot or something?” he retorted. “You came through the sewers to get back here. Filthy. Are you with the cops? Got a wire on you?”

Apricot shook her head, her eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun. “No.”

“Sure, and even if you are, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” he continued, his gaze narrowed. Apricot felt the weight of his suspicion, the chambered bullet in the gun like a rabid dog, restrained but eager to bore itself into her stomach.

“There’s one way you can prove you’re not,” he said, raising the pistol and pointing it at her chest. “Take it off.” Apricot’s face flushed as she realized what he was asking. With trembling fingers, she began to lift her shirt.

“Go ahead,” he said, his gaze unwavering. She paused, her fingers on the fabric, and took a deep breath. “Wait,” he said suddenly, lowering the gun and looking away. “You don’t have to do that.” Apricot wondered if it was a trick, but in that moment, she also realized that whether it was a trick or not, he could still pull the trigger.

She slowly lowered her shirt back down and took a cautious breath. The man pushed against the door, the clank of metal against the brick wall echoing in the alley. “After you,” he said, motioning for her to go inside.

Apricot stood at the threshold, knowing that stepping through that door could mean life or death. The irony of the situation struck her—she had gone from reporting on a story to becoming a part of it. If she survived, she might just have the story of a lifetime. A book deal, even. As these thoughts crossed her mind, a smile formed on her face.

“What’s so funny? Got some sick fetish for being a hostage?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion and threat. The gun was still pointed at her, and in that instant, the joy drained from her as fear gripped her heart once more.

~

“How the hell do we get out of this?” asked a man, his hand tightening around a pistol. He appeared to be in his late teens, younger than the handsome man, and his twitchy demeanor added an element of danger that Apricot immediately noted.

The man who had captured her, shook his head. “I don’t think we can just walk out the front door. The back entrance is an option, I guess. The reporter girl found her way in through the tunnels, after all. But if we try to slip out, I’m sure we’ll be chased.”

A woman leaned against a bank teller’s desk, her expressionless face giving away nothing. Apricot judged her to be in her late twenties or early thirties, her mature yet smooth features a testament to her age. This woman, unlike the others, carried no visible weapon, but her long jacket could easily conceal an arsenal. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” she said, her voice edged with frustration. “We’ve got the police in front, that madman upstairs, and now a hostage. What the hell was he thinking?”

“A bomb? Diago’s lost it!” moaned the young man, pacing in a careful circle while staying out of the line of fire from the front.

Apricot sat on the floor of the once-opulent bank lobby. The polished marble, now cracked and damaged, bore the scars of the blast. Shattered glass surrounded the windows, allowing smoke to fill the room and sting their nostrils, despite its diluted state.

As the group continued to bicker and complain, Apricot chose to listen, her questions mounting. One thing, above all, troubled her—what did they hope to gain from a bank robbery? Paper money was a thing of the past, replaced by the Emerald Mark. Her curiosity got the better of her. “What was your plan?” she blurted out.

The handsome man glanced at Apricot, a half-smile playing on his lips as the other two shared a look. “Told you she was an interesting one,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

The nervous man let out a nervous laugh. “Well, we intended to secure ourselves a comfortable retirement plan, but it looks like we’ve stumbled into a funeral instead.”

“Maybe you should turn yourselves in,” Apricot suggested, her voice steady. “The bomb wasn’t your idea. Betray Diago. He doesn’t seem to value your lives.”

The girl, her eyes cold, approached Apricot, her movements calculated. She drew a thin slab from her side, a spring-loaded blade clicking into place. Kneeling next to Apricot, she pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek. “Keep it up, comedian, and I’ll carve you a new smile from ear to ear,” she threatened.

The handsome man chuckled, his calm unnerving. “I admit, I like her. We could use some comedy around here.” As Apricot met his eyes, she tapped the blade lightly, leaving a small cut on her cheek—a warning. Sheathing the blade, the girl rose to her feet, her brown eyes locked with Apricot’s, conveying a sharp, unspoken message.

The nervous man stifled a snicker, his anxiety apparent. “I-I don’t want to die. The bomb wasn’t our idea. It was all Diego’s doing. How do we explain that?”

