Jaune did not, in fact, like it.

"Give me your best sneer and try not to look constipated this time."

He did so. It felt unnatural. The muscles in his cheek burned almost as much as the rest of his body. Training that morning, while not as hard as the day before, had been grueling.

"Good." Roman's spectral form moved around to get a view from every angle. "Yeah. That's the ticket. You're just about ready for your debut."

The Arc once again donned the gentleman thief's clothing. This time, with a few additions. Nestled beneath the provided bowler hat was the wig taken from the penthouse. His right eye was eclipsed by phony crimson locks.

"How did you see with all this hair?" Jaune blew on the long bangs.

"High fashion has its sacrifices. Now show me the mask."

His fingers touched the black fabric bunched around his neck. Jaune had modified the balaclava by cutting off the top covering. Rolling the wool up, he covered the lower portion of his face up to his visible eye.

Split ends from the rough cut tickled and scratched his soft features. The fiber was also uncomfortable to breathe through. Without proper sewing equipment, Jaune could do nothing about these deficiencies. He would have to make do until they had time to go to a proper fabric store.

That Jaune was already planning on making a better mask with which to commit crimes lowered his mood further. "What has my life become?"

"Extraordinary!" Roman said. If that was a response to his question or the outfit, the boy was unsure. "You are practically my body double!"

"Yay…" The clothing made Jaune feel as though he were nine again, dressing in his father's suit.

"Although I still say you are missing an important accoutrement."

"For the last time, I don't smoke cigarettes."

The thief had been insistent on the teen picking up the vice. He claimed that the act was a part of the signature 'Torchwick' style and to not do so would disappoint their fans. Jaune had been warned about peer pressure, but this was ridiculous.

"And I'm not asking you to smoke cigarettes." Roman sounded disgusted at the mere idea. "You should use cigars."

"What's the difference?"

"'What's the difference' he says. My good sir, there is a world of distinction! A cigar is to a cigarette as three is to one. Cigars offer a richer experience. The tobacco leaves are cultivated and treated with care compared to those mass-produced sticks that-"

As Roman continued his rant, Jaune gathered their supplies. He filled the inside zipper jacket pocket with several large denominations of lien. The cards fit snuggly next to a small roll of duct tape snatched from the Flows hideout.

Lastly, he picked up Melodic Cudgel. When Neo had produced the cane, Jaune had assumed it was an ordinary accessory. Holding the item challenged that notion.

The strange weapon had a surprising heft with which to bludgeon with. That there were rounds of explosive Dust loaded into the shaft also made the implement nothing to sneeze at. Jaune was super careful to keep his finger away from the trigger in the handle.

As the aspiring huntsman let himself out of the shack, Roman reached the apex of his argument. "-not to mention cigars make everyone appear much cooler than they actually are. Something you are in desperate need of."

"Hey! I am plenty cool!"

"To whom?"

"Well, my mom said-"

"Please don't lower my opinion of you more than it already is." He glided over to a pier leading from the wharf to an adjacent boat yard. "Get over here and out of sight. We don't want people associating you with this place."

"R-right."

Conscious of the fact that he was garbed up as a fugitive from the law, Jaune sprinted over. Squeezing down behind a wall provided cover. Roman, on account of his invisibility, was able to stand and offer directions.

"Coast is clear. If you hightail it, you can make the alley."

"What if there are cops in there?"

"Then I hope your cardio is good."

XII. Given the Rub

The sum total of the number of side streets, tunnels, and backlots that ran through Vale was difficult to fathom. A diagram for the uninitiated would be impossible to follow. They twisted, diverged, and combined into a grand tapestry of straight ways and dead ends.

These labyrinthine connectors were not planned. They were leftovers from Vale's founding. A hundred years prior, when the protective walls were wooden, these streets served as the veins for trade.

In the beginning, there was a main road everyone traveled. Branches developed naturally for the growing city. Shops and houses needed accessible routes. City dwellers wanted the illusion of stability. The city provided.

