At the seventh precinct of the KCPD, police officers, detectives and other staff moved about, some were seated at their desks busy with paperwork and looking through files. Others stored evidence for cases away, some ran DNA tests on blood samples, and one lone officer filled up a tray with four cups of instant coffee from the break room.

Harrison cautiously made his way back to the office, stepping forward slowly and keeping his hands steady. His colleagues steered clear of his way out of consideration, and also to avoid the risk of creating a mess.

He entered the office where he was assigned, as the chatter and noise from the corridors and beyond faded slightly. Now, he heard more distinct voices, which belonged to the police officers in the same office, mixed in with the news broadcast on the television.

He set down the tray and handed out the coffee cups to his colleague-friends.

Valeria Hardy received the warm drink with appreciation, before resuming her focus on organising digital files on the computer. Seated at the desk opposite her was Frank Thomas, sneaking in a quick rest as he closed his eyes while his fingers continued to type away on the keyboard.

David was seated at the desk opposite Harrison’s, piled full of hardcopy files regarding the Skydra and the Cottonmouths.

“We’ve barely been seeing them these days,” Harrison stated, referring to the declining frequency of sightings of the Cottonmouths over the past few weeks. “The last time they popped up was when we encountered them.”

David set down the folder in his hand so that he could take a sip of coffee. “About time they start making their next move, I think.”

“I can try checking for any recent unusual activity,” Valeria offered.

“That’d be great, thanks,” said Harrison, although his attention instantly went back to scrutinising the case files.

Valeria’s fingers worked fast, having trained her speed with years of typing essays and the like since her high school and college days. Even she herself had no idea how she went from literature to policing.

The TV volume was increased by another officer, which drew Harrison’s attention.

There were two individuals that he hated, even though he didn’t know them personally. Both individuals were involved in the same business, the kind that was legalised by the local government, but not supported by the police. The two individuals shown on the television currently.

“We’re coming in live from Cydra Corp, with CEO Mr Lucius Cameron and the Skydra unveiling the newest model of the Cydra Bodyguard suit,” the reporter announced, as the camera soon focused on Mr Cameron, who was about to speak.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m very excited to be here to present the Cydra suit 2.0. Special thanks to my partner here, our city’s one and only treasured superhero, we are able to stand here, safe from the threat of the criminal organisation known as the Cottonmouths. Thank you, Skydra, for working with me to create the original line of the Bodyguard suits, and again as well for the new generation. However, please note that I am, in no way, claiming that the proficient KCPD does not protect us. They do a good job at that, and I appreciate them. But these suits, with newer, bleeding edge technology, will protect us at all times.”

“This man is a clown,” Harrison spat. “We put our lives on the line to protect the city, to arrest criminals and stop the Cottonmouths, and he says that this Skydra, and the bloody suits they make together, will keep them safe at all times. Real funny.”

David sighed, putting down the files in his hand. “They talk about keeping the people safe with those suits, but the only people who get that protection are those who can afford it.”

“If they gave us some of those suits, we’d be better equipped to take down the Cottonmouths. More firepower and defense, and fewer casualties, police and civilians alike,” Frank added.

“I joined the police force to make sure the system doesn’t fail the people. and from the start, one of my goals was to put the Skydra behind bars. But it’s been years, and things like this still keep happening without any consequence for him. The system still fails the people, and I’ve gotten nowhere closer to that goal,” Harrison said.

A black-haired woman showed up at the door, drumming the wood with her knuckles. Her hair was short and tidy, with a few streaks of silver hidden among the black, and there was a thin straight scar across her left cheek, beneath the wrinkles beside her eyes. “A patrol unit just called. Youth gang fight, Shatterbridge, blocks twenty-seven to thirty. Get ready to roll in three.”

“Understood, Captain!” the officers responded in unison. Chairs creaked and scraped against the floor as people got up, grabbed their gear and scrambled outside.

Captain Yamada came over to the detectives. “Lakes. Slyde. You two might wanna head out too. The Shatterbridge gangs are probably involved in that case you were on.”

While walking out, Harrison spotted a familiar face, one he had seen a few times when he and his colleague-friends came over to David’s house for gatherings. That face belonged to David’s son.

David was definitely surprised to see his son turn up at the precinct. The last time Andrew was there was back in elementary school, when he had a project that required him to learn more about one of his parents’ line of work.

“Hey, Andrew,” he asked, although he continued to head towards the group of parked cars outside the precinct.

Andrew followed. “Where are you guys going?”

“Shatterbridge, there’s a youth gang clash there,” Harrison said, before getting into a silver car.

