Five Days Before Christmas
Azur Lane Police Department (ALPD)
The wind howled across the docks, carrying the biting chill of the winter season throughout the Azur Lane base. While the weather outside was freezing, the atmosphere brewing inside the precinct was far warmer—and much more volatile—than any holiday spirit.
Within the walls of the Azur Lane Police Department, the law enforcers had gathered in the main briefing room for the most crucial meeting of the year. When I say "crucial," I mean the one time of year when drunks are everywhere and the established concepts of law and order are unceremoniously tossed out the window.
Inside the meeting room, the tension rose in tandem with the heat radiating from the overworked space heater plugged into the corner. Essex-9, the Captain of the Police, slammed her palm against the whiteboard, the sharp crack drawing every officer's attention to her presentation.
"Listen up!" Essex barked. "The holidays are coming, and that means a wave of idiots looking to break the rules is coming right along with them. I want every available officer on patrol. We are looking for any sign of misconduct—especially the stupid kind—within the base interior!"
A few officers shifted uncomfortably, loosening their collars. They knew exactly where this lecture was heading.
Essex-9 continued, her eyes narrowing as she flipped a slide. "Bar fights and brawls will be our number one priority. We cannot have the base turning into a literal war zone before the decorations are even up."
A heavy silence followed her statement, broken only by the mechanical hum of the projector.
Seated in the front row, California, looking sharp in her police uniform, raised a hand. "Captain, wouldn't that be inefficient? Last year, we were called to the same bar for the same problem four times in a single day. Why not just assign one or two officers to be stationed permanently at the hotspots?"
Tennessee, sitting beside her with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, shook her head. "That would just create a different kind of inefficiency. Our numbers are too small to leave people standing around in one place while the rest of our patrol force is spread thin. We need mobility."
Essex-9 pointed at her. "Tennessee has a point. We need to teach these idiots a lesson they won't soon forget: the law never sleeps."
Intrepid at her seat fast asleep at her desk, a snot bubble expanding and contracting with every rhythmic snore.
"Shivers..."
Oklahoma shivered, pulling her police-issued sweater tighter around her frame. "I am not used to this sudden drop in temperature. It feels like the heater isn't even trying."
"Neither recognize position,"
St. Louis whispered, leaning in with a sly smirk. "This is certainly starting to sound interesting."
( IMAGE )
Beside her, Honolulu groaned, rubbing her temples. "Dear god, why do you have that look on your face? You only smile like that when trouble is coming."
Another officer raised their hand. "How are we actually going to enforce this, Captain? No offense, but what you're asking for is harder than asking Santa for a functional promotion."
Essex-9 let out a sinister smirk and leaned over the pedestal. Her expression turned dark as she made her announcement. "I have a plan."
Near the door, Police Chief Wickham could only face-palm. He wondered what wacky, career-ending idea Essex was about to unleash upon his department. To all the other police departments within the Eagle Union, his precinct was already the laughingstock.
"Dear god... what crazy scheme is she up to now?" Chief Wickham grumbled silently, shaking his head in a mixture of denial and exhaustion.
Essex-9 ignored the murmurs and continued. "To prove that the Law makes no exceptions, we are going to arrest the Modern Kansens to prove a point."
The room erupted. One officer wailed as if a death sentence had just been handed down. "What?! Are you nuts, Captain? We can't even get near them! Even if we somehow managed to put them in jail, they'd just pay the bail and walk out five minutes later!"
"Don't even start with the Murder Bunny!" someone else shouted. Everyone went silent at the mention of Laffey-200. "Either someone is very bold for a promotion, or they just have a death wish."
"Can we just go back to regular patrols?" a third officer pleaded. "That seems way easier than picking a fight with a girl who can level a city block."
The other police officers nodded in frantic agreement. They preferred the boredom of a cold patrol over the certainty of being sent to an early grave. No one in their right mind tried to apprehend the Death Bunny.
"Looks like this is going to be a massive mess," Pennsylvania said with a heavy sigh.
"I think being on patrol sounds lovely right about now," added BB-Arizona, her voice trembling in a way that didn't quite match the authority of her uniform.
"Either way... the drunkard reports are going to spike this holiday, and we're the ones who have to clean it up."
At the podium, Essex-9 slammed her baton down, the loud thwack forcing the room into a tense silence.
"Silence! You mongrels!"
"There she goes again, Chief... losing her temper," Shangri-La muttered, finally awake and face-palming.
"Something tells me the news isn't getting any better," Carrier Bunker Hill said quietly. Even in her cop uniform, she still wore her signature scarf tucked neatly under her collar.
Chief Wickham felt his stomach churn. It wasn't hunger; it was a biological warning system telling him that something dangerous was being mixed into Essex's plan. "You don't say... my stomach always turns when your sister is about to announce something truly idiotic."
Essex-9's voice boomed through the speakers. "Obviously! We aren't just going to bust their doors down like we used to. We have selected a specific few targets."
The projector switched to a series of photos: Theodore, Kidd, Jones, Anchorage, William, Essex, and... Laffey.
The last photo caused the officers to turn pale. Everyone knew you couldn't put handcuffs on Laffey-200 without consulting Jesus first.
"Are you serious, Captain? You want us to capture them? No—absolutely not! I want to see my family on Christmas Eve, not be a statistic!" one officer shouted.
