Kim stood in front of the apartment door, double-checking the address. This is the place. He knocked. No answer. Knocked again. Still nothing. After the third round of knocking, he sighed, already debating whether he should just leave. But just as he was about to turn away—Click.
The door swung open, and Kim froze. Aisha. But not the Aisha he was used to—the sharp-tongued, leather-jacket-wearing, press-badge-flashing rebel journalist. No, this Aisha was... different.
She stood there in a crop top sports bra, clinging tight, showing off her toned stomach, her dark skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. Her athletic shorts barely reached mid-thigh, exposing her long, strong legs. Her usual fierce expression was replaced by something more relaxed, soft, her curly hair slightly messy—probably from a workout.
Kim forgot how to breathe. He knew Aisha for a while, but he had never seen her like this. The contrast between her bright, cute face and her raw, effortless confidence was almost unfair. His brain short-circuited.
Aisha tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "Uh... you good?"
Kim still couldn't speak. She sighed and flicked her fingers in front of his face. Snap!Kim flinched. "Hello? Jinjahan to Kim?" she said, amused. "You came to stare or to talk?"
Kim instantly looked away, his face slightly burning. "I—uh—Dante sent me."
Aisha stepped aside, still smirking as she gestured Kim in. "Well, don't just stand there looking lost. Come in."
Kim cleared his throat, very carefully keeping his eyes anywhere but on her legs. Inside, the apartment was a messy but lived-in space, stacks of notebooks, loose papers, and a laptop buried under takeout containers. The faint smell of spiced coffee and something fried lingered in the air.
Aisha grabbed a small towel and wiped the sweat from her neck and arms as she walked toward the kitchen. "You want something? I was just making food."
Kim sat on the couch, trying to act normal. "Nah, I'm good."
"Suit yourself." She grabbed a pan and turned on the stove while still drying her face.
Kim exhaled. "So… Dante sent me."
Aisha snorted. "Of course he did. What kind of trouble did he drag you into?"
Kim ran a hand through his hair. "More than I asked for."
Then he told her everything. The JPD attack. The sewer chaos. The bullets Dante sliced mid-air like some insane action hero. The officers turning on them. And finally, Dante's warning—that the JPD didn't like people with ideals.
Aisha had been moving around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, cracking an egg into the pan—Then she suddenly froze.
Kim stopped talking. For a moment, there was just the sound of oil sizzling. Then, slowly, Aisha turned to him, her usual playful expression gone. "…Tell me more details."
Kim recounted everything—the sewer ambush, the JPD officers turning on them, the chaos, the way Dante sliced through bullets like he was cutting vegetables, and how he warned Kim that the JPD didn't like people with ideals.
Aisha listened in silence, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She didn't even touch her food.
When Kim finally finished, she let out a slow exhale, shaking her head. "Damn," she muttered. "So it's really happening."
Kim frowned. "What do you mean?"
Aisha turned, grabbing her phone and scrolling through something. "Jinjahan's never been kind to people who care too much. You, Dante… hell, even me. The moment you start asking the wrong questions, they make sure you don't ask again."
She looked up, meeting his gaze. "I'll write about this."
Kim hesitated. "That's gonna make you a target."
Aisha smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Please. I was a target the moment I printed my first article. So be careful, Kim. Because if Dante's right, you're already on their list."
While they talked, the TV in the background kept playing a cartoon—some old animated show with exaggerated fights and slapstick humor. Kim wasn't really paying attention until the screen suddenly glitched. "We interrupt this program for an emergency broadcast."
Aisha groaned. "Oh, what now?"
On the screen, the Mayor of Jinjahan, Alben Grastov, appeared, standing at a pristine podium with the city's emblem behind him. A tall, silver-haired man in his late 50s, Grastov had the look of a seasoned politician—well-dressed, well-spoken, and completely full of it.
"Citizens of Jinjahan," he began, his voice deep and authoritative. "In light of recent chaos—riots, blackouts, and the rising wave of violent crimes—we must address the root cause of this anarchy.... Mutants."
Kim tensed. Aisha stopped mid-bite.
"These unnatural beings," Grastov continued, "continue to pose a threat to the safety of our great city. Their unchecked aggression, their defiance of law and order—this ends now. Effective immediately, the JPD will intensify operations to ensure our streets remain safe. We will not tolerate mutant violence."
Aisha clicked her tongue. "Mutant violence? Please. The only ones being violent are the damn JPD."
Kim shook his head. "He's using every problem in the city as an excuse to tighten control. This isn't about safety—it's about power."
Aisha leaned back, arms crossed. "And people will eat it up. They always do. Give them a 'dangerous enemy' to blame, and they won't care about the real problem."
He started pacing. "I have to go. Commissioner Roderik has to hear about this. JPD should stand on its own, not be some damn attack dog for Grastov's paranoia."
Aisha leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You really think he doesn't already know?"
Kim shook his head. "Roderik's old-school. He still believes in law and order, not just politics. If anyone can stop this madness, it's him."
Aisha studied him for a moment, then grabbed her keys. "Alright, I'll drive."
