Anno:Ying

Shinku said firmly. “This is risky for the force, don’t you think? You could’ve alerted higher authorities in the government to deal with this, to take down this operation.”

Roton paused, staring ahead at the road, his eyes distant for a moment as he mulled over Shinku’s words. When he finally spoke, it was with a heavy sincerity that surprised Shinku.

“It’s not always about what’s best for us,” Roton said, his voice steady. “At the end of the day, it’s about what’s best for the people. The people we protect. We serve the common good. We are supposed to live and die for them. If I report this to the authorities…” Roton’s trailed off. “The news would be all over it. People would be thrown into a panic. Conspiracy theories would spiral out of control. The tension between humans and computers is already becoming difficult enough with the human killers. If this got out, it’d only make everything worse.”

Shinku absorbed Roton’s words, his mind working through the layers of meaning behind them. Roton continued, his voice lowering but with unmistakable conviction.

“Let’s deal with it ourselves,” he said firmly. “It’s what’s best—not just for our community, but for our nation. For everyone. Sometimes it’s best for everyone to not know. Being a hero in disguise is just as effective. And we cannot be afraid of second-guess. I’ve learned to stop being afraid long ago.”

Shinku sat quietly, reflecting on Roton’s perspective. He had always believed that the truth should come first—that they had a responsibility to be transparent. But the weight of Roton’s reasoning settled heavily in his chest. Sometimes, silence, it seemed, was the most powerful form of protection.

Roton, sensing Shinku’s contemplation, shifted the conversation slightly, a playful tone creeping back into his voice. “Do you see the photo of me on my dashboard?” he asked, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. “I always love to show it to people that ride with me.”

Shinku glanced at the dashboard, a photo caught his eye. It was a picture of Roton, wearing a yellow baseball cap, his face framed by a small fake mustache.

“Oh, yeah. I see it,” Shinku responded, his tone light but intrigued.

“That’s from way back when I was just getting started,” Roton explained, reminiscing. “I always wore that fake mustache, but it was a bit smaller than the one I wear now.” He chuckled, his eyes softening with nostalgia. “Yo-ho-ho, it’s fun to look at because it reminds me of the drive I had when I first entered the force.”

Shinku listened, captivated by Roton’s unexpected honesty.

“You know,” Roton continued, his tone shifting to something more genuine, “I feel like you’ve got that same drive I had. I see it in you. I don’t remember names, but I did remember yours.” he continued. “I think you could make for a great leader someday. You’re honest, competent, and you think about others. I can already see you doing the same paperwork as me.” Roton chuckled lightly.

Shinku swelled with pride, but Roton wasn’t finished. Roton grinned. “One day, you’ll be putting a medal on your suit, just like the other great officers. I can see it already.”

Shinku blinked, taken aback by the praise, his composure slipping for just a moment. “A medal…?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Roton nodded. “That’s right. And you know what? How about this—when we get back, after everything you’ve done with your investigation, you’ll get your first medal. You’ve earned it.”

Shinku’s face lit up, a pure and unguarded happiness spreading across his expression. “R-Really?” he stammered, his voice filled with excitement.

“Of course,” Roton chuckled. “Consider it a recognition of all the hard work you’ve put in. Keep it up, kid.”

Shinku couldn’t stop smiling, his chest tightening. He had always worked hard, always pushed himself to be better, but hearing those words from someone like Roton—it meant the world.

Shinku’s face lit up at the praise. His usual cool demeanor cracked into a wide smile, and for a brief moment, the tension in the vehicle seemed to lift. He wasn’t used to hearing such words from someone like Roton, and they felt like a seal of approval, a validation of everything he had worked for.

As the car continued its journey, Tackle, who had been sitting quietly, opened her eyes. She caught sight of Shinku smiling beside Roton, and for the first time in a while, a smile formed.

An alert blared over the town’s loudspeakers, followed by the urgent messages flashing across the city’s towering screens:

Attention all civilians and officers: Inclement weather is approaching. Please seek shelter immediately.

The message repeated relentlessly, as massive blimps floated above, their enormous silhouettes casting shadows over the streets.

Up above the clouds, hidden from the view of the civilians below, a squadron of officers floated, each wearing a jetpack and gripping massive hydroarms with precision. Their voices echoed across their comms, urgent and impatient.

