Divnyy, East 42nd Street
Ryan was jetlagged from the flight. His eyes scanned the streets for a place to get coffee on his way to the police department.
'Divnyy. Beating heart of Prime. Constantly pumping life into the city through money, influence, and movement. Power shifts in boardrooms as often as it does on the streets. Divnyy, where everything is for sale. By day, CEOs and stockbrokers are kings. By night, illegal tuners and drug dealers run the streets. Yet they're all the same. One of seven districts, yet 35% of the population lives here—if this is what's called living.' Never changed. Never will.
It was his first time in Prime in fifteen years. Right after his father's funeral, he'd left for New York and studied at the police academy, hoping to become better than whatever waited for him back home.
He finally spotted a coffee shop. As he approached, a piece of graffiti caught his eye:
"Divnyy doesn't care who you are when you arrive. Only who you are when you leave."
He walked in. Nobody made eye contact. Nobody smiled. Nobody cared that he'd left this corrupted city for a better life.
Now it was certain—New York hadn't worked out.
He was back to where he started. Back in this hellhole of a city.
Divnyy Police Department
Ryan stepped into a briefing room that reeked of stale coffee. He sat in the chair closest to the door and zoned out, watching a beat-up fan on the ceiling swing side to side. His trance broke as Captain Sardozo, his new commanding officer, walked in.
"Officer Trejo. Welcome to Prime."
"Captain."
"Sorry for the abrupt invitation, kid. And thank you for accepting."
Ryan's eyes landed on the Medal of Valor the captain wore. He hadn't even known they allowed holders to wear it.
"It's an honor to work with you, sir."
"I'm sure you're wondering why I pulled someone writing parking tickets to infiltrate the crime syndicate of the most powerful man on the West Coast." The captain smirked. "Because good police work won't get you into Julio's world, kid. Your old man ran a mod shop in Rory, didn't he?"
He knew this was coming, but it still hit hard. The memories came fast—him and his father fixing cars in the backyard, the first time behind a wheel, the sweat and grease on his dad's shirt after crawling out from under a 1990 RX-7 FC Ryan had crashed at twelve. Then he thought about Rory. Just him and his father—but Rory was family.
Everyone in Rory was pushed, tested, and hardened by life. While industry boomed in Omerly and corporations clawed their way into Divnyy and Tek, Rory was left to rot. But its people were tough, proud, and loyal. They had to be. Otherwise, they'd be forgotten. Crumbling infrastructure, busted roads, struggling businesses. Still, Rory never complained. They adapted. They survived.If the rest of Prime burned, Rory would still be standing. Ryan had forgotten that the day his father died.
"Yes, sir. He was busted by the feds when someone ratted him out for selling NOS under the table."
"Exactly. That gives you cover. You're young, you know the streets, and you know the business. You can blend in."
"With all due respect, sir, I ran away from that life when I was a kid. I'm not like them."
Ryan knew the objection was pointless. If you're born here, you either fade away or claw your way to the top. Even if you leave this city, it never really leaves you. That's why he was here. That's why he was listening.Still, someone from Prime becoming a cop? He was one in a million. The only one suited for this.
Out of professionalism—and respect—he dropped the "I don't want to do it" act and focused on the captain.
"No," the captain agreed. "But you've got Prime running in your blood, son. And that's good enough for me. Hopefully, good enough for Julio."
Captain Sardozo slid a folder across the table. Inside: names, faces, maps, blurred license plates, and addresses. Some looked familiar.
"You've got three doors into Julio's world. First: Mallory Riera. Julio's adoptive daughter. His one and only. If anything happens to him, she takes the crown. She's clean on paper, runs charity fronts in Tek and Divnyy. Everyone adores her. She's untouchable. And that makes her the most dangerous."
"A somewhat politician?" Ryan asked.
"A queen. And queens don't let pawns get too close. You'll need to get into her good graces. Save a cat, adopt an orphan—I don't know. I don't care. Just make it look natural."
Ryan flipped through the reports.
'Headline girl Mallory Riera,' he thought. 'All polished smiles and charity galas. Looking at her, you almost forget she's got knives behind every word. Do the people of Prime love her—or do they just want to?'
'Even the race crews Julio didn't own would want her respect. Getting close would be tricky. The second she thought I was playing her, it'd be game over.'
"Then there's Conner Mercer. Julio's lawyer. Any legal doc we've ever traced back to Julio had Mercer's name on it. Quiet type. Grew up in the same orphanage as Mallory. No proof, but we're certain Julio funded his education. Turned him into his walking loophole. If Conner falls, Julio collapses."
"Mercer…" Ryan whispered. The name wasn't familiar.
"Shows up in a dozen files, but none connect. Yeah, he's one of those guys. Doesn't need to threaten you—just being in the room makes you know you should stay on his good side. The kind of guy who buys your loyalty without you realizing you sold it."
'Getting close to him? No telling who would be playing who. Far too dangerous.'
"Finally, there's Jaki Varela. Big name in street racing. Not sure it's his real name, but whatever. Rides with a crew—Bushido. No records, no documents, nothing. He just walked into Prime one day and's been tearing up Tek ever since. He's been seen with both Mallory and Conner, and our informant says Bushido races for Julio. Impress him at a race, and you might get in."
"Damn, he drives an FD RX-7? The guy's got taste," Ryan blurted. The captain raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, sir." Ryan straightened up.
'Varela. I've read his file twice and still can't tell if he's a folk hero or an actual person. Hundreds of speeding tickets. Outpaced cops on blown tires. No sponsors. No image to protect. Just him, his car, and his crew. Do they follow him because he's fast?'
"Captain, what do we know about Bushido?"
"Not much. That's the problem. Nothing ties them to any crimes. Just Varela's reckless driving.But word on the street? They're some kind of samurai cult. They race with a code. They're loyal to Bushido—not to Jaki."
Ryan thought hard.
'A crew built on discipline and honor in a city built on chaos. They drive like it's religion.That makes them predictable.'
"I hope you got what you needed, son," the captain said with a yawn. "You need anything else?"
"Just one more thing, Captain."