You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 264 Isn't he being a bit too presumptuous?

Half a minute ago.

On the side road outside 12th Street in Seattle's West Side.

A black GMC Yukon full-size SUV without any markings was driving smoothly through the rainy night like a ghost.

The car was dimly lit, with only the instrument panel emitting a faint, cold light, but this did not prevent one from seeing the astonishing number of "toys" piled up on the back seats.

If an ordinary Seattle patrol officer were to open the back door of this car right now, he would probably think he had accidentally raided some warlord's armory.

The items included a heavy tactical vest with NIJIV-level ballistic protection, a high-cut tactical helmet equipped with a GPNVG-18 panoramic night vision device (commonly known as "four-eyes"), two full boxes of 5.56mm hollow-point ammunition, and several HK416 assault rifles with suppressors and expensive optical sights.

The combined price of these items is enough to buy a villa with a swimming pool in the suburbs of Seattle.

"So I'm checking again."

The assault soldier "Chatterbox," sitting in the back row, chewed gum, stuffing a flashbang grenade into the loop of his tactical vest while propping his legs up on the storage box.

The chatterbox was a burly white man with a mohawk and an old scar across his left cheek that ran through his eyebrow.

Before retiring, he served in the 75th Ranger Regiment. He was the kind of soldier who could talk a lot more than he could think, but his words could talk even faster.

"The young lady dragged us out of bed in the middle of the night and made us take this set of equipment that could be used to fight a small-scale urban battle in Syria."

The chatterbox patted the HK416 on his leg and let out an exaggerated sigh.

"And then our mission is to rescue a policewoman who's been kidnapped by a gang?"

"And he's just a clerical worker who can't even fire a gun?"

In the driver's seat, the sniper codenamed "Jack the Raven" gripped the steering wheel with both hands, not even lifting his eyelids.

The jackdaw is a bit thinner than the shrew, but its muscles are as taut as steel wire.

He was once a marksman in a Navy SEAL squad, with a personality as cold as ice. Apart from pulling the trigger, his greatest hobby was keeping quiet.

"That was a gang of dozens of people. As an ordinary civilian police officer, it's normal to get arrested." Han Ya looked in the rearview mirror, his voice flat.

"Wow! Facing a gang of dozens of people, she's practically a Valkyrie reincarnated!"

The gossip let out an exaggerated whistle, then spread his hands, "Shouldn't we award her a Purple Heart?"

"If word got out that police officers were kidnapped by street gangs, not only in the West End, but if the bureaucrats in Seattle were questioned by their superiors, they'd be shoving their faces into the toilet."

He blew a bubble out of his chewing gum and popped it with a snap.

"The funniest thing is that the young lady actually made us cooperate with that guy named Leon Vance."

His gossipy tone was filled with undisguised contempt.

"Anti-terrorism hero? Seattle's beacon of hope? Come on, everyone knows he's a political idol created by the chief and the media. He climbed to power by stepping on a bunch of drug-addicted gangsters, and he really thinks he's the Punisher?"

"We could wipe out the gangs with our eyes closed. The real problem now is that damn hostage."

The chatterbox scratched his mohawk in frustration. "The young lady specifically instructed that the hostages must live, not a single hair can be missing. Isn't this forcing us to act as babysitters while the fighting is going on?"

Jack the Crow turned the steering wheel, and the SUV silently turned into the intersection of Twelfth Street.

"Shut up and get to work." The crow coldly spat out four words, slammed on the brakes, and brought the GMC Yukon to a stop in a shadowy spot without streetlights.

"We've arrived." Crow glanced at the empty street, rain washing over the pavement. "I don't see the target vehicle."

"See, I told you these guys in uniforms aren't reliable."

The chatterbox pursed his lips, took his foot off the storage box, and pulled a satellite-encrypted phone from the pocket of his tactical vest.

"If they can be late even when they're in their own territory, they're probably still hiding in some alley waiting for us to clear them out."

He rolled his eyes at the crow as he typed on the keyboard.

"When you see him later, don't say anything. I'll teach this star police officer what a real tactical rescue is."

The gossip pressed the dial button.

The phone went dead with a beeping tone.

