For Anby Demara, the universe operated on a set of immutable laws regarding energy conservation and entropy. Gravity pulls objects toward the center of mass. Electricity follows the path of least resistance. And the entropy within the Cunning Hares headquarters always—without exception—tends toward maximum chaos, a singularity usually centered around one Nicole Demara.
5:00 AM.
Anby's eyes snapped open.
There was no grogginess, no hitting a snooze button, no transitional period between the dream state and wakefulness. Her internal operating system simply switched from [Standby] to [Active].
She lay still on the thin mattress for exactly sixty seconds, running a diagnostic check on herself and the environment.
The warehouse was dark, submerged in the heavy, industrial silence of the Outer Ring. The air smelled of machine oil, stale pizza crusts, damp concrete, and the faint, lingering scent of Billy's gun polish.
From the master bedroom—a retrofitted shipping container painted a blinding shade of hot pink—came the rhythmic, thunderous vibration of Nicole's snoring. It was a sound that defied physics, emanating from such a small person. It sounded like a Guzzler heavy machinery unit stripping gears.
From the living area, a repetitive squeak-click-whir emanated from the lumpy sofa. That was Billy. He was currently in recharge mode, clutching his beloved revolvers to his chest like teddy bears.
His left leg was twitching in his sleep, likely running a combat simulation where he was the hero. His cooling fans were whirring a bit loudly; he probably needed a filter change, but telling him that would result in a three-hour monologue about his "rugged robot aesthetic."
'Status: Normal. Unstable, volatile, but normal.'
Anby sat up. Her short white hair was messy, sticking up in defiance of gravity. She reached out and grabbed the blade resting against the headboard. She pressed the check button. The indicator light on the hilt glowed a solid, reassuring green. Combat ready.
She slid out of bed, her bare feet making no sound on the cold floor. Navigating the main room in the dark was a high-level tactical exercise. She stepped over a pile of Starlight Knight limited edition figurines Billy had left mid-battle formation on the rug.
She avoided a precarious stack of "Final Notice" that Nicole had crumpled up in a fit of rage the night before. She skirted around a half-disassembled engine block Nicole insisted they could sell for parts (it had been there for six months).
Anby reached the kitchen—a generous term for a corner with a sink, a hot plate, and a fridge covered in cat stickers. She opened the refrigerator door. The yellow bulb flickered on, illuminating a tragedy of resource management.
Contents:
One bottle of ketchup (Approx. 5ml remaining. Viscosity: thick).
One lime (Desiccated. Hard as a rock. Possibly fossilized).
A sticky note from Nicole: "Don't eat my pudding!" (There was no pudding).
"Fuel reserves depleted," Anby murmured to the empty shelves. Her stomach gave a tight, painful contraction of protest.
This was a recurring problem. Nicole's financial management strategy was currently "Ignore it until they cut the power."
This meant the grocery budget was non-existent until they secured a new commission from the Inter-Knot.
Anby needed calories. High-density calories. And she needed them before the sun rose, before the city woke up, and before the chaos of her family consumed the day.
She grabbed her green jacket, zipped it up to her chin, and pulled her large headphones over her ears to dampen the sound of Nicole's snoring. She slipped out the heavy metal door into the pre-dawn mist of the industrial district.
***
The small park at the edge of the Northwest Residential District was Anby's preferred tactical retreat. No Hollows, no invoices, and most importantly, no noise.
In her hands sat the prize: A Double Quarter Pounder with extra cheese. She had acquired it from the 24-hour drive-thru using the emergency funds she kept hidden inside the hollow handle of a broken mop back at HQ. It was a risky expenditure, but necessary for survival.
She sat on the concrete bench, unwrapping it slowly, savoring the ritual. The steam rose into the cold air, carrying the scent of grease, salt, and processed beef. It smelled like victory.
She took the first bite. Crunch. The bun was soft, the meat was savory, and the cheese was a molten blanket of artificial perfection.
'Analysis: Nutritional ratio acceptable. Serotonin levels rising. Happiness at 85%.'
