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

The next morning, at the Seattle East Precinct building.

Danfoss sat behind his desk, his hands clasped on his stomach, his police cap pulled low, covering most of his face.

The corridor outside was quiet.

There was no sound of keyboards, telephones, or even the sound of water being changed in the water dispenser.

This is normal. When former Chief Avery fled, he took everything he could from the precinct, leaving not even the microwave and sofa behind.

Raymond unplugged the emergency call line last week because they were out of fuel and all they got to do was answer the phone and get yelled at. So he just unplugged the line and transferred the call to headquarters, letting the operators there take the yelling for them.

Danfoss was initially devastated when he first came from the West End, but now he feels that this state is actually quite good.

He was a lone police inspector with only three or four seasoned veterans transferred from the West District under his command. Their daily job consisted of taking a couple of strolls around the corridor, euphemistically called "static deterrence," before going back to their rooms to sleep.

"Sir." Bob, his belly protruding, pushed open the door, holding a cup of instant coffee he had bought from the convenience store outside.

"It seems like there's a gang operating in the 10th block. Should we go?"

"Is there any gas in the car?" Danfoss asked without looking up, his voice coming from under his hat.

"The dial needle has already hit the bottom; I'm afraid I'll burn out the fuel pump if I start the engine again," Bob said, taking a sip of his coffee. "Besides, Miller has diarrhea and has been in the toilet for half an hour."

"Then lock the door," Danvers said.

"Tell people outside that the East District Police Station is undergoing a deep internal overhaul. You can file a report, but you'll need to take a record and wait in line for the process."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a muffled roar of a diesel engine suddenly came from outside the branch office gate.

Judging from the sounds, at least three or four heavy trucks or buses were parked at the bottom of the steps.

Then came the dense, uniform sound of military boots pounding on the ground.

Danfoss abruptly pushed up the brim of his hat, his hand instinctively resting on the pistol at his waist.

Bob nearly spilled his coffee on his crotch. He quickly pressed himself against the doorframe and peeked out.

"Holy crap..." Bob gasped and quickly covered his mouth.

Raymond Garcia led the way. This usually timid and obsequious administrative police inspector was carrying a thick stack of documents and walking very fast today.

Following behind him were fifty or sixty men.

These people were dressed in all sorts of mismatched old jackets, work pants, and even some in jumpsuits stained with machine oil, but each of them wore a uniform black tactical vest over their clothes. Most of them had buzz cuts or were simply bald.

His arms were muscular and knotted, some bearing old scars, and his eyes lacked the awe that ordinary citizens usually have for the police station.

Raymond walked straight to the center of the hall, cleared his throat, and slammed the documents on the front desk.

Danfoss pushed open the door and came out, frowning as he stared at the group of people.

"Raymond, what are you doing? Leading a group to rob the precinct?" Danvers' hand was still on the gun handle.

"Put your gun away, Inspector Danfoss." Raymond wiped the sweat from his brow.

"This is a document personally signed by Chief of Police Victoria Sterling. Due to a severe shortage of police force in the Eastern District, the Chief of Police has approved a batch of 'Emergency Community Liaisons' from Lyon to supplement the Eastern District Police Station through the 'Community Joint Defense Act'."

Raymond pushed the document forward.

"They now have auxiliary police status, are legally armed, and are directly under the command of the police station."

Danfoss was stunned. He walked over, picked up the document, and glanced at it. It was stamped with the red seals of the city hall and the headquarters, and the procedures were perfect.

He looked up and re-examined the group of "auxiliary police officers".

Please visit [website address] to see the latest chapter! Address: dEqixs.oRg Former Marine Corps Sergeant First Class Wot stepped out from the crowd, looked around the dilapidated hall, and spoke directly:

"The defenses here are terrible. The main entrance is all glass, there's not even any cover. One RPG shot could turn this place into a crematorium."

"Sir, I suggest we build up the front desk with sandbags and seal the second-floor windows with steel plates, leaving only firing ports," former tank driver Buba added from the side.

Danfoss opened his mouth, unable to utter a word for a long time.

He was an old-school cop who was most annoyed by rookies who came out of police academy and talked about procedural justice and human rights.

