The year is 4261 AD. The Federal Republic of Alusthogrun, known to most as the Aeropolis Alusthogrun. The continent once called Australia was now an Aeropolis, a flying city that drifted some 1,500 metres in the sky.
To attempt entry by sea was not merely difficult, but a fool’s errand; to attempt it by air, nigh on impossible. In due course, the Aeropolis Alusthogrun had earned its more common moniker: The Fortress in the Sky. It was whispered, in hushed tones both official and conspiratorial, that what kept this colossal monument to human ingenuity aloft—what defied gravity and supported its impossible weight—was a great, throbbing perpetual motion engine. Or so the story went, spoon-fed to the masses with the morning papers. They claimed this fantastical engine was a gift from the gods of science, made possible by the discovery of a new, divine energy.
This miraculous power source was a substance still wreathed in a veil of profound mystery: Abaddoselenium. Its very existence had only been verified in the past two or three decades, and its true nature remained a subject of feverish, academic debate. Was it matter, a photon, or something else entirely? A question for the ages, perhaps. And yet, this substance of unknowable origin now fuelled the whole of Alusthogrun. Abaddoselenium powered the turbines that spun with a whisper and a hum, it filled the engines of every car and aeroplane, and rumour had it, it could be fashioned into a weapon of such apocalyptic power it would make the most monstrous nuclear bomb seem a mere firecracker in comparison. Its true essence remained a puzzle, a conundrum of the highest order. It was a terrifying, arcane substance, to be sure, but it was also hailed as a magnificent marvel, a sorcerer’s stone that could turn any dream into reality. At least, that was the grand illusion sold to and believed by the vast majority of the residents of the Federal Republic of Alusthogrun.
Yet, the supposed boons of Abaddoselenium were a mere pittance when weighed against the perilous risks of its use. As the esteemed scholar Mr. Pellmond Varlozzi had once commented, it was “more trouble than the uranium used in nuclear power generation, or some such thing,” a sentiment that was summarily dismissed by the powers that be.
For indeed, a power station utilising Abaddoselenium had already been the epicentre of a truly catastrophic accident in another country. It was roughly thirty years ago, if memory served, when an unknown surge of Abaddoselenium had completely and utterly obliterated an entire state in the United States of North America, leaving nothing but a vast, smouldering scar on the landscape.
Be that as it may, that was in another country, and it was all in the past, wasn’t it? The average citizen of Alusthogrun clung to this belief like a life raft in a storm: Surely, technology must have advanced by now, rendering it perfectly safe. This was, of course, precisely the intended consequence of the government's incessant propaganda machine. In the harsh light of truth, the situation had not changed one jot since that fateful day, and technology had made no tangible progress to speak of. The reason for that horrific accident in the United States of North America remained, to this very day, a complete and total mystery.
“That's why, Alexander. Just listen to me for a tick.”
And so, the current state of the Federal Republic of Alusthogrun was one of total, all-encompassing reliance on Abaddoselenium for the very infrastructure that held its society together. While this dependency had led to a superficial improvement in the standard of living, the chasm between the gilded-class and the working-class had widened into a gaping maw. Social order, once so rigid and predictable, grew more precarious with each passing year. Rising crime rates amongst the dispossessed, kidnappings of the children of the wealthy—the immediate challenges were piling up, threatening to send the great city tumbling from the sky it so arrogantly inhabited.
Still, that was but one facet of society. This man knew that well.
“C'mon, Alex, please! Just for a little bit, give your old man a listen!”
The place was a suburb of Canberra, the capital's special administrative region. In a corner of a residential area densely populated with families in relative poverty, there was a man who ran a detective agency.
His name was Douglas Colt, an eccentric bloke who worked as both a detective and a paparazzo. And he had a daughter who, by no stretch of the imagination, could be called a rough girl.
“Not bloody likely. A job pokin' my nose into people's dirty laundry? Nah, you can get stuffed. I'll help you find a lost cat, sure, but paparazzi work and rooting out cheaters? Forget about it.”
She disliked people but adored animals, and her dream was to become a veterinarian. She had a foul mouth, and her words and actions were rough and careless. Her long, golden hair, tied back haphazardly, was a mess of unruly curls from a lack of care. Her piercing, green eyes were intimidating, and her glare was anything but friendly. Furthermore, her favourite red leather jacket, which she wore often, was a hand-me-down from her mother (and it was a man's jacket). The name of this daughter, who was by no means feminine, was Alexander Colt.
Despite being a girl, why was her name the masculine Alexander, instead of a feminine name like Alexandra or Alexis? It was because her father, Douglas, had unilaterally decided, “His name will be Alexander,” whilst she was still in her mother's womb. Her father, Douglas, had been mysteriously convinced that the baby would be a boy. As it turned out, a girl was born (incidentally, her mother also had a masculine name for a similar reason). Perhaps due to the influence of her manly name, she had grown up to be so tough and boyish.
This girl, Alexander, is the protagonist of this story.
“Please, Alex! Just for an hour after school today, that's all I ask! I need you to keep an eye on a client's husband. I've got another case and need to meet someone. So—”
“And I'm tell-in-you, I don't bloody want to! No way, absolutely not! Why don't you just give some kid in the neighbourhood a few coins to watch him for ya?”
And so, early this morning, the Colt Detective Agency was once again filled with the sound of a father and daughter shouting. It was a scene that played out here almost every morning.
Before heading to high school, Alexander always visited the agency to deliver the breakfast her mother had entrusted to her for her father.