The call was answered after only a few rings.

Where are they?

Chewing gum idly, his tone laced with condescending impatience, he said, "Weren't we supposed to meet at 12th Street? The rain in Seattle is so heavy, it probably ruined the great hero's navigation system?"

The dull sound of windshield wipers scraping against the windshield came through the receiver.

"I went to the policewoman's address to confirm the identities of a few people." Leon's voice was completely flat, and you couldn't even tell he was driving. "I walked away for a bit."

The gossip raised an eyebrow.

He moved the phone slightly away from his ear and glanced at the crow in the driver's seat.

"How many people's identities were verified?" Chatterbox silently mouthed to Crow, then shrugged.

He knew that gangsters would definitely have informants or bait when they kidnapped someone. This policeman named Leon was able to sneak over and deal with the perimeter in such a short time, whether by baton or fist. This efficiency was indeed quite good for a street cop.

At least they're better than those useless cowards who just hide behind police cars and call for backup.

The crow remained expressionless, staring at the rearview mirror, and gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Alright, the efficiency is passable."

The gossipy man put the phone back to his ear, his tone slightly softened, but still carrying the arrogance of a soldier, "When will our great hero arrive? This damn rain is getting heavier and heavier, and our night vision goggles don't like this kind of weather."

"arrive."

"What? We're here?" The chatterbox didn't react in time. "I said how much longer until we see you guys?"

1

The sound of an approaching car rang out simultaneously in the receiver and in reality.

Just as the gossipy man was about to ask another question, a sharp, ear-piercing screech of tires screeching against the puddle ripped through the rainy night on 12th Street.

"squeak--"

The crow's eyes suddenly darkened, and his right hand instantly reached for his waist.

A blinding beam of high beams suddenly swept across from the street corner, tearing through the darkness surrounding the GMC Yukon.

A Ford Crown Victoria police car sped out of the intersection at a speed that defied the laws of physics.

It didn't slow down; instead, when it was less than 30 meters away from the GMC SUV, it suddenly turned the steering wheel all the way and pulled the handbrake.

The heavy vehicle lost its grip on the slippery asphalt road and began to slide sideways.

Holy crap!

The gossipy girl instinctively shrank back, even forgetting to chew the gum in her mouth.

The rear of the Ford police car traced a perfect arc in the rain, its wheels rolling over the puddles and kicking up a nearly two-meter-high wall of murky water.

"Bang—crash!"

The wall of water slammed into the side of the GMC Yukon, and muddy water streamed down the tinted bulletproof windows.

The Ford police car came to a steady stop less than ten centimeters from the side of the GMC.

The engine roared, and white exhaust fumes spewed from the exhaust pipe.

The whole process took no more than three seconds, and the old patrol car was driven with the ferocity of a top-level rally car.

The carriage was deathly silent.

The crow slowly loosened its grip on the gun handle, staring at the silhouette of the Ford police car to the side. On its perpetually icy face, the corner of its eye twitched—a rare occurrence.

If the steering wheel had been turned even slightly more, or the brakes had been applied even a fraction of a second later, both cars would be totaled by now.

Is this guy showing off, or is he used to it? Can a policeman get used to driving like that?

He swallowed hard, took the phone away from his ear, and saw on the screen that the call had been disconnected.

He turned his head and met the gaze of the crow.

"Holy crap, this guy—"

He spat out the chewing gum, the disdain in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by the excitement of meeting someone like him. "That's kind of cool."

The crow didn't speak, but simply reached out and pushed open the car door.

"Things have changed a bit." The gossipy man grabbed the HK416 rifle from his lap. "Let's go downstairs and talk."

He pushed open the heavy, bulletproof rear door and followed the crow, jumping into the puddles in the rainy night.

Leon, inside the Ford police car, saw the driver's side door of the black GMC Yukon being pushed open through the rain-soaked windows.

First came the dull thud of boots hitting puddles.

Then a slender man, completely shrouded in a black combat suit, stepped out from the driver's side.

His face was covered by a black skull mask, revealing only his cold, indifferent eyes. Rainwater slid down the edge of his high-cut helmet, but he didn't even wipe it away.

