Chapter 57 58

Chapter 57: TROUBLE

Los Angeles Police Department Headquarters.

Chief William Bratton scratched his thinning hair irritably, his piercing gaze fixed on the subordinates before him.

He felt like he was constantly out of luck. Why had everything been calm during his predecessor's tenure, and now, just over a year into his own, crime rates in the greater Los Angeles area were soaring? And now, a massacre right in the streets, killing so many officers!

This case was too heinous and had too great an impact, forcing him, the top man at the LAPD, to personally oversee the situation.

"The media is about to go berserk, Mary is struggling to handle it, and she's asking what to do," a uniformed subordinate hurried to the meeting room door.

"She has to cope, she's been the police spokesperson for years; do I really need to teach her how to handle her job?" Already furious, William Bratton turned into a blower, his spit almost hitting the subordinate's face. The subordinate didn't dare utter a word, blown right out of the meeting room by this tirade.

"Continue."

William Bratton knew all too well that such a bloody crime, committed in broad daylight, was exactly what the media thrived on. This kind of major news could provoke them to dig as deep as they could for exclusives. If he didn't produce results soon, he would have a hard time dismissing them.

Los Angeles Police Department's chief technician, Margaret, had been working at her computer for a long time and had finally managed to piece together the surveillance footage.

"This is the clearest angle," she said.

Everyone in the meeting room immediately turned their eyes to the large screen. However, as they watched the strange figure darting through the streets, swift as the wind, and finally leaping from a rooftop into a park, their jaws almost dropped in shock.

"Who can tell me? What the hell is that monster? Can humans move that fast, jump that high? Bullets can't even hit it!" William Bratton rarely swore in front of his subordinates, but he felt his brain was overloaded, he took deep breaths to calm down a bit. "How are we progressing now?"

The detective in charge of the case was equally helpless and anxious, but duty bound, he had to stand up and respond:

"We have completed a composite sketch based on eyewitness accounts and merged it with images from the surveillance footage, which we have released to the news. However, we have found no matches in our police databases, nor any fitting profiles. All available SWAT team members have been deployed for a carpet-style manhunt, but so far, no trace of him has been found."

William Bratton almost snorted in frustration:

"So, as of now, we have nothing? Both the governor and the mayor have called expressing their concern; what am I supposed to tell our superiors? Tell the media that we have no leads?"

Everyone in the meeting room looked at each other, mouths tightly shut, clearly at a loss over how to handle such a seemingly supernatural case, afraid to say the wrong thing and get blasted.

"Formally inform all media that due to military secrets involved with the Ninth Avenue case, details cannot be disclosed at this time."

Just as the chief was about to erupt again, a crisp female voice broke the silence in the meeting room. Everyone's eyes turned to the door where two individuals, a man and a woman both dressed in black suits, stood side by side; the woman had just spoken.

"And who might you be?"

These two exuded an aura distinctly different from that of the local police force, and William Bratton sensed something significant. He stood up expectantly.

"Hello, Chief Bratton? I'm Sierra Blaze, Senior Operations Officer from the Department of Defense Special Operations. This is my colleague, Officer Hart Christine. From now on, the Ninth Avenue case will be entirely under our jurisdiction, as per a joint administrative order from the Department of Defense and the Attorney General's office."

Sierra Blaze, with her fiery red hair, stepped forward to shake hands with William Bratton, then handed him a document. Her appearance was very professional, tall yet not frail, her well-balanced muscular frame clearly not that of an ordinary woman.

"Welcome, Officers. I will instruct my team to transfer the files to you and fully cooperate with your efforts."

William Bratton quickly scanned the administrative order, confirmed their IDs, and a look of relief crossed his face. For the first time in his career, he felt a positive regard for these operatives from Washington, rather than resenting their interference in his jurisdiction—finally, he could hand off this hot potato.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Chief Bratton. I ask that you immediately cease all current police search operations. If patrol officers incidentally discover any trace of the criminal, they should report directly to us. We will also designate this meeting room as our temporary command center, classify

 all information as confidential, and handle media communications as I just outlined."

Sierra Blaze's expression was cold, her speech rapid and all business.

However, including William Bratton, all LAPD personnel showed no displeasure; on the contrary, they were eager to hand over this bizarre case.