With that, engines rumbled as a small group of police cars headed out of the compound. Andrew stood alone on the pavement as the vehicles faded into the distance. “Shatterbridge,” he whispered, as he looked at the bicycle that leaned against the wall of the precinct.

...

“Put your hands up!”

The police had spread out and chased after the gangs, who paused their confrontation, prioritising their getaway.

The gang members were not unarmed, and they brandished their bats and knives while running to keep the officers at a distance. Some of them surrendered when a few officers let out blank shots as a trick, and a few others dropped their weapons to pick up speed.

“The more you run now, the harder your ass is gonna get whooped later,” Harrison shouted while he quickly closed the distance between himself and a fleeing gangster.

The gangster yelped as Harrison tackled him onto the ground, rolling to a stop, as their skins were scraped by the tarmac.

“Nailed him,” Harrison said as he began to cuff the struggling youngster while keeping him against the wall of the alley. “Go get the rest.”

David and a few other officers continued their pursuit of the five dishevelled teenagers who were tiring out.

In an act of desperation, one of them lashed out with his bat, catching David by surprise, stunning him for long enough to be further shoved down. His name badge fell off in the scuffle, unbeknownst to both parties.

An officer launched herself at the juvenile, rendering his efforts useless as he cursed while his wrists were cuffed.

About two blocks away, a masked individual leaped off the roof of a shophouse, timing it so that he could land in front of the four running adolescents. The vigilante could see a detective and two officers on their tails, but they likely wouldn’t be able to catch all of them in time.

Of course, the police cars were faster than he was on a bike, but he could weave easily through the various blocks of Shatterbridge to locate the gangs. And he noted that they fled upon the sight of police officers, so he chose to move to a point where he could intercept those who might get away.

One of the four teens sensed something falling, and glanced up. He was met with a fist straight into his face. The other three teens stopped, stunned at the unidentified figure dressed in a red-and-black ninja costume, who stood over their downed comrade.

The policemen were surprised as well, but they used the distraction to cuff two of the adolescents.

The remaining one took off. There was no time to fight. He wheezed, pumping his leg muscles despite the pain, for the little suffering he had to undergo now would be nothing compared to what prison would have in store for him.

“You can run,” the vigilante said, “but you’ll never be free.” He pursued the adolescent into another turn, tackling him and then hoisting him up into the air.

“Who are you?”

The vigilante slowly turned around, still carrying the struggling teen in the air. The police detective was gripping his gun tightly, his other hand on his transceiver, ready to contact his colleagues.

The detective watched the vigilante closely, taking note of his stature, eye colour, costume and possibly, his voice if he were to respond. The part around his eyes that were visible through the slit in the mask was painted black, preventing the officer from taking a guess at his race. This vigilante seemed to know how to hide his features.

A moment of silence passed before the vigilante spoke. “Don’t worry about who I am. I’m just here to help you, David.”

David could tell, from the weird pitch that the vigilante tried to use, that he was trying very hard to make his voice unrecognisable. David looked down at his own left chest, only to realise his name badge was gone.

“You know who I am,” David stated, “which means that I might know who you are.”

His words drew nothing but momentary silence from the vigilante. “Lower the gun and trust me. You’re here for the gangsters. I’m here to help you get them.”

“How would I know that you’re not one of them?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t be helping you. I mean, I’d risk getting arrested even if I’m pretending to be a good guy. Like right now. You look like you wanna arrest me.”

David believed that the vigilante was not actually with the gangsters. What had him concerned was that the vigilante knew who he was. After all, the vigilante never denied it when he brought it up.

Regardless, in accordance with police rules, the vigilante had to be brought in for questioning. At least he’d get a chance to find out why the vigilante knew who he was. So David kept his finger on the trigger.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to put your hands up and avoid resisting. I have to bring you in for questioning, for the very least.”

The vigilante tensed up, but nevertheless, he raised both arms.

David unclipped his pair of handcuffs from his belt as he walked towards the vigilante, lowering his gun just so slightly.

Then, the vigilante made a run for it.

“What the—HEY!” David gave chase, keeping his handcuffs and taking out his transceiver. “This is Detective Lakes, requesting for—”

“WAIT!” The vigilante turned around and snatched the transceiver.

But now, David had his gun pointed straight at the vigilante’s head. “Don’t move a muscle.”

The vigilante removed his mask slowly, revealing his identity. “Not a word,” he added, and ran away.

David stood there, motionless, watching the vigilante put on his mask once more and vanish. The vigilante was... his son.