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Yueling zips through the digital world on the back of her dragon Digimon Hisyaryumon. She is dressed in her formal DigiPolice uniform, clearly pressed and finely decorated. Hisyaryumon’s obsidian scales shine as brightly as the ember-colored gem on its forehead.
Hisyaryumon suddenly changes direction, diving towards a group of code crackers. Each controlled a cyborg-type Digimon. They scramble as they see the dragon, but Hisyaryumon is too quick. Hisyaryumon knocks them out with very little effort.
“Code Crackers Contained,” Yueling announces through her radio.
“You’re sharp as ever captain,” Satsuki replies.
“Spare me the flattery and call in processing.”
“On it!”
Satsuki’s Numemon waddles onto the scene. It kicks one of the unconscious Digimon as it begins to secure the criminals.
“What’d we catch, Hisyaryumon?”
“The usual. A bunch of Cyborg-types used for data collection.”
“So it seems,” Yueling replies as she scans Hisyaryumon’s report.
“Looks like they were after state secrets. Judging by their tools, I would guess they were hired by someone overseas. It appears that a few are still in operation. We could send them back with a little souvenir,” Hisyaryumon continues maliciously.
“If your hunch is right, this is above our pay grade.” Yueling continues to read the report. “Why not? I’m feeling playful today. Send them something nasty.”
“As you wish,” Hisyaryumon says cheerily as he gets to work on the restrained Digimon.
Yueling watches from inside the Digicore. Easy days like this made her think of the old days. With nothing to distract her, she gets lost in a memory.
I wonder what Kosuke is up to?
Yueling walks into Ryusenji Laboratories. The air conditioner hums, blowing cool air into the room. The desks are cluttered with papers and books. Large server racks are pushed against one of the walls. The professor sits at his computer, absorbed in the letters moving across his monitor
“Good Morning Professor,” she says cheerily. The clock on the wall reads 6 p.m.
“Good morning,” he says without looking up.
“Got some mail for you,” she says, setting the pile of letters on his desk.
“Mhm,” Ryusenji grunts.
“I delivered your mail! Can you acknowledge me with your words and eyes please? I don’t want you calling me later asking for your mail!”
“There!” Ryuseji announces suddenly, pointing at the screen. “There’s the bug. Who wrote this aweful code?!”
“You probably.”
“No…It couldn’t have…Could it?” The professor becomes distressed by his question looking over the code again.
“Has my proposal for a proper server room been approved? It’s freezing in here.” Yueling puts on a jacket she keeps hanging over a chair.
“Theyre going to move the entire campus over the next few years. They aren’t approving any new projects until everything is settled.”
Yueling shrugs. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I keep telling them how important our work is. I hear investing in our field is quietly exploding around the world. Our advantage could disappear overnight,” Ryusenji grumbles without lifting his eyes.
“Maybe we should pack up and go overseas then.”
“You can’t seriously be suggesting that,” answers a gravelly voice. Kosuke pops his head from his makeshift cot from between the server racks. He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he makes his way over.
“Slept in the office again?” Yueling asks.
Kosuke nods as he runs his hands through his unkempt hair and lets out a big yawn. The scruff on his beard had grown thick, and it was clear he’d been wearing the same clothes for several days.
“At least wash your face and brush your teeth. Did you at least bring a change of clothes?
“About that…”
The door busts open. A petit woman barges through carrying several takeout bags.
“Feeding time!” She begins organizing the spread on the large table they use for meetings.
“Good! I’m starving.” Kosuke answers.
“Here’s your change of clothes,” the woman says, tossing Kosuke a paper bag.
“Saya…Did you go all the way to Kosuke’s house to get him a change of clothes?”
“Yep! I also brought you a pork bowl. I hope you’re hungry,” Saya beams as she hands Yueling her bowl.
Yueling reaches into her pocket “Thanks. Here, how much do I owe..”
“None of that. It’s dad’s…I mean the professor’s treat.”
The four sit and eat their lunch. The room fills with chatter and laughter over the hum of the air conditioning.