Time progressed, as it had a habit of doing. New infrastructure was built. Skyscrapers and office buildings were erected. Drainage ditches were dug. Bridges were suspended. With this development, old pathways were walled off and hidden from the everyday citizen.

But they were never forgotten. Not by all.

One who refused to forget, or chose to relearn, was Roman Torchwick. While being led through the urban maze, Jaune was amazed. Each corridor felt like a parallel world. A cacophony of sound from people unseen going about their day surrounded them.

Those that they did encounter did not seem upset by Jaune's presence. Some nodded in greeting, as if he were expected as the postman. Quite a few paid no mind at all.

They might have been criminals, although they did not quite fit the lawbreaker mold. Most looked ordinary enough. Day laborers, sanitation workers, and the occasional hobo gave Jaune a look over before returning to whatever their original preoccupation had been.

Each quiet 'hello' stressed Jaune out a little. Roman did not seem concerned, so the fake thief tipped his hat to each person. He did not trust his imitation skills enough to speak. None of them seemed to think anything was amiss.

Once again on an empty stretch, Jaune inquired. "Who were they?"

"Dreggys. The 'valueless' of society if the Council is to be believed. Yet, who would do all the things that need done to uphold the system if they disappeared?"

"Oh." Jaune tugged at his mask. "Do we need to worry about them saying anything?"

"Who would they tell when no one cares to listen?"

As they moved along, fewer and fewer Dreggys were seen. Soon, the outside sounds became dull to non-existent. The road got narrower as the buildings drew closer. Jaune had to contort himself to follow after the spirit.

Their urban exploration was a full body workout unto itself. He climbed, jumped, and tumbled over multiple city blocks. His borrowed shoes, half-a-size too small, began to rub blisters into his feet.

At last, they came to a chain link fence. Roman directed the boy to crouch beside a palette of waterlogged wooden planks. Doing so, Jaune glanced around the growing moss to see a little outlet shop across from them.

Or he assumed it was a shop. There was a purple sign calling the place 'Sweety's.' Based on the name, he assumed it was a confectionary.

"What are we doing here?" Jaune asked, realizing that he had not been diligent enough on finding out beforehand.

"Remember that message we sent the Division?"

"The one we hid? I thought we were waiting on a reply."

"Recent events suggest waiting is a luxury. We need to get on the fast track. Cliquey cops frequent this place, so we're going to grab one and impress upon them the urgent need to move us up on their calendar."

That made some amount of sense, even if Jaune was unsure about the means of forcing the issue. "How will we know when we have the right guy? Loads of people buy sweets."

"I know a cop when I see one. Also, they don't sell sweets here. It's a massage parlor."

"I'm still not- What's wrong with a massage?"

"Nothing, except when the masseuse's hands travel too far south, if you catch my drift."

He did not. Not at first. When Jaune finally did, he was suddenly glad that most of his face was obscured.

"S-so we are going to corner them while they are… distracted."

"A literal bum-rush." Roman chortled at his own pun. "Fits one of my rules to the letter. Rule thirty-seven: Always catch them with their pants down."

Jaune sighed. "Okay, stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Lying. That can't be a real rule. You just made that up."

Many called Jaune naïve, including his own family. They may have been right. But he was not an idiot. He would have bought ten or fifteen of these so-called rules. There was no way the thief could have thirty-six of them ready to rattle off.

"Want to bet me?"

"Bet?"

"Y'know. Wager. Gamble. Try one's luck."

"I know what a bet is." Jaune rolled his eyes. "I mean, why?"

"For funsies."

The teen was perplexed. "What are the stakes?"

"You name yours and I'll name mine."

This was a bad idea. Taking a stake against a wight was the type of mistake someone would make in folklore. Those tales tended not to end very well for the main character.

Unfortunately, Jaune was curious. What, he wondered, could Roman want? Money or anything physical would be meaningless. The spirit had no need for any of that.

