Auron Trinity

The aftermath of battle lingered in the devastated town square like a heavy fog. Debris littered the ground, and the acrid smell of scorched stone and earth hung in the air. Under the harsh glare of emergency floodlights, Angelo and Jack stood before Chief Ramirez, delivering their report. Though Angelo had shown restraint—choosing to capture rather than kill the Infernian terrorists—Ramirez's expression remained thunderous, his disapproval evident in every line of his face as police units worked around them to secure the unconscious attackers.

"So let me get this straight," Ramirez growled, his voice barely containing his anger. "Not only did you directly disobey orders by engaging while suspended, but you dragged a rookie into a life-or-death situation?"

"With all due respect, sir," Jack interjected, stepping forward. "If Angelo hadn't intervened when he did, we'd be counting bodies instead of taking statements."

The chief's glare could have melted steel. "That's not the point, and you know it, Jack."

The questioning seemed to stretch endlessly under the flickering emergency lights, but finally, near midnight—four hours past their scheduled end time—Angelo and Bill were released. The chief's final order cut through the night air like a knife: "Angelo, escort Bill home. Make sure he's recovered from today's... excitement. And don't think for a second we're done discussing this."

The streets of Novaria had quieted, though evidence of the earlier chaos remained in the occasional debris or scorched wall. Angelo and Bill walked in silence, their footsteps echoing off the buildings. Bill kept stealing glances at his mentor, trying to read the serious expression etched on Angelo's face, but thought better of interrupting whatever deep contemplation occupied his thoughts.

They had covered more than half the distance when Angelo finally broke the silence. "How're you holding up after all that, kiddo?" he asked, his gruff voice softening slightly as he glanced at his young charge. "First time in real combat isn't easy."

Bill drew a shaky breath, his shoulders tense as he processed the evening's events. "I'm..." he started, then swallowed hard. His next words came out stronger, though a slight tremor remained. "I'll manage. Has to be strong, you know? That's what being an officer means." He lifted his chin, trying to project more confidence than he felt. "Isn't that right, boss?"

Blue materialized beside them in a swirl of azure smoke, his presence no longer startling to Bill. "Strength comes in many forms," he offered, his measured tone carrying quiet wisdom. "Including knowing when to acknowledge that what we've witnessed today would shake anyone." His eyes met Bill's. "You performed admirably under extraordinary circumstances."

A tentative smile crossed Bill's face at the praise. Blue studied him thoughtfully before asking, "Though I must admit to some curiosity—with your evident passion for Pro Aurons, why choose this path? Why not pursue that arena?"

Red's derisive voice echoed in their shared consciousness, "Really, Blue? The kid nearly got offed today, and you're asking about his career choices? Besides, look at him—he couldn't hack it as a Pro."

"That 'kid' saved our lives tonight," Angelo shot back mentally. "Show some respect."

Bill's gaze drifted to the distance, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "The Pro scene..." He shook his head, chuckling softly. "Sure, I've dreamed about it. Who hasn't? But..." His expression grew more serious, his voice taking on a quiet intensity. "My father—he showed me what real heroism looks like. He was an officer in the Auron division, and watching him..." Bill's eyes found Angelo's. "The way you moved tonight, the fury in your eyes when those terrorists hurt innocent people—it was like seeing him again. That same burning need to protect others, to stand against injustice..."

Angelo looked away, uncharacteristically discomforted by the raw emotion in Bill's voice. "There's more to tell about your father, isn't there?"

A shadow passed over Bill's features. "Three years ago," he said softly, each word weighed with grief. "He fell in the line of duty. Mom—she begged me not to follow the same path. But she understands why I have to. Why I need to carry on what he started."

The revelation brought a heavy silence. Even Red's usual snark was subdued. Finally, Blue spoke, his voice gentle, "We know something of loss ourselves, kid."

Bill looked between them, recognition dawning in his eyes. "You—your..."

"Save your sympathy," Angelo cut in, his voice rough. "My situation's different. Can't miss what you never knew. Never even met my parents." He quickened his pace slightly, as if trying to outrun the conversation.

They walked in contemplative silence before Bill spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "I had you all wrong, you know that? The stories about the Angel of Death... they paint you as this heartless executioner. Someone who kills for the thrill of it. But that's not who you are at all, is it?"

They approached a modestly-sized house, and Angelo squinted at the nameplate, grateful for the change of subject. "Hold up—Dealer? Your last name is Dealer?"

"Oh, that," Bill said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Family legend says my great-great-grandfather was some kind of legendary merchant. I guess you could say it's not that big of a..." he winced, "...deal."

"Oh come ON!" Red's indignant voice boomed in their shared consciousness. "That was MY line!"

Before they could reach the door, it burst open with enough force to rattle the hinges. A woman rushed out, her face a mask of fear and relief as she enveloped Bill in a fierce embrace. "Oh thank goodness," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "When I heard about the attack—when they said Auron officers were involved—"

"Mom, please," Bill wheezed through the crushing hug, "I'm okay. Really. Just need to... breathe..."

"Tell him something sympathetic," Blue prompted internally. "Show some emotional intelligence for once."

Suppressing a sigh, Angelo offered, "It's natural for her to worry, Bill. Tonight was... intense."

Mrs. Dealer finally released her son, rounding on Angelo with the ferocity of a mother bear. "You're the mentor?" she demanded, her eyes blazing. "The one who's supposed to be teaching my son?"

Angelo straightened, maintaining his composure. "Yes, ma'am. That would be me."

"Then explain to me," she said, her voice rising with each word, "just what possessed you to let my son participate in a battle with terrorists?"

"Mom, wait—" Bill started, but she silenced him with a raised hand.

