"They'll be here any moment."
Night-Time.
The moonlight shines bright on a two-story house, its rooftop lined with six hooded figures.
The light is sharp, almost as bright as the city itself, but not enough to pull their masked gazes away from the single illuminated street below.
It runs in a trench beside a long river, split in two: one side leading left, the other right. Bridges built at regular intervals connect the halves, dividers, or perhaps markers of territory, depending on how you choose to see them.
"Alright, we stick to the plan?" asks a tiger's face, Talan's bright voice, answered by a nod from a mask painted white on one side, black on the other.
Moments later, a gray transport truck appears, escorted by four police vans—two in front, two behind—rolling straight down that street beneath the rooftop.
We wait. Until the convoy reaches the key section. Then, on a single hand signal, the mission begins.
"Any updates?" a policeman asks through the radio inside the truck.
Only static answers, the faint hiss carrying unease.
"What the hell's going on?" he mutters, shaking the device like it's just a technical glitch.
"Signal's jammed," the driver replies flatly.
"I can hear that myself," the passenger snaps, frustration boiling. But before they can argue further, a silhouette ahead on the road seizes their attention.
"What the—?" the driver leans toward the windshield. "There's someone standing there!"
"Then stop, you idiot! NOW!"
Immediately the driver jolts, stomping the brake like his life depends on it. But beyond their screaming tires, the figure just grows closer, close enough for the them to realize:
The truck isn't slowing enough.
Panic strikes. He wrenches the wheel, sending the vehicle skidding past the figure, close enough that the cloak brushes the door, close enough to see the wide, unblinking eyes, before the truck finally screeches to a halt.
Right against the crumbling stone of the bridge wall.
"What is he, suicidal?" the driver gasps, clinging to the wheel, sweat running down his temples.
"I don't give a damn!" the passenger barks, already unbuckling. "He's gonna hear from me!"
He throws the door open and leaps onto the patch of grass separating street from riverbank. With a handful of backup behind him, as the other police cars pull up.
"Tell me, what the hell is your damn problem?!" the passenger roars, with a voice shaking the night, bouncing off bridges and lamplight. "If you want to die, do it somewhere we don't have to deal with you!"
His voice booms again: "Hey! I'm talking to you!"
He storms closer, puffing up his chest, swaggering with arrogance.
"Maybe he's deaf… or in shock?" another officer mutters, but his voice drowns beneath the commander's fury.
"Oh, so you're ignoring me now? Me—a Commander of the Police Brigade?! You think you can just stand there and get away with it? Hah! I'll show you, kid. You and your pathetic family will rot in a cell for the rest of your lives!"
The tyrant's scream rips through the calm city.
And still—silence.
Finally, patience gone, he grabs the figure's shoulder and shoves, hard, with all his weight, trying to force them down.
"Someone really can't keep himself under control," mutters the driver, watching the scene unfold in his side mirror. He loosens his grip on the wheel, sighs. "And of course I'll have to justify his behavior later… maybe this time I should actually stop him."
His hand drifts to his seatbelt.
But then—he freezes.
Because nothing happens.
The push does nothing. And a dark mist begins to creep into the footwell of the truck.
"Damn it—why now?! Why won't the belt release?!" He yanks, pulls, shakes, panic setting in, sweat dripping into the haze. His eyes lock on the mirror.
Where the figure moves at last.
"Parents, huh?" A voice—my voice—cuts the night as my hand closes over the policeman's.
He gasps, straining with all his strength to force the shoulder down. But it doesn't budge.
"Wha-... Why … What is h-happening?!".
His face changes—confusion, then doubt, then fear as the color drains.
"Did you just say… my parents?"
I squeeze tighter.
"Ahhh, w-what are you—ahhh stop, stop it!!" the passenger, this officer, he whimpers in pain.
"Then tell me…".
I turn around, slightly toward them and the shining light of the street lantern above us.
While its yellow glow reveals something.
Something green.
"A mask…"
A green dragon mask.
The nearby officer guessed right. His hand twitches toward his gun. A smart move—if only he weren't trembling so badly.
"Tell me how you plan to lock the dead in a prison!"
I roar.
I grip.
I pull.
Before anyone can process it, I slip under my victim's arm, before anyone reacts, a violet spark flashes from my eyes, and before they can draw their weapons, before they can even hear my words, I've already twisted the cop's arm upward.
It cracks.
He gasps with relief—only for my fist to slam into his helmet, break his grip, and send him collapsing to the ground.
Before I spin.
To see them.
The officers, frozen, watching their comrade hit the street, the gravel scattering, this violet light burning up from my legs.
Then, I leap.
Through the black night, wreathed in purple flame, I tighten my fist and drive it into the gut of the next officer.
