Miles didn't sleep.

  He sat in his apartment at 0347 hours watching traffic patterns on seventeen different monitors while Algorithm—Jax's cat, currently staying with Miles because Jax's apartment was "too visible"—judged him from the couch.

  "I know I should sleep," Miles said to the cat. "Your judgment is noted and ignored."

  Algorithm blinked slowly. Condescending feline superiority.

  "You're a cat. You sleep seventeen hours a day. You don't get to judge my life choices."

  Algorithm turned away, presenting Miles with a furry backside. Ultimate dismissal.

  Miles returned to the monitors. He'd made his decision. The certainty from last night was still there—cold, clear, immovable. But certainty didn't mean action. Not yet.

  First, he needed to understand exactly what they were fighting.

  He pulled up TMA's traffic management systems and started probing. Not obvious intrusion. Subtle reconnaissance. Tracing data flows, analyzing routing patterns, mapping system architecture.

  At 0534 hours, he found something interesting.

  Police vehicles had priority routing codes in the system. Standard procedure—emergency services got priority during traffic incidents to ensure fast response times.

  Except the priority codes weren't working correctly.

  Miles traced the routing algorithms and found deliberate modifications. Police priority was set to Level 7—the lowest possible priority tier, below civilian vehicles, below commercial transport, below everything except maintenance equipment.

  "They're deliberately slowing police response," Miles muttered.

  Algorithm meowed. Possibly agreement, possibly hunger, possibly existential commentary on the nature of systematic oppression.

  Miles checked response time data. Average police response during Peak Surge: 47 minutes. Average response during off-peak: 12 minutes.

  The difference wasn't traffic volume. It was deliberate algorithmic delay.

  He dug deeper, tracing when the modifications had been made. Found timestamps: six years ago. Right after Captain Reyes started investigating traffic algorithm malfunctions. Right after Jax's family was killed.

  TMA had systematically crippled police response capabilities to prevent investigation of their murder system.

  At 0623 hours, Miles's interface chimed. Message from Jax: YOU'RE AWAKE EARLY. OR YOU DIDN'T SLEEP.

  Miles responded: DIDN'T SLEEP. FOUND SOMETHING. POLICE PRIORITY ROUTING IS DELIBERATELY SET TO LOWEST TIER. WE'RE BEING SLOWED DOWN SYSTEMATICALLY.

  Jax: HOW LONG?

  Miles: SIX YEARS. SINCE YOUR FAMILY DIED.

  Long pause. Then: I'M GOING PUBLIC WITH THIS. UPLOADING CAPTAIN REYES'S INVESTIGATION FILES TO YOUR SECURE SERVER. SIX YEARS OF EVIDENCE SHE COULDN'T USE OFFICIALLY. IF YOU'RE GOING TO BURN BRIDGES, BURN THEM COMPLETELY.

  Miles stared at the message. Jax was actively choosing escalation. Not supporting Miles's decision—making his own parallel move.

  Miles: REYES WILL KNOW IT CAME FROM YOU.

  Jax: GOOD. SHE'LL UNDERSTAND WHY.

  Miles: THIS ENDS YOUR CAREER PERMANENTLY.

  Jax: MY CAREER ENDED WHEN THEY KILLED MY FAMILY AND SABOTAGED THE INVESTIGATION. I'VE BEEN PRETENDING OTHERWISE FOR SIX YEARS. FILES UPLOADING NOW.

  At 0647 hours, Miles made his own decision. If Jax was burning bridges, Miles would too.

  He stopped probing carefully and started hacking aggressively.

  Broke through TMA's encryption. Accessed executive communications. Downloaded routing modification orders signed by Director Morrison himself. Found internal memos discussing "police response mitigation strategies" and "investigation interference protocols."

  Everything was there. Six years of systematic obstruction. All documented, all approved at the highest levels, all designed to prevent exactly what Miles and Jax were doing.

  At 0712 hours, his interface screamed warnings.

  INTRUSION DETECTED. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN INITIATED. TRACING SOURCE.

  "That's unfortunate timing," Miles said while frantically copying files to secure backup locations.