This could have been a way to extract a favor. While Jaune was already helping with Roman's revenge plans, there could be other unfinished business. Whatever it was could not be any more dangerous than dealing with an assassin.

By the same token, there was not much Jaune wanted either. He was already getting more training than he could handle. Though, once he thought about that physical conditioning, he realized there was one thing that he could use help with.

"Okay. If I win, you have to help me get on Neo's good side."

Having grown up in a household with many females, Jaune could tell when one was frustrated at him. With what exactly, he did not know. If he could figure that out, maybe training would not be as debilitating.

Or at least Neo would stop taking as much delight in torturing him.

"Not sure she has a good side."

"She gets along with you alright."

"In the same way a wild animal does with their food before devouring them, maybe."

"You can't mean that."

They had experienced first-hand Neo's wrath when she thought Roman was gone forever. Her relief was just as dramatic. Jaune struggled to think of any non-blood related persons in his life that would have reacted similarly.

"Relax. That was a joke." It did not sound like one. "Alright I'll do what I can."

"Great!"

"And if I win-" Roman laughed evilly. "You have to purchase an entire humidor full of cigars and smoke 'em down."

Jaune did not know what a humidor was but imagined that equated to a whole lot of tobacco. "No way! That would kill me!"

"I did not mean you had to do it all at once. Let's say by the end of the year. I'll even sweeten the deal. If I cannot prove to you in twenty-four hours that rule thirty-seven pre-existed our partnership, you win by default."

Now Jaune knew he was being played. The terms were too good. But the boy could not see how this could backfire. The risk seemed worth the reward.

"You're on."

With the terms set, they focused back on the building. A neon 'Open' sign had switched on. Sweety's hours of operation had begun. Now they had to wait.

After a long stretch of standing, Jaune sat down. Boredom set in soon after. Roman floated off to get a better look at any approaching customers, leaving the teen with no one to talk to.

He hoped at least Neo was having a good time on her solo job.

/ / /

Neopolitan was not having a good time on her solo job.

Her second day in a row of waking at dawn predisposed her toward pessimism. As a natural night owl, she dreaded the first lights of the day. Seeing the majesty of the rising sun's glimmer off early-morning dew did not temper her grumpiness.

Neither did taking out some stress on her blond chew toy. Roman had cut their time together short. Negative feelings steadily built up and up. She needed a distraction.

A detour into a creamery was a tried-and-true solution. Frozen treats always cheered her up in times of uncertainty. Eating one's feelings was unhealthy but would be worth the added monetary cost.

It was almost not worth the additional strain on Neo's psyche. For some reason, her Semblance was becoming harder and harder to use. However, she needed to avoid unnecessary notice. So, she did the bare minimum.

Lazily rocking an inky mop of hair, she stomped into the ice cream parlor. Smiling staff cooed over her short appearance. The manager asked where her parents were, raising her ire quickly. Between frustrated communication problems and dark whispers from her imagination, she was set to blow.

Then came the worst revelation possible. The store had yet to restock their ingredients. They were fresh out of ice cream.

To head off her sulking, they announced there was plenty of rainbow sherbet available. She reluctantly agreed to the purchase after guarantees were made that the treat was just as good. A dozen licks in, and Neo understood why no one else was buying the stuff.

Sherbet was terrible.

The texture felt wrong. Uneven. It lacked the sugariness she had been expecting but still managed to leave a sticky residue everywhere. And rainbow was a stupid flavor name.

If she had not already spent her own money, Neo would have tossed the sherbet away. That her money had belonged to someone else previously did not enter the equation. She would never waste a single lien.

Splayed out on the roof of a flower shop, Neo angrily licked at the flavored ice. The angle she had set herself at made her invisible to anyone below. This allowed her to drop the disguise to relieve the distress.

Now she had to contend with the monotony.

