"Once he engages with me, once he refuses to back down in front of the lobby cameras... then you breach," John instructed. "You secure the doors, you lock down the communications array so they can't call for backup from the county sheriff, and you secure Officer Davis."
Reyes nodded, a fierce determination in her eyes. "Understood."
"Let's move," John said.
Ten minutes later, a convoy of three unmarked, black SUVs rolled silently through the dark streets of the county seat. The town was asleep, quiet and still, oblivious to the storm that was about to hit its center of power.
John sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, watching the streetlights wash over the dashboard. The local precinct came into view. It was a brutalist brick building, surrounded by a chain-link fence and a row of black-and-white cruisers. The glowing blue sign over the double glass doors read: TO PROTECT AND SERVE.
John felt a deep, visceral disgust reading those words.
The SUVs cut their headlights and rolled to a stop in the shadows across the street from the precinct.
"All units in position," Vance whispered over the radio.
John looked through the glass doors of the lobby. The fluorescent lights inside were harsh and bright. Behind the elevated front desk, he could see Officer Miller. The corrupt cop was leaning back in a rolling chair, a cup of coffee in one hand, laughing loudly with another deputy.
He looked perfectly at ease. Untouchable.
John placed his hand on the door handle of the SUV. He took one final, grounding breath, centering himself for the confrontation. He wasn't playing a terrified old man anymore.
"Wait for my signal," John said into his collar mic.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air. The gravel crunched under his boots as he crossed the empty street, his eyes fixed on the double glass doors.
The time for hiding was over. The trap was fully set. Now, it was time to spring it.
Chapter 3: The Light of Truth
The heavy glass doors of the precinct lobby hissed shut behind John, sealing him inside.
The lobby was aggressively bright, smelling of industrial floor wax and stale donuts. To his left, three civilians sat on uncomfortable wooden benches, staring at the floor in exhausted silence. Straight ahead was the elevated wooden desk, functioning as a physical barrier between the public and the power of the department.
Behind the desk, Officer Miller was still laughing at a joke, his boots propped up carelessly on a lower drawer. The rookie, Officer Davis, was sitting at a computer terminal a few feet away, typing slowly, still looking pale and sick.
John walked deliberately across the tiled floor. His footsteps echoed sharply in the quiet room.