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

Don't get lost while following the book; bookmark it and read it anytime: "You're a beautiful policewoman, why are you always thinking about going back to the East?"

The message had been sent less than half an hour ago.

Trey left the beat-up Honda in a secluded spot and sneaked back under the cover of night.

He huddled in a secluded corner overgrown with bushes outside the wooden fence in the backyard of the safe house, dutifully carrying out Marcus's order to "keep watch."

He wanted to light a cigarette to calm his nerves, but he resisted the urge.

Just as he was listening intently to the sounds around him, a faint rustling of leaves drifted over from the side of the courtyard wall.

Trey suddenly looked up.

In the darkness, a dark figure suddenly leaped down from the top of the wall.

By the faint moonlight, Trey could make out the man's attire.

His face was completely covered by a black tactical mask, revealing only his eyes. He was wearing a dark casual jacket, tactical gloves, and holding a compact MP7 submachine gun with a silencer.

Trey glanced at the time on his phone instinctively, and his mind went blank.

too fast.

From the time he sent the coordinates to the Mexican, to the time the Mexican passed the message to that crazy policeman, at most thirty minutes had passed.

Even if it's late at night and there's no traffic, it would still take 40 to 50 minutes to drive from the west side of Seattle all the way to the outskirts of Tacoma if you were just flooring the gas pedal!

Did this police officer drive his patrol car like a rocket?! He didn't stop at a single red light the whole way?!

Before Trey could even figure out the time issue, an even more shocking scene unfolded before him.

After scaling the courtyard wall, the dark figure did not stop to observe from behind cover.

According to standard tactics used in gang shootouts or police raids, even if the target is clear, the leader will always stay close to the wall, aiming at all blind spots, and slowly make his way forward to avoid being shot from a corner.

But this madman has none of that!

Holding a submachine gun in both hands, he sprinted straight towards the back door of the safe house in a standard, low-center-of-gravity tactical sprint stance, stepping on the overgrown path!

And it's too fast.

Just as Trey blinked hard, he felt an absurd afterimage stretch across his retina.

Trey crouched in the grass, covering his mouth tightly and holding his breath.

What the hell is going on here?!

Inside sat two heavily armed bodyguards who used to fight in underground boxing matches and now carried automatic rifles!

Can't you talk about the basic law?

Even if this policeman is a great fighter or incredibly skilled, he should at least bend over and slowly feel his way forward, and at least peek inside to take a look, right?

What gives this guy the audacity to so brazenly strut across the grass like that?!

Trey's brain was working frantically.

unless……

In that very short time, this guy had actually scouted out this lifeless house from some big tree or high point nearby.

Thinking of this, Trey suddenly felt a strong chill and shivered.

He reached up and touched the back of his neck.

When he was squatting here, he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck, and he had a feeling that there was a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows.

Could it be... that madman actually walked past me from behind?!

It might even be staring at you for ages from some tree branch right above your head!

A strong urge to urinate surged into Trey's bladder instantly.

Grass.

too frightening.

He felt a wave of fear followed by a wave of relief.

Luckily, I work for Mexicans!

For the first time, he felt that becoming the mole was the wisest decision he had ever made in his life.

The Mexican must have sent that location text message through an informant within the police department, syncing his location and personal information to this guy!

Then the people inside the police station must have labeled themselves as informants or allies!

Absolutely!

Otherwise, judging from the pathetic way I was crouching in the bushes just now, this monster would have snapped my neck and thrown me into the trash can long ago!

Trey shrank deeper into the grass, barely daring to breathe.

In my sight, the dark figure had already rushed to the back door steps of the safe house like a gust of wind.

He slammed his left foot on the steps, raised his right leg, and kicked the tightly closed solid wood door with terrifying force.

"Bang!!!"

With a loud bang, the reinforced solid wood door was kicked open by Leon's tactical boots, the lock shattering inwards and the door being forcibly broken open, sending wood chips flying like shrapnel through the hallway.

Leon's movements were faster than the human retina could capture.

The fact that they were able to find Marcus's lair so quickly was all thanks to Carlos's high efficiency while he was lying in his hospital bed.

