The business of Tetra Line is not limited to Nikke manufacturing.
Its main business covers a wide range of entertainment. They operate a broadcasting station called Tetra Connect, producing various entertainment programs such as songs, entertainment, movies, dramas, sports, and general entertainment.
Perhaps because of this, the Nikke created by Tetra Line in manufacturing and development goes beyond the framework of mere weapons and tools. The company culture, which aims for harmony with humans, combined with a close connection to daily life or the emergence of charismatic Nikke, may be contributing to this distinctive feature.
Incidentally, it seems that Tetra Line dominates the fashion-related business within the Ark, supplying not only general clothing but also fashion that meets various needs. The three-piece suit delivered to President Mustang, who was relaxing in the president's office, and Moore, who was sitting upright on the sofa, may also be considered as one of the business ventures.
More precisely, these are prototypes for future entry into the market.
"The fabric of the jacket, vest, and slacks is all bulletproof and stab-proof fibers. I've specially processed between the outer fabric and lining... oh, this is a company secret. Because of the special material sewn in, even rifle bullets won't penetrate."
"Yes! A chic design reminiscent of the old era! Recommended for guarding the upper-class royals! Plus, sooooooo cool!! sooooooooo hot!!"
In essence, it seems to be clothing for those who engage in special tasks such as plainclothes police officers or personal security. I wouldn't want to imagine the cost of just the fabric, but well, it's a fact that you can't put a price on life.
Nevertheless, the simple and basic black color, which is unified, suits his taste.
They, including the mass-produced Niche who accompanied them to deliver the three-piece suit, gaze at Moore.
It was a silent pressure to try it on.
"...There are no shirts, ties, or shoes that go well with the suit..."
"Don't worry. I've prepared them properly. They should fit you."
"...Thank you very much."
Immediately, the designer presents him with faux leather shoes, a navy blue tie, and a light gray shirt packed in a plastic bag.
With no way out, Moore reluctantly accepts them and disappears into the partition at the back of the president's office after trying them on.
After finishing the fitting and reappearing, Mustang cheers, and it goes without saying that the designer, holding a camera, captures various poses one after another.
---
.
.
.
"Mission, they say... Fuuhh....it's basically an errand."
Leaving Tetra Line's headquarters, Moore mutters to himself while wearing the newly completed three-piece suit.
However, within the missions requested by Mustang, there seems to be something that cannot be dismissed as just an errand from an objective perspective. In any case, he has to finish the business nearby and move on.
First, it's from the A.C.P.U.
Certainly not a surrender or voluntary appearance. Absolutely not.
He pulled out his mobile device from his jacket and opened the map app when it happened.
"Excuse me, sir."
Sensing that the voice was directed at him, Moore stopped and turned around.
"Hello. I'm from A.C.P.U. Do you have a moment?"
A petite policewoman with a POLICE patch and armband walked towards him. Her long hair, white and silvery, seemed excessively fluffy. Undaunted by the tall and formidable Moore, she approached and looked up at him with determination. Then, she shifted her gaze to his left side.
"Is that... a gun?"
"Well, yes..."
"Could you please show me your identification?"
"Sure. I'll get it now, so just stay like that."
He nodded slightly and, to avoid unnecessary agitation made a gesture of reaching into his jacket. After she nodded in acknowledgment, he once again placed his mechanical left hand into the inner pocket.
She had likely detected the concealed carry shield for the gun and approached him for questioning. Carrying or possessing firearms without permission was strictly forbidden for Ark citizens.
From Moore's demeanor, she deduced that he either worked for a legal enforcement agency or, perhaps, he was involved in some form of terrorism or freelancing.
Eventually, an ID card serving as identification was retrieved from the inner pocket and presented to the petite policewoman.
His name, date of birth, affiliation, and current rank were listed, along with a photo of his face. She checked the ID card, and once any doubts were dispelled, she turned to face Moore again.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, Major Moore."
