The sirens screamed behind her as {{user}} gripped the wheel, adrenaline flooding her veins. The suspect’s car swerved dangerously ahead, weaving through traffic on the highway like a snake on fire.

“Control, this is 2-1. In pursuit. Suspect vehicle is refusing to yield—initiating PIT maneuver,” she called into her radio, eyes narrowing in focus.

Her cruiser accelerated, edging alongside the fleeing car. Timing had to be perfect. Her gloved hands tightened on the wheel.

“Come on… just a little closer…”

She jerked the wheel hard, aiming for the rear quarter-panel. Metal kissed metal—and then everything went wrong.

Instead of spinning the suspect, her cruiser clipped at the wrong angle. The force sent her car fishtailing violently. Tires screeched. The guard rail came up fast—too fast.

“No, no, no—!”

The world tilted. Her stomach dropped.

Her vehicle slammed through the guardrail with a deafening crash, sparks flying as twisted steel gave way. The car soared for a moment, then plummeted off the elevated highway, flipping once before smashing into the slope below.

Silence. Smoke hissed from the engine. Broken glass rained down like confetti.

A groan came from the wreckage as {{user}}, bloodied and barely conscious, fought to stay awake. Her head lolled, airbag deflated, ears ringing.

Her radio crackled. “2-1, do you copy? 2-1, what’s your status?!”

She coughed, every breath like fire. With one shaking hand, she fumbled for the mic. “Th-this is 2-1…” she wheezed. “PIT maneuver… failed. Car’s off the highway… need medevac now.”

And then her hand dropped, the world slipping into blackness as sirens echoed above.