System Criminal: The Capture Rewards

Chapter 3: Evidence of Absence

"Oh, Keth,” Darion said, his voice light and airy. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to processing.”

The van lurched to a halt, the heavy hiss of air brakes signaling their arrival at the Ministry’s High-Security Holding Wing. The doors groaned open, revealing a sterile, underground loading dock bathed in the kind of fluorescent light that made everyone look like a corpse.

“Out,” Keth grunted, grabbing Darion by the shoulder. “Keep your mouth shut, your head down, and maybe—just maybe—I won’t let the intake officers ‘accidentally’ trip you into a doorframe.”

“Keth, Keth, Keth. Such violence for such a peaceful night,” Darion tutted, his eyes scanning the dock. “Where’s the red carpet? I was told there’d be a welcoming committee. Is that them? The guys with the tactical vests and the lack of humor? They look lovely.”

“They’re the Ministry’s specialized containment unit, Darion. They don’t do ‘lovely,’” Keth muttered, pushing him toward a heavy blast door. “They do ‘compliant.’ Try to be that.”

“I’m the most compliant guy you know!” Darion chirped.

They moved through a series of checkpoints, each more invasive than the last. Scanners hummed, mag-locks clicked, and Darion was eventually ushered into a small, windowless cell. It was a concrete box with a reinforced glass front and a bench that looked like it was designed by someone who hated human spines.

Keth stood on the other side of the glass as the lock engaged with a final, echoing thump.

“Get some sleep, Vexel,” Keth said, leaning against the wall. “Isavelle is coming back in an hour. She’s got a lot of questions about that key, and she’s not the type to ask twice.”

“An hour? That’s barely enough time for a nap,” Darion complained, sitting on the edge of the bench. “Could you at least bring me a coffee? Black, no sugar. Like my soul.”

“You’re lucky you’re getting air,” Keth sighed, turning to walk away. “I’m going to go process the evidence. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who, me? Never,” Darion said, waving a hand as Keth disappeared down the hall.

The moment the detective was out of sight, Darion’s expression shifted from manic playfulness to sharp intensity. He looked at his hands, then at the translucent blue screen hovering in his vision.

“Okay, System,” Darion whispered, his voice barely a breath. “Ghost Step. You said space is a suggestion. Let’s see if you’re a man of your word. Or a program of your word. Whatever you are.”

[ Skill: Ghost Step (Active) ]

[ Duration: 3.0 Seconds ]

[ Activation: Mental Command ]

“Three seconds. That’s it? That’s like... a sneeze and a half,” Darion muttered. “Okay. Think fast, move faster. If I end up halfway merged with a concrete wall, I’m leaving a really bad review.”

He stood up, facing the heavy glass door. He took a deep breath, focusing on the space just outside the cell.

“Ghost Step. Now!”

The world didn't just change; it dissolved. For a heartbeat, the gray concrete and the cold glass became a shimmering, translucent haze. Darion felt a sudden, freezing chill, as if he’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen, and he instinctively lunged forward.

One.

He felt the resistance of the glass, but it wasn't a solid barrier—it felt like moving through thick, cold syrup.

Two.

He stumbled out into the hallway, his boots hitting the linoleum with a soft thud.

Three.

The world snapped back into focus. The chill vanished, replaced by the recycled air of the precinct. Darion spun around, staring at the glass door. He was outside.

“Holy... it actually worked,” he gasped, clutching his chest. “I’m a ghost. A very illegal, very stressed ghost. System, remind me to buy you a drink if you ever get a physical body.”

[ Cooldown Initiated: 9:58 remaining ]

“Ten minutes. Right. No room for mistakes,” Darion said, glancing both ways down the corridor. “Now, where would Keth take a rusted key and a ledger he didn't even know I had until he searched me? Evidence locker. Room 4-B. I saw the sign on the way in.”

He moved with a practiced, predatory silence. He wasn't a master thief by trade, but the System had sharpened his instincts. Every shadow was a sanctuary, every corner a tactical vantage point.

“Alright, Darion, keep it cool,” he whispered to himself. “Just a casual stroll through a high-security government facility. Nothing to see here. Just a prisoner who’s supposed to be in a box.”

He reached a junction and froze. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the left.

“I’m telling you, it’s not just a key,” a voice said. It was Keth. “The way Korrin looked at it... it’s something else. Something heavy.”

“It’s a piece of junk, Arlan,” another officer replied. “You’ve been working too many double shifts. Go get that coffee and let the evidence guys tag it. It’s in the secure locker anyway.”

