Not one helmet but two helmets, because optimism required preparation and because maybe, just maybe, Miles would agree to take the motorcycle instead of that terrible car. Because motorcycles were objectively superior for Peak Surge navigation and because Jax had thought this through.
Miles looked at the helmets, then at Jax, and blinked. "Good morning to you too, and why are you holding two helmets?"
"Motorcycle. We take motorcycle. More efficient."
"Oh no, no no no. We're taking my car."
"The car is slow."
"The car is stable and has all my equipment and has four wheels and structural protection and air conditioning."
"Motorcycles are faster and more maneuverable and better for traffic, and we could respond to calls in half the time, maybe a third of the time, and it's very efficient. You like efficiency."
"I like not dying in traffic accidents," Miles said. "I like having my streaming equipment with me and I like having my hacking deck accessible and I like arriving at crime scenes with all my gear intact, not scattered across three city blocks because we crashed."
"I do not crash."
"Everyone crashes eventually, and that's just statistics and probability."
"I have not crashed in seven years."
"That means you're statistically due for a crash, and I don't want to be on the motorcycle when it happens."
They stared at each other: Jax holding two helmets with quiet determination, and Miles sitting at his desk with stubborn refusal.
"Rock paper scissors?" Jax suggested.
Miles blinked. "Did you just suggest rock paper scissors? You? The silent professional?"
"Efficient decision-making method."
"That's not efficient, that's childish."
"Then the coin flip."
"How about we just take my car like reasonable adults?"
"Your car is not reasonable, and your car is an impediment to effective policing."
"My car has character and personality and a fully functional entertainment system."
"Your car has dents and questionable brake function and seventeen unpaid parking tickets."
"Those tickets are under dispute and I'm contesting them through proper legal channels."
"You have not contested them. You have ignored them. I checked your records."
"That's an invasion of privacy!"
"That is publicly available data, and observation is not invasion."
Miles stood and grabbed his jacket. "Fine, we're taking my car, and this argument is over, and you can put those helmets away because we're not using them."
"This is inefficient."
"This is a partnership compromise, and you need to learn that partnerships require flexibility and mutual respect and accepting that sometimes your partner makes decisions you don't agree with."
"You are making an incorrect decision."
"And you're being stubborn, so we're even."
They walked to the motor pool where Miles's car was parked. The beat-up electric sedan that had definitely seen better days, probably in a previous decade, and was covered in GLPD permits and disputed parking tickets and a suspicious dent in the passenger door that Miles claimed was "there when I bought it" but everyone knew was from last month's pursuit.
Jax looked at the car with barely concealed disappointment.
"It's a good car," Miles said defensively. "It's reliable and practical and gets me where I need to go."
"Eventually."
"That's mean."
"That is an observable fact based on performance metrics."
They got in and Miles started the engine, which hummed quietly—electric, efficient, and slow, definitely slow, but functional.
"So," Miles said while pulling out of the motor pool. "Our assignment: prisoner transport, Daniel Ortega from GLPD holding to a federal facility, should be simple and quick and easy."
"Nothing is simple in Gridlock City."
"That's pessimistic."
"That is realistic. You have worked here for three years and I have worked here for seven, so how many simple assignments have you experienced?"
Miles thought about it. "Zero, okay, fair point. Everything gets complicated, but this is just transport—drive from point A to point B, and how complicated can it get?"
Jax said nothing, just looked out the window with professional silence and ominous silence.
Their assignment was straightforward on paper: Daniel Ortega, the suspect from Jax's rooftop arrest two days ago, was being transferred to federal holding for pending trial and pending processing. Standard procedure. Miles and Jax were assigned transport duty—drive six kilometers, drop off prisoner, return to headquarters, and total time estimated at forty-seven minutes.
That was the theory and the plan and the protocol.
Reality would be different because reality was always different.
They arrived at GLPD holding at 0923 hours and Ortega was waiting, restrained and compliant and looking resigned to his fate.
"Detective Velocity," Ortega said. "We meet again, and hopefully less awkward than the rooftop wait."
"Transport will be efficient," Jax said.
"I'll believe it when I experience it."
They loaded Ortega into the vehicle and secured him properly with professional restraints. Jax checked three times because his methodology required triple-checking everything for safety and liability and protocol.
