Chapter One: Welcome To The Hills

Highway Seacrest County, CA

11/21/2016 - 12:21:03pm

Seacrest County is a large location in northern California, home to mountain ranges, desert regions, and numerous coastal cities and lush farming towns. The dedicated officers and deputies of the Seacrest County Police and Sheriff's Departments patrol and enforce the law in this popular county, ensuring that the area is free from crime and safe for all. With only three days until Thanksgiving, the SCPD is working hard, along with their rival agency, the California Highway Patrol, to bust any vehicle code violations they can, with the added threat of the rising presence of the national stolen vehicle and smuggling organization, the 5-10 motor club. SCPD Officer II Jack Crowley, merely a few months after a six month relationship, has dedicated nearly all his time and energy to the department, approaching his four year anniversery with the department. Assigned to the central division of the county, Seacrest City, and the highways around it, Jack prepares himself for the onslaught of rush hour traffic, and the occasional racer... only slightly aware of the growing threat from the 5-10's...

Highway 6 was relatively full with holiday traffic. Families with kids inside frolicked and laughed, making a positive trip out of the jammed drive. The slow lanes were full of trucks bearing surplus thanksgiving goods. Everything was calm, so calm, in fact, that an officer in a Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor wished something would happen. Officer II Jack Crowley had been working for the Seacrest County Police Department as a patrol officer for nearly four years. He adjusted the seat a bit, watching the traffic crawl by. Another wonderful day, he thought to himself, looking at the Mobile Data Computer mounted in the car. There were a few calls, but they were all assigned to the city's patrol division. He was assigned to the highway running through Seacrest City today, the result of drawing the short straw during briefing. He'd seen a few California Highway Patrol cars roll by, but they ignored him. Seacrest County was unique in the sense that their police department covered their highways, to the annoyance of the CHP. Although they were the child department of the Seacrest County Sheriff's Department, and only responded to residential and commercial cars within the city limits, the highways were under their full care and guard, with numerous SCPD units roaming the highways at any given time. It wasn't that the chippies weren't able to do their job, but it was simply the fact that when it came to highway and traffic enforcement, SCPD were the champions. The state's highest funded law enforcement entity, the department had a highly coveted section, the Pursuit Intervention Unit, designed to tackle the multitude of black market stolen vehicles rolling into Seacrest County, as well as the associated street races and gangs that ran with them. Jack had only seen a PIU car once, and saw that it was some sort of Corvette, but when he asked his superiors about it, he was told to politely "keep that nose in his own fuckin' paygrade". Whatever... he though, as exited the MDC, and patted the steering wheel of the car. The LIDAR on the car displayed speeds of 30 and under, which annoyed the crap out of him. What was he even here for? His stomach grumbled with mild hunger, and he reached for the Crown Vic's shifter and put it in drive, before he merged into traffic and moved off the highway. He pulled into a 7/11, and parked in the red, leaving the cruiser on and locking it.

"6 Adam 5, 912 (requesting) a Code 7 (meal break)." he radioed dispatch.

"Dispatch, Adam 5, you are clear for Code 7." replied the dispatcher.

Jack made a subtle gesture of victory and stepped inside the 7/11, nodding to the cashier.

"Hey Becca." he said, beelining for the soda machine.

"Afternoon, Officer Crowley… how's the shift?" Becca replied. She was a young blonde girl, 17 if he recalled correctly. She used this job to help fund her ice skating. She was good… like soon-to-be-Olympian good.

"Eh, slow. Not much going on." Jack said, grabbing a Big Gulp and filling it with Coke.

"No ice? It's hot out."

"Nope, if I get a call, and it sits in the car, the ice melts down and waters down the drink. The cruiser's inside is pretty cool, so hopefully that's enough." he said, putting a lid on the drink and poking the straw though. He then grabbed a ready made sandwich from the fridge, and a bag of Lay's potato chips, before heading to the counter. Becca scanned the items, before handing them back to him, smiling. He shook his head, reaching for his wallet.

"Nope, sorry… already done." she giggled, crumpling the receipt.

"You little… you gotta stop comping my food. I can pay, y'know."

"Or what, is Denesh gonna fire me? He loves me like his own daughter. Plus, he loves when you guys come in and grab a bite."

"Mmm… well, I appreciate it regardless." he said, grabbing his stuff. He dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter, and pointed at her when he noticed that she was about to protest.

