Revenge Fantasy

Police.

In society, there are laws to follow, and the police are—by concept—people enlisted to uphold the law. When a stranger with a gun breaks into a person's house or robs a national bank, the police are trained to intervene and enforce the law, apprehending the culprits before any further harm can be carried out. By design, the idea of the police should be to protect people.

"Long ago", police used to take 10 minutes (or 30 minutes in rural areas) to arrive at a location after a 911 call. In the recent age of the Artificial Revolution, technology sought to improve this. Officers with cybernetics were promised a reduction in their response times by a few minutes. Androids were designed to operate continuously, 24/7, with an instantaneous deployment speed the moment crime is spotted.

Statistically, these promises have been fulfilled. Response times have gone down to two minutes from call to arrival. The war on crime had the potential to go down to mere seconds.

Now, today, it's been two hours.

Today marks the peak of criminal incidents in America. Every inch of American law enforcement is "all hands on deck" on this horrible day, and the entire country's police force has been stretched thin across every city. There are just too few men, too few women... even too few androids.

The inciting incident for this disproportionate crime-to-officer ratio is the "hijacking" of America's news media. Every news outlet has been forced to report things related to one single woman, covering the blood on Ashford's hands. From California to New York, as high as Maine and as low as Florida, going so far as to stretch into the distant Alaska and Hawaii, every state is plagued with this news.

An aggressive domino effect has resulted from this.

The Underworld's mercenaries have a huge stake in this incident and are targeting Mercedes-Benz within the vicinity of Indiana. If a Mercedes-Benz was spotted in front of a house or an alley, people have been breaking into the subsequent premises. If a Mercedes-Benz was driving along away from Indianapolis, there's a likely chance that it's been rammed off the road. A Mercedes-Benz parked in a motel in Kentucky? Prime target. In attempting to get an edge on where Chouko Ashford could be, the entire brand of Mercedes-Benz has been a primary target for desperate grunts.

The subsequent bandwagon effect is as follows: if people are breaking into Mercedes-Benz and getting away with it, what's stopping people from stealing BMWs, Cadillacs, Lamborghinis, and so on? Thieves aware of the Underworld know that Chouko Ashford, the Stalker, is the priority, and are making great use of this window of time to take whatever vehicle they want.

With heavy vehicular crime, the roads are flooded with incidents, sparking high traffic and preventing police from arriving at their scenes. Officers responding to calls have to be lucky that the crime is close, otherwise they're pushed aside to the distant and agonizing cases. Even the strongest of human officers are stuck in this crime lottery, and the ones without cybernetics are struggling to keep up.

Even the androids are impacted. Sure, technology has improved and there are airborne and flying android models that are separate from cars, but they face this lottery as well. On orders, they're moving about to take care of the "high priority" crime, leaving many of the lesser crimes unattended. Thus, the airborne androids are isolated in densely populated cities rather than any suburban neighborhood or standalone truck stops.

With all police resources limited by transport, and every second of police communication filled with crime after crime, the average time of police response rises to two hours. In this mass chaos, with every ounce of reassurance either replaced with Chouko Ashford news or cheap Canadian sitcoms, the land of the free became a temporarily lawless land.

At least, that's the narrative going on as of right now...

Bringing attention to Tennessee, the state where the truck stop diner is located, the numbers are no different. From the very moment a bullet broke through the diner's first floor, police officers did not arrive until 2 hours had passed. No android could be spared, and all the human officers had to deal with other surrounding incidents first.

After those two hours, when the sun has gone away and the night sky casts a shadow over the building, the police are greeted with a gruesome and bloody scene.

"Good God, if this wasn't high priority, I ain't got an idea what is anymore..."

Right now, there are two deceased humans in the parking lot, surrounded by an entire group of armed and hacked diner android staff. Officers had to be cautious in approaching, wary of any unexpected discharges from the extensive firearms present.

Immediate forensics show that the blonde woman fired her gun approximately after the 30th bullet pierced her body. Causes of death are dated a little over an hour ago, and the androids have been standing in place ever since. Other injuries seem to include the broken bones in the man's face, the shards of glass in the woman's face, and some pre-existing injuries in both that date far beyond the current day.

Inside the diner, several melted remains of androids are on the ground floor, with no other reported casualties. No human corpses are in the building, fortunately, but every witness and culprit to the incident is gone. The identities of the people who were in this building are unaccounted for, apart from the initial caller who has been identified driving on a road leading into Memphis.

The first thing officers did was check the diner's security system, which is connected to the android staff and a camera database on the 6th floor. However, the building's systems are completely corrupted, in total dysfunction. It would take the country's top computer scientists to even put a dent in the volatile ruins, to which it would be more affordable to completely replace the system altogether.