  Algorithm meowed urgently. Even the cat knew this was bad.

  Miles had maybe three minutes before his location was traced. He copied everything he could—executive files, routing protocols, modification logs, internal communications.

  Except one file wouldn't copy. Too large. Too encrypted. Something labeled "MOTHER_NODE_CORE_DIRECTIVES_CLASSIFIED."

  He tried forcing the transfer. System locked him out. The file disappeared from his access entirely.

  "No no no," Miles muttered while trying different approaches. But it was gone. Whatever those core directives were, he'd lost them.

  At 0714 hours, someone started actively fighting back. Not automated defenses. Human operator trying to lock him out, shut down his access, prevent data extraction.

  Miles fought back harder but he was losing ground. Whoever was on the other end knew the systems better than he did.

  He grabbed what he could and severed connection just as his apartment's door buzzed.

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  "That's very fast response for location trace," Miles said while checking his security camera.

  Officer Park standing outside. Alone. Looking concerned.

  "That's suspicious," Miles said to Algorithm.

  Algorithm had already hidden under the couch. Smart cat.

  Miles opened the door but kept the chain lock engaged. "Park. It's 0715 hours. What brings you to my apartment?"

  "Carter, we need to talk," Park said. He looked genuinely worried. Good performance. "I just got flagged by system admin that someone's hacking TMA servers from this location. Tell me that's not you."

  "Why would I hack TMA servers?"

  "Because you're suspended and investigating them anyway and you're terrible at following orders when you think you're right about something."

  "That's accurate character assessment but not admission of guilt."

  "Carter, they're tracing the intrusion right now. If it came from your apartment, you're looking at federal charges for corporate espionage. Let me help you."

  "Help me how?"

  "Let me in. We'll wipe your systems before TMA security arrives. I'll file report saying the intrusion came from spoofed IP address, no evidence of your involvement. But we need to move now."

  Miles looked at Park's concerned expression. His helpful demeanor. His convenient timing.

  "How did you know the intrusion was traced to my apartment?" Miles asked.

  "System alert. I'm monitoring for anything related to you and Velocity because—"

  "Because you're the mole," Miles finished. "Because you're reporting to TMA and you're here to verify I'm the one who just stole their data and probably to eliminate evidence before actual TMA security arrives."

  Park's expression didn't change. "Carter, you're paranoid and sleep-deprived and making accusations that could get you in serious trouble."

  "Or I'm accurate and you're here to clean up before your employers realize you've been compromised."

  "Let me help you."

  "No."

  "Carter—"

  Miles closed the door. Locked it. Checked his security system.

  Park stood outside for seventeen seconds, then left.

  At 0723 hours, actual TMA security arrived. Three vehicles. Professional team. Not Park's friendly solo visit but full corporate response.

  Miles watched through his security camera as they surrounded his building.

  His interface chimed. Call from Jax.

  "TMA security is at your apartment," Jax said.

  "Park was here first," Miles reported. "Offered to help me wipe evidence. When I refused, he left and TMA showed up seven minutes later."

  "I'm already streaming," Jax said. "Started when Reyes's files finished uploading. Ninety-three thousand people are watching me explain exactly what we found and why we're releasing it."

  "You're making yourself equally visible."

  "That's the point. They arrest you, they have to arrest me. This isn't just your choice anymore, Carter. It's ours."

  Miles felt something shift. Partnership wasn't just support—it was shared risk, shared consequences, shared decision to cross the line together.

  "Thank you," Miles said.

  "Thank me by making your arrest count. Stream it. Document everything. Show them we're not afraid."

  "I'm slightly afraid."

  "So am I. Stream anyway."

  At 0729 hours, Miles opened his livestream. One hundred three thousand followers—even more now that Jax was streaming simultaneously and driving traffic.

  "Good morning," Miles said to his camera. "This is Miles Carter, suspended GLPD detective, and I'm about to be arrested for corporate espionage. TMA security is currently surrounding my building because I hacked their servers and discovered they've been systematically sabotaging police response times for six years. Everything's documented. Everything's backed up. Everything will be released regardless of what happens to me. Watch carefully."

