Chapter 1: Wrong Turn

Apricot's hectic morning full of near-misses and unexpected encounters tests her resolve as she chases her dream of becoming a journalist.

Blue Ash Crisis

Chapter 1: Wrong Turn

Apricot lay enveloped in the comforting warmth of her blankets, the world outside her dreams just a distant buzz. In her mind, a dull, burgundy light flickered, like the glow of a distant fire, pulling her from the depths of sleep. "Not yet, " she murmured in her sleep, clinging to the last threads of her dream. On her nightstand, her alarm clock blinked desperately. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, caught the glaring red numbers: 8:23 AM. "No, no, no! " The panic surged within her, a sharp yelp escaping as she realized the day was slipping away. "I'm so late, " she thought, her heart racing with each beep of the alarm. With a burst of energy, she leapt from bed, the covers cascading to the floor with a soft thud.

Her uniform hung from a polished bronze curtain rod. The crisp, slightly rough texture of the green and white fabric with yellow stripes gleamed in the morning light. Without a second to spare, Apricot seized the uniform. The fabric fluttered gently as she dressed in a hurry, its soft whispers beckoning. Freshly laundered and delightfully fragrant, the detergent's scent enveloped her, a cozy hug for the senses. She moved through her room with purpose, her footsteps hurried on the wooden floor. While adjusting her green and white, yellow-trimmed sailor, she glanced at her makeup. Her breath quickened in frustration. “Maybe just eyeliner, that only takes a moment, ” she whispered aloud. The cold metal of the eyeliner applicator felt like ice against her skin, each stroke a reminder of the time slipping away. "Quick, quick! " she urged herself silently, her hand trembling slightly with the urgency.

In the kitchen, Jasper was already at the table, his eyes glued to the TV. Gone were the playful cartoon sounds; instead, urgent red news bars blared. The screen flickered with disaster from Okabe News Network. The reporter's bold red swing coat erupted against the morning's moody gray. Her calm voice offered an eerie contrast to the chaos behind her. Apricot imagined the reporter was thrilled to have such a story, while someone else was the unfortunate subject. "What are you watching? " Her voice sliced through the morning's cacophony, her tone edged with the familiar frustration of dealing with her brother's antics.

"Oh, you’re up, " Jasper snickered, his voice a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Your alarm woke me up. It's annoying how you can't turn that off. But look at this! " His eyes widened, glued to the screen, now more fascinated than annoyed. "The police had another standoff. " The TV sound of panicked streets and shouting filled the room. Apricot hated how smug her younger brother was.

Opening the fridge with a chilly blast of air, the door creaking slightly, Apricot found several leftovers. They clinked softly as she moved them. The air was tinged with curry scent and a hint of last night's tangy salad dressing. This was most likely her father’s meals from his late work nights. She grabbed a half carton of milk. Its slightly sour taste refreshing as she drank straight from the cardboard fold-out. She also grabbed a few eggs and a stick of butter. “You know you could be a good boy for once and help your big sister, Jazz, ” she said, her voice a mix of playful scolding and genuine plea.

Jasper's laugh was sharp, "You could be responsible for once and get up. " Yet, his gaze never left the screen, the thrill of the news overtaking him. "Whoa, there's blood everywhere, " he gasped, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and fascination.

Apricot lifted her head from the fridge, the sound of her movement loud in the tension of the moment. She looked up at the image displayed on the screen. "Jasper Signa! You know you're not supposed to watch this stuff! "

Jasper mumbled, “It’s just the news, and Mom's not here anyway to scold me, so leave me alone. ” His voice was defiant, yet there was a hint of thrill in his tone.

“But Dad is home. " Color drained from Jasper’s face as he turned to see his father standing over his shoulder. His father's voice was stern as he touched Jasper’s back. “What is this? ” Apricot felt a surge of satisfaction knowing her dad had caught him. She sprang up, closing the fridge door with her foot, the latch clicking shut and filling the silence. At breakfast, she crafted an omelet on the stovetop, where butter sizzled and danced. As the eggs gently crackled, they whispered promises of comfort amidst the morning’s chaos.

