Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system
Chapter 712 - 712: New AI detection

The Volvo SUV's front end was slightly wrecked—tilted upward from the sudden torque surge when the driver stomped harder on the gas.

From the bikers' perspective, the police SUV looked dead set on chasing them.

Most panicked and darted away, but a few with cooler heads began to slow down, ready to pull over.

They weren't foolish enough to challenge the full force of the state machine—no matter how deep their pockets or how powerful their connections were.

Paying a fine and spending a night at the station was manageable. But if they fled, injured someone, or caused a fatal accident, they'd face disaster.

Even escaping without causing harm could add extra charges, another night in detention, and heftier fines.

Especially now—after the province-wide CCTV project spearheaded by the authorities had blanketed nearly every corner of Province N.

True, a few installation gaps remained, but once the police decided to come for you, hiding your face wouldn't save you.

Worse yet, there were drones. So many drones.

Formations of small units patrolled every block, but the real terror came from above: a massive hybrid drone—part fixed-wing, part rotary—manufactured by Ling Qingyu's Spirit Group.

Unlike the smaller quadcopters, this beast cruised high above the skyline, armed with ultra-high-resolution cameras.

It could monitor a dozen city blocks in one sweep, tracking minute movements with surgical precision.

Though it lacked the raw agility and acceleration of sport-class FPV drones, it more than made up for it in speed, altitude, and sheer endurance—rivaling even manned helicopters.

To make matters worse for lawbreakers, recharge stations dotted the province, keeping the drones operational around the clock.

And with AI-driven CCTV analytics feeding live intel, escape wasn't just difficult—it was damn near impossible.

Because of this ever-present surveillance web, street crime had plummeted.

In fact, it was hard to recall the last time a resident reported a street-level offense.

There were, of course, voices raised about personal freedom and the fear of tyrannical overreach—mostly from those with skeletons to hide.

But to the average citizen, peace and safety mattered more than anonymity in public spaces.

Everyone understood by now: there was no such thing as privacy on roads, around buildings, or within public infrastructure zones.

Those who slowed down exhaled in relief when the police SUV sped past—clearly uninterested in them.

But those who'd chosen to flee? Their nerves were fried.

Some were crouching so far over their handlebars they looked like they wanted to pedal for extra speed.

They cursed themselves for not pulling over. In the past, those who stayed behind had suffered under brutal police handling.

But now, something was different.

The wailing siren, the roaring engine—it all screamed urgency.

And then, abruptly, the siren cut out, replaced by the crackling voice of the vehicle's intercom.

Most of the bikers expected the usual police broadcast—some half-hearted plea to pull over or surrender.

What they didn't expect was mockery.

"Are you boys and girls so free that you need to seek attention like this?"

"Do you have any idea what could go wrong if things get out of hand—or if an accident happens?"

"Next time, grow up. Be responsible men and women. Don't seek validation from strangers. Discipline yourselves. Improve yourselves. Pull your stunts in a private club, not on public roads."

"As much as I'd love to beat your asses, I'm sorry—we've got real emergencies to deal with. There are better people than you who actually need us."

The voice was female.

Relax with steele will and force.

Normally, when a policewoman spoke, suspects didn't pay much attention.

Some didn't show respect—especially male offenders—thinking they were physically superior.

Typical bully behavior.

But in Province N? A female police officer often sent chills down spines.

Why? Because the odds were high she was from Spirit Fox.

The unit's notoriety had grown to such ridiculous levels that even 'innocent' citizens tried to avoid any interaction—out of fear that some buried sin from their past might be exposed—little offense included.

For small-time offenders, getting caught by the police was one thing.

Getting caught by Spirit Fox was a nightmare.

And for bikers like these, it was even worse.

If the police car was covert—no markings, just a blacked-out civilian SUV—then the likelihood it belonged to Spirit Fox rose significantly.

As if confirming their fears, the Volvo's windows rolled down on both sides.

Inside were two operators, visibly armed and kitted out in tactical gear.

Red and blue lights strobed above the vehicle, giving everything a harsh, flashing hue.

And the moment the bikers caught a glimpse of the unit inside, their expressions changed. Fast.

Some smiled awkwardly, feigning innocence.

Others waved weakly, their bravado melting into nervous tension.

