The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 349 Amazing Data

at this time.

In the observation room, the scanner began to emit a regular, low-frequency tapping sound.

On the screen, the brain structure begins to appear clearly: gray matter, white matter, and ventricles.
Snapped!
Suddenly the lights went out.

The scanner stopped abruptly, the screen went black instantly, and all the indicator lights on the instruments went out at the same time.

The sudden darkness left everyone except Eric and Tifa bewildered.

"What happened?!" Lauren exclaimed, instinctively hugging Jenny.

“Darling!” Tifa looked at Eric instinctively.

Eric frowned.

"Why isn't the backup generator starting?" Dr. Stephenson's voice carried a hint of confusion in the darkness.

"It should be started immediately."

Eric had moved to the door, his right hand on the hilt of his gun, listening intently to the sounds outside.

"This is not a normal power outage; the power supply has been deliberately cut off."

Tifa quickly moved to Lauren and Jenny's side and, without saying a word, pulled them to a relatively safe corner behind the control panel.

"Someone cut the power?" Dr. Stephenson was taken aback.

"why?"

Eric did not answer, but calmly said:
"Doctor, does the MRI room have a device for manually opening the hatch in an emergency?"

Dr. Stephenson hesitated, "There's a red lever on the right side of the device, but Reese is..."

Eric interrupted him: "He has to come out; he's a sitting duck in the scanner."

After saying that, Eric nodded to Tifa.

Without a word, Tifa said, "Doctor, quick, let's go together."

Although Dr. Stephenson did not understand what was going on, the sense of crisis in the air and Eric and Tifa's alarmed reaction made him realize that tonight's events were anything but ordinary.

He nodded and asked no more questions. He quickly walked through the inner door connecting the observation room and the MRI scanning room. Seeing this, Lauren immediately picked up Jenny and followed closely behind.

Tifa looked at Eric and said, "Darling!"

“Go ahead,” Eric simply nodded and smiled, his voice calm and reassuring.

"They need you more than ever."

Without further hesitation, Tifa gave Eric a deep look, then decisively turned around, retreated into the MRI scanning room, and gently closed the inner door behind her.

The moment the door closed, Eric's smile vanished as he glanced at the layout and environment of the observation room.

The observation room is relatively compact, about 5 meters by 7 meters. The entire wall is made of thickened soundproof glass and faces the ring of the MRI machine next door, so that doctors and family members can observe the entire scanning process.

A long, narrow control panel was placed in front of the glass wall.

The central area is relatively open.

There are two doors: an inner door leading to the MRI scanning room and a main door leading to the outer corridor.

Eric had no intention of going out; the enemy was in the dark while he was in the light, and going out would be too risky.

Eric glanced at the soundproof glass again and saw that Tifa and the others had helped the completely exhausted Reese down and were hiding in a corner with a bewildered nurse.

Seeing this, Eric pulled out the Watcher Custom 2011 and pressed it against the shadow on the wall on the same side as the door hinge, a blind spot when the door is opened.

No matter from what angle the person outside the door peers in, they cannot spot him immediately.

A deathly silence was spreading, and time seemed to stretch out.

There was no sound outside.

Eric wasn't in a hurry either, his breathing was steady and long. He knew all too well where they stood. No matter what, the one who should be anxious was not them, but the outsiders.

Because the longer it drags on, the more advantageous it is for them.

With every second that passes, the chances of the police contacted by Tifa arriving increase.

Perhaps those outside also knew this, because Eric heard an extremely faint noise.

There was a bang.

The main door was kicked open and slammed against the wall.

In that instant, Eric squinted and remained motionless; he neither saw nor heard the other party's next move.

The sense of crisis wasn't that strong.

The people outside are interesting; they have a difference in experience compared to his previous opponents. They're probably fishing for him.

But a second later, a black cylinder rolled down the ground.

Eric's incredibly fast reflexes made him realize that this was a bombshell!

Just as it rolled across the door line and was about to enter the room, Eric took a quick step forward, his right toe touching the side of the stun grenade, causing it to roll back the way it came at an even faster speed.

boom!
The stun grenade exploded violently in the hallway outside the door, but most of the bright light and loud noise were absorbed by the door frame and walls.

Before the echoes of the explosion had even faded, a dark figure braved the shockwave and stealthily charged in! He clearly hadn't anticipated Eric's swift reaction, which resulted in him instantly unleashing the shockwave.