Mid-chew, her peripheral sensors detected a disturbance in the mist.
A biological entity was moving into the sector.
Anby paused her intake, her cheeks full of burger like a chipmunk. She narrowed her orange eyes to observe through the wrapper.
It was a young male human. Long black hair hung in a disheveled curtain over his face, obscuring his features. He was wearing a cheap, baggy black tracksuit that looked like a trash bag draped over a moving skeleton.
He wasn't running in the athletic sense. He was shuffling. Dragging his mass forward against the resistance of the air itself. Every step looked like a painful negotiation with gravity.
Scuff. Wheeze. Scuff. Wheeze.
He reached the concrete bench opposite hers and didn't sit—he collapsed. He folded in on himself like a structural failure, landing hard on the concrete.
Anby chewed slowly, tilting her head.
He was gasping for air, his chest heaving violently. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the dim light. Muscle tremors were visible even through the baggy clothes.
'Hypothesis: Why would an organism with such low physical stats force itself to operate at near-death capacity at this hour? In Starlight Knight Season 3, side characters often trained frantically to avenge their clans or escape from assassin syndicates. Did this person possess a tragic backstory?'
Or was he just incredibly out of shape?
"Are you dying?" Anby asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of sarcasm, simply gathering field data.
The boy jerked his head up. Through the curtain of wet, messy hair, Anby saw his eyes.
Purple. Deep, dark purple.
They were striking. But they were also completely empty. There was no panic in them, no pain, just a dull, hollow acceptance. They were the eyes of someone who had stared into the void and decided the void was boring.
"Not... quite..." he managed to wheeze out.
Anby nodded. Her expression didn't change. It was like a doctor confirming a diagnosis on a chart.
"Understood," she said. "Calorie deficit. Physical exertion without fuel. Tactical error.".
She looked at the burger in her hand. Then she looked at him. She disliked sharing food. For her, calories were a strategic resource.
However, the Starlight Knight Code of Conduct (Season 2, Episode 4: "Bread for the Fallen") clearly stated: 'A true warrior does not eat while the wounded starve'.
She carefully tore a small corner off the paper wrapper. She held the massive sandwich out toward him.
"Sandvich makes me strong," she quoted flatly, holding the burger out. "Refuel?" she offered. "Protein is essential for survival. This contains beef, cheese, and carbohydrates. It is efficient." .
The boy stared at the burger. He looked at the glistening grease on the meat. He saw the melted cheese dripping down the side.
His face went from pale white to a vibrant, sickly green.
"No... thank you," he whispered. "I will... vomit.".
Anby retracted her hand immediately. The movement was sharp, efficient.
'Data Updated: Subject has a compromised digestive system. High-fat content triggers a rejection response. Weakness confirmed.'
"Understood," she said. "More for me.".
She took another large bite, devouring a third of the burger in one go.
They sat there in the bizarre silence of the morning. On one side, a white-haired girl in tactical gear eating a burger at 5:30 AM. On the other, a long-haired boy in a cheap tracksuit trying not to pass out. The girl ate with a strange, focused intensity. She didn't look around at the scenery. She focused entirely on the burger, consuming it with the seriousness of a mission .
Five minutes passed.
Anby finished the burger. She crumpled the wrapper into a tiny, dense ball. She stood up, brushing a few crumbs from her skirt. She adjusted the small backpack on her shoulders .
She looked at him one last time. Her gaze lingered on his face, then on his cheap shoes.
She gave him a nod—a sharp, single dip of the chin that felt more like a salute than a greeting .
Then, she turned and walked away.
She moved with an uncanny grace. Her heavy boots made absolutely no sound on the pavement. She didn't walk; she glided, disappearing around the corner like a ghost in green .
***
Days later, the fragile peace at the Cunning Hares HQ officially collapsed at 10:00 AM.
"BILLY! WHAT IN THE HOLLOW DID YOU DO TO THE TOASTER?!"
Nicole's scream shook the warehouse windows, reaching a decibel level capable of causing physical damage.
