Moments Of Life

"A evening late ...to forget."

Various media houses were gathered, their cameras flashing under the warm glow of the conference hall lights. Rows of uniformed police officers and military personnel stood at attention or sat in quiet anticipation. At the front, seated on a raised pedestal, were some of the most influential figures in global security—Sir Joseph Albert Henderson, the revered head of UCID, London; Mr. Hiroshi Mitusawa of UCID, Japan; Sir Lorenzo, head of UCID operations in Southern Europe; Mr. Morgan Jackson of UCID Intelligence, Canada; and Ms. Maria Gonsalves, a respected strategist and field commander.

The hum of quiet conversation faded as Mr. Ethan Clarke, the head of UCID, Australia, stepped up to the podium. His expression was bright with pride, his voice resonant and welcoming.

"Good evening, respected senior members of UCID, and a heartfelt salute to my brave colleagues from the global police and military community.

I, Ethan Clarke, am both humbled and thrilled to present to you a man who has set the gold standard for leadership in counter-crime and intelligence. A valiant, insightful, and profoundly honorable figure—please join me in welcoming the head of UCID London, Sir Joseph Albert Henderson —to share his vision and inspire us all to walk the path of justice with the same unwavering resolve. A huge round of applause, everyone."

The hall erupted in applause as Ethan stepped off the podium and approached Sir Henderson with a bouquet. The two men exchanged a firm handshake—a symbolic gesture of respect between seasoned allies. Sir Henderson stood, dignified in his posture, and made his way toward the podium with calm authority.

The cameras zoomed in. Journalists leaned forward. Soldiers and officers straightened in their seats.

Sir Henderson placed the bouquet gently beside him and adjusted the microphone, the applause fading into a silence laced with anticipation.

Sir Henderson coughed lightly, reaching for the glass of warm water placed beside the podium. He took a small sip, then gently straightened the microphone toward his mouth. The hall fell completely silent, the anticipation hanging in the air.

"Good evening, gentlemen and ladies," he began, his deep, measured voice echoing through the hall. "And a sincere thank you to Mr. Clarke for giving me far more credit than I deserve."

He let out a modest chuckle, drawing a few smiles from the audience. "I'm no hero. I'm certainly no supercop from the movies. I'm just a man trying to do his job with as much honesty and dedication as I can manage—and I expect the same from every colleague who wears the badge alongside me."

He paused, letting the sincerity settle.

"What we do isn't just a job. It's a responsibility. A burden entrusted to us by every citizen of our nations. They rely on us to serve, to protect, to stand between them and harm—often without thanks, and sometimes, without rest.

But sadly, over time, that trust has been eroded—not by outsiders, but by some within our own walls. Individuals who wear the same uniform, yet serve a different master. They have stained the name of UCID, and of police institutions worldwide. And while I know that not every leaf has turned yellow, I also know that the rot cannot be ignored.

He looked across the room, eyes locking momentarily with a few fellow officers.

"There are still many among us—brave, tireless, and honest—who remind us of what we're meant to stand for. I want to especially thank Mr. Fabian Fleming for his swift and tactical apprehension of VPS—a man who has made it his craft to vanish before we even catch his scent. And of course, Sir Lorenzo and Ms. Gonsalves, without whose precision intel, none of this would have been possible."

He tightened his grip on the podium, his voice firming.

"Criminals like VPS are venom. And like venom, if left unchecked, they corrupt and spread, often beyond repair. We will not allow that. We will use every legal force, every lawful tool at our disposal to identify, isolate, and imprison his allies—no matter where they hide or who protects them."

Then, with a faint smile returning to his face, he concluded:

"I won't stretch this further. You all know what needs to be done. Let's stay honest. Let's stay vigilant. And let's never forget who we serve. Thank you."

The hall erupted into respectful applause as Sir Henderson stepped down from the podium. He nodded briefly to Ms. Gonsalves and Sir Lorenzo, then quietly returned to his seat beside Mr. Mitusawa—his face calm, yet carved with quiet resolve.

Sir Ethan Clarke returned to the microphone with a light-hearted smile, the atmosphere easing after Sir Henderson's solemn tone.

"Well... that was a speech," he quipped, drawing a few chuckles from the room. "Now, let's shine a well-deserved spotlight on our dynamic duo—Sir Michael Lorenzo and the very beautiful, very brilliant Ms. Maria Gonsalves."

A ripple of applause followed. Sir Lorenzo gave a modest nod, while Ms. Maria smiled warmly, accepting the bouquet with graceful poise. Sir Lorenzo leaned toward her and said with a gentleman's insistence, "Ladies first."

Ms. Maria chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and walked towards the microphone. Her heels clicked with composed confidence, though a slight blush warmed her cheeks at Sir Clarke's earlier comment.

"Good evening, gentlemen and ladies," she began, her voice steady, almost musical. "A heartfelt thank you to Sir Clarke for the compliment..." she paused, smiling, "though I must admit I'm a bit flustered."

