Night falls once again over Neo-Aureborn. As the sun dips below the horizon, the streetlights take over. For many businesses, it’s closing time; for others, the day is just beginning. Such is the case for a certain detective agency, where the building's newly acquired neon lights flicker to life, illuminating a sign—two meters long by one-meter-wide—that reads: “Vance Night Agency.”

  Lewis Vance, hat already on, watches from the sidewalk as his two brothers, Axel and Andrew, struggle to align the sign from atop a pair of ladders.

  “Maybe turning it on before hanging it wasn't such a great idea,” Axel grunts.

  “Better to see how it looks now,” Andrew replies, his voice strained. “How’s that?”

  “A little higher,” Lewis calls out, raising his voice.

  Andrew obeys, hoisting his end of the sign.

  “Perfect right there.”

  Axel pulls a marker from his pocket to trace a guide line on the wall, then tosses it to Andrew so he can do the same on his side. They both ease up on the sign without letting it drop; Lewis steps in to help support the base, and they lower it to the ground.

  “Now we just need to anchor it to the facade with magnets and screws,” Andrew explains, “and then sync it with LENA.”

  “What for?” Axel asks.

  “So it shuts off automatically when you guys forget.”

  Axel hears the voice of their AI sister coming from his pocket. He pulls out his phone, and on the screen, LENA’s avatar appears with her arms crossed.

  “Sometimes you come back so wiped from missions that you forget to cut the power. Then the bill skyrockets. If you don't pay it, your devices get cut off—and you can't work without them.”

  “I think this sign is going to hike up the bill regardless,” Lewis says. “And we still need another one for a slogan.”

  “Good thing it stays off during the day,” Axel notes. “Any ideas for a slogan?”

  “We could use one of the quotes Dad left us.” Andrew pulls out his own phone and looks at his sister on the screen. “We’ll be careful with the power, LENA. Cut the drama.”

  “I’ll make sure of that,” LENA declares before vanishing from the screen.

  “The agency isn’t doing too bad, but a little PR and some curb appeal never hurt anyone,” Lewis adds.

  “I’ll go grab the drill and the extension cords.” Andrew climbs down the ladder. “We need to hit the wall to wire the sign in.”

  “I’ll get the magnets and screws,” Axel says, following him down.

  “And I’ll get the hand vac.” Lewis heads toward the office entrance.

  All three stop dead in their tracks when their phones chime in unison. Someone is calling the agency line.

  “Vance Night Agency, at your service,” Lewis answers on speaker. “How can we help you?”

  “Good evening,” a woman’s voice comes from the other end. “Is it a bad time to ask for a job?”

  “As long as the sky is dark... we are here to serve...” Lewis looks to his brothers for approval after the improvised slogan.

  Axel and Andrew give him a thumbs-up.

  “Alright... I need you to come to this location...”

  It’s nine o’clock. The Vance Night Agency van pulls up to a massive complex, bordered by a wall and a fence. The Turbo Apex Circuit is the most popular establishment of its kind in the city. There, customers pay to compete in recreational races or simply drive a kart or a hoverbike around the tracks without any pressure. Inside, the roar of electric car and motorcycle engines echoes through the air. Though quieter than gasoline engines, they emit a powerful vibration. The complex is divided into various types of layouts: from regular tracks with few curves to technical circuits with tight angles that test the drivers' skill. There are also uniform concrete tracks and dirt tracks with ramps for stunt lovers.

  After receiving clearance to enter, Lewis drives and parks the van, then climbs out with Axel. Their client awaits them nearby—a young woman whose features evoke those of a human, save for three impossible-to-ignore details: golden sclerae surrounding her irises, a thin black tail that brushes the ground, and a pair of horns peeking from the sides of her forehead, curving backward. Neither her cap nor her work uniform manages to hide these traits.

  “An... ingferno...” Axel mutters, recognizing the woman’s race.

  “That’s the official name, but you can call me a demon, just like people called my ancestors,” she responds. “This way, please.”

  The ingferno leads the brothers to one of the sections designated for track racing. The area, located on a lower level, consists of a one-kilometer-long dirt oval. Several people roam the track on their hoverbikes without competing, as if they are just testing the terrain.

  They reach an area with wooden bleachers and vending machines, situated next to a maintenance shack.