"No, don't worry about it. Thank you for your service..."
"POOOOLY!!"
"Miranda?"
With the revelation that carrying a firearm was socially acceptable, and suspicion cleared after Moore returned the ID card to his inner pocket, a commotion ensued.
A policewoman—Poly—noticed a person sprinting towards them from the other side of the sidewalk and furrowed her brows in confusion.
"Is something wrong?! Is it an interrogation?! Voluntary questioning?! Or maybe an arrest in progress?!"
—Please don't shout so loudly.
Because shouting unsettling things in the midst of a crowded thoroughfare causes passersby—both young and old, of all genders—to distance themselves from Moore and Poly.
Even though he hadn't done anything wrong, he suddenly felt a sense of alienation.
The woman who had rushed over, Miranda, with light brown hair tied into two bundles on either side, reached Poly's side in one go. Poly, standing next to her, placed her hand on her forehead and let out a big sigh.
"Please calm down, Miranda. This person is not a criminal."
"Huh?! But, with that kind of scary face?!"
Was it something she had to say face to face?
Maybe it would be a bit more diplomatic—such thoughts didn't seem to cross his mind, and he might find his own behavior somewhat amusing.
In the end, Moore had to present his ID card again to dispel any suspicions.
"I-I apologize!"
"I told you, right? Miranda jumped to conclusions."
"But, but...!"
"Why so scary, though?"
"Yes!—uh, oh! No, it's not like that! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"Don't worry about it. It's quite lively to have someone so energetic."
It seemed the situation of having handcuffs slapped on his wrists due to a hasty conclusion or misunderstanding was avoided. That alone satisfied Moore.
—Nevertheless, being mistaken for a terrorist or criminal based on appearance alone was somewhat hurtful.
"Lieutenant Moore, I apologize for the inconvenience."
"I've said it before, don't worry about it. —While it might be a bit impolite during patrol, which precinct are you two from?"
Poly briefly wondered if he intended to file a complaint about knowing which precinct they were from, but even though she was the police, she detected that this question wasn't motivated by such intent. When they honestly answered, it seemed Moore had the precinct he was aiming for.
"That's fine. We received a request from President Mustang."
"...President Mustang? The CEO of Tetra Line, President Mustang?"
"Yes. It seems he wants crowd security, including private security personnel, for the longboard event. Details are here."
His right hand reached into the jacket's inner pocket. The detailed information seemed to be stored on the USB drive that was pulled out.
Acknowledging that, Poly nodded slightly.
"Since our patrol has just concluded, I'll guide you."
----
.
.
.
Submitting the USB drive at the police station went smoothly. However, the process took a bit of time due to the requirement of Moore's personal information as the representative of Mr. Mustang.
Although the police and the military belonged to different organizations, it would have been nice if they could be a bit more flexible—such thoughts crossed Moore's mind. Yet, when it came down to it, both were bureaucratic processes. Even with some streamlining, bureaucracy was inevitable.
Letting out a sigh and trying to ease his mental fatigue, Moore walked towards a vending machine.
"Sold out."
The display indicated that the canned coffee, a brand he liked, was sold out.
Today seemed to be an unlucky day or something.
'"—Here you go, Lieutenant Moore."
As he tried to move away from the vending machine, a voice called out to him.
It was a voice he had just heard a little while ago. When he turned his gaze, a petite figure approached, holding a can of coffee—the brand he preferred.
"Do you know my preference?"
"Well... actually..."
Looking troubled—perhaps contemplating how to explain, Poly scratched her cheek with the free fingers of the opposite hand.
"Well... I'm also a Nikke."
"Ahhh... could it be that you're in the same group chat?"
"Yes, a group chat, Elysion's. I know Rapi and Neon."
"I see."
—Mainly Neon, probably.
Although he was aware of the existence of the group chat, he didn't fully understand the details. Regardless, Moore appreciatively accepted the can of coffee offered by her, even though the details were unknown.
