The captured AR15 was equipped with a suppressor, so the gunfire wasn't deafening; instead, the more striking sound was the loud clanging of bullets hitting the riot shield. Jack was starting to regret disabling the laser sight on the other AR15. Sure, he didn't need it himself, but for someone not used to long guns, that thing could be a powerful aid.
Ronick was squeezing the trigger nonstop at the opposite side, and though sparks flew everywhere, it looked far more chaotic than effective—neither of the two enemies hiding behind the shield even showed a health bar.
Still, it wouldn't be fair to say he was completely useless. Jack used the opportunity when Ronick's bullets ran dry and the enemies attempted to counterattack, and unleashed two bursts of three-round fire.
The bullets hit the feet of the shield-bearer's partner. As he screamed and stumbled, the second burst went straight into his head, blowing it up on the spot.
Blood splattered all over the shield-bearer's face. In a panic, he retreated desperately and angled his shield toward Jack, trying to hide himself more thoroughly. But John, who had doubled back, seized the moment and fired two shotgun rounds.
Like Jack, John aimed low. Unfortunately, aside from the shield, their opponent was also wearing heavy riot gear, including leg guards. These high-density plastic guards with cushioning couldn't stop rifle bullets but could reduce the damage from shotgun blasts. The shield-bearer grunted from the impact and staggered, but he still managed to hold the shield.
Jack was about to finish him off when a blur like a black whirlwind swept past him—Bishop, with a lit Molotov cocktail in each hand, dashed out and accidentally blocked Jack's line of fire.
"There's a sniper outside!" Jack shouted, but before he finished, the two improvised Molotovs smashed right onto the shield-bearer. Alcohol streamed down his shield and body, igniting everything it touched, instantly turning him into a human torch.
The man forgot everything else, shrieked, threw down his shield, and bolted out the front door, rolling desperately in the snow.
Bishop, after hearing Jack's warning, didn't pursue blindly. Instead, he crouched and dragged the body of the shield-bearer's partner away from the doorway before rummaging through his gear.
At the same time, two more black cops rushed out from across the street, laying down covering fire while dragging the burning shield-bearer to safety.
But before they could breathe a sigh of relief, a piercing scream echoed from the hallway behind them—Alex's voice—followed by the sharp report of the FN57 Jack had given her.
Ronick and Jack immediately turned and ran. After releasing the four prisoners earlier, they had taken them to the evidence room and told them to arm themselves and watch the rear.
The window in the detention area had been blown open and couldn't be sealed anytime soon, and it was almost certain more enemies would try to enter. With the front under pressure as well, it was the only option they had.
They just didn't expect those guys to be so unreliable. Alex was with an unconscious injured officer—someone completely defenseless.
Before they even reached the hallway, another explosion rang out. Only then did Jack and Ronick realize Alex's scream and gunfire had been a warning about intruders.
Two flashbangs were thrown into the hallway, detonating just as they arrived. Ronick screamed in pain and curled up on the floor. Jack was also stunned, his head ringing and eyes blinded. He could only grope around until he found Ronick's collar and dragged him back to the corner, unable to advance any further for now.
Bishop stormed in again like a whirlwind, now carrying another captured AR15.
"Stay here," Jack said, patting Ronick on the shoulder, not caring whether he could hear, and then cast a healing spell on himself. He staggered off after Bishop.
The two ran straight into Alex, who was dragging the black state trooper back with great effort.
It was a tough job for a psychologist—especially given the size and weight difference. Jack couldn't fathom how she'd managed to get the half-conscious man out of the office.
Bishop took the trooper from her easily, lifting him without effort.
"Protect them." Seeing that they were okay, Jack was slightly relieved and didn't stop; he immediately rushed past them into the office where Alex had been.
"You motherfucker!"
"Arrest me, will you? You sons of bitches! And you made me pay bail!"
"Smalley hates you pigs! Bastards!"
Inside the office, three prisoners were beating up a black cop—using a baseball bat, a hammer, and a rusted katana.
Even with heavy riot gear, no one could withstand such a brutal assault. The cop was already on the floor, and the junkie raised the katana and stabbed wildly into his abdomen. The scene turned gruesomely bloody.
Jack, despite knowing these three had saved Alex, was left speechless by the spectacle. Something just felt... off.
The three prisoners all turned when they heard him enter. Upon seeing it was Jack, the junkie instinctively dropped the katana in guilt.
"You did a decent job," Jack said, though he wasn't sure what kind of expression to show these three. The black woman was fine, but Smalley and the junkie clearly weren't playing with a full deck.
The black cops all carried similar gear—an AR15, a handgun, and some miscellaneous items in their pockets.
Jack only took a smoke grenade and a flashbang, leaving the rest for the three prisoners to divide. He also gave them one of the previously captured handguns, ensuring each of them was armed.
"Hell yeah, I got a gun now!" The junkie shouted excitedly, grabbed the AR15, chambered a round, and ran off. Soon, gunfire from an assault rifle echoed upstairs, mixed with his eerie, wailing screams.
Jack silently pocketed the remaining three spare magazines. If the guy wanted to waste bullets, let him waste the one magazine; Jack wasn't going to care.
The row of offices on one side of the hallway were interconnected. Aside from the main corridor, there were small internal doors linking them together. Earlier, the three prisoners had used these to ambush the cop.
The two bulletproof vests Jack had captured earlier—one had been given to Ronick, and the other had just been handed to John so he could continue guarding the front door. Now, still lightly geared, Jack moved through the interconnected offices and circled back to the temporary holding area.
Judging by how the black cops had breached the building, their breaching charges were limited and couldn't do much against the sturdy old police station. They had to attack via windows and other weak points, opening just a few limited entryways.
That's why Jack left the black woman and Smalley in the office to guard the hallway where the window had been blown open. He himself headed back to the holding area—the only unguarded gap left. Maybe there would be an unexpected opportunity waiting there.
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