  “At night, this area becomes special,” the woman explains. “In addition to using the venue's vehicles, customers can bring their own to compete or just ride. It becomes a free zone.”

  “And it’s where the incidents occurred,” Lewis states.

  The woman nods.

  “Yesterday and the day before, two vehicles were affected by strange events. While they were competing, their engines suddenly exploded. The customers didn't suffer serious injuries, but the bikes were totaled, and the repair costs will be astronomical.”

  “I see,” Axel says, watching the riders on the track. “You want us to find out what’s happening and catch those responsible.”

  The three of them hear the sound of an approaching engine, and just then, a black hoverbike with red flames skids to a halt beside them. The rider wears a racing suit that matches the vehicle and a white helmet.

  “That won’t be a problem for us.” Andrew pulls off his helmet. “I’ll infiltrate the next race, and we’ll settle this tonight. So? When’s the next illegal race?”

  His comment tenses the woman and surprises Axel. Lewis, for his part, remains silent.

  “Illegal race?” the ingferno woman questions.

  “A case of explosions affecting civilians is no small thing. Before coming to us, you would have gone to the police,” Andrew explains. “It’s the logical move, especially for a public place. Yet, you come to an independent agency.”

  “It’s unthinkable that someone would go to so much trouble to sabotage simple recreational races,” Lewis adds. “You just said customers can use their own vehicles to compete. There’s only one thing that would motivate them to risk them like that, beyond showing off.”

  “And that’s winning races where money or other things are on the line,” Andrew continues. “By sabotaging the others, the culprit faces less competition and spreads fear among the best riders. You’re one of the promoters for those kinds of events, aren't you? Though I imagine the whole complex is in on it.”

  “You’re good detectives,” the woman admits, hanging her head.

  “It’s also strange that the affected riders didn't say anything to the police, given it was a life-threatening matter,” Lewis concludes.

  “Don’t worry,” Andrew says. “We won’t snitch. After all, what happens on this track is none of our business. And we don't have the authority to arrest anyone... for now.”

  “You hired us to catch saboteurs, and that’s what we’ll do,” Lewis interjects. “The resulting legal issues don't concern us; the law protects us to a certain point. But, just in case...”

  It’s nine-thirty at night. Axel Vance stands by the bleachers, checking his phone while listening to the roar of the few hoverbikes still circling the open track. According to the ingferno woman, the next illegal race starts in a matter of minutes—the perfect time to scout the terrain.

  “Hey, I’m here.”

  Axel turns to see a guy in his early twenties, dressed in casual clothes. What stands out are his ingferno traits: the tail, the golden sclerae, and the backward-curving horns that complement his jet-black hair. He keeps his hands in his pockets, wearing a nonchalant expression.

  “Thanks for coming, Lucien,” Axel greets him.

  “I had to cancel my extra classes to make it, so I hope the pay is as agreed. What kind of mess do you need me to bail you out of this time?”

  “We haven’t even started yet, but we want you as our counsel in case this case goes south.”

  “Excuse me, who are you?” The ingferno woman approaches, asking out of caution.

  “He’s our legal representative.”

  “My name is Lucien Ashfall,” the young man says, introducing himself to the woman of his own race. “I have a degree in Law and I’m working on my Master’s in Criminal Law.”

  “This guy is a prodigy in the legal world,” Axel adds. “He’s gotten us out of plenty of tight spots.”

  “I’m just doing my job and making a little money,” he shoots back.

  “Fine...” the woman says. “The next race starts in thirty minutes. The riders are arriving now.”

  “Do you expect something to happen tonight? Odds are the culprit already hit their target and won't show their face again.”

  “The organizer said the participants have a clause that forces them to race, even if their lives are at risk,” Axel says. “Some are lucky because it’s their last race... maybe in more ways than one.”

  “The world of illegal gambling,” Lucien sighs. “A constant danger that’s hard to escape. I’ll see which laws protect you in case Andrew gets blown to pieces. Do you have insurance for the hoverbike?”

  “Hey, you two, you’re blocking our view,” a human girl sitting next to an elf interrupts with a smile. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

  The human and the ingferno look at them, doubting their intentions. After a shrug, they accept the offer. There’s nothing else to do until the race begins, and they don’t plan on standing watch if they can be comfortable instead.