"Shut your whining!" Essex-9 roared, before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have prepared four interns for this specific occasion."
"What is she up to now? It can't be good."
"Why are we even trusting our lives to new interns?"
"Wait... we have interns?" Intrepid asked, the bubble in her nose finally popping as she fully regained consciousness.
With narrowed eyes, Honolulu snarled, "You've been asleep the whole time! Try to pay attention!"
As the room murmured in confusion, Essex-9 beamed as if she were about to perform a grand magic trick. She gestured toward a corner of the room. "I present to you, our new interns!"
Seated in the corner—where no one had dared to look, or perhaps they were just too distracted to notice—were four men in ALPD uniforms: Zumwalt, Arizona, Jimmy, and Lucas.
"Wait?! What? How?!" an officer exclaimed, jumping in his seat.
"How did we not see them? They've been sitting there the whole time!" another screamed in disbelief.
Honolulu turned to her side and nearly jolted out of her chair. The four interns were sitting just a few seats away from her. She had completely failed to notice four grown men in uniform. "When?! When did you get here?!"
"You didn't even try to look at this corner," Lucas said, knowing the red-headed tsundere was about to explode like live ordnance.
"Huh?!" Honolulu huffed, her face flushing red.
Lucas with deadpan expression. "Yeah.... Figures...."
BB-Arizona smiled sweetly at the group. "I'm so glad you could make it."
Arizona slightly turned his gaze away, covering his face with his forearm to hide his mounting embarrassment. "This was your idea... please don't act like this in front of the others."
"Don't be like that! Your mother is just happy to see you in uniform, glad to see your joining in the family." Pennsylvania said, sounding exactly like an auntie determined to ruin a young man's reputation in high school.
Arizona lowered his head even further, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Jimmy, sitting beside him, could sense the Virginia-class submarine sinking into a sea of shame.
"A fearsome underwater hunter being treated like a baby by two battleships. That definitely wasn't on my Christmas wish list," Jimmy whispered.
Lucas leaned in, whispering like a snitching Marine. "She even gives him a bento lunch box every time he goes on a mission."
"Well... lucky him." Respond Jimmy.
"Please... stop talking about the bento box," Arizona grumbled.
But as the banter continued between the three, one man sat stoic—a silent prelude to the chaos to come. Zumwalt remained motionless, a book of laws held in his right hand. He turned the final page, and the sound of the paper snapping shut echoed through the now-silent room.
He looked up, his eyes cold. "I thought we were at a Halloween party given these ridiculous costumes. I am losing my motivation the longer I linger around with these.... weaklings."
"Hey! That's rude!" one of the regular officers shouted, offended. "First of all, it's December—November was last month! And second, this is the Azur Lane Police Department! We maintain order and keep everyone safe!"
The officer made sure to gesture proudly at the ALPD logo, but Zumwalt didn't look impressed. The holiday season had only just begun, and the "peace" of the base was already looking like a lost cause.
"I appreciate your little patch and miniscule achievements, though they are nothing compared to a real hurdle," Zumwalt said, his voice dropping an octave as he closed the law book with a heavy, final thud. "If you want order, you must make those criminals fear the law. A true officer does not allow the law to be impaired or disregarded. Judgment should come with the feel of hot brass or the edge of my blade—not the mere strike of a wooden mallet."
The room went deathly silent. On the podium, Essex-9 stood frozen, her eyes wide. Chief Wickham reached the absolute limit of his sanity; his stomach did a violent somersault, and he barely managed to scramble out of the room toward the bathroom before his nerves—or his lunch—gave way entirely.
"Did he... did he just suggest we shoot all the suspects?" Honolulu whispered, her expression a mask of pure disbelief that was mirrored by every other officer in the room.
"Violence doesn't solve violence," BB-Arizona added, her voice soft but filled with genuine concern for the shift in tone.
Zumwalt slowly turned his gaze toward her. In the cold, calculating depths of his mind, he thought of a nation had ended up creating a portable sun simply because they got angry on December 7th. Looking at the four of them, it was clear they weren't here to play games; they looked like the type of men who wouldn't hesitate to mag-dump (Caliber not specified) into anyone who would pop shot on her the wrong way.
BB-Arizona turned her head away, unwilling to escalate the tension further. Pennsylvania reached over and tapped her sister's shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry. I think they would go to those extremes just to keep you safe," she whispered.
Essex-9 cleared her throat, trying to reclaim the room's attention and push past the dark cloud that had settled over the meeting.
"Returning to the topic at hand!" she barked. "The atmosphere in here has gone chilly for some reason. Here's the plan: we arrest the modern Kansens as a public stunt. We need to show the populace that we don't favor rank or position. If you break the rules, the consequences lead straight to a jail cell."
California raised a hand tentatively. "Shouldn't we at least inform them about this? There might be some... intense opposition if they think this is a real arrest."
"It's a surprise bust!" Essex-9 countered. "How are we going to get a genuine reaction if they're in on it? I want their surprise to be authentic. The public will just think it's a high-budget performance with very talented actors."
The veterans in the room winced. The last time the ALPD had attempted a "public stunt," it had backfired spectacularly when the press caught wind of the internal memos. The "burglars" for that exercise had been St. Louis, Honolulu, and Helena. They were world-class models, but as actors? They were a disaster.