Right now, this crime scene seems pretty cut and dry. The building's power went out, and the androids have gone on a crazy fritz without the system to guide them. Countless windows have been broken by their guns, and—subsequently—they killed a blonde woman, who subsequently tried to defend herself and shot the brains out of a homeless man.

While this is, in reality, inaccurate, there isn't enough time for the police to put much further thought into it. There's too much crime going on, and they need to report to the next scene anyway. The owner of the diner franchise has been notified, and that should be it.

However, it isn't.

As officers are sweeping through the building for any last-minute leads, an individual begins walking onto the grounds. A certain beige-coated detective, with his unique and lanky 6'2" physique...

... Investigator Salvato.

Hours prior, he was in Kentucky, dealing with a motel homicide. Following this, he entered the scene of an act of vehicular terrorism on the freeway. Now, he's in Tennessee, choosing this exact truck stop while on his active route.

A determined look is in his eyes as his unkempt black hair blows in the wind. The man approaches the premises with boldness and confidence. Already, he spots one significant detail: the Armored Mercedes-Benz, with broken windows. The exact license plate and everything.

She has definitely been here...

Hands tucked in his coat pockets, Investigator Salvato steps over the sidewalk curb, treading into the diner premises. In a crime scene of pessimistic, upset, bottom-of-the-barrel officers, Investigator Salvato presents himself as an amicable fellow, a friendly and polite man, and the one person capable of catching the person responsible for all this carnage.

To his knowledge, the police in Tennessee should have been notified that he'll be at this diner...

"Hey, 'scuse me," an officer calls out, spotting the man immediately. "Don't take another step! Identify yerself, and—!"

"Hold it, let him through..." another officer responds with a sigh, looking to the detective and waving him in. "We're expecting a 'Salvato'. That you?"

In response, the lanky man tips his fedora and smiles warmly at the man. His knowledge has been validated. "Yes, yes, greetings, gentlemen. I came as fast as I could. I'm certain that your higher up has informed you of—"

Immediately, the investigator is interrupted by the officer shaking his head. "Save the formalities, just do whatever it is you're here to do."

"Very well," the investigator responds, a warm smile on his face as he walks past to examine the lot itself.

First, he examines the two dead bodies. The blonde woman is his main focus, as he sees the massive puddle of blood surrounding her body. Right now, the individual is unlisted and unknown, completely unfamiliar to him...

"... excuse me, officers, are you finished with photographing this body?" the investigator asks, pointing down at the deceased blonde.

"Yeah. Already got whatever we can from it," an officer responds, giving Salvato the go-ahead to examine the body.

Salvato nods, then crouches down by the body. On one knee, he steps into the blood and reaches a gloved hand out to lift the woman's head. He pulls the goggles off her face and gets a good look at it.

Curiously, the eye color of the woman is pitch black. Blood trails from the small glass wounds in her face, with no significant eye damage present. Salvato thinks that the resulting injuries, given that there's no eye damage, had to be self-inflicted for this scale of injury. Not too hard and not too weak.

"Hm..." the investigator noises to himself, having a discomforted look on his face. "Interesting. Do we have an ID on this woman?"

"Yeah. Cynthia Cage," the officer remarks, taking a moment to hand a tablet to the investigator. "Currently, the robots are in the midst of generating whatever reason she'd have to be here. She works as an assistant accountant for one of them country clubs in Belle Meade, her husband and next of kin is in Nashville, and she ain't got any other reported family members. Complete mystery as to who she is."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The investigator holds a finger to his chin, staring at the photo ID. Curiously, the eye color doesn't match, as her eyes are a very vibrant shade of...

... hm.

"Right. Any such luck on identifying the man?" Salvato asks, handing the tablet back and giving a curious look at the rain-coated corpse.

"No. Databases ain't showing anything on him," the officer remarks, staring at Trojan. "Face doesn't match any records whatsoever. We did find a laptop in his possession, but it's completely screwed."

The investigator nods, calmly staring at Trojan's dead body. Unlike the woman, Trojan is well-documented. One of the "B-List" hackers of the Underworld, with primitive methods. Salvato, in truth, already knows everything there is to know about Trojan in particular... and is mostly gauging police response in asking this.

"I see. Now, I understand the strict procedure for recording evidence, but—?"

Immediately, the officer hands the laptop to the detective, almost immediately anticipating his request for the laptop. Not a single word is said.

The investigator politely nods in response to the resulting silence. "You have my deepest gratitude." He holds the laptop carefully, opening it up to see the screen itself.

As the officer informed him, this certainly is a broken laptop. With all of Salvato's attempts to fiddle with the machine—specifically, pressing the power button in several different ways—the device simply refuses to turn on. The laptop may be useful later, once he gets it to the right people. For now, however, it's a completely useless brick to Salvato.

There is one last thing this laptop is good for, though. Given that this laptop belongs to Trojan, this means there's some lingering "residue" in the inactive system itself. With a gentle touch, he presses his hand against the screen and closes his eyes.