“Diago… What is his plan upstairs?” The calm man shook his head. “I knew that deckjockey was trouble.”

“He’ll come through for us, won’t he?” The young man’s laugh was tinged with desperation. “I mean, he rigged that bomb with the holosim from upstairs. He must have an escape plan, right?”

“Only one way to find out,” the blade-wielding girl said, her gaze shifting to the calm, handsome man.

“Yeah,” he agreed, jumping off the desk. “I’ll go check on our little decker. See if he’s finished.” Turning to Apricot, he offered his hand. “I want a body as collateral. Reporter girl, be my shield, will you?” His touch sent a flutter through her, and she questioned her own reaction to him. “Come on, it’s this way,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

~

The man had led Apricot upstairs to the second floor of the bank. From the mezzanine, the overwatch provided a view of the outside. Despite the anxiety of having a gun barrel pointed at her head, Apricot felt a slight sense of ease with him, or at least less unease than with that lady downstairs. Still, the cold press of the gun against her head reminded her of the danger she was in. “We’re just heading down the hall. I don’t want a sniper taking me out, so please walk in front of me,” he instructed, his voice tight with tension.

As they inched towards the door, the man pressed himself against Apricot’s backside, his chest against her rear, making her blush. Outside, she could see police officers with their guns drawn, some walking casually while others examined papers. The crowd had mostly dispersed, leaving only the law enforcement officers and the anxious criminals inside.

Inside the room, a girl sobbed in the corner, her face streaked with tears. In front of a computer sat a man—a twisted, artificial-looking being. Apricot’s stomach turned at the sight. He was once human, but now he resembled something monstrous, his body altered and augmented. A pistol lay on the desk alongside a camera setup, cables, and tiny metal pieces stretching from his fingers as he rapidly clicked away at the keys. “Hey, Diego, are you almost done? You really pissed off the cops with that light show,” the man said, his voice laced with impatience.

“Did I?” Diego chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the situation.

The man beat his fist on the table in frustration. “Get your ass in gear! We’re running out of time, and I don’t plan on dying here,” he snapped, his voice echoing in the tense room.

“What? But the party’s just getting started,” Diago snickered in response. “They’ve got impressive countermeasure electronics. I’ve managed to get through the first couple of phases. I think they’ve got a nice buried treasure here. The downstairs vaults are unlocked, so load up what you can. I’ll have all the tunnels open for you soon. Wasn’t expecting this setup, ya know? But if you give me some time, I might find something even more valuable. They’ve got naked body scanners too. That’s gotta be worth something.”

“Listen, pervert, get us a damn bank train so we can get the hell out of here!” the handsome man yelled, his frustration evident.

“Tanj, you’re no fun,” Diago grumbled. “Where do you even plan to go? You think the tunnels aren’t swarming with police by now?”

“Just get it done,” the handsome man snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Apricot, her curiosity piquing, asked, “Are you a runner?” The black-haired lady in the corner looked up at her, plain shock on her face. Apricot knew about these individuals—people who performed unusual thefts, requiring access to restricted locations to infiltrate closed systems. They often left a trail of slaughter in their wake, eliminating witnesses to cover their tracks. Like wizards, they evaded surveillance, vanishing from recorded footage, and with their tech knowledge, they moved in ways that defied normalcy, operating in the black market’s depths.

Diago glanced up from his screen, his eyes locking with Apricot’s. “The eyes,” Apricot thought, “they’re wrong, like the dolls in the shop windows of Akubashi street.” She felt a chill as their gazes met.

“Who’s the girl?” Diago asked, his eyes locking with Apricot’s.

“A hostage, like yours,” the handsome man replied, his hand casually patting Apricot’s butt, eliciting a chill down her spine. “She’s a reporter,” he added, his tone dismissive. Apricot wanted to slap him, but she resisted the urge, her emotions twisted up in a knot.

“Huh, shit,” Diago grunted. “If you don’t ‘crease’ her soon, I’ll reconfigure her myself. Expert witness, you know, joy boy.” Apricot didn’t understand all the words, but she gathered the gist—he wanted her dead, a threat she wouldn’t take lightly. The other girl, wide-eyed, seemed to share Apricot’s sentiment.

