On May 20th 2042, a sea of microphones. Shouting journalists. Flashbulbs popping like static fireworks.
News vans crowd the street. Helicopters churn the air overhead. The world is watching.
At the podium stands Chief Wen-Li, framed by the Bureau's insignia, her posture composed but taut—like a bowstring.
REPORTER 1 (shouting over others)
"Chief Wen-Li, what exactly happened in Noctum Hollow? Was it a government-sanctioned cleansing?"
REPORTER 2
"How do you justify the obliteration of an entire city—without trial, without disclosure?"
REPORTER 3
"What about the victims—the women and children? Were they found? Rescued? Used?"
REPORTER 4
"And the explosion—who detonated it? Is it true this was the work of an international task force?"
Cameras zero in on Wen-Li. A thin sheen of sweat above her brow. But her eyes stay clear—unyielding.
She inhales, then answers, voice firm.
CHIEF WEN-LI
"The truth of Noctum Hollow was never meant to come to light. It was a city rotting from within. Had we left it untouched, it would have spawned more predators. More rapists. More monsters who wore human skin."
The press falls momentarily silent.
CHIEF WEN-LI (cont'd)
"As for the explosion, I won't comment on operational specifics. What I will say is this—better the city be ash, than a breeding ground for new evils."
REPORTER 5 (pressing forward)
"What about Poppies Playtime? Was it a front for human experimentation? We have unverified footage of children transformed—turned into animatronic vessels."
Wen-Li's jaw tightens.
CHIEF WEN-LI
"There was an underground facility. It's been decommissioned. The specifics are classified. But yes—children were used. Twisted into things no child should become. There will be accountability. There will be names."
REPORTER 6
"And the Global Gazette fire? The one that erupted after they broadcast reports on the missing children? You haven't addressed it publicly—until now."
Wen-Li's gaze falters for half a second.
CHIEF WEN-LI
"We're still investigating that incident. The arsonists behind the massacre will be found. And when they are—they'll answer for every drop of blood."
She steps away from the podium.
The reporters keep shouting.
But her attention has shifted.
Across the courtyard, she sees her—Madam Di-Xian, unmistakable in crimson, standing like a flame amid stone. Beside her, Agent-90—silent, unreadable, his coat caught in the breeze.
Wen-Li walks to them, shoulders heavy but held high.
CHIEF WEN-LI (softly, with genuine gratitude)
"Thank you—for what you did. We wouldn't have ended it without you."
Di-Xian offers a faint smile—something almost maternal, but too dangerous to be gentle.
MADAM DI-XIAN
"We did what was necessary, zhǔxí. No more. No less. But remember—truth buried is still truth. Be careful where it seeps."
She turns.
Agent-90 gives Wen-Li a single nod. Quiet. Final.
Wen-Li nods back, a silent farewell of mutual respect.
They walk away, the crowd behind them forgotten.
Sunlight filters in through the tall windows, catching dust motes midair. The tension of the prior night has given way to weary relief.
CAPTAIN ROBERT reclines in his chair, arms behind his head, his boots propped lazily on the table.
With a satisfied sigh, he mutters:
CAPTAIN ROBERT
"Thank bloody heavens. We've finally cracked the last of those blasted missing persons cases. I can actually sleep like a man who's not being chased by ghosts."
From across the room, CAPTAIN LINGAONG XUEIN approaches, arms crossed, brow lifted.
LINGAONG XUEIN
"Sleep? You've barely lifted a hand in months. One miracle doesn't make you a saint, Robert."
Robert scoffs, leaning back further, unbothered.
CAPTAIN ROBERT
"I did what needed to be done. In my own fashion."
The rest of the team chuckles.
KOIZUMOTO DAISHOJI sips his tea, smirking.
DEMITIN KOĞLULANCI rolls her eyes.
SAKIM MASSERSI stretches with a groan, cracking his knuckles.
LAN QIAN, adjusting her spectacles, glances over the edge of her lens.
LIEUTENANT NIGHTINGALE lets out a dry scoff, quickly muffling her amusement with a fake cough.
Suddenly, the door swings open with precise force—COMMANDER KRIEG strides in, his gaze sharp, voice gravelled.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"So... how was the case you all solved?"
LAN QIAN
"Rather well, if I may say so." (A sly smirk tugging at her lips.)
