The Assistance, Textile Factory

Half an hour later.

The entire apartment building was surrounded by NYPD law enforcement, with the police cordon extending to the street corners.

Inside an ambulance.

Lake, exposing his right arm and with his gold-rimmed glasses back on, was receiving treatment with disinfectant from a cute nurse.

His immortality only guaranteed he wouldn't die and that his body would remain intact, but he could still get injured. Unless it was a headshot where the bullet would expel itself, other bullets wouldn't just come out on their own.

And the pain wouldn't disappear either.

"Hiss!"

Lake's right arm trembled slightly, and he instinctively tried to pull it back, but the cute nurse firmly held it in place.

The endlessly youthful and beautiful nurse didn't look up. "Don't move."

Her voice was low but undeniably powerful, like a supreme law descending.

Lake opened his mouth: "..."

Not far away.

Joe, whose forehead was also bandaged, walked over. He happened to overhear Lake's conversation with the nurse and felt a sense of disbelief. It was hard to reconcile the Lake in front of him, complaining about a minor scratch hurting, with the formidable figure who had just been exchanging gunfire with a killer in the hallway and kicked away a grenade.

Joe dismissed his scattered thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Lake looked up at Joe, who was walking over with a bandaged forehead, and asked in return, "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay."

"That's good."

Joe was silent for a moment, then said to Lake, "Thank you."

Lake glanced at Joe. "No problem. Once George's mission is over, just report for duty promptly."

Joe: "..."

Just then, two bodies and three injured individuals were carried out from the apartment exit. The old lady from apartment 502, opposite 503, and her son, who lived with her, had unfortunately died in the explosion.

Inspector Montgomery, after finishing answering questions from reporters at the cordon, walked over with a dark expression.

Joe greeted Montgomery, "Sir!"

Montgomery, his face dark, looked at Lake sitting in the ambulance with a hint of helplessness. "You were suspended for a month, and I'd forgotten your catchphrase was 'big scene'."

Lake shrugged. "Sir, my catchphrase is, 'I am irreconcilable with evil'."

What "big scene"?

This was completely out of control. After all, the NYPD's Major Crimes Division dealt with extremely vicious criminals. And unlike the first and second divisions, Lake was the only one in the third division. Naturally, shootouts were unavoidable when apprehending criminals.

If anyone was to blame...

It was all the National Rifle Association's fault.

Because of that rifle association, guns were rampant across the country. Forget guns; if ordinary people were determined enough, they could even acquire an RPG.

"Oh, so I've been wronging you?"

"I don't mind."

"I do!"

Montgomery's tone raised slightly. He looked at the gaping hole on the fifth floor of the apartment, caused by the grenade explosion, his brow twitching uncontrollably. "You just got reinstated, and the first mission you go on, you manage to blow through the public loss budget for the latter half of the year. And, did you find anything out?"

Joe interjected from the side, "Sir, we..."

Lake looked directly at Montgomery. "That unidentified individual belonged to a killer organization, an organization that exists on New York soil."

Joe blinked.

Montgomery's angry expression shifted, and he then looked at Lake without speaking.

Lake got down from the ambulance, stretched his right arm, and said to Montgomery, "That unidentified individual, David Commers, also belonged to this killer organization. I received information from an informant that an assassin from that organization defected a while ago, and the organization wanted to make an example of them, so..."

Saying this, Lake shrugged and didn't continue.

Informant?

That didn't exist. The only reason Lake mentioned an informant was so that after everything was over, he could apply for an informant fee, with a maximum limit of two thousand dollars, from the precinct.

Two thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket for gacha pulls, but it was enough to cover Lake's living expenses for the month.

It might be unbelievable to anyone who heard it. The leader of the NYPD's Third Major Crimes Division had to rely on embezzling informant fees to support himself.

"Your informant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is the information reliable?"

"One hundred percent."

Inspector Montgomery looked at Lake, fell silent for a moment, and turned to walk outside. "I'll give you ten days to give me an explanation, or I'll turn you in myself."

Having spent the Major Crimes Division's entire public compensation budget for the latter half of the year just by showing up, Montgomery's heart was bleeding. If this hadn't happened, that money could have been distributed as bonuses at the end of the year.

However...

If the public compensation budget for the latter half of the year was used to take down a killer organization, then Montgomery wouldn't feel bad about it at all. In fact, he might even profit.

Soon.

After most of the officers who were clearing out the apartment after the explosion had withdrawn, Lake and Joe re-entered the apartment.

A large hole had been blasted in the corridor on the entire fifth floor.

Entering apartment 503, the fire had already been extinguished. The entire apartment was burned beyond recognition, and at first glance, there was nothing of value left.

Several police officers were in the messy apartment, searching through the ruins left by the fire for anything they considered valuable, such as the address of a killer organization.

But...

Lake didn't need to. The Assistance's address was very conspicuous: it was on the riverbank near New Jersey, in a former castle converted into a textile factory.

It's just that...

This textile factory was registered as a company, paid taxes regularly, and employed a group of deaf-mute people, providing about three hundred jobs for New York City.

So...

Even if Lake knew the Assistance's address, it would be a bit tricky to directly lead a team to storm the place.

Because there was no evidence.

As expected.

Back in the office, Montgomery's face darkened as he listened to Lake's request to deal with the textile factory. "You want to lead a team to surround a textile factory that donated nearly five million in the World Trade Center incident last month, and it's a factory that the Mayor and Governor both visited half a month ago?"

Lake nodded. "Yes."

Montgomery put down his pen, wiped his face, and then his gaze drifted, feeling a sense of unreality. "Do you have any evidence?"

"Evidence?"

Lake said, "No, but that place is the headquarters of a killer organization called [The Assistance]. If I take the Special Operations Team there now, I'll have the evidence for you by tonight."

Montgomery was aghast. "You want me to hand over the Special Operations Team to you without any evidence, and then follow you to 'send warmth' to a textile factory that provides jobs for the New York Disability Association?"

Saying that, Montgomery's face turned completely dark. "Don't even think about it!"

Lake: "..."