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she begged, her voice straining under the stress. Tears were streaking down her face when she heard her cell phone go off. It was Dorian. She tried to take the call but the female officer demanded she put the phone down.                                                                                                                The corporate police, many who lacked empathy of any kind, often harassed, instigated and escalated encounters with the people they stopped, especially the homeless, in an effort to either arrest them or take their anger and frustrations out on them. Savage beatings and outright murder were not uncommon on any given day across the country, even against people calling for help. Crime had increased so much that everyone was looked at with suspicion and disgust. Many people fought back with demonstrations, and retaliations, which often led to rioting. Even with public outcry, the system protected its own interests.                            After Yuki had presented all the necessary documents, and the police officers had finished searching her and her vehicle for contraband, it seemed like an eternity for judgment to be handed down. She received a ticket for running the light, and they took a statement regarding the van that followed her.                                                                                                                 The driver’s door window had been down for so long her teeth were chattering. Right now all she wanted to do was use the bathroom at the gas station, which unfortunately, had closed while she was being interrogated by the police. Not to mention she was also shaking from hunger since she hadn't touched the food at the luncheon/dinner meeting.              Her cell phone rang again. She quickly checked; it was Dorian calling her back again. “ Yattah !” she shouted in a crazed voice, which is the Japanese way of saying 'I did it!'
                  “Yuki, is everything all right? You sounded upset on the phone and then you hung up on me,” he said.                                                                                     “Please come get me, help me!” she sobbed.                                          
                  “Okay, no problem, where are you?” he asked in a calm, soothing tone.                                                                                                                                             “At a gas station called Marathon on Michigan Avenue. There is no other sign.”                                                                                                                 “That’s a pretty long road, can you narrow it down a bit for me?” he asked, trying not to upset her.
                  “One second.” A group of people on the corner were holding signs and warming themselves over an oil drum that had a fire going. She darted over to get an answer.              
                  “Um, excuse me! Can you tell me what street this is?”
    They pointed out where she was and she thanked them with some money then gave the information to Dorian.                                                                                     “Please hurry, please!” she cried,