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

Hearing Raymond's earnest warning, Leon sat in his office chair, his lips curving into a wide grin, barely managing to suppress a laugh.

All I can say is that this fat guy has a really good eye for people.

"Don't worry, Lao Lei, don't you know how I handle things?"

Lyon put away the documents, patted his chest in a mock-serious manner, and solemnly assured them:

"I will keep a close eye on Chloe, and every gram of gunpowder will only be used under my orders."

"Moreover, we are all professionally trained, so we will definitely use it 'carefully' and will absolutely not detonate it indiscriminately."

Raymond's heart skipped a beat when he saw Leon's ambiguous smile, and a chill ran down his spine.

It’s over.

He'd known Lyon for a long time, and whenever the kid acted so understanding, it was never anything good.

"God, the biggest regret of my life is meeting you."

Raymond clutched his forehead in pain, his voice trembling:

"Vance, I'm begging you, this privilege was something the chief managed to pry out of those old foxes at City Hall with great difficulty."

"Don't you dare tell me you're planning to instruct that crazy woman to stick the tamper-evident door patch directly onto the suspect's body!"

"That thing, even with a small amount of explosive, is still a high explosive! If you put it directly on someone, it will blow them to pieces!"

"Apply it to people?"

Leon paused for a moment, then gave Raymond a thumbs-up, a look of sudden realization on his face.

"Wow, Garcia, you office workers really have amazing imaginations. I never thought of this before. I've learned something new."

"You're wasting your talents on office work. Your tactical thinking is even more agile than mine. I'll use your theories next time I write a report on the use of force!"

"Shut up! I never fucking ordered you to do that!"

Raymond was so angry he almost fainted. He didn't want to say another word, covered his forehead, and turned to leave the office as if avoiding a plague.

Leon watched Raymond's retreating figure, then slowly stood up and straightened his collar.

It's time for them to start their jobs.

He picked up the car keys on the table, intending to go out and find some small cases on the street to collect protection money from gangsters, to test the mettle of the two newcomers.

……

Meanwhile, in Seattle's West Side, on the outskirts of the old neighborhood where Lyon once lived.

Atop a water tower about 600 meters away from the apartment building, a cold wind howled.

A man wearing a dark black windbreaker is lying on a sleeping mat.

His name is K, and he is a professional assassin who is extremely active on the dark web.

Before retiring, he was a top sniper in the U.S. Marine Corps Special Operations Command.

At that moment, K was using a Swarovski high-powered optical scope on a custom-made TAC-50 sniper rifle to lock onto the entrance of the old apartment building a few hundred meters away.

Two meters away from him, his partner and observer, "Ghost," was holding a high-precision Leica rangefinder, constantly calculating wind speed and humidity.

"Sizzle..."

A slight electrical hum suddenly came through the bone conduction headphones hanging on their ears.

"Here's the wrench. The ACU afternoon meeting is over. Target Leon Vance just showed up at the West Precinct; they're officially on duty now."

"Let's retreat. The employer's information is problematic."

The third teammate in charge of gathering intelligence on the perimeter has sent back the latest news.

Upon hearing this, sniper K frowned, looked away from behind the scope, and skillfully pulled back the bolt, ejecting a bullet that hadn't yet been fired, before stuffing it into the pocket of his tactical vest.

"knock off."

K climbed off the sleeping mat and deftly began disassembling the heavy sniper rifle:

"The intelligence was wrong. We stood in the cold wind on this broken water tower for three whole days, and the target didn't even show up."

"Now that he's back at the police station, it means he hasn't been back to this place at all these past few days. He's probably moved out a long time ago."

The ghost didn't speak, but silently began to tidy up the rangefinder and anemometer next to it.

They are shadows wandering the underground world.

This order was posted directly from "Silk Road" or some similar high-level dark web platform.

In the deep web black market built by the Tor Network, the employer's identity is completely encrypted and hidden.

The employer deposits payment, usually in Bitcoin or Monero, into a escrow account on the dark web platform. The platform then uses a coin mixer to conceal the flow of funds before issuing the task.

The hitman accepts a job, completes the task, and uploads evidence, such as photos of the target's death scene. After the platform confirms the information, it deducts a handling fee and automatically transfers the remaining money to the K team's cold wallet.

As assassins who take on orders, K and his team have no idea who their employers are.

It could be remnants of the 12th Street Boys gang who were thwarted by Lyon, a drug lord in Mexico, the Bloods gang that was previously severely weakened, or even a politician in City Hall who doesn't like Lyon.