Opposite her was the ill-fortuned Dust shop. The ambulance and police cars were gone. What remained was yellow caution tape and plywood over the shattered storefront.

According to the news, there was a second robbery here. One that had left a casualty. Someone other than Roman was behind this. Figuring out who was the priority.

The Xiong were dumb, but Neo doubted they would be stupid enough to strike the same place twice. Several of their guys were already locked up. Courting any more scrutiny would be bad for their bottom line.

That left two possibilities. Either someone saw an opportunity to frame Roman or this was Cinder's crew. Either way, this needed investigating.

If it were Cinder, there could be clues on how to find her. If it was an unaffiliated party, they needed to be dealt with. People linking the Torchwick name to civilian violence was a recipe for trouble. If there was enough of a public outcry, the police might be forced to try to lock him up for good.

With Roman stuck in the body of a wimpy teenager, they might succeed. For those reasons, Neo had to get to the bottom of what was happening. The best place to start was naturally the crime scene itself.

Rather than charge in, Neo decided to be patient. She had no idea what was happening inside. Despite the lack of cars, the interior could be flooded with cops. Not wanting to risk using her Semblance again, she observed from afar.

For the first half hour, not much happened. Neopolitan begrudgingly finished her sherbet. With a well-timed throw, she was able to deposit the cup and spoon that came with the dreadful dessert into a public trash bin.

After the second half hour, she sought out a more shaded spot. Direct sunlight was bad for her complexion. She had forgotten to apply her SPF makeup and her parasol would draw attention. Her new spot was beside the signage.

With the third half hour, the tedium began to get to her. Staring at one spot and occasionally sweeping the street became dull. She actually started to miss Jaune. At least his ramblings gave her something to think about, even if those thoughts were of ways to get him to shut up.

At exactly two hours, she witnessed her first movements. A lady in a white jumpsuit with a stern face exited the front door. Dragged behind was a moving dolly stacked high with clear containers.

From behind, a man in a suit was juggling his own boxes. They both came to a stop beside the curb. The woman pulled out a Scroll and briefly spoke into it before hanging up. Then the two waited.

The guy would occasionally speak. Stern would respond back in short sentences. From what Neo could read from their lips, he was commenting on the weather.

Something about him rang familiar. It took a while to place the face, but she managed. Standing there was the buzzkill detective from the hospital who broke up the fun Crooked and Mustache were having.

He certainly got around. First the high-rise investigation and now here. There was an earnestness to his person that caught her eye. A real officer-friendly type.

Eventually a compact pick-up truck arrived. A side decal revealed that the vehicle belonged to the Vale Forensics Laboratory. Bouncing out from behind the wheel was a young man in a polo shirt and khakis. His whole demeanor screamed 'intern.'

Intern came to the back and lowered the tailgate. Earnest placed his burden on the bed. Stern directed traffic for the rest of the loading. In less than two minutes, all the boxes were in place.

As Intern crawled on top to secure the cargo with a top net, the adults spoke. They were discussing next steps for their inquiry. From what Neo could decipher, Stern would go over the evidence while Earnest hit the streets.

Something had turned up. A certain something that had Earnest grinning. Stern was telling him not to get ahead of himself. He promised not to and that he would stay in touch before offering his hand in gratitude. She left him hanging to climb into the truck.

When Intern finished up, his supervisor patted the dashboard to signal their departure. While hurrying, the glorified chauffeur fumbled the keys. He smacked his head hard on the console while retrieving them. Stern mumbled a curse under her breath as Earnest chuckled at the bit of slapstick comedy.

Neo had a choice. They clearly had a lead. Either she followed the forensics people, or she followed the detective.

Ultimately, she decided on Earnest. Following a vehicle unnoticed was difficult. More so than a single detective. Plus, she could always go and check out the laboratory later if needed. Labs were stationary targets.

As the eggheads drove off, the law man made an about face to walk further into the commercial district. Neo hopped off the roof and into the alleyway. She counted to ten before stepping out onto the street to follow.