Anby was sitting on a crate cleaning her sword Thunderbolt, not bothering to look up. This was background noise, as natural as rain or police sirens.
"I'm innocent, Boss!" Billy flailed his arms, his twin revolvers spinning in red blurs. "I was just trying to optimize it! I thought if I attached an Ether-induction coil to the heating element, it would toast bread twice as fast! Think of the efficiency, Boss! Time is money!"
"AND NOW IT'S SHOOTING PLASMA BOLTS, YOU IDIOT!" Nicole shrieked, pointing at the kitchen corner.
The poor toaster was emitting green smoke, vibrating violently, and discharging erratic arcs of electricity, turning the slice of bread inside into charcoal in nanoseconds.
"Anby! Do something! Our security deposit doesn't cover arson!"
Anby sighed. She stood up, walking calmly toward the overloading appliance.
She drew her sword. A single, clean, vertical slash.
Shing.
The toaster was bisected neatly. The electricity died instantly. Silence returned, accompanied by the smell of ozone and burnt crumbs.
"Threat neutralized," Anby reported, sheathing her blade with a satisfying click. "However, we can no longer toast bread."
"Fantastic," Nicole groaned, sliding down the wall in despair. "Money for a new toaster. Gone. Alright, listen up! Our financial status is at danger. We need a mission. Billy, check the Inter-Knot. Anby, don't eat anything expensive."
Anby nodded. New mission meant paycheck. Paycheck meant burgers. The cycle of life continued.
Later that day, they ended up at Random Play, hiding from debt collectors. That was where she saw him again. The Ghost Runner. He was wearing a clean white shirt, sitting at the table, helping Wise.
Anby sat next to him. She was eating a Quarter Pounder while everyone else ate stew.
"You," she said softly. Her voice was monotone, perfectly calm amidst the shouting of Billy and Nicole. "The 5:30 AM runner."
He nodded, acknowledging the strange bond of the early risers.
"The 5:30 AM watcher," he replied.
She nodded back, a look of solemn respect crossing her face. She lifted the burger in her hand slightly, as if presenting evidence.
"Burgers are the most efficient combat fuel," she stated, as if sharing a military secret. "Carbohydrates. Protein. Happiness. All in one package."
He thought about it. Then he looked at her burger.
"Efficient," he agreed. "And portable."
"Correct."
She stared at him for a moment longer. Then, moving with deliberate slowness, she tore off a small piece of the burger wrapper—a clean corner. She selected a single, perfect french fry from her pile. She placed it on the paper.
She slid it across the tablecloth toward him, navigating it past the water glass and the spoon holder until it stopped right in front of his hand.
"You always refuse when I offer in the mornings," she said simply, staring at him with her large, unblinking green eyes. "Will you eat this time?"
He looked at the fry. He picked it up. He ate it.
"Yes," he said.
Anby wiped her hand on a napkin, then looked him in the eye again, satisfied.
"Anby Demara," she said quietly. "Nice to meet you."
"Cedric."
'Connection established.'
…
…
…
Two days later, the Northwest District was submerged in a sea of grey mist. It was a thick, chilling fog that muffled sound.
Cedric was running. His black tracksuit blended perfectly into the shadows.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
His form was still inefficient. Loud. Heavy.
Anby decided to intervene. She fell into step beside him.
She wasn't looking at him. She was staring straight ahead, her green eyes focused on the middle distance, her expression completely blank. But she was matching his pace. Exactly.
When Cedric's left foot hit the pavement, hers did too. When he inhaled, she inhaled. When he swung his arm, she swung hers in perfect mirror symmetry.
He slowed down. She slowed down. He sped up. She sped up.
"Why?" Cedric finally asked, his voice rough with exertion.
Anby didn't turn her head. She kept her eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Synchronization," she stated calmly, barely out of breath. "I saw it in a movie. Training partners must move as one organism to achieve maximum efficiency. Like a Jaeger."
Cedric blinked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "A what?"
"Giant robot. Requires two pilots connected by a neural bridge," she explained, as if this were common knowledge. "If they are not in sync, the robot falls. We are drifting."