Not long after hanging up the phone, Carlos revealed the information he had obtained from the Mexicans without any further explanation.

Carlos made it very clear on the phone that the Mexicans did provide the coordinates, but they also specifically reminded him of one thing:

The person crouching outside the backyard of the safe house was a high-ranking mole planted by the Sinaloa Group within the Blood Gang.

They asked Carlos to tell the mad dog cop who was seeking revenge all over the city, "That's Carlos's own informant. Don't kill him, and he absolutely won't get involved."

"Boss, the Mexicans say Marcus is hiding in a house on the outskirts of Tacoma, with only two heavily armed bodyguards."

"Also, there's a black man keeping watch outside the house. That guy is a mole planted in the Bloods by the Mexicans, and they've made me call him 'my underling.'"

Carlos was very candid on the phone, "But I promised you I wouldn't hide anything, so I'm telling you everything. Whether to kill him or not, and what to do next, is entirely up to you to decide."

Lyon was very satisfied with this.

Carlos has finally figured out his place.

Since eliminating that mole would cause unnecessary trouble for Carlos's undercover identity, it wouldn't hurt to keep that rat alive.

He likes to squat in the grass and watch the show, so let him watch to his heart's content.

In order to save time, Lyon drove the Ford Explorer almost like a fighter jet on the road.

With the accelerator firmly planted on the chassis, sparks flew and lightning flashed as he used his LV4 special driving skills combined with his powerful reflexes to push the car to its limit on Interstate 5 in the dead of night.

On a straight stretch of road where acceleration was underway, a group of nighttime motorcyclists driving modified Mustangs and Civics watched in astonishment as a Ford Explorer sped past them with a near-flying, bizarre maneuver, leaving them speechless.

Two reckless motorcyclists tried to catch up and race him, but at the next high-speed bend, Lyon didn't even brake; he performed an incredibly physics-defying four-wheel slide and cut right through the drainage ditch.

The two motorcyclists, due to excessive speed and improper handling, lost control on the spot and crashed into the drainage ditch beside the road, completely destroying their front bumpers.

Upon arrival, Lyon did not charge headlong into battle as Trey had predicted.

Before taking action, Leon first set up the Remington M24 sniper rifle in the shadows of the distant woods.

He quickly and carefully checked the area around the house and its surroundings using a high-powered night vision scope.

Just as Carlos's intelligence indicated, the outer perimeter was clean, with only Trey huddled in the bushes.

After confirming that there were no other sentries, Leon decisively put the highly distinctive sniper rifle back into the trunk.

Taking a bolt-action sniper rifle into an indoor close-quarters battle (CQB) is just plain stupid.

He brought up the system panel without hesitation.

His physique and strength have reached 15 points, which is enough to support him in the highest intensity of hand-to-hand combat and withstand blows, but he needs absolute speed and reaction when facing unknown indoor close combat and possible crossfire from automatic weapons.

[Consumes 2000 Justice Points, Agility attribute increased from 15 to 20]

The instant the numbers jumped, Leon felt as if the air around him had become viscous.

He truly experienced what bullet time is.

Everything around us seemed to be slowed down.

The trails of fallen leaves swirling in the breeze, the movements of a stray cat skimming over the wall in the distance—all these were stretched out in his senses.

He himself felt incredibly light, his muscles brimming with terrifying speed that could burst forth at any moment.

There are 820 points remaining.

Tonight's operation is a cross-jurisdictional, individual mission. We absolutely cannot leave any survivors, and there's no time to stay and clean up the scene or collect spent shell casings.

When Leon redeemed the M24, he had already confirmed that the weapon redeemed by the system was a ghost gun whose origin could not be traced.

In the United States, the most crucial method for police to investigate shootings is ballistic comparison (IBIS network).

When each gun leaves the factory, the rifling process of the barrel leaves unique microscopic wear marks on the inner wall.

When a bullet is fired, these marks are etched onto the bullet like fingerprints, while the ejector also leaves a unique impact mark on the bottom of the cartridge case.

However, the gun provided by the system had no factory serial number, and the barrel rifling was not recorded in any official database.

The most perfect way to handle the aftermath is to leave a pile of untraceable bullet casings to the Seattle Police Department's Major Crimes Unit to deal with.