  On the track, the few rental hoverbikes gradually pull away to make room for professional riders and their machines. Models of all sizes and designs appear, piloted by a mix of races: humans, anthropomorphs, and dwarves, all seeking money and glory in the underground gambling scene.

  Some racers eye the boys in the bleachers with suspicion.

  “They’re just spectators,” the ingferno woman clarifies to ease their minds. “They’re here to help with the explosion situation.”

  “I hope that’s true,” a teenage anthropomorph-hare with gray fur says, pulling off her helmet. “I don’t want my dreams of becoming a pro racer to go up in smoke.”

  “You’re still young, kid,” a man in his thirties snaps. He sits on his bike, helmet in his hands. “You’ll have plenty of chances in the future. You shouldn’t be messing around in shady races like this.”

  “Is that your way of discouraging her just so you can win?” A young dwarf joins the conversation. His vehicle, as expected, is custom-fitted to his size and looks heavily modified, judging by the oil stains on his hands. “It’s pathetic to resort to tricks just to get an edge.”

  “Kids these days have less and less respect for their elders. Don't underestimate an adult’s experience.”

  “I don’t need experience to beat the lot of you,” the hare-girl fires back.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “But you’ll need it to beat me.”

  The racers turn to see a young human taking his position beside them.

  “You don’t know me, but I’m good with a hoverbike. They give you way more freedom than cars.”

  “You’ve got guts, kid,” the man says, adjusting his helmet. “A rookie challenging the best in this circuit...”

  “I hope you paid the entry fee,” the dwarf adds. “If not, we’re kicking you out.” His hand glows with digital magic. “This isn't a race for amateurs.”

  “Aggressive. Just what I expected from racers with no honor.” Andrew revs his engine in a defiant gesture.

  Young Vance’s words heat up the atmosphere. Some pilots look tempted to climb off their vehicles and settle things with their fists.

  “You’re good at hyping up a crowd, human,” the anthromorph-hare comments, putting her helmet and gloves back on.

  “It’s one of my gifts.”

  The participants start their engines for the warm-up. Some take their time, while others gun it to top speed to show off their power and control. Andrew, besides warming up, stays alert to every competitor, searching for any suspicious signs or strange devices.

  “Anything unusual, LENA?” he asks through his earpiece.

  “Everything sounds normal for now,” the AI responds, scanning every frequency. “I’m listening for anything out of the ordinary.”

  Inside the maintenance shack, Lewis Vance examines the two vehicles—or what’s left of them. They show scorch marks and heavy denting around the engines.

  “A conventional energy bomb wouldn't cause this much damage,” the boy in the hat mutters, pulling out his phone to snap a photo. “And it’s impossible to hide. What do you think, Krivet?” he asks the dwarf he just sent the data to.

  “I need to run a deeper analysis, but you’re right,” Krivet responds through the device. “A standard bomb wouldn't do that, especially to models this rugged. Take a few more close-ups and check for any shrapnel residue.”

  “It’s just like you said,” Lewis confirms over the phone. “There are fragments embedded in the paint. It was a physical bomb.”

  “But it couldn't have been planted beforehand. That would be too obvious. It had to be thrown during the race and designed to target specific models. Plus, it would have to be tiny to go unnoticed until the moment of detonation.”

  “So, the culprit launches it right on the track. Good thing our bike’s engine isn't that model.” Lewis takes one last look at the wrecked vehicles. “Andrew isn't in danger from those bombs.”

  “One more thing, Lewis. Whatever device the saboteur is using can't be integrated into the hoverbike—it’s not an accessory designed for that. They must be triggering it with something else.”

  Andrew shakes off the dust kicking up against his helmet visor. The other riders have made it crystal clear that he isn’t welcome. He is one of the last to take his spot on the starting line before the first ten-lap race begins. The ingferno woman who hired him stands before the group, announcing the rules and directions through a microphone. Andrew doesn't pay attention. Instead, he analyzes the other participants' vehicles. Despite his technical knowledge of hoverbikes, he still doesn’t spot anything alarming.

  “Let the first round begin!” the ingferno woman announces.

