Author's Note:

I noticed there was a review posted recently asking a question about the plot. The problem though is that I can't answer your questions if you're posting your reviews as a guest. So please try and not do that, this is meant to be an interactive experience and all.

To answer that question now though: Despite this being the story after Part 0, Alex Whiter's story will not be continuing for the time being. There's stuff to set up with the descendants of his clones/brothers Mew, Riku, along with those around them, before he can make his return.

Anyways, enjoy the rest of this story! The meat of things begins now.

Night time. Where darkness lies over the sky like a nice black blanket, and lights bloom in larger cities.

When the moistened air of early fall makes its appearance, the lights tend to exude an intriguing presence.

Footsteps splash across the pavement and quieter roads. Couples simply coming home from a late night date, drunkards, and celebrities are the kinds of personalities you'll find the most.

But there's a certain lot who makes its home in the darkness, clinging to it like in-grown moss: Criminals.

Ironically, a country led by a man named Dark has done wonders for bringing these nefarious folk into the light.

Crime rate has gone down a significant amount, but that's not enough to dispel the actions of the rest.

If anything, it's made them more cautious, more organized…

Even the most well-trained agents of the law aren't going to be able to handle the growing number groups en masse…

But a new breed of hero has found its way into the nocturnal half of society, rumors of its appearance spread between the ears of criminal organizations from state to state.

As criminals fill their guns and load their shipments, they keep their eyes peering deep into the darkness, fingers on the triggers…

Believing that one of them will become a legend in the criminal underworld for taking down this myth.

Arrogance…a fool's replacement for courage.

In the metropolis city of Seattle, bullet trains ride the tracks between the glistening buildings. The rattling of the tracks hides the footsteps of the unsavory in the streets below.

They run between alleyways and inside of abandoned buildings to cross over to a certain meeting destination. Only one man in their platoon knows where they're going. Stragglers are forced to fend for themselves.

A young adult man in the middle of the formation trips over a trash can and scares a small family of rats out of hiding.

As he fumbles to avoid getting them up his legs, he notices his group getting ahead of him.

"Hey!" He whispered while running to catch up.

His companion with a scar on his face a few paces ahead turned back and hushed him, "Are you trying to get us caught?"

The man was confused, "Is this about that crime buster again?"

Getting closer he looked him in the side of his eyes and remarked, "You're getting tripped up by rumors."

The man behind them raised his head and scoffed, before speaking in a brooklyn accent, "You ain't seen what I've seen."

The younger man rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder, "You mean more of your drunken visions?"

"'Ey! Wouldja me seriously? I survived a raid while posted in New York. I SAW him."

"Him? It has a gender?" The scarred man remarked.

A woman a few spots above, clearly the youngest of the group, remarked while they rounded the stairs to the second floor, "So it's true?"

The youngest man shrugged and played along, "WHAT'S true?"

The woman gulped, "T-That…it's not even a man. It's a machine."

"That's preposterous. Think about it. Research into AI development only rebooted a few years ago and you're telling me someone's already made a crime fighting robot?"

The brooklyn man spoke up, "Twenty men. Fully trained. All our sights aimed upon that bastard. Bullets flew. Lights flashed 'CLNG!' 'CLNG!' 'CLNG!' There was silence…as the bullets fell flat upon the ground."

The youngest man looked at his AR-20 and peeked at the ammunition, "That's why the boss supplied us with armor piercing rounds?"

The scarred man was disappointed in him, "You're letting your rookieness show too much. You'll be the first to fall if you underestimate our enemy."

The youngest man explained, "I'm just saying, all of you are making a huge deal out of something unproven."

The woman spoke up out of impatience, "Just shut up already. You heard him. We can't take chances."

The leader, in some form of experimental lightweight but durable armor, glanced over the railing at the top of the stairs and said, "Enough. We have our orders. Secure the shipment, and make sure it's in position for the boss' plans."