LIEUTENANT NIGHTINGALE
"Surprisingly clean, for something born of such rot."
KOIZUMOTO DAISHOJI
"And I still can't wrap my head around the woman who helped us... what was her name again?"
CAPTAIN ROBERT (crossing his arms, lips curling)
"Madam Di-Xian."
At the name, Krieg's face hardens ever so slightly.
COMMANDER KRIEG (shaking his head)
"You're all quick to praise. But do you even know who she truly is?"
DAISHOJI
"She and her agents, along with Agent-90, the Outlaws, the Sinners—we couldn't have pulled it off without them. Even the most notorious criminals respect her. Hell, they fear her."
Krieg's eyes narrow.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"Robert. Lingaong Xuein. Nightingale. You already know who she is."
LAN QIAN (confused)
"Wait—what do you mean know her?"
DEMITIN
"Why didn't you say anything? Who is she, exactly?"
Krieg pauses, then walks slowly to the centre of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"She was one of us. A former officer of the SSCBF."
A stunned silence.
COMMANDER KRIEG (cont'd)
"Back then, it was me, Di-Xian, Chief Wen-Luo, and Lieutenant Ren-Li. We were the original spine of this organisation. We helped President Song Louyang forge the Bureau from the ashes of chaos."
He gestures toward Robert and the others.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"Robert. Lingaong Xuein. Nightingale. Gonda Subuichi. You were our juniors."
SAKIM (interjecting)
"Wait, who the hell is Gonda?"
CAPTAIN ROBERT (calmly)
"White-haired fellow. Worked with us for fifteen years. Solved the cases no one else could stomach."
COMMANDER KRIEG
"After leaving active duty, he became our informant—and Di-Xian's."
LIEUTENANT NIGHTINGALE
"So she's got her own network now. Off the grid."
COMMANDER KRIEG
"Precisely. We don't know what she calls it, or where it's based. But she's built something formidable."
Robert straightens in his seat, suddenly quiet—eyes fixed somewhere distant.
At that moment, the door opens.
CHIEF WEN-LI enters, her posture composed but subdued.
LAN QIAN (raising her hand tentatively)
"So... why did she leave the Bureau?"
Krieg exhales heavily. A shift in atmosphere. Something solemn settles over the room.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"Her family died. Her husband. Her son. They didn't survive the crash."
Silence.
Lan Qian lowers her hand slowly. Demitin covers her mouth. Daishoji stares blankly. Even Nightingale's composure cracks for a breath.
Wen-Li's face turns pained.
CHIEF WEN-LI (quietly)
"And...?"
Krieg nods, then continues.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"The driver responsible was apprehended... but he committed suicide while in custody. Di-Xian suspected foul play. She requested a full inquiry, but the system let her down."
A bitter pause.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"The culprit wasn't properly prosecuted. Slipped through the cracks of a corrupted judiciary. That was the end for her."
He looks down, then raises his eyes to meet theirs.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"She said—'I cannot work in a place where justice is optional. If the law will not serve my husband and my son, how can I serve it?' And then she left. No ceremony. No farewell."
The room holds its breath.
Wen-Li's voice trembles, barely a whisper.
CHIEF WEN-LI
"She never deserved that."
Krieg nods, his expression unreadable.
COMMANDER KRIEG
"No. She didn't."
The air carries the faint scent of rosewater and citrus. Mismatched armchairs and cracked tea mugs litter the refurbished bunker office. Fluorescent lights flicker slightly overhead.
JUN YANG WON is the first to raise his glass.
JUN
"To surviving the most cursed, gods-forsaken mission in Bureau history! And without losing a limb—except Mohammed's dignity!"
MOHAMMED FARHAN
"Oh please, dignity is overrated. I still have my beard and my bank account, I'm fine."
ABDULLAH IBN MASUD (grinning)
"But your pants didn't make it. You were fleeing that bio-mech in boxers, mate."
MOHAMMED
"They were tactical boxers! Lightweight fabric, rapid manoeuvrability."
ROY KISHORE
"Tactical or not, they had cartoon ducks on them, man."
ALVI TASLIM enters mid-laugh, a tray of chilled sherbat in hand. Her long pink hair bounces as she walks, the neon strands catching the low light. A pair of minimalist glasses rests neatly on her nose—her expression, amused and composed.
