For Ethan, letting Chayton escape again was not an option. He had to end it right then and there. If he had been capable of attacking the station without showing the slightest trace of fear, it was clear he posed a threat to the entire town. He couldn't afford to hesitate.
Chayton wasn't thinking clearly. Rage clouded his mind, consumed by a single idea: revenge. In front of him stood the man who had killed his brother, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Everything else faded away.
Both of them crashed to the ground in a violent struggle, oblivious to the gunfire erupting around them.
Ethan launched himself at Chayton like a wild beast, bringing him down with the weight of his body. Straddling him, he clenched his teeth and began punching mercilessly. The first blow smashed against Chayton's cheekbone with a dry crack; the second burst his lower lip, spraying blood onto them both.
Each punch was more violent than the last, driven by accumulated fury and the desire to end it all once and for all.
His knuckles sank into flesh like a hammer pounding red-hot iron. Chayton's face became a bloody mess, but Ethan didn't stop. The dull echo of the impacts blended with the nearby gunfire, but for him, only that moment existed.
Suddenly, with a strength born from pure survival instinct and hatred, Chayton lifted his knee and slammed it into Ethan's side, making him stagger.
Taking advantage of that brief moment of disorientation, Chayton shoved Ethan's chest hard and rolled to the side, leaping to his feet. Ethan tried to do the same, but Chayton was already standing, lunging at him.
The two men stood face to face, panting, fists raised. Chayton threw the first punch, a brutal right hook that Ethan barely managed to block. The next forced him back a step. The roles had reversed: now Chayton was in control, moving with the fury of someone who had nothing to lose.
—Come on, bastard! —he growled, throwing a flurry of punches to the body and face.
Ethan fought back as best he could, each blow reminding him that he had underestimated his enemy.
—Damn you! —he spat, and his fist came down like a stone thrown from the top of a mountain.
He slammed a right hook into Ethan's chin, then another to the bridge of his nose, making blood pour in dark streams. Every blow came loaded with fury, pain, and the desperate need for revenge.
In terms of raw strength, Chayton didn't fall short. His stocky frame, covered in muscle as hard as rock, made him resistant to punishment. After taking several direct hits, he roared in rage and shoved Ethan violently, making him stagger. Then he spun on one foot and delivered a powerful side kick.
—Bang!
The door of the nearby truck caved in with a metallic crunch, leaving a deep dent.
Ethan narrowly dodged the impact and lunged at him again. Chayton was already back on his feet, waiting with fists raised.
—Bang!
Chayton struck him square in the chest with all his strength. But Ethan didn't flinch. He merely gave a mocking smile.
—Ah!
The scream of pain came from Chayton. His fist had struck directly against Ethan's bulletproof vest, and the crunch was internal: his hand bones were damaged, maybe fractured.
Still, the pain didn't stop him. His hatred was stronger than the fractures. Both began hitting each other mercilessly in the narrow space between the two trucks.
Punches, elbows, knees. Each blow sounded like a war drum. One of the windows shattered from a stray punch, and the crash was followed by more glass breaking as their bodies slammed into the metal.
The fight no longer had form or technique. It was pure violence—two animals trying to destroy each other.
Ethan hit harder and harder, and Chayton kept stepping back. Ethan had better physical endurance thanks to his regeneration abilities; it was a battle of attrition.
Chayton, strong as he was, didn't have the same advantage. His breathing grew heavier, his reflexes a bit slower. Even so, he remained on his feet, taking each blow with clenched teeth, refusing to fall. But Ethan already had him.
—Bang!
Another strong punch hit Chayton's face, making him stagger back a few steps.
Ethan moved quickly and wrapped his arms around Chayton's thick neck, bringing him down. Chayton's face turned red, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Chayton gasped for air, feeling it escape his lungs. He stood up unsteadily next to Ethan, and both crashed into the truck beside them. Ethan felt the impact like riding a bucking bull, shaken uncontrollably, his head slamming violently against the cold metal, while dizziness began to cloud his vision.
The hand gripping Chayton's neck loosened slightly.
Taking that instant to catch his breath, Chayton reacted fast. With a sudden motion, he slammed an elbow backward into Ethan's ribs, right in the soft spot of the vest, drawing a choked gasp of pain.
Chayton, without hesitation, grabbed Ethan's arm and threw himself forward with all his strength, slamming him to the asphalt with a dull thud.
—Oh!—
Chayton stepped back a couple of paces, trying to catch his breath. Ethan was dazed from the impact, his vision blurry.
Bunker ran in at that moment and saw Ethan and Chayton fighting.
He held a shotgun, but hesitated too long to pull the trigger—there wasn't a clean shot. Instead, he rushed forward and struck Chayton brutally on the head with the butt of the gun.
Chayton was already battered from Ethan's heavy punches, blood streaming from a head wound. But that new impact only fueled his rage. With savage energy, he pushed off the ground with hands and feet.