"Okay," he said. "Drifting."
They finished the run in perfect, silent unison. They stopped at the small park near the 141 Convenience Store. Cedric leaned against a rusted swing set, catching his breath.
Anby stood perfectly still, her chest rising and falling only slightly. She looked at him, analyzing his posture.
"Your form is acceptable," she noted, her tone professional. "But your footsteps are too loud. You strike the ground too hard. You sound like a tank."
"I am heavy," Cedric defended weakly. "Gravity."
"Weight is irrelevant. It is about technique."
She demonstrated. She jumped in place, a high vertical leap. When she landed, there was no thud. No impact sound. Her knees bent, her ankles flexed, absorbing the force instantly. It was unnatural. It was silent.
"Ninja technique," she whispered seriously, leaning in. "Essential for sneaking into the kitchen at 3 AM without waking the Commander."
Cedric nodded solemnly. That was a useful skill.
Anby reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, foil-wrapped rectangle. It wasn't a burger.
"Fuel," she said, handing it to him.
It was a Protein Bar (Discount Brand - Chocolate Flavor).
"Thanks," Cedric said, taking it.
"See you," she said.
And just like that, she turned and jogged away, vanishing into the mist.
…
…
…
"NO."
The word left Anby's mouth as a whisper, then escalated into a wail of pure, unadulterated despair.
One moment, the old TV at the Cunning Hares HQ was displaying the pre-show countdown for the Starlight Knight Season 6, Final Episode. The next, it went black with a pathetic fizz, leaving a dark, reflective screen that mirrored Anby's horrified face.
The hum of the refrigerator died. The lights flickered and went out. The warehouse was plunged into a sudden, ominous silence.
"Huh?" Billy, who was sitting on a crate sewing a tear in his red jacket with a needle and thread meant for heavy canvas, looked up. "What's up, Anby? TV broke?"
"No signal," Anby said, her voice beginning to tremble. She ran to the light switch and flicked it up and down. Click-clack. Click-clack. Nothing. "No power."
The bathroom door creaked open. Nicole stepped out, a towel wrapped around her head like a turban and a green cucumber mask plastered to her face. She was humming a tune, blissfully unaware of the apocalypse unfolding in her living room.
"Ah, um," Nicole paused, looking at the dark room. She tapped her chin, leaving a smudge of green goop. "I think I might have forgotten the electric bill this month. Hehe. Don't worry, I'll go borrow some cash from Wise later..."
"Forgotten?!" Anby spun around, eyes wide with a terror rarely seen in combat situations. "Today is the Season 4 Finale of Starlight Knight! Live broadcast! Right now! If I don't watch it, the internet will spoil the ending in five minutes!"
"Oh come on, you can watch the recording..." Nicole waved her hand dismissively, more concerned with finding her moisturizer in the dark.
"NO!" Anby shouted. The volume made Billy drop his needle. "You don't understand! Spoilers are the enemy of humanity! Spoilers are the death of art! If I see a meme about the Red Knight's fate before I see it myself, I will leave the team!"
"Okay, okay! Don't leave! We need you for the heavy lifting!" Nicole panicked, finally realizing the gravity of the situation. "Use your phone!"
"Battery at 4%," Anby reported grimly. "Insufficient for streaming high-definition justice."
She didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her jacket. She bolted out the door like a lightning strike.
She needed a TV. Immediately. At any cost.
She ran as fast as she could, her boots sparking against the pavement as she skated through the streets at maximum velocity, leaving trails of green electricity and Billy shouting,
"Wait! Don't leave me with this witch!"
She burst into Random Play. The door slammed open, the bell jangling violently.
"Emergency!" she announced, breathless.
The shop was quiet. Wise wasn't at the counter. Belle wasn't lounging on the sofa.
He was there. Cedric.
He was standing there with a feather duster, wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers that were suspiciously clean compared to his morning state. His hair was tied back with a black ribbon. He looked... domestic.
"Cedric," she said. Her voice was urgent, tight.
Cedric put down the duster immediately. "Anby? Threat?"