ALVI
"I bring you peace, sugar, and mild hydration. Drink up before Jun climbs a wall again pretending he's a ninja."
JUN (mock offended)
"That only happened once—and I almost made it to the ceiling."
MADAM DI-XIAN, regal even in semi-relaxation, takes her sherbat with a nod. Crimson still clings to her hair like a storm cloud on the edge of clearing. She surveys her crew with soft amusement.
MADAM DI-XIAN
"You're all insufferable."
ABDULLAH
"That's how you know we're still breathing."
The door creaks.
In strolls GONDA SUBUICHI, white-haired and calm, carrying an ancient-looking tea kettle. He's wearing sandals and socks. No one dares mention it.
GONDA
"I bring tea. It's not celebratory, but it's warm. Like vengeance."
ROY
"Sherbat and tea? What is this—retirement?"
GONDA
"Careful, boy. I know how to make a man using only a stapler and a strongly-worded note."
All eyes shift to one corner of the room.
AGENT-90 sits apart, a glass of untouched sherbat in front of him. Arms folded, gaze distant, jaw tight as ever.
MOHAMMED (elbowing Roy)
"Think he's broken or just brooding?"
ROY
"I think he's waiting for the sherbat to misbehave so he can shoot it."
JUN
"Hey, Agent-90—lighten up! We saved the world, or at least kicked it hard enough to buy a nap!"
AGENT-90 (quietly)
"I'll relax when I'm dead."
ALVI
"That's a very you thing to say."
MADAM DI-XIAN (dryly, sipping her drink)
"He's happy. That's just how he smiles—on the inside. Very deep inside. Buried under trauma and munitions."
Laughter breaks out.
Gonda raises his cup.
GONDA
"To battles fought and survived. To comrades maddening but loyal. And to Di-Xian—our terrifying, crimson-haired overlord."
EVERYONE (cheering)
"To Di-Xian!"
MADAM DI-XIAN
"Oh, hush. Drink before I assign you another mission."
The team clinks glasses. The laughter continues. The war outside still lingers—but in here, for now, there is peace.
Agent-90 doesn't smile. But he does take a sip.
Progress.
However at late-night the soft glow of Wen-Li's laptop illuminated her face in the otherwise dim room. The rhythmic tapping of keys broke the silence, accompanied by the occasional soft purring of her cat, Wen-Mi, who rested lazily nearby. It was late—far too late—but sleep eluded her.
Her mind was trapped in an endless loop of images: Agent-90, and what is he, as her mind always bloom about him the way he fights the monster with the pencil the way he protects her, and the way he explode the city by using the remote as he is well calculated of his action that gives everybody's chills to the spine even her.
Wen-Mi, sensing her unease, leapt onto the desk and nudged her arm, letting out a soft meow. Wen-Li blinked, startled, and offered a small smile, scratching the cat gently behind her ears. "Oh, Wen-Mi, you always know when I'm overthinking," she murmured, her voice tinged with weariness.
"Eyes are burning!" she says as she close her laptop with a soft click,
Wen-Mi took the opportunity to climb into her lap, curling into a warm ball. Wen-Li chuckled softly, stroking her fur. "You've got the right idea, don't you? No sense losing sleep over things I can't figure out." but she can feel the pain of her abdomen by Munafiq which makes her trauma as she put her hand on it, but further her mind cycles what Robert says "He carry you like a princess!"
And the moment when she first encountered him,
Her cheeks flushed involuntarily at the memory. That sharp, calculating expression. The way his presence dominated the room, even when he was an escaped fugitive. He had been so composed, almost unnervingly so. And yet, in those rare moments when his façade slipped, like the normal feature she'd witnessed earlier, there was something… human.
Wen-Mi meowed softly, pulling her from her thoughts. "I'm talking to myself again, aren't I?" Wen-Li said, smiling faintly as she scratched under the cat's chin. "But, you know, I can't stop thinking about him. That face, that presence… It's infuriating how he gets under my skin."
She sighed, leaning back in her chair with Wen-Mi still nestled comfortably in her lap. "What are you doing to me, Agent-90?" she whispered to the quiet room, her gaze drifting toward the window and the night beyond.
Though she was exhausted, sleep wouldn't come easily—not with the shadows of her thoughts lingering and the faint warmth of something she couldn't quite name stirring in her chest.
