20demayo Chapter 59 Suicide Attack on the Police Station
Chapter 59 Suicide Attack on the Police Station
Chapter 59 Suicide Attack on the Police Station
In the lobby of the Manhattan Police Department precinct, smoke rose simultaneously from the tips of a dozen cigarettes, swirling into a murky cloud under the fluorescent lights.
The smell of sweat mixed with the half-empty glass of whiskey spilled on the corner of the table, and was blown throughout the room by the air vents.
Frank sat at his workstation, disassembling the M16A2 into several parts and spreading them out on the table: the barrel, bolt, recoil spring, and magazine.
The parts are arranged neatly in the order of disassembly.
He held a rag soaked in gun oil in his left hand and gripped the gun barrel in his right, wiping the inside of the barrel with the rag.
His eyes didn't leave the gun barrel, and his voice was very low.
"I already said. It's not necessary."
Li En sat opposite him, leaning back in her chair with her feet propped up on the edge of the table, holding a cup of coffee that had gone cold.
"The two of us alone aren't enough; we're exhausted these past few days."
As he spoke, he reached up and rubbed his neck, making a cracking sound.
"Who told you to insist on riding in a Porsche?" Frank flipped the gun barrel over and stuffed a rag in from the other end.
For the first few days after the Mexican gang was dealt with, the streets of Hell's Kitchen were indeed quiet for a while.
The homeless man sleeping under the ventilation vent on the street corner laid out his cardboard box again and traced the words "need change" on it with a marker.
But everyone knows this is not the end.
The pressure in the air is increasing every day, and a steel wire being stretched tighter and tighter is pressing on everyone's heart.
The gangs won't just admit it like that.
The current quiet is not peace; it is the result of various forces redrawing the map in the shadows.
Li En put his feet off the edge of the table, and the chair leg hit the cement floor with a dull thud.
He had publicly announced in the police station lobby that joining the Special Forces required Frank's approval.
Now that Brett wants to sign up, Frank shuts him down with just a couple of sentences.
"Bright is pretty good. His actual combat ability is a bit weak, but that can be improved."
"Hmph, that kid isn't mentally strong enough; he'll break down on the battlefield."
Frank put the gun barrel on the table and looked up.
He didn't reject Bright without reason.
Although the special forces are nominally a small unit of the police department, the actual missions they carry out are no different from those on the battlefield.
In some ways, it is more dangerous than the battlefield.
At least in the Middle East, you know which areas are war zones, which routes you can take to retreat, and which periods are suitable for rotation and rest.
Here, any homeless person on the street who looks like they're about to freeze to death might pull out a submachine gun from their sleeping bag and fire a whole magazine at you.
This has happened several times in three days.
Both Lee and Frank were victims of such attacks.
The two men were just too skilled in their patrols; each time, they shot the other man between the eyebrows before he could pull the trigger.
But Bright couldn't.
Brett hesitates when faced with an old woman who suddenly pulls a gun out of her pocket, a teenager with a schoolbag, or a mother pushing a stroller.
That half-second of hesitation was enough for him to be shot through the throat.
Li En did not refute.
Bright does indeed owe a little bit.
However, you can't expect everyone to be at your level.
Unless you form a squad of enhanced warriors, how could an ordinary person match his and Frank's strength?
He sometimes found it strange that Frank, who clearly had no mutations, possessed ridiculously strong physical abilities.
This is probably what it means to be exceptionally gifted.
"So, we need to give young people a chance."
Lee Eun placed the coffee cup on the table and crossed her hands behind her head.
Bright is a promising talent; with proper training, he'll definitely succeed.
"No, I would agree to let Brock join even if he asked."
"Huh?" Li En pulled her hands out from behind her head and stared at him.
"Brock is almost retired, why don't you send Cherry instead?"
He really didn't want to patrol such a large area alone anymore; it was exhausting.
"Cherry will do, if necessary." Frank put down his submachine gun, pulled out a dagger from his waist, and wiped the blade back and forth with a rag.
The expression on his face didn't seem like a joke; he genuinely thought Cherry was a better fit than Bright.
Why?
"They're dead, so be it. It's no loss," Frank said coldly, twirling the dagger between his fingers, the blade reflecting the cold light of a fluorescent tube.
