Chief Inspector Emma Pandora had hit another dead end. Outside, the rain hammered against the city's ribs, blurring the neon lights of the dimly lit streets into a watercolor mess. She trudged toward her apartment, the phantom weight of a failed assignment pressing into her shoulders like lead. The memory of the crime scene was a jagged loop in her mind—a silent film of "what-ifs" that refused to stop playing.
In search of a temporary grave for her sorrows, Emma ducked into the Drunken Duck Bar. Its sign flickered rhythmically above the entrance, a stuttering beacon offering a familiar, amber-hued refuge.
Despite the exhaustion, Emma was a striking figure. In her mid-twenties, she possessed a crown of long, dark hair and enigmatic black eyes that seemed to hold a dozen secrets at once. Standing at an unimposing 5'5", she carried an air of quiet, tempered determination that often caught those who judged her by her youth off-guard.
She took a seat at the scarred wooden bar. Anne, the bartender, didn't need to ask. She simply met Emma's gaze with a heavy, knowing look.
"The usual, Anne," Emma sighed, the sound echoing the heaviness in her bones.
Anne raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaning over the counter. "The usual? You mean five bottles of beer in one sitting? Again?"
A faint, tired smile ghosted across Emma's lips. "Gold star for you, Sherlock. Just keep 'em coming."
With a huff of resignation, Anne began to line up the order. However, as she popped the caps, she leaned beneath the counter to discreetly dial a number.
"Myra? You there?" Anne whispered as the line clicked open.
"I'm here. What's the damage?" Myra's voice crackled through the receiver, sounding already braced for a headache.
"We've got a Code 2319," Anne said—their private shorthand for Emma's spiral into a bender.
There was a sharp inhale on the other end. "I'm on my way. For the love of God, keep her away from the hard liquor. No vodka."
"Just hurry," Anne replied, glancing at the bar. "She's already halfway through the second bottle and looking for a fight."
As the night deepened, the alcohol failed to provide the respite Emma craved. Instead, it acted as a catalyst for her simmering rage. The walls of the bar seemed to close in until her frustration finally boiled over. She lunged toward a stranger seated nearby.
"IF I HAD JUST BEEN FASTER!" she bellowed, her voice reverberating off the glassware. "THE VICTIM WOULD BE ALIVE IF I HADN'T BOTCHED THAT SHOT!"
The stranger, who clearly just wanted to drink in peace, looked at her with pure disdain. "I don't know you, lady, and I don't care. Go take a bath, you fleabag. You smell like a failure."
Emma's temper flared white-hot. Her hand moved with professional instinct, reaching for the concealed sidearm at her hip. Panic rippled through the stranger; he didn't wait for an apology, scrambling out of his seat and bolting for the door.
Seeing the situation escalate toward a felony, Anne signaled to Kurt, the bar's bouncer.
"Kurt, eyes on Emma," Anne hissed. "If that gun clears the holster, tase her. No hesitation."
Kurt hesitated, glancing at the unstable Chief Inspector. "Are you sure? She's a cop, Anne. That's a lot of paperwork."
"I'll pay you double. Just drop her," Anne commanded.
Kurt nodded, drawing his taser. The device emitted a low, ominous hum as it primed. "Szzzzt! Goes the lightning! Haha!" Kurt muttered to himself, trying to find a shred of humor in a situation that felt decidedly dangerous.
By the time Emma reached her final bottle, her behavior had turned from aggressive to erratic. Kurt watched in a mix of shock and utter bewilderment, quickly redialing Anne.
"Anne! She's... she's stripping! She's taking her clothes off in the middle of the bar!"
"Tase her now!" Anne ordered.
Kurt's uncertainty vanished. He aimed the device at Emma's back and squeezed the trigger. The dart leaped through the air, striking her with a sharp crack of electricity. But instead of the expected collapse, Emma didn't even flinch.
"What the...?" Kurt stared. "Nothing's happening! She usually flops around like a fish out of water!"
Emma stood there, clutching the taser wires in her bare hand. She threw her head back and erupted into a maniacal, bone-chilling laughter.
"FOOLS!" she roared, eyes bloodshot and wild. "I LEARNED FROM THE LAST TIME! RUBBER SHIRT! RUBBER SHOES! WAHAHAHA! YOU CAN'T STOP THE PARTY THAT EASILY!"
THWACK.