The morning of 21 May 2042 began with a golden hue, the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows of Nightingale's tidy apartment. The rhythm of the city was slow to wake, but she was already in motion. Her silvery-greenish hair glistened faintly in the sunlight as she tied it into a neat half-ponytail.
After a quick session of stretching and light exercises, Nightingale donned her Special Security Counter Bureau Force (SSCBF) uniform. The attire reflected her rank as a lieutenant—an immaculately pressed black officer's blouse, a sleek skirt, and long black thigh-high pants that accentuated her disciplined elegance. She made final adjustments, glancing at herself in the mirror before stepping outside.
Her apartment was just a short walk from the SSCBF headquarters, and as she briskly made her way, the wind teased her hair. Her focus on the day ahead made her oblivious to the thread from her skirt snagging onto the corner of a passing briefcase.
It belonged to Agent-Jun, a tall figure in a tailored black suit. His reddish hair gleamed in the morning light, contrasting with the sharp spectacles perched on his nose. The snag hadn't gone unnoticed by him, but Nightingale's determined stride prevented him from addressing it immediately.
As she walked past a group of pedestrians, their muffled laughter reached her ears.
"Is she serious?" whispered one woman.
Another snickered. "Her skirt's—well, let's just say it's riding up more than it should."
Nightingale froze mid-step, her face flushing as she became aware of the glances and comments. Turning to a reflective surface, she realised her skirt had shifted slightly, revealing more than she'd intended—though her thigh pants covered her, the situation was still embarrassing.
"Oh no, no, no..." she muttered, fumbling to pull her skirt into place.
Before she could fully regain her composure, Jun approached, his demeanor calm yet slightly amused. His voice was measured and polite.
"You're fine," he said with a slight smirk. "You're wearing thigh pants; there's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Nightingale's head snapped toward him, her expression a mix of mortification and annoyance. "Shut up, you!" she snapped instinctively.
As her gaze settled on him, recognition dawned. "Wait—you're that guy... the one with Agent-90, right?"
Jun chuckled lightly, unfazed by her flustered state. "Guilty as charged." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his blazer. Without making eye contact, he gently draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from further scrutiny.
The gesture caught Nightingale off guard. Her face turned a faint shade of pink, and she mumbled, "Uh, thanks…"
Jun adjusted his briefcase, stepping back with a courteous nod. "Excuse me, Lieutenant. I've got to be on my way."
Before he could leave, Nightingale called after him. "Wait!"
He paused and turned, his reddish hair catching the sunlight as he gave her a diligent smile.
"What's your name?" she asked, her tone softening.
"Agent-Jun," he replied, his voice as smooth as his expression. "It's a pleasure, Lieutenant Nightingale."
With that, he walked away, leaving her standing amidst the morning bustle, clutching the blazer and trying to suppress the warmth in her cheeks.
The Frostbane Passage subway train was teeming with life in the early hours of the morning. The carriages were packed to capacity, the murmur of conversations mingling with the faint hum of the train's movement. A mother juggled her child on her hip while clutching a shopping bag, a suited businessman flipped through a newspaper, and a young couple huddled close, whispering to each other. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air as a man sipped from a thermos, his laptop balanced precariously on his lap.
Lan Qian stood amidst the bustling chaos, holding onto the loop handle above her head. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the lenses of her glasses, casting brief flares of light that danced across her serene features. She kept her gaze fixed on her phone, scrolling through messages, though her focus wavered as an unsettling sensation crept up her spine.
A hand brushed against her inappropriately. Her breath hitched. It was deliberate, not the accidental jostle of a crowded train. She tensed, her heart racing, but fear and the oppressive atmosphere of the busy carriage rendered her silent. Around her, passengers were absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious to her discomfort.
In the same carriage, Agent-Farhan leaned against the pole near the door, earphones in, listening to music. Beside him stood Agent-Masud and Agent-Roy, all dressed in sharp, gentlemanly attire that made them stand out in the crowd. Masud's keen eyes swept the compartment, always alert.
His gaze landed on the scene unfolding near Lan Qian. His brow furrowed as he nudged Farhan, pulling out one of his earphones. "Farhan," he said in a low, disgusted tone, "look at that old man. He's touching that girl inappropriately."
Farhan's expression darkened instantly as he turned to see the offence. His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists.
