The helicopter hovered above the precinct, aligning for descent as ground personnel signaled clearance.
The downwash from the rotors forced those below to squint against the wind, while outside the precinct, the gathered reporters filmed the moment live, broadcasting it nationwide. Every viewer wanted to witness the fate of the infamous Alex Montel.
Inside the West Hollywood Precinct, ASH's Team A and Bruce's Team B were geared up and ready to move.
Alex Montel, clad in his bright orange jumpsuit, was sandwiched between the heavily armed officers. Everyone waited in the lobby for the final go-ahead. The moment the chopper touched down, they would move.
"WHUP-WHUP-WHUP—"
The rotor blades thundered overhead, their rhythm slowing as the aircraft prepared to land. ASH spotted the ground crew's signal—it was time to move.
And then—
Two streaks of fire shot from the rooftops.
RPGs.
"BOOM!"
"BOOM!"
Two direct hits.
The R44 helicopter didn't stand a chance. It had descended too low, with zero speed or maneuverability—a sitting duck.
The RPG gunners were experts. Their shots—typically unpredictable and imprecise—had hit perfectly.
The aircraft exploded into a fireball, debris showering the precinct entrance. The first-floor windows shattered, and several nearby police cars were wrecked in the blast.
Bruce and ASH locked eyes.
It had finally happened. Someone couldn't resist the temptation of $100 million.
This was huge.
A direct RPG attack on a police station, broadcast live across the nation.
This wasn't just a battle between law enforcement and the Montel cartel.
This was now a war between the police and money itself.
Alex Montel grinned, even as he was dragged back into custody.
Even surrounded by two elite SWAT teams, he oozed confidence.
He even had the audacity to gloat—until Owen kicked him to the ground.
Another officer had just been injured in the explosion.
It was all because of Montel.
The others pulled Owen back, knowing he was seconds away from putting a bullet in Montel's head.
And for the first time, Montel looked genuinely afraid.
Not of the SWAT team. Not of the FBI.
Only of Owen.
Owen was the only one who truly wanted him dead—who wouldn't hesitate to execute him given the chance.
West Hollywood Precinct – Operations Room
Chief Javier was furious.
Just minutes ago, an FBI helicopter had been blown out of the sky.
Live. On national television.
Los Angeles law enforcement had just been humiliated in front of the entire country.
And worse—he had personally ordered those buildings checked.
Yet RPGs had still been fired from them.
The phone rang—it was Agent Farrell from the FBI.
Javier dismissed his subordinates, then answered.
Fifteen minutes later, he reconvened the team.
This time, FBI personnel and the two SWAT leaders were present.
A new evacuation plan was drawn up.
Escaping peacefully was no longer an option.
Now, it was a matter of who could outplay whom.
Since air transport was compromised, they had only one option left—
Ground convoy.
One hour later.
The West Hollywood Precinct gates burst open.
A convoy of 13 vehicles roared out—
Six police motorcycles led the charge. Ten squad cars provided escort. Three armored prisoner transport trucks carried Alex Montel and the remaining prisoners.
Once again, camera flashes erupted as the media broadcasted the event live.
This was no longer just a local police operation.
The LAPD Central Division had even deployed helicopters for aerial support—but they kept their distance.
No one knew if more RPGs or even surface-to-air missiles were waiting to strike.
The convoy sped through the city, heading toward the FBI headquarters.
Every intersection was sealed off by motorcycle officers, ensuring an uninterrupted route.
Onlookers gathered along the streets, whispering and pointing as the convoy passed.
So far, no resistance.
It almost made people wonder—
Had the RPG attack even happened?
Then, at another intersection, the motorcycle cops blocked traffic as usual.
The convoy approached the cleared road.
And then—
A massive American semi-truck stormed out of nowhere.
Like a real-life Optimus Prime, the massive front grillesmashed into the lead police cars, pinning them against a wall.
Its long trailer blocked the entire road.
Simultaneously—
At the rear of the convoy, a heavy dump truck that had been idling by the curb suddenly accelerated.
It rammed into the last two police cars, obliterating them.
The convoy was trapped—
No way forward. No way back.
Two perfectly coordinated ambush points.
From the dump truck's cargo bed, a group of masked men jumped down.
Though their faces were covered, their skin tones were unmistakable—Asian.
From the semi-truck's trailer, another team emerged—
Mexican.
They were armed to the teeth.
And from hidden positions at both intersections, more gunmen appeared, taking positions behind cover.
Gunfire erupted.
"ENEMY ATTACK! ENEMY ATTACK! HOPE STREET UNDER FIRE!"
Up in the police helicopter, an officer grabbed his radio, trying to report the ambush—
But before he could finish—
A white smoke trail appeared in the sky.
The pilot's stomach dropped.
He didn't need to be told—
A missile was locking onto them.
The pilot banked hard, pulling an evasive maneuver.
He was ex-military, and his reaction was textbook. If he had flare countermeasures, he would've deployed them.
But this was just a standard police helicopter.
The missile adjusted course, still barreling toward them.
"FUCK!"
On the ground, officers cursed as they saw the fireball in the sky.
This wasn't an RPG—it was a guided missile.
That meant only one thing—
The attackers weren't just Mexican and Asian gangs anymore.
The Russians were here.
Gunfire erupted in all directions.
"RATATATATA!"
"BANG-BANG-BANG!"
"BOOM!"
Another police car exploded, hit by an M72 LAW rocket launcher.
From a balcony, a door kicked open—
Several Russians emerged, AKs blazing down at the convoy.
It wasn't just two factions anymore.
The Russians had joined the fight.
This wasn't a simple ambush.
This was a full-scale war.
________________________
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