"We've been sitting here for three hours," Miles said while monitoring his interface from the passenger seat of Jax's personal vehicle—a nondescript sedan he used for surveillance because the motorcycle was too conspicuous and the bugged vehicles were compromised. "My back hurts and my coffee is cold and I'm questioning every life decision that led to this moment."
"Stakeouts require patience," Jax said from the driver's seat where he'd been sitting absolutely motionless for those same three hours, apparently comfortable with extended periods of complete inactivity.
"Stakeouts require masochism and a fundamental misunderstanding of how time works."
They were positioned near Junction 19, watching traffic patterns and waiting for something unusual. The theory—Miles's theory—was that if The Conductor was manipulating traffic to demonstrate system vulnerabilities, then someone at TMA had to be providing him access to the algorithm controls. That meant monitoring high-level TMA personnel and watching for suspicious behavior.
That meant three hours of sitting in a car watching traffic be terrible in perfectly predictable ways.
"This was a bad idea," Miles said.
"Agreed, but we are committed now."
"We could uncommit. We could leave and pretend this never happened and go do literally anything else."
"You suggested this stakeout. You convinced Captain Reyes it was necessary. You dragged me here at 1400 hours. We are staying."
Miles sighed and checked his interface again. Traffic patterns were normal—which meant systematically terrible—and nothing unusual was happening.
At 1647 hours, something changed.
"Wait," Miles said while highlighting data on his display. "Look at this vehicle."
A black executive sedan was moving through Junction 19 with impossible efficiency. Not fast—speed wasn't possible in gridlock—but smooth. Every light turned green as it approached. Every lane cleared just enough space. Every intersection opened just enough gap.
"That vehicle has priority routing," Miles said while tracking it. "Real-time algorithm adjustment clearing its path."
"TMA executive?"
"Checking license plate and vehicle registration..." Miles accessed traffic databases. "Registered to TMA Corporate Fleet, assigned to high-level executive division. That's someone important."
"Can you identify driver?"
"Not from this angle, but I can track where they're going." Miles pulled up the route projection. "They're heading toward the waterfront district, specifically toward the old industrial sector."
"Why would TMA executive go to abandoned industrial sector?"
"Excellent question. Want to follow them?"
"Yes, but we need to stay undetected because if they have priority routing then they probably have security protocols monitoring their surroundings."
They pulled out carefully, maintaining distance while Miles tracked the executive sedan through traffic management data. The vehicle continued its impossibly smooth progress while every other vehicle sat trapped in gridlock.
"This is blatant," Miles said. "Everyone can see this vehicle getting special treatment while they're stuck in traffic. How is TMA not concerned about public perception?"
"TMA controls public perception through media ownership and political influence," Jax said. "Witnesses assume the vehicle is emergency services or government official, not corporate executive abusing system privileges."
"Still blatant."
"Still effective."
They followed for twenty-three minutes—would have been eight minutes without traffic—and watched the executive sedan navigate toward increasingly abandoned areas of the waterfront district.
"This is suspicious location," Jax observed.
"This is very suspicious location for corporate executive during business hours."
The sedan pulled into an abandoned warehouse complex that looked condemned but showed signs of recent activity—fresh tire tracks, security cameras that were definitely not original equipment, and power cables that suggested the building wasn't as abandoned as it appeared.
"That's a front," Miles said. "That warehouse is active despite appearing abandoned."
"Agreed. We investigate on foot."
They parked three blocks away and approached carefully. Jax moved with professional stealth while Miles tried to be quiet and mostly succeeded by following Jax's exact footsteps.
The warehouse perimeter had sophisticated security—cameras, motion sensors, encrypted access points—that was completely incongruous with the building's decrepit exterior.
"This is TMA facility disguised as abandoned warehouse," Jax said while scanning the security setup.
"Can you bypass it?"
"No, but you can."
Miles pulled up his interface and started analyzing the security network. "This is very sophisticated encryption, almost military-grade, but it's also networked which means there are access points and vulnerabilities and—got it."
He bypassed the security through a maintenance protocol that was probably left open by accident or incompetence, and they gained access to the warehouse perimeter.
Inside, through grimy windows, they could see the executive sedan parked next to three other vehicles and several people in business attire having what appeared to be a very serious discussion.