The youngest man had one last comment to make to himself, "Don't get why one of the Four isn't handling this…"

Once enough of the group was bunched up at the top, the leader used a heated serrated knife to cut the hinges off the door and slide it off. Beyond that there was a stone walkway leading to the next building.

A few more blocks of secure travel and they'd be at their destination…

A few of them couldn't shake the feeling this was going too smoothly. They'd witnessed the signs before…

Fingers were already half on the trigger, ready to light up their pursuer with bullets if necessary.

The leader waved his hand to signal the remaining soldiers to cross the bridge.

But just as the train ran along the tracks nearby, two flashes of light cut through the darkness on both sides of the bridges.

The bridge floated there, the men paused in disarray.

Then it began to slide off, crumbling apart without the two buildings to hold it together. The men screamed as they fell into the alleyway, either unconscious or dead…

The leader's heart froze and he turned back to his remaining men, organizing them into formation, "The enemy's here! Keep your guards up, and flush him out!"

The rest of the group continued to advance down the stairs with their backs pressed against each other. The leader pulled out a small pod and threw it into the bottom of the building to release a red lightbang.

And all that caused was a man-like silhouette to tower over them on the opposite side of the room.

Two of the men started firing at the shadow, as the sound of metal creaking filled the room, and stirred dread in the men's hearts.

"Shit…!" Uttered the leader as the stairs gave way. No…the whole thing was being pulled down in a single tug.

Cracks filled the deteriorating building, dust and cobwebs plumed throughout its interior.

The majority of the group was knocked out. The rest were barely able to stand and hold their weapons.

The Brooklyn man shook, his voice a high-pitched squeal of fright, "H-He pulled down an entire staircase…! W-We can't win…we're going to die…!"

The dust covered their surroundings, but surely a monster like this would make a sound. The leader held onto his nerves and pulled out his heated knife.

But while they looked into the dust, they should've been focusing on the shadows.

A metallic hand reached out and grabbed the Brooklyn man by covering his mouth and pulling him into the shadows.

The scarred man turned around and grit his teeth, firing a few shots with reckless abandon.

The bullets clanged off the collapsed stairs and revealed his ally unconscious in the corner and a much taller figure speeding away without making a sound.

"HE-" Before the scarred man could make an announcement he was punched square in the chest and thrown unconscious into the wall.

The rookie nevertheless turned in the direction he flew from and opened fire, repeatedly battering the assailant until the magazine ran out.

"N-No way…" The rookie's face turned pale and he dropped his gun. The very second it made a sound, the figure lunged through the dust and knocked him out with one punch.

But patient as a monk, the leader of this group jumped at this chance to cut their assailant with his knife…

Only for the figure's hand to thrust out and grab the knife, squeezing it so hard it burns the heat out and reduces it to a frail twig of burnt metal.

The leader allowed fear into his heart, and then was left to the mercy of his assailant…

The haunting but beautiful night time atmosphere of the city would soon become a battleground between those with differing but opposing views of justice.

And it all starts…with a single man, on a quest for answers.

Chapter 5: The First Night

"I've been down this road all too many times." A lone police car blared its sirens through the damp, near barren streets of Seattle.

"I know every street light like I do the stars. I've seen those trees grow from saplings." The driver loosely held onto the wheel and carefully made his way towards the far end of town. A light rain began to fall, as it tends to around here.

The car reached a stoplight and the man murmured a countdown from 6 to 0, where it turned green and let him through.

"From the booster seat, to the passenger seat, to the driver's seat, I've lived and breathed this city."

Tired, the man put on a bit of a smile, "I love this city. I hate what some people try to do to it."

He turned to the left and noticed two other police cars gathered outside an abandoned two building structure, fellow officers hard at work investigating the damages.

Put on the brakes and roll up next to the other cars, then dim the sirens. Standard procedure.

The driver tapped his fingers on the wheel and quickly assessed the damages. The right building was rattled, the bridge between them had collapsed.

