Highway A7, Optimatoi Theme, Pelasgia Alexandros could feel his heart racing as he pressed the accelerator, the speed of his car climbing above eighty kilometers an hour. Every now and then, he would suddenly decelerate and then rapidly accelerate again, tightly making turns and curves on the highway hugging the coastline between the cities of Daphni and Marmaras, on the Propontis-Kerasond segment of Highway A7. Making another turn, Alexandros turned into a large stretch of straight road, heading straight into a peak and then turning widely around a rest area with a few mostly empty buildings. On the other side of the turn was a large steel bridge, which would bring him closer to Marmaras. As he prepared to accelerate, he caught sight of a series of dark blue shapes on the road ahead. A dozen troopers of the Politarchy, Pelasgia's paramilitary gendarmerie, had set up a roadblock with a pair of vans and an armoured personnel carrier, all painted in the dark blue colours of the Politarchy. "Shit!" he cried out, realising what had happened: the General Directorate for Public Security, the city cops, had probably tipped the Politarchy off about him. Without hesitating for a second, Alexandros pressed the accelerator once more, aiming straight for the space between the two vans, the weakest point in the roadblock. On the other end of the blockade, the Politarchy troopers, dressed in blue, brown and grey camouflage and full paramilitary gear, along with their signature gas-masks, noted his presence. "Control, this is Xiphos Four at Hardpoint Petra Nine," said one of the men on the radio, "We have a possible sighting of that 129a, preparing to verify." The Politarchy troopers took aim with their assault rifles, shotguns and submachine guns, while one of them motioned the rapidly approaching car to stop. The car, however, did no such thing, speeding even more and heading directly for the hoods of the two blue vans, before which two troopers stood. "Five, Two get out of there! He's not stopping!" the commander, distinguished by a yellow stripe around his right arm, cried out. The men managed to evade the red automobile crashing into the vans behind by mere seconds, jumping to the sides, while their colleagues proceeded to light the van up with bullets. "Control, we have attempted 270 times 2 at Hardpoint Rock Nine," the commander shouted on the radio, "Moving to apprehend." Just as the blue-clad man finished his sentence, Alexandros exited the car, pistol in hand, and shot at the two troopers to the left of his car. "Apprehend this, you cunts!" he shouted, firing repeatedly. One of the men, still on the ground from evading the crash, was struck in the back plate and his upper arm guard, while the second took three shots in the front plate of his body armour. Within a moment, the troopers had responded by unleashing a hail of fire, shooting the man no less than eleven times with bullets of various calibers. "Control, we have confirmed 270 times 2 and 10-47 times 2. Priority request 11-41 times 2. Subject is 11-80, multiple gunshot wounds. Please advise." Control came back only with one word: "Amputate." The commander copied the order, aiming his shotgun at Alexandros' head, and then pressed the trigger. A second later, the chase was over, and the sound of an ambulance could be vaguely heard in the distance, rapidly approaching the scene of the event.