Miles got in the passenger seat and pulled up his interface. "Okay, route calculated: six point two kilometers and current traffic conditions show moderate congestion, so ETA is forty-seven minutes and we're right on schedule."
"ETA is an estimate, not guarantee."
"You're very glass-half-empty this morning."
"I am realistic about traffic patterns, and you are optimistic about systems that consistently fail."
"Optimism is important and keeps morale high and prevents existential despair."
"Existential despair is an appropriate response to systematic dysfunction."
Miles laughed. "You're funny when you're pessimistic, which is always, so you're always funny, and that's convenient for partnership dynamics."
They drove into morning traffic, which was building—not Peak Surge yet but trending toward Peak Surge and the algorithm preparing for its daily failure and the system warming up for systematic gridlock.
At 0934 hours, they hit their first delay at Junction 23: traffic incident, minor collision, two vehicles, nobody injured, but blocking the lane and traffic backing up and the algorithm rerouting everyone and creating more congestion elsewhere, solving problems by creating different problems.
"ETA updated," Miles announced. "Now fifty-three minutes, so six-minute delay, and not terrible."
"Delay will compound because traffic is nonlinear, and small delays create large delays, and this is a predictable pattern."
"That's very mathematical and very analytical, so do you always think in patterns?"
"Yes. Pattern recognition is survival skill in combat and in traffic and in life, and everything has patterns and everything is predictable if you observe correctly."
"What's my pattern?"
Jax glanced at him with a brief glance, then back to the road. "You talk when nervous and make jokes when uncomfortable and use humor as a defense mechanism against reality. You process externally because internal processing feels like isolation, and you livestream because audience attention validates existence. Your pattern is seeking connection through constant communication."
Miles blinked. "That's very accurate and very psychological, so are you a therapist cop?"
"I am an observant cop, and observation reveals truth and truth reveals patterns and patterns reveal people."
"Okay but now I feel analyzed, like I'm under investigation, and it's very uncomfortable."
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"You asked a question and I answered the question, so discomfort is your response, not my intention."
At 0947 hours, traffic stopped completely—not slowed but stopped with full static. The algorithm had failed somewhere upstream and was creating a cascade failure and domino effect, forty-seven million vehicles all trying to go home early and all failing simultaneously.
"ETA updated," Miles said while reading his interface. "Now showing error and cannot calculate and traffic algorithm is experiencing difficulties and alternative routes unavailable, so we are stuck."
"Predictable," Jax said.
"You predicted this?"
"I predict traffic failure daily and am correct daily, and this is not difficult prediction."
They sat with the engine idling and going nowhere while Ortega sat in the back seat, philosophical about the delay.
"This is ironic," Ortega observed. "Arrested for data theft and being transported to federal holding and stuck in traffic created by the same corrupt system I was trying to expose. The system is eating itself and consuming itself and destroying itself through its own dysfunction."
"That's very poetic but wrong," Miles said. "You committed crimes and you're being prosecuted, and that's justice, not system dysfunction."
"Justice would be prosecuting the TMA and justice would be stopping the algorithm that creates this gridlock and justice would be fixing the system instead of arresting people who point out it's broken."
"He has a point," Jax said quietly.
Miles looked at him. "You're agreeing with the criminal?"
"I am acknowledging the truth. TMA creates gridlock and algorithm optimizes for profit and the system is designed to fail—these are facts, and they do not change because Ortega committed crimes. Truth and criminality are separate issues."
"But we're cops and we enforce the law, and we don't debate whether the law is just, we just enforce it."
"We can do both—enforcement and evaluation—and they are not mutually exclusive."
"That's very progressive for someone who insists on protocol compliance."
"Protocol and philosophy are different domains, and I follow protocol professionally and question systems philosophically, and both are possible simultaneously."
They sat in traffic and didn't move while Miles checked his interface. Traffic map showing red everywhere and gridlock spreading and the algorithm failing in real-time, forty-seven million people trapped.
At 1023 hours—forty-nine minutes into a forty-seven-minute trip—they'd moved approximately eight hundred meters, which was point eight kilometers with still five point four kilometers from destination.
"This is unacceptable," Miles said. "We're cops and we're supposed to have priority routing and we're supposed to bypass traffic and we're supposed to be able to respond to emergencies, but we're just stuck like everyone else, like the system doesn't care that we're law enforcement."