"Can you get audio?" Jax asked.
"Trying..." Miles activated his interface's directional microphone and aimed it at the window. "Audio is garbled but I'm getting fragments—something about 'algorithm modifications' and 'revenue projections' and 'acceptable mortality rates.'"
"Mortality rates?"
"That's what I'm hearing. Let me clean up the audio..." Miles ran the recording through enhancement filters. "Okay, clearer now. They're discussing traffic algorithm changes and how those changes affected emergency response times and how the resulting fatalities are within acceptable parameters for projected revenue increases."
Jax's expression went very still. "They are discussing acceptable death rates for corporate profit."
"They are explicitly calculating how many people can die before it affects their quarterly earnings."
Miles was recording everything through his interface but wasn't livestreaming—operational security required some discretion even for him—and the footage was damning. TMA executives openly discussing how their algorithm killed people and how that was acceptable cost of doing business.
"We need identification on these executives," Jax said.
Miles zoomed his interface's camera and captured faces. Ran them through databases. Got hits.
"That's Katherine Walsh, TMA General Counsel. That's Marcus Voss, VP of Operations. That's Jennifer Huang, Chief Algorithm Officer. That's—" Miles froze. "That's Director Morrison. The TMA Director himself is here discussing mortality rates and profit optimization."
"Document everything."
"Already doing it."
They watched for another ten minutes while the executives discussed algorithm modifications and profit projections and casualty forecasts like they were discussing weather patterns instead of human lives.
Then the meeting ended and the executives returned to their vehicles.
"They're leaving," Miles said. "Do we follow?"
"No. We have footage and identification and evidence of criminal conspiracy. We return to headquarters and present to Captain Reyes."
"Agreed."
They moved back toward their vehicle, carefully retracing their route and avoiding security detection.
That's when Miles's interface chimed with urgent alert.
"What?" Jax asked.
"I set up monitoring for the listening devices on our other vehicles, and the device on your motorcycle just activated. Someone's near your bike."
"We left it at headquarters."
"I know, which means someone at headquarters is tampering with it or—" Miles checked the alert details. "—is trying to track its location because the listening device is also a tracking device and I didn't detect that functionality before because it was dormant until activated."
"The Conductor is tracking us through the device his operatives planted."
"Or TMA is tracking us if they planted the device and not The Conductor."
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
"Either way, our position is compromised."
They reached their vehicle quickly and Jax started driving back toward headquarters while Miles monitored the tracking signal.
"The tracking device is broadcasting our motorcycle's location to unknown recipient," Miles said. "I can't trace the recipient but I can jam the signal."
"Do it."
Miles activated counter-surveillance protocols and jammed the tracking signal, but that would only work temporarily before whoever was tracking them noticed the interruption and adapted.
They arrived at headquarters at 1834 hours—Peak Surge was ending and traffic was beginning to clear—and found Jax's motorcycle exactly where they'd left it.
But something was different.
"Someone accessed the bike," Jax said while examining it. "Seat is adjusted and mirrors are wrong position."
"Who would access your bike at GLPD headquarters?"
"Someone with building access and knowledge of what they're looking for."
The implications were obvious: either The Conductor had someone inside GLPD or TMA had someone inside GLPD or both, and that person had just used Jax's motorcycle for something.
"We need to check surveillance footage," Miles said.
They went to building security and pulled up parking area footage from the last three hours.
At 1723 hours—while they were at the warehouse—a GLPD officer approached Jax's motorcycle. The officer looked around carefully, then mounted the bike and attempted to start it.
"That's Officer Park," Jax identified. "Young officer, relatively new, assigned to patrol division."
"Why is Officer Park trying to start your motorcycle?"
They kept watching. Officer Park couldn't start the bike—Jax's security was better than standard—but he examined it thoroughly and appeared to be doing something to the underside where the listening device was planted.
"He's checking the device," Miles said. "Or servicing it. Or verifying it's functional."
"Officer Park is either working for The Conductor or working for TMA."
"Either way, we have a mole."
At 1729 hours in the footage, Officer Park gave up trying to start the bike and left. But his body language suggested frustration—he'd wanted to move the motorcycle somewhere and couldn't.
"He was trying to relocate your bike," Jax said.
"Why?"