"Don't," Roy interjected calmly, placing a hand on Farhan's shoulder. "No panic. Handle it smoothly."
Farhan exhaled sharply, reigning in his temper as he stepped closer to the perpetrator. He leaned down slightly, his tone polite but dripping with suppressed fury. "Excuse me, sir. Is your hand... quite alright?"
The old man startled, pulling his hand back abruptly and raising his voice to protest. "What are you talking about? How dare you accuse me?"
His outburst drew the attention of other passengers, creating a scene.
Masud and Roy exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing: Here we go again.
Farhan's patience snapped. "You like to play the victim, don't you?" he said coldly, his voice low and menacing. "Let's play."
Before anyone could intervene, his fist connected with the old man's jaw in a swift, brutal motion, sending him sprawling to the floor. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the man clutched his face, wailing in pain.
Lan Qian, who had frozen in place during the confrontation, now looked at Farhan with wide eyes. A mix of gratitude and awe filled her expression as the old man was quickly subdued by transport officers called to the scene. Farhan, however, was reprimanded for causing such a public disturbance and fined.
As the tension eased, Lan Qian approached Farhan, her voice soft but clear. "Thank you. You acted when no one else did."
Farhan, caught off guard, scratched the back of his neck, his usual composure faltering. "Ma'am, as long as you're alright... that's all that matters." His words were simple, but the sincerity in his tone struck a chord with her.
Lan Qian smiled warmly, the earlier tension melting away.
Meanwhile, Masud and Roy smirked, sensing an opportunity to tease their comrade.
"She's impressed, mate," Masud whispered.
"She's definitely going to remember this," Roy added, grinning.
Lan Qian, seemingly unaware of their teasing, tilted her head curiously. "You're with the team from Noctum Hollow, aren't you? The deadly blue-eyed subordinate... is that you?"
Farhan blinked, puzzled, until Roy leaned in and whispered, "She means Agent-90, dummy!"
Lan Qian chuckled at Farhan's confusion. "Well, thank you again... Farhan, was it?" She gave him a small wave as she stepped off the train at her stop, turning back briefly to add, "You're a good man."
As she disappeared into the crowd, Farhan stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest.
"You've fallen for her, haven't you?" Masud teased, his tone gleeful.
Roy chimed in with mock seriousness. "Love at first sight. It's tragic, really."
"Shut up, you two!" Farhan barked, his cheeks reddening, but his protests only fueled their laughter.
The office of the Special Security Counter Bureau Force (SSCBF) headquarters exuded an air of order and discipline. Wen-Li, seated at her desk, meticulously reviewed a stack of crime records. Her sharp eyes scanned each detail, pausing on a particularly disturbing pattern—the trail of deceased criminals, many with ties to Sinners and outlaws, all killed with surgical precision. The name Agent-90 lingered in her thoughts, a shadow cast over every file she examined.
She exhaled deeply, closing the latest report, and leaned back in her chair just as a knock sounded at her door. Without looking up, she called out, "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Captain Robert entered, his imposing figure framed by the doorway. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture straight and authoritative. His voice was deep and steady as he spoke.
"Chief, you called me?"
"Yes, Robert," Wen-Li said, motioning for him to step closer. She closed the file before her and rested her hands on the desk. "I wanted to ask you about something—or rather, someone."
"Go on, ma'am," he replied, his tone cautious yet respectful.
"You're aware of Madam Di-Xian and her group, the Crimson Lotus, aren't you?" Wen-Li asked, her gaze piercing. "I need everything you can tell me about her and her operatives."
Captain Robert let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head slightly. "Chief, I can't say I know much about the Crimson Lotus. Their existence is shrouded in secrecy. Even among the higher ranks, there's barely any concrete information about her men. They operate in shadows, and for good reason."
He paused, his expression growing somber. "But Madam Di-Xian... I do know her. Or, rather, I used to."
Wen-Li leaned forward slightly, interest piqued. "Go on."
Robert clasped his hands together in front of him, his gaze distant as if recalling memories long buried. "Years ago, Madam Di-Xian was one of us—a highly skilled officer of this very organization. Back then, the SSCBF was still finding its footing, and the late Chief Wen-Luo, your father, was our captain. He, along with Lieutenant Ren-Li, Commander Krieg, and Madam Di-Xian, formed the backbone of this force. They didn't just enforce the law; they redefined what it meant to protect this city."