He stood on the right side of the GMC's front, his hands hanging naturally near the grip of the HK416 rifle.

Even through the rain and car windows, Leon could feel the stench of death honed from the battlefield, and the indifference towards life around him that only veterans accustomed to the battlefield possessed, unlike Ray and his men.

Immediately afterwards, the rear right door was suddenly pushed open.

"Damn, this rain is really heavy!"

The mohawk-haired man jumped down, also wearing a black combat uniform and a skull mask, but his helmet was slightly askew, and a faded eagle sticker was pasted on the HK416 rifle hanging on his chest.

Just as the chatterbox jumped out of the car, about to ramble on for a bit, he saw Leon also get out of the police car.

He was wearing a gray waterproof windbreaker and a black baseball cap pulled low. He didn't have a bulletproof vest or even a helmet.

The rain soaked his shoulders almost instantly, but his walking speed remained unchanged, his pace neither hurried nor slow.

The chatterbox instinctively shut his mouth.

"Leon Vance".

Leon stopped three steps away from the two men and announced his name. "Uh—you're driving pretty recklessly, buddy." The chatterbox sized Leon up and down, then gestured with his chin towards the Ford police car. "I'm Chatterbox, and this is 'Raven.' The young lady sent us to be your babysitter."

"I've already dealt with the decoy car." Leon ignored the teasing chatter and cut straight to the point. "I've confirmed the general direction with them; the real car that was there to ambush people drove towards the abandoned industrial area in the east."

"The person in charge of monitoring is checking the cameras along the way. We're driving directly to the East District now and waiting for his coordinates."

After listening, Gossip raised an eyebrow and turned to exchange a glance with Cold Crow.

This efficiency is even more outrageous than what I just heard.

Originally, it was thought that the police had just taken out a few peripheral figures, but in such a short time, they also managed to find out the direction of the operation and arrange intelligence support.

"That's good." The gossipy man shrugged and pulled HK416 closer to his chest. "I don't need to use my brain. Just go in and shoot them all."

He patted the gun, his tone regaining its smugness typical of a thug, "Anyway, when it comes to killing, my old buddy and I still have some experience."

The crow gave the chatterbox a cold glance, then looked at Lyon.

"East District." He finally spoke, his voice muffled through the mask, but the coldness remained undiminished. "The East District is not like the West District."

.

The chatterbox, who was still inspecting the bolt, paused for a moment upon hearing this.

"Indeed." He was unusually serious for half a second. "The young lady from the west can cover everything up. Even if something really happens tonight, gangsters' corpses all have criminal records. The young lady can write the report as the police acting in accordance with the law and get away with it."

"The East District is different."

The crow spoke a bit more than before, but only on a tactical level. "The Mexicans and Eastern Europeans in the East District are currently fighting for territory. It's a mixed bag. If we cause a big commotion there, it will be difficult for the family to handle the situation. However, there is also good news. The police stations there have long been infiltrated. The actual number of police officers enforcing the law is very small, and they are unlikely to notice us."

"In short—control the pace." He paused, his cold gaze shifting from Leon to the rainy night sky. "The faster and quieter, the better."

"Don't worry." Leon tugged at his gloves. "Dead men don't make a sound."

Upon hearing this, the chatterbox looked up from behind the breechblock and smacked his lips.

"Hey, I love hearing that."

As soon as he finished talking, his gaze went past Leon's shoulder and landed on the windshield of the Ford police car.

Bob and Miller were sitting in the passenger seat and the back seat.

The two Seattle patrol officers, pale-faced, stared intently at the silenced HK416 pistol hanging from the man's chest and the skull masks on their faces, their bodies trembling slightly in their seats.

"What's up with these two guys?" the chatterbox pointed at the police car. "Why did you kidnap two cops? They're trembling like that. What, haven't they ever seen a law-abiding citizen with a gun?"

Leon turned his head slightly and glanced at his two colleagues in the car, whose worldviews had been completely shattered by his high-speed headshot and the illegal mercenaries he had just hired.

"Ignore the people with the perimeter cordon." Lyon looked away.

She mumbled an "Oh," stared at Bob's belly for two seconds, then shrugged and looked away.

