Third District, Sector 4
Frox Tof
23 Days Until Zero Hour

The town was slowly waking up as she strolled along the still-empty streets. It was Saturday, half past eight — no sane person had peeled themselves from under a warm duvet this early on a chilly, early-spring weekend.

No one except Kelly, who hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night. She got up at seven and left the academy without waking anyone. The official reason was a routine morning jog — a few kilometers to keep her stamina up; after all, fitness doesn’t maintain itself. The real, unofficial reason — known only to her and the rest of the Trouble Squad— was that once accepted into Busterrix’s ranks, they had to inform the Bureau, which had been on pins and needles for three days, not knowing what had become of them.

Kelly was voted in as the contact. The deciding factor? Her uncanny ability to go unnoticed. There was something to it — just that morning, she passed Grom in the hallway and even said "hey" and he hadn’t even noticed.

She wasn’t thrilled about playing the role of an extra mole in a den already full of hidden ones, but there was no point arguing. Keith had made it clear: better not push the Bureau’s patience. As the acting team lead, he’d told her exactly what to say.

“Do I mention the blue moonshine?” she’d asked — their name for the strange substance Ace had acquired.

“Wouldn’t hurt. Maybe they’ll figure out what the hell he needs it for. ‘Cause I’m starting to get lost here.”

And to be fair, things were only getting crazier. First, the gun-to-the-face loyalty test. Now, a plan to hijack a police convoy? What would be next?

She stopped at a crosswalk to catch her breath. The hope that the jog would clear her thoughts dissipated along with the foggy steam from her lips.

“We’re so screwed,” she muttered, crossing to the other side of the street. Discreetly — under the guise of fixing her hair — she glanced over her shoulder. No one was tailing her.

Frox Tof was probably one of the least populated towns in the entire Third District. Sure, life went on here, but at half-speed. The people seemed dulled, maybe by the smog that hovered over the nearby factories — the main source of employment for half the town.

At this hour, the streets were deserted. Not even a stray cat peeked out from behind a dumpster. Practically ideal conditions for a quick phone call.

Without stopping, she pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and opened the back panel. Her own SIM card went into her left pocket. From the right, she pulled one of several burner SIMs. This one could’ve been registered to a seventy-year-old woman in Mexico.

She powered on the device and dialed a number she knew by heart. Deep breath. No one’s watching. Don’t look paranoid. Two rings, then the unmistakable voice of Inspector Nakane:

“God, it’s good to know you’re still alive!” she chirped — and Kelly couldn’t help but scoff. That woman was a walking contradiction — she knew that after just a week.

“Were you already digging a mass grave for us?”

“No way, that’s been dug and ready for days,” Nakane deadpanned, and in the background, Kelly heard Callean scolding her.

“Alright, alright, Zack, don’t pop a vein. You’re on speaker — go ahead, let’s hear it.”

So she told them everything. From the initial meet-up with their liaison, to the loyalty test, to yesterday’s gathering. She recalled every detail she could — leaving out just two names: Ace and Urs.

“What do we do now?” she asked, as if praying for an answer sheet mid-chemistry exam.

“What time did Busterrix schedule the hit?” Nakane asked, her voice turning cool and professional. The moment she heard “police convoy,” the joking stopped.

“Ten p.m. the convoy leaves the city. We’ll probably start earlier, but he hasn’t given specifics yet.”

A pause, and then the sound of rapid typing.

“Confirmed,” Nakane reported. “Commissioner Mark Font from the Third District scheduled a transfer of gear to a precinct on the outskirts — crime’s high there, and they’re short on equipment.”

“There’ll be at least three vehicles. The loaded one rides in the middle — standard protocol,” Zack added. Kelly stepped back, giving them the floor. She was curious what those brainiacs would come up with.

“There are only two viable intercept points: just before they leave Frox Tof, or right after they arrive in Yalapeno.”

“At ten p.m., traffic will be minimal, both in the city and around the station. The cops will be relaxed, just loading gear and heading out. What’s the distance between the two precincts?”

“About forty kilometers — just over an hour’s drive,” Nakane answered after a quick search. “Route passes through small towns, no open fields for an ambush.”

“Busterrix won’t want to draw attention,” Zack mused. “He’s been sneaking around for weeks — he won’t go in guns blazing. We also have to consider that… uh…”

“The blue moonshine,” Nakane supplied. “Which, by the way, is a fantastic name,” she chuckled.

Zack continued, unfazed: “The most logical plan is…”

“Impersonating the police.”

Kelly remained silent. Callean and Nakane were practically symbiotic AIs, finishing each other’s thoughts, and she didn’t want to mess with their groove. Honestly? She was impressed. Hearing them piece together the theory made her realize how plausible it was. They’d come up with more in five minutes than the entire Trouble Crew could’ve in five hours.

That the gang was holed up in an abandoned precinct? Proof Busterrix wanted to stay under the radar. A nighttime ambush on the convoy would still cause a stir. But infiltrating from the inside… that changed everything.

The blue moonshine could be the perfect tool for disabling officers, letting them impersonate the real ones. But what about the other convoy members? Wouldn’t they recognize each other? How would they even get into the precinct without suspicion? How would they leave?

Her head spun with unanswered questions. She kept them to herself — odds were they wouldn’t get answers until just before the job. Her stomach twisted from the nerves. Thankfully, she spotted a small grocery store unlocking its doors. She needed coffee or sugar. Or both.

“You’re really gonna let them go through with it?” she finally asked, snapping the agents out of their brainstorming. “He’s trying to steal an entire truck full of weapons.”

Silence.

Then Zack gave the obvious answer:

“Do whatever Busterrix says.”

Her throat tightened and all appetite vanished.

“You’re just gonna let him—”

“Any sabotage on your part would look suspicious,” Zack interrupted. “You’ve been with them what, three days? You can’t make waves.”

“Exactly,” Nakane added. “Three days — too early to cause doubt.”

“You don’t think it’s too early for something like this?” Kelly pushed, despite herself.

“Busterrix might seem reckless, but he wouldn’t move unless the plan was solid,” Nakane assured her — but it didn’t make her feel better.

“And if it’s not?” Kelly persisted. “What if we’re just the cannon fodder?”

Another silence. For a second, she thought the call had dropped.

“Stick to the plan,” Nakane finally said. “You’re doing great.” But the optimism in her voice was paper-thin.

And then she hung up.

Kelly stared at the black screen of her burner phone, her own reflection faint in the glass. She exhaled slowly, popped the back panel off, crushed the SIM card between her fingers, and dropped it into the nearest storm drain. 

Not wanting to process what she’d just heard — not yet — Kelly stepped into the store intending to buy a bottle of water. But she froze in the doorway the moment her eyes landed on a familiar face standing by the nearest shelf.