"Yo, you staying awake there amigo?" Spoke the man in the passenger seat.

He was a latino man with a good complexion and a strong jawline. Hair cut short, always wearing a black coat, dark green plaid shirt, and brown jeans to work. His eyes were hazel colored, and always shone brightest in the dark of night.

He was considered the hardest working man of the police force. A true friend, companion…No, a real el hermano.

"I'm fine." The driver remarked, taking the chip key out to disengage ignition and tucking it deep into his coat pocket.

He walked out into the evening air. Cold, with a hint of smog and limestone.

His smile grew wider, "We have to keep this feeling safe for everyone."

With his beige trench coat, one color shirt and jeans, it'd be easy to assume he was a detective. But his name is Mark. And he is an officer of the law.

The choice of clothes is simple. Warm. Effective.

His hair however, short cut and scruffy, was not by choice. His eyelids hung with a few small bags too.

But his focus was already on piecing together more of the crime scene. Without the moist window in the way, he saw the extent of the damage on the bridge.

There was a distinct lack of damage to the building walls…almost like the bridge had been cut.

Mark recorded that detail in the back of his mind and tried to play it cool, thinking nothing of it at first.

Him and his partner approached the other officers, pulling his ID up via a projection off his phone screen. His partner, named Vida, did the same.

"What have you found so far?" Mark inquired.

"Fifteen suspects. Fourteen unconscious and ready to be apprehended, one escaped."

Vida gestured his head at the right building to remark, "The building's suffered damage. Guessing the men had firearms?"

"We identified them wielding AR-20's, and what appeared to be one flashbang grenade."

Vida turned with eyes wide and jaw slacked, "AR-20s? You're kidding. Those received a C&D from the Vice President months back."

"Like I said, fourteen unconscious. We haven't gotten around to questioning them yet."

Mark rubbed his chin, "Could've been an illegal arms deal gone wrong. Still, I wonder if AR-20s were the only weapon in the vicinity."

Vida looked forward to his input, "Something caught your eye, pareja?"

Mark pointed down the alleyway, "The bridge. It was cut down."

"Huh, yeah…now that you mention it, I thought the buildings looked too clean." Vida remarked.

Mark hummed and then looked at the officer standing guard, "We're going to head inside now."

The officer nodded and the two entered the building. Sure enough, there were plenty of bodies unconscious in what appeared to be a pile of rubble and…the remains of a staircase?

Other officers were seen securing the weapons and loading them into an armored van for disposal back at the precinct. The bodies had to remain here until the ambulances arrived.

"Well…" Vida strutted out ahead of his pal and addressed the scene, "Here's one thing we can say for certain, it was only one gang involved."

A cursory glance at the bodies showed uniformity in their clothing and more importantly, their bracelets. All of them had a ring of bronze locked around their wrists.

"..." Mark squinted at that detail.

However, there was one gang member whose appearance caught his eye.

On the ground in the dead center of the room, with a visible but small impact crater under them, was a man wearing only his tights and shirt.

Mark walked over and hunched down. Covering his mouth as he rubbed his chin, he glanced to see Vida kneeling down and reaching for the body.

"Quit it." Mark prodded him jokingly, his friend smiling as he withdrew his hand.

He then plopped his hands over his knees and remarked, "So what do you think?"

"...Dunno."

"Stumped you good huh?"

"Want to take a crack at it?" Mark gestured to his friend.

Vida bowed his head, then pointed at the upper part of the body, "There's light bruising forming on the chest. That's where he was knocked out."

"Right, right…" Mark finally started making sense of this scene…But sense in this case was bordering on the absurd, if their hunches were lining up correctly.

"But anything that caused THAT…" He pointed at the cracks, then to the man, "Would've killed him."

Vida began to take on a more serious tone, "Then someone…or something…took crucial evidence."

Mark closed his eyes and pinched his temples, "Why does this crap keep cropping up in this city?"

