One

Texas Street Blues

Zero five-thirty in the morning finds Irene Bae, Ranger Academy graduate, Conn-Pod Control instructor, and very much a less forgiving person before her daily schedule proceeds, open the door for a cadet who’s been harassing her door intercom for a while.

Yeri Kim almost jumps back as Irene opens the door.

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Cadet Kim,” Irene states, already halfway to closing the door again.

“No, wait.” Kim inserts herself between the door and its frame. Irene raises an eyebrow at her action. “I—uh—Tendo sent me. Wanna tell you that Wendy’s missing.”

She tries to recall the detail of said person. Ah yes. Toronto import, Caitlin Lightcap’s recommendation, Assault Specialist-in-training, shorty with the nerves of a ten-year career Ranger. That Wendy. “Missing?” she repeats.

An intoxicated middle-aged man bumps onto Irene just before she takes the stairs to the second floor of Restaurant Kyiv. He straightens up as best as he can in his condition, looking up at her. “Hey pretty,” he leers. “Watcha doin’ here, doll? Say, lookin’ for a warm bed, eh?”

Irene leisurely draws a booted foot and swings it to hit the man between his legs. The man doubles in pain, falling to the ground, half cursing her and half promising her a world of pain and torture as a revenge. Irene looks over her shoulder once before resuming her going upstairs. Men, she reckons in disgust.

She stops before a closed door at the end of the stairs. A small alley splits to her left and right toward other closed doors. Graffiti are scrawled all over the surface of the alley in various languages, ranging from crass rendition of pin-up girl poses to incendiary dissing of current world’s situation. The door in front of her, however, has a painted figure of Karloff (Serizawa Scale: class unknown, first appearance 2014, last appearance 2014, target: Vancouver, Irene’s brain supplies). Across its grotesque figure, red paint colors the scrawling note ‘Never Forget 150423.’

A baseball bat swings from behind her, from which Irene ducks, thanks to her reflex. Her hand swiftly reaches for the bat, yanking it away from the assailant, who stumbles forward into Irene and is at once put in a headlock. “!” the person curses aloud.

“I am not against using violence for self-defense,” Irene says, easily avoiding her assailant’s headbutt. “Stand down, Cadet.”

She releases her hold, and Cadet Wendy Shon’s eyes widen in recognition of her. “R-Ranger Bae, ma’am,” she stutters.

Irene straightens herself as she looks at the missing cadet. Civilian clothes instead of the Training Center’s uniform regulation. She’s heaving, but appearing unwounded. Good, Irene notes.

“I hope you have a good reason as to why you sneaked out of the TC, Cadet.”

“I—” Wendy hesitates for a while. “No, ma’am. I don’t have any reasons.”

“No one makes you or forces you?”

“No.”

Irene nods. “Alright. I’ll make sure to put this disciplinary incident in my report. You can expect to be dismissed from