"We are not repeating that mistake!" Honolulu shouted, her face turning crimson at the memory. "I looked like a poorly cast extra in a low-budget film!"
Oklahoma silently apologized. "Sorry... I thought we were casting an old west film."
"That is the least of my concerns right now," Essex-9 snapped. "Now, please, inform us of the targets' activities before we proceed. Jimmy, the floor is yours."
She gestured for Jimmy to start the tactical presentation. He nudged Arizona, who was hovering near the back of the room.
"Why do you have to use this vintage clip projector, instead of our modern ones?" Jimmy said, gesturing to the ancient projector.
"Never in my life did I think I'd end up as a glorified projector operator for a police briefing," Arizona grumbled, struggling to align the lens.
"Try making a PowerPoint presentation look 'retro' next time," Lucas whispered sarcastically from the side.
"Ah, screw you."
Finally, the light flickered to life. Jimmy stood before the board, his hands hovering over a projected tactical map of the operation area.
"Listen up," Jimmy's voice boomed, projecting a newfound authority. "This is the designated zone. These are the locations frequently visited by our prime targets. If we're going to pull this off, we need to be synchronized."
....
The Bust is On
At the Azur Lane Police Department locker room, the atmosphere was heavy. The regular officers performed their standard checks, holstering their Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolvers with practiced, if uninspired, motions. But in the corner reserved for the interns, the gear being prepped looked less like police equipment and more like a staging ground for a full-scale invasion.
Zumwalt, Jimmy, Arizona, and Lucas were not preparing for a "public stunt"—they were preparing for war.
They strapped on heavy Kevlar vests, the ceramic plates clicking into place. Jimmy checked the optics on his SCAR-H, preferring the heavy-hitting accuracy of the 7.62mm round over mere volume of fire. Arizona gripped his trusted M4, slapping a double-stacked "jungle-style" magazine into the mag well; he had seen enough combat to know that running dry in the middle of the game was low brainer. Lucas, checked the belt-feed on his modified M249 SAW, which had been shortened and gripped to be fired as a high-capacity assault rifle.
Zumwalt needed no brass or powder. He simply cleans the edge of his "Judgment Blade," the steel reflecting the fluorescent lights like a cold judgement. Slowly, he slid a pair of dark aviator glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and declared.
"Let's move,"
In the main lobby, Chief Wickham paced back and forth, checking his wristwatch every ten seconds. The rest of the department waited behind him, looking nervous.
"What is taking them so long?" Chief Wickham grumbled. "The targets are already at the place."
"They will be here precisely when they are needed, Chief," Carrier Bunker Hill said calmly, leaning against stood watching his erratic pace.
"Don't worry, Chief. They're probably just warming up," Essex-9 added, seemingly oblivious to the escalation.
The double doors of the locker room swung open. The four interns marched out, looking like a Tier-1 Special Operations unit. The silence that followed was deafening.
"Heh, looks like everyone is finally ready," Essex-9 chirped.
Chief Wickham's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Wait, wait! Why are you geared up like you're invading a rogue nation? We are just making a festive arrest!"
"This is how we handle high-value targets back in the States," Lucas replied, the heavy M249 hanging effortlessly from his shoulder. "We go in SWAT Style."
"The targets are fellow Modern Kansens, Chief," Jimmy added, his face a mask of tactical focus. "Expecting this to be a walk in the park is a tactical error we aren't willing to make. Failure is no option in this high risk mission."
"Like we said in the briefing," Arizona noted, checking his radio. "We take the dangerous ones. You and the regular boys handle the ones who won't fight back."
Chief Wickham lowered his cap over his eyes, a feeling of pure, unadulterated dread washing over him. "I have a terrible feeling that this operation is going to go south very, very fast."
....
The Bar
Inside the base's most popular tavern, the holiday spirit was in full swing. The air was thick with the scent of pine, roasted meat, and expensive bourbon. Laughter roared over the music as sailors and shipgirls celebrated, some already slumped over tables in a happy, drunken stupor.
At the far end of the mahogany bar sat a woman in a regal dress. Her presence was magnetic—regal, yet dangerously familiar. The men in the bar gave her a wide berth, instinctively knowing that to bother her was to play a losing game of Russian Roulette. This was Laffey-200 in her "party animal" persona, her pink-tinted hair catching the light as her bunny ears twitched to the music.
She took a slow, appreciative sip of a complex cocktail. "Fine, exquisite taste," she remarked. Her voice wasn't its usual stoic monotone; there was a playful, sharp edge to it tonight.
The Bartender wiped a glass, sweating slightly despite the cold outside. "Yes... the balance of the botanicals and the fruit ensures the alcohol doesn't overpower the palate. It's quite unique, just like you, ma'am."
Beside her, a smaller figure hopped onto a barstool. It was Luna, dressed in a sharp formal suit with a tiny bowtie.
"What you got for me, barkeep?" Luna asked, surprising the man with his sudden appearance.
The Bartender looked him over. "We don't serve minors, kid."
"Minor? Please," Luna scoffed, leaning back. "I'm over twenty years old in ship-years back in my world. I've seen more horizons than you've seen kegs."
The bartender wasn't buying it. He reached under the counter and produced a tall glass. "Best I can do is a classic Coke float. Real vanilla ice cream."