"Before the reforms this place was like New York City and LA in being a hodgepodge of homeless, drunkards, and…drug dealers…" Vida grit his teeth then smacked his lips with a sigh, "Like you and smoking, this is a habit this city can't quit."

Mark humored his analogy, "Or like you and milk."

Vida smiled, "Just keeping mis huesos strong."

He then stood up and pointed out, "Don't think there's anything else we'll be able to accomplish around here. Almost makes me wonder why we were called in to begin with."

Mark rubbed his chin deeper while looking at the bracelets again, "...I wonder if this has ties to…"

Vida put a hand on his shoulder to get him out of that deep thinking mode, "C'mon, pareja, let's get back to the precinct, fill out the last of our paperwork for the night, and get some rest."

"Yeah…" Mark sighed and after exiting the building, he took a chance to light a cigarette and take a few puffs.

The ambulances arrived to carry off the unconscious criminals and get them treated before questioning.

They may be criminals, but they're still people, and deserve the same treatment as anyone else.

Mark and Vida drove back to the precinct on the south side of town, parking the car in the garage.

Mark's mind was elsewhere as they went back into the building, until his partner asked him, "Still thinking about that crime scene?"

Mark looked at him in a partway daze and he patted him on the back, "Forensics and the interrogation teams will pick up the slack for us. Don't worry about it."

But Mark had to voice his thoughts just for a little sense of clarity, "But what IF this has ties to…"

"Mark, mis hermano, you can't keep doing this to yourself. Between the police reforms and better opportunities provided for the downtrodden, the remaining criminals are gonna be the boldest, dumbest sort. What we're likely seeing is an escalation of their methods used."

"We can't be too sure though." Mark insisted.

"AND…" Vida raised his voice in a firm and caring manner, "Like I said, leave it to the others to find out. We're police officers, not detectives."

Once in the main hallway Vida split for the left while gently nudging a dazed Mark to the right, "Now let's wrap up our part. Ok?"

Mark returned to his office, third door down the hall. It had a window with a perfect view of the Space Needle this late at night. A bit of cozy comfort in an otherwise sterile room.

They weren't allowed to spice it up with too much personality. No amount of reforms could fix that low point of the job.

But he always kept two important things on him: A slightly worn golden locket in his coat pocket with a picture of him and his wife on their honeymoon to Japan, and a vintage, sealed comic issue of Batman.

Issue 497, the end of a crucial turning part in the Dark Knight's life. Broken by a single man, physically and mentally, he still fought for his beliefs in justice. A price was paid, and for a time he was lost to the city he loved, but his best qualities won out in the end to bring him back.

The idolization of heroes is a bad trend, but it's never wrong to see inspiration in them, and strive to be the best you can be.

Unfortunately, the decline of physical media has ruined the once old time charm of comic books, with writers compensating for the lack of heart by throwing shocking twist after shocking twist at the reader.

And the numbers recovered over time, but the soul was lost.

Yet throughout this shift in approach, the Dark Knight still prevailed in the public consciousness.

As others came and left the mantle, as new heroes tried to make their mark but fell victim to lack of interest, the Dark Knight endured. Even the wall-crawler fell out of favor eventually.

So Mark wipes his weary eyes clean and pushes himself that little bit more for the night, reaching into his drawers to pull out a bulky vanilla file documenting a certain case five years ago.

He flipped it open and the papers sprawled out across his desk, a laminated photo sliding that little bit further into view.

He hung his hand towards it then focused on flipping through a few of the pages to reach a small bag with a half-burnt bracelet inside.

He lifted it in the path of the outdoor lighting and saw glimmer with its distinct bronze tint.

Memories pulled him back to a museum on fire, a pure ivory blur speeding through the flames. A crate burning, the scant moment it was on his mind marking his brain with a name, like a footprint of ash: "Dregs"

This bracelet was the only thing recovered from the crime scene. That, and…

He gripped his locket tightly in his pocket and grimaced.