But he never dreamed that his superiors would send him a group of PTSD lunatics who talked about gun ports and RPGs.

"What...did you do before?" Danfoss asked.

"Third Armored Division, Maintenance Battalion." Wot raised his chin.

"The First Infantry Division."

"The 75th Ranger Regiment"

The veterans below announced their gate numbers one by one.

Danfoss's eyes grew brighter and brighter. His previously slumped shoulders gradually straightened, and even his back straightened. Damn it, he finally had men under his command!

Moreover, they are all veterans who have actually been on the battlefield and seen blood!

Isn't this a million times better than those pampered soldiers or seasoned veterans in the West District who can't even find a gun safety?

"Good! Very good!" Danfoss suddenly roared, his voice echoing through the hall.

"I don't care which unit you were in before, now that you're in the police station, you're one of us! Clean up this damn place!"

"Roger that, sir!" the veterans roared in unison, shaking the dust off the ceiling.

The entire branch office instantly resumed operation.

Even under normal circumstances, the East District Police Station only has about 100 front-line patrol officers.

Lyon sent in about fifty people at once.

The large influx of personnel not only immediately restored the Eastern District Police Station to operation, but also, in every sense, transformed it into the precinct most deeply controlled by Lyon.

Buba walked to the front desk, rummaged through the cabinet and pulled out the unplugged telephone line. He stripped off the outer sheath, skillfully twisted the copper wires together, and then plugged it into the control panel's interface.

"Beep—" The phone indicator light came on. Just then, an emergency call came in.

Bubba grabbed the receiver, stood ramrod straight, and said in a cold, hard voice, "This is the East District Tactical Command Center. Please speak."

The person on the other end of the phone seemed to be an old lady, who was startled by the commotion and stammered that her cat had climbed up a tree and wouldn't come down.

"The cat's in the tree?" Bubba frowned and turned to call out to the hall.

"Civilians are threatened by a high-altitude target! Requesting fire support or ladder truck support?"

"We don't have a ladder!" Walter shouted without looking up.

"But I have two M84 stun grenades in my bag. You can use them to break that tree, and the cat will fall down by itself!"

Bob was leaning against the door watching the show with a donut in his hand when he heard this. He was so frightened that he scrambled over and snatched the receiver.

"Madam! Madam, don't listen to his nonsense! We'll contact the fire department right away!" Bob shouted into the phone, then slammed it down.

He turned his head, wiping away cold sweat, and looked at Buba:

"Are you fucking crazy? Using a stun grenade to save a cat? You'll scare the old lady's heart out!"

"Dude, we're police officers, not Marines going to fight in World War III. Do you even know what a police officer is?" "We normally only use 9mm pistols and batons, no stun grenades."

Bubba gave him a cold look and pointed at the donut in his hand:

"Eating this kind of high-sugar, high-fat junk food in a combat zone will slow down your reaction time."

"If the gang storms in now, you won't even have a chance to draw your gun."

As Buba spoke, he pulled a military protein bar, as hard as a brick, from the pocket of his tactical vest and slammed it on the table.

"Eating this will provide six hours of sustained energy."

Bob stared at the protein bar whose packaging even lacked a clear production date, and his lips twitched slightly.

Although Raymond didn't clarify who these people were under Lyon's command, he recognized Bubba now.

Back when they were at the mosque, I was just hanging around in the western district, and I often saw this group of people during my daily patrols.

So it seems that the Portland gang in the East End that has been circulating recently is just a group of people from Lyon's NGOs in disguise. In fact, it was these same people who, a few days ago, brought guns on the gang and humiliated them.

Now that he knew these people were from a Lyon NGO and had even gone so far as to disguise themselves as gangsters to get to the East End, Bob didn't want to pry too much into the background of these veterans who clearly had severe PTSD.

"Th...thank you." Bob hid the donut behind his back, picked up the protein bar, and silently retreated into the hallway. Miller had just come out of the restroom, pulling up his pants as he walked out.

"Bob, what's all the noise outside...?"

Before Miller could finish speaking, two passing veterans grabbed his shoulders, one on each side.

"Your sidearm is in terrible condition; there are obvious signs of rust on the snap!" An old soldier stared at Miller's Glock pistol.

