09 • value steal  •

Third District, Sector 4
Somewhere on the outskirts of Frox Tof
23 Days Until Zero Hour

Tom was the latest recruit at the Yalapeno precinct. And although he'd dreamed of becoming a police officer and upholding justice since he was a kid, he hadn’t expected the job to be this hellishly exhausting. He’d finished his last shift at midnight, barely dragged himself home, and already got a message calling him in for equipment pickup in Frox Tof, dozens of kilometers away. Staffing shortages were going to kill them faster than the criminals swarming Yalapeno like mosquitoes after the rain.

“Why, just why...” he muttered to himself, fighting to stay awake behind the wheel.

“Stop yawning before I lose it,” snapped the senior officer sitting beside him. Along with Tom and two female officers, he’d been assigned this lovely errand. He didn’t like it either; he was furious that the inspector had stuck him with a carload of rookies. And he, Mark Font, had to supervise them. Not exactly the way he’d planned his Saturday night.

The atmosphere was tense. The officers drove in silence in two separate cars toward Frox Tof to pick up the weapons—paying for gas out of their own pockets. Speaking of gas... Tom glanced at the fuel gauge and cursed under his breath as the red low-fuel light flicked on.

“Uh...” he mumbled, catching the sergeant’s attention. The man leaned forward to check the dashboard.

“I told John to fill it up after his shift yesterday—what a dumb—” He cut himself off, grinding his teeth and tapping his chin in frustration.

“I think we passed a sign for a station a while back.”

“Yeah, and out here in the middle of nowhere, you never know if you’re getting fuel or vegetable oil,” the older officer grumbled. He hated the Frox Tof area. There was a reason people called it the ghost town. Apparently even criminals didn’t see a future there and, like most of the youth, had long since left for more civilized regions.

“The next one’s probably not until Frox Tof itself,” the sergeant muttered to himself, trying to gauge if they’d make it in time. Finally, he waved a hand.
“Fine, let’s stop,” he decided, notifying the two women driving behind them about the change of plans.

Ten minutes later, Tom pulled into the station. It was 8:40 p.m., yet the area was soaked in eerie silence and darkness, illuminated only by the flickering lights of the gas station. There wasn’t a soul around for miles, even though it sat right off the main road leading to Frox Tof. A real ghost town indeed.

“Stretch your legs. We’ve still got over half an hour to go,” the senior officer said, hopping out of the car and heading toward the building. The two female officers followed him quickly, hoping to use the restroom. Tom was left alone with the stubborn gas cap that refused to open.

After two frustrating minutes, he finally managed to pry it loose and reached for the diesel pump—only to frown. The display showed neither the price nor the quantity. He tapped the screen, but nothing happened. He squeezed the nozzle, but not a single drop came out.

“Of course,” he muttered, pressing the call attendant button and praying it worked.

To his surprise, it did. A minute later, an employee was already walking toward him, her brown ponytail bouncing with every step.

*value steal --> a move that looks like a bluff, but means you have good cards