Due to a variety of circumstances, Alexander's parents were currently separated. Her mother, Ilya, and Alexander lived at home, whilst her father, Douglas, was living and sleeping at the agency. But even though they were separated, her mother Ilya apparently still had feelings for him, preparing breakfast for her estranged husband every morning. And it was their daughter, Alexander, who was asked to deliver it.
But Alexander found this delivery duty a right pain in the arse. Every time she saw her father, he would try to hold her back, asking her to help with his work after school, promising to teach her the skills of a detective. And today was no different; her father was relentlessly trying to recruit Alexander into the detective business. “Alexander. You've got what it takes to be a detective. I need you.”
“What 'what it takes' are you on about...”
“Insight, reasoning, relentless investigation, and a heart of steel that never gives up! You've helped me with my work before,
Alexander. I'm asking you to be my official assistant. I'll even pay you a proper wage. I'm not talking about pocket money here, you know.”
“Told you I'm not interested, didn't I?”
“...!!”
“I don't wanna be a paparazzo chasing celebrities. And I bloody hate the idea of staking out cheating spouses even more. I'd rather find another part-time job. That'd be heaps better.”
The reason Alexander was so reluctant to help with her father's work—or rather, the detective business—could be summed up in two words: 'no class'.
Alexander herself did not dislike detective work in principle. She could work with a sense of mission to help people. She liked jobs like finding and protecting lost cats or searching for lost items. She would even be willing to actively help with that kind of work, because she got to see the client's happy face.
But such cases were rare. Most of the jobs her father took on were infidelity investigations. The more successful the investigation, the more often the client ended up in tears.
Furthermore, when her father had no cases, he took on a side job as a paparazzo. It was a job that involved stalking unwilling people and selling the photos to gossip magazines; a despicable, privacy-invading, rock-bottom job. Her father did it from time to time, and sometimes he would even try to make Alexander help him.
Infidelity investigations and paparazzi work. He wanted her to help with that? “Besides... seriously, what kind of bloke asks a high schooler to watch adults' affairs? It's just creepy.”
“You'd just be waiting at the hotel entrance, wouldn't ya?”
“It's creepy.”
“Wait. Where are you goin', Alexander!”
“Where do you think? To school. I'm still a high school student, you know. Don't you forget it.”
“It's a holiday today, isn't it?!”
“It's Monday. The weekend ended yesterday.”
Alexander slung the backpack she had tossed on the sofa over her shoulder, shot her father the middle finger as she turned, and threw open the detective agency's door, running off in a hurry.
At this rate, she might be late for her meeting. Alexander checked the time on her wristwatch, her messy golden hair flying as she rushed to the meeting spot.
“Fifteen minutes late, Alex.”
When Alexander finally reached the meeting place, her friend—a young man with a fluorescent orange backpack and a red bandana wrapped around his brunette head—Neil Archer, was already standing there with a fed-up look on his face.
Neil was Alexander’s childhood friend. They had been together since before they could remember. They had attended the same primary, middle, and high schools, and knew each other very well.
Alexander offered a quick “Sorry, mate” to the weary-looking Neil, then glared back the way she came and said, “Got held up by some business.”
“Did you argue with your father again?”
“...Yeah, somethin' like that.”
“You two never get tired of it, do ya?” Neil laughed it off and slapped Alexander on the shoulder. It was his way of showing he was not really angry about her being late.
“Well, better get a move on or we'll miss the bus, yeah?” Neil said in a carefree voice, glancing at the watch on Alexander's left wrist. Then he took off running, leaving Alexander behind.
“Wait up, Neil! Don't leave me behind!!” Alexander ran after Neil, hurrying towards the nearest bus stop.
After a three-minute sprint, they arrived at the bus stop, breathless. They pushed their way through the throng of students and somehow managed to get on the last bus. Standing side-by-side, holding onto the straps, they looked at each other and grinned. They were lucky today.
Whilst Alexander and the others rejoiced on the bus, a line of students who had missed the last bus stood dejectedly at the bus stop. But the bus mercilessly left them behind and pulled away.
It was a familiar sight for Alexander. The school bus was always a scramble. The area where they lived was full of families, making the competition particularly fierce. As a result, only the strong could get on the bus. Only those students who could push through the crowd with brute force, shoving and pulling people aside to board, were allowed on. And most students were desperate to get on the bus. Because missing it implicitly meant being late.
“Made it on safely again today, eh Alex,” Neil muttered with relief amidst the packed crowd.
“Yeah, we did,” Alexander mumbled back, pressed against the window. She gazed at the group of students left behind at the bus stop.
And there, in the crowd, she saw a girl with albinism sitting on the ground. White hair, white skin, and vacant red eyes staring after the departing bus. In her hand, the girl held a bent aluminium cane, as if it had been trampled.
As Alexander watched from a distance as the girl skilfully used the broken cane to struggle to her feet, she felt a pang of guilt for getting on the bus. It occurred to her that she might have been the one who broke the girl's cane.
Just then, Neil must have spotted the same girl. He peered out the window at the bus stop and pointed at the stumbling albino girl. He said, “Hey Alex, that's the rumoured Yun Ertl. She was in hospital for ages with some illness, but she's back at school now that she's better. But, well... apparently she doesn't have a very good reputation, you know?”
“Not a good reputation?”
“I don't know the full story. But Yun is cute, yeah? So I reckon the other girls are super jealous. So they spread made-up rumours and her reputation goes down the gurgler, you know? It's a common thing, right?”
“You watch too many dramas,” Alexander teased Neil. But her gaze remained fixed on the girl named Yun.
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