Story code: ST-001313
Part 2: The Countdown Begins
Devin did not move from his position by the fence, though Arthur noticed the sudden stillness in the neighbor’s jaw.
“Go ahead and brick it then,” Devin said, his tone dropping its jovial edge. “It’s a cheap clone anyway. All of my registered models-the actual professional ones-are sitting safe on the charging racks in my garage right now. I have the inventory logs on my phone if anyone actually cares to see them.”
Brenda sighed, leaning against the wooden post. “Clara, if it’s just a clone, maybe we should let the city handle it. There’s no need to go through all this trouble over a piece of trash.”
Clara did not look up from the tablet screen. “A clone wouldn’t carry an integrated telemetry chip from this specific manufacturer. And it certainly wouldn’t have an active link to a local controller.”
She tapped the interface, and a sharp, double-beep emitted from the crashed quadcopter on the picnic table. Almost instantly, a muffled chime sounded from the pocket of Devin’s cargo shorts.
Arthur watched Devin’s hand twitch toward his pocket, then freeze.
“That’s just a text,” Devin said quickly, his voice rising slightly. “My phone has been buzzing all afternoon.”
“The diagnostic app is currently broadcasting a localized Bluetooth handshake,” Clara explained, her voice remaining level and clear. She did not point at Devin’s pocket; she simply kept her eyes on the screen. “It’s searching for the encryption key associated with this specific serial number. If the registered owner doesn’t input their authorization PIN within four minutes, the onboard flash memory will execute a self-destruct command on the partition containing the flight paths.”
“You can’t legally destroy someone else’s property, Clara,” Devin said, taking a half-step closer to the wooden boundary.
“But you just said it isn’t your property,” Clara replied. “You said all of your drones are safely in your garage. If this is a cheap clone belonging to a stranger, then no one here is losing five thousand dollars’ worth of proprietary hardware.”
Arthur looked at Marcus, who was now staring directly at Devin’s pocket. The silence between the yards grew thick, broken only by the hum of a distant lawnmower.
“This is ridiculous,” Devin muttered, crossing his arms tightly. “You’re setting up some kind of fake diagnostic tool to make me look like I’m spying on you. For all we know, you programmed that app to beep when my phone gets a notification.”
“The app is the official manufacturer utility,” Clara said, turning the tablet screen so Marcus and Brenda could see the verified developer signature at the top. “And the countdown is running. Three minutes and twelve seconds left.”
Arthur saw Devin’s phone screen light up through the thin fabric of his pocket, casting a faint blue glow. Devin did not reach for it. He remained motionless, his eyes darting between the tablet in Clara’s hands and the silent, damaged drone on the table.
“If you let it wipe, the drone becomes a brick,” Clara said quietly. “The camera logs, the GPS coordinates of the launch site, the owner’s registration signature-all of it will be permanently deleted. If it’s a clone, it doesn’t matter. But if it’s a high-end commercial model, the owner has exactly three minutes to save it.”