"Alright, this is Detective Fitz, he will act as the liaison between the Los Angeles Police and your team."

William Bratton did not forget his duty; he made quick arrangements for the transfer, then rushed to call the Attorney General's office to confirm the administrative order was accurate, fully relieved to offload the burden.

The response from Washington was clear: the order indeed came from the Department of Defense and the Attorney General's office, an unusual but perfectly regular procedure, apparently a mess created by those military folks.

I knew it, why else would such an abnormal figure show up?

Though just moments before he had been at a loss, now Chief William Bratton felt as though a great weight had been lifted, his body relaxed. With someone else taking over, all he needed to do was follow that icy woman's instructions for handling the media.

Speaking of which, that woman was quite a looker. Relaxing in his spacious office chair, Bratton began to consider inviting some friends over for a card game that evening. But after a moment's daydreaming, he decided he still had to keep up appearances; after all, so many had died, he had to maintain sufficient public exposure, or it might seem like he didn't care enough.

Chapter 58: Operation Code Name: Glutton

Half an hour later, Chief Bratton walked out of his office again, his dark face marked with serious, heavy lines of concern. After checking on the progress of several major cases, he headed towards the conference room, only to be surprised at its transformation. The curtains were all drawn, and the room was filled with various computers and devices. Men and women in stern suits hurried in and out, each bearing a resemblance to Sierra Blaze, their austere military demeanor unmistakable.

Just as he was wondering, Sierra Blaze appeared at the doorway, blocking his path: "Thank you for your cooperation, Chief Bratton, but this command center involves confidential information from the Department of Defense, and is not open to your team. Please step back. If there's anything needed, I will inform you."

A flicker of anger passed through Bratton's eyes, as the Department of Defense woman showed little regard for his authority on his own turf.

Nevertheless, considering they had taken on a major headache, he wasn't inclined to squabble with them.

He casually turned away, coughed a few times to catch the attention of the curious officers nearby, and put on an authoritative air: "Don't you all have jobs to do? Focus on your duties!"

Walkley Timothy, the head of the LAPD SWAT team, approached. A burly middle-aged man, he too had an air of efficient ferocity but now looked distinctly disgruntled.

"Sir, Commissioner Blaze has instructed us that the SWAT team should be on standby, only to be involved in perimeter security during operations."

Established in 1969, the Los Angeles SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) team is a legendary police unit, a global benchmark for police tactical teams due to its outstanding operations and training. They are well-trained, physically fit, and better equipped than many of the world's elite military forces.

Their gear includes specialized SWAT combat uniforms, tactical vests, black nohlex hoods, custom goggles, and Kevlar helmets, not to mention their array of assault rifles, shotguns, and sniper weapons.

Their regular training focuses on VIP protection, rappelling, explosives handling, jungle warfare, vehicle interception, static surveillance, target selection, and hostage rescue. Their combat capabilities are not to be underestimated.

As the leader of such an elite team, Walkley Timothy was not intimidated by these military interlopers. Deep down, he was irked by their dismissive orders, especially being relegated to a peripheral role.

Bratton was also surprised; he thought the restriction was only to prevent unnecessary casualties among regular officers, not to marginalize SWAT. He suddenly thought of something: "Did they bring their own people?"

Walkley Timothy tilted his head towards the window as a signal: "You might want to take a look yourself."

Following him to the third-floor window, Bratton was shocked to see the police yard below filled with various armored vehicles and troop carriers, along with heavily armed soldiers in unmarked combat gear. Helicopters hovered above, preparing to land. The restless media had been corralled outside, only able to peep in from afar.

Bratton's brow furrowed. Was this a preparation for war in Los Angeles?

Walkley Timothy spat on the ground and continued, "Perhaps you should talk to her superiors. I don't think SWAT's combat effectiveness is inferior to these guys. Why are we only assigned to perimeter security?"

Despite his dissatisfaction with the military's showy takeover, Bratton had no intention of stopping them. The bigger the fuss they made, the more it diverted media and public attention, making it easier for the LAPD to disassociate from any responsibility.

So, to Bratton, his subordinate's complaints seemed somewhat unwarranted. As a SWAT commander, Walkley Timothy was highly skilled and combative, but he also had the typical military-police trait of an inflated sense of honor and pride, stubborn to a fault.

