A ten out of ten. That’s what I would rate that beautiful night of sleep. It was the kind of sleep that frazzled your hair, put marks all over your arm, and you feel like a hundred years passed. Sweet Jesus. Haven’t had that kind of sleep since I finished officer school. Feels like that was a century ago, even though it’s only been a year or two.

It’s strange. The peace, I mean. I feel like nothing happened, and that all of this craziness was just part of a dream. The kind that you wake up from and forget. But, sadly, the peace gets ruined as soon as I feel my piece on my hip. I’m talking about my pistol, of course.

The door opens as Searcher comes into the room. But there’s something strange. Well, multiple things. Her face has bruises and scratches that were hastily repaired through cauterization. By that, I mean she used cigarette butts to seal them. “Jesus,” I comment, “what happened to you? You look like you fought a bear!”

“You should’ve seen the bear then,” she coldly says. “That was a joke.” She places a cup of coffee and a package of cookies onto the table. She looks like she went through hell and back. “Let me guess,” I say out loud, “you went outside last night and bumped into some Wan Sui assassins?”

She sits herself down and prepares to light a cigarette before remembering that I don’t like the smoke. Then she just puts it back into her arm. “I found the cyborg that attacked you. Well, better placed, the cyborg found me. He’s an interesting fighter. According to my research, he uses a fighting style akin to kung fu, though his aggression and fast movements could make it more akin to sanda or muay thai.”

“What?” I yelp. I sit up from the couch. “How’d you survive?” She gives me a blank stare as she points out the window. “Third window. Don’t stare too long.” As I look outside, I see a sudden glint which gets me to shut the blinds. “Is that a sniper?” I ask.

She nods. “They’re harmless. Strange though, since they don’t seem to be hunting me. Anyway, we should get going. I have a busy day prepared for us.” I hate how she always just moves on from things she should be talking about, but I’m starting to get used to it. If you want a personality, you should talk to a human. If you want a robot, you should talk to Evania Searcher.

Without a further word, we head outside as I hastily zip up my jacket. I find the car on the street looking brand new. “Woah, did you take it to a repair shop?” I ask. She nods. “I had to. The cyborg crushed the bumper into oblivion.” Oh. That makes a lot more sense. With that, we get inside and she starts it. The car purrs pretty well for surviving an extreme attack.

“So, where are we headed to, Miss Searcher?” I ask. She holds out her metal arm and a little drive pops out. “This is related to everything, somehow.” I want to ask where it came from, but I know for damn sure she won’t say. “Fine, so who are we going to then?” I ask.

“The Union of American Patriots.” Wait, what? Did she just say the Union of American Patriots? “Are we thinking of the same people?” I ask. “Last I checked, the Union of American Patriots blow up buildings and attack civilians. Why in the hell are we going to talk to them?”

She makes a right and continues to speak. “The UAP is severely fragmented into different factions. The one gaining the most traction is obviously the violent faction, since they make headlines more easily. The terrorists. But the UAP also has some information on Wan Sui that others don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wan Sui was propping them up the whole time.”

“Why do you say that?” I chuckle. I thought she was saying a joke, but she wasn’t. “Wan Sui has much to gain,” she explains, “by creating conditions where the military police are needed, they have a continuous market for arms and technology. Wan Sui is a tech company, but it’s also a military industrial complex. War is their business.”

I can’t go a day without Searcher saying something as crazy as this. “Whatever,” I say, “as long as I clear my name and can get back with the boys, then I’m fine. I just want to get my old life back, anyway.” She makes a left and continues to drive. “Why do you want your old life back?” she asks. “In fact, what made you want to join the military police in the first place?”

The moment you think you have a mellowed Searcher, you end up having an inquisitive one. Jesus, what a random question. “I can never understand how that brain of yours works,” I tell her. “I didn’t like how violence existed, and I wanted to do something about it. Military police aren’t angels, but they’re surely better than letting criminals run around.”

“That isn’t it,” she coldly says. Her frozen eyes look a shade or two darker, probably because of the lack of sleep. Add the scars, and she sounds more like a crazy person than some detective. “You hide things. I want you to tell me everything about yourself immediately.” She makes an aggressive turn, and I have to literally grab onto the car to maintain stability.

“Jesus!” I yell, “what the hell is up with you?” But she doesn’t stop for even a moment with her strange inquisition. “The more things you hide, the harder things will be for you. I need you to tell me everything.” She starts racing the car, having the vehicle zoom through any kind of gap within traffic.

“What is with you?” I demand. “No… something else happened last night, right? Something more than your stupid fiasco with the cyborg! Something that was worth losing sleep over! Something that’s making you act like a goddamned psychopath!”