Darion pressed his back against the wall, his heart hammering. “Coffee, Keth. Go for the coffee. It’s your destiny. Your caffeine-deprived destiny.”

He peeked around the corner. Keth and the other officer were standing outside a heavy steel door labeled Evidence - Restricted Access.

“Fine,” Keth sighed. “I’ll be back in ten. Don't let anyone in there.”

“Who’s gonna get in? The museum rat in the glass box? Relax,” the other officer laughed, leaning against the wall.

Darion waited until Keth disappeared around the far corner. The remaining guard was checking something on his phone, looking thoroughly bored.

“Okay, System,” Darion murmured. “I don’t have Ghost Step for another nine minutes. How do we do this? Distraction? Or the old-fashioned way?”

[ Recommendation: Stealth Takedown not advised. Low Strength Stat. ]

[ Suggestion: Use environmental interference. ]

“Environmental interference? You mean like a fire alarm?” Darion looked up. A fire sprinkler head was perched directly above the guard’s head. “No, too messy. Wait... what’s that?”

He spotted a janitor’s cart parked in a small alcove ten feet away. On it was a bottle of industrial-strength floor wax and a long-handled mop.

“Simple. Classic. Effective,” Darion grinned.

He crept toward the cart, his movements fluid and low. He grabbed the bottle of wax and, with the precision of a veteran prankster, poured a generous, invisible puddle just around the corner where the guard would have to step to reach him. Then, he grabbed a heavy metal bucket from the cart and tossed it down the adjacent hallway.

CLANG-CLATTER-BANG.

“What the hell?” the guard barked, his head snapping toward the sound. He unholstered his taser and marched toward the noise.

He rounded the corner at high speed, his boot hitting the waxed floor.

“Whoa—!”

The guard’s feet flew out from under him. He hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud, his head bouncing off the linoleum. He didn't even have time to groan before his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.

“And they say physical comedy is dead,” Darion whispered, scurrying past the unconscious man.

He reached the evidence door. It required a keycard, which was currently hanging from the guard’s belt. Darion knelt, gingerly unclipped the card, and swiped it. The light turned green.

“I’m in,” he breathed, stepping into the climate-controlled room.

The evidence locker was a forest of metal shelving, filled with plastic bags containing everything from blood-stained knives to stacks of counterfeit cash. He moved toward the 'High Priority' section, his eyes darting until they landed on a familiar red leather binding.

“There you are,” Darion said, reaching for the ledger. “The thing that wasn't in the museum, but the System said would be here. My 'bonus' objective.”

He picked up the ledger. It was heavy, the leather cold and surprisingly well-preserved. But as he turned it over, his eyes narrowed. Attached to the back cover, nestled inside a small, hollowed-out portion of the leather, was a tiny, pulsing red light.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Darion hissed. “A tracker? Who puts a tracker on a ledger in an evidence locker? That’s just paranoid.”

[ Warning: Object is actively transmitting. ]

[ Signal Strength: Maximum. ]

[ Proximity Alert: Multiple signatures approaching. ]

“Oh, brilliant. Just brilliant,” Darion said, stuffing the ledger into the waistband of his trousers. “It’s a trap. It was always a trap. Isavelle, you magnificent, terrifying woman.”

He turned to leave, but the sound of the outer door opening stopped him cold.

“Arlan! Where’s the guard?” a voice barked. It wasn't Keth. It was a voice that sounded like grinding stones.

“I don’t know, Ma’am! He was here two minutes ago!” Keth’s voice followed, sounding panicked.

“Check the locker. Now!”

Darion’s eyes widened. “Isavelle. She’s early. She’s very, very early. System! Ghost Step! Tell me it’s ready!”

[ Cooldown: 0:15 remaining ]

“Fifteen seconds? I don't have fifteen seconds! They’re right outside the door!”

He looked around frantically. There was no other exit. The only way out was the way he came in. He scrambled behind a shelf filled with old, dusty crates just as the door to the locker room hissed open.

“He’s not here,” Isavelle’s voice rang out, sharp and cold. “But the card was used. Arlan, check the logs.”

“Checking... it’s Guard 402’s card. The one on the floor,” Keth said, his footsteps echoing on the metal floor. “Ma’am, if he’s in here, he’s trapped. There’s nowhere to go.”

“He’s here,” Isavelle said. Darion could hear her heels clicking toward his row. “I can feel the air shifting. He has a gift for being where he shouldn’t be.”