  The roar of the engines kicks up a thick curtain of dust the second the signal is given. The ten hoverbikes accelerate, hitting near-top speeds in a matter of seconds. In the lead, the human adult dominates with an almost insulting elegance, leaning his silver slider into the first turn of the oval while the side winglets gleam under the track lights. Behind him, the anthropomorph-hare uses her physiology and aerodynamic vehicle to zigzag through the pack; she triggers a brief pulse from her rear boosters that launches her like a projectile, leaving a trail of dirt and debris in her wake.

  By the second lap, the one-kilometer track is already a chaos of adrenaline and technology. An elf rider attempts an aggressive pass on the inside, but the screech of metal on metal echoes through the venue as the dwarf deploys a hexagonal solid-energy shield. The resulting shockwave makes the ground vibrate. While the position markers flash, indicating eight laps to go, the light trails from the devices draw chromatic arcs over the dirt, marking a pursuit where cunning is just as vital as speed to avoid being thrown off the oval.

  The first five laps fly by in just a few minutes. Andrew is the only one without external tools on his bike, so he has to rely solely on his skill and control.

  “Danger on your left,” LENA warns.

  Andrew slams on the brakes to avoid a goblin rider trying to sideswipe him. As soon as he regains his balance, he guns it again to keep pace with the pack.

  “Finally getting interesting,” Andrew smirks under his helmet and throttles up.

  Just then, the AI receives new info from Lewis and Krivet: a hypothesis on how the bombs were planted.

  “Magnetism,” LENA says. “I see. Depending on the engine model, the type of metal varies. That causes certain specialized magnets to stick or repel with greater force.”

  “Maybe the culprit launched them with one of those devices,” Axel guesses. “It could be one of the riders who hasn't done anything weird yet.”

  “There are no hoverbike gadgets of that kind on the market,” the AI states. “Whoever this is must have advanced knowledge of engineering and mechanics.”

  Lewis steps out of the maintenance area to watch the race; with the new information in hand, he looks to anticipate any move.

  “Hey,” Lucien calls out, standing up to stretch his legs. “I found something out. It looks like those explosives weren't just used to cheat here. They’ve been a test run to see if they’re undetectable; they plan on using them in the pro circuit.”

  “How did you find that out?” Lewis asks, surprised.

  “Connections.” Lucien glances back at the two girls he was sitting with. “I have a knack for persuading people to loosen their tongues—it’s not just for the courtroom.” He gives a thumb’s up, and both the human and the elf return the gesture with flirtatious looks. “I need Axel to do me a favor tomorrow in exchange for this info. I also heard there are people here who came to see how those weapons perform. The kind of people who weren't at all happy about their riders or their vehicles being targeted.”

  “This is going to escalate fast if we don’t stop it.” Lewis keeps his eyes fixed on the track as the hoverbikes roar past at full speed. “Even if it’s none of our business, it’s in our best interest to make sure certain dangerous people don’t end up with a grudge against our agency.”

  The race is already halfway through. Andrew Vance keeps slipping and zigzagging through the jumble of riders in the middle of the one-kilometer track. Some try to knock him off course with shoves and collisions; Andrew has managed to dodge them all, which has only fueled the hostility against him.

  Andrew is also worried that they aren't using their best gear yet. Worse still, four vehicles share the same engine model as the targeted ones, and he doesn’t know which one to watch or whom to suspect.

  “Damn it. At this speed, it’s impossible to see if they have extra gadgets on their bikes,” Andrew says, leaning into his vehicle as he takes a turn. “We’re past the halfway point. They should have...”

  “Andrew, brake!”

  He freezes for a split second at his AI sister's command. He twists the right handlebar with his bare hand to activate the reverse thrusters, cutting his speed drastically until he skids to a halt.

  The other riders pull ahead about fifty meters, until an elf’s hoverbike engine explodes with a deafening roar. The rider loses control.

  “Use digital magic!” Andrew screams.

  A chain reaction follows: the elf and his vehicle slide across the track, taking out the adjacent competitors. The crowd falls silent, faces frozen in shock at the crash. Only three riders, besides Andrew, escaped the pile-up; all three slow to a halt with bewildered expressions.

  After the initial impact, a large part of the crowd begins to scream and scramble to flee the area. Others stand paralyzed, unable to believe it’s happening again. The most terrified riders bolt, not caring about leaving their vehicles behind; with the threat of more bombs, it’s their best option.