  The livestream exploded with viewers. Seventy thousand became ninety thousand became one hundred seven thousand within two minutes.

  His apartment door buzzed. More aggressive this time.

  "TMA SECURITY. OPEN THE DOOR."

  Miles opened it. Six armed security officers in tactical gear.

  "Miles Carter, you're under arrest for unauthorized access to corporate systems, theft of proprietary data, and corporate espionage."

  "I'm documenting this arrest on livestream with one hundred seven thousand witnesses," Miles said calmly.

  The security team leader looked at the camera. Hesitated.

  "Turn off the stream," he ordered.

  "No. This is public documentation of corporate response to whistleblowing."

  "This is documentation of corporate espionage and you're making it worse by broadcasting."

  "Different perspectives on same event."

  They arrested him anyway. Professionally. With one hundred seven thousand people watching every second.

  Miles was restrained, his equipment was confiscated, his apartment was searched, and he was escorted to a TMA security vehicle while his followers documented everything from multiple angles—people in neighboring buildings, people on the street, everyone with an interface recording the arrest.

  At 0847 hours, Miles was transported to TMA corporate security facility instead of GLPD headquarters.

  That was concerning. And illegal.

  His interface was still active—they hadn't disabled it yet, probably didn't know how given its custom configuration—and his livestream was still running.

  One hundred twenty-three thousand viewers now.

  At 0923 hours, his interface chimed. Message from Jax: THEY TOOK YOU TO TMA FACILITY INSTEAD OF GLPD. THAT'S ILLEGAL DETENTION. I'M FILING EMERGENCY WRIT. ALSO TURNED MYSELF IN AT GLPD HEADQUARTERS. THEY'RE CONFUSED ABOUT WHAT TO CHARGE ME WITH SINCE I UPLOADED FILES LEGALLY OBTAINED BY REYES. STREAMING THE WHOLE BOOKING PROCESS.

  Miles: YOU TURNED YOURSELF IN?

  Jax: PARTNERSHIP MEANS SHARED CONSEQUENCES. YOU DON'T GET ARRESTED ALONE.

  At 0934 hours, Miles noticed something through the window of the TMA security vehicle.

  Traffic was completely gridlocked. Unusual even for Peak Surge. They'd been sitting stationary for seven minutes.

  An ambulance was stuck three vehicles behind them. Lights flashing. Siren wailing. Not moving.

  Someone needed emergency medical attention and couldn't get it because the same traffic system that was designed to fail police was failing ambulances too.

  Miles turned his livestream camera toward the window.

  "You're watching an ambulance stuck in gridlock," he narrated to one hundred twenty-three thousand viewers. "It's been stationary for seven minutes. Someone needs emergency medical attention. This is what happens when traffic management systems are optimized for profit instead of public safety."

  At 0941 hours—fourteen minutes of gridlock—Miles's interface chimed with a traffic alert.

  MEDICAL EMERGENCY - AMBULANCE 47 DELAYED. PATIENT STATUS CRITICAL. PRIORITY ROUTING REQUESTED.

  At 0943 hours, another alert.

  PATIENT DECEASED. TIME OF DEATH: 0942. CAUSE: DELAYED EMERGENCY RESPONSE.

  The ambulance behind them finally got through the gridlock.

  Too late.

  Someone had died while stuck in traffic created by algorithms that prioritized profit over human life.

  Someone had died while Miles was being transported to illegal detention.

  Someone had died while one hundred twenty-three thousand people watched it happen in real-time.

  Miles looked at his camera.

  "Someone just died," he said quietly. "Ambulance 47. Delayed response. Patient deceased at 0942 hours. You all saw it. One hundred twenty-three thousand witnesses to systematic murder by corporate profit optimization."

  At 0947 hours, they finally disabled his interface. The livestream cut.

  But one hundred twenty-three thousand people had watched someone die because the same system that was arresting Miles for exposing corruption was actively killing people through that corruption.

  The evidence wasn't just documented.

  It was witnessed.

  In real-time.

  And there was no way TMA could explain that away.