For that, she just gives me a continued blank stare as she continues to drive. Her left bionic eye is paying attention to the road, and her right eye just stares into me. I can see every single reddened vein in that organ; she seriously hasn’t been sleeping. “I am not a good liar,” she says. “I hate lies, which is why you will not see me on social media. Even when America was considered a free country, lies still propagated inside every bloodstream.”

She looks back at the road, her natural eye closing for a solid moment. “Your sister,” she suddenly says, “how did she go missing?” Immediately, the air becomes silent and any irritated redness just vanishes from my face. “Searcher, how do you know about that?” I ask. I find my voice has become quiet, as if that one question was enough to vacuum out my energy.

“Just answer. Plain and simple. Tell me everything you were told.” My jaw feels like it got shut tight, like a hidden chain is fastened inside. I have too take a deep breath in order to speak. “I wasn’t told anything. I was just told that she was on a class trip and went missing from there. A case was opened, I wasn’t allowed on, and nothing was found.”

“You didn’t try and look further?” she then asks. “That sounds very unlike you, Adam.” I can’t help but agree. “I did try looking,” I tell her. “Tried going to files I wasn’t supposed to read, tried talking to people I wasn’t supposed to talk to, but it just sounded like she was gone without a single trace. Classmates told me they barely knew her, Like a cut rope that doesn’t have a single fray.”

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She thinks for a second, as she finally slows her car down a little bit. “When a knife is clean, that means one of two things. One: the knife has nothing to do with the murder. Or two: the user of the knife is good at cleaning after their messes. Is there a single fray that you found on your little rope?”

“Well… now that I think about it,” I say, “there was another person in the class who went missing.” I rack my brain to try and squeeze that one name out of my head. “It started with a c… no… a k…” Then it finally hits me. “Kenneth Huang! That was the name. Is there any significance or is it still nothing?”

She stops the car and says one last thing. “It sounds like this person was involved, either as a suspect or as another victim. If you were truly skilled, you would’ve looked more into him. But instead, here we are: present day and without your sister.” Searcher then gets out of the car, waving at me to get out as well. “We’re here. We’ll talk more about it another time.”

I get out of the car and follow her. As usual, her strides are long because of both her height and strange confidence. If you couldn’t tell, she’s the kind of person who can switch from one battle to the next. She’d be the kind of person to solve a mystery in the morning, and buy a coffee in the afternoon. A psychopath. A machine.

The area is decently desolate, as it looks to be ravaged by poverty and abandonment. It’s the type of town you never enter unless you had some absolutely demanding business. But that’s why I have my pistol. Won’t be able to kill a cyborg, but I can surely shatter some skulls. At least I hope so.

“Are you sure about this place?” I ask Searcher. She doesn’t give a response as she continues to stride along the empty street. Even the rats seem to be in hiding as we troop along the road. I hope it says this quiet. I always have a bad feeling in place like this.

Then, the sound of scampering shoes echoes just around the corner. “Jiuming 救命! Jiuming 救命!” He’s covered in blood and you can’t even say he’s wearing a rag. “Hey! You okay?” I immediately ask. He clumsily falls to the ground and I help him up. He’s covered in these cuts and burns, the kind of cuts and burns that are man made. Chink. Yellow bastard. A whole slew of slurs and sayings made just to dehumanize this man. “Searcher! Call an ambulance!”

“They don’t go to this part of the town,” she says, starting to light a cigarette. “Besides, this isn’t city territory.” What the hell does she mean? I try and help calm the injured man down as I hear more scampering feet come from the corner. I look over and see a whole gang of tattoos and weapons.

“Well fucking well,” one of them laughs. “We got two chinks and… wait… is that Evania Searcher? Oh, this is fucking hilarious!” The whole group laughs, with their leader standing at the front. He’s big and has a large swastika tattooed on his face and over his eyes and lips. Additionally, he has a slew of scars, notably a number of self-inflicted tallies on his shoulder. If I had to guess, he spent some time in an Autonomous Zone Penitentiary. “Do you even know who I am?” he snarls.

“Trevor Thomas Graham,” Searcher says. “Responsible for numerous hate crimes primarily involving people of Asiatic descent. Some attribute factions such as the modern Aryan Brotherhood, Ku Klux Klan, and countless other hate groups to your leadership.” Trevor starts laughing as he looks at Searcher. “Then you should know it’s best to just move away from the chink and let me finish the job.”

“I need to find a way to speak to the leader of the Union of American Patriots. His name is Elijah Buchanan and he has access to things I need,” Searcher says. Trevor starts laughing even more as he unholsters a large shotgun from his coat and starts stretching. “Elijah isn’t our fucking leader. I am. You better treat my name with some respect.”

