Great Anomaly. Stalker - 3

I kept sliding, on and on, until at last I arrived at the Police Station.

Just as at the Fire Station, faceless figures in police uniforms were on duty inside. Every officer turned to stare at me as if to ask what my business was, but I ignored every one of those gazes, head bowed in silent tribute to the dead.

"Thank... you."

Until now, I had treated the faceless ones as nothing more than NPCs. The passersby, the firefighters, the Youngest—every last one of them lacked a face, and it had unsettled me, because they seemed like NPCs who did nothing but act out their assigned roles.

But not anymore. The firefighter called the Youngest had saved me before the flames swallowed them whole. Role or duty hadn't mattered one bit—and it was because of that act that I had made it here at all.

—"No questions to ask...? Uh... uh?"

That startled me!

When I lifted my head from the silent tribute, three passersby stood right in front of me, their heads swaying left and right. I had wondered for a while where those passersby set out from; apparently, they departed from the Police Station.

What on earth am I supposed to ask them?

Right up until now, I'd assumed that reaching the Police Station meant the end of it. But here were all these passersby, waiting to take questions? Somehow—somehow—I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd missed something.

So I swept my gaze around the room, and when it reached the entrance, I found the Stalker standing on the path leading up to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the station—and our eyes met.

A mouth curved in a bright, beaming smile. Eyes like a beast that had starved for days finally about to be fed.

The instant I met that gaze, I knew something was wrong. I snatched the rulebook back up, and there it was—the clause I'd overlooked:

Huh?... Hold on. Doesn't this mean I'm already caught?

A cold thought seized me. I was supposed to dodge the boulder rolling toward me by slipping into a crevice—but I had only made it as far as the crevice's mouth. For all I knew, I hadn't actually wedged myself inside yet.

"This isn't a question for you lot! Hey! Where's the police car?!"

—"In the parking lot?"

Ah...

Worried the question might be counted against them for nothing, I made it plain that I hadn't been asking the passersby, then grabbed an officer near the entrance and demanded to know where the hell that car was.

The answer that came back was despair: the parking lot sat right beside the very stretch of road the Stalker was blocking.

Of course... they need to deploy fast, so naturally the lot would be right next to the exit.

A trivial courtesy. An obvious design choice, maybe. But right now, it was anything but a courtesy.

The Police Station itself was probably safe—if it weren't, the Stalker would have stormed it directly. But the path to the police car? For the Stalker, this game was won the moment she pinned me down for a mere ten seconds, before the police could finish whatever preparations they were making. And I had to reach that car, which meant walking out to that parking lot no matter what.

"Hey, you! The police car is safe, right?!"

The sheer absurdity of it nearly scrambled my thoughts, but I pulled myself together, singled out one of the passersby, and asked. If that car went up like the fire engines had, hope itself would be gone entirely.

—"Once you board the police car, no external stimulus can touch it! It just goes on its way!"

Safe, once aboard.

Answer delivered, Passerby A walked out the door as if its shift were over, repeating its answer as it went.

"Hey, you! Can the Police Station be ruled as lying behind the Stalker?"

—"No! The Police Station and the Fire Station are sovereign spaces!"

So the speed limit still applies.

Even now, the sight of the Stalker moving as if by teleportation to smash the fire engine flickered before my eyes. I had no confidence in outrunning anything like that.

And with Passerby B gone, only one remained.

A way to board the police car in one piece? No—too abstract.

I needed to ask something direct. If the answer came back as something useless like 'Ask that officer over there,' it would all be over. So I chewed it over for a long while, and then I spoke my next question.

"Can a role be changed—or strengthened—if there's sufficient justification?"

—"With sufficient plausibility, it's possible!"

"Got it."

—"With sufficient plausibility, it's possible!"

Leaving the passerby behind as it repeated its answer and shuffled out, I walked up to the station's information desk. I finally had every piece of information I truly needed.

—"How can I help you?"

A flat, purely businesslike voice. It came from a female faceless one—a voice that knew perfectly well a human had walked in, yet couldn't have cared less why.

"I'm here to report a stalker."

—"Ah, yes. Please accompany one of the officers over there and leave in a police car."

"They're right outside, though?"

—"One officer is more than enough to keep you safe. Off you go."

A businesslike tone, as if my problem were none of her concern. But it was precisely that tone that gave me certainty, and I pressed on.

—"Not going?"

"That stalker of mine is also an arsonist."

—"That's not our department's jurisdiction... you'd need to contact the Fire Station?"

"Twenty-one firefighters. Four fire engines."

—"Pardon?"

"For the record, that's the minimum count."

The firefighters at the Fire Station had ridden five to an engine. So even without knowing exactly how many had been torn apart, counting the Youngest it came to roughly twenty-one.

"At least ten buildings completely leveled."

—"What on earth are you saying right now?"

"That 'simple stalker' of yours? The woman blocking the road over there caused every bit of that damage."

