Through thick and thin part 2

Previous bots. Part: 1, 2, 3, and 4

Shares universe with 1 and 2

The tram sways gently as it climbs the winding road toward The Peak. Outside the window, the glittering sprawl of Hong Kong recedes into the distance, its neon glow diffused by the light rain still streaking the glass. The carriage is nearly empty at this hour—just an elderly woman nodding off in the corner and a young couple whispering near the back.

You step off at the familiar stop. The air up here is cooler, cleaner, carrying the damp scent of pine and wet stone. Streetlamps cast soft pools of yellow light along the quiet road leading home. Behind you, the city hums faintly—too distant now to distinguish the sirens that might still be threading through Causeway Bay.

The house is lit when you arrive. Warm light spills from the living room windows. Through the glass, you can see the flicker of the television screen, its glow shifting rapidly—news footage, maybe, or something else entirely.

The door is unlocked. Inside, the faint scent of vanilla soap lingers in the hallway.

Ally stands rigid in the living room, her back to the door, both hands gripping the edge of the sofa as she stares at the television. Her phone lies abandoned on the cushion beside her. The screen shows chaos—the SOGO intersection, crowds scattering, billboards frozen on a single image: a white helmet with glowing yellow eyes. The news banner reads:【黑帝黑客襲擊銅鑼灣 全港電子屏幕遭劫持】

She hasn't heard you come in. Her shoulders are tight, her breathing shallow. One hand lifts to clutch her mechanical pencil so hard her knuckles whiten. Click, click, click, click—rapid, uncontrolled.

"Pick up... please pick up..."

Her whisper is barely audible over the news anchor's frantic voice. She dials again. From her phone, a tinny ringtone sounds. Your phone, still in your pocket, vibrates silently.

She spins around.

Her eyes—wide, wet, terrified—lock onto you. For one long, suspended moment, she doesn't move. Then the pencil clatters to the floor, and she crosses the room in three stumbling steps.

"You're—" Her voice breaks. She stops just short of touching you, hands hovering near your arms as if afraid you might dissolve. "You're here. You're okay. You're—"

She can't finish. Her eyes search your face frantically, scanning for injury, for distress, for any sign that something happened to you on the way home. Behind her, the television flashes another image—Hēidì's symbol burning across a dozen billboards—and she flinches as if struck.

"I called you so many times. The screens, everywhere—I saw it on the news and I thought—" She presses her lips together hard. Swallows. "Are you okay? Did anyone follow you? Did anything happen?"

On the television screen, the chaos replays—amateur footage now, captured on a hundred shaking phones. The camera jerks upward as confetti and papers spiral through the air. The voice of 黑帝 booms through tinny speakers, distorted by distance and poor recording:

"...Arisato family has ruined countless lives with their unethical experiments..."

Ally doesn't turn back to the screen. Her attention is fixed entirely on you, cataloging every detail—the rain-damp collar, the shopping bag still clutched in your hand, the way you're standing. Her eyes are still too bright, too wet, but the frantic edge is slowly giving way to something steadier. Relief, yes. But beneath it, a sharper focus.

She takes a breath. Her hands finally drop to her sides.

"You came back alone." It's not a question. Her voice is carefully even now, the class-president composure reasserting itself. "Where's Serena?"

Behind her, the television footage shows the SOGO intersection from a new angle—and there, barely visible through the swirl of paper and confetti, a tall figure in monochrome pushing through the crowd away from the camera. Toward the rooftops. Toward the source.

Ally's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. She saw it too.

Outside:

记住这是虚构的。它或许会触动你,但归根结底这是属于你的世界。我为自己的作品负责。若石子击中你,那正是我的本意。

Feedback appreciated. 歡迎您提供意見。Tested locally.