This is clearly the work of a master!
With astonishing willpower, he overcame some of the effects, holding the HK416 horizontally in his hand, the red dot of the laser pointer instantly sweeping across the room.

In that instant, Abel saw Eric, right by the wall!

But after Eric kicked back the stun grenade, the changing light and shadow in his pupils prevented him from retreating to his original position. Instead, he used the momentum of his forward charge to lunge directly to the side and forward, performing a swift tactical roll to avoid the initial lock of the laser point.

puff!puff!puff!
The HK416, fitted with a silencer, emitted a venomous hiss as bullets chased after Eric, slamming into the walls and floor, sending sparks flying.

As Eric finished his roll, he knelt on one knee, holding the Watcher Custom 2011 sword horizontally in his hand.

With his current marksmanship, he is more than 90% confident that he can shatter the opponent's skull with the first shot.

However, just before pulling the trigger, an instinctive feeling made Eric instantly change the direction of the gun.

The figure before him, at the very instant he raised his gun, began to turn his head slightly in anticipation. This was not a conscious dodge, but rather a subconscious reaction to impending death, honed through countless battle instincts.

If he had chosen the same headshot target as before, it would have been difficult to kill him instantly, and there was a risk of mutual destruction.

boom!
Gunshots echoed in the confined space in Watchers Custom 2011.

Clang! A bullet struck the front of the HK416's handguard precisely, the impact causing the gun to veer sharply and almost slip from Abel's hand.

Abel was terrified, his heart filled with a storm of emotions. The pressure from the figure before him was greater than that of any opponent he had ever faced before. The chilling feeling he had just experienced made him truly believe that he was going to die.

He tried to regain control of the gun, reaching down with one hand, but Eric had already pounced on him like a cheetah.

Eric yanked his left hand up, lifting the deformed handguard of the HK416 and pressing its muzzle firmly against the ceiling. With his right hand, he slammed the Watcher Custom 2011 down with the butt, striking Abel's wrist hard in the ulna.

Crack! A clear sound of bone breaking rang out.

Abel grunted, and the rifle slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

Without pausing, Eric forcefully slammed Abel into the control panel next to him.

Clang! The control panel shook violently. Abel was pinned to the edge by Eric, his movements distorted, and a sharp pain shot through his ribs. Eric's calm face was inches away.

"Who are you!" His voice was deep and carried a strong sense of oppression.

Abel didn't answer, his intact left hand trying to pull out the Glock 19, but Eric's knee beat him to it, slamming into his abdomen.

The momentum is strong!

Ugh! Abel's body instantly curled up, all his strength drained by the blow, and he slowly knelt on the ground, retching violently, with fine beads of cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

Eric took a step back, pointing his gun at Abel, who was completely unable to resist at his feet.

"Who sent you?" Eric stared at the figure at his feet, showing no intention of killing him.

If I wanted to kill them, I would have already shot them in the head with a second shot when I interrupted their attack.

The importance of living people is greater than that of corpses.

However, the figure beneath his feet did not answer, remaining silent from the moment before.

Eric frowned slightly, sensing something was amiss.

It was so quiet that even the painful groans had disappeared.

Eric cautiously approached, maintaining a safe distance, and touched the shoulder of the figure beneath his feet with his toe.

The other person collapsed under the force. Eric frowned, squatted down, and pulled off the other person's black hood, revealing a lifeless face with dark red blood oozing from the slightly open corner of his mouth.

"So decisive?" Eric checked the other man's carotid artery, confirmed that there was no pulse, twitched his lips, and put the gun back in its holster.

From this, he had already guessed the other party's identity.

This is not something an ordinary mercenary or gangster assassin could do.

Such well-trained individuals, capable of taking their own lives without hesitation in the instant of mission failure, thus severing all leads, are few and far between.

Considering the current situation, only the CIA remains. Eric shook his head inwardly, looking at the corpse. "Even the CIA has gotten involved now?"
I wonder if the other person has cyanide capsules hidden in their molars like in the movies.

The speed was so fast, they probably located this place through Lauren's call, right?
Shaking off his thoughts, Eric quickly searched the body, his fingers touching a thin, hard object in the concealed lining of the tactical vest.

What I took out was a high-quality California driver's license, printed with: Abel Jenkins.

"Well made, actually." Eric didn't pay any attention and casually tossed the driver's license back onto the corpse.

