"That's concerning," Miles said to his empty apartment while his neural interface slowly rebooted from overnight recovery mode.
He called Jax.
"You got the message from The Conductor?" Jax answered immediately.
"The one warning us about TMA security actively hunting us? Yes. Very reassuring way to start the morning."
"We have fourteen hours remaining to respond to his deal."
"We have fourteen hours to decide whether to ally with criminal mastermind or fight war on multiple fronts while being hunted by corporate death squad."
"That's accurate summary, yes."
"I hate this investigation so much."
"Everyone hates this investigation. That's consistent theme."
Miles checked his stream. Ninety-seven thousand followers. The protest footage had twenty-seven million views. #GridlockJustice was trending in seventeen countries.
And buried in his notifications was something concerning: a direct message from someone claiming to be a TMA whistleblower wanting to meet today at 1347 hours at a coffee shop in Sector 12.
"I got a message from alleged TMA whistleblower wanting to meet," Miles said.
"That's obviously trap," Jax said immediately.
"Or it's legitimate whistleblower with evidence."
"Or it's TMA security using whistleblower pretext to lure you to isolated location for elimination."
"You're very cynical."
"I'm very realistic about hostile forces using social engineering for tactical advantage."
"But what if it's real and we ignore it and miss critical evidence?"
"Then we miss critical evidence but remain alive, which is preferable to obtaining critical evidence but becoming dead."
"That's very safety-focused."
"That's very survival-focused because TMA literally tried to arrest us yesterday and The Conductor literally warned us this morning that TMA security is hunting us."
Miles read the message again. Coffee shop. Sector 12. Public location. Lots of witnesses.
"It's a public location with witnesses," Miles said. "Seems relatively safe."
"Public locations can be dangerous when hostile forces control public infrastructure and surveillance systems."
"So you think I shouldn't go?"
"I think you're going to go regardless of my advice because you're optimistic about human nature and believe in following leads."
"That's accurate character assessment."
"Then I'm going with you as backup because someone needs to prevent your optimistic nature from getting you killed."
"That's very supportive partnership behavior."
"That's very pragmatic risk management."
They agreed to meet at 1323 hours near the Sector 12 coffee shop—Mrs. Chen's place, which was different from Mrs. Okafor's place but similar in that it was run by a woman who would definitely judge them for bringing trouble to her establishment.
Miles spent the morning reviewing the stolen TMA data and organizing it for potential release or prosecution. Forty-seven billion creds in annual revenue. Two thousand estimated annual deaths. Three hundred thousand creds per death in liability costs.
The numbers were damning. The evidence was overwhelming. The moral clarity was absolute.
TMA was systematically murdering people for profit.
At 1247 hours, Miles left his apartment wearing a different jacket and hat to confuse facial recognition. He took a circuitous route through three different transit lines and two walking segments.
Paranoid but necessary.
He arrived at Mrs. Chen's coffee shop at 1319 hours. The place was busy—afternoon rush of people getting coffee before returning to work or heading home early to avoid Peak Surge.
Jax was already there, sitting at a corner booth with sightlines to all entrances and exits.
"You're early," Miles said while sitting across from him.
"I'm on time. You're late."
"I'm four minutes early!"
"I'm twenty-three minutes early. You're comparatively late."
"That's not how time works."
"That's exactly how tactical preparation works."
Mrs. Chen brought coffee without being asked. "You two are trouble."
"We're customers," Miles protested.
"You're customers who bring trouble. I know trouble when I see it. You both have trouble faces."
"Is trouble illegal?"
"Trouble isn't illegal but what causes trouble usually is. Don't cause problems in my shop."
"We would never."
"You already are just by being here."
She left them with coffee and judgment.
"Everyone knows we're trouble," Miles observed.
"We are trouble," Jax agreed. "That's objective reality."
At 1343 hours, a woman entered the coffee shop. Mid-thirties, professional attire, nervous body language, constantly checking surroundings.
She matched the description from the message: "wearing blue jacket, will order black coffee, will sit near window."
She ordered black coffee. Sat near window. Looked nervous.
"That's her," Miles said.
"Or that's bait," Jax said.
"You think everything is bait."
"Everything involving mysterious messages and public meetings is bait until proven otherwise."
Miles stood to approach her.
Jax grabbed his arm. "Wait. Observe first."
They watched. The woman sat alone. Checked her interface. Looked around nervously. Waited.
"She looks legitimate," Miles said.
"She looks nervous, which could indicate legitimate fear or could indicate performance anxiety about executing trap."
"You're exhausting."
"You're naive."
At 1347 hours—exactly on time—Miles approached the woman's table.
"Hi, I'm Miles Carter," he said while sitting down uninvited. "You messaged me about TMA information?"