"It's the news... Several people were attacked by robbers. They had to get the SDP. ” Jasper chirped with a hint of fascination in his voice. “Look, Dad, it's a Sachiban model 4! ”

“Huh, I see. Well, your sister’s right, your mother would be furious if she found out you were looking at this. Turn it off. ” He commanded before walking over to Apricot. “And Missy, you are late for school. Think you have time for breakfast when you're late? "

Apricot muttered under her breath, the spatula clattering against the pan as she conceded the truth to herself, "He's right. " The realization stung, mixing with the sizzle of butter and eggs, a small defeat in the battle against the morning.

~

She pushed through the early-morning crowds of Midtown Ginzu, the scent of smog and old coffee burning her nostrils. The roar of traffic mingled with the half-awake chatter of the people, creating a chaotic symphony that matched Apricot’s racing pulse. Each jostle against her shoulders felt like a minor shock, the unrelenting force pressing her forward. Her breath came in shallow bursts, a faint metallic tang coating her tongue - the taste of adrenaline. Don’t stop; don’t slow down, she silently urged herself. If I miss this train, everything will fall apart.

She wove her way through the sluggish morning traffic, the bitter smell of coffee and lingering smog gnawing at her senses. At the end of the road, she tried to slip past a metal barricade, only to be stopped by a tall man’s firm hand.

“Hey, girl, go around the other way, ” he shouted. The sharp crackle of police radios and the hushed voices of medics underscored a tense atmosphere. Apricot’s stomach twisted at the sight of a pair of medics crouched near a limp figure on the ground, their gloved hands stained red. The acrid tang of antiseptics mingled with blood's pungent scent, clawing at her throat.

This must be where the attack happened, Apricot thought, her skin prickling with dread. She felt the impulse to linger, to learn more - yet the man’s stern glare snapped her out of it.

“Didn’t you hear me? ” he bellowed, louder this time. “Turn around! ” He waved her away, his eyes narrowing with impatience.

With a weary sigh, Apricot turned and retraced her steps, fighting the current of commuters shuffling in the opposite direction. It was like swimming upstream in a sea of bleary-eyed travelers clutching to-go cups, their faces drained of color by the morning haze. Her chest tightened with every step, frustration and apprehension tangling inside her.

A few blocks down lay another railway station, though it wasn’t her usual route. In any case, if she moved quickly, she could get to the university. She ran, heart pounding in her ears. The station finally appeared like a beacon. An overhead speaker cracked its final boarding call, and the train’s brakes screeched as it prepared to depart. She pushed into a full sprint, her lungs burning with each frantic breath, and muttered hurried apologies whenever she collided with someone.

Moments before the doors were sealed, a young man thrust his arm between them, holding them open just long enough for her to catch up. He extended his free hand.

Apricot grasped it in a rush, her mind reeling at how close she’d come to missing the train. His grip was strong and warm; he practically hoisted her onto the train. The doors hissed shut behind her, and a stale gust of recycled air grazed her cheeks, tinged with cheap cologne and nervous sweat.

“Hey there, you almost missed your train, ” the man said with a chuckle, a grin on his face.

Relief flooded Apricot’s body, leaving her shaky and lightheaded. That was too close. She smiled. 

“Yeah - thanks to you, I didn’t. ”

“You got stuck on that detour, huh? ” he asked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long. Apricot’s heart, which had barely calmed down, shook again. He's forward, she thought, torn between gratitude and unease.

She nodded. “Mmmhmmm. Did you, too? ”

“Nah, but I heard plenty of people complaining about it. ” He grabbed a nearby pole as the train lurched forward. “They shut down the whole subway system in Ginzu for emergency repairs after last night’s incident, ” he added. Apricot sensed he wanted her to keep talking, but anxiety clung to her like a damp coat. She offered nothing, and he rolled his eyes before sighing. “So, what brings you out on this lovely morning? ”

“I’m heading to Akihara University, ” Apricot said, her pulse still fluttering as she tried to steady her breathing. “I’m studying journalism - hoping to land a spot on Okabe’s official list. ” Even as she spoke, fragments of the gruesome scene at the barricade lingered in her mind.

