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Fast & Furious: I Got a System and Became Dom's Boss
LAPD Headquarters. Interrogation Room 3.
Hunter Sun sat comfortably in the metal chair, his posture relaxed. Across the steel table sat two white officers—a Detective Sergeant and a uniformed officer.
Because Hunter had come voluntarily and shown zero resistance, they hadn't cuffed him.
"Mr. Sun," the Detective started, clicking a pen. "Please state your whereabouts between 10:00 PM and 3:00 AM last night."
Hunter didn't blink. "I was at my girlfriend's apartment. Stella Bridger. We were... intimate. Then we slept."
The uniformed officer scribbled in his notebook, his face impassive.
The Detective didn't press the alibi immediately. Instead, he opened a drawer and slid a series of glossy photographs across the table.
"Do you recognize these men?"
Hunter leaned forward, feigning curiosity.
The first two photos were gruesome. Handsome Rob, slumped over a bloody bedsheet with a hole in his chest. Left Ear, lying in the dirt of his farm, swarmed by flies.
Hunter's brow furrowed slightly—a perfect micro-expression of discomfort at seeing dead bodies. His [Acting] skill, leveled up to LV3 after weeks of playing the lover, the artist, and the innocent, kicked in effortlessly.
Then, he looked at the next photos: Charlie Croker and Lyle.
Hunter's eyes widened in genuine-looking surprise.
"Wait," he said, pointing a finger. "I know these two. But the other two... never seen them."
The Detective's eyes sharpened. "You know them? Who are they? What do they do?"
Hunter nodded slowly, then shook his head. "This one said his name was Charlie. That one is Lyle. As for what they do... I honestly don't know."
He paused, biting his lip as if debating whether to reveal a secret.
The cops leaned in, sensing blood. "Mr. Sun, three men are dead. If you know something, you need to tell us."
Hunter sighed, looking conflicted.
"Alright," he said, lowering his voice. "About a month ago, Charlie hired me. He wanted me to modify some cars for him. I'm... good with engines."
He glanced at the two-way mirror, then back at the Detective.
"They paid cash. A lot of it. They wanted reinforced chassis, high-torque engines, ramming bumpers. And... electronic countermeasures."
Hunter pointed at Lyle's photo. "That guy, Lyle. He's a computer whiz. He installed some heavy-duty tech in the trunks. I didn't understand half of it, but he was directing the whole install."
The Detective's eyes lit up. This was a lead.
"Illegal modifications?" the Detective pressed. "When was this?"
Hunter nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. I knew it wasn't strictly legal, but... the money was good. I didn't ask questions. I just fixed the cars."
The two officers exchanged a glance. The pieces were starting to fit, but not in the way they expected. The victims weren't random targets; they were a crew preparing for something big. A heist? A gang war?
Hunter had successfully planted the seed. He wasn't the killer; he was just a mechanic who got caught up in their shady business.
For the next hour, Hunter spun a web of half-truths. He detailed how he met Stella (omitting the heist), how he moved in with her, and how he occasionally did under-the-table work for street racers.
By the time the interview ended, the LAPD had shifted their focus. They weren't looking at Hunter as a suspect anymore; they were looking at Charlie's crew as a criminal organization that had likely been liquidated by a rival gang.
"Mr. Sun," the Detective said, standing up. "We appreciate your cooperation. However, illegal vehicle modification is a federal offense. We may file charges pending investigation."
He leaned over the table. "Until then, do not leave the state of California."
Hunter stood up, flashing a nervous, compliant smile. "Understood, Detective. I'll be right here."
Outside the Station.
The two officers watched Hunter walk down the precinct steps and disappear into the bustling city street.
"What do you think?" the uniformed officer asked quietly.
"I don't think it's him," the Detective replied, lighting a cigarette. "The kills were too clean. Two sniper shots from 400 meters? A silenced execution inside a secure hospital? That's professional work. Hitman stuff."
"Agreed," the officer nodded. "We checked Sun's background. He goes to the shooting range, sure, but he's eighteen. No military record. No priors. I don't see a kid pulling off three hits in four hours across the city."
"Plus," the Detective added, exhaling smoke, "Bridger confirmed his alibi. Said he was with her all night."
"The hacker, Lyle... he seemed terrified," the officer mused. "He kept pointing the finger at Sun, but he had zero proof. Just paranoia."
"Lyle is hiding something," the Detective grunted. "The dead guys were prepping for a job. My gut says they crossed the wrong people. Maybe a cartel. Maybe the Russians."
"Well, the Chief wants answers. A VIP getting whacked in a private hospital looks bad for everyone."
The Detective flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter. "Let's go sweat the hacker again. See if he cracks."
They turned back inside, leaving Hunter Sun in the clear.
Checkout My New Novel and Drop Some Powerstones :
Fast & Furious: I Got a System and Became Dom's Boss