Salvato takes a deep breath to collect himself...

... and he looks to the 6th floor. The hairs on the back of his head stand up, and he feels guided to a room at that elevation in particular. An instinctive hunch, for lack of a better term.

"Hm. I see, I see..." Salvato mumbles under his breath, closing the laptop and tucking it under his arm. "Do I have permission to—?"

"Go ahead," the officer cuts him off. "Laptop and building are all yours, Salvato. Get to doing your detective work."

"Thank you," Investigator Salvato thanks the officer, casually strutting to the front entrance. He doesn't bother to investigate the Mercedes-Benz, as its continued presence here indicates that the current driver may still be on the premises. It's just a matter of figuring out where and how.

Salvato's eyes carefully scan and scrutinize over each detail he can find as he walks. No stone unturned. Anything can pinpoint where Ashford may have gone.

He first looks at the extensive amounts of broken glass in the front of the building. Besides the broken front doors, there are broken windows throughout the front of the building. The windows, specifically on floors 2 to 4, are shattered, with a sizeable room on the 6th floor being glassless. A very good sign of where Salvato should go next.

Inside the building, there's more to note: the various kitchen utensils and broken furniture caught in the crossfire, the one diner booth that has broken glass inside rather than outside, and the mass melted remains of androids caught in some metal melting incident. Most of these align with Trojan's hacking, except for the part where the androids melted.

Curiously, there's another detail he's picked up on: the trace amounts of water droplets inside the kitchen and hallway. It's not unheard of for androids to have cooling systems, but there are subtle trails of water present... almost as if someone coated in water has been running through the building.

"... hm. How curious." Salvato follows the trail to the stairs and crouches at the foot of the first step. The drops of water are less prominent when going up the stairs, which is quite... thought-provoking.

His eyes are glued to the stairs as he goes up, as he carefully walks up the stairs on tip-toes. The trail of water becomes more subtle the further he goes up, with non-existent traces from the 3rd floor onward.

Then, a sudden trail of it shows up on the 6th floor.

Drops of water throughout the first floor, with a sudden trail on the 6th...? The water has to be connected to someone. Either some sort of primitive cooling system that uses pure water as its medium, or... something more mystical and magical.

Salvato thinks hard on this. Given his current knowledge of Chouko, the water isn't her doing.

... Could it be the blonde woman's doing...?

"... no, no. It can't. It has to be another third party..." Salvato mumbles to himself, a finger on his chin. He's absolutely certain that the blonde woman has nothing to do with the abnormal traces of water. It has to be someone else.

For now, he follows the trail of water and ends up right at the server room. The door to the room itself is open, and the room seems filled with officer androids trying to process the corrupted systems. Three police handlers are actively watching over the androids for their own protection, with one especially disgruntled and upset officer standing closest to the exit.

It's clear to Salvato that they're not going to achieve anything as they are.

Quietly, Salvato knocks on the open door, politely alerting the officers of his presence. "Greetings, I hope I'm not disturbing, I—"

"Just do what you're here to do, freak, and stay out of our way," the disgruntled officer tells Salvato, rolling his eyes. He's very clearly fed up with this crime, and points a thumb for Salvato to walk in.

Investigator Salvato, unoffended by that response, politely bows and walks into the room itself. "Thank you."

Looking around, Salvato keeps an eye out for more of those tiny details, still noticing the unusual water droplets. The water leads further into the room and stops at the windows—the completely shattered windows, with glass breaking inward.

Hmm.

Salvato takes a look left and right, and the desk of inactive displays catches his eye. Nine TV monitors are present, set up to possibly loop and cycle through whatever security this building has. Each one seems to have extreme visual noise scattered over it, showing blurry messes of garbled black and white.

This one singular system, with this entire room, seems to be responsible for connecting to this building's android security and subsequent flying-truck technology. It's likely that the officers have already examined this desk, or are too focused on directly connecting the androids to the walls of servers themselves to examine this primitive device.

In any case, Salvato comes closer to the displays, ever so curious. These nine screens, as well as the panel in the desk, are a highly corrupted box of sand. Meaningless static scattered about, with no guidance or shaping.

Salvato must examine this system. He takes a deep breath and braces himself for what's about to happen. He knows this system is highly damaged and corrupted, yet there's something here. This system must have something important, whether or not it's discernible...

... so he reaches a hand out to the screen and caresses the display. A tender gentleman's touch.

Immediately following this, the lights in the building turn on, illuminating the dark building and restoring it to its natural glory.

"Oh, finally, the power's back on...!" the annoyed officer shouts.

Yes, finally.

Salvato remains quiet as he's responsible for fixing the power. Quite similar to his little trick of restoring color to black-and-white CRT footage, Salvato's magic hands fix the lights with relative ease.

