15: Chapter 15 Since we're going to put on a show, let's go all the way.

A burnt smell hung in the air of the police station—not from burnt coffee, but the lingering aftermath of the explosion of Murphy's Dodge Challenger.

Although that had happened yesterday, the smell felt as if it were stuck to everyone's nasal hairs.

The blinds of the chief's office were tightly shut, yet the roars leaking through the door crack made the civilian staff outside shrink their necks.

"Is this your idea of control? Huh? My precinct has turned into Baghdad! Do you want my car to become a fireball in the driveway too, Murphy?!"

The door was suddenly pushed open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang.

Murphy walked out, his face looking as if it had been violently slapped with the sole of a shoe—red bruised with blue, the veins at his temples throbbing fiercely.

He wasn't wearing his hat, and his bloodshot eyes, like two rabid dogs, swept across the office area before finally locking onto Chen Mo, who was organizing files.

Chen Mo didn't look away. Holding an autopsy report in his hand, he calmly stared back.

"Everyone, listen up!" Murphy barked, his voice hoarse.

"In half an hour, everyone assemble. We are going to wipe out that nest of cockroaches in the Red Hook District. The ESU backup hasn't arrived yet, so we're going in first."

This was a desperate move. The chief needed a scapegoat, or a glorious victory to shut the media's mouth.

As for Murphy, he needed to silence witnesses, or at least show that he was working hard to fight crime.

"Sir," Chen Mo put down the files and took a step forward. "The medical examiner's office currently has no body disposal tasks. I request to join the squad."

The surrounding officers looked at him as if he were a fool.

Everyone knew this was a dangerous mess to get into, especially for Chen Mo. He was still a recovering casualty, and Murphy clearly had it out for him.

Murphy narrowed his eyes, sizing Chen Mo up and down. His gaze was like someone assessing a piece of meat to see how best to slice it.

Refuse? No. Keeping this damn yellow monkey right under his nose was better than letting him scheme somewhere out of sight.

The armored car heist last night, and that damn leaked phone call... Murphy had a beast-like intuition that this kid had something to do with it.

"Want to make a name for yourself?" A savage grin tugged at the corner of Murphy's mouth, revealing his yellowed teeth.

"Sure, I'll grant your wish. Go grab your gear and get in Second Squad's assault van."

"Thank you, sir."

Chen Mo turned and walked toward the equipment room.

In fact, he didn't really need standard-issue gear.

Underneath his loose police uniform, he was already wearing the Kevlar body armor plate he bought yesterday—thin, but capable of stopping a 9mm pistol round.

Tucked into his waist was the folding tactical knife he had sourced from the black market.

At the equipment counter, he checked out a glock 17 and two spare magazines.

Checking the chamber, loading the magazine to capacity, chambering a round, and engaging the safety.

His movements were smooth as water, without any unnecessary flashiness.

On the system panel, [Basic Firearms Mastery (White)] flickered slightly.

"Hey, Corpse Collector."

A burly white officer bumped Chen Mo's shoulder. It was the leader of Second Squad, Carter.

He was one of the three who had looked for trouble in the locker room earlier.

"Don't wet your pants. Once the shooting starts, nobody's going to have time to change your diapers."

"Don't worry," Chen Mo said, holstering his gun and adjusting his collar.

"I'm only responsible for collecting corpses. If you guys are unfortunate enough to end up dead, I'll sew you up nicely."

Carter's face instantly turned the color of pig's liver.

Half an hour later, five police cars with blaring sirens sped toward the infamous "Hermann Apartments" in the Red Hook District like a pack of rabid bulls.

That was Marcus's stronghold, an abandoned public housing building that the drug dealers had converted into a fortress.

The outer walls were covered in messy graffiti, and the windows were boarded up, leaving only dark, hollow gun ports.

Just as the cars came to a halt, before the SWAT team could even breach the door, chaos erupted from the apartment building.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Intense gunfire erupted like popping corn.

The windshield was instantly shattered into a spiderweb. The driver swerved hard, crashing the front of the car into a roadside fire hydrant, sending a geyser of water shooting into the sky.

"Get out! Find cover!" Murphy roared over the radio.

Chen Mo pushed open the car door and rolled along the ground to get behind a wheel.

Bullets struck the car body, sending sparks flying and making a grating metallic clatter.

This was by no means a routine arrest; this was a war.

Marcus's crew was clearly prepared, even setting up automatic rifles.

"Second Squad! Flank them from the side! Blow open that damn back door!" Murphy commanded, crouching behind an SUV and waving his pistol.

Carter led a few men and dashed out, keeping low.

Chen Mo didn't move. Huddled in the blind spot of the wheel, gun in hand, his eyes were locked on a spot ten meters ahead.

There, a young auxiliary officer had just fallen. His neck had been shot through, blood was spurting out, and his body was still twitching.

On the other side, two gang gunmen in hoodies were also suppressed by police fire, collapsing screaming next to a trash can.

For others, this place was hell.

But in Chen Mo's eyes, tempting glowing orbs were floating above those fallen bodies.

That was experience, skills—his capital for surviving in this dog-eat-dog world.

He was in no hurry to shoot. He was waiting. Waiting for the waters to get muddier, waiting for more people to die.

"Chen! Are you sitting there hatching eggs?!"

Murphy's voice suddenly exploded in his ear. He had slipped over at some point, his venomous eyes staring hard at Chen Mo.

"See that firing point? Second Squad is pinned down. You, charge over there and throw a flashbang into that window."

Following Murphy's finger, Chen Mo looked at a window on the second floor.

A light machine gun was frantically spitting fire from there, and the path to charge over was a completely exposed, open area.

This was sending him to his death.

The barrel of the gun in Murphy's hand pointed toward Chen Mo, intentionally or otherwise, his eyes filled with a clear threat: refuse, and it's insubordination—I can shoot you dead right now.

Chen Mo looked at Murphy and suddenly smiled.

It was a very cold smile, completely out of place on this fiery battlefield.

"Yes, sir."

Chen Mo grabbed the flashbang hanging from his belt and took a deep breath.

Want me dead?

We'll have to see if the King of Hell is willing to collect this toll.

Just then, a stray bullet grazed Chen Mo's scalp, shearing off a lock of his hair and leaving a burning pain.

Seizing the momentum, he lunged forward—not toward the open ground, but rolling toward the fallen gang gunman.

"Excellent," Chen Mo muttered, pressing his palm against the still-warm corpse, a smirk playing on his lips. "All fresh experience packs."