Metz, France. 11:43am 28th July 2013
Nothing has changed. Police still follow, Murray drives on, helicopters fly and civilians get out of their way. But behind them they are being caught up. Following closely behind in their new set of wheels is Carmelita engaged in some sort of pursuit mode onto the van that they see in the distance. It may be moving fast but they are moving faster, they have to get through the procession of police vehicles tailing them. All the police cars see this speeder and try to close in or block it in but their cars are inferior in terms of speed, the acceleration is too much for the other cars to handle, they still can't create a sufficient block to stop their forward passage. Once Carmelita breaks through the chasing pack that is the police, the road opens up from where the gap between the van and police are. She guns it down the highway, careful not to make a mistake at such high speed. The sweeping right hand turn along the highway puts such g-force into them that they are pushed into the sides. She still keeps it hard down as she sees the straight open up for them to catch up.
In the van, Murray can see this approach in the side mirror the sleek black lines of the hypercar make Murray in awe at seeing on in real life for once. But when he sees the occupants, he goes to put down his right foot. The van can only go so fast along the highway and is acceleration is not enough to stop him being left behind by the hypercar. But they are still going 320km/h on a public road; they dare not touch with each other, as any contact would result in a massive accident. Murray is forced to trail behind Carmelita as they make their way down the left lane, which has been cleared by police to stop them from harming the public. It becomes a game of cat and mouse, one being in front for a certain period of time then being overtaken. It turns into a stalemate of speed. The police just have no answer to that kind of speed, even their fastest cars can't catch up and now the helicopters are having trouble keeping them in sight.
"At this rate we'll be there in one hour." Joey calculates.
"I don't think we can keep that speed up for that long." Carmelita replies back, taking note of the fuel gauge, which is 80% full.
"Where did they get that from?" Bentley asks himself. Murray answers back.
"It's a TT1000. We'll never be able to keep up with that." Murray says. Even for such a fearsome driver, he has to admit that his van is not as powerful or as light. Meaning that they can't achieve the speed. So they will have to be cunning and smart to get in front. The hyper car starts to get some distance in front of them; Murray just can't keep up on the corners. Once they are out of sight, Murray can see a helicopter come down low for a swoop onto their vehicle. But it does not make contact. Murray can see the helicopter fly in front of them and see the passenger holding a megaphone.
"Sly Cooper has been captured, you have no reason to keep going. Pull over now!" She shouts over the megaphone to them. They are both shocked. This snaps Bentley out of his search for Penelope, could it really be true? Bentley searches for answers in the only place he knows his true, ThiefNet. He searches the forum and already a page has been created with hundreds of posts already. He scrolls through them, most expressing their shock or relief that he is in jail. Bentley just gets angry with himself. He could have stopped this, how could he let Sly get away from him and get himself caught? Murray is on the verge of crying but his resolve hardens as the non-existent tears dry up, Murray becomes even more focused on the road ahead now, wanting to hit every apex and max out every straight to get to Sly as quick as possible.
"I'm not stopping for you or for anyone when Sly Cooper is in trouble." Murray shouts back at the helicopter that delivered such terrible news. The police helicopter pulls away from the van and now begins the phase where it is not a race, but a time trial.
Interpol HQ, 11:59am 28th July 2013.
"Is he awake yet?"
"With that much sedative in him, you'll be lucky if he's up in an hour."
"You make sure I speak with him first, if that son of a bitch wakes up you get the hell out of there. Do not make eye contact at all, you understand? Do not even act like you've been near him, he must not see anyone else but me."
"Yes sir." The doctor walks out of the sealed room. A medical bed has been moved into this old bunker that has been quickly converted into a prison just for Sly. Sly is strapped securely to the bed that he is motionless on. The vast concrete walls of this bunker are impenetrable, only one exit through the large steel door with giant deadbolts for locks. Only the cold fluorescent glow illuminates this cold space. The electronic heartbeat monitor is the only piercing noise that reverberates around this room. The slow pulsing of Sly's heart, only 35bpm, such is his physical condition. The Director watches from the entrance, he sees the feet of this retched being, his blue clothing stripped from him and nothing but a pale green hospital shirt covering his body. The slow clatter of the director's designer loafers against concrete in time with the beating of Sly's heart creates an odd and dischordious harmony. He has been waiting for this moment for a long time; this is the ultimate prize that will guarantee his position at the top for years to come. He takes a look at this thief, this vile creature that has plagued society for years.