"In that case, could it be that Miranda-san is also part of it?"
"You're correct."
"I see."
He wouldn't dare say things like, "No wonder you both are beautiful and cute police officers"—no way.
Lifting the pull tab and opening the can of coffee, Moore took a sip of the unsweetened drink.
"Thank you for your hard work on your missions every day."
"Being consoled by A.C.P.U. police, who face real situations every day, is embarrassing but appreciated."
Poly offered a wry smile in response to Moore, who shrugged his shoulders.
"—Ah, by the way... I heard that the A.C.P.U. will soon participate in counter-terrorism training jointly with the military."
"Maintaining public order is our job, you know. We won't be outdone by the military."
"That's reassuring."
—I can easily understand that from their equipment.
Bulletproof vests with pouches for magazines, holders for shotgun shells connected to radios. There were arm gears that seemed to be for riot control, and it was clear that they were wearing riot gloves.
They were carrying what appeared to be a bullpup-style—probably an automatic shotgun.
Although their equipment was specialized for riot control, it would undoubtedly demonstrate more than enough capability in counter-terrorism missions. Perhaps they were also assigned to such units.
"...45 caliber, is it?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I also use a .45 caliber, so we're comrades."
What personally piqued his interest was the grip of the pistol peeking from the holster she carried. The oddly familiar shape was no doubt because it was a familiar design.
Having finished the canned coffee and tossing the empty can into the designated bin, he turned back to Poly.
"Thanks for the treat. Well then, I'll take my leave here."
"Understood. Please take care on your way back."
"...I would like to do that, but I still have a mission from President Mustang to attend to."
"Where to?"
"To the upcoming Coin Rush."
"I see. Be careful on the way there."
"Thank you. Goodbye."
Snapping his heels together, Poly, looking up at him, shaded her forehead with her right hand.
While the salute in this attire might seem somewhat—, they were both members of organizations steeped in the culture of salutes and formalities.
Facing forward, Moore looked down at her and returned a neat salute.
The business of Tetra Line is not limited to Nikke manufacturing.
Its main business covers a wide range of entertainment. They operate a broadcasting station called Tetra Connect, producing various entertainment programs such as songs, entertainment, movies, dramas, sports, and general entertainment.
Perhaps because of this, the Nikke created by Tetra Line in manufacturing and development goes beyond the framework of mere weapons and tools. The company culture, which aims for harmony with humans, combined with a close connection to daily life or the emergence of charismatic Nikke, may be contributing to this distinctive feature.
Incidentally, it seems that Tetra Line dominates the fashion-related business within the Ark, supplying not only general clothing but also fashion that meets various needs. The three-piece suit delivered to President Mustang, who was relaxing in the president's office, and Moore, who was sitting upright on the sofa, may also be considered as one of the business ventures.
More precisely, these are prototypes for future entry into the market.
"The fabric of the jacket, vest, and slacks is all bulletproof and stab-proof fibers. I've specially processed between the outer fabric and lining... oh, this is a company secret. Because of the special material sewn in, even rifle bullets won't penetrate."
"Yes! A chic design reminiscent of the old era! Recommended for guarding the upper-class royals! Plus, sooooooo cool!! sooooooooo hot!!"
In essence, it seems to be clothing for those who engage in special tasks such as plainclothes police officers or personal security. I wouldn't want to imagine the cost of just the fabric, but well, it's a fact that you can't put a price on life.
Nevertheless, the simple and basic black color, which is unified, suits his taste.
They, including the mass-produced Niche who accompanied them to deliver the three-piece suit, gaze at Moore.
It was a silent pressure to try it on.
"...There are no shirts, ties, or shoes that go well with the suit..."
"Don't worry. I've prepared them properly. They should fit you."
"...Thank you very much."
Immediately, the designer presents him with faux leather shoes, a navy blue tie, and a light gray shirt packed in a plastic bag.
With no way out, Moore reluctantly accepts them and disappears into the partition at the back of the president's office after trying them on.
