Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system

Technically, Spirit Fox operators responded before the events even happened.

That was why they were known in the force as the fastest responders.

Unlike standard AI detection systems, which only issued alerts once emergencies were underway, Athena—or more specifically, her sub-program—processed incoming data and simulated short-term future events.

This allowed it to predict crimes with extremely high probability before they occurred.

Data was everything.

In this instance, the sub-Athena had already flagged suspicious behavior: a man appearing multiple times near the mother and daughter—not directly following them, but showing up in their vicinity repeatedly.

It was enough to raise a quiet alarm in the background.

Then the man vanished—momentarily easing the suspicion—only to reappear in front of the apartment building before the mother and daughter arrived.

His loitering around the stairwell—pacing up and down—triggered a deeper warning.

He seemed unconcerned about the visible cameras. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.

His focus was on the act he was about to commit.

When he was identified as the ex-husband of the woman—a man previously reported for repeated domestic abuse—the risk assessment skyrocketed.

Sure, Athena's sub-AI could be accused of overthinking.

But by the time this debate might even be had, Athena had already handed over control to one of her subordinate programs.

If Ling Qingyu ever discovered that Athena had already "given birth" to daughters—and that they were now spawning their own decision-making routines—she might just reward Athena handsomely, once the AI completed building herself a body.

Anyway, the very moment the man forcefully dragged the two victims inside, the alarm spiked across the Spirit Fox network.

The alert pinged directly into the vehicle's system, already synced with Spirit Fox headquarters—managed by Athena herself.

This particular vehicle had just exited the highway at lightning speed, fresh from an encounter with the street bikers.

A bland, low-pitched, annoying drone erupted from the dashboard—an unmistakable emergency tone.

The case had been classified as requiring immediate intervention.

Not long after, a second alert came through: a nearby unit was also being pulled toward a similar incident. Clearly, Province N's Police Command Center had picked up the signals and was coordinating.

The Spirit Fox operator in the passenger seat wasted no time. She tapped the response button, confirming their acceptance of the mission.

Within a second, another Spirit Fox patrol showed up on the screen—also responding.

The driver didn't wait. Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

The Volvo surged forward, tires screeching as they swung into the next intersection—only to slam to a halt.

A complete traffic jam.

The wailing siren shattered the dull hum of honks and idle engines.

Drivers looked up, startled, some unsure of how to respond.

Fortunately, the operator in the passenger seat grabbed the intercom:

"Emergency! Please make way! Thank you!"

She repeated the call several times. A narrow channel began to open.

The siren shifted into a lower, throaty rumble as the Volvo pushed through, squeezing between vehicles with barely an inch of clearance between side mirrors.

The driver handled it with ease. Not a bead of sweat.

Screech!

She twisted the wheel sharply—pivoting toward the sidewalk. Compared to the conventional route, this one might be faster, plus the AI-aided directions also agreed with her opinion.

Luckily, a zebra crossing provided some space. Though pedestrians scattered in alarm, they were quick on their feet.

Of course, the Spirit Fox operators weren't reckless. They slowed down when necessary—never endangering civilians.

Unlike in some countries, the sidewalks here were wide—large enough for two trucks to pass side by side.

And that didn't even include the extra margin where electric bikes and scooters were usually parked on both sides.

The surrounding eyes were filled with worry and unease.

They could only hope that whoever the police were rushing to save was going to be okay.

After all, they had never seen an emergency vehicle so desperate that it risked driving full-speed onto the pedestrian walkway.

The next minute stretched like an hour.

The two Spirit Fox operators held their breath—the Volvo was just two blocks away.

From a distance, another siren howled into earshot. Neither operator said a word.

They already knew: more Spirit Fox.

As for the local police or nearby responders, the datalink showed they were still farther away—at least two more minutes before the choking traffic would stop impeding them.

Then—screech!

The Volvo slammed on the brakes, making a sharp turn into the designated street.

The target area wasn't tucked inside a residential complex but instead sat just slightly inward from the main road. Still, it wasn't smooth driving.

Street vendors and illegal signboards cluttered the way.

Loose objects scattered as the vehicle roared through, swept aside by its sheer momentum.

The operators cranked the siren to maximum volume—a deafening warning meant to disorient the perpetrator and buy precious seconds.

It was a classic police tactic: scare the criminal, save the victims.