  The riders on the ground followed Andrew's advice, coating their limbs in digital magic to dampen the impact. Though aching, they are more than relieved to find they have no broken bones.

  “Don’t move!”

  A boy’s voice freezes them all. A young human wearing a blazer and armed with a sword approaches to prevent the riders from escaping. Behind him, a boy in a hat and a young ingferno arrive to help.

  “The culprit is right here,” Andrew states, pulling up on his bike. “Right before the bomb went off, we heard something snap onto one of the engines.”

  The affected elf stands up, shaken by the explosion but physically unharmed save for a few scuffs on his uniform. He pulls off his helmet to reveal the face of an adult man with pointed ears, green eyes, and white hair. His expression isn't one of fear, but of pure outrage.

  “Who did this?” he demands, his voice booming with authority.

  “The culprit is still among us,” Lewis says. “He did all of this through his hoverbike. He’s been using a gadget to launch magnetic bombs that latch onto the engines.”

  A team of paramedics approaches to tend to the injured.

  “If none of you are guilty, you’ll have no problem stepping off your bikes,” Lucien declares. “We aren’t the police, but there are people in the crowd who don’t take kindly to their property being attacked. Refusing or fleeing would be an admission of guilt. And I, for one, wouldn't want to face the wrath of dangerous people.”

  The affected riders remain on the ground or standing, while the three still on their vehicles watch the boys with somber expressions. They know the Vances have no legal authority to hold them, but Lucien’s argument about outside retaliation has hit the nail on the head.

  “Do you think—?”

  “Are you going to start a speech here?” Andrew cuts the adult human off. “We already know the culprit is among us. Are you trying to buy time because it’s you?”

  “You’ve got more guts than I thought.” The man dismounts and gives his bike a kick, toppling it onto its side. “Go ahead. Check whatever you want.”

  The young dwarf and the anthro-hare also climb down, though their expressions show far less confidence than the man's.

  “Everyone except me has mods on their vehicles to get an edge or to cheat,” Andrew says. “The culprit uses one of those to fire the magnetic bombs.”

  “It’s not a device you can just buy,” Lewis adds, “not even on the illegal racing black market. Someone had to build it. Someone with advanced engineering knowledge.”

  All eyes fall on one person, who responds with a loud laugh.

  “I did it just because I’m a dwarf? I see racial stereotypes haven't disappeared.”

  “We’re not saying that, but if we investigate—”

  “Enough talk,” the dwarf interrupts Lucien. “We dwarves will never lose our fascination with engineering and metallurgy. Fine, I confess. It doesn't matter; you already have me as a suspect and you’d only need to check my record.” The dwarf raises his hands. “I manufacture military-grade gadgets for vehicles. People pay me to design them and oversee their performance. That’s why I use a different bike model.”

  Axel and Andrew tense up, ready to step in if he tries a desperate move.

  “Wait,” Lewis stops them.

  “I said I built that bomb launcher, but I never said I used it myself,” the dwarf continues. “Making military toys isn’t a crime, is it, Counselor?”

  “There’s a legal loophole regarding that,” Lucien admits. “It’s not a crime to manufacture weapons, even lethal ones, as long as they aren’t used for illicit purposes.”

  “That means the real culprit is someone hired to test them,” Lewis concludes. “Someone looking to use them in pro circuits who only came here to gain experience.”

  The focus of their stares shifts. The hare-girl hangs her head and grits her teeth.

  “I...” The girl clenches her fists tight. “I didn't do it. You can't prove it without examining my bike.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lucien says with a cold smile. “We won’t touch private property. We’ve already taken enough photos of that device hidden in your vehicle’s rear wheels.”

  “The police are already on their way to question everyone,” Lewis adds. “If it wasn't you, you won’t have any problem being interrogated too, right?”

  The anthro-girl remains silent, consumed by a simmering rage.

  “If you were going to blow up the bike to get rid of the evidence, you should’ve done it by now.” Andrew leans in to get a closer look at the girl’s vehicle. “And while you were at it, you should’ve gotten rid of those gloves.”

