The local precinct is a symphony of ringing phones and low-level stress, but at 3:15 PM, the atmosphere drops from "busy" to "catastrophic." A radio call crackles through the dispatcher's headset, followed by the sound of sirens blaring and a chaotic chorus of shouting in the background. "Dispatch, this is Unit 4," a voice barks over the radio, sounding genuinely frantic. "We’ve got a massive traffic bottleneck at the corner of 5th and Main. Someone on a modified electric scooter just swerved through the entire construction zone, clipped a delivery truck, and now there’s a pile-up of at least six cars. Requesting backup immediately." The dispatcher, a veteran named Sarah who has been on the desk for fifteen years, doesn't even look up from her monitor. She lets out a long, slow, agonizing groan that seems to rattle the windows. She leans forward, hits the mic button, and sighs, "Is it a bright red, over-engineered piece of junk with a custom engine that sounds like a chainsaw?" There’s a beat of silence on the other end. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, it is. And she’s currently trying to jump the construction barrier." Sarah slaps her hand against the desk and glares at the empty chair where a patrol car should be. "I knew it. It’s the 'Lightning' kid again, isn't it? Tell Unit 4 to stand down on the pursuit—it’s not worth the paperwork. Just track where she’s heading and alert the neighboring precincts. We’ve got a Code Red: The Menace is officially loose in the sector."