About ten minutes later, outside Citibank in New York—
When Lynn and George Stacy, fully armed, stepped out of their car, more than a dozen police vehicles and dozens of heavily armed state troopers had already surrounded the building.
Approaching the on-site commander, Lynn adjusted his bulletproof vest and asked, "What's the situation?"
"Three robbers stormed the bank. Each is armed with a submachine gun, and there are at least thirty hostages inside."
He paused, then added grimly, "According to the bank's internal surveillance footage, the robbers also planted high-explosive bombs in one corner of the building."
After taking in the details, Lynn pulled George behind a patrol car. "Normally, the Criminal Investigation Division wouldn't even be involved in something like this."
"And look over there."
He nodded toward a middle-aged man who had just arrived—wearing a bulletproof vest over his suit. "Even the Director's here? For three robbers? Doesn't that seem like overkill?"
Checking the submachine gun in his hands, George lowered his voice. "If it were just three robbers and a few dozen hostages, no one would make this kind of scene."
"It's because one of the female hostages is named Daisy Crophiller."
"Crophiller?"
Lynn peeked toward the bank's glass doors, his expression shifting. "You mean that Crophiller family—the elite one?"
"Exactly."
George Stacy nodded, then suddenly grabbed Lynn's arm. "Listen—no matter what happens, don't rush into that bank."
"Sure, we've got bulletproof vests, but—"
"Don't worry, I get it."
Lynn gave George a knowing look, raising an eyebrow with a grin. "For a few thousand bucks a month, you think I'm risking my life?"
Crouching behind the patrol car, Lynn settled into a defensive position—though he still had the leisure to look around.
"By the way, your birthday's on the fifteenth next month. Got any plans?"
George pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and handed it to Lynn. "Not really," Lynn said, taking it and leaning back against the car. He lit it, exhaled a puff of smoke, and added, "Maybe I'll invite a few friends out for some fun."
"Oh, please," George said, matching his posture as he lit his own cigarette. "Those 'few friends' of yours are probably all women, aren't they?"
The two leaned against the car side by side, relaxed, completely ignoring the state troopers nearby who were tense and ready for combat.
"Of course."
Lynn exhaled a smoke ring and glanced around. "George, what do you think the Director and the others are waiting for? Shouldn't they have sent in a negotiator or special forces by now?"
"And you're the one slacking off? That's not like you," George said dryly.
Answering Lynn's question, he took another drag from his cigarette. "Think about where we are—Citibank. And there's a Crophiller girl inside."
"You really think the Director wants to shoulder that kind of responsibility? Just wait—you'll see. The FBI will show up any minute."
"If we make a move now, it'll only cause him more trouble."
As soon as he finished speaking, a convoy of black Chevrolet SUVs appeared in the distance.
The lead vehicle stopped, and a middle-aged man in a black suit stepped out, an FBI badge clipped to his belt. Behind him, a group of fully armed agents in tactical vests marked FBI quickly took formation.
Seeing them arrive, George dropped his cigarette and smirked. "See? I told you—someone was bound to grab this hot potato."
Lynn flicked his cigarette to the ground, straightened up behind the car, and raised his submachine gun toward the bank entrance. "Figures. If I'd known, I would've stayed back at the precinct chatting with Jennifer instead."
Just as he said that, something caught his attention.
Standing beside the lead FBI agent was a translucent female apparition, her eyes glowing faint red as she hovered close to him.
A ghost—one consumed by obsession?
The moment Lynn saw the ghost, a flicker of excitement flashed in his eyes.
But he quickly forced it down.
He couldn't help this spirit fulfill her obsession—or claim her Power of Death—not right now.
At least, not while he was wearing an NYPD badge on a mission.
The middle-aged man approached the Director and extended his hand. "Gale, FBI—Supervisor of the New York Field Office. What's the situation?"
The Director quickly summarized everything, making sure to emphasize one crucial detail: one of the hostages inside was a girl named Daisy Crophiller.
At the mention of that name, Gale's expression instantly darkened.
No one had told him there was a member of the Crophiller family among the hostages.
If anything went wrong, his position as Supervisor would be on the chopping block.
He turned toward the Director, wanting to discuss the next move—but the Director immediately took a step back, wordlessly indicating that Gale now had full command of the situation.
Seeing that, Gale fell silent for a moment. "Do we still have visual from the security feed?"
"It's been cut by the robbers. We have no eyes inside the bank."
"Hmm.. Fuck.."
Gale swore under his breath, then barked an order. "Get the negotiator here—now!"
"What are you looking at?"
Seeing Lynn staring intently at the FBI Supervisor, George Stacy leaned over and whispered, "What's the matter? Thinking about joining the Bureau?"
"Of course not."
Lynn's eyes didn't move. He'd simply been trying to see if he could use the Power of Death to lure the red-eyed spirit hovering beside the Supervisor.
Unfortunately, the ghost remained completely unmoved.
Before long, the negotiator arrived. At Gale's command, the man raised both hands and cautiously walked a few steps toward the bank entrance, speaking through a megaphone.
"Robbers inside, listen up! I'm the negotiator! I'm unarmed!"
To prove it, he lifted his suit jacket and spun around before continuing, "Whatever your demands are, we'll do our best to meet them! We only have one request—release the hostages—BANG!"
Before he could finish, a gunshot cracked through the air from inside the bank.
The bullet hit the ground right at the negotiator's feet, stopping him dead in his tracks.
The sudden shot made everyone on the scene tense up instantly.
The FBI agents and police officers instinctively raised their weapons, ready to return fire.
"Hold your fire!"
Both the Director and Supervisor Gale shouted at once, throwing up their hands to stop their teams.
If anyone opened fire now, the hostages inside—especially the Crophiller girl—could easily end up dead.
At that moment, a hostage stumbled out of the bank, shaking violently with her hands raised.
She held a phone in one trembling hand. "The robbers… they said they want to talk to you. This is the phone."
Her face was pale with terror as she passed the phone to the Director and Supervisor Gale.
The Director immediately took a cautious half-step back.
Seeing that, Gale sighed inwardly and accepted the phone. "This is Gale, FBI Supervisor for New York," he said into the receiver. "The bank is completely surrounded. Whatever your demands are, we can negotiate—so long as the hostages remain unharmed."
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(づ￣ 3￣)づ
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