/ / /

Officer Hardi Piper was not thrilled with Sweety's. After being led to a private room for his special massage, he was severely disappointed. The entire operation was less titillating than it was sad.

The room's furniture consisted of a lone chair and a purple table with a face hole on one end. Nothing adorned the green walls except for a body-length mirror. A dimmer for the overhead lights promised an adjustable brightness. When Hardi twisted the dial, there was no discernible difference between the highest and lowest settings.

He had been sold on a mid-tier bordello. Uptown experience for a downtown budget. What he was given was barely an upgrade from a ramshackle hut.

Part of him considered leaving. The other part argued he was already present so he might as well see it through. With expectations set so low, he was bound to be pleasantly surprised. There was nowhere to go but up.

Divesting to his skivvies, he laid the outerwear out on the seat. It occurred to him that the chair was not there for that reason. Its placement near the mirror suggested an alternate purpose. Depending on how the session went, he could always move his stuff later.

Before mounting the table, he did some light stretches. His back popped painfully. Hoping whoever he got was as good at working muscles as milking them, Hardi flopped onto the body platform. His face fit into the port perfectly.

Grimy tiles met his gaze. How long had it been since they last cleaned the place? A shiver went through him as he wondered if they even bothered wiping down the table.

As he waited, Hardi reminded himself that it was his partner who had recommended the place. They had meant to come there together to unwind. Laurel was not present, though. He had a dermatologist appointment to figure out removal options for his unwanted tattoo.

In that regard, Hardi had gotten off lightly with only a broken nose. That was an injury he had suffered before. The healing process was familiar enough.

The whole situation was a fiasco. After being checked over by a trusted doctor, the duo wasted hours trying to track down their patrol car by themselves. They could not exactly put out an All-Points Bulletin without explaining why it was missing.

Next thing they knew, their wheels were all over the nightly news. Somehow it had ended up involved in a vigilante drug bust. Both Hardi and Laurel were dreading the eventual call from their superiors demanding an explanation. No one had connected the dots yet, but it would happen eventually.

Deciding it was too late to worry, Hardi settled in to forget his troubles. Better to leave those concerns for later. The session was about to begin.

Soon enough, the entrance hinges creaked. A soft pattering, as though the girl were on tiptoes, filled the otherwise quiet room. He could feel the subtle change in room temperature as she approached the table.

She must have been timid. New girls normally were. They usually became agreeable once the action started. If not, well, he could have fun making her.

"No need to be bashful, doll. Climb aboard."

It took her a bit to decide. Hardi almost had to force the issue. Thankfully, she got with the program. The table padding dipped as long legs with pointed knees straddled his torso.

First impressions were decidedly negative. Besides being shy, she was also heavy. Hardi had not ordered a fat chick. He was no chubby chaser. There were going to be heated words for the owner when they were through.

What was also strange was that the girl was wearing pants. Rather coarse trousers at that. Usually, they were stripped down to their panties. Before he could question this, he felt her bend down to his ear.

"Enjoying yourself?" She, no he, whispered.

Startled, Hardi's face popped out of the port. In the mirror he saw a person in a white jacket with red hair kneeling over him. Having seen plenty of Wanted posters of the criminal, the officer knew who it was.

Hardi was roughly pushed back down. A metallic-feeling bar was placed over his neck to lock him in place. Roman Torchwick pressed hard enough to cause discomfort only if the bottom man strained against the display of dominance.

"Do you know who I am?" Hardi yelled.

"Tell me."

"Senior Officer Hardihood Piper. Gangs Unit. Vale Police Department." He seethed at the daring assault. "I'm not someone you mess with, Torchwick! Get off of me or you will never know a moment of peace. I will ruin your whole existence!"

The cocksure thief did not get off. He did not even recoil. Everything stayed exactly as it was while he cleared his throat.

