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

Excluding the gun of the dead mercenary sniper, the only weapon on site that could be considered a sniper rifle was this M24.

If this gun belongs to the gang, how did Na'ang manage to find a perfectly loaded and calibrated sniper rifle during a fierce firefight?

If this gun belongs to Lyon himself... then the problem is even bigger. Possessing an unregistered ghost gun while on duty is a serious crime within the police department!

"cough……"

Raymond coughed lightly, cold sweat breaking out again. He suddenly realized he seemed to have discovered some secret he shouldn't have, and his tone became somewhat subtle:

"Um... Vance. This gun... it couldn't be...?"

"Shh-"

Lyon shushed Raymond into the microphone, interrupting his dangerous associations.

"Garcia, you're a smart man."

Lyon's voice sounded relaxed, even a little amused:

"That's a gangster's gun. There's no doubt about it."

"The situation was urgent. I was empty-handed and only found this weapon abandoned by the criminal in the chaos. In order to protect my colleagues, I had to use it to carry out a legal self-defense counterattack."

"That's the truth. Just like when I used that truck to block the road, it was all about using what was available."

"As for why that gun just happened to be there, and why it just happened to be so useful..."

"Perhaps God is on our side?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately following was Raymond's amused and awkwardly forced laugh, clearly indicating that he had smoothly accepted the situation.

"Ha...haha, yes! That's right! God bless America!"

"Look at my brain, it must be like this, this is a damn gang weapon! You only used it reluctantly in the name of justice!"

"So... why are you asking this? This thing is evidence now, and according to procedure it needs to be sealed and then destroyed."

"Don't destroy it."

Lyon's true colors are revealed:

"I think that gun feels good to handle, it's kind of meant for me. Could you transfer it to me as part of the ACU's operational equipment?"

"The ACU needs long-range firepower, but I don't want to wait for the bureau's lengthy procurement approval process."

"this……"

Raymond started rubbing his temples again.

"Vance, according to Article 304 of the Police Department Manual, all seized ghost guns are illegal and prohibited items and must be destroyed after the case is closed. Police officers are strictly prohibited from possessing them or using them as duty weapons."

"Furthermore, the M24 is a military-grade weapon, and ordinary patrol officers are not authorized to carry it..."

"but!"

Before Lyon could even put pressure on him, Raymond took the initiative and changed the subject.

The value of an excellent bureaucrat lies in his ability to turn "impossible" into "possible".

"Under the state and federal asset forfeiture laws, law enforcement agencies have the authority to confiscate seized criminal assets that have law enforcement value and convert them into police equipment to save taxpayers' money."

"This is usually used to deal with confiscated sports cars or cash, but guns... as long as ballistic tests prove that they are not involved in other pending cases, they can theoretically be taken by the department."

"We can have the firearms department issue a report proving that this gun has extremely high 'training and tactical research value'."

"Then, we can 'donate' it to the police armory, re-stamp it with the police's official seal and serial number, turn it into a legal asset, and finally assign it to you for use."

"However, there is a major flaw."

Raymond paused, his tone becoming somewhat hesitant:

"Vance, I've seen your file. You're a PO-II (Police Officer Second Class)."

"Your shooting scores are all A's, but your skill tree only has certifications for regular pistols and patrol rifles."

There are no certifications such as "marksman" or "SWAT sniper".

"Even if I give you the gun, you're not legally authorized to carry it. If you fire it next time and get caught by the Ministry of Internal Affairs during a routine check, it won't just be a matter of using a captured weapon; it will be a violation of regulations by using an unauthorized high-risk weapon."

"That would have been a real problem."

Lyon frowned.

This is indeed a problem.

Back when I was a patrol officer, I dealt with domestic violence and homeless people every day in my patrol car. I didn't need a sniper rifle at all. Those things are heavy and take up a lot of space. Only the SWAT team would carry them around every day.

So although he had a systematic LV4 rifle skill, he never took the marksman certification exam, which is usually only required by SWAT snipers.

"So, as long as I have that certificate, this gun can be mine?" Leon asked.

"right."

Raymond gave an affirmative answer:

"Just in the next couple of days. While you're on sick leave."

"Go to the Washington State Police Training Board or any qualified tactical school and get that damn patrol rifle marksman certification."

"With the skill you had last night—blowing out the tires of a moving vehicle in the rain—getting a license should be easier for you than drinking water."

"Once you get the certificate, I can legitimately add that M24 to your equipment list, noting that it is a special operations team tactical weapon."

"Even if the Ministry of the Interior comes to investigate with a magnifying glass, they won't be able to find a single fault."

Lyon thought for a moment and nodded.

It's a bit troublesome, but it's definitely the safest way.

Although he is currently enjoying great success, in a country where procedural justice is paramount, it's hard to guarantee that the Ministry of the Interior won't change its attitude towards him once the storm has passed.

"Okay, whatever you say."

Lyon readily agreed, "Keep the gun safe for me, don't let anyone steal it. I'll slam the certificate on your desk in a couple of days."

"Don't worry, no one in the Western District Police Station has dared to touch the things I confiscated."

After hanging up Raymond's call, Lyon hailed a yellow taxi.

"Go here."

He handed his phone to the driver, showing him the address near his home, then leaned back wearily in his seat, watching the street scene recede outside the window.

His Dodge Challenger is still parked in the police station's underground garage. That thing is probably being watched by reporters now, and driving it out would be too conspicuous.

As for why I didn't take the bus?

Give me a break.

In Seattle, or in any major city in the country, buses are mobile mental hospitals and biochemical laboratories.

When Leon first arrived in this world, he was penniless. To save a few dozen dollars on taxi fare, he gritted his teeth and squeezed onto the "E-Line" express bus a few times.

That was the nightmare he least wanted to recall in his life.

The carriage was always filled with a stale smell of urine, marijuana, and a nauseating odor like spoiled milk.

At that moment, Lyon even wondered if he had entered a gas chamber.

The back of the train carriage is always a lawless zone.

Lyon often saw several men with their hoods pulled low openly conducting transactions of some white powder, or simply looking for veins with syringes in hand.

As for the seats?

That's absolutely not a place you should sit on.

God knows what's hidden under that dirty velvet.

It could be a bloody needle left by the previous passenger, it could be unwashed excrement, or it could be fleas that cause boils on the buttocks.

Back then, Lyon could only huddle in the front corner of the carriage, clinging tightly to the handrail like a martial arts master practicing stance training, minimizing contact with any object, and constantly on guard against the mentally ill person next to him who was talking to himself and suddenly biting him.

"Sir, the road ahead is a bit congested, this area... you know."

A turbaned Indian driver, speaking with a curry-scented accent, interrupted Lyon's reminiscence.