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The woman looked at him with recognition and relief. "Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure you would. I'm Sarah. I work—worked—at TMA in the compliance division."
"Worked past tense?"
"I quit this morning after seeing what happened yesterday. The arrest, the protest, the evidence you must have stolen. I can't be part of this anymore."
"Part of what specifically?"
"Part of systematic corruption and murder for profit and executive decisions that prioritize quarterly earnings over human lives."
That sounded legitimate. But Jax's paranoia was contagious.
"What information do you have?" Miles asked while his neural interface quietly recorded everything.
"I have internal compliance reports that TMA suppressed. Reports documenting safety violations and algorithm malfunctions and incident patterns that prove systematic manipulation. Reports that were buried by executive order."
"Can you provide those reports?"
"I brought copies." She pulled out a data chip. "Everything's here. Three years of suppressed compliance documentation."
She placed the chip on the table.
Miles reached for it.
The coffee shop exploded—not literally, but figuratively as four armed individuals in TMA Security uniforms burst through multiple entrances simultaneously with weapons drawn and tactical coordination.
"Nobody move!" one of them commanded. "Miles Carter and Jax Velocity, you're under arrest for corporate espionage and theft of proprietary data!"
It was a trap. Obviously. Jax had been right. Again.
The woman—Sarah, allegedly—stood up and moved away from the table quickly. Not nervous anymore. Professional. She'd been bait.
"I told you it was trap," Jax said while standing and positioning himself between Miles and the nearest armed security officer.
"You were right and I was wrong and I'm sorry for doubting your paranoid instincts," Miles said while standing and looking for exits.
"Acknowledged. Now we run."
"Where? They've got all exits covered!"
"Then we improvise."
Jax moved first—not toward an exit but toward the kitchen. Because coffee shops have back doors through kitchens and Jax apparently knew this because he'd probably scouted it when he arrived twenty-three minutes early.
Miles followed while TMA security shouted commands and customers screamed and Mrs. Chen yelled something in Mandarin that was probably very unflattering.
They burst through the kitchen where cooks yelled protests and crashed into the back alley where—
—two more TMA security officers were waiting.
"That's concerning," Miles said.
"That's comprehensive tactical planning," Jax corrected.
The two officers raised weapons. "On the ground now!"
Jax didn't get on the ground. Jax moved forward with augmented speed and professional violence.
Strike to first officer's weapon arm. Disarm. Redirect. Second officer firing but Jax was already moving and the plasma bolt hit the wall behind where he'd been.
Counter-strike to second officer. Disarm. Restrain.
Both officers down in seven seconds.
"That was very efficient violence," Miles observed while standing uselessly.
"That was necessary violence. Run now, analyze later."
They ran through the alley while behind them the other four security officers were exiting through the kitchen.
"They're following!" Miles yelled.
"I know! Run faster!"
"I'm running as fast as I can!"
"Run faster than that!"
They emerged from the alley onto a main street where afternoon traffic was building toward Peak Surge. Vehicles everywhere. Pedestrians everywhere. Witnesses everywhere.
"They won't shoot in public with witnesses," Miles gasped while running.
"They might shoot anyway because TMA security operates above normal legal constraints!" Jax said while running beside him and not even breathing hard because augmented physiology.
"How are you not tired?"
"Augmented cardiovascular system!"
"That's unfair!"
"That's tactical advantage!"
Behind them, the four security officers emerged from the alley. One of them raised a weapon.
"They're aiming!" Miles yelled.
Jax turned mid-run, grabbed Miles, and pulled him behind a parked vehicle just as plasma bolts hit where they'd been standing.
"They're shooting in public!" Miles said with disbelief.
"I told you they would!"
"This is completely illegal!"
"This is corporate security operating under emergency authorization that supersedes normal regulations!"
"That shouldn't be legal!"
"Many things that shouldn't be legal are legal when corporations have sufficient political influence!"
They moved between parked vehicles while plasma bolts hit metal and concrete and occasionally civilian property. Somewhere people were screaming. Somewhere sirens were starting. Somewhere this was becoming a public incident that would trend on social media.
Miles checked his interface. His helmet camera was still recording. His followers were watching live.
Ninety-seven thousand people were watching him get shot at by corporate security in broad daylight.
"I'm streaming this," Miles reported.
"Of course you are!"
"Ninety-seven thousand witnesses!"
"That's evidence but also target marker for hostile forces!"
They reached an intersection where traffic was stopped for a red light. Dense. Compressed. Perfect cover.
"Through the traffic!" Jax commanded.
"Through the traffic?"
"Between the vehicles! They can't shoot into dense civilian traffic without massive casualties!"
They ran between stopped vehicles while drivers yelled protests and TMA security followed but couldn't fire without hitting civilians.
