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

One thing had to be admitted about Ace — the man was a master of improvisation.

On Saturday morning, what was meant to be a regular breakfast turned into a full-blown tactical briefing. Though Ace spoke fast, he also spoke clearly and with purpose, and the mission that at first glance had seemed like a suicide run was now starting to take shape. Everything was aligning — just as the Bureau had predicted.

Yes, Ace didn’t want to make a scene, which is why the entire mission had to be handled quietly.

Yes, the simplest way would be to impersonate the officers from Yalapeno on their way to pick up their gear.

And yes — he had come up with the whole thing in just eight hours and knew exactly who, where, and what each person would be doing.

Which was how Kelly, pulling her cap low over her eyes, was now briskly approaching the young officer who still hadn’t realized that the “out-of-service” gas station had no fuel.

“Oh, good evening,” he greeted her from a distance. She didn’t reply. She didn’t stop walking either.
“I think the pump’s jammed or something—there’s no fuel,” he added, turning his back to her to fiddle with the dispenser again. That’s when he missed the most important detail — the stranger approaching him was also in a cop’s uniform. A cheap one. AliExpress quality. And when he turned back around, all he saw was a clenched fist flying straight at his throat.

The hit wasn’t meant to hurt — just stun. As the boy doubled over, gasping for air, Kelly swiftly got behind him, locked her arm around his neck, and pulled him close. She pulled a syringe from her pocket and jabbed it into the nearest vein. Fifteen milliliters of blue moonshine spread quickly through Tom’s bloodstream. Within seconds, his struggles ceased, and once she loosened her hold, he crumpled to the pavement like a rag doll.

Only then did Kelly exhale, realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time.
The mission had officially begun.

From inside the building, Keith emerged — also wearing a knock-off cop’s uniform. Kelly signaled with a wave that everything had gone according to plan. He circled around the vehicle to join her.

“Not bad. So far, so good,” he said, eyeing Kelly.

“You alright?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered, shoving her still-shaking hands into her pockets.

She made a move to help carry the unconscious body, but Montgomery slung the guy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Back inside the abandoned station, they laid Tom beside his teammates — the rest of his squad was already there, peacefully sleeping thanks to their dose of blue moonshine. No handcuffs, no rope. Just fifteen milliliters of synthetic slumber, enough to keep them under through the whole operation — long enough for it to be over before they ever woke up.

In the middle of the empty store, right across from the counter, Team 1 assembled: Kelly, Keith, Ace, and Toxi, all dressed as cops. Their job was to stage the abandoned gas station just enough to make it look operational — setting the trap for the real officers from Yalapeno.

Meanwhile, Team 2 — Ben and Mantis — had tampered with the vehicle meant to pick up the gear, draining just enough fuel to force a stop at the trap. And Team 3 — Jax, Grom, and Julian — was already waiting back at the Frox Tof precinct.

“Phase one: resounding success,” Ace declared, pressing his earpiece.

“Grom, what’s your status?” he asked, while his team scavenged gear from the knocked-out officers. They’d return it later — for now, they just needed equipment.

“Almost there,” came the muffled reply.

“Almost?” Ace frowned, strapping on a holster.

“Try pushing a cart with two guys in it and not looking suspicious,” Grom growled back.

Everyone flinched as Urs’s laughter blasted through their earpieces.

“God, Gromy, I so regret not getting a pic of you in a janitor outfit,” Urs wheezed, nearly choking. He was the only one left at the base, monitoring all the teams — surrounded by screens and popcorn.

“You’ve got thirty minutes,” Ace cut in. “Be ready.”

He glanced at the ID badge of Commissioner Mark Font. Outfits were easy to replicate, but seamless entry into a police station? That was on Team 3. Julian’s job was to swap out the photos in the police system and later wipe the footage — no evidence left behind.

Ace tapped his earpiece again and scanned his mini-squad. Everyone was geared up, uniforms fitted, waiting for instructions. He smirked to himself, proud — never before had he crafted such a clean plan so quickly. Just twelve hours earlier, he’d been on a train overhearing chatter about a transport run. Then came the rush home and a long, sleepless night spent strategizing.

“Montgomery, top off the tanks. We’re heading out. No sense delaying the best part,” he grinned.
“Thifer, link up with Walker and start looping the feed.”

Keith grabbed a prepared fuel canister while Kelly retrieved a compact device from her bag and made her way toward the vehicles. By now, none of the Kłopociki needed a reminder of the plan — they had it memorized like scripture.

While Keith topped off the gas, Kelly slipped into the cab, pulling her cap even lower over her face — even though the engines were off and the cameras weren’t live yet. Habit was a hard thing to kill. Once the engine started, the dashboard cams would activate — two mounted near the center console. No rear cams, since these were delivery vans.

She plugged her device into the camera system.

“Go, Ben,” she muttered, tapping her earpiece.

A moment later, the screen flickered with green digits and a loading bar before switching to old footage: the original officers arriving, stepping out of their cars. Walker’s job was simple — loop the recording. That way, when the real officers checked the logs, they wouldn’t find a suspicious blackout. No missing time. No black screens.

She repeated the process in the second van — the one the female officers had used. In under six minutes, everything was ready. They split up: Keith drove with Ace, Kelly with Toxi. They rode in silence, hoping the rest of the operation was going just as smoothly.

It struck 9:00 PM.