Chapter 1269 - A Game, and John Looks Like Sh*t
Chapter 1269: A Game, and John Looks Like Sh*t
With these many casualties, E.R. departments throughout New York wouldn’t be able to cope. Many heavily wounded people might die before they could be operated on.
Luke had already activated Light of Life to try and keep the most heavily wounded people alive.
But there was nothing he could do about head injuries or those who were bleeding everywhere.
At the same time, he sent out his clone with a stranger’s face to a subway station in Queens to rescue people.
Unlike Luke, his clone basically didn’t have to worry about using Light of Life. He just needed to conceal it a little, and he was far more efficient than Luke himself.
Even so, many victims would inevitably die if help didn’t come in time.
Half an hour later, Luke was done with initial emergency treatment at the subway station.
Amidst the screams and wails in the subway station, he called for Selina, and they returned to the surface.
He had done everything he could. The rest was left to the patrol officers and paramedics who arrived one after another.
The people here were already the most fortunate of the eight subway stations since Luke and Selina had been nearby when the explosion happened.
Luke and Selina didn’t waste any time. They drove to another subway station in Brooklyn.
With the clone doing its best at the three subway stations in Queens, it was enough for Luke and Selina to just handle the three subway stations in Brooklyn.
As for the two subway stations that had exploded in Manhattan, there were several hospitals nearby, and the situation there was a lot better than in the other two areas. Luke could only hope that the rescuers were good enough.
While Luke and Selina were busy, the police department was also in a mess.
Most of the detectives had rushed to the subway station, while office personnel ran off their feet.
The phones rang one after another, and they were flustered.
Some calls were from detectives and acquaintances sounding the alarm, and some were from family and friends asking about the situation.
The May weather in the afternoon made people extremely twitchy. Everybody was sweating and their voices were starting to go hoarse.
As the chief of the Detective Bureau, Dustin didn’t step out himself.
He had to stay at the department and ensure that there was a clear line of communication to the higher-ups.
However, he didn’t stay in his office, but stood at the door.
If anyone had any problems that they couldn’t solve, they could come over and ask him directly.
At the same time, he checked the activity in the chat groups on his phone.
The chat for the Detective Bureau was one thing; the messages never stopped coming in, and there was no way to read all of it.
On the other hand, there wasn’t especially a lot of news from Luke and Selina or Elsa and Eliabeth, but whatever they did send was very important.
Luke and Selina stealthily gathered intelligence whenever they had the time. Elsa and Elizabeth were both old hands at gathering intelligence.
After checking in to make sure everyone was alright, the rest was necessary and succinct information, unlike the chat for the Detective Bureau, where more than a hundred detectives simply left voice messages and cursed.
They weren’t cursing their colleagues, but cursing the bigshots at HQ for not sending backup.
Some were so good at scolding that they almost sounded like they were rapping.
But Luke believed that in an hour or two, this rap would be deleted.
A classic function of the messenger app was the ability to take back what you said.
Messages could be sent out quickly and recalled just as quickly.
At that moment, the phone in Dustin’s office rang. He immediately picked up.
A man’s voice came through the phone. “Hello, is this Dustin Hammer?”
Dustin frowned. “It is. Who are you?”
The man on the other end of the line chuckled. “Said Simple Simon to the pieman, ‘A good show is about to start. Give me your pies or I’ll cave your head in.’ See, the subway stations are just the beginning. Hm, you have a man named John McClane over there, don’t you?”
Dustin paused. “He’s on indefinite leave.”
The person on the other end laughed. “No, he has to be here. He has to be here today.”
Dustin asked, “Who are you?”
The man on the other end said, “You can call me Simon.”
Dustin asked, “What do you want?”
Simon said, “I want to play a game.”
Dustin asked, “What game?”
Simon said, “You can call it — Simon Says. Simon says that Officer McClane has to do what Simon tells him to; any refusal will result in punishment.”
Dustin’s heart skipped a beat, and his face darkened. “What punishment?”
Simon chuckled. “There’ll be another ‘accident’ in another subway station downtown.”
A moment later, Dustin hung up and called John.
Half a minute later, he put his phone away and walked to the door with a dark face. He raised his voice and shouted, “Connie, do you know where John is?”
Connie covered the receiver. “I don’t know. Maybe he drank himself to death in some dumpster.”
Dustin slapped his forehead. He guessed that would be the case.
Helpless, he could only send a message to John and Joe in the group.
He left John a message to contact him immediately.
The message he left Joe was for him to put down everything he was doing and go look for John immediately, and notify the department once he found him.
Half an hour later, in an operation logistics van, Joe took painkillers from Connie and gave them to John, who was sitting on the floor, along with a bottle of water.
Dustin and a few core detectives formed a semi-circle and looked down at them with pained expressions.
Even Dustin couldn’t help but complain, “Jesus, John, you look like sh*t.”
He had warned John not to drink too much and to rest.
Looking at John, those words had indeed been for nothing.
John pretended not to hear him. He was still hungover and had a headache. If he looked like sh*t, so be it.
After taking the two painkillers, he stretched out his hand again.
Helpless, Joe shook out two more pills from the bottle again. Otherwise, if John had to do that “thing” which Simon said with an aching head later, this guy might go on strike.
He swallowed the painkillers and lit a cigarette. After taking a puff, he asked, “Hm, what were the numbers for the lottery last night?”
Everybody said in unison, “4667.”
John shrugged. “Looks like we’re all doomed.”
Everybody was lost for words.
More than half of NYPD people liked to bet with their own police numbers. It was like a token of good luck. They wanted to strike the lottery, but it was normal if they didn’t. Nobody thought it was a big deal.
They were all old acquaintances who remembered each other’s police numbers, so they knew that nobody had won.
“We’re almost at Hell’s Kitchen, boss.” Billy, the officer driving the car, alerted him.
Dustin was lost for words. See if you don’t end up a driver for the rest of your life! Even if you don’t deliberately mention the Clinton area, you can still use the street name. Why Hell’s Kitchen?