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

As soon as he entered, Sterling's sharp gaze swept over the makeup artist who was half-hanging on Leon.

"Not done yet?"

She frowned slightly, her gaze lingering on Leon's face for a moment.

"What's going on? Where's the weakness I was looking for? Why does he look like he could run a marathon at any moment?"

"Chief."

Leon shrugged and pointed to the powder puff in the makeup artist's hand:

"I don't think it's necessary. That kind of vampire-like makeup would only make me look like a drug addict, not a hero."

"Moreover, I think real wounds are more convincing than any cosmetic."

Sterling stared at Lyon for two seconds, seemingly assessing the credibility of his words, or simply admiring the face that had cost her so much money.

Finally, she nodded.

"Fine, whatever you say."

She turned her head and looked at the makeup artist who was still lingering to the side, giving her a defiant look. Her voice instantly turned cold, and the authority of a superior directly overwhelmed her.

"You're alright now."

"Take your things and get out."

The makeup artist originally wanted to wiggle around a bit to make her presence known, but after being swept over by Sterling's trash-like gaze, she suddenly felt that her little bit of vulgarity was utterly low.

"Fine, I'll leave then, why are you being so fierce..."

She muttered as she packed her makeup case, swayed her hips as she walked out in her high heels, and before leaving, she didn't forget to blow Leon a kiss.

The door was closed.

Only Leon and Sterling remained in the room.

Sterling tossed the blue folder in his hand into Leon's arms, and without sitting down, stood in front of him with his arms crossed, looking down at him.

"This was a draft written overnight by the mayor's staff."

"It's all just pretty nonsense. Thank you to the federal government, thank you to the mayor, thank you to God, and so on."

"Just take a quick look; they're all pretty much the same stuff anyway."

Lyon casually flipped open the blue folder, leaned back, and crossed his legs in an extremely relaxed manner, showing no sense of urgency about having to deal with the media.

He quickly scanned the several pages of densely printed speech manuscript.

"...The operation the night before last was not simply a show of force. We wanted to demonstrate to the public that the Seattle Police Department is committed to building a more resilient community safety ecosystem through cutting-edge intelligence analysis and interagency professional collaboration."

Leon read a passage, his lips twitching involuntarily; the flavor was too strong:

"...We removed the cancer that was threatening the vitality of the community, while always adhering to a humanistic approach to law enforcement."

"This victory belongs to data-driven modern policing, and to every Seattle resident who desires diversity and prosperity in their community..."

"Smack."

Leon closed the folder and casually tossed it back onto the table.

"Seriously?"

He looked up at Sterling standing in front of him, his face filled with disbelief:

"Humanism? Data-driven? Community ecosystem?"

"If I remember correctly, the night before last, I drove a beat-up truck and cornered those drug dealers in a mud pit, then smashed their heads like watermelons with a rifle."

"The article makes it sound like we won them over with love and math."

"If I were to read it like this, I might as well just kowtow to that dead drug lord and admit that I'm a barbaric man who doesn't understand romance."

Sterling didn't refute, not even flinching.

She simply crossed her arms, leaned against the dressing table, and gave off a "I think it's a piece of shit too" look.

You'll get used to it.

She said calmly, her gaze sweeping over the speech manuscript:

"This article is not written for you, nor for those living in slums."

"This is written for the tech elites and nouveau riche who live in affluent neighborhoods, drive Teslas, eat vegetarian food every day, and have checkbooks in their hands."

"They don't want to hear how much blood you lost the night before last, nor do they want to hear the details of your brains splattered on the windshield. That's too barbaric and doesn't fit their aesthetic."

"What they want to hear is professional, controllable, and systematic governance."

"As long as they feel that their tax money is being used in high-tech and civilized areas, they will obediently hand over their money."

Leon chuckled and shook his head:

"Fine, I'm just an actor who reads lines anyway."

"But does our Mayor Reynolds really think he can cover up the mess in the North District with just a few nice words? Isn't he being a bit naive?"

Sterling did not respond when Lyon complained about the mayor.

Her eyes flickered slightly as she quickly glanced at the closed door of the lounge, making sure there were no eavesdroppers before looking away.

"The mayor's decision-making wisdom... is beyond my scope of evaluation."

"but."

She changed the subject, a hint of helplessness flashing in her azure eyes:

"If you hadn't made such a big commotion this time, capturing that convoy that even the federal government couldn't handle, and giving us a chance to turn the tide, the Western District Branch might really not have been able to hold on."

"Do you know how much the mayor's office cut our budget last quarter?"

Sterling held up two fingers:

"Twenty percent."

The reason given was the reallocation of resources to support community service projects.

"You can think of it as taking money that should have gone to the police department and using it to support the LGBTQ+ movement."

"Moreover, at this critical juncture, gang warfare has increased the crime rate, and the wealthy are beginning to prepare to withdraw their investments."

"Under the original circumstances, I would have had to announce the suspension of all overtime pay for police officers next month, and even the regular maintenance of patrol cars would have to be stopped."

Lyon raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.

He knew the police station was poor, but he didn't expect it to be this poor.

"Then we're completely finished."

Sterling sighed, leaned forward slightly, and rubbed his temples wearily.

"If there's no money to pay overtime, police officers will become passive and uncooperative, or they might simply resign and become private bodyguards."

"Without patrols, cars break down and can't be repaired, and the response time for police has slowed down."

"Then, the already high crime rate, influenced by gang warfare, will continue to soar, wealthy neighborhoods will be robbed, and businesses will move out."

"Finally, tax revenue decreases, which the mayor then uses as an excuse to continue cutting the budget."

Sterling looked at Lyon, his expression becoming somewhat complicated:

"So, no matter how disgusting the script is, you have to act it out well."

"Because you're not just a hero now, Leon."

"You're the West Precinct's money-printing machine. As long as you stand here, donations from the rich will flow in, and the mayor will have to allocate funds to us to divert attention from other issues, ensuring everyone's salary for next month."

"Do you understand?"

Lyon looked at Sterling.

At that moment, he suddenly realized that this usually aloof female bureau chief wasn't actually that glamorous.

"Alright."

Lyon put his legs down and picked up the manuscript, which was full of bureaucratic nonsense, again:

"Since it's all for everyone's paychecks, I'll reluctantly play the civilized role for once."

"However, the performance fee will be calculated separately."

Sterling breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his greedy look, and was about to laugh and scold him.

"Knock knock knock".

There was a knock on the door of the lounge.

A staff member wearing a headset poked his head in, looking nervous.

"Chief Sterling, Officer Vance."

"The mayor has arrived. The press conference will begin in ten minutes."