He smirked. “Journalism, huh? You got a camera? ”

The unexpected question made her brows furrow. “What? ”

“I’ve got a camera I’m selling, ” he said, pointing to a Nihon Dazzler with a dinged-up viewfinder poking out of a scuffed bag. "I assumed a journalist might like photography. ”

A slight wave of unease rippled through Apricot. Why is he trying to sell me something right now? “Ah, no thanks, ” she said, forcing a polite smile. “I’m not really looking to buy one. ”

He shrugged. “Alright. But if you change your mind, I ride this train most mornings. Name’s Cortez, by the way. ” He gave her a meaningful look. “You know, in case you’re looking for something, ” he said, letting his words linger like a veiled invitation.

Apricot swallowed, her adrenaline still coursing from the sprint, now mixed with dull uncertainty. “See you around, ” he said, raising a hand in farewell before vanishing into the crush of passengers.

~

Apricot’s cheeks glowed pink from exertion, and her damp shirt clung uncomfortably to her skin. Each soaked step squished underfoot as she jogged into Akihara University's narrow, glass-roofed entrance corridor. A faint odor of floor cleaner mixed with the stale smell of old books hovered in the air, reminding her of the hours she’d spent here studying. Catching her breath, she glanced up at a flickering LCD screen broadcasting a government announcement. The time - 10:04 AM - was boxed neatly in stark black and white in the corner, a reminder of how late she was.

I can’t believe this detour made me lose so much time, she thought, swallowing the dryness in her throat. She couldn’t afford another tardy - her professor had warned her that missing key lectures could cost her a passing grade. The hallway’s sparse population - mostly quiet students rushing to their own classes - gave the space an echoy stillness, intensifying her growing anxiety.

She arrived at 1403B. Through the narrow glass, she saw that the off-white paper shade had already been drawn down, a sure sign that the class was in progress. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal doorknob. With a strained grunt, she tried forcing it open, but the knob rattled stubbornly. The jarring resistance sent a dull ache into her wrist.

Stepping back, Apricot lowered her head, her pulse thrumming so hard it ached in her temples. A quiet shudder escaped her, and she sighed. “Late again, ” she told herself, her heart sinking. Visions of her professor’s disapproving glare flashed through her mind.

~

Once outside, she headed into Blue Ash's bustling streets. Despite being a weekday, it radiated the same energy as any crowded urban maze. She passed by people wearing everything from sharp suits to tattered hoodies, weaving through Kawase Avenue’s narrow lanes. The tantalizing aroma of barbecued chicken skewers cooked over charcoal made her stomach tighten with hunger. Street vendors barked out prices for fresh dumplings and spicy noodles, their pungent seasonings mingling in the humid air. Apricot strolled around the food carts, inhaling the fragrant swirl of grilled meats, fried dough, and sizzling oil.

“Stupid detour. I would have made it without that, ” Apricot muttered, her frustration bubbling under each word. “Just my luck. ”

One storefront caught her attention: mechanical dolls in sleek, modern clothes posed behind glass. Their vacant stare chilled her arms. Those eyes look so lifeless, she thought, taking an uneasy step back. She wanted to linger longer, but the discordant symphony of electronic bleeps and synthesized tunes pouring from a nearby arcade caught her attention. The flashing neon sign promised escape, and she allowed herself a small, resigned smile. "Might as well kill some time. "

Inside, the air smelled of an artificial floral scent meant to mask gamers' heat and sweat. Every inch of wall space was packed with glowing screens, each emitting its own chaotic jingle. Apricot’s heart lifted for a moment. She recalled the rush of adrenaline she felt chasing high scores. She spotted her favorite side-scrolling hack-and-slash game - Queen of Dragons from Capnom - but before she could slip a coin into the slot, the lights flickered ominously.

Her breath puffed out in a small cloud as a sudden freeze enveloped the room. Her skin prickled, the hair on her arms standing upright as she fought a wave of inexplicable dread. "What the... " She swallowed, a cold feeling coursing down her throat. As quickly as it came, the cold vanished, leaving every screen sputtering and resetting with an electronic whine.

“You have to be kidding. What is up with this day? ” she said under her breath, watching the game’s boot-up sequence crawl across the display. “These rolling blackouts are getting ridiculous. ” She remembered reading about how the city’s power grid had been unreliable for weeks - fuel for urban legends and conspiracy theories. Frustrated, she let the moment pass and wandered out into the street again, her shoulders tense with pent-up aggravation.

