The Enforcer Part III

As Saul and Brehm's boat approaches the docks of Glauco, the captain points towards a vessel in the distance.

"Well, would you look at that?" Brehm says, a sly grin spreading across his weathered features. "Seems our white-haired friend has docked here, just as I thought."

Saul follows Brehm's gaze, his eyes narrowing as he spots the boat in question.

"That's her, then?"

Brehm nods, steering the boat towards the dock. "Aye, that's the one. Looks like she's been keeping busy since I last saw her."

As the boat draws closer, Saul makes out more details of the vessel - a sturdy, battleship-like craft that seems out of place among the more roughed up fishing boats lining the docks.

As soon as the boat is secured, Saul leaps onto the dock, barely sparing a glance at Brehm.

"Good luck, mate! You're gonna need it." The captain calls out.

Saul pays him no mind, his focus solely on the mysterious white-haired girl's boat. With purposeful strides, he approaches the vessel, his eyes scanning for any sign of its owner.

As he draws closer, he notices a small, feathered creature waddling near the bow. Saul pauses, squinting at the creature. Its golden-brown feathers catch the sunlight, nothing like the metallic sheen of a Calidris. The creature struts along the deck with decidedly organic movements - no mechanical precision, just the random pecking and scratching of a regular bird.

A chicken. An actual chicken on a ship.

What kind of operation is this girl running?

Shaking his head, Saul continues his approach, his hand resting on the holster at his hip. If this girl is somehow connected to Gilmore and Axel's disappearances, he isn't about to let her slip away.

Reaching the boat, Saul peers over the side, his eyes scanning for any sign of the girl. But the vessel is empty, save for the chicken.

Undeterred, Saul steps onto the boat, his boots thudding against the wooden deck. He scans the boat, his senses on high alert, when he suddenly becomes aware of a presence behind him. Turning sharply, he finds himself face to face with the white-haired girl.

Shiro stands there, her icy blue eyes meeting his gaze with an unsettling calm. Saul can't help but note her strange appearance - the oversized black shirt, the way her sleeves seems to swallow her hands. And in her grasp, a simple paper bag.

Despite Saul's imposing presence, Shiro seems utterly unfazed. She turns her attention away from Saul, her focus drawn to the chicken that had been pecking at the deck.

"Friend," Shiro calls out, her voice soft but commanding. The chicken immediately scurries to her side, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Saul.

Shiro reaches into the paper bag, withdrawing a handful of dried oats. Calmly, she begins to feed the chicken, seemingly unbothered by Saul's presence.

Saul watches the strange exchange, unsure of whether to draw his weapon or simply observe. There is something about this girl that unsettled him.

As Shiro continues to feed the chicken, Saul clears his throat, breaking the silence. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

Shiro's gaze flickers towards him, her expression unreadable. "This is my home," she replies simply, her tone devoid of emotion.

Saul's brow furrows. "I find that hard to believe. This boat, your... companion," he gestures towards the chicken, "they don't exactly scream 'home' to me."

Shiro's grip tightens slightly on the paper bag. "Then you don't understand."

Saul studies the peculiar girl before him. "I'm looking for two men who might have crossed paths with you. One's Sir Gideon Gilmore - tall, well-dressed, with a meticulously groomed goatee. The other's his mechanic, Axel - has Gulls for arms."

Shiro crouches down, letting Friend peck at more oats from her sleeve-covered palm. Her white hair falls forward, obscuring part of her face. "Many people come and go on my boat."

"These wouldn't be men you'd forget easily," Saul presses, taking a step closer. "Gilmore especially - he's not the type to blend into a crowd."

Friend clucks softly, rubbing against Shiro's leg as she scatters more feed across the deck, ignoring Saul.

"Did you or did you not see them?"

"Friend likes the expensive oats better," Shiro says, watching as the chicken pecks at the scattered oats. She reaches out to stroke Friend's golden-brown feathers.