"Soon enough, Senior Officer Piper. I have a widdle question for you. Be a good boy and answer me truthfully now. No fibbiwibs or you are going to have a baddiwad experience."

Baby talk. Hardi bristled and bucked. Torchwick held firm.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"I've been trying to get in touch with your boss. Your real boss. All I have received in return is the cold shoulder. Why?"

"We've been busy."

That might have even been the truth. Hardi did not know if they were ignoring the thief on purpose. If not, they soon would be. The Division member would ensure Torchwick was considered persona non grata.

"Unbusy yourselves. I'll make it worth your while."

"Sure buddy. Whatever you say."

"Hmm. You're acting pretty flippant for a guy with his professional life on the line."

"How'd you figure?"

"Let's just say I have the means to circulate some candids of you. Imagine the headline now: 'Robber Cop Gets Rub Down.' Catchy, don't you think?"

Previous hesitations made much more sense now. Torchwick had been taking pictures. If he also got a snap of Hardi entering the premises, then there would be no mistaking what the cop had been after. Lots of people knew about Sweety's offerings.

Such publicity would be bad although not the end of his career per se. He would most likely be demoted to desk duty for a few years. That would definitely hurt his ability to rise in rank. Any moves to go above senior officer rank would be DOA.

"And if that is not enough to convince you…" Torchwick repositioned. "Your actual life can be on the line too."

There was a waiver in the downward force. He was bluffing. Had to be. Some two-bit burglar did not have the stones to go through with killing a cop.

"Threatening me? Really?" Hardi barked in laughter.

VPD was untouchable. Division folks even more so. Everyone knew that if you messed with one, the entire department would come down on whoever was stupid enough to try.

"Why not? No one would know I was involved. Your un-happy ending would be classified as an off-duty stick-up gone bad. All that would be in store for you is a posthumous promotion and a hole in the ground. Everyone else would move on."

That was disturbingly probable. He had seen enough suspicious deaths get swept under the rug when there was no obvious suspect. Division considered such events a part of doing business.

Still, Hardi did not want to roll over. He had his pride.

"There you have it." Torchwick continued. "I want my meeting with Kingsnake, and I want it soon. You're going to be a good boy and do everything in your power to make that happen, or else."

Being talked down to pushed all of Hardi's buttons. "Like hell I-"

All of Torchwick's weight shifted onto the bar. Hardi scraped at the cushion beneath his fingertips. He tried to reach behind before his arms were restrained.

With his chest and airway compressed, breathing became impossible. Officer Piper's limited view of the world around him became muted. The floor beneath seemed to wiggle as the light in his eyes pulsed.

Hardi was dying. He did not want to die. At that moment, his resolve broke. All movement in his body ceased.

Noting the change, Torchwick eased off. Not entirely though. The bar remained pushed down, but Hardi could now draw in air. He did so greedily.

"Well?" His captor asked.

"A-alright! I'll do it!" The pressure disappeared entirely.

"Glad we could come to this arrangement." Torchwick shuffled off the table. When Hardi tried to rise up, the bar lightly touched down on his lower back in warning. "Didn't say you should get up."

The officer collapsed with a grumble. "Am I supposed to stay like this all day?"

"You can do whatever you want after I'm gone." Torchwick briskly walked away. The door opened but did not close. Hardi flinched as something landed beside him on the table with a clack. "A small gift for the trouble. Treat yourself."

The door shut with a click.

Hardi deflated, ashamed of his response. He kept still a while longer in case the hostage taker returned. When there were no further sounds, he rolled on to his back to ponder the ceiling.

As he did so, he accidentally knocked off whatever the gift was. After taking a moment to gather his wits, the off-duty patrol man sat up to see what it was. On the ground were lien cards. Enough to pay for at least four special massages. Disgusted, he left the money where it lay.

When the real girl showed up five minutes later, Hardi chose not to stick around. He was too perturbed to enjoy any other hands on him. The woman merely shrugged, not upset in the least with his change in heart. She had already been paid.

