Trouble Chooses

The CDPO Headquarters was a fortress of concrete and steel, designed not just as an administrative hub but as a defensive stronghold. The entire facility was structured with security in mind. Sectioned off, so in the event of an attack, each sector could be locked down independently. It was an efficient and intimidating design, a reminder that even on a terraformed planet with an already sprawling city, Mars was still a frontier.

Inside, the headquarters was a flurry of movement. From officers moving between departments, automated drones scanning and running maintenance, and digital terminals flashing with classified reports. Despite the cold, modern aesthetic, everything had a utilitarian purpose. No wasted space. No wasted effort.

Roy felt out of place.

He sat in Lieutenant Lee Jisoo’s office, a cup of steaming Moroccan coffee in his hands. Real coffee. Not the synthetic or instant crap he had been drinking since setting foot on this planet, but actual imported beans from Earth. The scent alone was enough to make him nostalgic about his days in Earth.

Taking a slow sip, he leaned back, letting the air-conditioned coolness seep into his pores.

The office was… impeccably clean.

No clutter. No stacks of reports. Most things were digital, running through secured encrypted networks. It made Roy wonder about security risks, but then again, trying to hack into an organization that essentially ran the planet’s law enforcement sounded like a terrible idea.

Not to mention most of these officers were augmented to the teeth, enhanced reflexes, neural processors, cybernetic interfaces that linked them to real-time battlefield data.

Mars was still dangerous, and the people in this building were the ones keeping it from turning into complete lawless chaos.

For someone like Roy who had his hands in certain criminal circles, this place was suffocating.

He wasn’t a full-time criminal, but his dealings with the Feng Hua Group and the Callisto Syndicate weren’t exactly innocent either.

And then there was the fact that, technically speaking, he was an illegal immigrant.

Roy took another sip of coffee just as Jisoo entered the office.

She had been talking with a colleague outside, but now she walked in, her presence sharp, focused. Without acknowledging him, she sat down behind her desk, her fingers immediately moving over the digital interface.

She pulled up his statement, scrolling through it, her emerald-green eye scanning every word with precision.

Click.

She saved the file.

Then she looked at him.

“You have a penchant for finding trouble, Mr. Inman,” she said flatly.

Roy smirked. “I prefer to think trouble has a penchant for finding me.”

Jisoo didn’t look amused. She leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped together on the desk.

“What’s odd,” she continued, “is how little we have on you.”

Roy raised a brow, feigning surprise. “I’m just a simple guy, Lieutenant.”

Jisoo ignored him. “No record of arrival. No work history until a few months ago. It’s almost like you didn’t exist before coming to Mars.”

She let the words hang between them, as if expecting him to react.

Roy took another slow sip of coffee. Then, with a casual shrug, he said:

“Well, if you must know, I woke up on Mars naked and alone.”

Jisoo blinked, clearly caught off guard for a fraction of a second before her expression hardened again.

Roy grinned.

“Cute,” she said. “But that doesn’t explain your accent.”

“My accent?”

Jisoo tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You speak like an Earth-born. No Martian slang. No localized phrasing. You talk like someone who grew up on Earth and yet we can’t find records of you on Earth either..”

Roy tapped his fingers against his coffee cup. “Haven’t really met anyone using ‘Martian slang,’ to be honest.”

“That’s because most of the people you interact with are also from Earth,” Jisoo explained. “But Martian-born citizens have a distinct way of speaking. Different influences, different linguistic habits.”

Roy shrugged. “I guess it’s nice to know there’s still plenty of Earthlings here. Makes me feel less alone in the universe.”

Jisoo didn’t react to the joke. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“You’re not here because of my accent,” Roy said, shifting in his seat. “I already gave my statement. I had nothing to do with the shootout. My only crime is forgery, and I’m already paying for it.”

Jisoo didn’t argue. Instead, she changed the subject, but not in a way that comforted him.

“For someone with a fine to pay,” she mused, “you earned the money pretty fast.”

Roy smirked, placing a hand over his chest. “I’ll have you know, Lieutenant, I am an honest working man. I earn my wages fair and square.”

Jisoo wasn’t buying it.

“Did Pedro pay well for a mechanic job?” she asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Roy mocked offense. “Are you doubting the honorable wages of Mars’ finest mechanics?”

Jisoo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studied him, as if waiting for him to slip up.

Then, finally, she said, “It would be in your best interest to tell me about your other sources of income.”

Roy’s grip on his cup tightened slightly.

He wasn’t having it.

“I’m starting to think you’re trying to get me killed,” Roy said, his tone light but edged with something sharper.

Jisoo’s expression remained unreadable. “Excuse me?”