Catching the suspect was important—but saving lives always came first.

Besides, where could anyone hide once Spirit Fox had locked onto them?

The web woven across Province N wasn't just for show.

The Volvo rammed through a carelessly parked tricycle.

The flimsy frame stood no chance against the armored beast—it was flung away like scrap.

Neither operator spared it a glance.

If damages occurred? Ling Qingyu would cover it.

They had full confidence to raise hell if necessary.

Ling Qingyu: "..."

They passed several buildings before the Volvo drifted into a slanted parking position, siren still active.

The copilot launched out the moment the vehicle stopped—rifle at a low port, already moving.

Her door had flung open before the car even finished skidding.

She sprinted toward the chain-linked gate at the stairwell—only to find it locked.

"Damn it," she muttered.

Reaching for the lock, she wrapped her hand around it and ripped the mechanism clean off—barehanded, fueled by superhuman strength.

No time to wait. No time to fiddle.

She'd already absorbed the mission summary from both the police report and Ling Qingyu's side. So had her partner.

She tore the gate open and entered.

As she ascended the stairs, two startled elderly residents appeared—a couple.

One of them held the key to the lock.

Maybe they were just about to go out.

Or maybe they had been going down and returned after hearing the sirens.

Their eyes widened in disbelief at the operator's raw, brute-force entry.

If not for the Spirit Fox tactical uniform and official markings, they might have screamed—or collapsed from the shock.

The operator didn't waste a glance.

Just behind her came the driver—now armed with a rifle and a crowbar.

After skidding to a stop, she'd secured the vehicle to prevent unwanted attention and grabbed the breach tool from the rear compartment.

A crowbar was light, simple, and perfect for this kind of indoor op.

She didn't forget to greet her partner—though she knew what that tense silence meant.

Another Spirit Fox unit was less than a minute away.

Both operators sprinted up the stairs, skipping steps in between. Several floors ahead. The two's breath didn't fluctuate at the high intensity, nor their speed decreased.

10th floor.

The building was twelve stories high and old—no elevator.

The pointwoman nearly cursed aloud in frustration when she reached the door.

Locked.

And it opened outward. She kicked it anyway—only for it to bulge slightly inward with a dull thud.

Useless.

There was no point kicking a door that opened the other way.

She couldn't use too much force either. The door might shatter completely, causing splinters or debris that would slow them down.

She'd only go that route if she were alone.

Not to mention—there was a camera watching.

Anything out of protocol had to be avoided, if possible.

"Be patient. I've got a crowbar," her partner said, rescuing her from the awkward standoff.

"Thanks," the pointwoman muttered.

"If only you'd use your head more than brute force…" her partner added with a click of her tongue. But her hands moved fast—she aimed the 90-degree claw into the small gap between the frame and the door.

No further words were needed.

The pointwoman, already impatient, raised the butt of her rifle and hammered it against the claw like a nail into wood.

Swish.

The metal claw punched in with a sharp sound.

Using the doorframe as a fulcrum and her weight as leverage, the breacher heaved the crowbar back.

Crack! Snap!

The door creaked open with resistance, then gave way—swinging outward, weak and defeated.

Without hesitation, the pointwoman stepped forward, snapping the muzzle out from the high ready posture.

"Province N Special Police! Stop what you are doing and turn yourself in!"

Her partner followed immediately, tossing the crowbar aside and moving in behind.

The scene was chaos—scattered furniture, a trail of mess that screamed of struggle.

They cleared the room quickly, prioritizing the direction of rapid, retreating footsteps.

"Living room clear!"

"Kitchen clear!"

They didn't have the luxury to follow the safest protocol—each operator was clearing alone.

Or, more accurately, one-woman clears.

Still, they were professionals. Highly skilled. And the current threat level was considered low.

In the real world, flexibility trumped textbook.

The layout unfolded fast. Living room first.

Kitchen tucked behind.

Left—balcony.

Right—a narrow, L-shaped hallway leading to several rooms, plus a small play area clearly meant for children.

The operators canted their rifles for better maneuverability in tight quarters and pushed forward with urgency.

At the first door, the pointwoman stopped, snapped the door open, and held the threshold—

Her rifle instantly dipped down into a safe angle.

A small girl was curled under a study desk, sniffling.

Tears streaked her face as she cowered in silence, frozen in fear.