How the public felt was unclear; the cops, though, were a little fired up. The brass still leaned toward their own.
Felix felt the itch—if they were forming an assault team, maybe he could join.
Sneaking in alone to finish the gunman wasn't an option now; too many cops and civilians were watching. A stunt for headlines would backfire fast.
Inside the department he might be fine. Outside—if people learned his record—the city would explode.
News came: an assault team was forming—SEB only. No regular officers. Under a forest of eyes—police and rubberneckers—the team entered the building.
Yes, rubberneckers. Protesters who'd hidden in nearby buildings decided they were safe now and instantly became livestreamers, phones out for clout.
Felix couldn't get in. He listened to the radio like everyone else.
"Stairwell reached. Preparing to move up."
"Obstacles on the stairs. Breaching."
Tat-tat-tat-tat.
"Contact! Shooter engaging!"
"Marco's hit!"
"Suppress! Drag Marco!"
"Shooter pushed back. Advancing. Wounded officer exiting—urgent transport."
Two men hauled a bleeding operator out. Medics waiting at the door rushed him away.
"Sixth floor reached. Smoke out—block his sight."
"I'm at the pillar—he's right, right side."
"Ah! He flanked left—I'm hit!"
"James is dead! James is dead!"
"He's pinning me—his fire is accurate! Need support!"
"Out—reloading!"
"Fall back! Fall back!"
The fight stunned those outside. No one expected a single shooter to stalemate an SEB team. The man could fight.
When SEB pulled out, the damage showed. Counting the earlier evacuation, this push cost one dead, two wounded.
Cops who'd heard the radio were braced; the crowd wasn't. Seeing SWAT retreat, they erupted.
Tally so far: 5 officers dead, 7 wounded; among civilians, 11 dead or wounded.
The weight landed on LASD leadership. Push a second assault? Reopen negotiations? Try something else?
Time passed. No second push. Murmurs swelled. "Useless police—only brave against unarmed citizens. Against a real fighter, nothing but bodies. Garbage."
The gunman shouted from the sixth floor: "Why'd you run? Is that your level? Don't go home to mommy crying. Need a lullaby? How many cops did I kill? Not enough. Come on—let me kill more!"
Sheriff Alex Villanueva had arrived, jaw clenched. He pointed up. "You hear that, gentlemen? I don't want excuses. I want a plan—now—to end this. And not one more injured or dead—officer or civilian."
SEB's chief commander Jack Uell, a white-haired sixty-something, looked to his Emergency Actions lead, Flynn Lucio. "Flynn—plan. Fast."
Old man loves throwing me under the bus, Lucio thought, but he was the ground commander. He huddled with his deputies and team leaders.
After minutes he returned. "Commanders, we have a way. Zero officer casualties—but we'll need authorization."
"Let's hear it."
"We use a bomb to kill him."
Heads tilted. You SWAT or a terrorist?
Lucio laid it out. Villanueva's face eased. He nodded. "Do it."
"How much explosive?" Lucio asked—he wanted the order on record.
"As long as you don't bring the building down," Villanueva said.
While the onlookers buzzed, an Arson & Explosives Detail (AED) truck rolled in.
Under a storm of camera clicks, AED unloaded a high-tech toy: an EOD robot.
AED and SWAT huddled. A SWAT operator strapped something onto the robot's little shovel, tweaked it, and the operator sent the machine inside.
Felix nudged a nearby officer. "What is that?"
"Northrop Grumman Mark 5A-1 EOD robot. Department bought a few."
Launched in 2004, around 717 lb, mast height 1.8 m, remote-controlled, max payload ~90 lb. Claw rotates 360°, extends to 1.2 m, grip force ~45 lb, top speed ~5.6 km/h, optics 26× optical / 12× digital.
Pricey—about $150k—but versatile. Later variants take pistols, grenade launchers, breaching kits.
No one outside knew the play. Bombs inside? Then why didn't the last SWAT stack get blown up? Confusion everywhere.
The operator wasn't confused. He drove to six. The earlier team leader pointed on the screen to where he believed the shooter was—through a wall. After double-checking, he nodded to Lucio.
Lucio signaled the SWAT tech. The tech twisted a detonator.
BOOOOM.
The sixth floor opened like a mouth. Smoke roared up; debris rained. The block rattled.
Cops, protesters, livestream audiences—stunned. One thought ran through heads: Have the police lost it? Using a weapon of mass destruction downtown? Seceding from the Union?
911 melted down. People who hadn't been watching called in aliens, earthquakes, the end times.
Felix learned the rest later on TV—a joint press conference.
First: City of Los Angeles—given the scale of unrest, the National Guard would enter the city; a curfew from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. would begin tonight, end date TBD. Violators faced up to $1,000 in fines or 90 days in jail.
Mayor Eric Garcetti said: "If you're out after 8, you're helping those who hide in crowds to loot and destroy communities."
Moral leverage. It works on the good. The bad don't listen. Morality becomes a leash for the obedient.
LA County DA and California AG each announced investigations into the "Lare Moni incident," plus an independent probe—three lanes aiming for a result the public could accept.
FBI Los Angeles said agents would join and report findings to DOJ.
Then the main act—Sheriff Villanueva. Flashbulbs nearly blinded him. He silently cursed Uell and Lucio.
He forced a smile. "Thanks to rapid police work we see the outlines. Coordinated actors used social media to arrange shootings against working officers. We now have five officers dead, seven officers and multiple civilians wounded. This was a serious, planned attack on law enforcement. I am shocked.
"There were four shooters. Three were killed at scene. The remaining leader, Micah Johnson, is a former serviceman, highly trained, tactically capable. To prevent further harm, I told my team to be creative and break the stalemate—"
A reporter shouted, "With a big bomb?"
Villanueva paused, ignored it. "They proposed using an EOD robot to deliver an explosive charge. I'm pleased to say it worked and ended the danger."
"It also ended that building," another called. "The owner and management say they're suing you, Sheriff."
"That's a separate matter. Not today."
"How much explosive?" a hand rose.
"Approximately one pound of C-4."
Gasps. "One pound of C-4 in downtown L.A.—why not an airstrike while you're at it?"
Villanueva slapped the table. "Focus on what matters. Our officers and their families—those in hospitals—are fighting for life. Direct your concern there."
Seeing the room unmoved, he added: "Johnson claimed he planted multiple devices downtown. We will continue systematic searches to ensure nothing detonates or remains. We also cannot be absolutely certain about the total number of assailants. We will hunt and investigate until we are.
That's all. This briefing is over."
He turned his back and walked, leaving the shouted questions to die in the lights.