"The system does not care because the system cares about profit, and we do not generate profit, so we have no priority, and that is the algorithm's logic—cold and efficient and inhuman."
"We should hack it, and I could hack the traffic system and give us priority routing and get us moving."
"That is illegal."
"So is creating artificial gridlock for profit and so is systematic traffic manipulation, and we'd be committing a crime to stop a crime, which is morally complex but ultimately justified."
"No. We follow protocol and we wait and we arrive eventually, and we do not become criminals to stop criminals because that is the line and the boundary and the difference between us and them."
Miles pulled up his interface anyway and started probing the traffic system, looking for access points and vulnerabilities and ways to manipulate the algorithm. He'd done this before—seventeen times, all technically legal and all ethically questionable—and this would be number eighteen.
"Carter, do not hack the traffic system."
"I'm not hacking, I'm just investigating and observing and seeing what's possible, purely theoretical."
"You are accessing unauthorized systems, and that is hacking. Stop."
"I'm accessing public systems, and traffic data is technically public, sort of, if you know where to look and have the right credentials, which I may or may not have acquired through legitimate means."
"Carter."
"Fine, not hacking, and I'm just sitting here in traffic and being very patient and very protocol-compliant and very slowly going insane from inactivity."
At 1047 hours, Jax made a decision and turned right off the main road into a side street. The algorithm immediately recalculated with a warning: ROUTE DEVIATION. RETURN TO ASSIGNED ROUTE.
"What are you doing?" Miles asked.
"Alternative route using service roads with less algorithm control and more manual navigation, which is less efficient according to the system but more efficient according to reality."
"That's against protocol."
"Protocol is guideline, not law, and guidelines can be adapted when circumstances require adaptation."
"You just spent an hour telling me to follow protocol!"
"I said follow protocol for prisoner transport, not follow protocol for route selection, and those are different protocols with different flexibility levels. Service roads are a legitimate option, and we are using legitimate options."
The service road was empty with no traffic and just them. The algorithm didn't route civilian traffic here—only commercial vehicles and only authorized access—but Jax had authorization, technically, sort of, and it was a gray area.
They drove faster and actually moved and made progress, and this was revolutionary.
"This is amazing," Miles said. "We're actually moving and we're going faster than walking speed, and this is what transportation feels like when it works."
"Yes."
"Why don't we always use service roads?"
"Because the algorithm actively blocks service road access when it detects non-commercial vehicles, and I am using a temporary authorization window that will close in approximately seven minutes, so we must reach our destination before the window closes or we will be rerouted back to gridlock."
"That's very technical and very hacky, and I thought you didn't approve of hacking."
"This is not hacking but creative protocol interpretation, and there is a difference."
"That's exactly what I said about my traffic system access!"
"Your access was illegal, and mine is authorized temporarily through legitimate commercial vehicle classification that may or may not apply to law enforcement vehicles depending on interpretation of regulation 47-B subsection 12."
"That's the most complicated justification I've ever heard."
"That is the most legally defensible justification possible."
They drove through service roads and made excellent progress—six point two kilometers in seventeen minutes total, very efficient and very functional and very unlike normal GLPD transport.
They arrived at federal holding at 1057 hours, on time and actually on time despite gridlock and despite algorithm failure and despite everything.
Ortega was impressed. "That was almost competent, and I'm shocked. Expected three-hour transport but got one-hour transport, and you two actually worked together and coordinated and achieved results. The partnership might work after all."
"Doubtful," Jax said.
"Very doubtful," Miles agreed. "This was lucky—lucky traffic and lucky timing and lucky service road window, and it's not sustainable and not repeatable and definitely not partnership chemistry."
"Keep telling yourselves that," Ortega said.
They processed him and federal guards took custody, and paperwork was complete and transport was successful and mission was accomplished.
Walking back to their vehicle, Miles pulled up his interface. "We should document this: the service road strategy and the timing and the coordination, and make it official methodology and share with other units."
"No."
"Why not? It worked and we got results, and we should replicate success."
"Because service road access window was temporary and because sharing methodology means algorithm learns methodology, and because system adapts to resistance. We used exploit once, but using it repeatedly means system patches exploit, so we save this methodology for emergencies, not routine transport."
