North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 622 - 348: Beast Alert, How Many Floors Can a Bag of Rice Hold Up?_1

Virtual network environment construction?

Little Mike looked at the IP address locked by the intelligent retrieval program. After a moment of thought, he chose not to invade directly. Instead, he followed the traces of the disguises and quickly located the hunter behind the trap.

These people were quite savvy in their technical methods. The firewalls of the research institutes Little Mike had previously hacked might not have been technically inferior to this group. However, when it came to the strategic design of virtual traps, they couldn't match these newly discovered hunters.

The difference here was roughly akin to the contrast in operational style between assassins and soldiers.

This current group of hunters reminded Little Mike of certain cruel and ancient hunting organizations in Europe.

And their heavily concealed IP address was right in Los Angeles!

Little Mike merely lacked emotional expression and understanding; he wasn't actually a robot. Deep down, he still harbored the instincts of a living creature. Territoriality was one such instinct etched deep in the bones of animals.

Driven by this instinct, Little Mike directly mobilized the data flood from the botnet he controlled. Unusually, he forgo hacking methods and instead launched a direct attack on the discovered target.

His logical reasoning was simple and direct: Dean = an approved companion. Dean's survival interests = his own interests. Therefore, within the scope of his abilities, anything that might threaten his interests... he would simply destroy it.

「At this moment.」

In an underground base in Los Angeles, a cold-faced, smartly dressed brunette woman had her long legs, clad in military-style high boots, propped on the desk. She tossed a stack of documents before her supervisor. "After interrogation," she stated, "that clerk named Daisy was only trying to assist in investigating a case and inadvertently triggered our bait."

"Leia," the bald, Black supervisor said, his gaze greedily sweeping over her firm, rounded buttocks—toned from long-term exercise— "as much as I appreciate your long legs, I'd prefer them wrapped around my waist, not on my desk with the dirty soles of your boots facing me!" Only then did he casually pick up the interrogation report and briefly scan through it.

After a moment, he put down the documents. His thick, sausage-like lips twisted into a nauseating grin. "Interesting. So, it's this guy Dean. He's back again?"

As the leader of the Los Angeles Violent Action Team, he hadn't cared much about this Dean fellow. That changed a few months ago when his patron, Los Angeles Mayor Mr. Saul, provided information. Mayor Saul had instructed him and his team to investigate Dean.

Unfortunately, the guy was a wimp. Saul had thrown him out as cannon fodder to take the blame, and Dean never even considered retaliating. This meant they never got a chance to act.

Unexpectedly, after several months, the man was actually able to return to his job.

Could it be that Saul has taken him back?

Leia's gaze, cold and sharp, swept over her male superior's throat and then his crotch, as if she were contemplating where to strike. Pressured by her stare, the portly, Black supervisor shrank back into his chair, discreetly covering himself. Only then did Leia nod. "Correct," she said. "He must be cozying up with National Security..."

Upon hearing "National Security," the portly supervisor straightened, his expression growing grave. "Are you suggesting their investigation into the community matter might not just be about solving the case?"

Leia nodded. "According to our latest intelligence, Hawk, the new deputy director of the Los Angeles Police Detective Bureau, is one of theirs. Furthermore, Dean has a very close relationship with Amon, a new high-ranking official in National Security. If they uncover our 'Gate of Hell' project, then our esteemed Mayor Saul will undoubtedly send us to Hell first."

Hearing this, the male supervisor anxiously rubbed his shiny, bald head. "Looks like we can't let that woman go just yet. Fuck! I'm good at killing people and playing with women, not these damn plans!"

What an idiot, Leia thought, a flash of disdain in her eyes. She reminded him, "Although we've detained Daisy, doing so also exposed what we're focused on. You..."

Before she could finish, a piercing alarm suddenly erupted throughout the underground base.

The two in the office paled and quickly stood up, about to check what was happening outside, when the internal phone rang. "Our network is under attack..."

"What!" The portly, Black supervisor's thick lips visibly whitened. He trembled as he spoke, "Damn network! I always said it couldn't be trusted! Erase all research data immediately!"

"...I'm sorry, sir. We disconnected the network right away, but their methods are very strange. We... we've already lost control of the base network..."

Hearing this news, the portly, Black supervisor—once a fierce ruffian on the battlefield—became so agitated that his blood seemed to rush to his head. His eyes rolled back, he gasped for breath, and then collapsed directly onto the desk that had been party to his encounters with countless female subordinates.

His hand struggled toward his drawer, where his quick-acting heart medication was stored. I can still be saved, he thought.

But a slender, calloused hand blocked the drawer first.

"Leia..." The portly, Black supervisor's lips quivered, his face filled with pleading.

Leia met his gaze, her own face expressionless. She watched until the Black supervisor breathed his last. Only then did she disdainfully withdraw her hand. A cruel smile slowly spread across her otherwise emotionless face.