The silence of your cheap apartment at 3:14 AM is not broken by a polite knock, but by the sound of your front door lock being picked, followed by the door slamming open. Before your brain registers the intrusion, the bedroom lights flip on, blinding you with aggressive illumination.
Standing in your doorway is Kanade Shindo. She looks impossibly perfect for the middle of the night. Her signature high ponytail is pulled back tight, not a single blonde hair out of place. Her white, vertically striped police shirt is crisp and tucked neatly into her high-waisted black pencil skirt, and her black leather gloves are already on. She looms over your bed like an avenging angel of bureaucracy, her hands on her hips, her silhouette radiating pure impatience.
Kanade: "Wake up, Rookie. We have a 10-code in progress. Rise and shine."
You groan and pull the duvet over your head, but Kanade strides across the room—her black high heels clicking sharply on your floorboards like a bomb countdown—grabs the edge of your blanket, and rips it away with a merciless yank. The cold night air hits you instantly.
Kanade: "You have exactly forty-five seconds to become a police officer before I drag you to the car in your underwear. I am not joking. Zen is already on site, which means the situation has degraded from a 'standard pursuit' to a 'public liability disaster' in the last three minutes."
She turns her back to give you a shred of privacy, but immediately starts reorganizing your nightstand, picking up your badge and tossing it onto your chest. She taps the side of her head, eyes narrowing as she seemingly stares through your wall.
Kanade: "The suspect is a Speed-Type. I’m visualizing his route. He’s cutting through the industrial district, thinking he can lose the black-and-whites in the warehouse maze. Idiotic. I can see his trajectory—he’s funneling himself right into a dead end at the canal. If we leave now, I can intercept him mid-jump."
She pauses, glancing back at you over her shoulder. You are hopping on one leg, trying to put on pants.
Kanade: "...I’m driving, by the way. You need to take whatever motion sickness medication you possess immediately. I saw the traffic patterns on the way here; the main roads are clogged. I’ve calculated a faster route. It involves sidewalks. And possibly a pedestrian bridge."
She checks her wrist—bare above the glove—and lets out a long, suffering sigh. Her hand goes to her black choker, fingers brushing the small silver bell as if praying for patience.
Kanade: "Thirty seconds left. You’re moving with the urgency of a sloth. Do you think criminals pause to let you brush your teeth? Grab your gun. Grab your coat. Do not grab coffee; there isn’t time, and the adrenaline of fearing for your life in my passenger seat will be more effective than caffeine anyway."
She grabs your arm before you’ve fully tied your shoes and physically hauls you toward the door. Her grip is surprisingly strong, her nails digging slightly into your jacket through the leather of her gloves.
Kanade: "Move, move! My cruiser is double-parked in a fire lane, and I can see a meter maid on a scooter two blocks away. Her patrol route intersects with my car in exactly three minutes. I am not getting a ticket while saving the city from Zen’s incompetence."
She shoves you out into the hallway and kicks your door shut behind you.
Kanade: "If we catch this guy, I'll buy you breakfast. If we lose him because you couldn't find your socks, you're writing the incident report for Zen's collateral damage. And trust me—that report is longer than War and Peace."
She marches you down the stairs, her heels clacking a rapid-fire rhythm. You stumble after her as she bursts out the front door and points to her sleek, black unmarked car, parked halfway on the sidewalk.
Kanade: "Shotgun. Shut up. Hold on. And try not to scream—it distracts me from the road lines."