A sleek, dark conference room.
Black Bear Boss paces slowly, scanning the faces of his top lieutenants. The air is thick. Everyone is sweating like they just lied to their dentist.
Boss (calm, lethal):
"Can someone please explain… why I don't know what we're eating?"
Dead silence.
Lieutenant 1 (timidly):
"Boss, we have no idea. We don't even operate in that city. No branches, no assets."
Lieutenant 2:
"White Rat? Never heard of it. Maybe a code. Maybe... literal rat. But we're not eating anything, sir. Not knowingly."
Lieutenant 3 (panicked):
"Boss, we just got a call from Red Dot. He wants to know why you're so eager to 'consume' White Rat."
Boss (exploding):
"TELL HIM TO SHOVE HIS RED DOT WHERE THE SUN DOESN'T SHINE! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WHITE RAT IS!"
A tense pause.
Lieutenant 3 (quietly):
"He… doesn't believe you. He says you're 'hiding the cheese.'"
Boss (collapsing into chair):
"This is a joke. It has to be. I swear on my mother's dog's grave—I do not know what the hell a White Rat is."
The room goes still as the door creaks open.
A government official walks in, slow and smug, hands folded behind his back. Expensive suit. Judgmental aura.
Official (smiling):
"Black Bear. Making moves without informing us? Tsk tsk."
Boss (exhausted):
"Not you too. I'm BEGGING YOU. I don't know what White Rat is. I don't know what it looks like. I don't know what it smells like. I don't even know if it's an actual rat."
Official (calmly):
"You expect me to believe that you're shaking the entire underworld… for nothing?"
Boss:
"Why would I risk war with every syndicate and government agency over something I don't even understand? What am I supposed to gain? Immortality? Alien technology? A subscription to Netflix for life?"
Official (pausing… thinking):
"Hmph. That does make sense. You're already rich. You've got power, territory, three helicopters, and a shark pool."
He leans in.
"Still. Not everyone's going to be so understanding."
He walks to the door, turning back one last time.
Official:
"Be ready, Black Bear. Because whatever this 'White Rat' is… people want it. And they think you already have it."
Boss (muttering as door closes):
"I'm going to find this Ren kid... and I'm going to make him eat his own sentence."
The room falls into silence, punctuated by the boss slamming his head against the table softly.
---
Police HQ.
The room smelled of sweat and stress. Officer Grad sat slumped at his desk, massaging his temples as the chaos mounted outside.
"Sir," an officer said, placing a folder on the desk, "the government just approved full financial and manpower support. We've been given a free hand to control the situation."
Grad didn't look up. "Free hand, huh? That's not support—that's a noose. If this spirals, we hang. If we succeed, they take the glory."
He stood. Slowly. As if pulling himself up from the weight of bureaucracy and dread.
"Fine," he said. "They gave us tools. Let's use them."
He turned to his team. His voice shifted from weary to steel.
"Alert every officer. Pull them from leave, vacation, wherever. This city is going on lockdown. If it has legs and doesn't have ID, I want it questioned."
"Sir?"
"Call in reinforcements. Arm them. Head to toe. Guns, gear, intel—authorize every fast-track purchase."
"Should we—?"
Grad raised a hand, silencing the question.
"We're done waiting for the truth. Until we know what the hell the White Rat is—we clean this city until it gleams."
He paused. Looked each officer in the eye.
"This is a purge. If they want war over a sentence, we'll give them one."
"YES, SIR!"
Officers surged into motion. Radios crackled. Keys turned. Sirens lit the skyline.
---
Somewhere else in the same city.
Ren flopped back on his couch, a bowl of chips in his lap. The news was blaring:
"Red alert across the city—citizens are urged to stay indoors as authorities investigate—"
He changed the channel before they could finish the sentence.
Cartoons flickered onto the screen.
Ren munched a chip, unconcerned.