Luna shrugged, his ego taking a back seat to his sweet tooth. "Better than nothing."
At a large round table nearby, the other Modern Kansens were gathered. Theodore, channeling the boisterous energy of the "Rough Rider" himself, was mid-story, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke of her legendary past.
"And there we were!" Theodore shouted, her voice commanding the entire table's attention. "Charging up the heights of Mount Kettle! The sun was beating down, our hearts were pounding like drums of war! We reached the summit, expecting a final stand, but what did we find? Nothing! The place was ghost-quiet. But in the trash they left behind, sat a single, solitary tea kettle. And that, ladies, is why history remembers the 'Battle of Mount Kettle'—at least in my version!"
The surrounding shipgirls erupted in laughter, charmed by the sheer charisma of the story. Pete the Teddy-bear clapped his paws.
Nearby, William and Kidd shared a look of exhausted amusement. They had heard this story enough times to recite it in their sleep.
"That's the thirtieth time she's told that story today," JP Jones noted, nursing a drink. "And the third time since we sat down tonight."
"Well, at least she's not as loud as those two," Kidd said, jerking her thumb toward the back of the room.
Behind them, the atmosphere was significantly rowdier. Essex and Anchorage—the two Marines of the group—were in full "Devil Dog" party mode. Empty bottles were stacked like trophies on their table, their glasses were held high, and their cheers were loud enough to rattle the windows. It was a classic Marine Corps mess, fueled by high spirits and even higher proof alcohol.
As the cheers reached their crescendo, the front door swung open with a heavy, deliberate creak. There was no theatrical kick, no flashbang, and no shouting. Instead, a man in an ALPD uniform, wielding a katana and wearing aviators despite the midnight hour, walked in. The sheer intensity of his presence acted like a vacuum, sucking the noise right out of the room.
He walked straight toward the counter where the "Murder Bunny" sat. Laffey-200's ears twitched, rising sharply as she sensed a predatory chill approaching. She turned slowly, her vision slightly blurred, to catch a glimpse of the interloper. Even through the haze of the cocktail, she recognized him instantly.
"What's wrong, officer? Come here to have a drink with me?" Laffey-200 asked, momentarily staggering on her stool, her voice carrying a playful, uncharacteristic lilt.
The room went deathly silent. Even the jukebox seemed to cut out in anticipation. Beside her, Luna slowly drifted away, sliding his stool an inch at a time while covering his face with his palm and sipping his cola. He had no intention of being caught in the crossfire of this particular reunion.
Zumwalt adjusted his glasses, a flicker of confusion crossing his stoic face. He tapped his comms for confirmation. "This is Zumwalt. Requesting full confirmation on the target. Target seems to be... not herself."
Outside in the bar, Arizona scanned his tablet. "Signature and frequency match, but there's a slight discrepancy in the behavioral patterns."
"Reconfirm it," Zumwalt commanded.
Suddenly, the realization hit Arizona like a freight train. He went pale, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. "Shit... she's in her 'Season.'"
"What season?" Zumwalt asked, his hand hovering near his handcuffs.
"How do I explain it... her personality cycles like the seasons themselves. The typical Laffey you know is gone. Right now, she's in the mellow, unpredictable phase—the one that's arguably more dangerous because you can't read her!"
"Copy that," Zumwalt cut the comms. He didn't need a lecture on psychology; he had a job to do.
He reached into his jacket pocket and unfurled a long, official-looking document. "Laffey" he began, his voice ringing out through the silent bar. "You are under arrest. The charges include multiple counts of destruction of public property, public intoxication, threatening officers the law with a lethal weapon, obstruction of justice, and the unauthorized use of military-grade stimulants in a civilian zone."
Laffey-200 tilted her head, her bunny ears flopping to the side as she looked at him with half-lidded, mischievous eyes. "Officer... Laffey is not a naughty girl. She's just enjoying the spirit of the holidays."
"Santa has his list, and this is your gift," Zumwalt replied coldly, pulling a pair of heavy-duty reinforced handcuffs from his belt.
Laffey-200 looked at the cold steel, a dazed smile on her face. "A bracelet? For me?"
"Try them on for size," Zumwalt said, reaching for her wrist.
( IMAGE )
While the chaos erupted, the observers at the table had a very different reaction.
"Damn... Zumwalt is actually going to put her behind bars. That's something I never thought I'd see," JP Jones muttered, nursing his drink as he watched the standoff at the bar.
Kidd, however, wasn't as relaxed. Her eyes darted left and right, scanning the perimeter. She saw the uniforms pouring in and the tactical grip the interns had on their weapons. Her gut told her this wasn't just a holiday prank or a simple citation. This was a coordinated bust.
"I don't like where this is going...." Kidd whispered.
Theodore's eyes narrowed, her instincts screams. "We're being surrounded," she noted as familiar figures approached their table. "Oh, crap."
"Jimmy...? Lucas? I have to say, seeing you two in ALPD blue is a curious sight," Kidd said, trying to play it cool.
"Nah, don't read too much into it. I got tipped that the pay for interns was actually decent," Lucas replied, though his hand never left the grip of his M249.
"Police..." Anchorage LPD growled. The sheer venom in her voice made Lucas shiver.
"I got tipped too," Jimmy added, keeping his SCAR-H at a low ready.
