Test Run.

The station smelled like burnt coffee and tired men. Kai leaned against the wall near the dispatch terminal, arms crossed, half listening. His jacket collar was popped, his expression unreadable.

Then: "Unit 12 - Hit and run near Crossline and Eighth. Suspect heading east on a red street bike. Repeat: armed suspect, moving fast."

The lieutenant looked up. "Kai. Mercer. Go." Eli practically jumped to his feet. "Yes, sir!" Kai sighed softly and pushed off the wall, walking toward the motor garage without a word.

Eli was already strapping on his helmet. "I've been waiting for this," he said, a grin spreading across his face.

Kai handed him the keys. "You drive. I'll guide." Eli blinked. "Wait, you trust me to drive?" Kai swung onto the backseat. "Trust you not to kill us? Barely. But I want to see how you handle pressure."

The engine roared to life.

They spotted the target quickly a red street bike tearing through traffic, slicing between cars like a knife through water. The rider wore a dark helmet and a jacket with no insignia. No plates. No fear.

"Got visual!" Eli shouted, swerving to follow. Kai's voice came calm and flat over the wind: "Don't chase the tail. Read the turns."

"What does that mean!?"

"Means he's baiting you."

The suspect hooked a left into an alley. Eli followed.

The alley was narrow. Trash bins. Clotheslines. Someone screamed and ducked as they passed.

"He's heading toward the border zone!" Eli shouted. Kai leaned with the bike, keeping balance. "Then he's either desperate... or bold."

Eli and the rider go turn for turn. Eli still can't catch him.

Eli grits his teeth, focused. They burst out of the alley and onto an open stretch, an old market strip.

Suddenly, the red rider flicked something behind him, scattering of small nails.

"WATCH IT-!" Kai shouted.

Eli swerved. The bike shuddered but kept moving.

"We're good!" Eli yelled, breath ragged.

The rider took a sharp right, then gunned it toward an old concrete ramp leading up to a demolished parking garage.

"No way he's gonna-" But he did. The street bike hit the ramp and launched, clearing a five-foot gap onto a crumbling rooftop.

Eli skidded to a stop, staring. "Did he just-?"

Kai was already off the bike, pulling something from his pocket. He stepped to the tire tracks left behind and pressed a small metal disc into the dirt. Magnetic, silent.

Eli caught up. "We can't follow him up there."

Kai stood still, eyes on the rooftop. "No. He wanted us to try. And wreck."

"So he's a rebel?" Eli asked. " He had to be. right?" Kai didn't answer right away. He was too busy watching the disappearing figure fade into the haze of smoke and golden light.

"Maybe," Kai finally said. "Or maybe someone just wanted to see how close we'd get."

Eli turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?" Kai gave the faintest smirk. "That wasn't an escape. That was a test run."

The backup units showed up too late. No suspect. No crash. Just fresh tire marks and a cloud of dust.

"Next time," Eli muttered. " We'll het him." Kai gave a nod and walked back to the bike.

FEW HOURS LATER.

The sound of an engine roared through the underground lot, echoing off cement and corrugated steel. Sparks flew from a corner where someone was grinding a bent frame back into shape.

Dax Calderon pulled off his helmet and shook out his dark hair, sweat clinging to his brow. His jacket was half unzipped, revealing old road rash scars and a stitched-on patch: a silver fang the symbol of what the rebels like to call the 4 shadows, the best the rebel sides got. 

He parked next to three others already lined up.

a wiry rebel teen named Nico approached panting. "You're not gonna believe it. One of our decoys pulled off the rooftop hop escaped clean. Cops couldn't follow."

Dax didn't flinch. "Who was riding?"

"Zane."

Dax gave a half-smile "Zane, huh? guess that explains a lot he's one of our best."

He turned away and entered the heart of the garage the unofficial HQ of the 4 Shadows. Inside: oil-streaked tool benches, cracked helmets hanging from hooks, a massive city map with colored pins and hand-drawn arrows marking patrol shifts, safe spots, and target zones.

Switch, barefoot and reckless as ever, hung from the stairwell like a bat, her legs hooked over the railing as she spun a wrench between her fingers.

Dax walked in and dropped his gloves onto the map table. "The station's testing response times," he said faintly. " That wasn't just a chase. That was a pattern test. They're seeing how fast they can corner the borders."

Switch flipped upright and landed on the floor with a grin. "They preparing to move?"

"Not yet," Dax said. " But they will be. They're watching the border too closely now to not be planning something."

Switch leaned over the map, tapping a blacked-out street zone. " So when do we hit back?"

Dax stared at the red lines drawn on the map. His voice was even. " We don't. Not yet."

That made the room pause

"We don't move until they do. We need to know where the real strike's gonna land. If we jump first, We're blind. we follow their fire and we hit harder."

Switch exhaled. "So we're letting the storm roll in."

Dax glances "We'll be lightning on the other side of it."

He stood, brushing dust from his jacket, and walked toward the back wall where symbols of the fight hung like silent war drums: scorched precinct patches, confiscated tech, and a cracked riot shield with the words "TRUTH RIDES" spray-painted over it in silver.

Dax looked at them all, then back at the crew.

"Two weeks. watch everything."