"Unknown, but the attempt suggests he needed it in different location for different purpose."
Miles's interface chimed again. Another alert, but this one was different.
"What now?"
"The tracking device on your bike just received remote activation command, and it's initiating some kind of secondary protocol—" Miles checked the data. "It's trying to start the motorcycle remotely. Someone's attempting to remotely hijack your bike."
"That's impossible. Motorcycle has manual ignition."
"Unless someone modified it when they planted the device. They could have installed remote start mechanism that bypasses manual controls."
They ran to the parking area where Jax's motorcycle was indeed starting itself—engine activating, systems engaging, completely autonomous.
"That's my motorcycle and I'm not operating it," Jax said with unusual alarm.
"Someone else is operating it remotely and we need to stop it before—"
The motorcycle lurched forward on its own, rolling out of the parking space with nobody riding it.
"It's escaping," Miles said somewhat hysterically. "Your motorcycle is escaping without you."
"Stop it!"
"How? I can't exactly tackle a motorcycle!"
The bike was accelerating now, moving through the parking area with surprising coordination for an unmanned vehicle, and heading toward the exit.
"You need to stop it manually," Jax said.
"I don't ride motorcycles!"
"You need to learn immediately!"
Miles ran after the escaping motorcycle and managed to grab the handlebars while it was still moving slowly. He climbed on awkwardly—this was his first time on a motorcycle without Jax controlling it—and tried to figure out how to stop it.
"Where's the brake?" Miles yelled.
"Right hand, lever!"
Miles grabbed what he thought was the brake. Was actually the throttle. The motorcycle accelerated dramatically and Miles screamed while holding on desperately.
"WRONG HAND!" Jax yelled while running after them.
"THEY'RE BOTH HANDS! YOU DIDN'T SPECIFY WHICH RIGHT HAND!"
Miles finally found the actual brake and squeezed it as hard as he could in pure panic.
The front brake locked completely.
Physics took over.
The motorcycle stopped instantly. Miles did not. He went forward over the handlebars in a graceless arc, tumbling through the air with limbs flailing, and landed in a heap on the parking lot pavement.
The motorcycle fell over with a sad metallic clatter.
Miles lay on the ground, winded and bruised but alive.
"That was terrible," Jax said while helping him up.
"That was my first motorcycle experience without you driving and I would like to never repeat it."
"Your technique needs improvement."
"My technique needs to not exist because I should never be on motorcycles!"
That's when Miles noticed the security camera pointed directly at the parking area—the camera that had just recorded his spectacular failure at motorcycle operation.
"Oh no," Miles said.
"What?"
"Security camera recorded everything and that footage is networked and uploads automatically to building systems and—" Miles checked his interface. "—someone already downloaded it and posted it publicly and it's going viral."
Indeed, within three minutes of the incident, the footage was spreading across social media with the hashtag #CopCrash trending citywide.
Miles Carter, GLPD detective and livestreaming personality, flying over motorcycle handlebars in slow-motion. Over and over. From multiple angles as people remixed the footage with commentary and sound effects.
His interface was flooded with messages. Forty-three thousand from his regular audience and growing exponentially as the clip spread.
MILES CRASHED JAX'S MOTORCYCLE. #COPCRASH. THIS IS THE BEST CONTENT EVER.
"I'm never going to live this down," Miles said while sitting on the parking lot ground and watching his humiliation spread across the city.
"No," Jax agreed. "You are not."
"My reputation as competent detective is destroyed."
"Your reputation as competent detective was already questionable. This just provides confirmation."
"That's mean."
"That's accurate assessment based on observable evidence."
They examined the motorcycle, which was damaged but functional, and found the remote start device attached to the ignition system—sophisticated equipment, professionally installed, definitely not standard.
"Someone wanted to move your bike remotely," Miles said while analyzing the device. "Either to different location or to cause it to crash or to make it look like you stole it. The plan was complicated and we interrupted it by being here."
"Officer Park was involved," Jax said. "We need to question him."
"Agreed, but carefully because if he's working for TMA or The Conductor then confronting him directly might be dangerous."
They returned to the building where Officer Park was still on duty and apparently unaware that his attempt to access the motorcycle had been caught on camera.
"Officer Park," Jax said while approaching him. "I need to ask about my motorcycle."