Roy gestured vaguely. “You keep digging, keep pushing, like I have some grand conspiracy to tell you. But let’s think about this logically, Lieutenant. If I actually was involved in something deep enough for you to be questioning me about it—”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“—then wouldn’t that mean someone else would be really, really interested in shutting me up?”

Jisoo’s gaze didn’t waver.

She let the silence stretch before answering.

“If you’re implying that talking to me is dangerous,” she said, “then that only makes you more suspicious.”

Roy let out a dry chuckle. “Of course it does.”

The tension in the room grew thicker.

Jisoo was patient. Methodical. She wasn’t just trying to scare him, she was measuring him. Gauging his reactions.

Roy had dealt with dangerous women before, but Jisoo was on another level as well.

This wasn’t just about intimidation. This was strategy.

And Roy was starting to hate how good she was at it.

“I get it,” he said, exhaling slowly. “You’re a cop. Your job is to ask questions. But I don’t have answers for you, Lieutenant.”

Jisoo was silent for a moment. Then, finally, she leaned forward, placing both hands on the desk.

“I don’t like unknown factors in my city, Roy.”

Roy tilted his head. “Your city?”

“Yes,” Jisoo said without hesitation. “And right now, you’re an anomaly.”

Roy stared at her for a long moment, then sighed heavily.

“Fine,” he said, setting his coffee down. “How about this? You stop grilling me like I’m some criminal mastermind, and I’ll promise to stay out of your way.”

Jisoo’s lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk, not quite amusement.

Then she leaned back again.

“Fine,” she said. “For now.”

Roy exhaled. Small victory.

Roy stood, stretching. “So, am I free to go?”

Jisoo nodded. “For now.”

Roy started toward the door, then paused.

He turned back, meeting her gaze.

“You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

Jisoo smirked faintly. “No, I’m not.”

Roy shook his head with a chuckle. “Figures.”

As he stepped out of her office, he muttered under his breath:

“I really need to stop running into dangerous women.”

Jisoo heard it.

And, to his surprise, she actually smiled.

----------------------------------------

The drive back to Pedro’s garage was quiet, the hum of the engine and the distant sounds of Alba City filling the silence. Roy tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, still mulling over his earlier encounter at CDPO headquarters.

Jisoo was relentless.

She wasn’t letting go of the fact that he was an anomaly. And Roy, despite being good at keeping his head low, was starting to get the feeling that he was now on her watchlist.

Which was exactly the kind of problem he didn’t need right now.

By the time he pulled up to Pedro’s garage, the sun was dipping past the horizon, painting the Martian sky in deep reds and purples. The shop itself was quiet, save for the occasional hum of machinery in the back.

Pedro was leaning against a workbench, arms crossed, waiting for him.

“You ain’t an asset now, right?” Pedro asked, raising an eyebrow.

Roy snorted, stepping out of the car. “No, I am not.”

Pedro smirked. “Didn’t get recruited into the she-cop’s service?”

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Roy rolled his shoulders, stretching. “Not my style. I don’t particularly like working for an organization like that.” He cast Pedro a sidelong glance. “I mean, Pedro, you do work for them, right?”

Pedro glanced around the garage, checking the security cams, making sure no one was lurking. Then, lowering his voice, he muttered:

“I mean ‘our friends’ are good customers.”

Roy got the message loud and clear.

If Jisoo had been truly digging, she would’ve already looked into Pedro’s ledgers. And that meant she either wasn’t interested in taking them down… or she didn’t have enough reason to.

“You work on this side of the world, the shady part,” Pedro continued, his voice still hushed, “so I’m going to give you some advice.”

Roy waited.

Pedro smirked, shaking his head. “Staring at the ass of a beautiful cop is asking for a beating… and a prison sentence.”

Roy groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jesus, you too?”

Pedro chuckled. “Man, I heard it from three different people. You got no subtlety, lad.”

Roy sighed, stepping toward the lifted car in the garage bay. With effortless strength, he grabbed the front bumper, holding it steady while pushing the jack underneath.

“Honestly,” he said, adjusting his grip, “the crooked life ain’t really meant for me.”

Pedro wiped the oil and grease from his hands with an old rag. “Unfortunately for you, lad, the life of crime sometimes chooses you out of spite.”

Roy grunted, setting the car down gently.

“Just be glad,” Pedro continued, tossing the rag over his shoulder, “that you don’t got a kid to feed.”

Roy didn’t say anything.

They were about to take a break, settling into the back room of the garage, when they heard it.

Patrol cars.

Lots of them.

Roy straightened immediately, casting a glance toward Pedro. The older man barely reacted, just exhaled through his nose and wiped his hands clean.

Roy peered outside.

CDPO and CGOM patrol units rolled into the lot, their sirens off, but their presence alone was enough to set Roy on edge.