All eyes then turned toward the entrance as Essex-9 marched in. Essex-12 looked at her predecessor with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. "So, this is your doing?"
Essex-9 leaned in, slapping a stack of warrants onto the sticky table. "Told you I'd have your ass behind bars before the year ended," she said, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "You're all under arrest!"
Theodore didn't wait for the handcuffs. As fast as a failed presidential campaign, she vanished. Before anyone could even catch her scent, she had vaulted over the booth and sprinted toward the main lobby. The only thing left behind was the squeaky, fading sound of Pete's plushy foot in retreat.
( IMAGE )
"Huh? She bailed fast!" Intrepid exclaimed, stunned by the sudden disappearance.
The peace didn't last. Anchorage rose from her seat and unleashed a thunderous punch. It caught Lucas square in the jaw, sending him flying backward through the front window. Glass shattered as he tumbled into the street, crashing into a parked police cruiser with such force that the car flipped onto its side. Officers scrambled for cover as the metal groaned and the alarm began to blare.
Panic seized the bar. Patrons fled for the exits as the Modern Kansens and the police enforcers engaged in a full-blown riot.
Outside, the two Marines—Anchorage and Lucas—fought as if they had unlimited ammunition. Hiding behind a mangled cruiser, Lucas and a few regular officers ducked their heads as rounds tore through the chassis above them.
Lucas retaliated, the roar of his M249 SAW echoing through the snowy street.
"Hey! What was with the punch, damn it? That hurts!" he shouted over the gunfire.
"I hate Po-pos!" Anchorage LPD screamed back from behind a concrete planter, her face a mask of drunken, firing her MG-338.
Lucas ducked down to reload, muttering under his breath, "I hate Po-pos too."
"Hey!" a regular officer grumbled from behind him, clutching his service revolver while lead flew overhead. "Don't call us that!"
"Huh? Oh, my bad. Forgot you were there," Lucas said, glancing back at the group of officers huddling behind the car for dear life.
Back inside, the scene was just as frantic. With Lucas out of the building and Anchorage engaged in a high-stakes airsoft battle with real bullets, the rest of the department moved to apprehend the remaining targets.
Pennsylvania moved like a linebacker. She launched herself across the table, tackling Kidd like a quarterback caught two yards from the end zone. Kidd was taken completely by surprise by the battleship-turned-police-officer. Pennsylvania used her tonnage to pin Kidd down; the chair they were on gave way instantly, and both slammed into the floor with a sound like a collapsing building.
Kidd groaned, pinned under the weight. "Ach... you'd make a good quarterback." She said in groaned complement.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," Pennsylvania responded, grunting as she began to reach for her cuffs.
Tables were flipped and bottles became projectiles. The Modern Kansens were running for their lives, none of them having ever imagined they'd spend Christmas Eve in a holding cell.
"Catch me if you can, Grandma!" Essex-12 taunted, sprinting toward the back exit.
"You won't get away this time, you brat!" Essex-9 screamed, chasing her with her baton raised high for a good old-fashioned whack.
JP Jones and Essex-12 reached the perimeter fence. In an adrenaline-fueled rush, they vaulted over the high wooden fence, leaving William behind. The old Cargo ship stared up at the fence, realizing he couldn't jump that high—he was far too 'old' for that kind of stunt.
"Hey! Don't leave me behind!" William cried out.
The two stopped and reached back over, grabbing his arms to haul him up and over the fence. But luck was not on William's side. Pennsylvania appeared out of the darkness, dashing toward them at full ramming speed.
( IMAGE )
"Oh shi—" Essex-12 breathed.
The three Kansens' eyes bulged as they saw the battleship-turned-cop coming at them like a freight train. William and the fence didn't stand a chance. There was a deafening crunch as Pennsylvania leveled the entire section of the barrier.
When the dust settled, William was face-down in the grass, pinned firmly by Tennessee. She snapped the cuffs onto his wrists with a satisfying click.
"You're under arrest! You have the right to remain silent! Everything you say can and will be held against you!"
"Do you really have to do that? I felt like my bones just turned to dust," William complained from the dirt, his voice muffled by the grass.
Tennessee didn't loosen her grip, simply adjusting her weight to keep him pinned. Meanwhile, the high-speed pursuit showed no signs of slowing down. Essex-9 and a gaggle of officers were hopping over fences and barreling through backyard gardens in hot pursuit of Essex-12. In this neighborhood, no chain-link fence was safe from the relentless momentum of the ALPD.
JP Jones was still on the ground, having been thrown when Tennessee leveled William and the poor fence with extreme NFL. Groaning, he pushed himself up, shaking the dirt from his hair. As he rose to his knees, he found himself staring down a taser, held by a figure he recognized instantly.
The officer's hands were trembling violently, and her face was flushed a deep, scorching crimson.
"Whoa, easy there, Bunker Hill. You aren't actually going to shoot me with that, aren't you?" JP Jones asked, slowly raising his hands.
Carrier Bunker Hill kept the Taser pointed at him, her breath coming in short, ragged hitches. It wasn't the winter chill causing her to shake, nor was it the fatigue of the chase. Her heart racing, and her face was glowing hot enough to melt the nearby snow.
"I-I won't... just... S-surrender!" she stuttered, the words barely making it out as she attempted a mid-arrest command.
