POV:
This world is harsh, cruel, and dangerous.
Welcome to The City, where crime exists as naturally as breathing.
Well… except for me, I thought. I was born and raised in the Nest, after all.
The white, slick hallway reflected my footsteps as I walked toward my superior's office. Everything here was clean too clean.
No stains, no cracks, no lingering smells. The kind of place that made you forget what existed outside its walls.
I slowly pushed the door open.
The moment I stepped inside, I paused.
There were several unfamiliar people in the room. All of them looked… sharp and alert. The kind of people who didn't waste movement or words.
My presence made a few of them turn their heads toward me.
"Sir Violo, I'm here," I said, stepping inside.
"Ah… Selee, you're here," a man spoke.
I turned to face him.
Sir Violo sat behind his desk, posture relaxed, fingers resting calmly together. His expression was neutral, but I knew better whenever he looked this calm, something unpleasant usually followed.
"Come here, Selee," he said. "You'll be accompanying these gentlemen."
I blinked. "Accompanying…?"
"You will be assisting in the apprehension of a man named Orlando," Violo continued. "Also known as Roland."
The name hung in the air.
"Uh… Sir Violo," I asked carefully, "may I ask the reason for his arrest?"
Violo chuckled, leaning back slightly.
"You haven't heard the news?"
Before I could answer, he continued.
"He's rampaged across the southern parts of the City. Reached as far as U Corp territory," Violo said casually. "Normally, we wouldn't interfere so quickly but he's destroyed offices, killed fixers."
My chest tightened.
"And civilians."
The room felt heavier.
"The Hana Association is mobilizing," Violo said. "Your role will be to observe and write a full report."
He paused, rubbing his chin, his brows furrowing slightly.
"There's also an unknown Fixer currently battling Roland. You'll need to move quickly before all of District 21 is reduced to rubble."
His gaze sharpened.
"If that happens… the Head will step in."
That sent a chill down my spine.
I glanced at the people beside me.
Grade 1… Grade 2…
All experienced.
All dangerous.
This should be quick, I reassured myself. With this lineup, it shouldn't drag out.
"Also," Violo added calmly, "don't underestimate Roland."
I stiffened.
"If not for his current rampage," he continued, "he would've been promoted to a Color Fixer."
My thoughts shattered instantly.
A… Color?
Any sense of confidence evaporated. Instead, I found myself silently praying not for us but for whoever was fighting Roland right now.
"Now head out," Violo said, pointing toward the exit.
The fixers adjusted their coats, tightened their grips on weapon sheaths, and moved out without a word.
I followed behind them, already carrying the necessary equipment Violo instructed me to bring.
I pray this mission won't be hard.
We arrived at an underground parking lot.
Armored white trucks lined the area in neat rows, each plastered with the Hana Association emblem. People in white coats moved efficiently between vehicles, checking equipment and exchanging short, clipped instructions.
A convoy.
I followed my assigned group quietly as they entered one of the armored trucks. I climbed in after them, taking a seat near the side.
No one spoke.
They all looked serious. Too serious.
I glanced out the window as other teams boarded their respective vehicles. Soon, the engines rumbled to life.
Four trucks total.
Twenty-six Fixers.
Four Hana personnel.
The convoy began to move, heading toward the Nest's exit.
"Don't look out, kid."
The sudden voice made me flinch.
I turned to see a man sitting beside me, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.
"It's the Backstreets," he said flatly. "Wouldn't want you vomiting."
I frowned slightly but then.
Thud.
The truck jolted.
My heart skipped.
I instinctively looked out the window.
A body lay sprawled on the road.
A human corpse.
My stomach clenched violently, nausea rushing up my throat.
"I told you," the man said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Keep your eyes inside."
I quickly turned away, swallowing hard, my face twisting in disgust.
I never want to come to the Backstreets again.
For the first time in my life, I felt truly grateful that I was born in the Nest.