CITY PRECINCT - DREAM CITY - DISTRICT 1
Everyone could hear the commotion in Butch's office—he was on a call with Marcus Duran, Head of the Council. Someone had tapped into the comm line, and the precinct was silently listening.
Meanwhile, down in storage, Christopher had just dropped off some exhibits when he noticed something strange: a group of senior officers walking in and out with parcels. It had been happening repeatedly.
He narrowed his eyes, curiosity peaking. "I'd rethink that if I were you," came a voice behind him.
It was his older partner.
Christopher frowned. "It isn't right."
The older man sighed, nodding slowly. "Do you know what you get when you're retired or dead?"
Christopher shrugged.
"Same thing," the partner said grimly. "Ten thousand credits. That's about the price of dinner at Grandie's Suite down the block. If you die, your family gets it once, and you get a cheap hologram at the crematorium. Nobody remembers. Nobody cares."
Christopher looked away, jaw clenched.
"In here, kid, you learn to shut your eyes to a lot of things. I like you. You remind me of myself—before the Council turned us into errand boys for the corpos."
Christopher sighed. "How's Butch?"
"Flipping his lid. Got shut down. Ordered to stay the hell off the case. It's election season—bad time for Butch. Marcus Duran's playing the game, and he plays dirty."
Christopher nodded slowly, then said, "I need to talk to him."
"About what?" his partner asked with a smirk.
"Everything. I have a plan. You in?"
The older officer laughed, shaking his head. "Kid, I want my pension while I'm still breathing. Don't care about no widow or kids. To do that, I stay alive. So no—I'm not in. But good luck if you're going to tango with Butch. Just... be careful."
The man walked off. Christopher made his way to Butch's office.
Inside, Butch stood alone, artifacts and folders knocked off his desk in frustration. The insult still burned: "If you keep causing problems, I'll make sure you don't leave that precinct with a badge. Who the hell do you think you are, Butch?" Marcus had barked before cutting the line.
He barely noticed the knock at the door. "What do you want?" he growled.
Christopher stepped in, calm and focused.
"Commissioner. I couldn't help but notice how things work around here. Or rather... don't work."
Butch said nothing.
"I see the problem clearly now," Christopher continued. "No one plays by the rules. Not even the cops. That's the problem—but also the solution."
Butch squinted. "What the hell are you talking about? Problem and solution?"
"Operation Seaside," Christopher said. "Back in my city, there was a drug syndicate that paid off dirty cops. Evidence vanished. Witnesses disappeared. Until we got a new Commissioner."
"And?"
"He launched a covert operation—turned a few honest officers into deep-cover spies. Gang members, smugglers, even cops went dark, no laws, no rules, nothing. Over three months, that entire syndicate was gone. Wiped off the map along with their allies."
He stepped closer. "Sir, we can't win playing by the rules. Not anymore. We've got weapons locked in evidence begging to be used. We've got allies on the outside. We infiltrate the Council. We go dark... and fight the darkness from within."
Butch stared at him. The silence stretched.
Then, he finally muttered, "Get out of my office."
Christopher nodded, heading for the door. But he saw it—the flicker in Butch's eyes. A glint. An ember reignited.
He'd gotten through.