/ / /

"Oh yes. I remember that one very clearly."

"You do?" Earnie asked.

The attendant, an older gentleman with wild brows, nodded. A car containing a family of four drove up to the booth. His bright lime vest wrinkled as he accepted lien and pressed a button to lift the access gate.

"Not every day we get those around here." He indicated the printout of a large, white paneled moving van. "This garage is for paying visitors. Contractors have dedicated spaces closer to the loading zones. It is free over there too."

"You didn't let them know that?"

"Yesir, I did. The driver rudely told me to 'mind my own freakin' business.' He did not say 'freakin,' by the way. Their language wasn't for polite company. Was planning to refund them on their way out before that little outburst."

"Could you describe them for me?"

"Let me see. Male. Dark or brown hair. Was wearing a painter's mask and hoodie."

Earnie stopped writing in his notebook. "You didn't find that odd?"

"We attract all sorts."

The detective could not criticize. East Point Mall, the biggest of Vale's shopping centers, had a reputation. The sheer selection offered brought people from all walks of life to its doors. Some of them were a tad strange.

"When did they leave?"

"Pardon?" The older man asked while busy dispensing change for an SUV that rolled up.

"The rude driver. When did they exit the garage? Which direction did they go?"

"Ah." The attendant scratched his chin while admitting the automobile. "Not sure. It was rather late in the evening. My shift ended not too long after that. I can ask the others. Tell them to call you if they know."

"I would appreciate that." Earnie stored away his notes before handing over a full stack of contact cards. "Please give them those. They can leave a message if it is urgent."

"Can do."

He was about to leave when an odd idea struck him. "Would you mind if I have a look around?"

"Long as you promise not to make any trouble."

After giving his assurances, Earnie prowled about the multi-story structure. A pedestrian path was available for use to ascend. There was an elevator he decided against using. All nine levels needed to be checked on foot.

Detective Shoat was not sure what he was on the hunt for exactly. He had a hunch and was following it. Why not? The biggest break so far had been delivered by a fluke.

Although the security cameras near the Dust store were disabled, not every lens in the city was affected. After prodding Technician Peregrine into providing an estimate of when the crime had occurred, Earnie tried out a new technique to find the getaway vehicle. He requested and was granted access to the Vale Fusion Center database.

The center stored submitted information from all over the city. Terabytes of recorded video, audio, and aerial photography were gathered each day for use by law enforcement and huntsmen. So much data was available that it was nearly impossible to find anything of value.

Because of this, most of VPD did not bother trying to use the database. They believed that any good clues would be buried too deep for a single officer to find. Locating anything usable would be like sifting for a needle in a warehouse made of haystacks.

That was why Earnie did not search by himself. He enlisted the help of Beacon Tower's artificial intelligence. The CCT AI's application program interface was made available by Atlas for both public and private use. This was exactly the kind of problem that the program was made for.

Connecting the AI to the database made the sifting easier. By no means did she — for that was how the program presented herself — solve the issue directly. This was no magic wand. Earnie had to provide parameters to help her out.

Doing a little guesswork, he provided the building blocks. He narrowed the AI's query to the timeslot Peregrine provided. Next, he set a geographical fence to restrict the search for only footage in the eastern and western portions of the city. Those were the most likely directions the thieves would have headed.

Lastly, he input example vehicles he wanted returned. This was where the AI shined. After providing the samples, the advanced program was able to extrapolate what could conceivably transport an entire shop's inventory worth of Dust.

Let loose on the database, the AI took less than a minute to flag results. In contrast, it took a full hour for the servers to process, package, and transmit the requested materials. For good reason. The final size of the transmission was almost too large for Earnie's terminal.

Once received, he spent the night going over traffic footage. In the end, he found nothing of value. Clonked out on the dining room table was not how Tawney expected to find her husband. Even on a day off, she was an early riser.

