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

The black Explorer from Danfoss sped through the streets of Seattle.

The carriage was filled with a strong smell of black coffee and a faint smell of gunpowder embers.

Leon sat in the passenger seat. Since his gun had been confiscated, the holster was empty, making him feel a little unaccustomed to the lightness at his waist.

Danfoss gripped the steering wheel with one hand and rubbed his temples in frustration with the other.

"Listen, I just had a brief chat with Bob and that scared newbie."

Danfoss stared at the road ahead, his tone still harsh, but noticeably less tense than before.

"That black guy did have a gun, and he clearly made a drawing motion. Legally speaking, you did nothing wrong. Relax."

"I've been very relaxed, sir."

Leon leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look out the window at the street rushing past.

"I've always felt that my biggest flaw is that I'm too law-abiding, which makes me seem like an oddball in Seattle."

"Oh my god, for the second time. Shut up, Leon."

Danfoss snorted coldly.

"Although I know this isn't the first time you've dealt with something like this, procedure is procedure. I need to give you a little pointer again, so that your clever brain doesn't fail you in front of those bastards in the Internal Affairs Department."

"Those bastards are up to some kind of police transparency campaign again."

"The rat leading the team is a typical liberal, his head is full of the Democratic Party's bullshit theory of demilitarization. In his eyes, we who bleed on the front lines are potential violent maniacs."

"That guy has always disliked us, especially star patrol officers like you with a high kill rate."

"And everyone in the branch office knows that I support the Republican Party. So, they're not only watching you, they're watching me too, trying to dig out something from the people I bring that could embarrass me in the committee or make things difficult for me."

As Lyon listened to these discussions about the internal political struggles within the Seattle police force, he couldn't help but mentally complain.

This kind of ridiculous donkey-elephant rivalry is disgusting even in this parallel world.

"But you don't need to worry."

Danfoss parked his car in the police station's underground parking garage, turned off the engine, and turned to look at Leon seriously.

"As long as you don't go around using that damn sense of humor, I can protect you."

"As long as I am your commander, those spineless cowards sitting in their offices drinking lattes will never be able to throw you in the dock."

"I understand, sir. 'Given the unavoidable and imminent deadly threat, I took the necessary force.' Something like that."

"very good."

Danfoss patted the car door. "Get out. We're going to see that 'embodiment of justice'."

The two walked through the cold garage elevator and arrived directly at the door of a conference room on the third floor of the branch office.

The atmosphere here is completely different from the chaotic feeling of the duty hall on the first floor; it's quiet to the point of being somewhat oppressive.

Through the glass window, Lyon could see two white men dressed in well-tailored suits and ties sitting inside.

They were holding thick folders, and in front of them were two electronic devices that were recording audio.

Remember, listen more and talk less.

Danfoss gave one last piece of advice before opening the door.

Lyon straightened his wrinkled shirt collar and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

……

In the conference room of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the central air conditioning hissed as it blew out warm air.

Sitting opposite Lyon was a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair, investigator Stone, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

"Officer Vance, first of all, on behalf of the department, I must express my condolences for the 'unfortunate conflict' you experienced today."

"Although the 'victim'... oh no, the suspect is dead, we still need to record your thought process at that time."

"Could you describe in detail the psychological state you were in when you decided to pull the trigger?"

"Based on initial feedback from the scene, you fired a total of five shots, and in less than two seconds, you determined that a citizen holding a baseball bat posed an immediate and lethal threat."

"Don't you think this is a little too decisive?"

Leon sat on the hard chair, not even lifting his eyelids, appearing somewhat languid, a perfect example of someone pretending to "try to recover from trauma."

"Sir, regarding the two seconds and decisiveness you mentioned, my current cognitive state is still in a state of severe stress response."

"My heart rate was probably over 160 at the time, and the tunnel's visibility caused a significant distortion in my perception of time."

"All I remember is seeing weapons, sensing a threat of death, and then taking action to subdue them as instructed in our training."

"How many shots were fired exactly? What was the suspect's expression at the time? Sorry, my brain is completely tangled up right now."

Leon shrugged, his face showing an expression that said, "I really want to cooperate, but I'm just too broken."

Stone frowned, clearly dissatisfied with this watertight nonsense.

"Regarding the number of shots fired—five shots—do you think that exceeded the scope of stopping a threat? Or were you consciously trying to vent your emotions at the time?"

"I don't understand what you mean, sir."

Lyon began to play it safe, saying, "Under that high-pressure situation, my training experience tells me that I must continue to exert pressure until the threat stops."

"I was in a state of extreme physiological stress at the time, and my specific memories of it are probably still vague."

Just as Stone was about to press further, Sergeant Danfoss slammed his fist on the table, producing a dull thud.

"Hey, hey! Stone, that's enough."

Danfoss's face was cold, and his tone was extremely firm.

"According to the agreement between the precinct and the union (CBA), officers are entitled to a cooling-off period of at least 48 hours after a major incident involving the use of firearms."

"Until he consults a lawyer and organizes his thoughts, this inquiry can only be considered an informal exchange."

"If you insist on digging into the details that caused him 'secondary trauma,' then wait until the lawyer arrives."

Stone stared at Danvers, a shadowy glint in his eyes.

The two men in the precinct—one a seasoned Republican who supported hardline law enforcement, the other a rising Democrat well-versed in political correctness—had long disliked each other.

He knew, of course, that Danfoss was stalling for time.

Once 48 hours have passed, the lawyer will have polished Lyon's testimony to be flawless, making it extremely difficult to find loopholes.

The two stared at each other across the table for a full ten seconds, the air in the conference room seemingly frozen.

Finally, Stone closed the folder and let out a long sigh.

He had clearly anticipated this, knowing it would be difficult to get much out of this place today, and he didn't have high expectations.

"I just want to improve efficiency, Sergeant Danfoss."

Stone stood up, adjusting his suit jacket buttons as he glanced meaningfully at Leon.

"Officer Vance, I've reviewed your file. Your performance on your previous administrative leave was excellent. The psychologist's assessment of you was: extremely high stress tolerance, resilient nerves, you could even be described as a natural-born law enforcement officer."

He paused, a playful smile appearing on his face.

"Usually in these kinds of cases, the officer who fired the shot would have a few weeks or even a month of paid administrative leave to see a psychologist and maybe have a beer at home. But judging from your performance just now, it seems like you don't need any cooling-off period at all."

"Since you're so tough and enjoy fighting crime on the front lines so much, I'll suggest to my superiors and the branch chief that your administrative leave be shortened. Don't waste taxpayers' money at home."

"It's a waste to have an elite like you sitting at home on a paycheck. The streets of Seattle need you, Lyon."

After Stone finished speaking, he pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

In his view, shortening administrative leave is unacceptable to any police officer who has just experienced a gunfight; it deprives you of your rest time and forces you back to your post where you could lose your life at any moment.

Sergeant Danfoss, standing nearby, was already pounding his temples with anger, about to slam his fist on the table and yell at the other man for "exploiting the mental health of frontline officers."

However, Lyon, sitting in the chair, was actually thinking the following:

"Holy crap, is this for real?!"