The story we are about to see takes place in a universe similar to, yet not quite the same as, the one we live in.

　　There, too, is a planet called "Earth"; that planet also has billions of inhabitants and an ancient history very much like our own.

　　However, by the end of the twentieth century, the course of that Earth's history diverged from that of our world.

　　A family named "Witstock" rose to power on that planet, abolished the concept of "nations," and established a unified Earth Empire.

　　This empire experienced a period of glory, but like all dynasties, it gradually decayed from within and was eventually buried in the dust of history.

　　By 2102, triggered by "a certain event," the empire's rule collapsed overnight, ushering in the era of the "Earth Federation."

　　And so, another century passed.

　　Our story begins in the year 2218, under the rule of the Federation.

　　……

　　November 25, 2218, evening, 18:36.

　　A police motorcycle stopped in front of a building on the outskirts of Linyi City.

　　Once the vehicle came to a halt, a young man, about 1.8 meters tall and with a strong build, swung off the bike; as he observed the building's main entrance, he pressed his fingerprint onto the motorcycle's touchscreen control panel, shutting off the engine.

　　This man is named Logan Carter, a "Federal Security Inspector."

　　Although his title includes the word "security," an inspector is not a police officer, nor are they under the jurisdiction of the police department.

　　Inspectors are senior agents under the "FCPS, that is, the Federal Committee of Public Security," and in terms of "rank," they are on par with deputy bureau-level police officers in most regions; in terms of "authority," inspectors have even more discretionary power.

　　Except in cities directly governed by the federal government, inspectors can requisition police and civilian resources in any city or region worldwide to assist in solving cases, and anyone who refuses to cooperate can later be held accountable for "obstructing official duties."

　　At this moment, Logan Carter had requisitioned a local police officer's motorcycle to come to this place.

　　In fact... he didn't have to come, because the "case" before him wasn't really his responsibility.

　　A week ago, Logan Carter had just completed a years-long undercover operation and achieved great merit. To reward him—and to put him through the standard "psychological evaluation" and "loyalty assessment" process—his superiors arranged for him to return to his hometown for a month of paid leave.

　　Logan Carter naturally had no objections to this.

　　Today, he simply followed his schedule and went to the organization-designated psychiatrist for evaluation; as he was leaving the clinic, he happened to see a police officer writing a ticket for his car.

　　Logan Carter knew it was because the parking meter had expired, and he didn't want to reveal his identity and make things awkward for the officer, so he went over to chat casually, planning to cooperate, take the ticket, and be on his way.

　　Unexpectedly, at that moment, a communication came through the police motorcycle parked nearby. The gist was: a report had just come in that a homicide had occurred at the "Juvenile Behavior Correction Center" at a certain address in the suburbs; details were unclear, and no one was answering the callback. The message instructed a specific officer nearby to go check it out as soon as possible.

　　This was clearly a targeted message for an individual, not a broadcast, since it specified which officer should respond.

　　However, upon hearing this report, the officer's reaction was surprisingly calm. He simply walked over to the motorcycle, picked up the communicator, replied "Received," and then continued leisurely writing the ticket.

　　Seeing this, Logan Carter was a bit puzzled; although he hadn't returned to his hometown in many years, that "correction center" was quite well-known throughout Long County, and Logan Carter had seen media reports about it more than once.

　　Out of curiosity, he took the opportunity to ask a few more questions while chatting.

　　The officer's answer was: "Oh, that place? On average, we get at least one or two police calls a week from there. Every time it sounds serious, sometimes they even say there's been a murder, but actually, nothing ever happens. Every time, it's just the kids locked inside making the calls. As soon as they get access to a phone, they call the police and cry for help.

　　"All the officers in our district know the drill. We just go through the motions; when we question the kids who called, none of them have any injuries, but they keep asking us to arrest someone. Arrest who? Arrest them for making false reports? As for their parents... we've tried contacting them before. When the parents come, they just say the kids have problems, that playing games online has messed up their brains, so they sent them in for correction, and they tell us not to believe what the kids say..."

　　At this point, Logan Carter had already reached into his jacket pocket, taken out his "real credentials," and interrupted, "Stop writing. The driver's license and license plate are both fake." He paused, then showed his FCPS agent badge. "This is the real one."

　　The officer stared at the badge for a full five seconds before stammering, "S...sir!"