A few laughed lightly, and she continued.

"I won't take much of your time. Sir Henderson has already spoken with the clarity and strength that speaks for all of us. And frankly, I'm not sure what more I can add.

But I would like to share a thought—a reflection from my years on the field. I don't always see criminals as venom—not all of them, at least. In my 25 years, I've crossed paths with people who were evil, yes—cold, remorseless, and dangerous. But I've also met others who were simply... broken. Misdirected. People who made terrible choices because they had no better ones in sight. And some of them, when shown the right path, did change. They became citizens worth saving."

She paused briefly, her gaze sweeping over the hall.

"Now, VPS... he is different. He walks a fine line between being bad and being broken. It's a line so thin, so fragile, that most can't even see it. That's what makes him dangerous. He's not just driven by malice—he's driven by pain, by something deeper, more fractured. That's why his case is not just a challenge of justice—it's a study of humanity."

Her tone shifted slightly—lower, reflective.

"Everything has gone as we intended so far. But let's not forget—this is just the beginning. The deeper you go, the darker it gets. We still have a lot more to do."

She took a short breath, then offered a simple, sincere nod.

"Thank you."

Without waiting for applause, Ms. Maria stepped back from the mic and returned to her seat beside Sir Lorenzo, who leaned slightly toward her and whispered something that made her crack a soft, knowing smile.

Sir Lorenzo rose from his chair, adjusting his beige coat with calm precision. His posture was commanding, yet composed. With a steady, practiced gait, he walked towards the microphone. A hush fell over the room as he straightened the mic and leaned in, his voice calm and measured.

"Good evening, respected members and my dear colleagues."

He paused, letting the silence settle.

"I won't bore you with talk about VPS. He's irrelevant now. What matters more—what truly demands our attention—is the person behind him. The one funding, protecting, and weaponizing people like VPS. That 'person' might be an individual, a group, or even... an entire nation."

He let that sink in, his gaze unwavering.

"I won't stretch this out with speculation. Crime, in its essence, is both peculiar and predictable. Someone does something that defies law and humanity—and if it goes unchecked, unpunished—it grows. It spreads. It becomes bolder. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I have a problem with."

He stepped slightly back, his hands resting lightly on the podium.

"When people—knowingly or unknowingly—push disturbed minds into the arms of crime, it becomes everyone's responsibility to stop it. Not just ours. Not just the police or UCID. Every citizen, every parent, every teacher."

His voice softened slightly, more intimate now.

"To everyone watching this—at home, at work—I have one message. Prevention is always better than cure. It's far easier to correct a child caught experimenting with drugs or petty theft than it is to dismantle a criminal empire fueled by those early mistakes. Crime doesn't bloom overnight. Nor does it end overnight. But that first step... it happens in a moment."

His eyes moved deliberately across the room.

"To the kids watching this—yes, you—I'm talking to you. Stealing a pen, throwing water on someone for fun, calling someone names, bullying, ragging... these are not harmless. They are seeds. Seeds that grow into habits. Habits that shape your future."

He spoke now with quiet urgency.

"To the parents—please, don't dismiss your child's mischief as 'just being a kid.' What you ignore today may become someone else's nightmare tomorrow. Mischief, if left unchecked, becomes misconduct. Misconduct becomes crime."

He took a breath, then smiled slightly—more personal now, almost nostalgic.

"My mother once told me something that stayed with me all my life:

'Darkness and light are just perspectives. Someone sees the black, and someone sees the white.'

It's up to us—each of us—which one we choose to see... and which one we teach others to see."

He nodded, stepping back.

"Thank you."

With quiet dignity, Sir Lorenzo returned to his seat. The applause that followed was not loud—but it was long, and full of thought.

Sir Clarke stepped back to the mic, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a grin.

"Wow! That was intense. A classic Lorenzo speech, ladies and gentlemen. Now, to shift gears a bit, let's hear from the most senior and equally beloved member of our team—Mr. Anabin Mitusawa."

The crowd clapped as Mr. Mitusawa slowly stood up, leaning on his cane. He handed his bouquet to Sir Henderson with a warm smile and shuffled towards the microphone, exuding an effortless charisma only age and legacy could bring.

He cleared his throat and adjusted the mic slightly.

"The evening is already good with so many beautiful faces and sharp minds around." (he chuckled, sparking a few laughs in the room)

"My boys—and my little girl here—have already said everything worth saying, and hopefully, bored us all in the process." (the crowd laughed louder this time)

He looked around, his gaze fond and filled with wisdom.

"I won't take much of your time. I'm an old man now. And the only thing I can tell you is that the world has changed—a lot."

He paused briefly, the weight of time reflecting in his voice.

"Back in my day, we had horses faster than cars and bullets heavier than guns. Crime didn't change... it evolved. From smuggling a bottle of booze and a bag of weed to moving tons of narcotics and crates of guns across oceans. The stakes got higher, the players got smarter."

His voice lowered, more reflective now.