"Bill Dealer, don't you dare interrupt me!"

Angelo drew a measured breath, choosing his words with care. "Ma'am, I gave Bill clear orders to evacuate with the civilians. He chose to stay. Said he hadn't joined the program to hide when danger threatened the people he'd sworn to protect."

Her face flushed with fury. "And you LISTENED to him? You're his superior officer! You're supposed to be the voice of authority, not enabling his—his reckless heroics!"

Angelo met her gaze steadily, and something in his eyes—perhaps the echo of the night's battles—made her words falter. "You're absolutely right," he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel. "I am his superior officer. And I don't regret my decision for a single moment."

"How dare you—" she began, but Angelo's next words stopped her cold.

"Your son saved my life tonight."

The declaration hung in the air like a physical thing, heavy with implications. The distant sounds of the city seemed to fade away as mother and son absorbed the weight of those six words.

Angelo turned to leave, but paused, his voice softening just slightly. "You've raised a good kid, Mrs. Dealer. His heart's exactly where it needs to be."

His orange aura flared to life, illuminating the night like a sudden sunrise. With a powerful leap, he took to the rooftops, energy tendrils helping him skid from building to building until he disappeared into the darkness, leaving mother and son to process the events of this extraordinary day.

Through their shared consciousness, Red's voice drifted up: "Show-off."

But there was a note of pride in the accusation that even he couldn't quite hide.

Across the city, in the police headquarters, fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Chief Ramirez entered his office, their harsh glow casting deep shadows across his weary face.

Though the midnight hour had come and gone, this matter couldn't wait until morning—and it demanded absolute privacy.

Officer Vivian startled at his entrance, nearly dropping the files she'd been organizing. "Sir?" Her voice carried a note of concern. "I wasn't expecting you at this hour."

Ramirez's usually commanding voice had grown soft with exhaustion. "Burning the midnight oil, Vivian?"

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, noting the unusual strain in his features.

He waved off her concern with a heavy hand. "Just watching everything go from bad to worse."

"The terrorist attack was deeply troubling," Vivian offered, but Ramirez shook his head.

"And Angelo being there..." He leaned against his desk, shoulders slumping. "As if we needed that complication."

Recognition flickered across Vivian's face. "Exactly what you were trying to prevent."

A bitter smile twisted Ramirez's features. "It's worse than that. For some unfathomable reason, he showed restraint this time. Didn't kill them, though he had every opportunity." He let out a harsh laugh. "And may God help me, but I almost wish he had."

Vivian's eyes widened. "Sir?"

"Think about it," Ramirez explained, running a hand over his face. "This will only boost his public image. Make it that much harder to reform his methods." He straightened suddenly, his expression hardening. "But that's not why I'm here. Get me the eastern district chief on the line. Immediately."

"Yes, sir!" Vivian hurried from the office, her footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.

Minutes later, the phone rang. "Connecting you now, sir."

A woman's voice, younger and almost playful, filled the line. "Well, well, if it isn't Ramirez! What brings you calling at this ungodly hour?"

Ramirez gripped the phone tighter, forcing patience into his voice. "Chief Lyla, I need to make an urgent request. We need to raise Novaria's threat level. We need Evolved Aurons—"

"Funny," she cut in, her tone knowing. "I don't recall any incidents involving Evolved Aurons in your jurisdiction lately."

"Chief, there's been—"

"A terrorist attack?" The amusement in her voice made his jaw clench. "Oh, I've read the report quite thoroughly. Three non-Evolved attackers, subdued primarily by an unranked, un-Evolved eighteen-year-old officer. Hardly justifies what you're asking."

The fight seemed to drain from Ramirez. "The details are accurate, yes. And I know this goes against protocol. But if we don't act now..." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I fear something catastrophic is coming."

"Come now," Lyla chuckled. "You're talking like Novaria's about to become the next Outlaw's Oasis."

"The next... what?"

"Outlaw's Oasis—it's what they're calling Geovale's Rest these days. Do keep up, old man." Her tone grew sharper. "Now that's a place deserving its high threat level."

"Sir, with all due respect, I fail to see how the naming conventions of distant regions have any bearing on Novaria's current security needs—"

"Perspective, Ramirez." All playfulness had vanished from her voice. "Yes, you took a hit today. But there are other areas in Luminia requiring more attention." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Evolved Aurons are regional assets, primarily reserved for military operations. With tensions rising along the Infernian border, there are none to spare—protocol or no protocol. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied."

Ramirez's face darkened. "So we stand alone."

"For what it's worth," Lyla's voice softened slightly, "I am truly sorry."

"No..." Ramirez straightened, steel entering his voice. "I understand. If the region can't provide advanced support, then I'll make sure my officers are trained harder than ever. We'll be ready for whatever's coming."

"That's more like it!" The cheerfulness returned to Lyla's voice. "Now then, goodnight Ramirez. Always a pleasure!"

The line went dead, leaving Ramirez alone in his dimly lit office. He placed the phone back in its cradle with deliberate care, his movements heavy with the weight of responsibility. Through his window, the lights of Novaria twinkled beneath the midnight sky - the city he'd sworn to protect, now potentially facing threats he couldn't even request backup for.

The events of the day played through his mind: the devastating attack, Angelo's unexpected restraint, and now Lyla's refusal of support. The pieces were moving, but toward what end? He couldn't say. Running a tired hand over his face, Ramirez gathered his coat and keys. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and his officers - Evolved backup or not - would need to be ready.

As he locked his office door, the empty corridors seemed to echo with the lingering question that had haunted him since the terrorist attack: what force could drive three Infernian Aurons to such a brazen assault on Novaria? And more importantly, were they just the beginning?