Thunderous Wrath

San Francisco Downtown Police Precinct.

At 7:45 a. m., a quarter of an hour before the official start of work, the atmosphere inside the branch office building was already as tense as a taut string.

The officers gathered in twos and threes in the corridors and offices, talking in hushed tones, each with a different degree of seriousness and confusion on their faces.

The news of last night's fire in the Pacifica District and the murder in the villa has already spread within the police station—four bodies, one of whom has been preliminarily identified as Viper, the number two figure in "South District Black Snakes."

This is considered a major case in San Francisco, a city with relatively stable public safety in recent years.

What made the officers even more uneasy was that they had just received a notification: Chief Blake required all officers to assemble in the large conference room on the second floor at 8:00 a. m. sharp, with no absences or lateness permitted.

Chief Blake was known in the precinct for his iron fist, strict discipline, and fiery temper, but it was rare for him to convene a meeting with all officers so early in the morning. Everyone had a feeling that a storm was brewing.

Eight o'clock sharp.

The door to the large conference room on the second floor was flung open, and Chief Blake strode in. He wore a meticulously pressed dark blue police uniform, the gold stars on his epaulets gleaming coldly under the fluorescent lights. His face was ashen, his gaze sharp as a knife, and each person he swept over seemed to carry a tangible weight. The whispers in the conference room instantly ceased, and everyone sat upright, not daring to breathe.

Blake walked to the front of the stage, but did not sit down. Instead, he placed his hands on the table, leaned forward slightly, and slowly scanned the dark mass of people below. The conference room was so quiet that the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock could be heard.

"Last night, a heinous crime occurred in the Pacifica District," Blake began, his voice low but each word like a nail driven into the air. "A house was burned down, and four bodies were found at the scene. Preliminary investigation suggests homicide. The method was extremely cruel and highly professional."

He paused, his gaze sharpening further. "This is San Francisco. In my jurisdiction. Right under our noses."

His voice suddenly rose, and he slammed his hand on the table with a loud "bang," making the water glass on the table jump. "This is a provocation against our police! It's a trampling on the law! It's a slap in the face to the entire San Francisco Police Department!"

The police officers below the stage fell silent, even their breathing became soft.

Blake straightened up, hands on his hips, and paced back and forth in front of the stage, seemingly suppressing his anger. Then he stopped, turned around, and his gaze swept over the tense, solemn, or bewildered faces below the stage. His tone softened slightly, but still carried an undeniable air of authority:

"I know some of you might think that the dead were just a bunch of gangsters, the scum of society, and deserved to die. Maybe they really weren't good people. But I want to tell you—regardless of the victims' identities, such a heinous criminal case occurring in our jurisdiction is a dereliction of duty on our part! The media is watching us, the city government is watching us, the public is watching us! If we can't solve this case quickly and give the public an explanation, we'll be disgracing the entire San Francisco Police Department!"

He walked back to the center of the podium, placed his hands on the table, and his gaze became firm and resolute. "Therefore, I hereby announce the establishment of the ' Pacifica Task Force,' effective immediately, with myself as its leader. All officers are hereby dismissed and on duty. I want you to cast a wide net, turn San Francisco upside down, and bring these criminals who committed this terrorist attack to justice as quickly as possible!"

He turned to the deputy chief standing beside him and ordered, "Contact the Department of Transportation to retrieve all surveillance footage from the Pacifica District, focusing on vehicle and pedestrian entry and exit records during the time of the incident. Contact the forensic unit to expedite the autopsy and forensic analysis; I need a complete autopsy report and forensic analysis report within 48 hours. Contact all precincts and request their assistance in investigating suspicious individuals and vehicles that have recently entered San Francisco, especially those with military or law enforcement backgrounds."

The deputy director took notes one by one, nodding repeatedly.

Blake's gaze swept back over the officers below the stage. "I know you've all been working very hard lately. But extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Once this case is solved, I'll recommend you all for commendation. But until then—keep yourselves on high alert! I don't want to hear any more bad news!"

"Yes, Chief!" the officers below the stage responded in unison, their voices booming.

Blake nodded, seemingly satisfied with everyone's morale. He waved his hand. "Meeting adjourned. Group leaders, please stay in my office for a case analysis meeting."

The officers rose and filed out. Soon only Blake and a few senior officers remained in the conference room. Blake did not leave immediately. He stood in front of the podium, looking out at the gray San Francisco sky. The thunderous anger on his face gradually faded, replaced by a deep, indescribable weariness and solemnity.

His impassioned speech was partly directed at his subordinates and partly at himself.

He had to create a huge stir, to make everyone believe that he, Chief Blake, was fully committed to investigating the case. Only in this way could he conceal his true purpose—to control the progress of the investigation, ensure that the police wouldn't find anything they shouldn't, ensure the safety of the Big Snake, and also ensure his own safety.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and said to the senior officers who were waiting for his instructions, "Let's go to my office. We'll investigate where these guys came from."

He strode out of the conference room, his steps still steady and powerful, his Back View still upright and dignified.

But only he knew that the fingertips of his hand holding the teacup were trembling slightly.