After finishing the fitting and reappearing, Mustang cheers, and it goes without saying that the designer, holding a camera, captures various poses one after another.
---
.
.
.
"Mission, they say... Fuuhh....it's basically an errand."
Leaving Tetra Line's headquarters, Moore mutters to himself while wearing the newly completed three-piece suit.
However, within the missions requested by Mustang, there seems to be something that cannot be dismissed as just an errand from an objective perspective. In any case, he has to finish the business nearby and move on.
First, it's from the A.C.P.U.
Certainly not a surrender or voluntary appearance. Absolutely not.
He pulled out his mobile device from his jacket and opened the map app when it happened.
"Excuse me, sir."
Sensing that the voice was directed at him, Moore stopped and turned around.
"Hello. I'm from A.C.P.U. Do you have a moment?"
A petite policewoman with a POLICE patch and armband walked towards him. Her long hair, white and silvery, seemed excessively fluffy. Undaunted by the tall and formidable Moore, she approached and looked up at him with determination. Then, she shifted her gaze to his left side.
"Is that... a gun?"
"Well, yes..."
"Could you please show me your identification?"
"Sure. I'll get it now, so just stay like that."
He nodded slightly and, to avoid unnecessary agitation made a gesture of reaching into his jacket. After she nodded in acknowledgment, he once again placed his mechanical left hand into the inner pocket.
She had likely detected the concealed carry shield for the gun and approached him for questioning. Carrying or possessing firearms without permission was strictly forbidden for Ark citizens.
From Moore's demeanor, she deduced that he either worked for a legal enforcement agency or, perhaps, he was involved in some form of terrorism or freelancing.
Eventually, an ID card serving as identification was retrieved from the inner pocket and presented to the petite policewoman.
His name, date of birth, affiliation, and current rank were listed, along with a photo of his face. She checked the ID card, and once any doubts were dispelled, she turned to face Moore again.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, Major Moore."
"No, don't worry about it. Thank you for your service..."
"POOOOLY!!"
"Miranda?"
With the revelation that carrying a firearm was socially acceptable, and suspicion cleared after Moore returned the ID card to his inner pocket, a commotion ensued.
A policewoman—Poly—noticed a person sprinting towards them from the other side of the sidewalk and furrowed her brows in confusion.
"Is something wrong?! Is it an interrogation?! Voluntary questioning?! Or maybe an arrest in progress?!"
—Please don't shout so loudly.
Because shouting unsettling things in the midst of a crowded thoroughfare causes passersby—both young and old, of all genders—to distance themselves from Moore and Poly.
Even though he hadn't done anything wrong, he suddenly felt a sense of alienation.
The woman who had rushed over, Miranda, with light brown hair tied into two bundles on either side, reached Poly's side in one go. Poly, standing next to her, placed her hand on her forehead and let out a big sigh.
"Please calm down, Miranda. This person is not a criminal."
"Huh?! But, with that kind of scary face?!"
Was it something she had to say face to face?
Maybe it would be a bit more diplomatic—such thoughts didn't seem to cross his mind, and he might find his own behavior somewhat amusing.
In the end, Moore had to present his ID card again to dispel any suspicions.
"I-I apologize!"
"I told you, right? Miranda jumped to conclusions."
"But, but...!"
"Why so scary, though?"
"Yes!—uh, oh! No, it's not like that! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"Don't worry about it. It's quite lively to have someone so energetic."
It seemed the situation of having handcuffs slapped on his wrists due to a hasty conclusion or misunderstanding was avoided. That alone satisfied Moore.
—Nevertheless, being mistaken for a terrorist or criminal based on appearance alone was somewhat hurtful.
"Lieutenant Moore, I apologize for the inconvenience."
"I've said it before, don't worry about it. —While it might be a bit impolite during patrol, which precinct are you two from?"