~

Soon, she found herself on a dim side street she didn’t recognize. Instead of trendy boutiques or neon-lit cafes, there were dusty windows and faded signs. 

A rickety hardware store. A dingy electronics shop. A pawn shop so grimy you could hardly see inside. Second-hand stores sat half-hidden behind flickering signs, and a small market labeled “Wiseman’s” cast a dull glow on the sidewalk.

The people walking here had hardened faces and suspicious gazes. Apricot’s every nerve was on alert, her stomach fluttering with unease. She brushed past a group of men glancing at her with slanted looks. "Keep walking, " she told herself, picking up the pace.

Yet when she turned a corner, she nearly screamed: four guys were kicking a man in the ribs, their sharp boots making sickening thuds. Bruises had already turned his arms a dark, mottled purple. The man gasped in pain, each blow snapping his body from side to side. The anger shot through Apricot; her stomach flipped, and a moulten pulse darted down her spine as she shouted, “Stop! ”

“Idiot! ” Her mind shrieked. “You just made yourself a target. ”

All four men fixed their eyes on her. The tallest sneered, landing a final kick in the victim’s face. “Yeah, let’s get outta here, ” he spat. “Remember, punk, the rest, if not, get the hell out of town or else. ”

They strode past Apricot without another glance, their heavy footsteps echoing like a threat. She let out a shaky breath and hurried to the man’s side. Blood dripped from his split lips as he tried to get up.

She realized, with a surge of shock, that she knew him. It’s the guy she talked to on the train. “Are you all right? Do I need to call the cops? "

“No, ” he croaked, wiping his mouth. “Don’t do anything stupid like that. This is none of your business, reporter. ”

Apricot’s journalism instincts flared, but caution overrode them. He’s deep into something. She watched him limp away, her heart pounding not just for his sake but hers. Her professor’s warning replayed in her mind: Sometimes the most appropriate action is inaction.

She pressed a trembling hand against her sternum, recalling a recent article on violent drug trafficking. Yesterday, she saw a police report stating that local gang activity was spiking. He must be tangled up in that, she guessed. And she did not plan to risk becoming part of the story.

~

Winding through several blocks, Apricot finally recognized the neon marquee for "Utopian Theaters" and let out a small sigh of relief. Further down the main road stood “Hot Shots, ” a cozy cafe she knew about. Upon entering, dark-roast espresso and sweet pastries enveloped her. A subtle jazz tune floated from hidden speakers, lending the room a plush, intimate feel.

“Hey, girl! I thought you had class this morning, ” came a familiar voice from behind the counter. Bonni Wilox beamed, her bright blue eyes lighting up her face.

“Bonni! ” Apricot said, letting out a breathy laugh as she leaned over the counter to hug her old friend. Her clothes were still a bit damp, but the embrace warmed her spirits. “I had no idea you worked here. ”

Bonni shrugged. "Need a part-time gig. Turns out they don’t just hand you a movie-star career for free. ” She laughed. “So what are you doing here? ”

Apricot sighed, rolling her shoulders. “I was late for class. A stupid train detour. ”

Bonni’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve got a story for you, miss reporter. I overheard the cops talking this morning. The boss was upset they didn’t nab that robber alive. ”

Despite journalistic curiosity, Apricot recalled her ethics professor’s warning: Your life is not worth a headline. She forced a nonchalant shrug. "How is that even a story? They always get mad if a suspect dies before answering questions. ”

Bonni tapped her fingers on the surface of the counter, lips pursed. “It’s just... they seemed really desperate to capture her. Like there’s something bigger taking place. ”

Apricot smiled politely, though her pulse flickered with intrigue. “I’ll think about it later. ”

Bonni straightened. "So, you want something to drink? On the house. ”

“Just a coffee, ” Apricot said, pressing a chilled hand to her still-flushed cheek. “Vanilla, plus a dash of half and half, please. ”

As she settled onto a stool, the gentle hum of the espresso machine and the hushed chatter of other patrons reminded her that life, however chaotic, still offered pockets of comfort. She let the tension dissolve into the fragrant steam of freshly brewed coffee. She decided, at least for now, to keep her head down and worries at bay.