Darion squeezed his eyes shut, counting the seconds in his head. Ten... nine... eight...

“Come out, Darion,” Isavelle said, her voice closer now. “You’ve already proven you’re more than a simple thief. Don't make me add 'evading arrest' to the list. It’s such a boring charge.”

Five... four... three...

“Found you,” Keth said, his shadow falling over Darion’s boots.

[ Ghost Step: Ready ]

“Not today, Keth!” Darion yelled.

He didn't wait. He didn't think. He lunged straight through the metal shelving, the sensation of the Ghost Step pulling at his atoms like a cosmic vacuum.

He burst through the back wall of the evidence locker, through the electrical room behind it, and out into the main ventilation shaft he’d spotted earlier.

One. Two. Three.

He landed in the dark, dusty crawlspace just as the skill wore off. Above him, he could hear muffled shouting and the sound of heavy objects being moved.

“Go, go, go,” he whispered, crawling through the vents with desperate speed.

He knew the layout from the brief glimpse he’d caught of the building’s map. He just had to get back. He had to be in that cell before they did a headcount.

Five minutes of frantic, rib-bruising crawling later, he reached the vent directly above his cell block. He kicked the grate loose—thankfully, these vents weren't built for high security—and dropped down.

The hallway was empty. He sprinted to his cell.

“System! Ghost Step! I need it again!”

[ Cooldown: 9:45 remaining ]

“Are you kidding me?!” Darion hissed. “I’m on the wrong side of the glass!”

He looked at the cell door. It was locked. He looked at the end of the hallway. He could hear the sound of boots—fast, rhythmic, and coming his way.

“Think, Darion, think!”

He looked at the magnetic lock on the door. He still had the guard’s keycard in his pocket. He swiped it.

Access Denied.

“Wrong clearance! Of course!”

He looked at the heavy glass. He looked at the small meal slot at the bottom. It was just wide enough for a tray... and maybe a very desperate man’s arm.

He reached through the slot, fumbling for the manual release lever he’d seen the guards use earlier. His fingers brushed against cold metal.

“Come on... come on...”

Clack.

The door hissed open an inch. He threw himself inside, slammed the door shut, and dove onto the bench, pulling his jacket over him just as the heavy blast doors at the end of the hall swung open.

He slowed his breathing, forced his heart to steady, and closed his eyes.

The footsteps stopped outside his cell. The light from the hallway was blocked by a tall, slender shadow.

“You’re a very heavy sleeper, Darion,” Isavelle’s voice said, sounding dangerously smooth.

Darion yawned, stretching his arms with a theatrical groan. He opened one eye and looked up at her. She was standing there, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed into predatory slits. Keth was behind her, looking pale and out of breath.

“Oh, hey Isavelle,” Darion said, rubbing his eyes. “Is it an hour already? Man, time flies when you’re sitting in a concrete box. Did you bring that coffee? I’m parched.”

Isavelle didn't move. She stepped closer to the glass, her gaze drifting down to the floor of the cell, then back to his face.

“You look... dusty,” she noted. “And you’re breathing quite hard for someone who was just napping.”

“I have very vivid dreams,” Darion replied, flashing his most charming, innocent smile. “In this one, I was being chased by a very angry woman in a gray suit. It was quite the workout.”

Isavelle leaned in, her face inches from the glass. “The evidence locker was breached three minutes ago, Darion. A guard was knocked unconscious, and a ledger was taken.”

“A ledger? In this economy?” Darion laughed, though his heart was screaming. “I hope it was something interesting. I hate boring books.”

Isavelle’s smile didn't reach her eyes. “It was very interesting. And since you’re the only person in this building with the motive and the... unusual means to take it, I think we should have a much longer conversation.”

She turned to Keth. “Open the door. Take him to Interrogation Room One. And Keth?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Search him again. Every inch. If he so much as has a piece of lint that wasn't there before, I want to know about it.”

“You got it,” Keth said, his hand reaching for the door control.

Darion sat up, his hand subtly pressing against the hard edge of the red ledger hidden in his waistband.

“Interrogation Room One? Sounds fancy,” Darion said, his mind already racing. “Does it have better chairs? Because this bench is really doing a number on my lower back.”

As the door slid open, Darion caught the flicker of his System screen.

[ New Objective: Survive the Interrogation ]

[ Hidden Objective: Decode the Ledger ]

[ Reward: Unknown ]

“Well,” Darion whispered to himself as Keth hauled him up. “At least the plot is thickening. I was worried this was going to be a short story.”