"I don't wanna hear it, kid. Now… have a good shift, and let me know how your next session goes. I wanna hear about the regionals."

"You got it, Officer. Be safe!" she called after him. He made his way back to the car, and sat down inside. He took a long sip from the Big Gulp, the cold, fizzy soda bringing an immense satisfaction to him. He looked up and spotted a Ford Explorer Police Interceptor pulling into the parking lot. It passed the 7/11 and pulled up alongside his driver's side, facing the back of his car. It was a CHP unit, and Jack grinned, recognizing the man in tan driving it.

"'Sup, Mooch." he said, rolling his window down.

"Crowley. What's good?" Mooch replied. Mooch, or Officer Ralph Muchuy, was one of the few chippies to not only acknowledge Jack, but maintain a friendly presence with him. Mooch was liked by the SCPD, and his presence on SC highways was tolerated, so long as he kept himself in check. Jack jerked a thumb towards the MDC.

Mooch squinted and whistled, "Daaaaamn that's alot of blank space. Is it that slow? I swear, it's the fuckin' holidays. I got… five fender-benders, six 'aggressive' driver complaints, and I had a DUI report, but that ended up being a 95 year old Asian lady who was about as visual gifted as a brick."

"Heh, trade you. I had about 400 drivers go 30 MPH. Real hardcore police shit."

"Whoa whoa, calm down there, SWAT. Save some of the action for us little guys, yeah?"

"Yeah yeah…." Jack laughed, opening the wrapper of his sandwich.

"All units, be advised, 211V (Vehicle Robbery) in progress. Multiple vehicles fleeing after ramming an armored truck and securing its contents. Subjects are armed, heading southbound on Highway 6, passing Harmony Boulevard. Responding units, identify." dispatch called. Jack rewrapped his sandwich, tossing it into his backpack on the passenger side floor, and grabbed his mic.

"6 Adam 5, ending Code 7. I'll be responding, Code 3. (Lights and siren)." he said, before throwing his seatbelt on. Mooch was doing the same, flipping his lights on. Jack nodded to him, before slamming on the gas and pulling out of the parking lot. He soon found himself merging onto the highway, and spotted a line of black cars driving on the shoulder. In the front was a black Chevy Camaro, lifted and with a pushbar. Behind it, a black Ford E350 cargo van, the rear part of the truck appearing weighed down by something. Following in the rear, black as well, was a Ford Focus RS, and a Ford Raptor, also lifted and with heavy bullbars mounted on the front. All of the cars had a silver cobra stenciled on the sides towards the back, an indicator that they were part of a racing crew. Jack narrowed his eyes. The Cobras were one of the most ruthless and dangerous crews out there. The worst part, they were based in Seacrest County, meeting during the night and performing during the day. The SCPD had barely any luck making moves against the Cobras, and yet here they were, barreling past traffic at 60 MPH. Jack turned on his lights, and fought his way through the traffic, before hauling and catching up to the Focus. None of the suspect cars had license plates, a fact that irritated him further.

"6 Adam 5, show me in pursuit of suspect vehicles, southbound on 6, passing Sundance." he said to dispatch, before hanging up the mic and maintaining a distance behind the cars. They weaved in and out of cars, barely slowing down, before moving to an offramp and merging on the 264 freeway. Traffic was clearer here, so the cars broke their line and moved in a wedge formation, weaving through slower cars. Jack kept on them, inching closer to the rear of the Focus. The car sped up, refusing to let him get close, and he moved past it, creeping instead onto the the E-350. The van shifted a bit, and Jack was certain the driver was eyeing him through his side view mirror. Suddenly, Jack noticed something drop out of the bottom of the van, sliding on the highway. He swerved hard to avoid it, and caught a glance at it in his own mirrors. It was a spikestrip. The strip caught Mooch's cruiser, snapping together and causing him to spin out, hitting the center divider and coming to a halt.

"6 Adam 5, vehicles are equipped with spikes. CHP unit was hit. Minor crash."

"Copy… Pursuit Intervention is advising on scene." dispatch replied. Jack looked out his drivers side window, and spotted a black and white SCPD Ford Shelby Mustang. The car flew past his, making its way towards the Camaro in the front, driving alongside it. The van moved behind the Mustang, focusing on it. Jack to the opportunity to move up and align his push bar with the corner of the van, preparing the spin it out. He grinned, inching closer and closer.

