You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Seeing Mia's moved expression, almost to the point of wanting to repay him with her body, Leon rolled his eyes inwardly.

This silly girl.

What a load of rubbish!

The reason she was left to hide in the back was simply because the system's task settlement judgments were sometimes quite unpredictable.

If Mia rushes in and unleashes a flurry of punches or steals the kill with her stun gun, her participation rate will definitely drop.

This is a big task worth 200 points. If the participation rate drops to 80%, the lost attribute points are practically equivalent to losing a life.

Even if she doesn't steal monsters, if she gets injured, Leon will have to go to her rescue, which will delay his score-farming.

"squeak--!"

The Ford Crown Victoria was brought to a sudden stop by Lyon in front of the convenience store.

"You're in charge of perimeter security!"

Leon yelled, then pressed the car lock button and reached in to unlock the gun rack latch between the front seats.

"Click."

The AR-15 rifle slid smoothly into his hand.

Faced with a robbery scene that might involve heavy firepower, going in with a small handgun would be irresponsible and endanger your life. With a rifle in hand, I have the confidence to fight back.

He pushed open the car door and immediately went into battle mode.

The convenience store's glass door was wide open, and the shelves inside were overturned, with potato chips and cheap candy scattered everywhere.

Three little black kids wearing baggy hoodies and pants that had fallen down to their buttocks were darting out of there.

Their arms were stuffed with colorful cigarette boxes, stacks of lottery tickets, and one of them was even holding a case of beer.

A classic "zero-dollar purchase" scene.

These guys clearly didn't expect the police to arrive so quickly, and they certainly didn't expect to be confronted by a burly man with an assault rifle as soon as they got out of the car.

"Run! Run!"

The leader, a Black man, shouted and led the way, sprinting towards the parking lot on the side.

Leon quickly raised his gun, and the red dot on the holographic sight instantly locked onto the back of the leader's head.

With just a light pull of the trigger, given his current marksmanship, that guy's head would explode like a rotten watermelon.

but……

He really didn't dare to fire.

"Shit, no way."

He's only been back from his administrative leave for one day!

If these guys who only stole some cigarettes and alcohol and are still on the run were shot, even if it were forcibly explained as "stopping fugitives," the people in the Ministry of Internal Affairs would absolutely go crazy.

Even if he were lucky enough to avoid legal trial with the help of union lawyers, Danfoss would definitely skin him alive and reassign him to a clerical job for life.

It's not worth sitting on the sidelines for such a small amount of points.

"SPD! Don't move! Lie down!"

As Leon shouted, he lifted the seven-pound AR-15, took a deep breath, and instantly tensed his leg muscles to exert force.

"Thump! Thump!"

In just two or three steps, he easily shortened the distance by five or six meters, and it looked like the muzzle of the gun was about to hit the last kid's butt.

"Too fast!"

Lyon himself was startled by this exaggerated burst of power.

At this speed, he could send all three of them flying like bowling balls in less than two seconds.

But then his eyes darted around, and he suddenly slowed down his pace.

What's the rush?

This is the old alleyway area behind Fourth Avenue; you could draw a map of it even with your eyes closed.

Two hundred meters ahead is a dead end blocked by barbed wire. Unless these three learn to scale walls, it's a dead end.

Since we can't escape, we might as well have some fun.

Lyon adjusted his breathing and changed his sprint to a jog.

He even had the leisure to adjust the position of the body camera on his chest with one hand to ensure that it could capture this wonderful morning exercise.

The three young black men in front were already putting in all their strength.

Their lungs were about to burst, their hearts were pounding as if they were going to jump out of their throats, and they had to hold up their pants with one hand and protect the stolen goods in their arms with the other. The awkward posture made them run even slower, and the slower they ran, the more anxious they became.

The leader in the red hoodie glanced back as he ran, and saw Leon following behind them with his assault rifle.

That guy was fully equipped, yet he didn't even pant heavily while chasing me. What kind of physique is that?!

This doesn't make sense! Isn't it said that Black people are stronger in sports?

"Damn it! How come he's not tired?!"

There was no other way but to keep running. The man in the red hoodie frantically tried to shake off his opponent, but to little avail.

I can't run away, I'm not as fast as them, I can't shake them off, and my physical strength isn't as good as theirs.

Lyon watched the three figures ahead of him running, staggering and even tripping over each other in a chaotic manner, and felt a surge of joy.

These 15 points of physical fitness are such a great deal!

Aside from the boots being a bit tiring on the feet when running, everything else is fine.

If he didn't still have to arrest the three people in front of him, he might even have wanted to ask them:

"Hey guys, are you tired? How about we stop and rest for a bit before continuing?"

Then, just when the three unlucky guys were about to run out of options, the man in the red hoodie led the group into the back alley courtyard of a shop called "Ray's Barber Shop".

This is our own gang's territory. Surely the police wouldn't be so rude as to follow us around like this.

In the backyard, several tables were pushed together, and a group of black men with tattooed arms were sitting around them.

There was a lot of loose change, several bottles of off-brand whiskey, several plates of meat, and several decks of cards on the table.

One of the people who wasn't playing cards was reading pornography on the side.

Sitting in the very center was a classic American fat man, as fat as a balloon, known as "Big T," a minor gang leader who controlled two streets.

He had a buzz cut, was holding a deck of cards, and was wearing a pair of brand-new, pure white Air Force One shoes.

"Bang!"

The boy in the red hoodie who was leading the group ran too fast and fell down.

He slid in and knocked over a plastic stool next to him, which also knocked over bottles on the table.

The amber-colored liquor splashed out instantly, and, as luck would have it, it landed right on Big T.

Big T shuddered suddenly, brushed the liquor off his clothes, and the liquid slid down, getting his sneakers dirty again.

The air froze instantly, and Big T's face immediately turned dark, even though it was already dark enough.

"Yo! What the fxxk?!"

Big T jumped to his feet, glared at the gang member who had suddenly rushed in, grabbed him, and yelled at him:

"Nigga, are you even mentally sound right now?? Did you damage your brain with drugs and come here to cause trouble?"

"Why did you have to come looking for trouble when I had a hand of nuts!"

"Are you fucking tired of living?"

The man in the red hoodie was almost stunned by the fall, but then Big T picked him up again. Luckily, he didn't forget that there were still pursuers behind him.

"Big T! Help! Cops! There are cops following us!"