Digging into History

The faint hum of the hospital's fluorescent lights filled the room as Brendon sat upright on the bed, his right arm bandaged and a dull ache radiating from his shoulder. He absentmindedly rolled his injured shoulder, testing the pain. It was manageable—nothing he hadn't endured before.

A soft knock on the door drew his attention. Robert entered, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"You look like hell," Robert commented, shutting the door behind him.

Brendon let out a dry chuckle. "I feel worse."

Robert pulled up a chair beside the bed. "You're lucky to be alive. That could've ended a lot worse."

Brendon sighed. "Yeah… but what's the damage?"

Robert leaned back. "Four officers critically injured. The tech department is in ruins. Every single file—gone. And Drago's men? They made their move without hesitation."

A heavy silence hung between them. Brendon ran a hand through his hair.

"This wasn't just an attack," he muttered. "This was a message."

Robert nodded grimly. "And it was aimed at you."

Before either could continue, the door swung open, and Robert stepped in. His usual composed expression was shadowed with frustration.

"Brendon," Robert started, his voice sharp, "what caused all this? Any explanation?"

Brendon straightened up. "You tell me. You were there before I was."

Robert exhaled. "Apparently, they were Drago's men. Hmph… they actually attacked the station to free Drago and take revenge on us."

Brendon clenched his jaw. "Just what I feared. It seems that everyone paid the price for what I did, huh?"

Robert folded his arms. "Honestly speaking, that's exactly what it is."

Brendon smirked bitterly. "Honesty can be sour at times." He paused, then changed the subject. "By the way… did you find anything about Bradley?"

Robert scoffed. "Nah. Before I could even get to that, the police station was a wreck. Every single document—burned to ashes. No records. No case files. Nothing."

Brendon frowned. "We still have the digital archives, right?"

Robert gave a half-hearted shrug. "Well, Sofie might be able to access some of it, but it won't help much."

"Why's that?"

Robert ran a hand through his hair. "Because our department only upgraded to this new system five years ago. So, technically, we only have five years' worth of data. And even though Sofie was working on transferring older files to the cloud, she only managed to store about twelve years of documents before… well, before tonight."

Brendon cursed under his breath. "That's not enough."

"I know."

Brendon opened his mouth to ask something else, but before he could, Chief Tyson stormed into the room. His face was red with frustration, but his eyes held something more complicated—something caught between fury and reluctant gratitude.

"Have you seen what you've done, Wolf?" Tyson snapped.

Brendon sighed, already expecting a lecture. "So, what's your point? You want to kick me out? Make me feel sorry?"

Tyson's nostrils flared. "Do you even realize the damage you've caused? Can you pay it back?"

Brendon met his gaze without flinching. "No… not really."

Tyson exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "Thanks, Wolf."

Brendon blinked. "What?"

"For not letting anyone die."

Without another word, Tyson turned on his heel and left, leaving Brendon stunned into silence.

The Next Move

The next morning, Brendon tightened his tie loosely around his neck as he stepped out of the hospital with Robert. The air was crisp, and the events of the previous night still weighed heavily on his mind.

Robert shot him a sidelong glance. "So, where exactly are we going?"

Brendon adjusted his collar. "Now that we've lost all the police records, Bradley's likely gone into hiding. Our only bet is to go after the lead we had before."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "Aaaand what is that lead?"

Brendon smirked. "Redfur."

Robert rolled his eyes. "Right. And how exactly does that help us find Bradley?"

Brendon crossed the street, heading toward their parked car. "We need to dig into Ridgecliff's history. If we understand what this 'Redfur' really is, we might find something useful."

Robert frowned. "Hey, how about we just go to Ridgecliff Academy and get Bradley's address?"

Brendon opened the car door. "Even if we get his address, it won't help. After all this, Bradley won't be in his home. I don't want to waste time on a dead end."

Robert let out a dramatic sigh. "Great. So instead of taking the direct route, we're going on a scavenger hunt through ancient history."

Brendon smirked. "You don't have to come."

Robert groaned. "I already know I'm coming. Let's just get this over with."

Ridgecliff Grand Library

The library loomed before them—a grand yet oddly out-of-place structure in such a secluded town.

Brendon eyed it with mild surprise. "Didn't expect a well-managed library in an isolated place like this."

Robert chuckled. "Always expect the unexpected."

Brendon glanced at him. "I'll need some help sorting through the history. Can I count on you?"

Robert sighed dramatically. "After getting this far? There's no turning back. I'm in."

The two stepped inside, the scent of aged paper and ink filling the air. The librarian, an older woman with sharp eyes, gave them a curious glance as they made their way toward the archives.

Hours passed as they combed through Ridgecliff's historical records—everything from its founding to its independence. Ridgecliff, situated between Wales and Britain, had once been a British colony before gaining autonomy.

Robert eventually dozed off, his head resting on an open book. But Brendon continued searching, flipping through decades-old newspapers until something caught his eye.

A cutout from 1985.

---

[Newspaper Cutout – The Ridgecliff Tribune, 1985]

"Ridgecliff's Fight for Justice: The Movement That Shook a Nation"

The town of Ridgecliff, known for its quiet existence, has become the epicenter of a growing movement against racial injustice. In the past few months, Ridgecliff has witnessed a surge of protests calling for equal rights and denouncing the systemic oppression of black citizens.

This movement, sparked by years of mistreatment and discrimination, has gained national attention. Even hybrids who are also mistreated in the society joined this movement, though we know that humans and hybrids never remained in one face of a coin for centuries. This protest really shows that we can push our differences aside for a noble cause. Protesters demand justice for victims of racial violence and an end to the unchecked power of law enforcement officials.

One particular figure, a local police officer, has come under heavy scrutiny. Reports suggest that Constable Theodore Smith, a decorated officer of the Ridgecliff Police Department, was involved in the unlawful lynching of two black men last year. Despite overwhelming evidence, no charges were brought against him.

An anonymous columnist from the Ridgecliff Gazette wrote an editorial referring to officers like Smith as "Redfur"—a sarcastic reference to the red-maned lion, a symbol of power that does nothing while its pride suffers.

This term, "Redfur," has now become a rallying cry for protesters, symbolizing those in power who refuse to take action against injustice.

As the movement grows, tensions in Ridgecliff remain high. The question remains—will justice prevail, or will history repeat itself?

---

Brendon's breath hitched.

Constable Theodore Smith.

His grip on the paper tightened.

Theodore Smith—the officer responsible for lynching two black men during the protests. The officer who had evaded punishment.

The officer who was Bronson's father.

Brendon exhaled slowly, staring at the name as the weight of the revelation sank in.

This wasn't just history. This was personal.

And now, he knew exactly where to look next.