Jack casually grabbed a glass of water from the table and doused the charcoal in the grill. He raised his hand to stop John, who had already drawn his pistol, and gestured to the slightly ajar door.
"John, hold this."
John understood immediately, moving closer to the door and gently closing it before locking it. He then stood guard against the wall. With Jack behind him, he wouldn't be much of a threat, but he also needed to be wary of a diversionary tactic.
The others reacted quickly. In that brief delay, another state trooper, Jeffrey, who had been leaning against the hallway entrance, was the first to rush to the temporary holding area. He was followed closely by Sergeant Roenicke, and lastly, the more portly veteran officer, Jasper.
"Bang, bang, bang!" From the temporary holding area, intense gunfire erupted, all coming from the same Smith & Wesson M&P40 pistol, the standard sidearm for the DPD and local state troopers. Interspersed with the crackle of champagne popping, the silenced pistol was used.
When Jack arrived, he saw the white state trooper lying facedown on the steps of the temporary holding area. The large tray he had just handed him had fallen to the ground, spilling its contents everywhere. Trooper
Jeffrey, the black state trooper, had already chased the unidentified gunman around the corner of the hallway. There was a back door where the state troopers' prison bus was parked, with Sheriff Ronik close behind him.
"Damn it! Hold on!"
cried veteran trooper Jasper, crouching on the ground to examine the white state trooper's injuries. Jack knew at a glance that the trooper was beyond saving. He had been shot at least four times in the chest and two more in the abdomen.
It wasn't that he was cold-blooded and unwilling to act. Putting aside the possibility of fooling veteran trooper Jasper and Alice, who had followed closely behind, there were four pairs of eyes fixed on him from the cell.
Three of the prisoners were still screaming, clearly frightened by what had just happened. They were yelling for the officers to let them out. Only the large, black man, Bishop, was huddled in the corner of the cell, his gaze calmly observing the surroundings.
"Alice, get him inside." Jack looked up at the small hallway leading to the back door. The figures of the black state troopers, Jeffrey and Roenick, had disappeared there, clearly having chased them out.
Fearing that the two might get into trouble again, Jack hurried through the back storage room. Sure enough, at the end of the hallway, he saw an open iron door. A strong wind was blowing in snow, and the faint sound of gunfire could be heard from outside.
"Sheriff Roenick?" Jack chased to the door, only to see the scene he had feared: the black state trooper had collapsed in the snow, and Roenick was struggling to drag him back.
He was about to step forward to help when a sudden chill washed over him. From a distance, a gaze filled with murderous intent seemed to be directed at him, like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows.
A sniper!
Jack raised his hand without hesitation, emptying all 14 rounds from the magazine of his SIG Sauer P320-XTen. Given the heavy snow and the distance, he didn't expect to hit the target; he relied solely on his instincts, just to scare the enemy.
The 10mm Auto cartridge was too thick, so even though the magazine held 15 rounds, the last round was difficult to insert. To avoid affecting the spring life, Jack usually only loaded 14 rounds.
He also didn't have the habit of loading an extra round into the chamber unless it was an emergency; it could easily cause an accidental discharge.
"What are you doing? Help me!" It was clear that Ronik hadn't noticed the sniper's presence, believing the FBI agent was firing randomly to provide cover.
Jack didn't bother explaining; his faith-based shooting proved effective. As the chill in his heart subsided slightly, he rushed out the back door.
The snow outside was barely ankle-deep. Jack grabbed the black state trooper by the collar and exerted a little force. Ronnick felt his hands lighten, and watched in amazement as he single-handedly lifted the 180-pound man as if he were a child.
"Close the door, and block it with something,"
Jack said, half-carrying the black state trooper into the hallway.
"Alice! Jasper! How's he? Also..." After finding a chair to prop up the broken iron door, Ronnick stepped past Jack, who was supporting the wounded man, and turned the corner, quickly walking towards the white state trooper who had been shot, but then stopped.
"He's dead! 'Son of the Beach'!" Veteran Sergeant Jasper stood up angrily, pointing at the gang leader in the cell and hurling curses. "It's all because of that fucked-up Bishop! Those guys must have come to rescue him, that son of a bitch!"
"Let us out! I don't want to be left here to die!"
"Please let us go!"
Bishop frowned and paced back and forth in the cell. He neither argued nor exchanged insults with the old officer. Instead, the other three prisoners started to clamor again.
"Hey! Hey! Relax! Relax! The danger is over!"
Seeing that the gang ignored him, Ronick sheathed his pistol and drew his baton, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Shit! Calm down! I told you, you're safe now!"
The prisoners' clamor was temporarily silenced. Jack, oblivious to all this, supported the shot black state trooper towards the office area, giving orders as he walked.
"Get me some hot water. Stop the bleeding first, or there'll be another body here."
—
"Are you a doctor?" Alice frantically brought a basin of hot water, nearly scalding herself as she set it down.
"A forensic science enthusiast with first aid training." Jack's succinct words startled the black sheriff, who lay wailing on the sofa.
"Calm down! Calm down! A forensic doctor is also a doctor. If you move, I'll have to knock you out. The station has been evacuated, and there's not even a bag of poison evidence for emergency use." Jack pinned him down, pretending to examine the wound, but in reality, he was secretly performing a healing technique.
A poison is also medicine, a life-saving anesthetic in a situation like this. Unfortunately, the evidence room at Precinct 13 was now empty of scrap metal.
Jack could secretly use healing to save someone, but the idea of a bullet spontaneously expelling itself from the body was too horrifying. At least he had to perform an emergency surgery to remove the bullet.
"Is this okay?" Ronik pulled a matchbox from his pocket and handed it to Jack.
Jack opened it and saw a box full of small white pills. "What is this? OxyContin?"
Ronik's eyes flickered, and he subconsciously touched his nose. "Well, I've been shot before."
"New Year, new beginning. Don't touch this stuff again." Jack replied calmly, stuffed four pills into the black state trooper's mouth, and casually put the matchbox in his pocket.
(End of this chapter)