Special Item Acquired: Clone Card
Use this card to summon a duplicate of yourself. Duration: 24 hours (pauseable when recalled).
You may choose any person the host has met as the clone's physical template. Biological data—down to DNA—will be perfectly copied.
The clone shares your memories, intelligence, and command authority. It can also access your inventory and system functions.
Ryan stared at the system prompt, eyes gleaming.
Holy sht, this is next-level!*
In a city like Los Angeles, crawling with surveillance and saturated with forensic tech, Roche's Law—"Every contact leaves a trace"—was gospel truth.
No matter how well you cleaned up, someone was going to find a stray fiber, a partial print, a chemical trace...
But now? With the Clone Card?
Ryan could finally pull off the kind of operations his identity as a cop never allowed.
He could make the Mayor, a Senator, or even a Hollywood A-lister his "time-stamped alibi"—all while his double handled the dirty work.
Elsewhere in the quiet hills of Beverly Hills...
Several massive guard dogs in luxury estates were howling at the moon.
Meanwhile, inside Taylor Swift's villa...
The singer was moaning. Desperately. Helplessly.
She had started the war.
But as usual, it ended with total surrender.
Just like how America always picked fights with the Rabbit, only to get spanked so hard it learned to peck like a chicken.
The next morning, Ryan opted not to take a flashy supercar.He chose something more low-key: a Mercedes-Maybach GLS from Taylor's garage.
First stop: Detective Bureau.
He completed the necessary paperwork, gave a full formal statement, and was told:
No need for detention.
As long as he stayed in California, he was free to move.
Once admin leave ended, he could return to duty pending a future court date.
Easy.
Then it was back to the Hollywood Division.
The precinct was quiet—most officers were out on patrol.
Ryan went looking for his team leader. Not in.
He turned to Captain Alexander instead.
"Captain, I'm back."
Alexander nodded, but his face was serious.
"Let's go. Internal Affairs and the DA are waiting."
As they walked, Alexander briefed him:
"Internal Affairs will be fine. Everything's on your bodycam—it's textbook self-defense."
"But the DA's office… that's where the trouble is."
Ryan narrowed his eyes.
If it's not procedural, then it's political.
"Which kind of trouble?" he asked bluntly. "Race? Or gender?"
Alexander sighed heavily.
"Both."
He rubbed his temples.
"The prosecutor reviewing your case is Katherine Martin. She's not just LGBT—she's also African American."
Ryan felt his scalp tighten.
Double buffed.Great.
Alexander gave him a sympathetic look.
"With any other prosecutor, you'd be fine. But this one? She's a ticking time bomb."
"F**k me…" Ryan muttered.
For a brief moment, he considered using the Clone Card to… remove the problem.
Alexander patted his shoulder.
"We're doing everything we can to back you. Councilman Liam Clarke already called Commander Alicia Moore personally to commend your heroism."
Translation: The department wants to protect you.
Ryan nodded and entered the conference room.
—
First up: Internal Affairs.
The same inspector from before—Lieutenant James—was waiting.
"Ryan," James said, rising to shake his hand. "I've reviewed your bodycam footage. I just have one question."
"Go ahead, sir."
James studied him closely.
"In the video, you reacted faster than the suspect. You drew your weapon, pulled Henry behind cover, and neutralized the threat in the span of seconds."
"How did you know he was about to shoot?"
Ryan didn't hesitate.
"His baggy shorts were sagging in the back. I suspected he had a gun tucked into the waistband and maintained a high state of readiness."
Truth.
James stared at him for a long moment.
No nervous tics. No hesitation. No guilt microexpressions.
Truth.
James stood up.
"No further questions."
He shook Ryan's hand again.
"Good luck with the DA."
Translation: You'll need it.
Five minutes after James left, a new figure entered the room.
And Ryan's stomach lurched.
Katherine Martin.
Formerly Daniel Martin, five years post-transition—without surgery.
Visually? Still biologically male.
Ethnically? Classic deep-rooted African heritage.
Appearance?
A full nightmare.
Long spiral hair. Caked-on foundation. Crimson lipstick so heavy it bled onto her teeth. Purple eye shadow that clashed with everything.
She wore a tight-fitting female prosecutor's uniform—complete with a pencil skirt barely containing her unshaven black legs.
Her perfume?
Industrial strength.
Toxic enough to burn nose hairs.
Ryan stared. His brain refused to process what he was seeing.
Then the scent hit him like a freight train.
URGH!
He gagged.
Lunged for the wastebasket and threw up.
Involuntarily.
Right in front of the DA.