American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

"We're here," Jack slowed down, looking outside. Through the thin rain, he could barely make out the house number under the dim streetlight.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Emily asked, eyeing the two white marble columns lining the street. The house looked grand, but it was completely dark, with no porch lights on, as if no one was home.

"Just our luck," Jack muttered in frustration. They had been chatting on the drive over, and neither of them thought to call ahead. Now it seemed like no one was home.

"Let's take a look anyway," Emily sighed, undoing her seatbelt.

Jack opened the car door and was about to step out when a sudden sense of dread washed over him. As he glanced up, the front door of the house was yanked open, and a white mask emerged from the darkness.

"Emily, get down!" Jack shouted, yanking his leg back into the car just as gunfire erupted.

"Tat! Tat! Tat!" Bullets rained down on the driver's side door and window.

"Ping! Ping! Ping!"

"Thud! Thud! Thud!"

The bulletproof steel plates on the door sparked as they were hit, and the reinforced glass, though cracked like a spiderweb, held firm against the barrage.

Emily reacted quickly. Maybe it was because, over the past few months, she had mentally rehearsed countless scenarios of being attacked. 

The moment the shots rang out, she reclined her seat and crawled into the back, clearing the passenger space. Then she grabbed a Noveske N4 from the gun case in the backseat, slapped in a magazine, and handed it to Jack.

By now, Jack had already moved from the driver's seat to the passenger side. The gunfire outside intensified—from a single AR-series rifle to four, then six.

The shots were relentless. Six assailants, all wearing white masks, stood at the front door, spraying bullets at Jack's "Mammoth" truck with reckless abandon.

"Get out of the car!" Jack shouted, opening the passenger door and rolling out onto the ground. He took cover behind the front tire as bullets whizzed overhead, the deafening gunfire and the sound of bullets striking the car body filling the air.

Emily, holding another Noveske N4, crawled out of the backseat and crouched beside Jack. The front and rear doors of the "Mammoth" were bulletproof, but the truck's high clearance meant they had to rely on the wheels for cover from ricochets.

Jack wasn't the type to sit there and take it. Hearing the bullets tearing into the truck and the tires hissing as they deflated, his heart ached with rage. This was a brand-new car with less than 3,000 kilometers on it!

The gunfire kept coming, and it was clear the shooters weren't amateurs. Their sustained fire suggested they either had extended magazines or drum magazines—or both.

Jack took a stun grenade from Emily, and they exchanged a glance. Simultaneously, they pulled the pins and tossed the grenades across the street, then quickly covered their eyes and ears.

"Boom! Boom!"

The loud explosion and blinding flash stopped the gunfire instantly. Even with their backs turned and ears covered, the impact hit Emily like a sledgehammer to the chest.

But Jack seemed unfazed. Almost immediately after the explosion, he crouched, propped his Noveske N4 on the hood of the "Mammoth," and fired two quick bursts.

"Tat! Tat! Tat!"

"Tat! Tat! Tat!"

Two of the masked shooters, who had been moving toward the center of the street, disoriented from the flashbang, dropped to the ground.

"Rat-tat-tat!"

"Rat-tat-tat!"

The AR rifles fired again, forcing Jack back into cover.

The remaining four assailants were experienced. Two of them were still struggling to regain their balance, but the other two, despite being dazed, managed to bend low, seeking cover while firing at Jack.

But just then, a burst of fire erupted from beneath the "Mammoth." Emily, disregarding the danger of stray bullets, had gone prone and was firing under the truck toward the street.

Screams rang out from across the street, followed by someone shouting, "Move! Move!"

"Reloading!" Emily yelled, rolling back behind the front tire as she swapped magazines.

At the same moment, the sound of screeching tires echoed from around the corner. A van appeared at the far end of the street, about 100 meters away.

Jack repositioned himself, now at the front of the truck. Crouching next to the headlights, he took aim and fired in standard kneeling position.

Emily's earlier sweep had hit one of the gunmen in the leg, causing him to fall, screaming. His partner, trying to pull him to safety, was quickly shot down by Jack.

"Ammo!" Jack shouted, emptying his magazine. The rain sizzled as it hit the overheated barrel, turning to steam.

As he ducked back behind cover, only two shooters remained.

But their fire was still heavy. The last two gunmen weren't panicking. Using textbook tactical maneuvers, they covered each other as they retreated toward the waiting van.

Jack caught the magazine Emily tossed him and reloaded, but he knew better than to expose himself again. His angle was completely blocked.

Across the street, two cars had been parked since the gunfight began, their alarms blaring incessantly. The remaining gunmen used the cars as cover, shooting while retreating toward their getaway vehicle.

"Lauren Reynolds! We'll meet again soon!" a voice yelled from across the street, filled with anger.

Jack tried to pop his head up, but a precise burst of fire forced him back. Watching the gunmen get closer to their van, Emily grew restless.

"Don't rush!" Jack grabbed Emily, pulling her back.

They were only wearing soft body armor. Without additional ceramic plates, they wouldn't stand a chance against the 5.56mm rounds from the AR rifles.

The two remaining shooters had good aim and worked well together. In the rain and foggy weather, unless Jack magically got his hands on a Barrett sniper rifle, there was nothing he could do.

All six assailants had AR-15s equipped with 50-round drum magazines. The fact that Jack and Emily were still alive and had taken down four attackers was only thanks to their opponents' overconfidence.

No one had expected Jack's massive pickup to be a modified bulletproof vehicle. If it had been a regular FBI Suburban, Emily might have been fine, but Jack would've been full of holes, waiting for a miracle to revive him.

The squealing sound of tires echoed as the van sped off, the smell of burning rubber mixing with the rain as the vehicle vanished into the storm.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

Emily, slumped against the side of the "Mammoth," sat in a puddle by the curb, looking drained. Jack feared she had been injured in the fight and quickly unzipped her vest to check for wounds.

Emily's face was blank, like a doll devoid of life. She didn't resist as Jack moved her, the rain soaking her hair and streaming down her cheeks. It was impossible to tell whether it was rain or tears running down her face.

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