Kim blinked. "Wait, you have a car?"
She smirked. "What, you thought I just ran everywhere?"
Outside, she led him to a sleek, two-door sedan parked in the alley. The Oblivion Vortex GT, a luxury model from Zyphos Motors, was a car only the rich or the dangerously well-connected could afford. Jet-black carbon fiber frame, neon-accented aerodynamic edges, and those unmistakable butterfly doors. Even at a standstill, it looked like it belonged in an illegal street race, not a journalist's alleyway.
Kim stopped dead, frowning. "...You're a journalist. How the hell do you own an Oblivion Vortex GT?"
Aisha tapped the roof. "Freelance pays well."
Kim folded his arms. "I bet it does. What's next? A penthouse? Private security?"
She grinned, unlocking the car with a smooth hiss as the doors lifted. "Shut up and get in."
Kim muttered under his breath as he climbed inside. "Roderik better have some damn answers."
The engine purred like a beast on a leash as they pulled onto the street, heading straight for the precinct. And, after a long drive, the Oblivion Vortex GT finally pulled up to the JPD precinct.
Kim expected tension, maybe some officers rushing around, but instead, there was a full-blown ceremony happening. Flags, formal uniforms, even a damn stage.
At the center of it all, Choi Jisung—once Captain of the JPD—stood in his crisp, high-ranking uniform, shaking hands with Commissioner Roderik. The crowd of officers clapped, some grinning ear to ear.
Kim narrowed his eyes. As he stepped out of the car, both Choi and Roderik turned their heads toward him, as if they were expecting him.
Kim marched closer, confusion turning into irritation. "What's going on?"
Commissioner Roderik sighed, as if he had been dreading this conversation. Then, with a voice cold and formal, he said, "Choi Jisung has been promoted to Deputy Commissioner."
Kim stopped dead. "What?"
Choi smirked, adjusting his newly pinned rank insignia. "Surprised?"
Kim clenched his jaw. "He was just a captain. That's a massive jump."
Roderik ignored him. "And as for you, Kim…" He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a folded document, and held it out. "You're done."
Kim blinked. "…Excuse me?"
Roderik's face remained blank. "You're fired. Your reckless behavior, your involvement with… questionable individuals—it's over."
Kim didn't take the paper. "You're joking."
Then, from the side, laughter. A few JPD officers, ones who never liked him much, were grinning, chuckling. One of them—Detective Ward—shook his head. "Told you, kid," Ward sneered. "You play around with mutants, you get burned."
He turned back to Roderik. "You don't actually believe all that bullshit Grastov's saying, do you?"
Roderik's expression didn't change. "Go home, Kim."
As Kim stood there, the other officers started closing in. One of them—Detective Ward—grinned and ruffled Kim's hair like he was a damn kid. "C'mon, rookie, stop playing around. Maybe if you grow up, you'll find a real job."
Another officer chuckled, throwing an arm around Kim's shoulder. "Or else, what? You gonna be a street rat now? Maybe you can bunk with your mutant pals in the sewers."
The laughter spread like wildfire. Aisha, who had been watching from the side, stepped forward. "That's enough."
Immediately, their attention shifted to her. Ward turned, giving Aisha a slow once-over before smirking. "Ohhh, now I get it." He laughed, elbowing the officer next to him. "How many times has Kim ridden her, huh? No wonder she's rushing in to protect her little stray."
Another officer whistled. "Damn, Kim, you've got fine taste."
The group burst into laughter. The laughter got worse. Crueler. One of the officers—Lieutenant Myles—grinned as he leaned toward Aisha. "So, sweetheart, how much does he pay you?"
Another chuckled. "Or is it the other way around? Maybe you pay him—charity work for the unemployed?"
Aisha's jaw tightened, but her expression stayed unreadable. Kim, on the other hand, snapped. "The JPD just attacked me!" He took a step forward, voice sharp and furious. "In the sewers. Hundreds of bullets. Choi, you know what the hell I'm talking about!"
No one flinched. No one even pretended to care. Instead, Ward smirked. "Yeah? And? You survived, didn't you?"
Myles sneered, tilting his head toward Aisha. "Maybe your little whore stitched you up afterward."
The laughter came harder. One of them even clapped Kim on the back, shaking their head like they felt bad for him. "You poor bastard. Unemployed and stuck with a prostitute for a babysitter. Tough luck."
Aisha's patience snapped. She had seen corruption. She had written about it, exposed it, fought against it. But this? This wasn't corruption anymore. This was madness. She grabbed Kim's wrist. "We're leaving."
The officers erupted in laughter. "Look at that! She's got him on a leash now!"
"Careful, Kim! If you don't behave, she might charge extra!"
"Or maybe she likes her pets loyal—ain't that right, sweetheart?"
Even Commissioner Roderik chuckled. "Seems fitting. A washed-up cop and a gutter journalist. A perfect pair."
Aisha whipped around. For a second, Kim swore she was about to lunge at them—fists first. But instead, she just stared. Long and hard. Then, she smiled. Not friendly. Not amused. Something sharp. Something dangerous. "I'm going to bury all of you."