"Emergency," she confirmed, stepping inside and closing the door behind her as if pursued by wolves. "The Cunning Hares HQ. Darkness. The power has fallen."
"Blackout?"
"Nicole forgot the bill. Again." Anby sighed, a small, tragic sound. "They cut the line five minutes ago."
Cedric blinked. "Okay. Do you need... a charger?"
"No," Anby grabbed his shoulders. Her green eyes were intense.
"Starlight Knight Season 4, Final Episode. It airs in ten minutes. Live broadcast."
She shook him slightly.
"If I miss the live broadcast, the spoilers will find me. The internet is cruel. I will have to leave civilization and live in a Hollow. I need a TV. A working TV."
Cedric understood. The fear of spoilers was a universal language.
"We have a TV," Cedric said. "In the staffroom. It is old, but it works."
Anby looked at him as if he were a savior descended from the heavens. The tension left her shoulders instantly.
"I will be in your debt," she said solemnly. "Lead the way."
***
They sat in the small staffroom. The simulation played on the screen. The Red Knight engaged the Void Emperor.
As the battle reached its climax, the Red Knight was knocked down. Anby's respiratory functions temporarily suspended. Her musculoskeletal system engaged combat-ready stiffness despite the sedentary posture. Visual sensors locked on the screen, her left hand instinctively sought a stabilization point.
Her fingers located the texture of Cedric's sleeve. She gripped the cuff of his white shirt tightly, compressing the fabric in her small fist.
Cedric did not recoil. He remained stationary, functioning as an effective biological anchor.
"Look," Anby whispered, tugging his sleeve urgently to redirect his attention. "The counter-attack frame."
On screen, the Red Knight struck a tactical pose.
Anby stood up immediately. Space was limited, but sufficient for a demonstration. She replicated the stance. She spread her arms wide, tilted her head to the calculated angle, and narrowed her eyes to lethal parameters.
"Justice..." she muttered, syncing her audio output with the TV, "Never sleeps."
She rotated her head to scan Cedric. Assessment of visual impact required.
"Did you see the form?" she asked seriously. "The angle of the elbow? It intimidates the enemy by exposing the chest while preparing a counter-strike. It is high risk, high reward."
Cedric looked at her.
"Intimidating," he stated. His facial micro-expressions remained neutral. "Very scary."
"I know," Anby sat back down. Satisfaction levels: Optimal. Field testing proved Billy's hypothesis incorrect. "I practiced it in the mirror. Billy says it needs more 'pizzazz', but Billy lacks subtlety. He thinks loudness equals power."
"Billy is... enthusiastic," Cedric agreed.
The sequence continued. The Knight deployed a smoke countermeasure.
"Tactical retreat," Anby noted, categorizing the maneuver. "Ninja Vanish. I can do that."
"You have smoke bombs?"
"No. I use flour," she admitted. A cost-effective alternative. "It works, but it makes Nicole sneeze. And then she yells about the cost of flour."
Cedric's mouth curved slightly. "Effective."
The episode terminated. Cliffhanger. Unresolved narrative arc.
GRRRRR.
A distinct audio signal originated from her midsection.
Anby lowered her gaze to her stomach. She raised her eyes to Cedric.
"Energy depleted," she announced. "Emotional stress consumes calories. I missed lunch."
Cedric stood up. "I have noodles."
He initiated food preparation. When he transferred the cup, Anby decided to disclose a Tier-1 culinary protocol.
She retrieved a bag of potato chips (Sour Cream & Onion). She applied crushing force, pulverizing the contents into dust. Then, she poured the particulate matter directly into her noodle cup.
Cedric stared. He lacked the necessary data to appreciate this innovation.
"Why?"
"Texture," Anby explained, agitating the mixture with her plastic fork. "The broth softens the chips. The chips flavor the broth. It adds crunch and sodium. It is fusion cuisine. Try it."
She extended the bag of remnants to him.
He added the particulate and consumed a sample.
"Not bad," Cedric admitted.