Poly briefly wondered if he intended to file a complaint about knowing which precinct they were from, but even though she was the police, she detected that this question wasn't motivated by such intent. When they honestly answered, it seemed Moore had the precinct he was aiming for.
"That's fine. We received a request from President Mustang."
"...President Mustang? The CEO of Tetra Line, President Mustang?"
"Yes. It seems he wants crowd security, including private security personnel, for the longboard event. Details are here."
His right hand reached into the jacket's inner pocket. The detailed information seemed to be stored on the USB drive that was pulled out.
Acknowledging that, Poly nodded slightly.
"Since our patrol has just concluded, I'll guide you."
----
.
.
.
Submitting the USB drive at the police station went smoothly. However, the process took a bit of time due to the requirement of Moore's personal information as the representative of Mr. Mustang.
Although the police and the military belonged to different organizations, it would have been nice if they could be a bit more flexible—such thoughts crossed Moore's mind. Yet, when it came down to it, both were bureaucratic processes. Even with some streamlining, bureaucracy was inevitable.
Letting out a sigh and trying to ease his mental fatigue, Moore walked towards a vending machine.
"Sold out."
The display indicated that the canned coffee, a brand he liked, was sold out.
Today seemed to be an unlucky day or something.
'"—Here you go, Lieutenant Moore."
As he tried to move away from the vending machine, a voice called out to him.
It was a voice he had just heard a little while ago. When he turned his gaze, a petite figure approached, holding a can of coffee—the brand he preferred.
"Do you know my preference?"
"Well... actually..."
Looking troubled—perhaps contemplating how to explain, Poly scratched her cheek with the free fingers of the opposite hand.
"Well... I'm also a Nikke."
"Ahhh... could it be that you're in the same group chat?"
"Yes, a group chat, Elysion's. I know Rapi and Neon."
"I see."
—Mainly Neon, probably.
Although he was aware of the existence of the group chat, he didn't fully understand the details. Regardless, Moore appreciatively accepted the can of coffee offered by her, even though the details were unknown.
"In that case, could it be that Miranda-san is also part of it?"
"You're correct."
"I see."
He wouldn't dare say things like, "No wonder you both are beautiful and cute police officers"—no way.
Lifting the pull tab and opening the can of coffee, Moore took a sip of the unsweetened drink.
"Thank you for your hard work on your missions every day."
"Being consoled by A.C.P.U. police, who face real situations every day, is embarrassing but appreciated."
Poly offered a wry smile in response to Moore, who shrugged his shoulders.
"—Ah, by the way... I heard that the A.C.P.U. will soon participate in counter-terrorism training jointly with the military."
"Maintaining public order is our job, you know. We won't be outdone by the military."
"That's reassuring."
—I can easily understand that from their equipment.
Bulletproof vests with pouches for magazines, holders for shotgun shells connected to radios. There were arm gears that seemed to be for riot control, and it was clear that they were wearing riot gloves.
They were carrying what appeared to be a bullpup-style—probably an automatic shotgun.
Although their equipment was specialized for riot control, it would undoubtedly demonstrate more than enough capability in counter-terrorism missions. Perhaps they were also assigned to such units.
"...45 caliber, is it?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I also use a .45 caliber, so we're comrades."
What personally piqued his interest was the grip of the pistol peeking from the holster she carried. The oddly familiar shape was no doubt because it was a familiar design.
Having finished the canned coffee and tossing the empty can into the designated bin, he turned back to Poly.
"Thanks for the treat. Well then, I'll take my leave here."
"Understood. Please take care on your way back."
"...I would like to do that, but I still have a mission from President Mustang to attend to."
"Where to?"
"To the upcoming Coin Rush."
"I see. Be careful on the way there."
"Thank you. Goodbye."
Snapping his heels together, Poly, looking up at him, shaded her forehead with her right hand.
While the salute in this attire might seem somewhat—, they were both members of organizations steeped in the culture of salutes and formalities.
Facing forward, Moore looked down at her and returned a neat salute.