Wen-Li listened intently, her expression unreadable, "I already heard about her from Commander Krieg told this and you're telling again"
"I'm sorry!" he reply in apologise as he bow down,
"Captain Robert!" says Wen-Li, "do you have any contact number of Madam Di-Xian"
"No, I don't he reply in bewilder impression "but, Gonda does let me inform him to get her number"
"Please do!" says Wen-Li,
Sunlight streamed through the towering windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. The conference room, vast and angular, gleamed with sterile modernity, but the mood inside was anything but clean.
At the head of the long, obsidian-glass table sat President Song Luoyang, his expression unreadable—features etched in solemn calm, hands neatly folded.
Surrounding him were the elite of the Global Security Council:
Zhang Wei, impassive as stone.
Fahad Al-Farsi, his steely eyes narrowed.
Elizabeth Carter, lips thin with disapproval.
Selim Kaya, fingers drumming irritably.
Kim Ji-Soo, arms crossed tightly.
Hiroto Nakamura, watching, always calculating.
Aarav Sharma, voice loud even before it spoke.
Rahim Ahmed, gaze sharp and suspicious.
On the opposing side of the table stood the representatives of the Special Security Counter Bureau Force:
Commander Krieg, a tower of authority in a worn uniform.
Captain Robert, leaning back, eyes flaring with restrained contempt.
Chief Wen-Li, upright, unreadable.
Lieutenant Nightingale, jaw clenched, fingers twitching just beneath the surface.
The room was tense. Suffocating. The Noctum Hollow catastrophe hung in the air like ash.
CHIEF WEN-LI stood to speak.
CHIEF WEN-LI
"The city of Noctum Hollow had become a nexus for child trafficking, systemic abuse, and predatory networks—shielded by decades of institutional rot. Every known perpetrator within the zone has been confirmed dead. The destruction of the city was, in operational terms, a sanitisation. A necessary one."
Her voice was level. Professional. But beneath the calm was something deeper—grief tempered by fire.
A beat of silence.
Then the uproar began.
ZHANG WEI
"Necessary? You've annihilated an entire city! Sanitisation? What do you think this is, a bloody fumigation?!"
FAHAD AL-FARSI
"What of optics, Wen-Li? The press will devour this. You've given ammunition to every anti-state group in existence."
ELIZABETH CARTER
"You didn't act with authorisation. You've obliterated jurisdiction and trust in the same breath."
SELIM KAYA
"The state cannot be seen supporting vigilantism. This wasn't justice—it was retribution."
Chairman Aarav barked out a laugh, leaning forward aggressively. "Do not tread into political matters you cannot handle, Chief! Your late father, Chief Wen-Luo, made the same mistake. Always standing against the system, always failing to see the bigger picture. Are you planning to follow in his footsteps?"
The room fell deathly silent. Wen-Li's hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists to steady herself. Nightingale visibly tensed, her eyes narrowing at Aarav.
Captain Robert rose, his fists clenched. "Enough!" he said sharply, his voice reverberating in the room. "Chairman Aarav, with all due respect, you have no right to insult Chief Wen-Li or her late father!"
President Song raised a hand to calm the growing tension. "Captain Robert, stand down."
But before anyone else could speak, Commander Krieg slammed his hands on the table, rising to his feet. His voice, deep and thunderous, cut through the room. "That's enough out of all of you! You sit here in your comfortable seats, playing politics, while Chief and her teams risk their lives every day to clean up the messes your systems allow to fester!"
The room froze. Krieg's piercing gaze moved from one Chairman to the next, his words biting. "You talk about trust and transparency, yet you threaten and belittle the people actually working to protect this world. You should be ashamed."
Krieg turned his attention to President Song. "And you, Mr. President, should be ashamed as well for allowing this meeting to descend into insults and threats. Chief Wen-Li has been nothing but loyal to this organization and this world's safety. If this is how you treat your best, then perhaps the problem lies with you—not her."
The room remained silent, the weight of Krieg's words settling over everyone. President Song's expression remained unreadable, but he finally nodded. "Commander Krieg, your point is noted. This meeting is adjourned."
