Leave professional matters to the professionals.

Rock didn't immediately alert David. Drug dealers were always very alert, and he feared that they might tip them off. Plus, these two drug dealers were wearing protective suits and likely didn't carry weapons. He was more concerned about whether there were other drug dealers inside the house. If there were, they would probably be holding guns and aiming at them from inside, ready to shoot as soon as they realized they were exposed.

David seemed oblivious and mechanically showed his credentials to the workers in front of him, saying, "LAPD, we received complaints about a leak of your insecticide fumes."

The worker took off his gas mask, revealing a slightly weathered face, about fifty years old, Caucasian. At the moment, his face was flushed, with marks left from wearing the mask long-term. Rock couldn't read much from his expression, but the man seemed to have a high level of composure, showing no signs of panic.

Upon hearing David's statement, the worker instinctively turned to look at the protective film covering the house behind him and said gravely, "Sir, I'm sorry to hear that. We will immediately check the seal of the house. But please rest assured, even if there is a leak, a small amount of leakage will not cause any bodily harm. The insecticides used by our company are all FDA certified."

"Jesse, check the seal of the house again immediately."

The younger worker behind him, visibly younger and less composed, hurriedly turned to inspect the seal of the house. It was obvious that the younger ones were not as composed as the older ones.

David asked a few more questions about the insecticide used in the house, and the worker responded professionally. It seemed like they were indeed experts in insecticide and pest control.

Soon, David finished his inquiries, instructed them to handle the leak, and gestured to Rock to head back to the patrol car. Rock remained vigilant, still wary of the potential leakage. He retreated backward until he reached the car. As he was contemplating how to inform David of his discovery, David, with a serious expression, said, "Drive, let's leave this place for now."

Rock looked at him in surprise, then quickly started the patrol car and drove away.

David picked up the radio microphone and reported, "7ADA15... Stimulating odor suspected to be emanating from a drug production facility. Two suspects identified, unknown weapons. Requesting SAT support... over."

"PY, will report immediately. Keep the radio line clear... over."

Once David hung up the microphone, Rock asked, "How did you figure it out?"

David replied calmly, "I'll never forget the smell of ephedrine oxidation..."

Rock realized he had underestimated David. With over 20 years of experience as a cop, David's expertise was unquestionable. "What's next?" Rock inquired.

"We find a place to park and wait for backup. The facility is in the process of production and won't easily move. But this case will most likely be handed over to the DEA..."

David's explanation was interrupted by a phone call. Answering the call, he said, "Captain..."

After the call, David handed the phone to Rock. "Captain..."

"Rock, congratulations on passing your internship early. Welcome to the LAPD..."

"Thank you, Captain..."

"Rock, privately, you can call me Anna as usual..."

After ending the call, Rock awkwardly returned the phone to David. Indeed, he was somewhat of a privileged individual in the Wilshire Division, as Anna Davis, the Chief of Police, was a close friend of his mother, Marianne.

To alleviate the awkwardness, Rock asked, "Since we've called in the SAT, can't we handle these guys ourselves? Why hand it over to the DEA?"

David explained, "Typically, drug-related cases are always handed over to the DEA in the end. They have more firepower, and since it's a drug production facility with many chemical devices, it's prone to explosions. Captain's priority is the safety of the team, so she'll definitely hand the case over to the DEA. Professional matters should be left to the professionals..."

He glanced at Rock and added, "Last time was an accident; otherwise, it would have been handed over to the DEA as well..."

Two weeks ago, Rock and David were on patrol when they encountered a car driving erratically. They stopped the car, intending to investigate, but the driver suddenly accelerated and tried to escape. Rock, relying on his speed, managed to cut in front of the car, attempting to force it to stop. However, the occupants, two drug dealers high on meth, pulled out guns and prepared to shoot at Rock. Instinctively, Rock opened fire, completely emptying his gun and neutralizing the two drug dealers, but he was also hit by the out-of-control car.

Before David could finish, his phone rang again. Answering it, he said with a smile, "Carlos, you owe me another favor..."

After explaining the discovery of the drug production facility, David hung up and explained to Rock, "The captain of the DEA Narcotics Division, who used to be with the LAPD, is coming over immediately..."

Ten minutes later, four black full-size Chevrolet Suburbans arrived, their windows tinted black, obscuring the view inside and giving off a palpable sense of oppression.

After giving some instructions, David got out of the car and got into one of the vehicles. Two minutes later, he returned to the car and said solemnly, "Drive, follow my lead..."

Rock rarely saw David so serious. He quickly started the car and turned around, leading the way. When they were close to the van, David suddenly shouted to stop.

Rock quickly slammed on the brakes, puzzled. As the last Suburban in the convoy broke off and headed towards the back of the house, Rock understood instantly that it was to flank the house from behind.

One minute later, David saw through the rearview mirror that the car behind had signaled, indicating they had arrived. David instructed Rock to drive again.

As they approached the van, Rock's heart raced. Unsure whether to stop the car, David commanded, "Speed up, drive past..."

Rock pressed the gas pedal, and the car shot forward. In the rearview mirror, he saw three Suburbans rush up to the house, and armed DEA agents, wearing full gear and headgear, poured out of the vehicles, each carrying automatic rifles, and stormed into the house with lightning speed.

"DEA..."

"Up your hands..."

"Shoot fire..."

"Shoot fire..."

"Clear..."

"Clear..."