The streets on the westerns side of the city shimmered under neon lights, with mist rising from sewer grates. Two Triple-0’s footsteps were heavy against the damp concrete. His glowing yellow eyes scanned the area, searching for any potential dangers. He passed an unalloyed man sleeping beneath a rusted awning. A few rowdy teens who immediately quieted when they saw him.

As he approached Precinct 9, the old security scanner buzzed in protest before blinking green. Inside, officers eyed him warily. One whispered, “Damn fridge with legs.”

Two Triple-0 didn’t respond.