"I saw it in a commercial," Anby revealed her intelligence source. "The mascot said it was the 'Taste of Victory'. He was not lying."
They consumed the nutrients in synchronized silence.
Cedric: Fork lift. Anby: Fork lift. Cedric: Thermal regulation breath (Fuu). Anby: Fuu. Cedric: Intake (Slurp). Anby: Slurp.
Anomaly detected. Tactile sensation on left cheek. Cedric signaled coordinates by pointing to his own face.
Anby processed the data. She wiped her left cheek.
Cedric shook his head. "Other side."
Anby wiped her chin.
"Higher," Cedric corrected.
Anby wiped her nose.
"Lower."
Anby ceased action. This calibration process was highly inefficient. She lowered her hand. To expedite the solution, she leaned forward across the small table.
She closed her eyes and presented her cheek.
'Directive: Manual override requested.'
Cedric retrieved a napkin. He applied gentle friction to the target area.
Swish.
Debris removed.
"Clean?" Anby asked, opening her eyes but maintaining proximity. Verification needed.
"Clean," Cedric confirmed, lowering the napkin.
Anby nodded. Efficiency restored. She returned to her sector of the table.
"Thank you. Mirroring protocols are difficult with inverted coordinates."
"Understood," Cedric replied.
...
...
...
Before exfiltration, Anby paused at the rear exit.
"Cedric."
"Yes?"
"You helped me protect the timeline," she stated solemnly. "And you shared your rations. I must repay you."
"It's fine," Cedric said. "You gave me chips."
"Chips are temporary. Knowledge is eternal."
She closed the distance. She executed a perimeter scan—left, right—checking the alley for hostile surveillance.
"I will teach you the move," she whispered. "The one the Knight used in Season 2, Episode 15. The 'Shadow Step'."
Cedric blinked. "The ninja walk?"
"Yes. You have the rhythm, but you lack the flow."
She demonstrated.
"Do not stomp," she instructed. "Imagine the floor is made of eggshells. Or that Nicole is sleeping nearby and you are trying to steal her wallet to pay the electric bill."
"Steal her wallet?"
"It is a metaphor. Mostly."
Cedric attempted the sequence. Tap...
"Too loud," Anby critiqued immediately. "You are engaging your calves too late. Be water. Be nothing."
He re-engaged. Silence. Three steps forward. Decibel level: Zero.
Anby nodded. Subject shows promise. "Good. You have potential. You could be a Starlight Squire."
"Thank you," Cedric said.
"Use it wisely," Anby said.
She reached for the door, then paused. A visual discrepancy remained on the ally's uniform.
She turned back. She stepped into his personal zone. Purely clinical proximity. She reached out and grasped the collar of his white shirt—previously compromised by her grip during the movie.
Tug. Smooth.
She rectified the structural integrity of the fabric.
"Your armor was disheveled," she stated, satisfied. "A Starlight Squire must maintain uniform integrity."
Cedric blinked. He touched his collar. "Oh. Thanks."
Anby adjusted her headphones. Notification received. Sender: Billy.
[ANBY HELP!!! I FIXED THE FUSE BOX BUT NOW MY LEFT ARM IS A TORCH!!! SEND HELP OR WATER OR BOTH!!!]
"I must go. Billy messaged me. He tried to fix the fuse box and now he is on fire. Again."
She opened the door.
"Bye, Cedric."
"Bye, Anby."
She exited, blending into the urban environment.
Objectives completed: Finale viewed. Fuel replenished. Ally identified.
Cedric: Low acoustic footprint. Understands the strategic value of silence and carbohydrate fusion.
'Internal Log Updated: Subject Cedric. Status: Close Ally (Tier 2). Directive: Protect subject from Nicole's predatory financial tactics. Also, initiate CQC training if he persists in operating in this desolate district.'
Anby patted her pocket. One emergency protein bar remaining.
"Tomorrow," she mumbled to herself, gliding down the street. "I will invite him to try the Fish Burger. Maybe he prefers seafood over beef."
...
Note: Now the most important thing will happen in the next chapter. And tbh, this chapter is terrible