"That's very strategic and very chess-like and thinking several moves ahead."
"That is survival, and that is how you operate in a broken system. You find exploits and you use them sparingly and you preserve them for when they matter most."
They drove back to headquarters through gridlock again because the service road window had closed and they were stuck with everyone else, forty-seven million people trapped in algorithm failure.
Miles filed his eighth traffic complaint about systematic delay and about algorithm dysfunction and about everything, and it was rejected in 0.3 seconds.
"You filed a complaint," Jax observed.
"Yeah, number eight, and how'd you know?"
"You have a specific expression when filing complaints—focused and determined and slightly angry and completely futile but doing it anyway, and I recognize the pattern."
"You're very observant and also very critical of my futile gestures."
"I file the same futile gestures—219 complaints, all rejected, all documented, all meaningless except as documentation—and we share the same futility, and that is partnership commonality."
"Bonding through mutual futility, and that's a healthy and very functional partnership dynamic."
They arrived at headquarters at 1247 hours with total transport time of three hours and four minutes for six point two kilometers round trip, and average speed was approximately two kilometers per hour, which was walking pace and the system functioning exactly as broken.
Captain Reyes was waiting with her interface buffering and her expression tired.
"Is transport successful?" she asked.
"Yes," Jax said.
"Any incidents?"
"No."
"Any protocol violations?"
Pause while Jax calculated. "Define violations."
"That's not reassuring, Velocity."
"We used service roads temporarily and within legal parameters, mostly, gray area, and results were achieved and no casualties and no property damage and transport completed successfully."
Reyes's interface froze and buffered, then showed their route log with the service road deviation and the unauthorized access and the creative protocol interpretation.
"You hacked the commercial vehicle routing system," Reyes said.
"I accessed the legitimate authorization window," Jax corrected. "Technically."
"That's hacking."
"That is creative problem-solving."
"Carter, did you encourage this?"
"No!" Miles said. "I wanted to hack the traffic system but he insisted on protocol compliance, then he hacked the commercial system instead, and I was very confused by the moral inconsistency."
Reyes looked at both of them with a tired look and resigned look. "You two are either going to revolutionize GLPD transportation methodology or get fired for systematic protocol violations, and I can't determine which. Possibly both."
"Both are likely," Jax said.
"Very likely," Miles agreed.
"Just file your reports and document what you did and don't do it again unless absolutely necessary, and don't teach other units this methodology because the algorithm is already terrible and we don't need it learning to block our workarounds."
"Understood," Jax said.
They filed reports separately: Miles's report was seventeen pages with embedded analysis and traffic data and audience commentary from his followers who'd watched the service road deviation via his helmet camera livestream, and Jax's report was two pages—factual, concise, no commentary, no analysis, just events in chronological order.
Both reports filed complaints: Miles's ninth and Jax's 220th, and both were rejected in 0.3 seconds.
At 1734 hours, Peak Surge hit and the traffic map turned red with forty-seven million people trapped and the algorithm failing systematically and the city grinding to its daily halt.
And somewhere in that gridlock, The Conductor was operating and coordinating crimes and exploiting the system's failure and using traffic as a weapon.
Miles and Jax had learned to work together—sort of, temporarily, through one successful transport and through creative protocol interpretation and through mutual futility.
Tomorrow would bring more assignments and more gridlock and more uncomfortable partnership dynamics.
But today they'd succeeded and actually succeeded and got results and worked together accidentally and reluctantly and effectively.
That had to count for something.
Miles filed one more complaint before leaving, number ten, about service road access being limited to commercial vehicles when law enforcement needed it more, and it was rejected in 0.3 seconds.
Jax filed his 221st complaint with the same subject and different wording and same rejection time.
They were partners now—officially and functionally and whether they liked it or not.
The gridlock never stopped. Neither would they, together now—awkwardly and professionally and necessarily.
Tomorrow would be exactly the same but maybe slightly more coordinated.
That was progress—slow progress and uncomfortable progress, but progress.
-
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looking” incident.
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not hacking (according to the legal gymnastics division).
The system isn’t unstoppable. It’s just petty.
If you find a loophole, you can’t brag about it.
Because the moment you brag, the system patches it out of spite.
Miles didn’t even know he had a “complaint face.”
Jax did.
That’s… unfortunate compatibility.