Looking at the clock for the fourth time in that minute, Grunwald couldn't help but sigh at the slowness of it all. Or maybe it was the quickness that was stressing him out. The quick, slow events happening without him being able to do anything about it. Nothing was stopping to slow down or speed up. It was all independent, no matter what he did doing no change at all. It was a weird feeling, but it was clear he needed to hurry up with it.

“I wouldn’t hurt to speed up,” Grunwald stated, hinting at the automation beside to press down on the speeder just a bit more. Having looked at the statistics about the other automation, Grunwald had been of full mind of the constructs being able to deliver him to the site within the minute. But… that clearly wasn't true for all of them, some being less worthy than others.

Or maybe less worthy wasn't the right word. The construct beside the man was more cautious, more reliant on hard numbers than intuition, and much stiffer in its approach than the average officer. Surely, it would have been regarded as the symbol of the force ten years ago, when sticking to protocol and order was the highest of the high priorities. Not anymore, however, since the need for a more fluid approach was what was truly needed in the field. Not that the man expected the construct to be able to bear such a radical change.

“The top speed is currently being driven when relating it to possible acceleration from downhill areas. Increasing in speed from this point will increase chances of accidental injury markedly,” the automation answered with a tone that made Grunwald make a small sigh. The construct clearly thought that it was doing the right thing, yet even it couldn't see the full picture. A being filled with a need for sense in the world was too distracted by its task to actually take a look at what it was so stressed out by.

Looking at the clock again, Grunwald wasn't sure whether to be happy, sad, or frustrated. He was normally a being pure of worries, always able to keep emotions down in favour of looking at the big picture. But, the big picture was soon going to be without any need for being looked at, the construct getting closer and closer to making him later. Plans to seem professional wasn't the smartest choice when one came late to one's own interview.

If all else failed, Grunwald supposed that Cassandra could be given the position instead. Even if the woman had her weird quirks at times, the man knew she would do admirably. Her record in the academy was outstanding, and her earlier career showed more promise than most before could have ever dreamed of. She was a hard worker, accustomed to improvisation, and skilled in the act of manipulating people. Not good enough at the latter for Grunwald to not notice, but he was sure she would do much better in the coming years. Hopefully better than him at least, lest she would too be kicked out of the higher ranks and into a small city on the outskirts of the country.

Not that he wanted that, however. A lot of the work on that day had been spent on perfecting his speech for the interview. Every pause, every hiccup, and every glance to the side had been meticulously planned. Grunwald wasn't the planner of statements for no reason. The man was known in the field, better than most at that than most could ever hope to be. He had made more than a few commendations for his work. He would have had more if he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

The time was checked for the fifth time that minute, the man knowing that only five more was left before he needed to stand before the camera. Already, he had checked through the camera positions remotely, knowing exactly where he needed to walk once the car rolled into the street. The man couldn't run, of course, lest the cameras would turn to record. He had to walk at a brisk pace, never too fast nor too slow. Even the entrance was as important as the speech itself. Few ever realised that many screwing up feelings of empathy due to the smiles worn before the talk began. Emotion had to be constant or there had to be a reason for the change.

“You could always turn on the lights and increase the speed from that,” Grunwald suggested, probing the automation beside him to check for some way to cause an override of the personality. Jules, or whatever it was that Cassandra called her construct, was perfectly able to pick up social cues. The few remote conversations the man had fit in with the automation had proved that more than anything. Yet, the one that Grunwald had assigned for himself lacked that part by a large quantity. While there was a lacking ability to blame it for such, the man still felt a need to make sure what he could work with. Even the stiffest of sticks could be bent over time. Nature always conformed to reality, whether that took a day or a decade. The best traits always survived the longest.

“Turning on the light and sound is only for emergencies that come related to reported crimes, spotted crimes or emergencies, or there is a collision further up the road that requires immediate assistance from the police,” the automation answered, reading off the manual. Grunwald made sure of that, mumbling along to its words. He had the same page open, after all, having actually written a small part of it. He had made sure that some loopholes had been closed up years ago after a pair of officers had used it to legally street-race.

Maybe a form of emergency could be faked during the next attempt? Or some form of a mind game that would leave the automation unable to do anything but listen to Grunwald’s request. Not an order, of course, since that would leave the construct with just trusting his words and doing it no matter what. Not interesting in any possible way of looking at it.

“It could be an emergency in the light of publicity since we will get a very negative reputation if we come late to the interview,” Grunwald pointed out. “And a bad reputation would equal a harder time making sure that the streets are without crime. You should have some manner of statistics about how much respect officers get and how much crime there are in each city. Compare the two and see how important getting there on time might be.”

