Vehicle obtained without protest, Judge Chase’s armored car handed towards more pressing judiciary matters. The dust coated form of Judge John Murphy climbing into an interior womb of steel against a universe of hostile intent, his mind automatically registering the unstandardized controls of operation.

Steering wheel the foreground to three pedals, a gear shifter detected within the dashboard’s helpfully marked dignitaries from one to seven.

An iconography of seven bars painted with brass and conviction across almost every surface, the loyalty of the Federation branded upon the vehicle with runes of humanity. A protective seal in the spiritual defense of its occupants; the old Judge noting the symbology before starting the engine.

Biofuel engine roaring power, eight well greased cylinders containing explosive powers in the idleness of conflict. A powersource created in the refineries of March, a liquid blood flowing alongside hydraulics and springs; the vehicle leaping forth as the boot slams on the accelerator.

Rubber tires squealing against cobblestone, dust kicked forth from the collected motor pool of the tasked force of officers and military personnel.

He leaves behind the chaos, the carnage; of a ruined government no longer relevant to the deliverance of justice. A mind focused elsewhere, the wailing of sirens and head lamps cutting through the interference of a night sky and the holy city of March.

Straight roads clearing ahead of the speeding monster of iron, ancient gaze centered upon the reactionaries of driving. Memorized streets flooding back, a dead betrayer’s own guidance now a beacon towards the intended target in the midst of gunfire.

The entire city of March gathered at the foot of the lawless in utter annihilation, a main road turned to a rioting artery as the steel beast arrives on scene. Absolute carnage as flood lights attempt to pierce through the moshing pit of dirty clothing and uniforms, officers of the law fallen in an orgy of selfish, monetary discord.

Judge Hoppe drowns in the midst of it all, a microcosm of its own violence consuming the very universe around it.

A mob atop her fallen form suffocating and trampling her, a judiciary power lost without guns and social fear. Arcane shielding unable to detect physical attacks, the only defense against the torrent of fists and steel clubs the armor of ceramic and kevlar.

And a forbidden tool of death and destruction.

Morality intact, a conditioning unable to break through the most fundamental laws of humanity.

He provides it.

An ancient wisdom in realization of a dying world, his answer towards the lives of the criminal found in the shotgun-like spread of flechettes from the Lawbringer.

Explosive gunfire unheard amongst the screams, yet a wave of souls falling back at the application of violence. Nine rioters crumpling onto the dust, a ranged age of teenagers and young workers ended without hesitation. Stampede about to erupt as the crowd both pushes away from the arrival of a judicial element as well as an attempt to storm March Central Bank itself, a situation turning into another massacre by their own hands.

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Canisters of chemical grenades leaking noxious yellow gas tossed by hand onto the crowd by the arriving Judge, his comrade scrambling up to her feet as she stumbles towards the arrived beast of steel.

“Judge Hoppe.” Judge Murphy coldly acknowledges as he cycles the lever action on his weapon, training the thing upon a falling tidal wave of human flesh beyond the smoke. A mind recentered upon a new objective, a hunted suspect returning to present minds. “Where is the primary suspect?”

Her conscious soul barely comes together, a panic sending forth just one answer through noxious fumes coughed from lungs. “It’s Madeleine McCormik!!! She’s…”

The squealing of tires alongside a burst of automatic gunfire in the distance, an icon of an escape established as Judge Murphy coldly stares down his counterpart. “Judge Hoppe.”

Words of authority bring her back, blank eyes staring at the towering form of the ancient Judge as he continues to speak. “Judge Hoppe, can you drive?”

She remembers her purpose to the Federation, a damaged body shaken away with immense willpower. A soul gazing into another, of an understanding of mission objectives as she nods. “Yes sir.”

A briefing in the midst of operation as Judge Hoppe steps into the driver side door, the pair of judges exchanging positions within the vehicle. Judge Murphy speaks first as armored doors are slammed shut, a secretive knowledge placed onto her in the delivery of his own report. “The Governor is dead, Judge Greyson is dead, and Cadet Smith is heavily wounded.”

Not enough time to process through adrenaline, Judge Hoppe automatically responds. “Yes sir.”

A gear shifted, accelerator pedals bringing forth power to the familiar machine. Direction pointed outward by Judge Murphy, a suspect’s repertoire listed forth. “Madeleine McCormik is wanted for eighteen accounts of armed robbery, twenty eight accounts of armed assault, seven…”

Instinct masterfully guiding the nearly three ton vehicle through the streets, a drifting turn kicking tire smoke stopping Judge Murphy’s words as his internal organs are shoved aside in bleedingly fast movement. One steel beast speeding ahead amongst a dozen more, a filled street navigated through a dangerously small viewing port cut into the armored windshield of the judiciary vehicle.

Air intakes sucking in dust and oxygen, one half of the explosive duet complemented by refined biofuel poured into combustion chambers. Exhaust pipes flaring as unburnt contaminants are set aflame through incredulous heat, an engine pushing itself into the very peak of mechanical performance.

“Suspect vehicle, direct front.” Judge Murphy points through his own viewing angle, the rear lights of a speeding truck betraying the getaway of criminal souls.

“Confirmed!” Judge Hoppe agrees as she spots it.

Dexterous hands dance across the dashboard as the woman keeps her eyes trained on target. A series of switches slammed into active position, interconnected circuits sending forth a torrent of electricity into the floodlight array mounted at the front of the armored beast.

Blinding light from a dozen new suns focus towards the pursuit, suspects taken from darkness and onto the stage of conflict.

A stream of harmless gunfire scatters across the skin of steel and into bulbs; small caliber rounds from a divine weapon systematically annihilating the blinding gaze of artificial suns.

Instinct pulling hands to the voice casting unit within the cabin, Judge Hoppe gives the ultimatum. “THIS IS JUDGE HOPPE, STOP YOUR VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY!”

“It's Madeleine McCormik.” Judge Murphy confirms, identifying the hostile rotary machine gun as it rips apart the front of their armored vehicle. A hand placed upon the radio at his shoulder, the pale orange circle igniting blue in the broadcast of orders. “All call, primary judge point. Ordering roadblock on primary roadways to old city districts relative to eastbound. Suspect in pursuit, red priority.”