"So, this is how it must be. The natural progression of criminals. You may have evaded this organisation for so long, you always find a way, but oh not this time. I am not going to let you leave this room for the rest of your life. You will have to defecate in you own excrement. Just think about that, you have lived in such borrowed luxury and now you will be reduced to this. I think it's perfectly fitting. Death shall not be your calling, oh no. Death is too easy. No, you will become an exhibit, even a metaphor, or a juxtaposition. The biggest one of them all! All sorts of people will come from all over the world to admire this capture, and they will remember that I was the one who did it."
The director's fat fingers stroke the body of Sly, feeling the physique, going along the length of the body up the chest, along the neck to his face, his hanging face. He feels the underside of his jaw, using it to move the head gently to inspect it. He feels rather unclean having to handle Sly. He checks things about him, he moves his zip tied arms, just feeling the muscle underneath the fur, the fur itself is a tad dry but isn't fragile, the director runs his finger through it, no tangles emerge. This sort of dominance creates an unashamed intimacy between him. Being able to touch and feel this specimen, all alone as well. He is the boss now; if someone comes in he'll just fire them, because ruining this very close moment between them is unforgivable. The Director has had his moment alone with him incapacitated and now decides to walk out of the room. The lights turn off, the door bangs into place, and the bolts clank against their steel casing. That was a very uncomfortable moment for Sly.
"Do you have an update on the others?" He says once he makes his way into the elevator. His assistant is waiting for him there.
"They are continuing on course sir." Caroline replies back. "They have been joined by a TT10000 hypercar who appears to be in a race with them. Travelling in excess of 200mph southbound into France south of Metz.
"I assume the police have done nothing at all." He asks, taking a swipe at the police's inability to stop one car.
"They've tried road blocks and spike strips but none have worked so far."
"They never work against a gang such as this." The doors of the elevator open to a frantic and full office floor. "Do they even know who they are dealing with?"
"They should know."
"No, they just don't okay, this hippo is the chameleon of our age, he's been a racing driver and a wrestler, and no one in this fricking organisation thought; 'hey, let's go and arrest him while he's alone.' You let him be, criminals won't give us second chances, so why reciprocate?" He rants back as he arrives at the correct cubicle.
"Ah." The Director says to make his presence known; he sees the closing of the window that he knows is his own computer.
"You have been quite the double agent, working from the inside and passing it the out." He sarcastically says.
"I haven't done anything." Geoffrey says back in a reactionary response that reeks of futility. The Directors bulky arms pick up the pipsqueak out of his chair, the other's look at this, their eyes rising above the cubicle walls eager to see some action. The Director raises his other hand and punches him across the corridor. The office is still and silent as the punch echoes across the room. All sorts of employees, whether agents, handlers, analysts and even the cleaners stop to watch, but no one dare to move any closer. The thud that Geoffrey makes against the cheap carpet is excruciating, but not as much as his jaw and nose, which both this blow has broken. He want's to scream but only muffled whines of agony peep out of his mouth. The Director slowly advances towards him.
"You lousy, rotten dirtbag! I shouldn't have trusted you with anything!" He shouts at the cowering and whimpering Geoffrey at the ground. Everyone who is watching is stationary at this sight but in side they only feel shock, less so in the agents who face such violence more often, but not like this. The brutality of it is jaw dropping. The Director stands straight above him.
"You two." He shouts, pointing at the closest two people to this bloodied traitor. "Take him away and put him in a cell, after you clean all the blood away from his face." Two of them exit from their nearby desks and approach but struggle to find the right position, they move their hands closer but retract, not knowing how to do this correctly.
"Just grab him!" He shouts at them, none too pleased at their reluctance. Not wanting to end up like the man they have to carry, they pick him up. This causes great moaning to echo around the floor. The person at the back tries to support Geoffrey's head against his chest in order to support it but that causes even more pain. Another one steps into the fray to support his head from underneath. The Director watches on as they slowly shuffle out of view. This creates such a vacuum where it implodes on itself. Everyone doesn't know what else to do but to return to their posts. Slowly, one by one, they go back their shops. This will become the stuff of legend, the sort of gossip that lives on for months, even years.