  The girl imbues her legs with digital magic and takes a prodigious leap to flee the track. Axel and Andrew waste no time, activating their own magic to bolt after her; their feet glow as they begin to run at superhuman speed. Lewis and Lucien, as a precaution, remain by the suspect’s vehicle to guard the evidence.

  The anthropomorph-hare continues taking long leaps, using all four limbs for support. She doesn’t care who she knocks over; her priority is escape. Although she is fast due to her morphology, the Vance brothers gain ground every second, closing the gap. The girl keeps running, screaming for the crowd to move. She has no plan—she's just looking for a way out. However, ahead of her, a set of lights terrifies her: the sirens of patrol cars that have just arrived at the complex entrance. Police officers of various races draw their weapons as they see the suspect charging toward them.

  “That’s her!” Andrew shouts. “She’s carrying explosives!”

  Just meters away from the officers, the hare flexes her legs for one last powered jump, attempting to clear the fence surrounding the complex. For her, everything happens in slow motion: the momentum, the officers' reactions, the path to freedom... until she feels an impact in her leg that turns it completely numb. She manages to imbue her limbs with digital magic to cushion the fall, but when she tries to stand up, she gives up: the police have already surrounded her, weapons aimed at her.

  “She caused the previous explosions and the one from a few minutes ago,” Axel informs them as he catches up. He grabs her right wrist and yanks off the glove. “She used this to launch the explosives and send remote commands. She was the only one wearing them because these kinds of gadgets are incompatible with the hoverbikes’ systems.”

  “We appreciate the information, but you just shot a civilian,” interrupts an anthro-lion police officer. “That’s not—”

  “My clients were performing security work commissioned by Turbo Apex,” Lucien interrupts, arriving on the scene. “As their counsel, I can confirm that. This woman used a weapon to injure people on the track. My clients belong to an agency authorized by the mayor’s office, which gives them permission to neutralize an armed subject.”

  The officers exchange doubtful looks.

  “I’ll have to confirm that with the owner,” the lion officer grunts. “Until then, stay where I can see you. Restrain the hare. Squad two, with me—let's check on the injured!” he orders, heading into the complex to announce that the situation is under control.

  “Did you call them?” Lewis asks the ingferno woman while they watch the scene from a distance. He’s been pushing the agency’s hoverbike toward the entrance.

  “It was just in case. I didn't want the culprit to escape.” The woman looks down at the ground. “It would have been disastrous PR for Turbo Apex.”

  “You already have enough on your plate with this incident. Thanks for trusting us to catch the culprit tonight. As for your bosses…”

  “I’ll speak with the complex owner; you won't have any trouble. The spectators who witnessed the incident won't hold it against you, either. For now.”

  “We have no intention of meddling in business that doesn't concern us, so don't worry about our safety.”

  “I’ll send the agreed payment to your account. Again, thank you.” The woman withdraws with a slight bow to head back to the track.

  “Do you distrust her?” LENA asks through the earpiece.

  “Of course. Covering up illegal activities is still a crime,” Lewis responds. “But as long as it doesn’t involve, it’s none of our business. We’re workers, not vigilantes.”

  “Hey, job’s done,” Andrew announces. He and Axel have finished answering the police’s questions. “I like it better when Officer Nightshade is the one in charge.”

  “He wasn't on shift today, so we went with the backup plan.” Axel watches as the young ingferno approaches.

  “The police are letting us go,” Lucien says, hands in his pockets. “I showed them my bar card; as soon as they get the confirmation, we’re out of here.”

  “Then, to the van,” Andrew says. “We need to head to Krivet’s and fix the bike.”

  “I need a lift.”

  “Don’t you have a car?”

  “I just graduated. Don’t expect me to strike it rich this soon.” Lucien sighs. “Why did we only inherit the tails and horns from our ancestors? Wings would have been way more useful.”

  The four of them walk toward the parking lot where the Vance Night Agency van is parked. Once the transaction clears and the police clearance is ready, all that’s left is to head home after another successful mission.

  “By the way, Axel,” the ingferno says, “you and I have dinner tomorrow with those two girls. That’s the payment for the info.”

  Axel shrugs it off. Lewis smiles and LENA lets out a giggle through the earpieces, proud of her brother. Andrew, on the other hand, grits his teeth, consumed by envy.