Chapter 12: Klonga Enforcement Division

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July 18, 2035, Police Station, Thailand

The Malay-speaking officer, Lieutenant Chaiyat, introduces himself during the short drive to the station, barely a minute from the station square. The driver, Kai, speaks neither Malay nor English, so no introduction follows.

At the station, Tatsuya and Shivansika are told to shower. Unaware of their own stench after days without washing in the sweltering train, they likely overwhelmed Chaiyat in the patrol car's confines. They change into grey smocks—prison-like, but their clothes are being washed. In a small meeting room, they laugh at each other's odd attire, Tatsuya relieved to see Shivansika smile normally.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Chaiyat says, entering with Kai. He bluntly remarks they finally smell human, making Shivansika blush. Tatsuya bristles peaceful people don't grasp the hell they escaped: missiles, collapsing buildings, countless corpses, blood pools. Survival was their only goal.

"Don't scowl. Sorry if I offended," Chaiyat says, noticing Tatsuya's anger. "Names, birthdates, addresses, parents' names. ID cards, if you have them."

They retrieve their Singapore ICs from plastic bags holding their belongings. Chaiyat examines them, hands them to Kai with Thai instructions. Kai leaves, likely to copy them. Tatsuya hopes they're not misused.

"Are your parents or family on that train?" Chaiyat asks.

"No. We escaped alone. No time to find family," Tatsuya replies.

"Your parents' status?"

"Don't know. Our mothers are probably dead bodies not found. Fathers, no idea if they're alive."

"Sorry for asking," Chaiyat says. Shivansika grips her smock, head down, reliving the trauma. Tatsuya pulls her close.

In Singapore's Bedok, war erupted nearby. Missiles and downed fighters crashed, buildings collapsed. Roads, clogged with debris, were impassable; public transport stopped. Stray bullets and explosions killed indiscriminately. They fled through building shadows, dodging rubble and collapsing structures. They saw people crushed, burned alive, streets littered with debris and bodies. After hours, Tatsuya, shielding a limping Shivansika, reached Tampines. Their HDB block was a crater, half-collapsed, smoldering. "It's a lie…" Shivansika's words haunt him. They sat, stunned, hoping for their fathers, until military trucks took them to a Sembawang refugee camp. Guided to Johor Bahru, they boarded the refugee train, never finding their fathers or Shivansika's siblings.

Silence falls. Shivansika cries softly. Chaiyat and Kai, who's returned, watch somberly.

"Let's pause until she's calmer. Hungry?" Chaiyat asks.

Part 2

They devour their first meal in days, tasting nothing, just filling empty stomachs. Chaiyat returns with Kai and a stout, middle-aged man.

"Feeling better? Let's talk about this morning," Chaiyat says. "Those men were anti-government guerrillas, wanted criminals. But you killed some, so we need details. It's not a free pass."

Shivansika recounts arriving at the station, kidnapped during the toilet queue. Chaiyat, despite his stern demeanor, skillfully draws out her story, interjecting questions to keep her focused. Kai records, a recorder explaining his role despite not knowing Malay.

"Got it. We may follow up later. Tatsuya, your turn. From when the train arrived," Chaiyat says.

Tatsuya describes descending to find food or water, failing at shops, getting water at a temple, then seeing Shivansika's abduction. He details taking down the guerrillas.

"You're awfully efficient. Trained for this?" Chaiyat asks, incredulous.

"No training. Games. Played FPS a lot online. Indoor ops were popular."

"FPS? Maps?"

"First Person Shooting. Character's perspective. Team play needs firearm and tactical knowledge. Winning needs more."

Chaiyat reels. A kid outsmarting police with military know-how from games? "Games aren't reality."

"Same principles: entry, timing, stealth, priorities."

"No way you move like in a game."

"I'm fit from soccer. FPS characters are human, not superheroes."

"Real gunfire kills."

"Don't get hit. Don't let them shoot."

Chaiyat stares at the 14-year-old Singaporean-Japanese boy. His words are absurd, yet he executed them. Is he abnormal, or are Japanese?

"I get it. You had to save her. You promised her father?"

"Exactly. Seen thousands, maybe millions, die. Why would I kill for fun?"

Chaiyat realizes Tatsuya's trauma numb to death, prioritizing only Shivansika's safety warps his worldview beyond normal comprehension. A proper statement is impossible.

"Alright," the stout man interrupts in English. "I'm Colonel Prasat, station chief. You saved her, mission accomplished. The guerrillas were killed by police in a shootout. No charges for you. We'll get a bounty for the guerrillas enough for my injured officer's hospital bills and his family. You'll get some cash too. You'll need it at the camp. Deal?"

Tatsuya, caring only for Shivansika's safety, nods. "As long as we stay together."

"Good attitude. Chaiyat, handle it. Tatsuya, Shivansika, stay tonight. Another train comes tomorrow. Not comfy, but better than the train. Eat well on us." Prasat stands, clapping Tatsuya's shoulder. "Great job, kid. Keep protecting her."

His strong hand and warm nod linger with Tatsuya.

They spend the night in a cell. Uncomfortable by design, it's a luxury compared to the train food, showers, beds.