What harm was there in letting these special operatives from the Department of Defense take the lead? Any mishaps would be their department's headache, not his. If SWAT suffered heavy casualties, he would be the one dealing with the fallout.

With this in mind, he patiently placated his subordinate, finally calming the determined officer.

By this time, the media had already blown up with reports of the Los Angeles street massacre. However, lacking firsthand information and stymied by the combined blockade of the police and military, their speculative reports sounded almost fantastical and were thus rarely mentioned. Most eyes were still on the heavily militarized LAPD headquarters.

Even Bruce, far away in New York, saw the news.

"This is a special news broadcast from KTLA in Los Angeles, I'm Molly Clark, reporting live. It has been 16 hours since the Ninth Avenue massacre, and the LAPD has not disclosed any information until half an hour ago. A police spokesperson told us that the military has now officially taken over the

 case. Due to the ongoing situation and related military secrets, details cannot be disclosed to the public at this time..."

"The Los Angeles Police Department urges residents to stay indoors and report any suspicious persons immediately. We are working with the military to resolve the situation as quickly as possible..."

"As you can see behind me, the military has now officially stationed at the police headquarters. The atmosphere is tense, and it seems the situation is more complex than we know. Stay tuned for more updates..."

From behind her, the camera clearly showed a scene of military and police forces, ready for action. Bruce set down his glass of whiskey and dialed Gilbert's number: "The hunter is in place; we can proceed with the second phase of the plan."

Indeed, Mr. Faraday was his deliberately released bait. Although he could only send simple commands through a transmitter embedded in his brain, it was enough to make him act according to Bruce's plans.

This preliminary test subject, maintaining a human form, was meant to gauge ordinary people's reactions to such events and the actions the Washington officials would take. The data collected would help Bruce plan his next steps.

Two hours later, Marlowe Chaplin, Chief Commissioner of the Department of Defense Special Operations, arrived in Los Angeles with Attlee Hopson and technicians from the advanced research bureau, taking full control of the temporary command center.

"Next, I'd like colleagues from the research bureau to introduce the support work for the operation."

Marlowe Chaplin leaned back against a table, arms crossed, his piercing gaze sweeping over the special operations commissioners and commando team leaders.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Acheson Shelley, a technical analyst from DARPA. I will introduce to you a tracking project codenamed 'Bat Zones that See'. The main principle is to control thousands of cameras and hidden sensors through key parts of a computer software system, providing comprehensive tracking and analysis of vehicle and pedestrian movement in a city. The aim is to protect U.S. troops in urban combat zones, ensuring they have a clear understanding of the combat environment and accurately capturing enemy movements."

The technicians from the research bureau indicated they were ready to introduce the system to the packed room. This urban surveillance system, named "Bat Zones that See", primarily involves a computer software system that automatically identifies vehicles by size, color, shape, and license plates, and pedestrians by facial features and physique. If it detects any suspicious activity, such as a key facial feature under surveillance, the system can issue an alert immediately.

This project is overseen by DARPA, aimed at aiding the Pentagon in developing technologies for counterterrorism and warfare in the 21st century. While it can't achieve complete surveillance, deploying super-servers to manage local resources is already sufficient.

For instance, in Los Angeles.

However, given the ever-watchful eyes of human rights organizations and environmentalists, this system is mostly kept offline, activated only when necessary, and has never been disclosed to the public.

"Thank you to the gentlemen from the research bureau. I believe Commissioner Blaze has already briefed everyone on the overall situation. I now officially announce the codename for this top-secret operation—'Glutton'. I expect everyone to be fully alert. If this monstrous aberration appears, I want to be the first to know. Then let our boys in operations get to the scene fast, handle him harshly, and bring him back to me as a specimen! Dead or alive, it doesn't matter!"

Marlowe Chaplin stood at the forefront of the conference table, his gaze intensely focused on the enlarged, pallid face of Mr. Faraday on the screen to his left, as if his sharp eyes could pierce through the monitor.

Despite the support of advanced equipment and significant military resources, he still felt uneasy, as if a thin mist obscured his view, preventing him from seeing the full scope of the situation. This discomfort bothered him.

Was this bizarre individual's appearance merely an accident?

What exactly was lurking behind him?