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

Mia rushed over, looking Leon up and down. "God, I heard on the radio that you guys had a car accident, I thought..."

"You thought I was dead?"

Leon pointed to the pile of wreckage behind him.

"Don't worry, they're not quite there yet to kill me. Two of those three unlucky guys did get their hands on. But you've come at the perfect time."

Before Mia could even express her concern, Leon's next words plunged her back into despair.

"Even though the suspect is dead, my crime scene investigation report, the use of force report, and the damage assessment of this Mustang... these are all the chores that need to be done."

"Tonight might be a huge all-nighter. As your supervising officer, I think this is a good opportunity to hone your paperwork skills."

"ah?!"

Mia's face fell instantly.

All night? Filling out forms? Here we go again?

Looking at the shards of metal scattered on the floor and the bloodstains that hadn't been wiped clean, she suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.

Why did I rush over here? Was it to get here to work as a typist?

I should have been a caregiver at the hospital earlier!

"Sir...I..."

Seeing Mia's desperate look, as if she was about to resign on the spot, Leon glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then suddenly leaned close to Mia's ear and whispered:

"Don't look so sad. In exchange, I have to go to headquarters today to go through some procedures, so I don't have time to write your internship evaluation."

"That form is on your desk in the office. Go fill it out yourself."

After saying that, Leon stepped back and gave her a knowing look.

Mia's initially disfigured face underwent a miraculous medical reversal in 0.01 seconds.

Rate yourself?

Doesn't that mean all of them are "A+"? All of them are "outstanding"? All of them are "highly promising"?

The salted fish that was just half-dead suddenly came back to life.

"Ahem!"

Mia straightened her back abruptly, all traces of fatigue vanishing from her face:

"Sir, please go to headquarters to handle important matters!"

"How can you call this a hassle? It's a stepping stone for my learning and advancement. You go ahead and handle the important matters; leave this to me!"

Lyon waved his hand dismissively, then threw the cigarette butt under his foot and stomped it out.

"Alright, stop your supernatural powers. Get back to work."

"Okay!"

Leon shook his head and turned to look at Ward.

"Come on, buddy. We still need to go with the SWAT team to headquarters to go through the procedures and explain how that Explorer turned into a convertible."

……

In the afternoon, at Harbourview Medical Centre, Department of Psychiatry and Psychology

This place boasts the best trauma recovery specialists in all of Seattle; they also provide psychological evaluations for some of the police officers who have riddled people with bullets in the streets.

Leon pushed open a mahogany door with the words "Attending Physician: Dr. Silva" hanging on it, and his buttocks barely touched the edge of the expensive-looking leather recliner.

"This is Leon Vance from the West Precinct. Regarding that case..."

"I know who you are, Officer Vance."

Dr. Silva, sitting behind her desk, didn't even look up, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

"How is your sleep? Do you have any typical symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder? For example, nightmares, night sweats, or an uncontrollable urge to destroy when you see a Ford Mustang?"

Lyon blinked, about to say something polite, but the other party didn't give him a chance.

"Oh, I know, no, that's good."

Dr. Silva answered his own question, then pressed the Enter key. The printer next to him immediately started humming and produced a freshly printed "Reinstatement Psychological Health Certificate."

"This is your evaluation report."

"The conclusion is that you have excellent psychological qualities, extremely stable emotional control, and resilience in the face of pressure, making you perfectly suited to immediately return to your frontline law enforcement post."

The doctor pushed the still-warm paper in front of Lyon and politely handed him a pen.

"Sign here, and then you can go."

"The headquarters is pressing them hard; they need you, this sharp knife, to go back into its sheath as soon as possible, or to stir up some new trouble."

Lyon held the pen, staring at the form filled with "Excellent" grades, and his lips twitched involuntarily.

Isn't this too hasty?

This is a psychologist appointed by the General Administration, not that half-baked consultant from the branch office who usually smokes cigars with Danfoss.

Before he arrived, he was even prepared to have a fierce battle with these academics, discussing his childhood traumas or his family of origin.

The entire consultation process lasted less than 30 seconds, and he didn't even pour himself a glass of water?

"Doctor, aren't you going to ask me how I felt after the accident, like my reverence for life?"

Lyon couldn't help but ask a cheeky question.

Dr. Silva finally looked up at him, adjusted her glasses, and her eyes were full of weariness that seemed to say, "Everyone's busy enough, let's stop acting."

"Officer Vance, Chief Sterling personally called the superintendent."

"Furthermore, the FBI also sent a letter confirming that it was necessary force against terrorist activities."

"Heroes don't have mental illnesses; unless you want a paid vacation, you're the most normal person around."

"Uh, I mean, do you need it? Even though I'm asking, I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Remember to close the door when you leave. Next person."

Leon walked out of the consultation room with the report in his hand, stood in the corridor filled with the smell of disinfectant, and shook his head helplessly.

The same thing happened on that rainy night a few days ago.

He and Ward returned to headquarters with the SWAT team, expecting a lengthy interrogation by the Department of Internal Affairs, or at least an afternoon of haggling over compensation for the explorer's car, which had been smashed into a convertible.

The results of it?

The head of the General Administration's Internal Affairs Department smiled broadly, only asking a few simple questions about key points.

After confirming the two core elements of "the suspect possessing heavy firepower" and "the officer's life being threatened," they waved him on.

That evening, before even eight o'clock, he was already lying on his sofa, eating reheated tomato soup.

Then I watched on TV as Chief of Police Sterling's handsome, righteous face appeared at the press conference.

Then, Leon casually stuffed the psychological evaluation report into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Since we're already here, and the parking fees at Harbourview Medical Centre are outrageously expensive, it would feel like a waste not to do something else while we're at it.

Bob is in the observation ward upstairs. I heard he survived, but he's wrapped up like a mummy and will have to stay in the hospital for a while.

Leon strolled to the nurses' station and, with his incredibly deceptively handsome face, easily extracted Bob's room number from the nurse on duty—502.

Pushing open the soundproof door to the ward, a strong smell of disinfectant hit me.

The room was quiet. Bob was lying on the hospital bed, his left shoulder and abdomen wrapped in thick bandages. He looked much thinner and had completely lost the bragging spirit he usually had in the patrol car.

Beside his hospital bed, a young woman with her back to the door was bending down to tidy the corners of Bob's blanket.

Hearing the door open, the girl turned around.

Lyon's previously nonchalant gaze froze for a moment.

The girl was probably in her early twenties, wearing a simple white tight-fitting T-shirt and light-colored jeans, but this plain outfit couldn't hide her outrageously good figure.

The T-shirt was stretched taut, the waist was cinched very tightly, and the jeans accentuated her long, straight legs and the curves of her hips.

Her features were almost too delicate; her long, golden hair was casually tied into a ponytail and hung down her back, with a few stray strands falling beside her cheeks, giving her an air of youthful exuberance tinged with a weariness and a sense of brokenness.

By all accounts, it doesn't seem like the kind of child that Bob, with his wrinkled, shrewd face, could have produced.

If it wasn't primarily inherited from the mother's genes or a gene mutation, then it's all thanks to Old Wang next door.

The girl was holding an empty water bottle and was about to go out to get some water when the two bumped into each other at the door.