"P2 Sam 3, terminate pursuit. Vehicles are driving too reckless. All units stand down and let pursuit take over."

"Adam 5, I have the van ready for a pit maneuver, standby."

"Negative, pull off. We'll take it from here."

"Fuck!" Jack said, slamming on his steering wheel, before turning off his lights and pulling over. The cars and Mustang disappeared, and a moment later, three more PIU cars went flying by. Jack growled and exited the highway, before making his way back to the station.

He got back to the SCPD station, driving into the underground structure. There, a few police explorers approached, taking his keys and moving the car to a spot to be cleaned. He checked his phone, and was relieved to see a text from Mooch indicating that he was okay and about to be chewed out for destroying his car. Jack slipped the phone into his pocket, and walked to the patrol watch commanders office, knocking on the door.

"Come in."

Jack opened the door, and nodded to the officer inside.

"Hey Sarge, got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure thing. What's going on?" asked the sergeant, Andre Holloway. He was a large African-American male, with a shaved head and serious expression. But he was a good sergeant, and a good cop, and as such, was well respected by his peers.

"You catch the ending of that chase?"

"Yeah… PIU lost 'em. Drives me crazy. Millions of dollars in that unit alone and they couldn't chase down a fucking cargo van. Sorry that they bumped you off the chase. That was Sergeant Latimore… there's no way I'm gonna be able to supersede him." he said, sighing.

"It's fine." Jack said, sitting down. "It was a 5-10 crew, wasn't it."

"'Fraid so, goddamn… first Detroit, New York, and now they're creeping onto my fucking highways. SC Sheriff's Organized Crime isn't saying anything, and yet I'm still having armored trucks getting hit on the highways."

"Sounds rough, sir."

"It is… and not to mention, Pursuit Intervention's got their hands full with all the kiddy racers who've been coming here to try to take them on. Every 20 something year old with a poorly tricked out Honda Civic, taking time off work from McDonalds to come try to run a race for what, five grand?"

"What about CHP?"

"Don't even start. We're lucky we have CHP even answering phone calls. Ever since we got the PIU grant, CHP's been about as friendly to us as the 5-10s. The only one I even hear from is whats-his-name… Hooch?"

"Mooch, sir. He's a good cop. He was there during the chase but he got clipped with a spikestrip from the Cobras."

"I heard. Another reason for CHP to bill us for a replacement unit. Either way, I got SOME good news out of this. And you'll like it too." Sergeant Holloway said, reaching for his desk and handing Jack a folder.
"What's this?" Jack asked, flipping it open and looking over some of the documents in it.

"We got one lead. We got a call from a stringer who was trying to get footage of the pursuit. I guess one of the vehicles dumped something near an old gas station. I got it mapped, but I've got no units to check it in the area. Half of 'em are stuck in traffic on their way to other calls. Go by, start a perimeter for me and see if it's worthwhile."

"You got it, sarge." Jack said, standing up. He walked out of the station, back to his waiting unit, and hopped in.

Jack pulled into the gas station parking lot and parked behind the building. He stepped out, stretching as he examined his surroundings, and began walking around. The old 76 station was still intact, although there was a substantial amount of graffiti on the building, and the doors of the bathroom were broken in, probably due to becoming makeshift shelters for the occasional druggy too doped out to make it home. Jack grabbed his nightstick from the back of his seat, just in case, and began looking around the building, making his way to the road. He could clearly see the tire tracks of the various 5-10 cars, and noticed one set moving oddly close to the road. Raising a brow, he made his way over, and turned to look towards the field next to the station. There, at the edge of the field, almost over the edge of the parking lot, was a damaged wooden crate. It still had a few broken cables hanging off it, and Jack figured that it was at one point on that Raptor, but had snapped off and rolled into the field after a harsh turn. He made his way over, kneeled next to it, and looked for a label.

