chapter 3

"Is that a rookie?" The Irish gang leader frowned, watching a lone police officer step out of a squad car. Only rookies would rush into Hell's Kitchen alone like that.

"NYPD! Drop your weapons!" Link shouted, his voice firm.

The gangsters laughed. "Take him out!" They didn't fear the police; dealing with them was routine.

Gunfire erupted. "Bang! Bang!" Several gang members turned their weapons on Link, bullets flying toward him.

Link remained calm, ducking behind the car door. The front two doors of every police car were reinforced with bulletproof steel.

"Headquarters, shots fired. I'm under attack. Requesting backup," Link reported, his tone steady. He knew backup would arrive eventually. If officers didn't support each other, trust would crumble within the force.

After securing his communication, Link activated his X-ray vision, peering through the car door. The gangsters, confident in their numbers, had already dismissed him.

"They're really underestimating me," he muttered.

Rising from cover, he gripped his pistol firmly and fired. "Bang! Bang!"

His accuracy was inhuman. The pistol barely recoiled in his hands as his shots struck their marks.

"Puff! Puff!" Blood and brain matter splattered as his bullets found their targets.

In mere seconds, most of the Irish gang lay dead, reducing their firepower drastically.

The surviving members hesitated, their eyes darting between their fallen comrades and the seemingly unstoppable officer before them.

"Damn it!" The gang leader was stunned but not foolish. "Retreat!"

Before they could flee, Link fired again. "Bang!"

His bullet struck the leader square in the forehead, ending him instantly.

"NYPD! Drop your weapons!" Link repeated, following protocol. Multiple warnings were necessary—procedural correctness was crucial.

The remaining Irish gangsters panicked. Some dropped their weapons and raised their hands. The officer's marksmanship was terrifying—every shot a headshot. They had no chance.

As some surrendered, they forgot about the Russian gang inside the restaurant. The Russians, already bloodthirsty, saw their enemies faltering and seized the opportunity.

"Bang! Bang! Da-da-da!"

Automatic fire erupted as the Russians mowed down the defenseless Irish gangsters. They emptied their magazines, not bothering to check for survivors.

As they reloaded, Link seized the moment. "NYPD! Drop your weapons!" he commanded, drawing their attention.

The Russians turned their guns toward him, but Link was faster.

"Bang! Bang!"

He fired, killing two instantly but deliberately slowing his shots to give the others a chance to react. Predictably, some instinctively fired back. Link saw the bullets flying—none would hit him, but a few struck the squad car.

Satisfied, he continued firing. "Bang! Bang! Bang!"

One by one, they fell. Silence followed, broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens.

Link surveyed the aftermath. The ground was littered with bodies, save for a few groaning, seriously wounded men. He reported back to headquarters, stating that the area was under control and requesting multiple ambulances. Then, gun in hand, he approached the scene.

Patrol teams began arriving, their faces a mix of disbelief and frustration.

"Damn rookie," some muttered.

They knew Link was new and hadn't been briefed on the unspoken rules of Hell's Kitchen. Here, officers didn't throw themselves into battles against heavily armed gangs. The job paid too little to risk one's life.

But now, they had no choice but to deal with the aftermath.

"Hey, rookie!" one of them called.

Link turned, smiling. "Just in time! I was wondering how to handle the scene."

He holstered his gun and unbuckled his duty belt. "I shot and killed a lot of people. Who's in charge here?"

The officers froze, then hurried forward to assess the situation. The scene was carnage—dozens of corpses, a few barely alive.

...

Back at the precinct, Link found himself the center of attention. His colleagues stared at him, stunned.

The two gangs had over forty men combined. Only three were still alive—and even they were in critical condition.

The on-site commander walked in. "Link, go over your actions in detail. How many did you kill?"

"Over twenty," Link replied matter-of-factly.

The room fell silent. That number was staggering.

...

Internal Affairs arrived shortly after, accompanied by the Police Union and a union lawyer. The union and lawyer were on Link's side, but he still had to face questioning.

"Officer Link, describe the incident from start to finish," an Internal Affairs investigator instructed.

Link complied, recounting everything from receiving his orders to neutralizing the threats.

"I had already subdued the Irish gang outside," he explained, "but the Russian gang inside the restaurant rushed out and opened fire. I warned them again, but there were eight of them—all armed, all pointing their weapons at me. I had no choice but to shoot."

The investigator frowned. "Why did you shoot them all in the head?"

Link remained unfazed. "Police officers prioritize their own safety and have the right to eliminate threats. I was alone against over forty armed men. My first shots were to deter them and reduce their numbers."

"The second round was purely self-defense."

"The Glock 19's 9mm rounds lack stopping power. Shots to the torso aren't guaranteed to incapacitate a suspect quickly. Headshots ensured they couldn't return fire."

The investigator narrowed his eyes. "Are you that confident in your marksmanship?"

Link didn't hesitate. "Absolutely. The situation demanded immediate action. My window of opportunity was small."

The room remained silent for a moment before the investigator sighed, closing his notebook.

...

Outside, officers whispered among themselves. "Is he for real? Who is this guy?"

"He took out an entire gang war single-handedly."

"Damn. I'd heard he was good, but this is next-level."

...

Back in the interrogation room, the investigator exchanged a glance with his colleagues. They had expected some explanation—panic, luck, a fluke.

But Link was composed, logical, and unwavering.

This wasn't an accident. It was precision. Calculated. Controlled.

"You'll remain on active duty while we complete our report," the investigator finally said. "For now, you're clear."

Link nodded. "Understood."

As he left the room, whispers followed him. To the precinct, he was no longer just a rookie.

He was something else entirely.

Something far more dangerous.