Apricot felt the cold press of the gun barrel against the back of her uniform as the handsome man pushed her forward. “You worry about our getaway,” he said, his voice low. Apricot wasn’t sure what to make of him. He seemed to have some morals, or at least he didn’t want her dead, but her instincts told her to be cautious. He drove her towards the hall, his instructions clear. “You know the drill, girl. Don’t let those yellow boys blow my head off.”

Suddenly, a deep voice thundered from the ground floor, issuing commands. “On your knees!”

“The hell is that!” Diago shouted, startled. The handsome man pushed Apricot to the floor, his gun at the ready.

Several ghostly figures dropped through the marble ceiling, their cloaks bending the light to mirror their surroundings. Without their cloaks, they would have been invisible, Apricot thought. The figures revealed themselves as armored police, their guns aimed at the criminals. “Got ya,” a mechanically synthesized voice declared.

“You did,” the handsome man replied, swiveling and drawing a blade from his spinning torso. He lunged, stabbing at the thick armored collar of one officer, the blade scraping against the black Kevlar. A rifle butt impacted his head, knocking him to the floor.

Diago jumped onto the table, knocking the seat into the wall. He swung his arm, sending the computer smashing into an officer. The cables whipped back into his left hand as he faced another officer, his right hand pointing their way. “You son of a bitch!” he howled, his forearm splitting open with a mechanical groan to reveal a hidden Uzi. “Ratatat!” the gun roared, the bullets ricocheting as Apricot covered her ears, dropping to her knees in terror.

She kicked away from a smoldering bullet, her back sinking into a pair of arms. She looked up to see the gray and blue-hosed mask of an officer, their cloak covering her. Inside, the fabric had become a screen, showing translucent walls and bodies around the room.

Apricot watched as the red silhouette of the handsome man swept his foot, knocking another officer to the floor. “I got you, honey!” a muffled female voice called out. The officer leaned back, lifting Apricot through the bank’s wall, an intense tingling sensation washing over her as they defied the laws of physics. She plummeted with the officer, who swooped like a bird, clutching Apricot tightly in her arms. Landing with a heavy thud on the pavement below, Apricot realized she had been screaming and thrashing.

Her mind raced with questions, the foremost being, “What just happened? Did we jump through a wall?” Cradled in the officer’s arms, Apricot looked up into the iron-blue mask. The eye shields shone a bright red, and two air hoses ran along the sides of the solid neck shields.

“It’s alright, ma’am, you’re safe now,” the police officer said, setting Apricot on her feet. As the officer removed her helmet, letting her long black hair cascade down, Apricot rose to her full stature. The officer had unique white irises, Apricot noted. “Are you okay, hun?” she asked, her voice carrying a rural mainlander accent. Apricot could only stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “I need to thank you. Your little sneaking escapade helped me get inside unnoticed,” the officer explained.

Apricot observed as another officer jumped through the wall, this time with the black-haired lady in his arms. He unfurled, asking if she required medical attention, to which the lady could only wail in response. “This is the life of the police, so dangerous,” Apricot muttered, the words escaping her lips unintentionally.

“You’re lucky to be alive, that’s for sure. I haven’t seen many kids walk out of something like this,” the female officer said to her.

Apricot, snapping out of her trance, turned to the armored woman and bowed low. “Forgive me, and thank you for saving me. I am forever in your debt,” she said sincerely.

“All in a day’s work, miss,” the officer replied with a warm smile.

A man in uniform approached, clipboard in hand. “You’re a student, huh?” he said, eyeing Apricot’s tattered school uniform. “What were you doing inside the bank?”

Apricot’s heart sank as she knew her every move had been captured on camera. “It’s quite a story,” she began, biting her nails nervously. She relayed the events that had led to her becoming a hostage, her narrative eliciting amusement from the officer.

“Press, huh? Well, I’ll have to report this to your superiors and let them decide what’s to be done with you. Understand?” he said, wagging a finger at Apricot. She nodded, her eyes wide. “I’ll put in a good word for you, got it, girl? Now, come with me. We need to get your account on record so you can be on your way,” he instructed, his tone softening slightly as he guided her toward the waiting police vehicles.

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