The triumphant declaration was cut short by a dull, heavy thud. Myra had arrived, and without a word of greeting, she had swung a baseball bat with practiced precision. Emma's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into a heap on the floor.
"Don't worry," Myra said, leaning on the bat and exhaling a long sigh of relief. "She's always been thick-skulled. I've known that since we were kids. I'll get her home."
Anne cleared her throat, her right eyebrow arched in a perfect, mercantile arc. "Ahem. Are we forgetting the small matter of the tab?"
Myra's face fell. She reached reluctantly for her wallet. "Of course. Not again."
"That'll be 2500 pesos," Anne said with a playful, yet firm, grin. "Our girl really needs to start picking a lifestyle she can actually afford."
The drive was silent. By the time they arrived at Emma's apartment, the cool air and the literal "wake-up call" to the head had brought her back to a state of semi-consciousness.
"Thanks, bestie..." Emma mumbled, stumbling out of the car like a newborn deer.
Myra rolled her eyes. "Don't 'bestie' me, Emma. You owe me 3000 pesos right now. I covered the bar tab and the 'emergency transport' fee."
Emma fumbled through her purse and handed Myra a crumpled stack of bills. "Take five thousand. Keep the change for the headache. Bye!"
Safely inside, Emma caught a whiff of herself and remembered the stranger's insult. "Yeah... the jerk had a point. I definitely need a bath," she conceded, wrinkling her nose.
She stumbled into the bathroom, but as she reached for the faucet, she froze. A cat was sitting in the bathtub, staring at her with unsettling, crystalline intensity.
"I am not a cat person," Emma muttered. She grabbed a broom leaning against the tiles and gingerly poked at the feline. "Shoo! Out! I'm not in the mood for strays!"
The cat didn't move. It didn't even hiss. Instead, it opened its mouth and spoke with a perfectly human, slightly condescending inflection. "Watch where you point that thing. That is no way to treat a guest of my stature."
Emma recoiled, the broom shaking in her grip. "Did... did the cat just talk back to me?"
The cat nodded, a mischievous grin stretching across its feline face. "I did. And I have a name: Nica the Neko."
Before Emma could process the impossibility, the creature's fur began to shimmer. In a blur of light and shifting bone, the cat transformed into a young woman, complete with flickering feline ears and a twitching tail.
"What the hell is this?" Emma demanded, her police training struggling against the supernatural absurdity. "What's going on here?"
"If you'd stop shouting for a second—" Nica started.
"NO! YOU LISTEN, YOU FREAK!" Emma's voice cracked, tears of pure, exhausted frustration welling in her eyes. "I've lived in this house for twenty years without a single stray hair in the drain, and I'm not starting today! Get out!"
"Emma, grow up and chill for a second," Nica said calmly. "I'm not here for the bathtub. You've been chosen to fix a glitch in humanity."
Emma let out a harsh, cynical laugh. "A glitch? Nice joke, Nica. Get out before I call animal control—or an exorcist."
Suddenly, an ethereal, majestic music began to permeate the room, seemingly bleeding out of the very tiles. Emma spun around, searching for the source. "Where is that coming from? I don't even have speakers in here!"
Nica sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Ugh! Enough with the commentary. Just listen!"
As the music swelled, wrapping around Emma like an invisible force, Nica's voice took on a divine resonance. "Five brave warriors have been chosen to restore mankind. The world is unraveling, Emma. The barriers are breaking down. Humans and animals are merging, creating a chaotic imbalance in reality itself."
Emma's skepticism began to waver, replaced by a cold touch of dread. "So... what are you saying? I'm supposed to be some kind of hero?"
"Exactly," Nica explained. "Find the source of this reality rift, restore the balance, and you'll be granted any wish you desire. But be warned: you'll be hunting things that don't want to be found."
Emma steeled herself. She thought of the botched shooting, the victims she couldn't save, and the life she was currently drowning in beer. This was a second chance. "Fine. Let's do it."
In response, a blinding light enveloped the room. A searing sensation struck Emma's upper back. When the light faded, a glowing seal was etched into her skin.
"Emma L. Pandora. Assassin: Level 1," she read, peering at her reflection in the mirror. She paused, then glanced at Nica. "Seriously? Level 1? That's it? No cool sword or enchanted armor?"
Nica chuckled, her feline ears twitching. "I love the enthusiasm, Level 1. Now, grab your gear. We've got work to do."
Emma grabbed her watch, her eyes burning with a renewed, sober fire. "Let's go."