Alex stood on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space in front of him.
"June, I need a motorcycle. Something fast but not flashy. Under 100,000 credits."
[Searching vehicle database. Applying filters: motorcycle-class, acceleration 0-100 in under 3 seconds, handling rating 8+, visual profile moderate, price ceiling 100,000 credits.]
A holographic display appeared. Six motorcycles rotated in 3D above the pavement.
The first was chrome and angular. Acceleration looked good. 0-100 in 2.1 seconds. But the visual profile was rated "high attention." Too much. Looked like it cost five times what it actually did.
The second was bulky. Heavy reinforced plating. Top speed barely hit 280 kph. Built for durability, not speed.
Alex swiped through the rest. Too expensive. Too slow. Too flashy.
Then his eyes caught on the fifth option.
Black frame. Smooth lines without unnecessary styling. The numbers beside it were exactly what he needed: 0-100 in 2.4 seconds, top speed 340 kph, handling rated 8.7 out of 10. Moderate visual profile. 75,000 credits.
Not the fastest bike on the list. Not the cheapest. But balanced across every metric that mattered.
"This one," Alex said, pointing.
[Apex Interceptor v4 selected. Cost: 75,000 credits. Molecular assembly time: 15 seconds. Confirm?]
"Yeah."
[Confirmed.]
The air shimmered in front of him. Metal pieces materialized out of nothing, spinning and snapping together like a puzzle solving itself. Frame. Wheels. Handlebars. Engine. In fifteen seconds, a complete motorcycle stood on the sidewalk.
Deep black. Aerodynamic. Built for speed and maneuverability.
[Creation complete. Current balance: 227,450 credits.]
Alex swung onto it and started the engine. It purred to life, smooth and powerful.
The blue van appeared two blocks away, flanked by black escort vehicles. Front and rear. Moving through traffic in tight formation.
Alex pulled into the flow of vehicles, keeping distance. Three cars between him and the convoy.
The sun was setting. Orange light painted the city's towers gold. The elevated roads beneath him glowed with embedded panels, blue and green veins of light pulsing with traffic flow. Buildings rose on either side, their surfaces rippling like water. Vehicles of every shape moved around him. Some on the ground. Some flying overhead, their engines humming.
The air smelled like ozone and hot metal from the molecular assembly plants in the industrial district.
Alex kept his eyes on the convoy. The lead escort had two guards visible through the windshield. Both scanning constantly. Professional.
The van's windows were dark. Reinforced. No way to see inside.
The rear escort mirrored the front. Two more guards. Alert.
'At least six. Probably more inside the van.'
Alex shifted lanes, staying parallel.
"June, how long until they reach the delivery point?"
[Analyzing route. Estimated time to Presidential District: 30 minutes at current speed.]
Thirty minutes. That gave him time.
"I need a route. Somewhere I can isolate them. Narrow. Low traffic."
[Searching street network now.]
Alex accelerated slightly, closing the gap. He needed to see their pattern. Understand how they moved.
The lead escort stayed two car lengths ahead of the van. The rear escort kept the same distance behind. Textbook formation.
[Route identified. Marchant Street. 4.7 kilometers northeast. Single lane each direction. Minimal traffic between 6 PM and 8 PM. However, current trajectory does not intersect Marchant Street. You would need to redirect the convoy.]
"How do I do that?"
[Multiple options available. Recommend creating obstacles on current route to force diversion.]
Alex nodded. "Alright. First, I need to get their attention. Something to make them nervous."
He pulled the micro-projectile launcher from his pocket. Small black cylinder. He'd created it while waiting at the café.
He aimed at the lead escort's side mirror and squeezed.
Click.
The mirror exploded into fragments.
Inside the car, the passenger jerked. His head whipped around, searching.
Alex fired twice more in rapid succession. The van's mirrors shattered. Then the rear escort's.
From inside the van, a muffled shout: "What the fuck was that?!"
"Mirrors are gone!"
"All of them?"
The lead escort's passenger grabbed a comm device, pressing it to his ear. His lips moved rapidly.
"June, jam their communications. All of them."
[Network disruption active. All security frequencies blocked.]
The passenger's expression changed. Confusion. Frustration. He pressed the device harder. "Command, do you copy?" Nothing. "Hello? Command?"
He lowered it and looked at the driver. "Comms are dead."
"What?"
"Everything. All channels are down."
The rear escort's voice crackled over internal radio. "We lost external comms too. Someone's jamming us."
The lead driver's hands tightened on the wheel. "We're being targeted. Someone's out here."
"Abort delivery?"
"Negative. We're thirty minutes out. We push through. Close formation. Eyes open."
They tightened ranks. The rear escort moved closer to the van. The lead escort slowed slightly, keeping visual contact.
Good. They were rattled.
But they were still on the main elevated highway. Too much traffic. Too many witnesses.
Alex needed them off this road.
"June, what's ahead on their route?"
