08 • Donk Bet* •

District 1, Sector 1
13th Floor of the Night Sky Tower, BUM's Headquarters
23 Days Until Zero Hour

The Bureau of Unexplained Matters was founded several decades ago when it became clear that regular police cats couldn’t handle the big, fat criminal rats. With the blessing of the then-Minister of Security and the Prime Minister of Norderia, a new agency was formed to support the police. But “support” quickly became too small a word for the two founders of the Bureau. They didn’t want to be just another institution doing the dirty work for someone else.

A legislative reform was passed swiftly, and after only five years, the BUM climbed one level higher in the government hierarchy. With that came increased jurisdiction and reach. From then on, BUM's agents — formerly called officers — dropped the dull task of chasing petty thieves and thugs. Their new focus: protecting high-profile individuals, preventing terrorist attacks, dismantling drug cartels, and keeping an eye on degenerates who pretended to be sheep but never really left the criminal path.

Within just over a decade, the Bureau had spread across the entire island, with one major branch in each District — all coordinated by the central HQ in the heart of Brightmoore, District One. The command of that central unit was taken over at just 25 years old by the great-grandson of one of BUM's founders: Zack Callean.

And he wasted no time proving that his rapid promotion from junior inspector wasn’t due to family ties, but grit, tenacity, and — most importantly in this line of work — cunning. In truth, the Bureau’s efficiency could largely be credited to Callean, who kept everything on a tight leash. This granted him the freedom to operate nearly however he wanted, so long as he kept out of sight and didn’t stir up trouble with the Ministry of Security — a body that had always held a grudge against the Bureau.

That, in essence, was the plan known internally as Leonard Ragnarson: get in, get out, and keep the noise down.

At first, the Trouble Squad mission was meant to be just a small improvisation. The team selection had been rushed — informants had barely five days to dig up everything they could on the recruits. Normally, that wouldn’t have been necessary, but the original team of professionals had to be scrapped when it turned out the commanding officer had been involved in the arrest of one of Busterrix’s men.

And so the fallback plan was born: a former thief, a debt collector, two hackers, and an illegal smuggler. Only Callean knew the logic that was (barely) holding this mission together.

“It’s been almost three days since the Trouble Squad went under,” Megan Nakane remarked. Zack’s official right hand — and unofficial second-in-command — lounged with her feet on the table, finishing off a yogurt.

Callean tore his gaze away from the rising sun over Brightmoore, visible from the 13th floor of the Night Sky Tower. He gave Megan a look as he took his seat at the long table, shifting aside paperwork just enough to place his coffee down safely. It was barely 8 a.m., but they’d been at work for two hours already — and on a Saturday, no less. A plain yogurt and strong black coffee: their ritual for starting a day that was never going to be pleasant.

Megan chucked the empty cup at the trash, missed, and hissed under her breath but didn’t bother to pick it up. She straightened in her seat and leaned her elbows on the table.

“Don’t know, it’s just... real quiet out there.”

“Stop jinxing it,” Zack muttered, flipping through a report he already knew by heart.

“When did you become the optimist?” Megan laughed, walking over to drop her yogurt in the bin properly.

But deep down, she knew what drove Zack — what drove all of them. It was the thing they always swore to protect: the public. Any panic surrounding someone as high-profile as the Prime Minister’s son would be a firestorm. That’s why the Bureau moved in silence — and this time, even without the Ministry of Security’s blessing, which technically oversaw all BUM's operations.

But they had experience with this kind of assignment. BUM had protected plenty of VIPs in the past — even politicians and celebrities (the worst kind of client). This time, however, was different. This time, it was the heir to the Ragnarson dynasty. The only heir.

Callean understood that if this mission fell apart, it would be his head on the chopping block. Especially since he hadn’t requested official clearance. But this mission was also the Bureau’s way of saying “enough.” Enough of the short leash the Ministry held them on — a leash more like a barbed collar. No matter what they did, the Ministry always found a reason to come after them.

Megan Nakane had known Zack for years, and even she couldn’t always read what went on beneath that dark mop of hair. But she knew one thing for sure: if Callean did something, he did it right. That’s what earned him his title — Inspector of the First District. That’s why she’d agreed to his plan without much resistance. All it took was one line that rang too true to argue:

“If you want to make a criminal dance to your tune, threaten the one thing they value most — freedom.”

A man backed into a corner could do incredible things. And a criminal? They had only two cards to play: cooperate and win freedom, or defy and rot in prison. Neither Callean nor Nakane expected betrayal from the Trouble Team. They’d spent enough time around the underworld to understand what made those people tick. And more importantly — how to hit where it hurt. That was BUMS' strength.

“I’m just not sure about one thing,” Megan said after a long silence. Zack’s piercing blue eyes flicked toward her, and she met them with a steady gaze. “After all this... will you actually let them go?”

Both of them had honed the skill of reading people through a stare — digging through layers to find the truth. Megan tried to read Zack’s thoughts now.

Each of the Trouble Crew had their sins, big and small. Some of their cases could’ve been handled by regular cops. But it was BUM that had them by the throat. Would the Bureau really let them walk away when this was all over? Or would they just hand them over to the courts, padding their stats and wiping their hands clean?

Zack opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, the shrill buzz of an old smartphone cut through the air. Megan jumped up and grabbed it — and a small smile tugged at her lips, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

Only the Trouble Crew had that number. That call meant one thing: They’d been accepted by Busterrix.
And the mission to protect Leonard Ragnarson... had officially begun.

* donk bet --> "Donk" is slang for a weak player = a bet that was once considered something only players without a clue would do. In modern poker it's considered a way to confuse your opponent