"There has to be a connection…" As he started to put the bracelet down he noticed something in the reflection.

His nerves shook and he turned around in his chair to the back corner of the room.

A figure towered over him from the floor to the ceiling, draped in a black cloak. Parts of its body stuck out, a structure of metal shaped nearly identically to a human's skeleton, but with rounded joints. And where muscles should be were perfect recreations of them, made of a deep blue material with a light glow.

The face was covered by a sleek, dark red plate.

Mark reached for the gun in his coat and aimed it at one of the shoulders.

"Shouldn't you call for back-up?" A heavily modulated voice spoke, lighting up the bottom half of the machine's face.

Mark began to sweat, and after steeling his nerves he took another look at the machine man and pieced together the most important question, "Are you the one who took out that group?"

"Good. You're keeping up. I knew I was right to seek you out, Mark."

The machine raised a finger towards the roof, "Making noise wouldn't have mattered anyways. I have already soundproofed the walls and tampered with the cameras."

Given how long the machine had to have been standing here, he was inclined to believe it.

And despite the machine's size and assumed weight, it was not collapsing the floor either.

Mark kept holding onto the gun for posterity sake, but approached the machine with a more friendly, curious tone, "What does a machine want with me?"

"Ah, you're mistaken," The machine spoke in a different, more mannered and posh tone, "I'm acting as a communicator on behalf of my master."

The machine then bowed its head and acted humble, "While I have this moment of your time, Sir Mark, I would like to formally apologize for any damages incurred to those criminals. I miscalculated the durability of that one man's armor when I delivered that most splendid climatic blow."

"I-I see…Well, he'll get the proper care and-" Mark shook his head and found himself stunned at how quickly the politeness disarmed him, "What the hell am I doing?"

He then reraised his gun and stuttered, "O-Ok, whoever your master is should answer the question now."

In response, the machine reached into its cloak and flicked a small ID card towards Mark, "Take a look."

There was some metal still attached to the back of the card so he had to be careful holding it. No name given, no picture either.

Just that name to confirm everything he needed: "Dregs"

"Your case has not gone cold," The voice remarked, "The incident five years ago is tied to a larger conspiracy that I've only recently started uncovering in other states. Now my trail has led me here. And I could use YOUR help to hunt down the members of Dregs and determine just what it is they're planning."

"...I saw what your machine is capable of. What could I hope to do against the kind of enemy you're facing?"

"Get justice for the dead. Isn't that why you still wear the badge?"

Mark glared at the machine and slowly pulled his gun down, "You know that what you're doing is vigilantism, right?"

"A machine fighting crime can't be charged as a criminal. Technically, I am still operating within the law."

He couldn't help but notice a bit of childish smugness in that comment.

"...Then at least tell me your name."

"I have good reason not to. However, I'll let my partner tell you his."

The red plate slid into the machine's skull, revealing a near perfectly recreated hologram of a bald male human's head. Managing a smile all on its own, he bowed an arm before his chest and remarked, "It will be a pleasure to work alongside you, Sir Mark. My name is S.A.N.C.T.U.M…A Self Actualization Nanotech Combat Teammate Unit of Mankind."

Mark was getting a little dizzy from this and fell back into his chair with a sigh, "Alright then…uhhh…what should I do now?"

"There are a few affairs we need to get in order before we start investigating the city thoroughly. I'll be in contact with you eventually."

"...I mean, I really do appreciate your help solving this case, but I dunno, I just feel out of place still."

S.A.N.C.T.U.M. floated towards the window and the voice had this one last thing to say, "Relax. Just because you have no powers doesn't mean you're not important. After all, Batman's nothing without a Commissioner Gordon, right?"

Mark blinked, and somehow the machine man had vanished into the night.

He walked over to the window and peered out towards the city he loved.

This felt like the first of many long nights…And all he hoped was that the city would hold up under pressure…

Next Time: The First Challenge