“All units, Code 03. Cyberpsycho detected. Requesting immediate backup.”

Blue light smears across the wet asphalt. Somewhere a radio crackles, and another district goes into lockdown. Whatever they’re chasing tonight, it isn’t slowing down.

The 808s hit hard enough to rattle the storefronts, and the drums stumble forward at 137 BPM like they’re running too. Police chatter keeps cutting in and out of the static, half-heard call signs and coordinates nobody bothers to confirm. And in between the sirens, out of nowhere, a saxophone plays like it’s just another Tuesday.

The voice on the radio tells you to stay calm.

The footsteps behind you disagree.

Run.