Li En remained silent.
Brock and Cherry are indeed quite old, but not old enough to be completely dead.
Boom!
A loud explosion rang out from the direction of the police station entrance.
A blast of air, carrying debris and shards of glass, poured into the lobby from the entrance, simultaneously knocking ashtrays, coffee cups, and case reports spread out on the table into the air.
At the same moment, Lee and Frank drew their sidearms, crouched down, and braced their shoulders against the edge of the desk.
A wave of scorching heat swept over the two of them, carrying with it the distinctive sour and foul smell of ammonium nitrate explosive.
In front of the consultation desk, Bright stood there, his hands resting on the counter.
The image of Frank rejecting him was still replaying in his mind.
The will is not firm enough.
He knew, of course, that he wasn't firm enough.
Because of this hesitation, he was often assigned to work at the information desk even after serving as a police officer for two years.
It was because of this hesitation that he was always a step behind Brock when facing armed criminals.
He has always wanted to change this.
Especially after Li En arrived, seeing what that person did, something that had been suppressed in her heart for a long time reignited.
He was willing to risk his life to protect the residents of Hell's Kitchen.
But every time I stand in front of the mirror, another voice rises from the depths of my mind.
My mother is still at home. She is in poor health, a result of the hard work she put in to raise me when she was young.
There is also a younger brother who is still in school.
What will they do if he dies?
This hesitation was probably what Frank saw through.
Bright shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh.
"Excuse me—" A weak voice, as if it hadn't had water in a long time, came from the front of the stage.
Bright looked up and saw a man standing in front of the information desk.
He was wearing a very large, dark trench coat, the fabric of which was worn shiny, and there were several loose threads on the cuffs.
His hair was messy, and his stubble was sticking out haphazardly on his chin and cheeks.
The eye sockets are deep, the pupils are dilated and unfocused, and the eyes move irregularly back and forth within the sockets.
His lips were dry, cracked, and peeling, with a trace of dried white saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth.
When he stood there, his center of gravity was floating, with his toes and heels alternately touching the ground, swaying back and forth.
These are the most common poisonous insects in Hell's Kitchen.
Bright sees several of them every day.
"What's the matter?"
The poisonous insect grinned.
His gums had receded so badly that several blackened, broken teeth and grayish gums were exposed.
His eyes weren't on Bright's face, but rather wandered around the police station lobby behind Bright.
"Officer Lee and Officer Frank—are you there?"
Bright's fingers unconsciously tightened on the table.
From time to time, drug addicts come to the police station to report cases, most of which are robberies.
They might be threatened with death, or they might simply want to cause trouble to get into a detention cell and sleep.
Those people walked in looking nervous, uncomfortable, or angry.
But their eyes don't scan everywhere.
The man's eyes were scanning the layout of the police station lobby.
Confirm who is where, where the corridor turns, and where the staircase leading to the second floor is.
Bright slid his right hand off the table, resting his fingers on the holster buckle at his waist, his eyes fixed on the other man's oversized trench coat.
It's too wide.
This person is very thin, but the trench coat doesn't hang loosely on him.
The hem of the clothes was being held down by something very heavy, drooping unnaturally.
"Hey, get your hands out of your pockets."
Bright didn't yell.
He is still unsure whether this person really has a problem.
This uncertainty, this hesitation, was the very reason Frank had rejected him just five minutes earlier.
If it were Lee En or Frank, the moment they realized something was wrong, they would have already drawn their guns and shot the other person between the eyebrows.
Even Brock or Cherry would choose to step forward, grab the other person's shoulder, and restrain them.
But Bright is still waiting.
He gave the other person time to react.
The poisonous insect looked at him, and the smile on its lips slowly widened, revealing a row of blackened, broken teeth.
He grabbed the sides of the trench coat with both hands and yanked it outwards.
A row of explosive tubes were neatly tied around his chest, wrapped with black tape again and again.
A fuse was protruding from the middle of the explosive tube, sparks were flying from the end, and it had already burned to the edge of the tape.
Brett jumped backward, braced himself on the counter with both hands, and rolled backward over the counter.
Boom!
The blast of air lifted him up, and the back of his head slammed against the wall.