The man sat back and enjoyed his speech settling in and forming some form of an effect. The automation was clearly delayed when it came to the larger reactions, several seconds passing by before anything interesting happened. Grunwald spent that time wondering if it would be all right to check out what thoughts were being made inside the thing, but he ended up thinking better of it. Knowing the mechanics always made the game a small bit easier while ruining the experience by a much higher degree.

But, it was worth it after those seconds, the automation pressing down its foot on the speeder just a bit more. The actual speed only increased by under five per cent, but it was more than nothing, at the very least. It had an effect, and the test was proven to be successful. With time, Grunwald was sure he could get something more important out of it all.

Not instantly, however. He had already pushed by a strong degree in a small amount of time. If the wood got a few more pushes, it would break in two and shatter in shrapnel. That wouldn't help anybody, and the man backed off because of it. Instead, he sat back and enjoyed the slightly faster ride.

They got there with four minutes to spare. Quite the achievement, Grunwald having grown anxious at the idea of only having two left to work with. That would have meant he would need to work at an almost jog, moving between the crowd of technicians moving around. Some were clearly not looking where they were going, and it wouldn't have done anything good to bump into any of them.

“Stay in the car while leaving the motor running. This shouldn't take too long,” Grunwald requested. The automation did not fire back with some manner of fuel costs being too much, leaving the man thinking he had chosen something better. Maybe the start-up cost was greater than what it would expend by leaving it on for five minutes? But, was that equation derived from what it would require to heat up the engine? If so, it would have been slightly since the engine had already heated up a fair bit, and…

Grunwald shook his head, his previous career as a mechanic not doing him anything good. He needed to get back on track, distracted by the late hour. The man hadn't slept well in the past few days, and his mental state was deteriorating because of it. Caffeine could only do so much, after all, only sending out a minor effect for a shorter amount of time after a while.

The moment he got within ten steps of who he could only assume to be the news reporter, a few technicians were on him, padding him down with wires, putting a microphone on his breast, and making sure that there was nothing wrong with how he looked. Grunwald wasn't truly surprised at the treatment, only mildly pushing away a hand that grabbed the outline of one of the revolvers by his thigh. While it was on safety mode, a bit of grabbing around could easily make that not the case.

“Finally you show up,” the news reporter said when Grunwald got close. The officer looked the reporter up and down, noting the dress that certainly couldn't have been comfortable in the current weather. It was close to freezing degrees yet so much skin was out in the open. Either there was some constitution augmentation on them or they didn't care about the dangers of frostbite. “You need to have those below you on a tighter leash with how disrespectful they are.”

“I will note that down for the future, ma’am,” Grunwald answered politely, wondering why he got a stink-eye at the last addition. Did they not like the way the word was used? Or maybe it was more an age thing. “I am sure they were only doing their best.”

“Well, their worst must be outright terrifying if what they did was their best act. Truly, some hits are in need of being performed around,” the reporter said. The officer beside the woman wondered what Cassandra could have said. “Now, we have two minutes left before we are on the air. I need you to go into one of those shops and take… five handfuls of glass shards and put it behind us. A bucket if you for some reason carry one of those around.”

… Reporters were always great to be around. If Grunwald was in any position to offer raises to people, the man would have given one out to his co-worker for working admirably in the face of danger. It was certain that some would have succumbed to that witch in front of him.

“I am afraid that such would be impossible,” Grunwald replied with a subdued tone, making sure to not add any additions to the way he talked to the lady. Yet the ugly expression after that only made the man more aware he needed some manner of excuse. “The coverings that shield the shops from the weather conditions are very strong. Taking them down at any level would take a team close to an hour.”

That, of course, was one of the fattest excuses the man had given in a long time. But, from a certain point of view, he was sure he could argue for its truth. The cleaning teams out in the bigger cities would certainly have a hard time taking the coverings down within an hour's time if they did not have access to the required gear for such an operation. Since Grunwald couldn't have possibly known that every piece of gear needed for such an operation was inside a car less than a hundred meters away, the time estimate was more than accurate. He wasn't expected to know everything, after all.

“Then go through the doors! I shouldn't be the one to explain this to you,” the reporter said, clearly not getting the message. Maybe fame really did dumb down the current generation. Or was that the last generation? The makeup clearly wasn't standing up to the weather conditions.

“The doors have been locked up and disconnected from the local network to make sure they can’t be broken into without our notice. Opening them would take us-” Grunwald began, the man already having brewed up a perfectly valid reason to not have to do any work, but was cut off before anything could truly be said.

“Whatever!” the reporter said, arms out in a pose that clearly hinted at her inability to ‘even.’ “Get into position. We are starting in a minute.”

Within a single moment, that annoying facial expression was replaced by one of serene professionalism. Even those who threw the biggest tantrums had to be good at something, Grunwald supposed, getting into the position that the people by the side were asking of him. A few polite nods were sent their way before the man got his face in order as well. Looking inside, the countdown was within ten seconds before they would go live.

He couldn't screw it up.