[Continuing northeast on Highway 7 for 3.2 kilometers, then transition to ground-level streets approaching Presidential District.]
"When they transition to ground level, what's the traffic like?"
[Moderate to heavy. Multiple intersections. Estimated travel time once on ground level: 15 minutes.]
"Make it heavier. Cause congestion."
[Traffic light manipulation ready. Executing now.]
Ahead, at the transition ramp leading down to ground level, traffic lights turned red. All of them. Simultaneously.
Cars slowed. Stopped. Within a minute, vehicles were backing up on the ramp, creating a bottleneck.
The convoy approached the jam and slowed.
"We've got traffic ahead," the lead driver said.
"How bad?"
"Backed up on the ramp. Could be ten, fifteen minutes sitting here."
A pause.
"We can't sit in this. Not with comms down and someone already shooting at us."
"Alternate route?"
"Yeah. Next exit. Takes us through the commercial district. Longer, but it'll be moving."
"Copy. Taking next exit."
The convoy peeled off the highway at the next ramp, descending to ground level on a different route.
Alex followed.
The streets down here were narrower. Buildings pressed closer. Fewer flying vehicles. More ground traffic.
And more cover.
Alex accelerated, closing distance. He was two cars back now. Close enough to see details.
The lead escort's passenger had his weapon drawn. Resting on his lap but ready.
They knew someone was out here. They just didn't know where.
Alex pulled into the left lane, moving parallel to the van.
That's when the rear escort's passenger spotted him.
"Contact left! Single rider, black motorcycle!"
The rear escort swerved toward Alex.
Alex accelerated hard. The bike surged forward.
Behind him, the rear escort gave chase.
"Suspect is fleeing! In pursuit!"
Alex weaved between cars, cutting through gaps. The escort stayed on him, aggressive.
Blue electricity arced past his head. They were shooting.
He ducked instinctively and twisted the throttle harder.
The bike screamed, engine redlining.
Another shot. This one closer. He felt the heat of it.
'Fuck, they're actually trying to kill me.'
He cut right, down a side street. The escort followed.
Then from above, a new sound. High-pitched whine.
Alex looked up.
Two police vehicles. Flying cars with flashing lights. Descending fast.
"Shit."
A voice boomed from speakers on the police cars. "ATTENTION. MOTORCYCLIST. STOP YOUR VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY."
Alex didn't stop.
One of the police cars dropped lower, trying to box him in from above.
He swerved left, then right, making himself a harder target.
The rear escort was still behind him. The police cars were above and closing.
He was trapped in a three-way chase.
"June, I need options!"
[Recommend evasive maneuvers. Illusion protocol may create confusion.]
"Do it! Multiple copies!"
[Illusion generation active. Three copies. Duration: 10 minutes.]
The air around Alex shimmered. Three identical copies materialized on identical bikes, riding in formation around him.
Four riders where there had been one.
The rear escort's driver cursed. "What the hell?! There's four of them now!"
"Which one's real?!"
"I don't know!"
One of the police cars fired something. Not electricity. A net.
It shot out, metallic and crackling with energy. Hit one of the illusions.
The illusion flickered and vanished.
"It's not real!"
"Then which one is?!"
Another net fired. Missed. Hit the pavement and sparked.
Alex split from his remaining illusions. They scattered in different directions. The rear escort followed one. The police split up, each chasing a different copy.
Alex cut down an alley, narrow and dark. The walls on either side were close enough to touch.
He emerged onto another street and took a hard left.
One police car was waiting.
"Suspect located! Northeast quadrant!"
It dropped down, trying to block his path.
Alex didn't slow. He aimed straight at it.
At the last second, he swerved right, up onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians scattered. He shot past the police car and back onto the road.
The police car turned, pursuing.
"STOP YOUR VEHICLE! FINAL WARNING!"
Blue electricity arced from the police car. Hit the ground beside Alex's bike. Pavement exploded, sending debris flying.
A piece of concrete hit Alex's shoulder. Hard.
Pain shot through his arm. He gritted his teeth and kept riding.
Another shot. This one grazed his bike's rear fender. Metal screamed. The bike wobbled but held steady.
Alex's shoulder throbbed. Warm blood soaked through his jacket.
'Can't stop. Keep moving.'
He saw the convoy ahead. They'd continued on their route while he'd been dealing with the chase.
He needed to get back to them. Needed to execute the plan.
But the police car was right behind him.
Another net fired.
This one caught his rear wheel.
The bike lurched. Alex fought for control. The wheel seized, metal grinding against metal.
He was going too fast.
The bike went down.
Alex hit the pavement hard, rolling. His injured shoulder screamed. His vision blurred.
He came to a stop against a parked car.
Everything hurt.
The police car landed nearby. Doors opened. Two officers stepped out, weapons raised.
"DON'T MOVE! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"
Alex looked up through blurred vision.
Saw the convoy in the distance. Still moving. Getting away.
Saw the officers approaching.
Heard more sirens. Getting closer.
"Fuck," he breathed.