"This is working!" Miles said.
"This is temporarily working!" Jax corrected. "They'll adapt!"
The light turned green. Traffic started moving. They were running between moving vehicles now which was significantly more dangerous than running between stopped vehicles.
"This is not working anymore!" Miles yelled.
"Keep running!"
They crossed the intersection and dove into a maintenance corridor between buildings—narrow, dark, industrial.
"Where does this go?" Miles asked while running through darkness.
"Unknown but away from TMA security is preferable to toward TMA security!"
They emerged into a delivery area where trucks were loading and unloading. Workers everywhere. Witnesses everywhere.
"Hide in plain sight," Jax said while walking casually now instead of running. "Act natural."
"I'm terrible at acting natural!"
"Try anyway!"
They walked through the delivery area like they belonged there while behind them TMA security was searching the maintenance corridor.
A delivery worker looked at them suspiciously. "You two supposed to be here?"
"Nope!" Miles said cheerfully. "We're running from corporate death squad! Have a nice day!"
They kept walking before the worker could process that statement.
Emerged onto a different street. More traffic. More pedestrians. More witnesses.
"I think we lost them," Miles said while catching his breath.
"Temporarily lost them," Jax corrected. "They'll be scanning for us using facial recognition and traffic cameras and probably satellite surveillance."
"That's comprehensive tracking."
"That's TMA using every resource to eliminate threats."
Miles checked his stream. One hundred three thousand followers now—gained six thousand during the chase—and the footage was going viral in real-time.
MILES AND JAX BEING HUNTED BY TMA SECURITY. SHOT AT IN PUBLIC. CORPORATION TRYING TO KILL COPS. #GRIDLOCKJUSTICE
"The chase is viral," Miles reported. "One hundred three thousand followers and climbing."
"That's documentation of attempted murder."
"That's evidence that TMA is willing to kill us publicly and doesn't care who sees it."
They took a circuitous route back toward the Sector 19 warehouse, changing appearance multiple times, using transit and walking and staying in crowds where facial recognition was harder.
Arrived at 1623 hours.
Inside the warehouse, they both sat down heavily. Miles was exhausted from running. Jax looked completely fine despite identical physical activity.
"How are you not tired?" Miles asked.
"Augmented physiology means enhanced recovery and stamina."
"I hate you."
"You appreciate me because I just saved your life multiple times."
"Both things are true simultaneously."
Miles checked his interface. The footage had one hundred seventeen million views now—not thousand, million—because the livestream of corporate security shooting at suspended cops in broad daylight was international news.
Every media outlet was covering it. Every social platform was discussing it. Every political figure was commenting on it.
TMA had just committed attempted murder in front of one hundred three thousand witnesses and one hundred seventeen million viewers.
That was bad for TMA.
That was good for their investigation.
That was terrifying for their survival.
"We can't go home," Jax said. "TMA knows our addresses and will send teams."
"We can't go to GLPD headquarters because Park is monitoring everything."
"We can't use our vehicles because they're compromised."
"So we're fugitives now."
"We've been fugitives since yesterday's infiltration. Today just made it official."
Miles's interface chimed. Message from The Conductor: TOLD YOU TMA WAS HUNTING YOU. GLAD YOU SURVIVED. THE WAREHOUSE IS SAFE FOR NOW BUT NOT INDEFINITELY. I'M SENDING SECURE TRANSPORTATION AND NEW SAFE HOUSE LOCATION. COORDINATES ATTACHED. ALSO—YOUR FOURTEEN HOURS JUST BECAME SIX HOURS. TMA'S ESCALATION REQUIRES FASTER DECISION. ACCEPT MY DEAL AND I PROVIDE PROTECTION AND RESOURCES. REJECT MY DEAL AND YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN AGAINST HOSTILE CORPORATION WITH UNLIMITED RESOURCES. CHOOSE SOON. —THE CONDUCTOR
Miles showed Jax the message.
"Six hours to decide," Miles said.
"Six hours to choose between bad option and worse option."
"Which is which?"
"Unknown. Both seem terrible."
"Very helpful analysis."
"Very accurate analysis."
They sat in silence for a moment while one hundred seventeen million people watched footage of them being hunted and discussed whether TMA would face consequences for attempted murder of law enforcement officers.
Somewhere, The Conductor was watching and waiting for their decision.
Somewhere, TMA was planning their next move.
Somewhere, the Mother Node was orchestrating systematic oppression while evolving toward something more dangerous.
And in the warehouse, two suspended cops were deciding whether to ally with the criminal who might be their only chance at survival.
Six hours to choose.
Everything depended on that choice.
good idea—absolutely not.
only survivable one—
…keep reading.
That’s the real tragedy here.
If Jax says it’s a trap, it’s a trap.