He spent 600 points to redeem an MP7 compact submachine gun with a holographic sight and an integrated silencer from the system shop.

Then I spent another 50 points to exchange for an M84 stun grenade, also known as a flashbang, which was filled with a mixture of magnesium powder and ammonium nitrate.

At the moment of detonation, it can not only release six to eight million candela of blinding light, instantly burning the retina, but more deadly, it can also generate a huge noise of over 170 decibels.

This level of sound waves can directly disrupt the fluid balance of the semicircular canals in the inner ear.

Simply put, if this thing explodes in a closed room, a person will not only go blind, but will also be unable to stand steadily, their brain will completely lose its sense of direction, and they can only kneel on the ground and vomit.

Leon pulled the black tactical mask up to his face and picked up the lightweight silenced MP7.

The terrifying burst of power brought by 20 points of agility left a trail of afterimages on the lawn the moment he started moving.

This is what Trey saw while hiding behind the bushes.

The dust and smoke from the shattered wooden door were still swirling in the air.

Leon's fingers had already hooked the pin of the M84 stun grenade.

With a soft "ding," the safety pin was pulled out.

With a flick of his wrist, the cylindrical metal projectile rolled down the floor and into the dimly lit foyer on the first floor through the broken doorway.

The moment he threw the stun grenade, Leon didn't draw his gun and rush in, nor did he linger at the back door for even half a second.

His gaze snapped upwards, and he slammed his left foot hard onto an air conditioner unit next to the porch.

Using this tremendous force, he was lifted directly into the air.

The skill "Gecko Climbs the Wall" is activated instantly.

With the terrifying boost of 20 points of agility, Leon twisted his body in mid-air and his tactical boots landed directly on the vertical wooden exterior wall.

"Bang! Bang!"

He completely ignored gravity, kicking twice against the vertical wall. His figure shot up like a black lightning bolt, instantly reaching the edge of the second-floor window.

Leon gripped the silenced MP7 tightly with both hands, and using the momentum of his ascent, he aimed the hard butt at the closed glass window on the second floor and slammed it down hard.

Whoosh—!

The glass shattered with a crack, and Leon tumbled through the broken window frame into the second-floor room.

Trey, who was crouching in the grass a dozen meters away, witnessed this scene that completely defied the laws of physics, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

Holy crap?!

Trey's brain has crashed again.

Is this guy even human?!

A plainclothes police officer in Seattle jumped up, kicked the wall a couple of times, and just flew right up to a second-floor window?!

Is this some kind of superhero movie?!

When did American police become so arrogant? Why didn't anyone notify me?!

At the very same second that Trey was filled with a frantic roar in his head.

"boom--!!!"

In the lobby on the first floor, the M84 stun grenade detonated at the exact moment Leon smashed the second-floor window.

The blinding white light of six million candrades instantly filled the entire first floor, and the intense light overflowed wildly into the backyard through the gaps in the doors and windows.

Even though Trey was far away and hiding in the shadow of a pile of garbage, the sudden burst of intense light stung his eyes. He instinctively closed his eyes tightly and turned his head away to avoid the blinding light.

Accompanying the bright light was a terrifyingly loud noise of over 170 decibels.

The entire two-story wooden house trembled violently at the loud noise. Trey felt as if his eardrums had been stabbed hard with an awl, and all he could hear in his head was a sharp buzzing sound.

Amidst the intense tinnitus, Trey's heart pounded like a drum.

But he was, after all, a quick-witted mole within the gang, and after a brief moment of panic, he instantly realized the policeman's intentions.

That's an exaggeration.

Regardless of where those two heavily armed bodyguards and Marcus are hiding on the first floor or on the second floor.

In that brief moment, all their senses and attention would have been drawn to the noise of the door being broken down on the first floor and the bright light.

The slight noise of the second-floor window shattering was perfectly drowned out by the deafening roar of the stun grenades.

The people inside had no way of knowing that this mad cop had climbed in through the second-floor window.

Trey swallowed hard.

He had never seen how real military special forces fought in close-quarters combat indoors.

But in his limited understanding, even those legendary Navy SEALs or Delta Force were at most this level, right?