After a light ribbing, she made them both breakfast. The kids came down to join them. It was during the clearing of the table that the accident happened.

His sleepy youngest placed her hand on the keyboard. This caused a random video to play. On the display was a suspicious van that matched all the criteria Earnie was looking for.

Skipping the meal, the gumshoe gave the AI a new parameter. He wanted every image of that particular vehicle. What he got back in results was much more manageable.

The vans movements synced with the theory of the crime. It came near the blacked-out zone, was there for the approximate two hours needed to scout and rob the Dust shop, and then departed in a hurry. This was a good lead. Even if the driver was not involved, they may have seen who was.

He hurried back to Peregrine, both to finish up the clean-up tasks and to get her opinion. She agreed with his assessment before finding a problem. The recorded path of the van ended in the middle of the commercial district.

If the thieves knew what they were doing, they used the comings and goings of the public through that area to disappear. There were a million ways to do so. They and the Dust were probably in the wind.

Not wanting to give up, Earnie had walked the length of the region. He asked everyone he could if they had seen the vehicle. This eventually led him to East Point Mall security and the parking garage.

All of this was the result of a lucky break. Earnie was okay with taking those every now and then. His mentor had always told him it was often 'better to be lucky than skilled.' So, he asked Remnant for a little more of that good juice.

The first four floors were free of any iffy haulers. The fifth was sparse of nearly any cars. Today was not a busy shopping day.

There was a moment he believed he heard footsteps behind him. Casually glancing back revealed a kid horsing around at the emergency stairs. Any other occasion, Earnie might have given them a stern talking to for playing hooky on a school day. As it was, he let them be.

Floor number six was completely vacant. Ironically, it was on the lucky seventh floor that his fortunes changed. He saw it at once. In the corner behind a pillar, was a large, white van.

His mind raced with possibilities, but he did not want to jump to conclusions. There was a procedure to follow. Vale's laws did not allow searches of property without proper justification. Earnie would need more.

With a long glance around, the detective saw the rest of the garage was empty. With a quick step, he approached the driver's side. He then pressed his face against the tinted window.

The rules regulating searches had a 'plain view' exception. Since the vehicle was in a semi-public place, anything Earnie saw without actually entering or disturbing the property was fair game to consider as evidence. There was one thing that immediately caught his notice.

On the passenger's seat was a stack of crates. These wooden receptacles remained unopened but were each marked with a snowflake. The emblem of the SDC denoted that there was likely Dust inside. A wholesale quantity of Dust.

His rapid breath fogged up the window. This was it. This was the van.

He went for his Scroll to call for back-up. VPD needed to lock the area down. Between the photo and the crates, there was sufficient probable cause for a judge to grant a search warrant.

The detective's fingers never reached the Scroll.

A pointed end pressed into his back. The sudden presence almost had him exclaim in surprise. Earnie identified the foreign object for what it was. A threat. In the interest of keeping both of his lungs, he froze.

Then there was a soft woman's voice in his ear. "Looking for something?"

In the darkened reflection, Earnie saw blue hair. He could not make out any facial features. She was a gray blob from the cheeks up.

"Just passing through." He replied, hoping to pass as a civilian. "Wasn't stealing nothing, miss. Honest."

The knife pushed harder. "Nice try, officer. Hands up."

Found out, he slowly complied. Her free appendage patted him down, eventually finding and relieving him of the department issued pistol from his inside jacket holster. She then gave him a slight shove to get him moving.

Marched around the van, they paused at the back. A gloved hand with a pale wrist reached over his shoulder. He considered going for a judo throw. The blade in her other hand had him reconsider.

Instead of going for the handle, she knocked on the postern paneling. The van shook as something heavy inside tumbled around. Slowly the right door opened up. A muscular man in a White Fang mask poked his head out.

"What'd you catch?" He grunted.

"A fly in the ointment, lieutenant." The woman answered.

"Bring him in."