The First and Only Object!

The Police Precinct of Blueport City stood as a lone beacon in the night, its angular structure bathed in the glow of artificial light. Bright fluorescents spilled from the expansive windows, cutting through the darkness and casting long shadows across the empty streets outside.

Unlike the sprawling precinct neighborhood of New Jericho, Blueport's precinct was a single, towering complex. It was compact but efficient, with every floor meticulously organized to serve its purpose.

Inside, the atmosphere was anything but quiet. Despite the late hour, the precinct bustled with activity. Officers moved through the halls with purpose, their voices a low hum against the clatter of keyboards and the occasional ring of telephones.

On the second floor, Silas Grant sat at his desk in a neat cubicle, stacks of case files and a steaming cup of coffee his only companions. The light above his desk buzzed faintly as he flipped through reports, his brow furrowed in focus.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Lieutenant Grant?" came a voice from behind him.

Silas glanced up to see Officer Langston leaning against the cubicle's entrance, his uniform slightly wrinkled, a coffee cup in hand. Langston was one of the precinct's friendlier faces, always quick with small talk to lighten the load of late-night shifts.

"Someone's got to keep the paperwork moving," Silas replied, setting down his pen. "What about you, Langston? Thought you'd clocked out by now."

"Not a chance. They've got me on that warehouse robbery case. Still trying to piece together how they got past the security system." Langston shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "Besides, wouldn't want to miss a chance to check in on our star lieutenant."

Silas smirked faintly, shaking his head. "I wouldn't call it star work. Just doing my job."

Before Langston could reply, the precinct's calm was shattered by a burst of activity. Phones rang simultaneously, officers rushed toward the central communications desk, and the steady hum of the building turned into a cacophony of raised voices.

Silas stood, his sharp instincts kicking in. "What's going on?"

Langston's face had gone pale as he checked his radio, listening intently. "Factories. A whole block of them is on fire."

The weight of the words settled like a heavy stone in Silas's chest. He grabbed his coat and badge, his mind already racing through possibilities. Whatever was happening tonight, it would likely demand every ounce of their effort.

Silas climbed into one of the precinct's patrol cars, the urgency in his chest matching the sirens that pierced the night. Langston slid into the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt with practiced speed. The convoy of vehicles sped through Blueport's streets, their red lights flashing against the darkened buildings. The air was thick with tension as officers murmured theories over the radios, but Silas remained silent, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

When the convoy arrived at the factory district, the scene was chaotic. The cars drifted to a stop near the entrances, their headlights cutting through the thick plumes of smoke that billowed into the sky. Silas and Langston exited swiftly, joining the other officers gathering at the perimeter.

Beyond the gates, the destruction was overwhelming. Flames roared from the factory buildings, their fiery tongues licking at the night sky. Firefighters worked with frantic precision, shouting over the hiss of high-pressure water streams. The acrid stench of burning chemicals and charred debris filled the air, stinging Silas's eyes and throat.

"This is a disaster," Langston muttered, his voice barely audible over the commotion.

Silas didn't reply. His attention was drawn to something just mere steps ahead—a scattering of loose papers fluttering in the breeze, some signed with an unrecognizable symbol at the edges. The pages seemed oddly out of place amidst the rubble, their handwritten notes stark against the grime-streaked ground. He stepped closer, crouching to retrieve one of the papers.

The inked letters were bold and deliberate:

The care of human life and happiness, and not their destruction, is the first and only object of good government.

Silas read the words twice, his jaw tightening. The sentiment, while noble in isolation, took on a sinister edge in the context of the chaos surrounding him. These weren't just discarded pages—they were messages.

His gaze drifted lower, and there it was, unmistakable in its boldness. The spray-painted insignia of a jagged "Z" marked the wall of one of the buildings. Silas stared at it, the realization dawning with a sickening clarity. Whatever had caused this was not an accident—it was a deliberate act in the form of a bold statement.

"What in the hell," he said under his breath.

Langston looked over. "What?"

Silas didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crumpled the paper in his hand, his knuckles whitening as he clenched it tightly. His mind raced, the patriot within him bristling with fury.

The District of Lunanova had fought tirelessly to maintain order, to ensure stability in a world where chaos constantly threatened the edges. And now, these people—whoever they were—seemed to have the audacity to undermine that.

"This isn't vandalism," he finally said, his voice sharp with anger. "It's terrorism. And I'll make sure they pay for it."

Langston observed Silas grimly, understanding the weight of his words. He watched as Silas stepped back toward the perimeter, the glow of the flames reflected in his eyes. Silas's thoughts churned with resolve, his belief in the District's mission hardening further.

Whoever had done this had declared war on everything he stood for—and he would not rest until they were brought to justice.

--

The night air was crisp and cool, a refreshing reprieve from the heat of the burning factories from earlier. The safe house remained dark except for a dim lantern perched on the table in the main room. Inside, Aurora paced near the window, her sharp eyes scanning the surrounding greenery "They should've been here by now," she said, her voice tense.

"They're fine," Nyota replied from the table, his tone steady as he arranged the scattered maps and notes into neat piles. "They're probably just taking precautions."

Aurora exhaled sharply, tapping her foot against the creaky floorboards. "I don't like waiting like this."

Nyota didn't respond, his focus remaining on his work. Moments later, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. The door creaked open, and Sage and Kilo stepped inside.

Aurora turned sharply toward them. "What took you so long?"

"Ran into a few hiccups," Sage answered, his calm tone belying the tension in his expression.

Kilo followed a step behind, his usual energy noticeably subdued. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and he avoided making eye contact with anyone as he dropped his bag onto the floor. "We're here now. That's what matters," he muttered.

Aurora studied him for a moment before returning her attention to Sage. "Hiccups?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Sage replied, glancing briefly at Kilo, who had already moved to sit at the far end of the table.

Nyota stood, motioning for everyone to gather. "Let's debrief."

The group circled the table, though Kilo kept his distance, leaning back in his chair with a faintly distracted look. Sage started first, detailing how he had used his blue flames to disable the factories' critical systems, ensuring the destruction remained controlled. Aurora followed, explaining how she'd coordinated their escape routes and kept watch for any unexpected interference.

When it was Kilo's turn, he shrugged. "Security didn't see us because I kept them busy. That's all there is to it."

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "You may have had the most dangerous job of all of us. I think you can give yourself a little more credit."

Kilo's lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Nyota's gaze flicked between Kilo and Sage, catching the subtle tension lingering between them. Sage seemed to notice it too, his brow furrowing briefly, though he said nothing.

As the conversation turned to the aftermath of their mission, Aurora voiced the doubts that had been gnawing at her. "We did what we had to, but there's going to be fallout. People are going to lose their livelihoods."

"They were already losing more than they realized," Sage said firmly, though his eyes briefly shifted to Kilo. "We're not just fighting for the people working in those factories. We're fighting for a future where no one has to."

Aurora nodded slowly, though the conflict in her expression remained.

When it came time to leave, the team moved methodically, each member gathered their belongings and slipped out one by one to avoid detection. As they walked through the quiet streets, Nyota noticed Kilo lingering a few steps behind the group, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"You good?" Nyota asked, falling into step beside him.

Kilo glanced at him, then nodded. "Yeah. Just tired, I guess."

Nyota studied him for a moment before nodding. "We'll talk about it later. Get some rest."

Kilo didn't respond, but the faint tension in his posture eased slightly as they walked on.

The cool night air carried with it the weight of their actions. For Nyota—as well as Aurora and Sage—the mission was a successful step forward. For Kilo, however, it additionally served as a grim reminder of a past not yet buried.