“I could care less. I want communication with Elijah Buchanan.” Trevor’s men start to cackle like a herd of starved hyenas begging for a cut of fresh meat. I cock my pistol. “Stay back!” I command them. I’m even using my cop voice, something I thought I lost. “Move away from the premises or I will be required to retaliate with justified force!”

They start to cackle even louder as Trevor loads some shells into the chamber. “You sound exactly like one of those slant-eyed pigs! Don’t tell me Evania Searcher’s now rocking it with a cop!” My blood starts to pump and my forehead starts to sweat. There are so many of them, and I’m not even sure if we can take them. Sure we could drop a few of them, but the rest would just eat us alive. But I don’t care. This man needs to be protected.

“Tell you what, Searcher” Trevor then proposes, “I’ll lead you to Elijah Buchanan. I’ll make sure you two get a full meeting, if you want. But in return, you’re gonna let us have our fun.” I draw my pistol and aim at at Trevor’s disgusting face. “We’re not gonna take that offer! Right Searcher?” But as I look over, I don’t see a single light of defiance or determination.

“Are there no other drawbacks or details?” she asks. “That would be a surprisingly low price.” What? “Searcher! What the fuck are you talking about?” I bark at her. “This is a person’s life on the line! I’m sure we can just find another way to meet this Elijah Buchanan!” But she doesn’t even look like she’s listening.

“This is fucking beautiful!” Trevor chuckles. “We got a cop who thinks he can really throw down and then we got a bitch who just couldn’t give a shit! This is a goddamned comedy sketch! So, my beautiful Aryan madame, what is your response?”

She’s actually thinking. There’s one right answer, and she still needs to think. It’s one thing to sell your body for information, but it’s another to sell someone else’s life for it. “Searcher! If you accept this offer, just know I’ll fight until the last drop of blood is cut from my body! I won’t ever forgive you!”

“You talk like she cares,” Trevor grunts. “Dumb chink can’t even get that through his slant-eyed brain. Either way, gook, we’ll make your last moments hell. In fact, since your people like to eat dogs and rats, we’ll just feed you to the dogs and rats instead.” The rest of his gang continues to cackle as I look at Searcher with the most hopeless of eyes. “Searcher… please…”

“Trevor!” a foreign but strong voice suddenly calls. “Knock it the fuck off!” I look over and see a black man taller than Trevor, and even stronger too. His arms are made from metal, as with a cannon that’s mounted onto his artificial shoulder. “I told you not to attack any more civilians! Corrupt police I can understand, but these are just innocent people!”

“They’re chinks! For all we know, they could be working for the enemy!” Trevor snarls back. But the strong man stands tall and refuses to buckle. “Trevor. If you hurt one more civilian, I will blast you and your racist gang into pure mist. The only reason you are alive is because I think the UAP is stronger in numbers, and I don’t believe in pure violence to solve every mean.”

The cannon then fires with the sound of a thousand gunshots. A blinding light comes from the barrel and creates a crater into the street. “Leave,” the man repeats, his voice just as powerful as his weapon. “Now.” In moments, the gang disperses and runs in panic as Trevor can only scoff. “Fine. You win today.” With that, he too disappears into the rest of the city.

The cannon retracts back and the man finally approaches us. “Sorry about that. I’ve been struggling to keep Trevor and his gang of shitheads on a leash. Clearly that leash hasn’t been strong enough.” He then looks at the man on the ground, who starts putting his hands up in fear. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”

He injects the wounded man with a red serum which stabilizes his breathing. “We call it moxxy. Something our scientists cooked up so people in poor communities don’t have to sell their souls to Wan Sui.” The wounds start to heal and the man closes his eyes, finally finding a semblance of relaxation and rest.

“You are Elijah Buchanan,” Searcher states. “I would like to talk to you.” Elijah looks at her with the most honest of eyes. “Evania Searcher! How delightful! Every branch of the UAP finds comfort in your work. Well, at least the good people do. You seem to expose anyone regardless of name, rank, or faction.” He then looks at me. “Well hello there! Adam Chen, right? You’re famous on the underground news. They say you’re the one who killed the old Wan Sui himself.”

“He did not kill him,” Searcher responds. “That’s the reason why I wanted to talk to you.” She shows the little drive from her arm, and Elijah is rightfully curious as Searcher speaks on. “I can explain more details. But first, we should go to your headquarters and find a quiet place to speak in. I’m sure we would all stand to benefit from such a transaction.”

Elijah is silent for a second, and then he nods. “That sounds good. And Adam,” he says as he looks at me, “I don’t know much about you, but you seem like an alright guy.” With that, I look at the now healed man on the ground. Elijah seems to be an alright guy too.