JP Jones looked at the Taser, then back at the trembling Carrier Bunker Hill. He didn't feel threatened; he felt worried about her condition. "You really shouldn't be shaking like that while holding a live weapon, Bunker Hill. Especially when it's pointed directly at someone."
"I'm... I'm not!"
"Yeah... that doesn't settle my nerves much when your hands are vibrating like a tuning fork. Are you catching a cold or something? You don't look alright," he asked, his tone shifting from defiant to genuinely concerned for her well-being.
"I'm fine!" Carrier Bunker Hill squeal, forcing her voice out, her face deepening into a shade of crimson that put her scarf to shame.
But before JP Jones could say another word, the world flipped upside down.
Coming out of nowhere like a defensive end, Intrepid launched herself at JP Jones. He had been so focused on the "ripped tomato" that was Carrier Bunker Hill that he never saw the tackle coming. He hit the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp whoosh.
With a smirk of pure accomplishment, Intrepid pinned him down and snapped the cuffs onto his wrists. "Thought you could charm your way out of the law? Think again."
JP Jones grumbled into the dirt, his voice strained. "Your leg lock is actually killing me!" He let out a frustrated thump of his head against the frozen grass.
"You have the right to remain silent," Intrepid recited, completely unmoved by his groans and complaints. Once the prisoner was secure, she turned her attention to her partner, noticing Carrier Bunker Hill's lingering hesitation.
"You know, you could have just Tased him right at the start," Intrepid noted.
Carrier Bunker Hill discreetly stowed her Taser, her hands still slightly unsteady as she walked over. "I... I couldn't. I don't believe in using unnecessary violence for an arrest."
Intrepid gave her a long, skeptical look, her expression making it clear she wasn't buying that story for a second. "Right... and I suppose you were just a 'ripped tomato' a moment ago because of the snow?" She leaned in just a bit, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Or maybe something else."
Carrier Bunker Hill turn her gaze away. "It's none of your business to put your nose in," she snapped—far too quickly.
Intrepid's smirk widened.
Back at the Bar
The bartender, a man of survival instincts, didn't wait for the opening bell. He cleared the counter of every glass, bottle, and breakable object before diving into the cellar. He had no intention of becoming collateral damage in a fight between a living legend and a modern marvel.
Laffey-200's playful, drunken veneer stripped away in an instant. Her monotone voice returned, carrying a chilling, distinct menace as her combat subroutines overrode her intoxication.
"Come on... why not try placing those bracelets on?" she challenged, showing her wrist.
Zumwalt responded with a cold, rhythmic undertone. "I had planned to... but it seems you require a more hands-on lesson in cooperation with the law."
In a blur of motion, Laffey-200 summoned her signature dual Desert Eagles. Their oversized barrels gleamed under the dim lights with a lethal aura. Zumwalt knew that capturing this bunny wouldn't be a simple foot chase; it would require total, uncompromising subjugation.
He drew his katana with a slow, steel sounded in shing. The blade glinted as he recited the Miranda warning like a funeral rite. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
Reality seemed to split as the two stars trading blows. Laffey-200 opened fire, .50 caliber rounds shaking the foundations of the building. Zumwalt moved like smoke, parrying the lead with his blade before returning with a vertical slash so powerful it shattered the ceiling and peeled the roof right off the establishment.
Time slowed to a crawl. Debris hung suspended in the air amidst a cloud of pulverized drywall and dust. Laffey-200 reappeared behind him in a gale of motion, her guns pressed toward his head. Zumwalt dodged just in time, the bullet grazing his hair as it whistled past.
"She moves faster than usual," Zumwalt noted with a flicker of grim amusement. "I understand now... alcohol."
He knew she was the only one who could match his speed and evasion. While Laffey-200 possessed more advanced computer calculations and radars, he held the advantage in raw, concentrated striking power.
"You're getting out of touch." Laffey-200 taunted, her voice a sharply provocation as her flash.
"Not a chance."
Zumwalt swung his blade, a strike so fast it split the very air. The suspended dust parted in a perfect wake following the arc of his steel. She vanished along with the smoke.
He looked up and saw her appeared to be illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the ruined roof, her dress fluttering in the freezing wind as she stared down at him with her finger on the trigger.
Both figures surged with power, preparing a finishing blow to conclude the night's "arrest." They moved in a flash, their silhouettes vanishing, replaced by a blinding explosion of light that engulfed half the city block.
Running for his life, Luna had somehow ended up carrying the bartender over his shoulder. The sight of the small frigate sprinting away from the crumbling ruins with a full-grown man clinging to his back was as absurd as it was heroic.
"Hoy! I just saved your life! That means the cola float is free, right?!" Luna shouted over the roar of the collapsing building.
"I guess I have no choice!" the Bartender wailed, clinging to Luna's suit. "Yes! Fine! Just don't ask for free food ever again!"
"Touché!"
Behind them, an enormous pillar of light erupted, stretching toward the heavens as if Armageddon had arrived early for the holidays. Then came the shockwave.
The bar got obliterated with the clash of titans. Even the chase halted. Essex-9 look at in distance as she and the others cuffed Essex-12.
Jimmy almost jaw dropped at the mini nuclear explosion for some reason. "You're a cop, not a suicide bomber." He uttered conceptual dread.
