Brown suit. Black hood. White mask.

They are the child — children? — of conceit and deceit. It’s frustrating how they always seem to be one step ahead of Lieutenant Marcus Yalanci all the time, which makes them all the more smug. Marcus hates them. Has hated them since the third time they blew up the team.

It’s far below someone like Sergeant Anna Verloren to hate them herself, but she does hate how stupid they make her look, how unqualified they make her feel. She hates how she’s always a little impressed by their plans, hates their stupid mask and ingenious inventions. She hates that after months of trying and with decades of experience, she still has no idea what kind of stupid face hides beneath. To top it all off, they’re taking up way too much of her precious time that she could be spending on finding the person who saved her life. This beat may be the best one she got from Adrian Calvynn Linthaym, but she was hoping she and her best friend were done being his pawns.

Enforcers have been tracking them for months, following every useless tip only to find clues that make no sense. Months of them not even knowing when, where, and what had been stolen until a new report landed on their desks. Months of showing up seconds too late. Months of witnessing a masked mystery escape just in time, always with what they came for. Months of complaints from councilors and businessmen.

At least they’re only one step ahead now, unlike the old three without Anna Verloren on the team. The sheriff should’ve considered assigning her there the first time she disobeyed him, should’ve offered an invitation when he caught her on the bombed airship. He shouldn’t have questioned Dr. Simon Nagatomo, a councilor and the head of CyberNova Labs,  just because the officer is his friend, and the thread-lined map in her room is proof of it.

Tonight is the night.

She’s putting an end to this wild monkey chase.

She'll slap cuffs on those wrists and meet the Zeevonk. She’ll ask them about their gear and their tactics. She’ll shove the victory to her parents’ faces and proudly share it with Simon, then ask her best friend if he’d consider rehabilitating the Scrapper in exchange for their help.

It’s going to be incredible, probably the best day of her career.

Every exit is manned, every man fully briefed.

Anna is ready — had been ready even before she joined the team.

She waits in the car with Marcus, wondering what the Zeevonk will target this time.

Upon landing softly on the roof, they put their board on their back. The criminal slides down and swings into a room through one of the windows intentionally left open, and Anna immediately reaches for the comms.

“Not yet,” Marcus stops her.

The seconds tick by, and she itches to trap the criminal right there. One, two, nearly five minutes pass before the masked face comes out of the other window and shoots a cocky salute at the most inconspicuous enforcers in the area — the sheriff and the brain on the case.

That’s it.

Marcus finally chases after the soaring Zeevonk, calling for backup with the stolen comm as he floors the pedal. He won’t lose them. The team can’t lose the thief again. Everyone is tired of the long days and the reprimands, of hearing about how valuable or dangerous (or both) the stolen items were, of the lives they put at risk. And frankly, they were scared of the darkness the Zeevonk brings.

Anna reaches for her rifle and aims for the metal fan.

She shoots.

The Zeevonk falls and rolls upon contact with the pavement, leaving their now useless hoverboard.

The car halts, and Anna gets out to chase after them on foot along with countless other enforcers coming in from different directions. She groans as she pushes herself to go faster, barely slipping through the barricades they set as she wonders how they even have the strength to burst a pipe with their bare hand.

“Freeze!” Anna shouts when she notices the thief is running towards a dead end.

But the thief doesn’t slow down, and even glances over their shoulder.

Then they stop.

Her own feet falter when a feminine laugh echoes down the alley.

“You’re brave.” The Zeevonk notes in an amused tone.

The silence that comes after — as much silence as raging waters and squeaking rodents allow — makes the enforcer realize she’s alone with a notorious criminal and no backup, a little out of breath and a lot out of patience. She still has her guns, though; the Zeevonk had nothing. Or at least, seemed to.

“Most enforcers point a gun first, you know.”

“The uniform’s enough for most Scrappers.” And it worked wonders most of the time, but neither weapon nor badge had ever worked for this one.

“Yeah,” the Zeevonk scoffs, “because you enforcers are all the same — just asshole criminals in fancy uniforms.”

“Believe it or not, I quite agree with you.” Hearing familiar footsteps behind her, Anna finds herself relieved and reaching for the handcuffs. “Why don’t we take that to the station?”

“Tempting but I promised my sister I’ll be home for game night.” At that, she raises her hands to the sky and looks up, having Anna praying the hood falls.

“What —” Anna barely even ends the first word of her sentence when a green line grabs the woman and flies her into the Scrapyard smog. The enforcer immediately runs to the end of the alley, worriedly searching the wall and cloud. She’s not even sure what she expects to find, but her heart nonetheless pounds for reassurance that the person is alright.

Marcus arrives with backup just seconds after the escape. “Verloren?”

“I’m sorry, sir. She got away.”

“What? How? Did you say ‘she’?”

“Yes, sir. She’s not alone.”