"In an emergency, you'll draw your gun 0.5 seconds slower than a normal person. That 0.5 seconds is enough time for an enemy to blow your head off!"

"I...I just wiped it yesterday..." Miller stammered as he explained.

"Pull it out! Eject the magazine! Pull the slide!" the veteran roared.

"Now repeat this movement fifty times until your muscles develop muscle memory!"

Miller was so frightened that he trembled all over, quickly drew his gun, and stood in the corner of the corridor, frantically practicing unloading the magazine.

Bob leaned against the wall, took a bite of the hard, tooth-grinding protein bar, and looked utterly dejected.

He originally thought that the current state of the East District Police Station would continue indefinitely, and that he could relax and wait for retirement. Now, it seems that he has been shoved into some kind of military camp.

Meanwhile, in the director's office at the end of the corridor, Walter walked in carrying a welding torch. He glanced at Raymond's chair, and without a word, found two steel pipes and welded a sturdy cross base onto the broken plastic chair.

"Now it won't break, sir." Walter tapped the steel pipe.

Raymond stared blankly at the rock-solid chair, his eyes reddening.

As a bureaucrat who was constantly tormented by logistics expense reports and passed around by various bureau chiefs, this was the first time in his life that someone had taken the initiative to do the work for him.

"Thank you..." Raymond wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with his sleeve.

Although he knew from the beginning that when he received Sterling's personnel transfer documents that this group of people were gray armed forces brought in by Lyon, which was against the rules.

But damn it, the rules won't get him a chair that doesn't wobble.

Raymond locked the documents signed by Sterling in a drawer, deciding to seal the files of this group of people forever in the highest-security cabinet.

From now on, whatever this group wants to do in the East District, he will approve it.

In the hall, Danfoss, with his hands behind his back, was pacing back and forth excitedly.

"Listen!" Danfoss said to the veterans.

"The East District is a complete mess!" "You were sent by Lyon. I don't care about his affairs, but! Now that you're police officers, you need to do your job!"

Danfoss patted the gun at his waist.

"From now on, if you see anyone pull out a gun in the street, shut them up forever! If anything happens, I'll write the report!"

"Oh oh oh oh oh!" the veterans cheered in response.

Danfoss nodded in satisfaction, then turned to look at Bob and Miller, who were huddled in the corner.

"Bob! Stop chewing on that lousy stick! Aren't you fat enough already? Military rations are only for emergencies!" Danfoss pointed to the door.

"Take two teams, get in our patrol cars, and take a spin around the 10th block! Tell everyone the East Precinct is reopened!"

Bob swallowed the protein bar, picked up the car keys with a pained expression, and said, "Sir... we're out of gas."

"Oil?" Walter patted the dust off his hands.

"When we came, we brought ten barrels of diesel and five barrels of gasoline, which we left in the backyard. Feel free to use them."

Bob stared blankly at the group of new "police officers" who had brought their own food.

"Which insane asylum did Lyon pull these monsters out of? I'd rather negotiate with the Mexicans than work with these guys." "Shut up, get to work," Danvers said.

Bob looked at his excited superior and was completely speechless.

He walked out of the hall dejectedly, accompanied by Miller and four fully armed veterans with wolf-like eyes.

Sunlight streamed into the gate of the East District Police Station.

After being paralyzed for a full month, the place has finally resumed operation.

Then, Danfoss arranged for the veterans to familiarize themselves with the police station before turning back to Raymond and patting him on the shoulder.

"How is it, Head Butler?"

"These guys... are outrageous." Raymond's eye twitched as he watched Bubba unload two sacks full of sand from the car and throw them in front of the police station.

"But I fucking love them," Raymond said.

Danfoss took a deep breath and looked at Raymond, who was also getting excited.

"That kid Lyon, although he usually causes me so much trouble that I've almost lost ten years of my life, and even poached people from my team, this time he actually did something decent."

...Just as the veterans entered the East Precinct, a black Ford limousine from the City Hall pulled up on the side road at the edge of the Ninth Street in the East District.

A cold wind blew in through the gap in the rolled-down car window, carrying a bit of the dampness from the sewer.

Clark, the head of the City Hall’s Procurement and Contracts Management Bureau, glanced at his watch.