Arizona run his hand around his, greeting his teeth in total shit the bust had become. "Miss Enterprise won't love this report landing on her table."
"Jesus Crist! What the hell dude!" Lucas slapped his strapped helmet, not believing what he sees.
Christmas and fire crackers had lit the night on Azur Lane early.
....
~Four Days Before Christmas – Morning~
ALPD – Chief Wickham's Office
Morning rose over the Azur Lane Police Department, and with it came a mountain of paperwork and a headache that could kill a horse. Chief Wickham's voice boomed through the office like a foghorn, a sound the department would never truly get used to.
"I don't want to hear it, Essex! I just got back from City Hall! Fifty million worth of property damage! I have to face the consequences like a Viagra on ass! How am I supposed to explain this to the press?! Hmm?!"
Essex-9 looked off to the side, twirling her hair and whistling an innocent tune as if she were a mere spectator to the world's problems. Beside her, Zumwalt stood like a brick wall—stoic, unyielding, and completely unbothered by the concept of "budgetary constraints."
Chief Wickham pointed a trembling finger at the two of them. "You two bozos almost leveled an entire city block for Christ's sake!"
"At least no one was harmed," Essex-9 muttered, her mind clearly elsewhere.
"At least no one was harmed?!" Chief Wickham roared. "Everyone is freaking traumatized! Two idiots collided like a force of God in a dive bar, battling for dominance like it was the end of the world!"
Zumwalt's expression stiffened, his brow raising a single millimeter.
Chief Wickham slammed a massive stack of incident reports onto his desk. "I told you to follow the book!"
Essex-9 finally snapped out of her reverie. "Cut the bullshit, Sir. We got results. The targets are in custody."
"Yes, we have results, but we also have enough lawsuits to last until the next century!" He turned to Zumwalt, who looked like a statue of divine authority.
"We had to show them," Zumwalt said with the conviction of a judge, not a policeman. "Order must be forced upon the lawless. They must bear the weight of their judgment."
"Save me your 'Judgment' bullcrap too!" Chief Wickham shouted. He was actually showing some backbone, berating the most powerful entities in the room without flinching.
"Listen to me! You are a law enforcer, not a Marshal, and certainly not the Judge, Jury, and Executioner!"
"I do not need a judge to tell me my duty," Zumwalt replied coldly. "I am order. I am judgment. I am the rattling storm—"
"Okay, okay! I get it! I get it!" Chief Wickham throw both hands in a gesture of total surrender. "Jesus... why are you even in my department? You won't write tickets, you won't do security... you just want to kick down doors!"
"The criminals fear my name," Zumwalt stated simply.
"And so do I! You're dismissed for the day," Chief Wickham sighed, rubbing his temples. "We'll call you if there's a reinforced bunker that needs breaching."
"I'll take my leave then."
Zumwalt didn't wait for a formal dismissal. He vanished in a sudden flash of lightning, leaving behind nothing but a scorched, blackened circle on the office carpet.
"Oh, come on! My wife just bought that carpet last night!" Chief Wickham wailed, leaning over his desk to stare at the ruined fabric.
Intrepid quickly grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher and doused the remaining smoke. "Damn... he sure knows how to make an exit."
"Chief, we did what we had to do. Look at the numbers—the crime rates have plummeted," Essex-9 argued, crossing her arms in a final attempt to defend their chaotic methods.
"Yes, the crime rates dropped, but that's because everyone sobered up the moment they realized what kind of monsters I've brought into this department!" Chief Wickham barked.
"People used to laugh at the law; now, they're terrified that the boogeyman himself is going to burst through their front door with an arrest warrant. Resistance isn't optional—it's suicidal. Now, both of you, get out! Dismissed!"
As Essex-9 and her sisters filed out of the office, Chief Wickham sank into his chair, rubbing his eyes and dreading the upcoming press conference. "The media is going to eat me alive," he muttered to himself. "But then again, they aren't nearly as annoying as a stack of homicide reports. Having that man on the force is a literal double-edged sword—it cuts the crime, but it's bleeding this department dry."
The Holding Cells
Deep within the precinct, the atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and irritated realization.
JP Jones sat on a bench, clutching his head in his hands as he processed the truth. They had finally been told the arrest was part of a "public stunt" to project authority, but the execution had been so realistic that they'd truly believed they were being hunted.
"A setup. It was all just a setup," JP Jones groaned. "Why couldn't they warn us? We wouldn't have had to act like fleeing fugitives if we'd known the bullets were meant to be a show."
Kidd, lying back casually on one of the bunk beds, let out a dry laugh. "It's a typical operation, Jones. Never inform the people on the ground. Now, thanks to that lack of communication, we've got a mini-nuclear blast in the middle of the city and a ruined bar."
"And those two officially started Christmas with a bang," William added, sharing the cell with the other two. He gingerly rubbed his hip where he'd hit the ground. "I'm not sure the department can even afford the collateral damage costs. We might be staying in here just so they don't have to pay our release fees."
Lucas leaned back against the cold stone wall outside their bars, folding his arms. He had been tasked with explaining the "true nature" of the night's events to the prisoners. "Yeah, I know... I hate to admit it too. Even Zumwalt raised an eyebrow when he heard the final plan. But we weren't in charge of the operation; we were just the muscle sent in to apprehend the 'most dangerous' targets."