"HCM Corporation - CAUTION - Sensitive Equipment"

Jack rubbed his chin in thought, wondering what the hell this thing could be. HCM was a defensive vehicle aftermarket company just outside of Seacrest County, with warehouses nationwide. They specialized in vehicular defense, including armor, high powered computer systems, and various other modifications. Seacrest County PD was an avid buyer of their mods, including high tech spikestrips and EMP based devices. Jack pulled out his phone, looking for Sergeant Holloway's number, when he heard a truck pulling into the gas station. He ducked down, moving to the woods and hiding behind a tree, before peeking out and spotting the black Ford Raptor cruising up to the crate. It came to a stop, and the driver and passenger stepped out. The driver was a larger man, wearing black tactical pants and a black hoodie. He had heavy chains hanging around his waist, and although he couldn't confirm it, Jack could swear he was wearing some form of body armor. He instantly drew his Glock 9mm, racked it, and held it at a low ready. He crouched and listened to the two come closer.

"See that? I fucking told ya it'd be here, mate. Damn shite popped off when that cop started trying to cut me off." said the driver with a rather thick Scottish accent.

"Well then get it back onto the truck and let's bounce. I feel like there's a cop nearby. Scanner was going off in the truck. Probably a speeder trap nearby."

"Fine fine." driver said, crouching and grabbing the crate. "Ahh fuck… she's busted right up."

"Don't worry… it's sturdier then it looks. Get it loaded up and we'll take it back to the place. Might even be able to get it wired onto one of the cars." the passenger said, turning and heading back to the truck. Jack moved silently along the woods, creeping towards his cruiser, hoping that they didn't see it along the back of the building. Just as he got close, however, the Ford Focus drove up, passing right by his car and skidding to a halt by the Raptor.

"Hey you fuckers, there's a cop here!" the Focus driver called out.

"Shite!" shouted the Raptor driver, throwing the crate into the back of his truck. Jack stepped out, grabbing the mic on his shoulder.

"6 Adam 5, I have visual on suspects in the 211 earlier. One black Ford F-150 and a Ford Focus, at the old 76 station of Jefferson!" he radioed, and hearing the voices of other officers heading over, he aimed his weapon at the Raptor drive, who was reaching for the door.

"Don't fucking move, asshole. Lemme see your hands!" he ordered. The driver glared at him, before reaching back and throwing something at him. Jack ducked, a wrench clattering on the ground. He looked back up and saw that the Raptor and Focus were peeling out, heading down the road. Jack cursed and hopped in his car, turning on the lights and siren and speeding after them.

"6 Adam 5, Pursuit Intervention has been activated and is en route to your location now." dispatch called. Jack copied, and continued his chase. The Raptor was driving extremely aggressively, swerving into his path and brake checking him. Jack kept a steady distance from it, knowing that any hard hit from it would put him out of the chase. The Focus came up alongside him, and Jack only shot it a glance… though it was enough to spot the driver raising a handgun and aiming at him through the window. Jack slammed on the brake, almost spinning out, just as the Focus' passenger window exploded outwards. He'd been shot at… and now he was pissed. He moved behind the Focus, preparing to align his push bar with the rear of the car, when he saw it drop a spikestrip. Unable to turn out of the way, Jack simply floored it, gunning the car forward. He went over the strip, hearing his tires blow, but also rammed into the back of the Focus, lifting it up and causing it to start swinging, it's driver fighting to maintain control. The Focus swerved towards the side of the road, onto the embankment, and began to roll, pieces of it flying off as it crashed. Jack's cruiser rumbled to a halt on the shoulder, it's tires destroyed, but the car itself intact. The Raptor roared down the road, slowing at first, before disappearing. Jack stepped out of his car, running over to the Focus, which was on its roof, smoking. The gas tank had ruptured, and Jack could smell the fuel running down the car and soaking the ground. The front of the car began to smoke harder, flames peeking out, and Jack drew the nightstick, smashing the remainder of the window out.

"Get out now!" he shouted at the driver, who was barely conscious, groaning in pain. Jack tossed the nightstick and pulled out his pocket knife, cutting through the seatbelt and trying to tug the driver out of the car. The fire started spreading, inching towards the gas tank. He heard sirens stop behind him, and kept trying to pull the driver out of the car. He finally managed to get him out of the car, and hurled him over his shoulder, running towards the flashing lights of his backup. Some of them came towards him, and he shouted out, "GET BACK! IT'S GONNA GO!"

The other officers immediately turned for cover, and he moved as fast as he could with the driver over his shoulder. The car exploded, and he felt a wave of heat rush over him, before feeling something hard clip the back of his head, knocking him out. Jack hit the grass, vision fading, the driver hitting the ground too, and simply laid there as his vision went to black.