Having lived two lives, he knew the CIA's operating procedures all too well. These people's identities, like their missions, were carefully prepared, disposable masks, impossible to trace.

Continue the search.

Eric skillfully searched every pocket, collar, and even heel of the corpse.

Apart from standardized tactical equipment and a few magazines with untraceable serial numbers, there were no other items that could indicate their true identity.

Eric gave up, but paused when he unfastened the buckle on the opponent's tactical vest.

On the left side of the corpse's chest, something smaller than a button was staring straight at him.

Eric paused for a moment, then a realization flashed in his eyes. This thing was very likely a miniature camera.

-

Unbeknownst to Eric, at this very moment, in a command center filled with monitors and computers, all was completely silent.

Everyone present, from the technicians to the analysts, and even Spencer standing at the back, stared at him intently.

The walls were covered with surveillance screens, like a digital starry sky. On the largest screen in the center, Eric's face was clearly magnified.

When he picked up the miniature camera and brought it close to the lens, his calm eyes appeared unusually bright, as if they could penetrate the barrier of electronic signals and look directly at everyone behind the screen.

At that moment, several senior analysts in the command center unconsciously leaned back.

Clap!

The home screen instantly turned into a snowy mess.

A deathly silence enveloped the entire command center, with only the continuous hum of the machine radiators making the stillness seem even more oppressive.

Spencer Watts stood in front of the control panel, his hands braced on the table, staring at the snowflake for a full ten seconds, his knuckles turning slightly white from the pressure.

"Signal interrupted, Unit 2 confirmed dead." The technician's voice trembled slightly as he broke the silence.

Spencer slowly straightened up, loosened his tie, and took a deep breath.

Only now did he finally understand that there was a person hidden in the whole incident who had never been noticed by anyone, including himself.

No wonder things started to go further and further astray.

"Pull up the last two minutes of the battle footage." Spencer's voice was unusually calm, but those who knew him well could hear the suppressed emotion within it.

"Yes, sir," someone replied.

The screen began replaying the battle, Eric kicking back the stun grenade, rolling around under the suppressive fire—everything.

But it all happened too fast; the whole process was over in the blink of an eye.

"Reduce to one-tenth of the speed," Spencer commanded, his voice tense.

The image became a slow motion blur, but even so, Eric's movements remained breathtakingly fluid.

"stop!"

As Spencer watched Eric raise his gun and aim, he felt a tightness in his chest and his breathing became heavy.

They went so far as to secretly drug the Navy SEALs in Reese and analyze their physiological data over a long period of time, all in order to cultivate super soldiers and eventually achieve mass production.

Otherwise, Rhys, who originally enlisted as a sniper, could never have become so strong, achieved such outstanding results, and still hadn't retired at the age of 40, maintaining top-tier physiological data.

The deceased Number Two was a relatively successful product of this project. His original strength was only above the baseline level of a front-line special forces soldier, but under the catalysis of drugs, he gained extraordinary strength and reaction speed. Even his emotions and feelings were strictly suppressed to the lowest level by drugs and training.

Their strength has thus risen to the top level.

The training and financial costs invested in developing the second satellite amounted to nearly 20 million US dollars.

The fact that such a powerful number two was instantly defeated was so unreal that it was a shock to him, and he found it hard to accept and believe.

"He predicted the trajectory of all the bullets and even completed target identification, threat assessment, and firing decision within 0.2 seconds. This is not the reaction speed that humans should have." Spencer stared intently at the frozen image on the big screen, his voice hoarse.

No one answered in the entire command center; all the analysts had their heads down, comparing the data displayed side by side on the screen.

On one side are the physiological limits reached by Number Two after drug enhancement and rigorous training; on the other side are the parameters of Eric Stevens's ability to clearly break through limits, roughly estimated based on the video footage.

“We’ve made a fatal mistake. This Eric Stevens is no ordinary detective. Notify all standby units to raise his threat level to the highest level,” Spencer said in a deep voice.

"Also, I need Eric Stevens' complete file, from his birth to the present, not a single detail can be missed."

"Yes, sir!" someone replied.

The next second, another person informed: "Sir, LAPD is expected to arrive at the scene in one minute."

Spencer's gaze swept across the side screen, which displayed live footage from a distant surveillance camera, the red and blue lights of police cars shining brightly in it.

"If things proceed as planned, we need to conduct an immediate emergency assessment, and all subsequent actions must be replanned."

(End of this chapter)