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

Chapter 100 The Licker

"Bang!"

The front door of the bank-seized property was smashed open with a hammer, sending splinters flying.

Three fully armed Seattle patrol officers, carrying Glock rifles and shotguns, quickly stormed into the entrance hall in tactical formation.

Outside the door, glaring red and blue police lights flashed wildly in the sunlight.

The sergeant leading the team stood behind the police line, pressing his microphone and loudly directing the two men outside: "Jones! Davis! Go keep watch in the backyard! Don't let a single mouse escape!"

The three police officers who burst into the house were on edge.

However, just as they crossed the threshold, a terrifying smell greeted them.

"vomit----"

The three of them were not as mentally strong as Lyon. The new police officer Evans, who was walking at the back, couldn't hold it in and his stomach churned violently, so he gagged.

The stench of the highly decomposed body, mixed with the stench of excrement, fermented for an unknown amount of time in the stuffy, enclosed room.

"What the hell is this smell?!"

The senior patrol officer in charge, Smith, had a livid face and was barely suppressing the nausea in his throat, covering his mouth and nose with the back of his hand.

He immediately pressed the intercom: "Command center, this is 2-Adam-14. We have breached the building. There is an extremely strong biological hazard odor inside. Immediately call ambulances and have the HAZMAT (Hazard Analysis and Chemical Response Team) on standby!"

Although the smell made it hard for the person to open their eyes, the person who reported the incident clearly heard a series of gunshots.

The gunman may still be inside.

They had no choice but to grit their teeth and trudge deeper into the corridor, step by step, through the dusty, muddy floor.

"The living room is safe."

"Kitchen safety."

The further you go in, the stronger the suffocating stench becomes.

The three of them finally focused their attention on the half-open bedroom door at the end of the corridor.

The footprints on the ground, along with a few drops of splattered, already turning black blood, all pointed to that spot.

Smith gestured to the two people behind him.

He pressed himself against the door frame, raised one foot, and kicked the bedroom door open completely.

Seattle Police! Don't move!

The gun barrel followed his gaze into the dimly lit room.

I only glanced at it.

"Ugh—I'm going to throw up!!!"

The young patrolman, Evans, could no longer hold back.

He turned around abruptly, forgetting even about his gun, and leaned against the wall of the corridor. He opened his mouth and vomited up the hot dog and coffee he had eaten for lunch onto the floor, vomiting violently and tears streaming down his face.

Although Smith and another patrolman, Clark, did not vomit, their faces were as pale as sheets of paper.

The scene in the room was simply pushing the limits of human sanity.

A female corpse with half her face bitten off and her intestines spilling out onto the ground.

And on the corridor floor, there was a half-naked man with his mouth full of minced meat and blood, and a large dent in the side of his head.

"Fuck—these drug-addled lunatics—"

Smith gritted his teeth and forced himself to look away from the woman's corpse.

"Clark, ignore him. Keep an eye on the back and the windows; the shooter might still be inside!"

Smith roared and gripped his pistol tightly.

He needed to check the situation on site.

My neighbor just heard four gunshots.

He carefully circled around Evans' vomit, pointed the gun at the half-naked man on the ground who looked like rotten flesh, and slowly squatted down.

The man had four gaping holes in his chest and appeared to be dead.

Smith extended his left hand, which was gloved with a tactical glove, to try and feel the monster's carotid artery to see if it was alive or dead.

Just as his fingertips touched the man's filthy and bloodstained neck.

"Aaaaaah!!!"

The half-naked man, who had been motionless, suddenly twitched without warning, opened his foul-smelling mouth, and let out a shrill howl that was not human.

"vent!!!"

Smith was terrified; his heart nearly jumped out of his throat.

He let out a strange cry and scrambled backward, rolling and crawling, until his back slammed heavily against the wall.

Clark, who was standing next to him, was so frightened that he almost pulled the trigger and emptied the magazine.

After the man finished yelling, his body suddenly straightened up, then he slammed back onto the floor, rolled his eyes, and fell unconscious again.

Only the heavy breathing of three policemen remained in the corridor.

"Fuck—that scared the hell out of me—"

Smith wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and stood up, still shaken, leaning against the wall.

"How can this monster still make a sound after being shot several times?"

Clark, gun in hand, quickly scanned the corridor and room with his tactical flashlight, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Smith, something's not right."

"What's wrong?"