Park looked up with carefully neutral expression. "Sir?"
"Were you near my motorcycle in the parking area at 1723 hours?"
"I don't believe so, sir. I've been on patrol all evening."
"Surveillance footage shows you attempting to access it."
Park's expression shifted slightly—surprise, concern, calculation. "I... may have walked past it. I don't recall specifically."
"You attempted to start it. Why?"
"I think you're mistaken, sir. Why would I try to start your motorcycle?"
Jax leaned forward slightly. "That's exactly what I'm asking."
Park looked between Jax and Miles, clearly calculating his options. Then made a decision.
"I need to speak with my union representative before answering any questions."
"That's your right," Jax said. "But understand that requesting representation suggests you have something to hide."
"That's an unfair characterization and I'm invoking my rights."
They couldn't push further without formal interrogation, which required authorization they didn't have for fellow officer.
They let Park go and watched him leave quickly.
"He's involved," Miles said.
"Yes, but we don't know if he's working for Conductor or TMA or someone else entirely."
"We don't know anything except that we have moles in the department and compromised vehicles and viral footage of me destroying your motorcycle."
"You didn't destroy it. Just damaged it. And provided entertainment for forty-three million people."
"The entire city is laughing at me."
"Yes."
Miles checked his stream where #CopCrash was trending with over two million views and climbing. Every major news outlet was running the footage. Comedy accounts were remixing it with music. Someone had already made an animated gif that looped his graceless tumble endlessly.
His professional reputation was in ruins.
But at least they had evidence of TMA corruption and identification of internal mole and documented proof of systematic conspiracy.
Small consolation while the entire city watched him crash repeatedly in slow motion.
"We should report our findings to Captain Reyes," Jax said.
"Can we wait until the internet stops laughing at me?"
"That will never happen."
"Then I guess we report now."
They went to Reyes's office where she was already watching the #CopCrash footage on her interface, which was buffering but still functional enough to show Miles's spectacular failure on loop.
"Before you say anything—" Miles started.
"That was the worst motorcycle operation I've ever witnessed," Reyes interrupted.
"—in my defense, it was my first time riding solo and the brake was very sensitive and—"
"The entire city has now seen you fly over handlebars like a cartoon character. The mayor's office called me. The commissioner called me. TMA sent a press release offering motorcycle safety courses."
"That's very petty of them."
"That's very effective PR capitalizing on your public humiliation." Reyes closed the footage. "Now tell me what you were actually doing that led to this disaster."
They explained: the stakeout, the TMA executive meeting, the warehouse discussion of mortality rates, the evidence of Officer Park's involvement, and the remote hijacking of Jax's motorcycle.
Reyes listened without interrupting.
When they finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"You have footage of TMA executives discussing acceptable death rates?" she finally asked.
"Yes, high-quality recording with clear audio and facial identification."
"And you have evidence that Officer Park is working for someone hostile to department interests?"
"Yes, circumstantial but strong."
"And you discovered all this because you were following a vehicle with illegal priority routing?"
"Yes."
Reyes's interface buffered, crashed, and rebooted.
"This is exactly the kind of evidence that could bring down TMA's entire operation," she said carefully. "This is also exactly the kind of evidence that could get you killed if TMA realizes you have it."
"So what do we do?"
"You document everything. You make copies. You distribute those copies to multiple secure locations. And you do not tell anyone you have this evidence until you're ready to release it all simultaneously."
"You're telling us to prepare for going public?"
"I'm telling you to prepare for war because if TMA realizes you have footage of executives discussing murder for profit, they will not respond with lawyers. They will respond with everything."
That was terrifying but accurate.
They had crossed a line. They had evidence that could destroy TMA. Which meant TMA would try to destroy them first.
The game had changed. The stakes had escalated.
And somewhere, The Conductor was watching and probably amused by all of it.
Miles just hoped the motorcycle crash video would distract people from the real story long enough for them to prepare their next move.
#CopCrash was embarrassing, but it might also be perfect cover.
Miles is never beating the allegations.
-
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never live it down
they now have evidence that could burn TMA to the ground, a confirmed mole, and a viral distraction that might actually save their lives.
they’ve officially crossed the point where this ends quietly.
Next chapter gets darker. Probably fewer motorcycles. Probably.