He didn’t recognize the officers, but the moment they stepped out, he could tell they had been through some shit.

They had just gotten into a fight.

Bullet holes. Damaged armor plating. Scorch marks from bullet discharges. Some of them were visibly bleeding, though none seemed to be in critical condition.

One of them was a bald, rough-looking officer with a cybernetic arm slammed his car door shut and cursed loudly.

“Those fucking Syndicate bastards,” he growled.

Another officer, leaning against the hood of his car while pressing a cloth against his wounded arm, spat on the ground. “They’re pushing. Hard.”

A third officer, younger, still amped from adrenaline, was pacing. “I swear to God, just waiting for the Just Cause clause to get approved is a fucking pain. The moment we get the green light we’re wiping them off the fucking map.”

Roy took all of this in, quickly connecting the dots.

The factions were fighting again.

And the cops were itching for payback.

Pedro, ever the professional, walked up to them casually, his expression unreadable. “What do you need?”

The bald officer turned, wiping blood from his cheek. “Our units got fucked up. Need them patched before we roll out again.”

Pedro barely reacted.

Roy, however, found himself frowning.

He leaned over to Pedro and whispered, “I thought government units had their own garages.”

Pedro smirked. “They do. But they don’t want this in the books.”

Roy got it immediately.

They weren’t here for standard repairs. They were here because shit had gone sideways, and someone higher up didn’t want a record of it.

“C’mon,” Pedro said, patting Roy on the back. “We got work to do.”

Roy and Pedro got to work, patching up the damaged units as quickly as possible.

Most of it was cosmetic, but some vehicles had internal damage that needed quick welding. Pedro handled the technical fixes, while Roy handled reinforcing armor plating and wiring repairs.

The officers, still seething from whatever fight they had been in, kept talking.

“Feng Hua’s moving harder than usual,” one officer muttered, shaking his head.

“They’re getting bold,” another added. “Cartel too. Feels like they’re testing us.”

Roy, still tightening a bolt on one of the armor plates, asked, “Testing for what?”

The bald officer looked at him, expression grim.

“They’re seeing how far they can go before we push back.”

Roy exhaled through his nose, tightening the bolt a little harder than necessary.

It was happening.

The tension in Alba City had been simmering for months. The factions had been maneuvering, pushing, waiting for the first domino to fall.

Now?

Now it felt like the first shot had been fired.

Roy didn’t like it.

He liked stability. Predictability.

The last thing he needed was for all-out war to break out while he was still trying to find his place in this city.

Hours passed.

By the time the last unit was patched, the officers were geared up and ready to move.

One of them, the younger one, looked at Roy with a strange expression. “You know, for a mechanic, you ask a lot of questions.”

Roy smirked. “Curious by nature.”

The officer snorted, shaking his head. “Well, whatever. We’ll be seeing you guys, see this shit man?.”

The patrol cars rolled out, disappearing into the Martian night.

Roy wiped his hands on a rag, letting out a slow breath.

Pedro tossed him a bottle of water, smirking. “Long night.”

Roy caught it, cracked it open, and took a sip.

Then, after a long moment, he muttered. “Shit’s going isn’t it?.”

Pedro chuckled. “Oh, lad. You have no idea.”

Roy wiped the sweat off his forehead, tossing the rag onto the workbench.

Pedro cracked open a can of beer, taking a slow sip. He offered one to Roy, who took it without hesitation, sinking into a worn-out chair in the corner of the garage.

The air smelled of oil, metal, and burnt rubber.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Pedro broke the silence.

“Shit’s about to go sideways,” he muttered, echoing Roy’s earlier words. “I guess that Dumas guy really opened up some shit and these fuckers are so bored they can’t help but want this fight.”

Roy took a long sip of beer. “Yeah. Figured as much.”

Pedro leaned against the workbench, rubbing a hand over his prosthetic arm. “The way those cops were talking? They’re itching for a fight and a beating. Not hard to see.”

Roy exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. But here’s the thing, so are the factions.”

Pedro gave him a sideways glance. “You sound like a man who knows more than he should.”

Roy shrugged. “Let’s just say I have… experience with bad timing.”

Pedro snorted. “Boy, you ain’t wrong.”

The city had been unstable for a while now. The Callisto Syndicate, the Feng Hua Group, the Cartel, they were all maneuvering, pushing boundaries, seeing how much pressure they could put on the CGOM and CDPO before someone snapped.

And now?

The snapping point was close.

And it bothered Roy not knowing their goal was.

Pedro sighed, setting his beer down. “Alright, listen up. I’ve been around long enough to know what happens when things start heating up like this.”

Roy waited.