"This isn't a game. Two men are missing, and you might be the last person who saw them."

Shiro continues to pet Friend, her movements slow and deliberate. The chicken settles contentedly beside her, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.

"This 'companion' of yours. Where did you even find it?"

Shiro's lips curve into the faintest of smiles. "Friend found me," she replied cryptically, her gaze never leaving the bird.

Saul lets out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Look, if you know anything about Gilmore or Axel's disappearance, you need to tell me. Now."

Shiro finally lifts her eyes to meet Saul's, her expression unreadable. "I'm afraid I can't help you, officer." She pauses, her fingers stilling the chicken's movements. "Their fates are no longer my concern."

Saul's hand moves to his hip, drawing his plasma-powered pistol in one fluid motion. The weathered metal gleams dully in the light as he levels it at Shiro. "I won't ask again."

Shiro's expression remains unchanged as she gazes at the weapon. Her pale fingers brush Friend's feathers one last time. "I'll play with you later," she murmurs to the chicken, who clucks softly before waddling away.

Rising slowly, she faces Saul with those piercing blue eyes. "That gun- it's seen action before, hasn't it?" Her voice carries no emotion, yet cuts like ice. "Not against criminals though. Against civilians."

Saul's grip tightens on the weapon, his knuckles whitening. "That's not-"

"The protest," Shiro continues, taking a step forward. "How many were there in that crowd? Twenty? Thirty? Did you count the bodies after you pulled the trigger?"

The pistol wavers slightly. Sweat beads on Saul's forehead despite the cool sea breeze.

"You were just following orders, weren't you? Like a good enforcer. But their faces still haunt you."

"Shut up," Saul growls, but his voice cracks.

"Did they beg for mercy? Or were they too shocked to make a sound when the bullets tore through them?"

Saul's breathing becomes ragged, uneven. The memories he's fought so hard to suppress come flooding back - the blood, the chaos, the bodies.

"It was my duty," he stammers, his voice wavering.

Shiro's lips curve into a mirthless smile. "And how well has that served you?" 

The pistol shakes violently now in Saul's grip. The overwhelming guilt, the self-doubt - it's all bubbling to the surface, threatening to consume him.

"Shut up," he growls, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't know anything."

The tension snaps like a wire pulled too taut. Saul's finger squeezes the trigger, the thunderous crack of gunfire echoing across the deck. But in that same fraction of a second, Shiro moves with inhuman speed.

Her hands blur into motion, catching Saul's wrist and twisting it with precise force. The pistol discharges harmlessly into the air as his arm wrenches sideways. Pain shoots through his joints, his fingers spasming open. The pistol clatters to the deck, spinning away across the weathered wood.

Saul staggers back, his mind struggling to process what just happened. One moment he had been aiming at her chest, the next his weapon was gone. He flexes his throbbing wrist, staring at Shiro with wide eyes.

She stands exactly where she had been, as if she never moved at all. Only the displaced air around her and Saul's broken arm give any indication of her lightning-fast reaction.

Friend clucks nervously from behind a nearby crate, peeking out at the commotion. Shiro's expression remains unchanged, those icy blue eyes fixed on Saul with the same emotionless gaze.

"Officer," Shiro says, her voice carrying the same detached calm as before. "I must ask that you refrain from discharging your weapon on my vessel."

"You... How did you..."

Shiro's gaze flickers down to the chicken at her side, her fingers gently stroking its feathers through her sleeves. "Now, I must insist that you leave my ship before I report this incident to the Glaucous police."

Saul's jaw tighten, his pride warring with the overwhelming sense of confusion and self-doubt that Shiro stirred within him. But he knows, deep down, that continuing to antagonize this girl would only lead to more trouble.

With a frustrated growl, Saul retrieves and holsters his pistol. He takes an unsteady step backward, then another, his boots heavy against the wooden deck.

"This isn't over," he manages to say, but the words sound hollow even to his own ears.

"For your sake, Officer, I hope it is."