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

At this point, Hayes's eyes sharpened:

"If the driver dies because of your 'equipment malfunction,' this lead will be lost."

"Trust me, I will personally write a report and submit it to the Department of Justice."

"Then it will detail how the Seattle Police Department sabotaged a major federal operation to vent personal grievances and prosecuted every one of your officers as an accomplice in murder."

"Now, I want that driver alive, immediately, right now."

Hobbes's face darkened even more after hearing this.

He really wanted to punch the guy in the nose and break it, but he knew he couldn't.

Once a case escalates to a major level at the federal level, the local police department indeed has no jurisdiction.

Moreover, if the death of a federal witness is indeed due to "deliberate delay in rescue," the Department of the Interior and federal prosecutors could rip the entire SWAT team off.

Although it's unclear how much of his statement was exaggerated, if these major gangs really did start a full-scale war in Seattle, then the SWAT team wouldn't be able to sleep at all, and they'd have to drive armored vehicles to go on patrol from now on.

"Damn it..."

Hobbes took a deep breath, feeling extremely unwilling, but in order to avoid greater casualties, the driver really had to survive.

"Team B, listen up! Stop dawdling!"

"The hydraulic pump is 'fixed' now! Even if you have to bite it, get that damn door off in five seconds!"

"The suspect must be alive, repeat, capture him alive! The federal officials are waiting for him!"

"Medic, prepare hemostats and adrenaline. Pull that scum back from the brink of death!"

After giving the order, Hobbs turned around and looked at Agent Hayes with a sullen expression:

"I'll leave him here, but you'd better pray my brother makes it through the night, otherwise even if the federal director comes, I'll still demand an explanation from you."

After saying that, he seemed to only then realize that there was someone standing next to him, and turned his gaze to Leon, who had been quietly watching the show.

"As for you, you crazy driver..."

Hobbs looked Leon up and down, his gaze complex.

He had originally intended to say something formal and polite, such as "Be careful in the future" or "Thank you for your cooperation," but as the words were about to come out, looking at Leon's murderous expression, he inexplicably changed his mind:

"Where did you learn that cornering technique?"

"No... I mean, if you ever get unhappy in the patrol unit, SWAT will always have a place for you."

"We need a madman like you who can drive like the wind in this shitty weather."

These words were tantamount to extending an olive branch in public.

It's important to know that the Seattle SWAT team is the elite of the elite.

Although it's more dangerous and stricter, the corresponding benefits are so good that countless patrol officers would kill to get in.

Hobbs, the notoriously hot-tempered commander, actually took the initiative to invite a second-level patrolman?

This made even the previously arrogant FBI agent Hayes glance at Leon a couple more times.

However, despite this invitation that would make countless police officers envious, Lyon was already quickly making another calculation in his mind.

Going to SWAT?

It sounds impressive, with armored vehicles everywhere and big guns in their hands.

But actually?

The SWAT team is under semi-military management and has many rules.

Most of the time, these guys are either lifting weights and doing physical training at the base, practicing tactical coordination, or constantly on standby.

This pace of life was a disaster for him.

He makes a living through the system and doesn't need to train to maintain his physical fitness.

The core of the system is "more work, more pay"; only by responding to alarms frequently can you continuously accumulate daily task points.

Although a big case like today can give you several thousand points at once, it's like "not making any money for three years, but making money to live off for three years"—extremely unstable.

Moreover, if we really encounter a major event like today that can generate thousands of points, then...

He could either drive a patrol car and shamelessly force his way in to get a share of the pie, or he could retreat and hide behind the scenes to save his life. Why did he have to join the SWAT team?

More importantly, patrol officers have freedom.

Patrolling the streets exposes you to all sorts of people, and offers far more opportunities to earn extra money than SWAT teams who spend all day staring at surveillance cameras and tactical boards.

Having figured all this out, Lyon's answer was now very clear.

"Thank you, sir, it's my pleasure."

Lyon didn't appear flattered; he simply nodded calmly, neither refusing outright nor immediately agreeing.

"However, the threshold for SWAT is too high. I am just a patrol officer who has just been reinstated. I still need to hone my skills on the streets."

"When I feel ready, or when I'm tired of dealing with drunks and car thieves, I'll be the first one to knock on your door."

This answer was perfectly watertight, both saving face for Hobbes and leaving himself an escape route.

Hobbes paused for a moment, then burst into loud laughter.

"Hahaha! Interesting! Fine, whatever you want."

Just as Leon, FBI agent Hayes, and Hobbs were about to say something, the commotion outside caught their attention.

The three of them peeked out from the command vehicle and saw a group of reporters who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, arriving at top speed with microphones and cameras.

They didn't care that mud and water splashed onto their trousers, and they pushed their way into the cordon like madmen.

"Make way! Let us through! The public has the right to know the truth!"

"Is this excessive use of force by the police?"

"Is this a gang fight? I heard some police officers were killed?"

Flashbulbs went off wildly in the dim, rainy night, illuminating the chaotic scene in a stark white light.

Meanwhile, the unfortunate driver named Dent was finally pulled out of the deformed driver's cab by the SWAT team with great effort.

This kid's lucky. Although his leg is broken, the clumsy dawdling of those SWAT officers didn't actually get him off the hook. He's currently wearing an oxygen mask and weakly moaning on a stretcher.

Several SWAT officers and patrol officers who arrived as backup were pushing and shoving reporters who were trying to shove their cameras onto the stretcher. The scene briefly got out of control, with shouts and shoving noises mixed together.

Just as things were getting chaotic, a black Chevrolet Suburban with no markings drove through the rain and stopped aggressively at the edge of the police cordon.

The car door opened, and a foot wearing a black stiletto ankle boot stepped out first, landing on the muddy asphalt road.

Immediately afterwards, a large black umbrella opened.

Victoria Sterling, the precinct chief of the Seattle West Precinct, came down.

As soon as she stepped out of the car, the group of reporters who had been wrestling with riot police seemed to be drawn by a magnet, instantly turning their guns around and swarming towards her.

"Chief Sterling, Chief Sterling! Is this excessive violence against minorities?"

"Chief, look this way, was the deceased Black?"