Pedro gestured vaguely. “Cops, factions, syndicates... they all got their own games to play. But when things get violent? Everyone suffers.”

Roy nodded slowly. “So what are you saying?”

Pedro met his gaze. “I’m saying you better decide where you stand before the shooting starts.”

Roy stared at him for a long moment.

Then he chuckled. “Pedro, I’m just a guy fixing cars.”

Pedro smirked. “Yeah? That’s what we all say before the bullets start flying.”

Roy left the garage close to midnight, stepping onto the quiet streets of Alba City.

Despite the late hour, Chinatown was still alive, neon signs buzzing, the smell of grilled meat and spices filling the air. He adjusted the collar of his bomber jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way down the street.

He was exhausted, but something in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him relax.

Pedro’s words stuck with him.

"Decide where you stand before the shooting starts."

Roy didn’t like being forced into anything. He’d spent his whole life avoiding commitments, floating from one job to the next, never staying in one place for too long.

But Mars…

Mars had a way of pulling people in.

Footsteps behind him.

Roy tensed, his instincts kicking in.

He turned a corner into an alleyway, walking casually but keeping his ears open.

The footsteps continued.

Shit.

He picked up the pace slightly, listening, measuring.

More than one person.

His pulse quickened, but outwardly, he stayed calm.

Then a figure stepped into his path.

Another blocked the alley behind him.

Roy exhaled slowly. “Well… this is familiar.”

The man in front of him was tall, built like a fighter, cybernetic enhancements glowing faintly beneath his skin. The one behind him was shorter, wiry, but carrying himself like someone who knew how to use a knife.

The tall one spoke first.

“Roy Inman.”

Roy tilted his head. “You got the wrong guy.”

The shorter one chuckled. “No. We don’t.”

Roy glanced between them. “So, uh… you guys looking for an autograph, or…?”

No one laughed.

The tall one took a slow step forward. “We heard you’ve been getting cozy with the CDPO.”

Roy sighed internally. Here we go.

“Listen, man,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you heard, but I was detained, not recruited.”

The shorter one smirked. “That’s not what it looks like.”

Roy narrowed his eyes slightly. “And who exactly are you?”

The tall one ignored the question. “You’ve been spotted near certain people. Certain… groups.”

Roy didn’t like where this was going.

“You've been talking to the wrong people, Inman,” the shorter one continued, taking out a combat knife, flipping it casually in his hand. “That’s bad for business.”

Roy stayed still, watching the blade.

He could tell.

These weren’t some random street thugs.

They were professionals.

And that meant someone sent them.

He didn’t understand why he was going through this.

“Alright,” Roy said, “let’s cut the shit. If you wanted to kill me, you’d have already done it. So what do you want?”

The tall one grinned, but there was no humor in it.

“We want you to understand something.”

The shorter one moved fast. Roy barely had time to react before the knife sliced through his jacket, grazing his side.

He twisted away, his instincts saving him from a deeper wound.

Before the shorter guy could strike again, Roy grabbed his wrist, twisting it violently.

The knife clattered to the ground.

The tall one lunged forward, throwing a punch.

Roy barely dodged, his back hitting the alley wall.

“Alright,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

Just as the tall one stepped in to throw another punch.

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet hit the ground right between them.

The three men froze.

Then—

“I really hate being right about you, Inman.”

Roy closed his eyes for a second.

Fucking hell.

Jisoo stood at the alley entrance, her pistol raised, her expression cold and unamused.

The two men instantly recognized her.

One of them cursed.

The other took a step back.

“This ain’t your business, officer,” the taller one said carefully.

Jisoo cocked her head slightly. “Armed assault on a civilian? Pretty sure that makes it my business.”

Roy, still leaning against the wall, sighed. “They started it.”

Jisoo shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

Roy smirked.

The two men hesitated, weighing their options.

Then, without another word, they turned and bolted.

Jisoo didn’t fire.

She simply exhaled, lowering her weapon.

Roy watched them disappear into the night before turning to her.

“Well,” he said, adjusting his jacket, “you’re getting pretty good at saving my ass.”

Jisoo holstered her gun. “I should’ve let them stab you.”

Roy grinned. “But you didn’t do that officer.”

Jisoo crossed her arms, her emerald gaze studying him. “Who were they?”

Roy exhaled. “Hell if I know. But let’s just say… someone’s not happy with me.”

Jisoo tapped her fingers against her belt. “You really need to stop making enemies.”

Roy chuckled. “Hey, I’m trying.”

Jisoo rolled her eyes. “C’mon. I’ll walk you out of here before you get stabbed again.”

Roy sighed. “Does that mean?”

“Let’s go back to HQ, okay? I need another statement.”

Roy could only sigh.