"Most dangerous?!" a high-pitched voice boomed from across the hall.
Theodore was locked in the cell opposite the trio. Further down the hall, in a separate, heavily reinforced block, Laffey-200 and Anchorage LPD were being held under maximum security until they fully sobered up.
"I was chased by those two (Jimmy and Arizona) like I was a victim in a horror movie!" Theodore squealed, clutching her teddy bear, Pete, to her chest.
Pete the Teddy Bear seemed to agree. He puffed out his plush paws, appearing genuinely offended by the injustice of his arrest. He was just a stuffed toy, yet the law apparently didn't recognize his civil rights.
Lucas squinted, looking at the Teddy-Bear. He could swear the toy's brow was creased in anger. Pete made a sharp, horizontal cutting motion across his neck with one fuzzy paw.
"Is... is he doing what I think he's doing?" Lucas asked, pointing at the bear. "Is he threatening to cut my throat?"
Theodore gave a mischievous, knowing grin. "Yeah... good luck sleeping at night, Officer."
Lucas felt a genuine chill run down his spine.
At her cell, Essex-12 groaned from her bunk, staring up at the ceiling. "That old hag really didn't hold back. My head is still ringing."
The attention of everyone in the holding area shifted toward her. They all knew the score; getting on the bad side of the Police Captain was one thing, but driving Essex-9 to the brink of a breakdown was a special kind of talent only a family member could possess.
"Why are you guys looking at me like that? Like this whole disaster was my fault?" Essex-12 snapped, sitting up.
"You're the one who drove her over the edge," Lucas pointed out, leaning against the bars. "You don't poke a hornet's nest and then act surprised when the swarm arrives."
"Wait!" She rose from the bed to face him. "What about the other one? What about Laffey?"
"She's more of a homeland defense problem than a local law enforcement issue at this point," Lucas replied. The rest nodded in grim agreement.
"The OSS really did pick the right name with that 'Hellhound' moniker," Essex-12 muttered with a shrug. There was simply no other way to categorize a Drunk Bunny who could trade blows with Storm Approaching and leave a city block in ruins.
As a collective groan echoed through the block, the heavy steel security door at the end of the hall whined open. The sound of heels clacking rhythmically against the concrete floor signaled the arrival of someone important.
Lucas instinctively straightened his posture, snapping into a sharp salute. "Ma'am!"
Bunker Hill-76 walked past him, barely acknowledging his presence as she moved with a cold, terrifying grace.
"Great... Miss 'Too-Strict' is here," Theodore whispered, her own personal mockery of the DU Lady.
Bunker Hill-76 stopped directly in front of Theodore's cell. The expression on her face suggested she was anything but pleased to see the Loli-President behind bars. She stood there for a long moment, the silence growing heavier by the second.
"Do you have any idea how many press reels are currently locked onto us?" Bunker Hill-76 asked. Her voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a sharp, cutting edge that stung like a whip. "They want to know why two idiots nearly wiped a city block off the map for the sake of a 'stunt.'"
Her words reached everyone in the block, sinking into their consciences. You didn't mess with the Nuclear Cruiser unless you wanted your holiday to end permanently.
"It wasn't my fault!" Theodore squeaked, clutching her teddy bear.
"You will file a full report. You will keep your mouth shut. And you will not tell a single one of your 'grand tales' to any reporter who catches wind of this," Bunker Hill-76 warned, her eyes narrowing.
"Oh, come on! That's mental! It's the holidays!" Theodore wailed, but she withered under the Secretary Ship's gaze.
Bunker Hill-76's attention then shifted toward JP Jones. She maintained a chillingly professional distance, her eyes unreadable. "And you... "
"What? What did I do?" He asked in confusion.
"you should have just taken the hit from that taser."
JP Jones took a step back, his eyes bulging. "You... you actually wanted me to get tased?!" he exclaimed, not offended. But surprise.
Bunker Hill-76 really is cold to him all the time even in his approaches, but taking the taser? That's a lot new meaning, especially Carrier Bunker Hill the one holding it.
Around the room, the other Kansens struggled to hide their cackles at JP Jones's sudden misery. Even the Anchorage LPD (Uncle Sam Misguided Child) had to cough to hide her amusement.
Carrier Bunker Hill – being an escort – sunk her face at her scarf hiding her settle blush.
"Open the cells," Bunker Hill-76 commanded. "They're free to go. Miss Enterprise had issued a holiday pardon, provided they pay for the repairs out of their next check."
Lucas followed the orders immediately, turning the keys and sliding the heavy gates open. As the Modern Kansens filed out, stretching their cramped limbs, Lucas looked toward the high-security cell where the "Murder Bunny" was currently sleeping off the night's excitement.
He looked back at Bunker Hill-76, his face pale. "Ma'am? What about the dormant bomb in the back? Am I supposed to wake her up?"
The response he got was a simple, cold stare. Lucas realized his fate worse than death. He was the one tasked with carrying the sleeping Laffey-200 out of the cell. He moved with the "extreme" care of a bomb disposal technician, lifting her as if a single sudden movement would trigger a tactical nuclear event.
"Man... this sucks, at least she gave me EOD Suit." Grumbled Lucas, as he carries ticking drunk.
Kidd turn, to drop a jab. "With that, you better be off none. It's cozy in heaven, I hear."