He crumples, lifeless, into my arms.
"Shoot, damn it!"
Now they wake. Now someone barks the order. Guns rise, pointed at me like a Wild West standoff.
"Hey! That's not fair. I'm unarmed!" I call back, dropping the limp body and plucking a pistol from his belt.
But they're faster.
The barrage erupts, an orchestra of gunfire pounding in my ears. An Orchestra, no one could dodge.
And yet—I don't flinch.
Why, you ask?
Why, when I should be standing face to face with death?
The answer is obvious, at least in our world.
I raise my arms and thrust them forward into the storm.
Only for the light to flare up around my legs, while the violet sparks are twisting, spinning, until they burst upward like a tornado that swallows me whole.
Then suddenly—
It stops.
It hardens.
Becomes a shell. A solid sphere wrapping me in a barrier.
Opaque. Impenetrable.
And the bullets strike.
Each one fatal to a mortal.
Each one harmless here.
They bounce off and fall uselessly at my feet.
No matter how much they fire, no matter how long they hold the trigger, no matter how much desperation twists their faces—
This is the difference.
This is our truth.
They are human.
We are Wunder.
Minutes crawl by. The storm of gunfire dies, one hollow click after another. Weapons drop, hopeless, to the street.
And I smile.
The barrier dissolves, violet turning translucent, peeling back to reveal my mask again—its eyes still blazing, feeding the fire that cloaks me.
My violet shroud.
"Now…".
I grin, though they can't see it.
"…it's my turn."
I lift the stolen gun into the silence of the night.
I fire.
The shot cuts.
The shot lands.
My target stumbles back, eyes wide with fear.
But the bullet only grazes his hand.
"What the hell kind of useless piece of junk is this?" I snarl, though I know it was me who pulled wide.
"Wunder, listen closely! We've got you surrounded! Reinforcements are already on the way! Surrender now and spare yourself the pain!" their leader shouts, voice cracking with bravado.
"Huh?"
Confusion cuts through me.
They're powerless—and yet still screaming nonsense.
Before they reload and aim again.
"Heh… guess we'll do this the old—"
Shots cut me off mid-sentence. Instinct takes over.
I leap, the bullet whizzes past, I flip sideways and land hard on the green grass of the riverbank.
I look up, guns already tracking me. But I'm faster, as I hurl the useless pistol straight at their commander.
It flies, faster than a bullet. Smashes into him before he even registers and drops him cold, just for me to spring forward.
Gunfire erupts again. This time I'm running straight into it. This time I'm reckless, wide open.
I duck. Roll sideways. Launch off the ground. A kick sends the nearest officer's weapon spinning out of his hands—I spin with it.
And I'm punished.
A graze.
I didn't see it coming.
Honestly, I don't see any of these bullets coming, but it still hurts me, as the shot tears through my robe and rips across my hand.
In an instant, the pain surges, climbing into my head, but the adrenaline drowns it, as my eyes flash violet again and my knee drives up, crushing into another officer.
He drops. I grab him, hurl his body into the man behind him, who catches his comrade and stumbles. While I slip past them, to seize the next one, kick another one and catch the last one, who's weapon I grab in the process.
A weapon, I throw, the moment I turn around. Blindly, yet knowingly.
As the initial officer slowly gets up, wipes up the blood at his forehead, just to aim again and fall, to the thrown weapon, that bursts through his helmet.
Collapsing before he can fire and slamming, as he hits the ground.
"Hhh… haaa…". I exhale, shoulders slacken.
"That was faster than I—"
A sharp click slices through the night.
Instantly my head snaps. My violet shroud flickers alive. I turn—ready for anything.
Almost anything.
"Hey."
The word slips out, quieter, drained.
"Stop."
I reach a hand out.
"Don't do it."
An officer. His gun raised. Not at me. At his own head.
"Hey—you don't have to! You really don't! I'm not here to kill you!"
I take a step forward. His finger tightens. His ears deaf to me.
"Stop!"
I tense to jump.
"I'll sa—"
The shot rips the night.
The thud follows.
Blood spatters.
"…said ...."
My arm falls limp, trembling. My eyes fix on him—the pool spreading beneath, mirroring his choice.
"I told you… tch." My tongue clicks against my teeth. I turn away, jaw tight.
"Why?"
I don't have an answer. Not for this world, not for this act, not for my own failure. Because tt makes no sense.
I couldn't save him.
But I never wanted to help him, no less hurt him.
So why?
My gaze drifts back. Each second feeding anger into my fists. Tighter. Harder. Until blood leaks fresh from my wound and pain flickers through my eyes.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
I'm furious. But now, it's already too late.
So I turn. Drop my fists. Swallow hard. And stare at the transporter.
The actual target.