I'm building Gundams in America

"Los Angeles Police Department!"

"Put your hands up!"

"Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your head!"

Cyril and his colleagues got out of the car, using the doors and body as cover, and raised their guns, aiming them at the Russian gang members in front of them.

Cyril himself hid most of his face behind the car door, constantly looking around, trying to see if An was there.

After all, he had taken bribes from An, and it would be bad if An found out that he had turned against him.

Ideally, we should find someone to shoot the other person dead.

This way, everyone benefits, and it's also good for the country.

To his disappointment, he did not see any sign of An.

At this moment, the five or six Russian gang members with guns pointed at them all had gloomy faces and ferocious eyes as they stared at the group of police officers in front of them.

Facing the gun barrel, they did not make any rash moves, but stood still with their hands slightly raised.

The first man was Grigory, one of Ann's trusted confidants, who shouted at the group of policemen in heavily accented Russian English:

"Hey officer, we're all good people, we're American citizens, what are you doing?"

"We have always supported President Zelensky, and I have even donated to the Ukrainian government. You can't just point guns at us like this!"

"I protest, officer, this is racial discrimination against us Russians!"

With that, Gregory took a step forward.

"Stop right now!" Officer Sam yelled. "Hands behind your head and face down! Or we're going to shoot, sir!"

Even when the body camera is on, one must remain polite, even when speaking to others.

This is basic professionalism of American police officers: when kneeling on someone to death, they still have to say "sir".

“We have no weapons, we mean no harm, officers. We are just a few American citizens loitering on the street. You can’t do this… Sukabri!” Gregory shouted.

His voice was loud, and the last Russian curse was particularly jarring.

Cyril immediately sensed something was wrong, frowned, and looked around.

There were other accomplices around!

This guy is informing them!

Just as his gaze fell upon a house on the street, a wooden door suddenly opened, and two Russian gang members armed with automatic rifles immediately opened fire on a group of police officers.

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat..." The dense gunfire rang out, as if the street were a battlefield.

The group of police officers who had been holding their guns instinctively shrank back behind the car.

"I've been shot! I've been shot!" Officer Marshall shouted, tearing open her clothes to reveal two dents in her bulletproof vest.

Gregory and the other three rolled over and desperately rushed toward a stone pillar at the street corner.

Cyril, who was already searching for the enemy, almost without hesitation, abruptly turned his gun and fired.

"Bang bang bang bang!" Cyril frantically pulled the trigger, emptying his magazine in a very short time.

The two Russian gang members who had just rushed out of the door were shot in the chest and abdomen and fell to the ground.

With two strong firing positions suddenly gone, the police immediately launched a counterattack.

The four Russian gang members, who were running wildly, were still exposed and immediately became prime targets.

A dozen guns around him opened fire at the same time. Marshall, his face contorted with rage, blew Gregory's head off with a single shot!

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In the blink of an eye, all four members of the Russian gang had fallen to the ground.

"Stop firing! Stop firing!" Cyril shouted.

Officer Zain pulled a riot shield out of the car and placed it at the front.

Without time to check on the fallen Russian gang members, the group formed a battle formation, took tactical positions, and quickly headed towards the house next door.

The room was pitch black and completely silent.

"Los Angeles Police Department!" Second Lieutenant Sam shouted. "Everyone inside, drop your weapons immediately, put your hands behind your heads, and come out!"

No one answered.

Cyril gave Zane a wink, and the latter understood, took a deep breath, and immediately rushed into the room with his shield raised.

Behind him, a Black man and a Latino police officer followed him inside.

Policewoman Marshall, acting as the most energetic officer, followed closely behind, with the rest of the officers also moving in to provide support.

Cyril waited a few seconds at the door, then heard Marshall calling from inside:

"Safe! This place is empty!"

Then came the voice of his second-in-command, Sam:

"Boss, I think you'd better come and take a look..."

Cyril gestured for three other officers to stand guard outside, then strode into the room with his gun in hand.

Cyril quickly walked down the hallway, through the two bedrooms, and arrived at the back door.

The back door was wide open, and there were tire tracks on the ground outside.

The people in the safe house had only been gone a short while.

It's even quite possible that it's An!

Cyril's breathing quickened; he felt both nervous and excited.

He was nervous because An had almost seen him, and excited because if he could really kill An on the spot, it would be an incredible achievement.

However, he was already quite satisfied with being able to take down a few members of the Russian gang.

Although An might turn on him later, fortune favors the bold. Will the police believe him or a notorious gang leader?

Cyril learned from his childhood in the orphanage that only by taking risks and being willing to give up something precious could he gain enough benefits.

It was like when he was being sodomized by the director of the orphanage, he stole a few hundred dollars from the director's pocket, which saved him from going hungry for a year.

That was more than 30 years ago.

He strode back into the room and went to one of Sam's bedrooms.

Five or six policemen stood there, stunned, their eyes fixed on the bed in front of them.

The bed frame had been lifted up, revealing a huge gun cabinet underneath, filled with more than a dozen automatic rifles, an equal number of pistols, and boxes of ammunition.

In addition, there is a backpack.

Upon opening, a dozen or so hand grenades were revealed.

"Boss, there's more over here. I think you'd better take a look at this." Zane's voice came from another room.

Cyril walked over and saw that the bed board had been lifted up, revealing two grenade launchers and a row of eight fragmentation anti-personnel mines underneath.

There was also a suicide drone on the shelf, labeled "Azov Battalion".

These things came from the Russia-Ukraine conflict!

"Fk... Are these Russian bastards going to bomb the White House...?" Cyril's voice trembled slightly.

Fortunately, they arrived in time. Apparently, these Russian gang members had just arrived and hadn't even had a chance to arm themselves with these weapons before they fled.

Otherwise, it's hard to say what will happen in a desperate struggle.

What truly made Cyril sweat was the drone bearing the words "Azov Battalion."

The so-called Azov Battalion, which is the Ukrainian Azov Special Operations Detachment, is now a brigade-level unit.

This group originated from far-right militias in Ukraine, which were later incorporated into the Ukrainian government. They have long been characterized by extreme nationalism and neo-Nazi ideology, and are extremely brutal and tyrannical.

The Azov battalion insignia on this drone clearly indicates that these weapons originated from the Russian-Ukrainian conflict.

This is a real headache.

As a veteran police officer, Cyril also has his own political sensitivities.

He naturally understood that this likely involved collusion between the Russian clique and corrupt officials in Russia and Ukraine, and that corrupt politicians in the EU were also involved.

What is even more certain is that certain Democratic politicians in the United States also definitely got a share of the profits.

This could very well involve a shocking case; whoever touches it will die.

Other things are manageable, but if this drone is exposed, it's uncertain whether anyone will investigate high-ranking government officials, and the police officers involved might be "forced to commit suicide."

This is considered a common practice in American politics.

"Boss, what the hell do we do with this drone..." Sam, the deputy beside him, also looked grave.

Deep state government, whistleblower suicides—these are urban legends that everyone knows in fucking America.

Sam was equally afraid when he thought of the dozens of auditors who died in Afghanistan and the whistleblowers who hanged themselves after being shot eight times.

Cyril took a deep breath and said solemnly:

"Immediately inventory these weapons and see if they are marked... As for this drone..."

He suddenly remembered the young godfather he had just met that day, who was said to be a miracle worker.

"I think someone can help us... solve this problem..."