"No spent cartridge cases."

Clark's flashlight swung across the floor around the half-naked man: "This guy took four shots to the chest. If it was close-range firing, there should be spent brass shell casings on the ground. But I didn't see a single metal fragment."

Smith paused for a moment, then looked down and examined it closely.

It really doesn't.

Moreover, they had just done a quick search of the other rooms and found no trace of the third person.

"Damn, the spent cartridges have been taken."

Smith's face turned extremely ugly.

"What kind of street thug would have the leisure to pick up the spent cartridges after firing a shot?"

"You mean—" Clark swallowed.

"abnormal."

Smith stared at the gruesome corpse and lowered his voice: "He's definitely the kind of psychopathic killer who specifically targets homeless people and drug addicts."

"I've seen plenty of these lunatics. They arrest these scum from the bottom of society, inject them with excessive doses of bath salts or angel powder, and watch them go crazy, tearing each other apart, for their own amusement."

"Once they've had enough, or when these addicts are about to lose control, they'll pull out small-caliber pistols and shoot them to death like target practice."

Smith found the argument increasingly convincing, his tone becoming increasingly disgusted: "This is nothing. Do you remember that case in the South District last year?"

"The forensic doctor found a homeless man in the trash can, initially thinking he had frozen to death. But when they put him in the X-ray machine, they found that the man's body contained dangerously high levels of metals."

"The killer used a .22 caliber sporting rifle and fired more than sixty bullets at him, all of which avoided vital organs, just to hear him scream in agony."

"This guy today probably encountered another type of pervert. He fired the gun, picked up the spent cartridges, and escaped through the window—clean and efficient."

"So what do we do now?" Clark asked.

"Seal off the scene and wait for the forensic team to come and clean it up." Smith waved his hand dismissively.

At that moment, the three patrol officers, who were on high alert, had no idea that the "psychopathic killer" they were desperately searching for was quietly hanging on the ceiling three meters above their heads.

The brass cartridge cases that had been ejected from the pistol were now lying quietly in Lyon's jacket pocket.

Just minutes before, Lyon had stuffed the silver portable hard drive and data cable into his pocket when the front door was smashed open with a battering ram.

The way out was completely blocked.

To avoid a head-on collision with these highly tense colleagues and trigger an inexplicable gunfight, Leon decisively opened the system shop.

Without hesitation, he spent 2000 Justice Points to exchange for a special skill called [Gecko Wall Climbing].

This skill allows him to climb and move like a reptile on any vertical wall or even ceiling that can bear weight.

And so, this bizarre scene unfolded.

Leon lay sprawled on the dimly lit bedroom ceiling, his limbs outstretched.

To be honest, if this scene were filmed, it would definitely be top-notch material for a horror movie.

Below, on the floor lay mangled limbs and a half-naked, zombie-like man, while in the shadows of the ceiling lurked a massive, silent, towering black shadow.

Lyon looked down at the young patrolman below who was vomiting so badly he was almost fainting, and the two old hands who were holding guns and looking suspicious.

He now feels like the Licker from Resident Evil, perched on the ceiling, waiting to pounce on people.

CT scans have never been tilted upwards.

These American police officers, who had learned countless tactical angle cuts and ground searches in police academy, would only scan the horizontal plane with their eyes once they entered a building.

If that rookie named Evans had tilted his head back at a 45-degree angle while he was gagging...

He would then see a broad-shouldered man, like a giant spider, perched on his head, staring at him.

I reckon this kid will not only wet his pants on the spot, but will also desperately call the National Guard over the walkie-talkie, announcing that Seattle has been completely engulfed in a zombie crisis.

However, Leon has no interest in making a cameo appearance as the final boss of some horror game here.

He watched as Smith below began calling the biochemical disposal team on the walkie-talkie, his attention completely drawn to the corpses on the ground.

Lyon exerted force with all four limbs simultaneously, without making a single friction sound.

He moved like a shadow gliding across the ceiling, silently retreating from the foul-smelling bedroom.

Leon crawled through the space above the corridor, over the heads of three policemen, and into a secondary bedroom that had not been searched by the police.

He quietly loosened his grip and landed steadily on the dusty floor.

Then, he pushed open the side window of the house, flipped over, and landed lightly in the bushes in the blind spot of the neighbors. He then swaggered over the fence and disappeared into the sunny Seattle streets in the afternoon.