As the Chairmen and Chairwomen began to leave, many of them avoiding eye contact, Krieg turned to Wen-Li. His expression softened as he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't let them break you," he said quietly. "You're stronger than they'll ever understand."
Wen-Li met his gaze, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Commander. For everything."
Krieg gave her a small nod before leaving the room. Nightingale approached her, offering a reassuring smile.
"You've got people who believe in you, Chief," Nightingale said. "Don't forget that."
Wen-Li glanced back at her empty desk, her resolve hardening. "I won't." then she glance at her says "uhhh, Nightingale today is not much work even no investigation so,... Let's go and have dinner at some café ", giving a smile.
Nightingale's face turns to surprise as her cheeks glow and accepts her offer.
The city buzzed with life as Wen-Li and Nightingale strolled down the wide, illuminated streets. Towering skyscrapers glistened under the indigo night sky, their holographic advertisements painting the air in vibrant colors. Flying vehicles whizzed by overhead, their hum blending with the ambient city sounds of chatter, laughter, and the occasional faint melody of street musicians playing modern, electronic tunes.
The sidewalks were crowded with people dressed in futuristic styles—a blend of minimalism and retro elegance. Neon-lined coats, sleek metallic dresses, and light-emitting accessories stood out under the streetlights. Among the crowd, Wen-Li and Nightingale were a striking duo: Wen-Li in her tailored coat with its subtle military insignia and Nightingale in a sleek yet professional outfit that accentuated her commanding presence.
As they crossed a bridge lit by glowing rails, the soft murmur of a nearby artificial river added a calming note to the scene. On the other side of the road, they passed a tall woman dressed in elegant Victorian-inspired attire, complete with a wide-brimmed hat adorned with intricate lace and feathers. The woman moved with a graceful, almost regal air, her heels clicking against the pavement in rhythm with the bustling crowd.
"That's... different," Nightingale muttered, her eyes following the woman briefly.
"Victorian is making a comeback," Wen-Li replied with a faint smirk, her hands tucked into her coat pockets.
They arrived at a quaint café tucked between two modern glass towers. Its exterior was a charming blend of old and new—a brick façade with large windows emitting a warm golden glow, contrasted with neon signs that read "Lunar Brews & Bites."
Inside, the atmosphere was cozy yet futuristic. The walls were lined with bookshelves and holographic displays showing scenic landscapes that shifted every few minutes. The tables were sleek, made of polished glass that faintly shimmered, and each was illuminated by small floating orbs of soft, warm light. A robotic server glided between the tables, delivering drinks and pastries with mechanical precision.
The pair found a table near the window, where the moonlight streamed through, casting a silver sheen on Wen-Li's hair.
As they sipped their drinks and shared a platter of delicacies, Wen-Li leaned back in her chair, her usually stoic expression softening. "It's been a while since we've had time to just relax, hasn't it?"
"It has," Nightingale agreed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Although, it feels strange to be doing something so... normal after everything."
Wen-Li nodded, her gaze briefly drifting to the bustling streets outside. "Normal is relative in our line of work."
After a pause, Nightingale grinned mischievously. "Speaking of 'normal,' I had an interesting morning. Remember the guy from Noctum Hollow Agent Jun?"
Wen-Li raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What about him?"
Nightingale chuckled, brushing a strand of her silvery-greenish hair behind her ear. "Let's just say I bump into him and I can't seem to forget him. He's... unusual. Polite, yet annoyingly smug."
Wen-Li smirked. "Sounds like he left quite an impression."
"Maybe," Nightingale admitted, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.
The conversation shifted, and Nightingale leaned forward slightly. "But let's not forget the elephant in the room. You've been unusually quiet about 90. He's still occupying your mind, isn't he?"
Wen-Li hesitated, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. "He's... complicated. What he's done, who he is—it's not easy to ignore."
Nightingale tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. As the moonlight reflected off the glass walls of the café, it illuminated Wen-Li's face, giving her; along silky black hair an almost ethereal glow.
"You look beautiful tonight, Chief," Nightingale said softly, almost as if the words escaped her unbidden.
Wen-Li blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Thank you," she replied, her voice tinged with confusion. Quickly, she changed the subject. "So, about that morning exercise routine of yours—"
Nightingale chuckled, sensing Wen-Li's subtle deflection. She decided not to press further, instead letting the warmth of their camaraderie fill the space as they continued their light-hearted chatter.