"As for me—my villains are all dead. The last of them was a man named Jimmy Law. Tough motherfer, that one."* (he smiled to himself as the room chuckled)

"He spun me around good. Betrayed many. Faked deaths, framed officers... a real ghost. But in the end, even he died the way he lived—through betrayal."

He shifted slightly, wincing a little but smiling still.

"Now I find myself an old soldier among young warriors. And I can say this with pride... they're good. They're damn good."

He nodded once, firmly.

"Thank you."

The room applauded with warmth and affection as Sir Clarke gently helped him back to his seat, placing a hand on his shoulder with visible respect.

Mr. Jackson rose and walked confidently toward the speaker's podium.

"Well, I believe Mr. Clarke must be tired of introducing us one by one. So, I took the liberty of stepping up uninvited—I hope that's alright."

Sir Clarke smiled warmly. "The stage is all yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Clarke.

As most of you know, I'm the one often labelled as that guy—the one who challenges nearly every decision UCID makes, always in the name of humanity and conscience. But let me be honest with you: sometimes, it's necessary.

Yes, criminals can be monsters in action. And yes, they deserve punishment—execution, even, in some eyes. That's the easy stance, the convenient one. But what if, just for a moment, we removed the lenses of good and evil, and looked instead through the eyes of conscience?

Wouldn't we still see human beings? Flawed, broken, dangerous—but human nonetheless.

I'm not here to plead for mercy or to undermine justice. I'm simply asking: shouldn't we, where possible, give room for reformation? For change?

Now, I know there are whispers behind my back. That I preach these so-called humanitarian ideals only because many criminals happen to come from my community.

And yes, it's true—statistically, a majority of crime perpetrators are people of color. But that doesn't mean people of color are born to be criminals. That logic is not just flawed—it's dangerous.

We could dive into the social and environmental causes all day, but that's not what tonight is about.

So let me end with a simple thought:

Never judge a man by where he begins—but by where he ends.

Thank you."

He stepped down from the podium and made his way to his seat. Sir Henderson and Mr. Mitusawa each patted his shoulder with quiet respect. Sir Lorenzo and Ms. Gonsalves gave him a thumbs-up, as the crowd erupted into a generous round of applause.

Sir Lorenzo quickly ran toward the speaker.

"Now, it's time for Mr. Clarke to give us a wonderful speech. And he is not going to escape this time."

He playfully pulled a hesitant Mr. Clarke.

Clarke smiled, leaned in, and adjusted the mic.

"I don't know what I can say. This function is for you guys, not me. I'm just a friendly host."

"You have to say something," Ms. Gonsalves insisted.

"Fine," Clarke chuckled. "I was trailing VPS for quite some time. He never visited Australia. Not even once. Guess he doesn't like kangaroos." (light laughter)

"Jokes apart — he's good in his own twisted way. Maybe even better than any of his counterparts... if any are still alive. I don't know much about him personally. But in Australia, we've got a whole different headache."

He paused slightly.

"His name is Hutch Dempsey. A New Zealander, currently in Holland, dreaming of reviving the High Table. Allegedly, he's VPS's biggest enemy — and vice versa. With VPS's arrest, we might see Hutch make a move. That, of course, depends on how things go from here."

He glanced at the crowd and smiled again.

"Anyway, I won't bore you anymore. Let's enjoy the delicious food we all sacrificed our paychecks for." (laughs)

"Gracias."

He stepped away from the mic.

Mr. Clarke, Sir Lorenzo, and Ms. Maria stood in a far corner, enjoying their food.

"So, how's Australia?" Lorenzo asked.

"Crappy weather, but finer women," Clarke chuckled.

"You're incorrigible," Maria said with a playful slap on his arm.

"On a serious note," Clarke continued, "it's not as intense as London or America. Most days it's just desk duty or beach patrols. Crime's a bit lighter. People are more into sports and fitness than breaking the law. Though poaching and smuggling of endangered species is still a major headache. Other than that, it's calm."

"You mentioned Dempsey," Lorenzo pressed, intrigued. "What about him?"

"Nothing major. His shadow's been spotted—Perth, Sydney, Adelaide. He's Kiwi, so it's easier for him to operate there under the radar."

"I still don't get why he's so obsessed with re-enacting the High Table. Wouldn't organized crime be more efficient?" Lorenzo grunted.

Clarke smirked. "He isn't your usual criminal, Micheal. Like VPS, Dempsey relies more on brains than brawn. He prefers using pawns instead of fighting his own battles. That's exactly why VPS hates him—he thinks Dempsey had a choice and still chose this path, whereas VPS claims he was forced into it by the 'big tragedy' of his life."

"They're all the same," Lorenzo muttered, his fist tightening. "Backstories don't excuse their crimes. VPS will pay. So will Dempsey."

Maria gently pulled his arm. "Let's not ruin a beautiful evening with their names."

"Yeah, let's dance!" Clarke said, spinning into an exaggerated salsa move.

Laughter echoed as they walked toward the stage, letting the night carry them into its rhythm....