Leon didn't linger on the topic for another second; his gaze returned to Gossip and Raven.

"What are your identities, and what are your specialties?"

That's exactly what the gossipers were waiting for.

He took half a step forward, poked his chest with his right thumb, and started gushing from his mouth like a toilet that had been flushed.

"I, a commando, formerly of the 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, fought in Iraq," "Enough!"

"Snapped!"

Without any hesitation, the crow slapped the chatterbox on the back of the head, interrupting his endless boasting.

"I'm a sniper." Jackdaw stared at Leon, his tone brief and efficient. "He's an assault soldier."

Leon nodded, his gaze sweeping over the equipment on the two men.

"Give me a walkie-talkie, one that's on the same channel as you guys." Leon held out his hand. "We'll discuss tactical arrangements once we have the specific coordinates."

The chatterbox covered the back of his head and glanced sideways at Han Ya, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

The chatterbox pulled a small encrypted walkie-talkie and a matching throat microphone from the side pocket of his tactical vest. Just as he was about to hand it over and explain how much it was worth, he saw Leon snatch the equipment from his hand, hang the throat microphone around his neck, and stuff the walkie-talkie into his pocket—the whole sequence of actions was fluid and seamless.

"besides."

Leon ignored the chatter and walked straight to the GMC Yukon SUV with its back door open.

The gossip was stunned.

The crow's brow twitched slightly.

Lyon put his hand on the car door handle and pulled it open.

The top-of-the-line equipment neatly stacked on the back seats—NIJIV-level heavy bulletproof vests, GPNVG-18 panoramic night vision goggles, HK416 assault rifles with silencers and full accessories, and a long, clearly sniper rifle holster—came into view.

Leon reached out and pulled out a bulletproof vest first.

He took off his windbreaker, put on his vest, and fastened it with Velcro a few times.

Next, he picked up a high-cut tactical helmet with a GPNVG-18 panoramic night vision device attached, weighed it in his hand, took off his baseball cap, put it on, and fastened the chin strap.

Then he bent down, picked up an HK416 from the back seat, with a laser pointer, tactical flashlight, foregrip and holographic sight mounted on the Picatinny rail, and grabbed four fully loaded 5.56mm magazines and stuffed them into the quickdraw holster on his chest.

He removed the magazine, glanced at it, then snapped it back in, pulled the bolt, and put his index finger on the safety.

Finally, there's the sniper rifle.

Leon unzipped his gun holster, revealing an SR-25 semi-automatic sniper rifle, its body also covered with accessories: a suppressor, cheek rest, bipod, and a Leupold Mark 5 HD high-powered scope.

He zipped the gun holster back up, picked it up, and carried it on his shoulder.

The moment he turned around, he saw Dumbmouth and Crow standing there watching him.

The two moved in unison, half their faces hidden behind skull masks, with only their eyes following Leon's hand movements.

The gossipy girl blinked and nudged the crow with her elbow, her eyes saying: Isn't he being a little too familiar with himself?

The crow didn't respond, but his gaze swept back and forth twice between the rummaged-through pile of equipment and the SR-25 on Leon's shoulder.

Lyon, carrying a gun sack and holding an HK416, walked towards the police car.

As he passed by Crow and Chatterbox, he was struck by their puzzled expressions. He glanced at them a few times, then looked at the gun in his hand.

"Your guns are indeed well-maintained; I didn't say there was anything wrong with them. Get in the car, shall we head to the East District?" After saying that, he continued walking towards the car.

Bob and Miller were still sitting in the car.

They had witnessed the entire process, from the two masked, armed men getting out of the car, to Lyon exchanging a few words with them, to Lyon rummaging through their car for a while and finally bringing out a rifle and a sniper rifle. The two men didn't say a word; they just stared blankly at each other.

Bob's mouth was open, Miller's mouth was open.

Whisper and Raven were still standing next to GMC. Whisper was covering the back of his head, while Raven was expressionless.

All four of them looked at Leon, and then their eyes met.

Bob watched the chatterbox.

She stared at Bob, gossiping.

Miller looked at the crow.

The crow looked at Miller.

The rain was still pouring down, but nobody knew what to complain about.

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