“Hey, Ballerina! When can we shoot?” one of the officers called out.

A moment later, a voice crackled back over the comms, muffled at first, but becoming clear as it grew louder. It was Ballerina, and he was less than pleased with the interruption. “Oh my godddd, you guys never shut up, will you?” The voice was tired, almost exasperated. “You’re all so noisy and annoying. 15 minutes before you start shooting. We have to make people think this is real. These are pressurized bullets, so if humans are still out, they’ll know something’s up if they get hit. Just make sure you have enough ammo.”

“Yes, sir!” came the chorus of replies from the officers, a mix of resigned obedience and relief that they were finally getting the green light.

Ballerina let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re allllll sooooo looouuuud,” he rolled his eyes. He then raised one hand, the sky seeming to respond as he activated his data. “Program: Bass,” he declared, a sly grin curling on his lips. He widened his hand dramatically and shouted, “Thunder!”

The air around him crackled with energy as his command resonated across the sky. Out of his palms, microphone-shaped digits sit, their metallic, angular design sending a strange hum into the air. “Cover your ears!” he shouted to the officers around him. “This one will be pretty annoying!”

The sound that followed was deafening. A reverberating thunderous noise shot out of his hand, amplified by the microphone-shaped digits, echoing through the heavens with an intensity that rattled the very air itself. Even from their position far below, the booming sound was enough to send a shiver down the spines of anyone who could hear it.

In the distance, Shinku and Roton were still deep in conversation as they drove, the distant echoes of the thunder only faintly reaching their ears.

“Yo-ho-ho, Thunder,” Roton remarked. “Haven’t heard that in some time.” He looked upward. “Let’s get moving quicker, Shinku. It’s going to be a bad storm.”

Anthril stood above the upper levels of the room. His coat flowing behind him. Officers scurrying around below, preparing their hydroarms.

He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, and gazed down at the activity below. The tension in the air seems to grow heavier as he closes his eyes. His body flickers slightly, then data emanated from him slowly.

“Program: Hijack Network.”

Screens lit up across the district as the ability activated.

Inside of Prog’s vehicle, Johe’s phone vibrated, and then blared a sudden noise. He fumbles to grab it.

“What the hell is this?!” Johe exclaimed, holding the phone up. Anthril’s face fills the screen, his expression serene yet menacing.

Kimida leans over, peering at the screen with mild annoyance. “Looks like the Vice President, Johe. Weird time for an announcement, don’t you think?”

In the homes and streets of District 3, every television, billboard, and digital device displayed the same haunting image of Anthril. Computers at home glance up at their screens with confusion. Pedestrians stop in their tracks, phones glowing in their hands. A hush falls over the district as Anthril begins to speak.

“Hello, District 3 natives,” his voice echoes. “As you may already be aware, this is a critical weather alert. All individuals, including humans, are hereby ordered to go indoors immediately.”

Anthril continued. “This is not a request. It is an important order. Anyone found outside during the storm will be escorted to the nearest indoor facility without exception.”

Roton pressed on the accelerator. “Yohoho, it’s really gonna rain.”

Ballerina, the lanky officer, with his hunchbacked posture and unkempt brown hair, seemed oddly relaxed. His baggy eyes scanned the phone in his hand with visible irritation.

“Ahhh, he’s such an annoying fellow,” he muttered to himself. His free hand lazily ran through his disheveled hair as he sighed deepmy.

He glanced at the squadron of coordinated officers. Despite their preparedness, Ballerina’s disinterest was visible.

“Anyways,” he continued over the comm, his tone apathetic, “I’ll be going back to the office now. I’ve received word that there’s an emergency.”

The officers stiffened, waiting for further instruction.

“You guys shoot as scheduled,” Ballerina ordered, waving a dismissive hand. His gaze narrowed slightly, an edge creeping into his otherwise lazy demeanor. “If not…” He paused, drawing out the moment. “Then you’re being annoying.”

The officers straightened and saluted in unison, their voices loud and resolute. “Yes, sir!”

Ballerina sighed again, shaking his head as if even their obedience was a bother. “Good, good. At least you’re not that annoying,” he muttered, turning his jetpack toward the horizon. With a quick burst of energy, he soared away, leaving the squadron to carry out their task.

As he disappeared into the distance, the officers exchanged glances. They adjusted their hydroarms, their focus returning to the mission at hand.