They might have dared to outrun the police because the latter exercised caution even to avoid harming suspects and criminals.

But no one in their right mind dared to play chicken with Spirit Fox—because Spirit Fox wouldn't hesitate to crash right through them.

They paid no heed to the injuries or aftermath suffered by suspects in their hands.

After all, Spirit Fox operated with surgical precision. Their missions rarely, if ever, affected unrelated bystanders.

There had been public doubts—especially during harsher operations—but time and time again, their accuracy had proven itself.

The Volvo SUV dashed away, leaving behind the startled bikers and grumbling road users.

It weaved through lanes, accelerating to a staggering speed as it headed toward the nearest exit.

Surprisingly, none of the annoyed drivers complained—despite the earlier biker chaos.

Why? Because Spirit Fox had declared they were responding to a higher-priority emergency.

Whatever had caught their attention had to be serious. Even the punks knew that.

They sighed in relief—and, somewhere deep down, they genuinely hoped the operators would make it in time.

After all, despite their reckless behavior, not all of them were bad people.

Meanwhile, in the police control center, the AI system—gifted by Ling Qingyu to Yang Qingyue—blared an alert.

It wasn't unusual. These types of emergency notifications popped up often.

All public and recommended residential cameras were connected to the system.

A dedicated department had been created to monitor the AI's alerts and respond accordingly, dispatching units to relevant sectors.

Right now, the AI had flagged a situation that demanded human review.

A policewoman sitting at the monitoring desk immediately clicked on the notification.

A live video feed popped up—footage from a residential building floor.

It appeared to be only seconds old.

These residential building cameras weren't forced by law but were encouraged through strong recommendations.

And even then, officers did not actively watch interior footage unless permitted by AI in emergencies.

Normally, the AI simply monitored in silence, only stepping in when something required action.

Only two people—Yang Qingyue and Cai Ning—had unrestricted access to direct feeds without AI approval.

Not that either had the time or interest to abuse the privilege; they weren't voyeurs.

The control room officers usually monitored public spaces—streets, plazas, parks—and even then, most did so out of boredom.

Now, the policewoman leaned in, preparing herself to assess the footage and respond.

The video showed a woman arriving at her apartment with her daughter.

The little girl barely reached her mother's waist in height.

They approached the door, the woman unlocking it with her key. Nothing seemed unusual.

But then—

A man's head appeared from the stairwell above.

The next second, he charged.

The woman and daughter turned at the sound—but froze in shock.

The man sprinted straight toward them.

There was no hesitation.

He forced his way inside after a brief struggle, dragging the woman through the doorway.

The daughter tried to flee, but the man snatched her up in mid-run.

Then—

The door slammed shut.

Violent. Sudden. Calculated.

The entire clip was barely a minute old.

And now, the situation inside that apartment was about to escalate into something much worse.

The policewoman inhaled sharply, her fingers trembling for a split second.

Then she moved—fast.

She hit the dispatch button, called for backup, and summoned her supervisor with a second press.

Help had to come now.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she requested aid through the system, typing in the incident address and key details as situational notes.

The alert was immediately relayed to the nearest precinct, where a dispatcher would take over and coordinate the response teams, along with the closest available patrol units.

Unfortunately, the nearest patrol was still 10 to 15 minutes out, even though the system showed they were responding.

She had done everything she could—and now, all that was left was to pray.

Her breath grew shallow. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her body rocked back and forth in the chair, nerves refusing to settle.

She called out sharply to nearby colleagues, her voice cracking through the tension.

With a few rushed sentences, she explained the stakes. Eyes turned toward her in alarm.

Officers gathered, and a brief burst of chaos followed.

Some began trying to contact the building's management—checking if any security guards were on-site and available to assist.

Just as despair began to settle in—just as the horrifying realization set in that the victims might have to endure the attack before help arrived—two icons blinked onto the system's map.

Two new symbols had appeared.

Closer than any of the previously responding units. Sudden presentation out of nowhere.

The policewoman stared at the screen—then blinked in disbelief.

A smile crept up despite her dread. Hope sparked in her eyes.

The units was gunning down fast.

The new icons were unmistakable: a stylized fox imprinted on a shield, accompanied by a curved sword, with the acronym CAITO—Containment Assault Intervention Tactical Operatives—etched underneath.

Spirit Fox.

They were already nearby.