EP3 Persistence Is the Only Path
1240 Words
Jake sat in his trailer. It was small. Old. But it was clean. Little Sam made sure of that.
The kid was eight. Adopted. War orphan from somewhere overseas. He didn't talk much about it. But he cleaned like his life depended on it. Socks lined up. Shoes in a row. The floor is mopped every morning.
Tonight, Jake had a cake on the table. Chocolate. Vanilla frosting. Little Sam's favorite.
Today was his birthday. Eight years old.
Uncle Sam rolled out of his room. Wheelchair. Old. Battered. But he was smiling.
"Happy birthday, buddy," Uncle Sam said.
Little Sam looked at the cake. Then at Jake. Then at the cake again.
"This is really expensive. You didn't have to."
"It's your birthday."
"I know. But still. We could've gotten a half-price one at the bakery closing time. Maybe even got free bread with it."
Jake laughed. "Eat your cake, Little Sam."
Little Sam looked at the cake one more time. Like he was trying to memorize it. Then he picked up a fork and went to town. In five minutes, half the cake was gone.
Kids. Always said they didn't like sweets. Always lied.
Last month, Jake had slipped Tyler three thousand dollars—his share from a week of double shifts. Tyler's sister needed tuition. Jake never mentioned it again.
Jake went to his room. Locked the door. Took off his jacket.
He had three gene implants in his body. Sixty pounds of hidden weight.
Time to try the fourth.
Jake held the fourth needle in his hand. Cold. Heavy. Twenty pounds of metal.
He took a deep breath. Pressed it in.
The pain hit like a lightning bolt.
Every nerve in his body fired at once. His vision went white. He felt like he was being crushed from the inside.
The system in his head flashed:
Hard Work Points +8
Pain registered. Keep going.
Jake grit his teeth. Held his breath. Waited for it to pass.
Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
Then—relief. Like finally breaking the surface after being underwater.
He felt the weight settle into his body. Into every muscle, every bone, every cell.
Eighty pounds. It was real now.
He stood up. His legs shook. But they held.
Jake looked down at his shoes. The soles were already bending under the load.
"Time to work."
He went outside. Started running. Through the trailer park. Down the dirt road. Into the streets of Millbrook.
At 5 AM, Jake was already on his fifth delivery. Running felt good. The weight was becoming part of him.
By noon, he'd done thirty orders. His legs ached. His feet screamed. But his body felt different. Stronger.
At 3 PM, Jake got back to school. Track practice. Everyone was already stretching.
Tyler was in the corner. Not running. Not stretching. Just sitting there.
Jake walked over.
"You okay?"
"My dad might go to prison."
Jake didn't know what to say. So he said nothing.
"The FBI put him on a bond. He promised to catch Big Bear in one week. If he doesn't... he's done."
One week. That was nothing.
"Where's Big Bear now?"
"No clue. The FBI's torn this whole city apart. Nothing."
Jake looked at Tyler. He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair uncombed. Like he hadn't slept in days.
"My dad's a good cop," Tyler said. "He's not crooked. He just got unlucky. Big Bear was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Jake nodded. He didn't mention that he knew exactly where Big Bear was.
"Go home and sleep," Jake said.
Tyler shook his head. "Can't. If my dad goes down, someone has to be home with my mom. She's a mess."
Jake didn't say anything. He just sat down next to Tyler.
They sat there. In silence. On the bleachers. At the edge of track practice.
Sometimes, just being there was enough.
The FBI field office in Millbrook was packed.
Weekend. No one went home. Not today. Not this month. Not for the last three months.
The last day off was Thanksgiving.
Six countries had sent task forces. Every precinct had their best detectives on this. The city chief had written a personal bond to the governor. Catch Big Bear in one week or face criminal charges.
Fail to catch him = go to prison.
That's what the bond said. Plain and simple.
The whole building was tired. The dorms were full. Every hotel within five miles was booked. Seven hotels. All full.
Detectives from six cities. All crammed in. All exhausted.
At 9 AM, a briefing. A whole conference room. The best investigators from the whole Midwest region.
No one had any new leads.
Big Bear's file was up on every screen. His whole life. Every move he ever made.
Nine years ago, he was a major in Delta Force. Elite reconnaissance unit. His whole squad—twenty-nine men—got wiped out during a botched mission in Southeast Asia. He was the only survivor.
After that, he retired. Got hired as deputy chief of security at the Defense Research Agency. Ten years clean. Four commendations.
One year ago, the day before his promotion was announced, he walked out with a classified chip called the Black Key. National security level data. Then he vanished.
He was rated a B-level fugitive on his own. But the Black Key made him S-level. A million-dollar bounty.
The new Chief Administrator—Detective Li—was the one who pushed for the bond. She had something to prove. She was new. She needed a win.
And she had Chief Greene's signature on a piece of paper.
At 6 PM, Jake got a DoorDash order. Delivery address: FBI field office parking lot.
One order. Thirty-five dollars. Tip included.
Jake read the address twice. Then he grabbed his jacket and ran.
At the FBI office, Chief Greene was in his office. Alone. He hadn't gone home in three days. His desk was covered in papers. His face looked like he'd aged ten years in three months.
His wife called. He'd been avoiding her calls.
He knew what was coming. One week. Maybe less.
He'd put everything into this case. A year's worth of manhunts. Seven hotels full of task force members. A city-wide grid search. Informant networks. Digital tracking.
Nothing worked.
Big Bear was a ghost.
Chief Greene looked at his phone. He had one missed call from his wife. And one from his son.
He didn't call back. Not yet.
At 7 PM, Jake was at the front door of the FBI office. Food bag in hand. DoorDash jacket. Phone out.
"Delivery for... uh..." He checked the address. "Federal Bureau of Investigation?"
The guard at the front desk looked at him. Then at the bag. Then at the delivery app on Jake's phone.
"Kitchen's around back."
Jake nodded. He wasn't here for the food. Not really.
He walked around back. Through the parking lot. Past the security gate.
He was close now. He could feel it.
At 7:15 PM, Jake was back on his bike. Heading to his next delivery. He had four more orders to go.
But he kept thinking about that number. Twelve. Twelve AP.
His real number. Hidden under three gene implants. Sixty pounds of suppressed power.
In one week, Big Bear's deadline would be up. The Black Key would need to be handed in.
And Jake would have to make a choice.
- Writer