There are quite a number of possibilities that could have happened here, especially with Ashford's history of dark buildings. It's possible that Ashford climbed six stories of buildings to take out the mass army of androids, then...

... No, Salvato, do not jump to conclusions. It has to be the water individual.

Calmly, the investigator takes a deep breath and keeps his hand pressed against the display. He can go further than just fixing the power. Salvato focuses heavily on one single screen with a deep, intense glare in his eyes.

There's more for him to do. Salvato has to go deeper. As Salvato focuses, the images on the displays warp and shift, with an aggressively loud and crunchy static echoing out. He continues to feel the screen itself, putting all his focus into it. Bits of static course through his thin and lanky arm, rising to his shoulder and flowing into his neck.

This is a simulating sensation that bothers Salvato ever so slightly, but it is absolutely crucial. Combing through whatever he can, he's searching for any sort of lead, any sort of detail that can tell him more about this truck stop diner's events. He focuses harder and harder, searching for this precise moment.

In one quick moment after, Salvato gets a slight glimpse as the display flickers...

... and Salvato's eyes widen.

"I see... I see," the investigator remarks, pulling his hand away with an astonished look on his face. "So that's what happened!"

"Huh?" an officer noises, looking at Salvato with confusion. "The hell? Did you get something on that there system?"

Salvato gives the officer a wide smile before staring at the corrupted systems. His involvement doesn't do much to fix the computer's data itself, but his focus picks up on something crucial to his pursuit of Ashford: her escape method.

Right before the building's server room and Trojan's laptop became corrupted, the androids in the parking lot had one last frame in their visual sensors. Salvato finds clear images of the one single split second of what the androids saw in the man's final moments, before the man's brain splattered out of his head.

This one split second tells him so much. Salvato now knows the license plate of the truck, as well as the vague image of the person who currently has Chouko Ashford. Granted, Ashford is on top of the person's body, and there's no sign of who is driving the truck, but this gives Salvato a great lead.

"... no, I didn't," Salvato answers and lies, deciding to keep this information to himself. There's no reason why the police need to know what he knows, so he simply makes up an excuse. "I just thought of a funny joke, that's all. Apologies."

"Right..." the officer responds, giving an exasperated sigh in response to the man. "So, any ideas on what the hell happened here?"

"Oh, yes, I do," Salvato answers, smiling wonderfully at the officer. With all he's seen so far, Salvato has enough to understand the crucial events that unfolded. Ashford is definitely gone, and the police will soon have to deal with searching for missing trucks.

To track Ashford from here, Salvato needs to figure out where the moving truck is headed, and he'll have to pursue it on his own.

Yes, to find Chouko Ashford, all he has to do is chase after the truck...

... Unfortunately for Salvato, the truck will not have Ashford.

As the police are focused on the diner, the escaping truck is already at the outskirts of West Tennessee. Minutes away from crossing the border, the truck drives onto a quiet road, parking next to an equally secluded silver sedan.

To be specific, an aged Nissan Versa S.

It's a relatively small car, but John is not picky in this situation. A while ago, John reached out to a contact of his and requested a discreet 4-5 person ride to be provided at this exact location, and this certainly is it. At this very moment, John is face-to-face with said contact, a man in a rugged tank top and jeans.

Currently, John is in the middle of instructing this man to take the truck of Sweet Bots and do whatever, driving the truck as discreetly and quietly as possible. The plan is primarily to shake off any pursuers with this diversion, having the truck be spotted as far away as possible.

"... Do you understand?" John asks.

"Yes, yes, I understand," the coated man responds, looking over John's shoulder for a moment.

Right behind the man, Chouko's unconscious body is slumped against a tree. Her face looks absolutely pale, and she's on the verge of dying from loss of blood. As the most wanted woman in America, as of today, she is currently at the mercy of the very fortunate mercenaries to apprehend her.

Yumi, the source of the water, is currently placing her hands over Chouko's ankle wounds, doing whatever she can in this time while John is discussing things with "that car guy". An uneasy look is on her face as her face is completely dry, lost in thought.

Shortcake is sitting aside next to the car itself, hugging her knees and watching Chouko from a distance. Pure worry is on her face as she is just sitting aside and fiddling with her thumbs.

Focusing on Chouko, the contact has a curious look in his eyes. She's right there, and the Underworld is after her head for big money. "Is that her? Ashford?"

"Yes," John tells him, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. "... I see that look in your eye. Let it be known that the last two who tried to obtain her are dead. Think of that how you will."

"... Very much noted," John's contact responds, tipping his hat and discarding his thoughts of taking the bounty for himself. "Well, then. Pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise."

With that, John's contact goes into the truck itself and begins driving off, headed south to Mississippi and leaving behind the four.

It will be a while before Ashford is caught up to...

... Now, it's a matter of John figuring out what the next step is.