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

Dent's intuition was actually correct, but these SWAT officers certainly wouldn't actually shoot him again, but expecting them to focus solely on the rescue was unrealistic.

The SWAT officers surrounding him looked extremely busy.

"Don't be afraid, we're trying our best!"

A SWAT officer shouted loudly, holding a crowbar that was clearly a size too small.

He pounded on the deformed car door frame with what looked like a lot of force, but he wasn't actually prying at the point of impact at all.

Another SWAT officer was crouching behind, fiddling with hydraulic shears, and talking into his walkie-talkie as if he were really listening:

"Command center, the hydraulic pump seems to be malfunctioning; the pressure isn't building up! We need backup equipment, which might take a few minutes!"

"Hold on, kid, don't fall asleep!"

One SWAT officer even "accidentally" put the tourniquet around Dante's neck while bandaging his head wound, only to "realize" and loosen it two seconds later.

Lyon stood not far away, watching this scene with perfect understanding.

This can be considered an unspoken rule among American police.

If it's just robbery or car theft, the police will normally follow procedures when they catch someone, and at least they won't go so far as to kill someone.

But if a shot is fired, injuring or killing a police officer, then that person becomes the public enemy of the entire law enforcement system.

Before determining whether Bob would survive, or rather, to teach others a bloody lesson, these SWAT officers would not allow the driver to lie comfortably in the ambulance.

They will make him bleed, make him suffer, and use every "reasonable mechanical failure" and "unexpected delay" to drain his life force.

If he had died from shock due to excessive blood loss before being rescued, that would have been truly unfortunate. It could only be attributed to his bad luck or the poor safety performance of the vehicle.

Anyway, what the body cameras captured were all touching scenes of the police doing their best to rescue people.

Lyon felt no guilt about it.

He had no sympathy for such scum who shot his own brothers; mercy to the enemy was cruelty to one's own people.

"Hey, racing god."

Just then, a fully armed SWAT team leader walked over.

He wore a bulletproof mask, revealing only his eyes, and looked at Leon as if he were a monster who had escaped from a mental hospital.

"Give me the gun. According to procedure, you just engaged in extreme driving and are suspected of causing the suspect's death. This gun is now evidence."

Although the words were spoken in a businesslike manner, there was a clear sense of reverence in the tone.

That American-style stop and the weaving-through cornering maneuver just now left these SWAT officers, who considered themselves tactical driving experts, completely dumbfounded.

Lyon readily handed over the HK416 he hadn't yet fired, even raising his hands to indicate he posed no threat.

"Be careful, the insurance is on."

The SWAT officer took the gun, handed it to the evidence collector next to him, and then pointed to a black command vehicle parked outside the police line.

"Go, the Commander wants to see you."

"Also, although it's against the rules, I have to say something..."

The SWAT officer lowered his voice and patted Leon's soaking wet shoulder, "Damn, that was a great job."

Leon shrugged and didn't say anything.

He wiped the rain off his face and turned to walk towards the command vehicle.

Behind him, Dante's screams grew weaker and weaker, perhaps from blood loss, or perhaps the kid's voice had gone hoarse.

But none of that matters anymore.

The rain was pouring down harder, pelting the black armored shell of the police command vehicle.

Lyon had just reached the command vehicle and hadn't even had a chance to report when a figure abruptly cut in from the side, blocking his way between him and the SWAT commander.

He was a white man, about thirty-five or thirty-six years old, who stood out starkly from the group of SWAT officers around him, who were covered in mud, reeking of sweat, and smelling of gunpowder.

He wore a dark blue windproof jacket with the words "FBI" printed in large yellow letters on the back, and khaki tactical pants.

Underneath the jacket was a well-tailored gray suit, a perfectly tied tie, and his hair was styled in a typical federal agent slicked-back look.

"This is utterly ridiculous!"

The man completely ignored Leon, who exuded murderous intent beside him, and went straight to the SWAT commander, flashing his badge.

"I am Richard Hayes, a senior agent with the FBI's Organized Crime Unit."

"Tell your men to stop this awful performance immediately."

"I know what they're doing. The hydraulic shears broke? Save that nonsense for fooling the media."

Standing opposite him was Lieutenant Hobbs, the field commander of the Seattle SWAT team, also known as a police inspector, belonging to the upper-middle command level.

Unlike sergeants who are still on the front lines, police inspectors are usually responsible for managing the entire tactical unit or serve as the highest-ranking commander on duty.

This means he now holds the command and control of the entire SWAT team and the highest decision-making authority on site, making him a truly powerful figure.

He was nearly two meters tall, dressed in full heavy tactical gear, his chest armor plates laden with magazines and stun grenades. He wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing a bald head covered in scars. Despite wearing a pair of flashy sunglasses, his displeasure was still evident.

In the U.S. law enforcement community, the relationship between local police (PDs) and the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) has never been good.

For local police officers risking their lives on the front lines, the FBI usually means:

You rarely see him; he's always dressed in a suit, holding a high-level academic degree, and sitting in his office drinking coffee.

Once the local police have worked their butts off to solve the case or catch the perpetrators, these police officers will appear in their smart uniforms, take over the scene, and steal the credit.

Incidentally, at the press conference, they described the case as the result of their "federal coordination and command."

They also have a special derogatory nickname: "Feebs" (mentally challenged).

"Are you teaching me how to do things?"

Lieutenant Hobbs lowered his head and looked down at Hayes.

"This is my scene. That bastard just injured one of my brothers and tried to break through my defense."

"My team is conducting 'professional' demolition and rescue operations. Don't you have eyes?"

"Give me a break, Hobbes."

Agent Hayes didn't back down, even taking a step closer and lowering his voice to say:

"This car, and the two people who died inside it, are involved in a transnational drug and arms smuggling case that we are investigating, which falls under the jurisdiction of the RICO Act (Anti-Extortion and Bribery Organizations Act)."

"Its origins are the Sinaloa Cartel in Mexico and its destination is the Hells Angels in Vancouver."

"These were originally two separate lines, but now the Blood Gang has connected them."

"That's not the worst part. The worst part is that the Seattle-based branch of the Aryan Brotherhood doesn't intend to let this path pass unimpeded."

"In the past two weeks, there have been three street shootouts, all of which were attempts by the Aryan Brotherhood to intercept this high-purity supply."

"This is a war, Lieutenant."

"Sinaloa, Hells' Angels, the Blood Clan, and the Aryan Brotherhood, who want a piece of the pie."

"If this drags on, the streets of Seattle will turn into Baghdad!"