—"Wait—wait just a moment. Please, tell me everything. In detail."

"About ten minutes ago, I filed an arson report at the Fire Station."

—"One moment. I owe you an apology—I was so flustered I kept telling you to go on... This is far beyond what I can handle at my level. I'll call someone from the Investigation Division!"

I kept my eyes on her as she spoke, and the female faceless one's form slowly changed. The soft ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swell of her chest vanished, her frame grew taller, and her uniform shifted into a man's.

—"Hah... hah. I'm from the Investigation Division!"

"About ten minutes ago, I filed an arson report at the Fire Station. In person."

—"I see. Understood."

"After that, I said I was heading to the Police Station to report a stalker, and a firefighter called the Youngest drove me here in a personal car. And then..."

I laid out everything that followed in painstaking detail. How she had collapsed buildings to block the engines. How she had totaled three of them and sent every firefighter aboard to their deaths. How she had hijacked a fourth and given chase—and killed the Youngest, too. All of it.

I said nothing about her being a criminal who had broken the Rules. The faceless ones themselves seemed to be a penalty for breaking them, after all. It might have worked if the Rules themselves were watching, the way they perhaps had been for the Youngest earlier—but I doubted it would land now.

—"…I'll look into it."

With that, the officer turned to the laptop on the desk and began typing.

Is this the right call?

It was only a hunch, but the Police Station ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed to have no idea what the Stalker had done outside. If they had, they would never have reacted to her out there the way they just had. So I told them, item by item, everything she had done.

Something only I could do. Only I—seeing it all through the Stalker's eyes—knew how fiercely the firefighters had held their ground, how desperately they had fought.

Right. The only exit left is behind her.

Before I'd spoken to that last remaining passerby, I had turned the problem over and over. If I used the escape-by-police-car method, would I actually make it out?

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠answer was no. A police car impervious to every external stimulus is helpless against Revision—the power to overturn the board outright. Flipping it twice would visit a penalty on the Stalker, sure, but she had already declared she would take me even at the cost of breaking the Rules. So even if I genuinely fought my way aboard, the moment the car itself ceased to exist, I would have to run this whole nightmare all over again.

—"The fallen firefighters, the hijacked engine, the destroyed vehicles—all of it has been verified."

—"It was all true. We judge the Violent Crimes Unit alone insufficient for a response. We are summoning the police SWAT team."

I was sick of it. Sick of running. Sick of being crushed under the knowledge that to be caught was to be finished. Sick of improvising my way out of one crisis after another. So I decided to aim for the line—the kind you escape the instant you simply step across. All I had to do was cross that one place: an exit that no amount of board-flipping could nullify.

—"Police SWAT. Arrived."

As I sat there with my eyes closed, counting off seconds and steadying myself, the uniforms of the faceless ones around me slowly changed, until eight of them stood transformed into police SWAT officers—and they promptly closed in around me.

—"Miss. All we have to do is get you twenty meters past that thing's back, and we win. Right?"

"Yes."

—"Then let's do this."

The Stalker looked ahead.

The woman she had craved so desperately was finally coming out of the Police Station.

A laugh of fervent welcome. At most, she had expected an officer or two to appear and buy time—she had rammed another vehicle with a fire engine right in front of the station moments ago, so perhaps two, or at the very worst three, officers might be added to that.

But contrary to every expectation, eight fully armed police SWAT officers stood surrounding the woman like a bodyguard detail.

Prepared to this degree, they must have learned of everything I've done through some means or another.

She knew well, having broken the Rules plenty of times herself. That kind of response doesn't come from a single broken rule. Most likely, that woman had gone and persuaded the Police Station.

So what she's after is the line.

Behind her. The line. To drive her back and flee to the police car, there would be no need to come out with an escort in tow. There was exactly one reason to walk out like this: to cross the line behind her under SWAT escort. The ground at her back was a stage where she could unleash her full strength without restraint—heading there was as good as declaring they would face her head-on and beat her.

How long has it been since her last challenger?

She couldn't even remember anymore. The Stalker had always been the one doing the crushing, the one issuing challenges—never the one being challenged. Hunting the women who spent their time fleeing or groveling across her domain had been nothing more than a hobby; women too busy running for their lives were neither challengers nor anything worth challenging.

Which was why this felt so wonderfully welcome. That thing—frail beyond any comparison to her, and yet challenging her armed with nothing but wit and improvisation—made her feel she could finally understand why the other Anomalies clung to humans so obsessively. How could she hate a being that granted her moments this electric, this exhilarating?

"Look at me. Look at me properly. You're not fighting the rules. You're fighting me."

The challenger spoke while staring her dead in the face. She hadn't known—those eyes had been shut this whole time—that they were so beautiful, glowing that vivid blue. The same color as her own: a blue sea, but one that carried fury instead of obsession. How could anyone not look directly at that?

"I am Baek Ha-jin. The one who will surpass you and cross the line behind you—a person who was... a man."