They came to the eastern district specifically to scout out the area in order to plan the details of the outsourcing contract that the municipality would give to Lyon.

Originally, someone was supposed to meet them here and show them around the East District, but they deliberately arrived a little early. There were still twenty minutes before the agreed meeting time of ten o'clock, and they wanted to check out the situation in the East District on their own first.

"The acting mayor has definitely been caught red-light district by Lyon." Clark loosened his tie a little, his face full of annoyance.

"They actually want us to bypass the open bidding process and outsource all the street cleaning, sewer unclogging, and low-end infrastructure maintenance contracts for the entire East District to that guy."

"If they create a huge mess and the Democrats come back into power, we'll be in big trouble after Lyon falls."

"If we're held jointly liable, even if we're just doing the work, the Democrats will definitely hold us accountable later."

Clark didn't want to award the contract to Lyon.

After Harvey took office, he completely sided with the Republicans in Lyon, causing panic and paralysis within City Hall. Most people want to wait and see until the new mayoral election is over before taking sides.

Clark was no exception. As the head of procurement and contract management, he bypassed open bidding and awarded millions of dollars in infrastructure and cleanup contracts directly to Lyon, which was practically blatant corruption and money laundering.

Although Harvey was the acting mayor, the actual procedures and signatures were handled by Clark's department.

If Sterling were to fall from grace and fail to take office, Harvey could easily deflect blame if he were to face political backlash or scrutiny from the FBI and the media, while Clark would become the scapegoat and face federal felony charges.

Secondly, this sudden change affected many existing interests within the city hall.

Municipal outsourcing contracts are always lucrative. Normally, these sewer dredging and street cleaning jobs are awarded to traditional contractors who have long-term vested interests with the city government.

These contractors regularly provide benefits and cultivate relationships for Clark's department, and their interests are closely intertwined with those of a large number of people in the entire city hall.

By forcibly handing Lyon a multi-million dollar prize, Xavi is essentially destroying the livelihoods of everyone involved and the vested interest groups behind them.

Harvey's power base within the city hall was not deep. Although he agreed to the outsourcing contract with Lyon, he was unable to appease everyone with new benefits in a short period of time, which naturally led to a lot of resistance from within the city hall.

Having worked at City Hall for so long, Clark was a seasoned veteran. Although Harvey offered him new benefits, he was more interested in getting involved in this power struggle with unclear details than in those new benefits.

This isn't something that can be easily dismissed by Harvey promising him a certain amount of money. If he blindly follows Harvey's lead, he might offend someone he can't afford to mess with.

Therefore, as a bureaucrat, Clark naturally had to utilize the traditional skills of a bureaucrat.

He was going to drag it out, if he wanted to. That's why he came to the East End early; he wanted to film some footage there as a reason to delay releasing the contract to Lyon.

Clark turned to look at his assistant, Pete, who was sitting in the driver's seat.

"Pete, do you know what's going on in the East District right now? I heard that the Mexicans and Eastern Europeans just finished World War III here a few days ago."

"The ground there should be littered with spent shell casings and fentanyl syringes by now!"

"But...the mayor said that Lyon can really solve the problems of employment and community safety..." Pete said, his hands on the steering wheel, dryly repeating Harvey's original words from the email.

"Bullshit!" Clark pushed open the car door, his leather shoes stepping on the slightly cracked asphalt.

"When the Democrats were in charge, Seattle City Hall allocated tens of millions of dollars to those left-wing NGOs every year, and all they did was hold up signs and protest in the city center without ever cleaning a single trash can."

"Lyon is a Republican, and Republicans advocate for the death of the homeless. Things will only get worse after he takes over community welfare. Why should things get better?"

"We arrived twenty minutes early today just to take some photos of syringes scattered all over the ground and homeless people urinating and defecating indiscriminately."

Clark pulled his phone out of his pocket and snorted.

"I'm going to take these photos back and use internal procedures to delay the contract's drafting. At the very least, it will have to be delayed until after the new mayoral election and Sterling actually takes office."

Pete quickly turned off the engine and followed Clark toward the main street of Ninth Street. The two walked around a shipping container, bracing themselves for the pungent smell of urine and rotting garbage.