—Bang!
Bunker became a ragdoll in Chayton's hands, thrown aside with ease after a violent kick to the chest. Bunker's eyes dimmed as he crashed hard to the ground, limp like a lifeless rag, completely unconscious under his rival's relentless fury.
Ethan didn't waste the chance. He got up quickly and rushed toward Chayton before he could attack Bunker again.
—Bang!
Ethan's elbow struck Chayton's nape with brutal force, right where the spinal cord connects to the brainstem. The blow was so powerful it instantly halted the nerve signals that control vital functions. A shudder ran through Chayton's entire body, and his legs gave out immediately, collapsing to his knees.
Two streams of dark blood poured from his wide-open eyes and ears due to the trauma. His face twisted into a horrid grimace, a mix of pain and confusion, as the damage from the blow had been fatal.
Ethan stood firm behind him, his gaze cold. At that moment, the gunfire that had echoed moments before ceased completely, leaving only the heavy echo of violence in the air.
After killing the last enemy he could see, Hood also approached quickly.
In a disturbing trance, Chayton felt a firm hand gripping his chin while another clutched his head with unrelenting force. Something about that gesture felt painfully familiar. The fear of death invaded him, and without being able to stop it, he began to struggle, lifting his arms in a desperate attempt to break free.
Ethan squeezed tightly, wrapping Chayton's head with both arms locked around his neck. He could feel the frantic heartbeat of blood pumping violently through the aorta, pounding like a drum in his ears.
—You know —Ethan whispered, tilting his head and leaning closer to Chayton's ear with chilling calm—. Since you're about to die, let me tell you a secret. You have no idea how much I cursed you when you killed Siobhan in that damn Banshee show. She was my favorite character. And now, finally, I get to have my revenge on you. Say hi to your brother for me, son of a bitch.
Then, with brutal force, Ethan applied pressure with both arms, twisting Chayton's neck until it snapped violently.
Crack.
The dry sound of the cervical vertebra breaking in two cut through the air. The hands Chayton had raised to resist fell limply, and his body collapsed, lifeless and inert.
Ethan released the hand gripping his head, and Chayton's strong body dropped forward weakly, head down, unable to breathe anymore.
—Ah.
Hood and Bunker exhaled at the same time, both with difficulty. Only one wore a relaxed expression, while the other's face remained stiff.
—Are you okay?
Ethan stepped forward and extended a hand to Bunker. He quickly grabbed his arm and stood up, not daring to look Ethan in the eyes, not even for a moment. He couldn't believe that medium-built young man had been able to defeat a behemoth like Chayton.
Chayton had treated him like a ragdoll, kicking him several meters away. But Ethan, nearly the same size, had dominated him until the very end.
Under Bunker's impressed gaze, Ethan stepped aside and picked up the Glock pistol that had fallen to the ground during their fight and holstered it on his duty belt.
The three of them walked toward the main entrance of the station. Several bodies lay scattered across the pavement, silent witnesses of the violence that had just unfolded. The ground was stained red and felt sticky underfoot, with empty casings scattered everywhere.
The reason they had been able to resolve it so efficiently was also thanks to the inner blessing.
Ethan scanned the area with his Glock in hand, inspecting coldly. After a few seconds, sporadic gunfire began to echo. Seeing that Ethan left no one alive, Bunker swallowed hard, realizing this no longer looked like a police operation—it looked like an execution.
Just as tension struck him, Hood also drew his pistol and fired at the bodies on the ground.
—Bang, bang, bang!
Absolute silence returned, and everyone lowered their weapons.
Hood remembered something, quickly approached, searched the truck in front, and soon found the signal jammer. After shutting the device down, communication was finally restored.
Ethan glanced back and saw that the restaurant closest to the station, Myers, was completely dark. Even though people were inside, they all hid cautiously, avoiding any attention.
Wasting no time, he turned and advanced toward the front door of the station. Upon reaching the opening that had just been cleared, he shouted in a firm voice:
—I'm Ethan, perimeter secured!
Rushed footsteps echoed, followed by Siobhan's nervous voice:
—Ethan, is that you?
—In the flesh.
Ethan turned and waved at Bunker, signaling him to come closer. With help from inside, they slowly moved the filing cabinet that blocked the entrance.
As soon as she crouched down and slipped through the gap, Siobhan hugged him enthusiastically. Ethan gently wiped the dust from her face, and upon seeing her vibrant red lips, he couldn't hold back: he kissed her deeply, as if trying to reclaim all the time they'd lost.
Ethan was happy to have changed her fate, too. In the show, she had died at Chayton's hands, something he had desperately wanted to avoid. But now, she was safe in his arms, and he didn't care what anyone thought about seeing them kiss.
While Ethan checked on Siobhan, Bunker ran over to Emmett, who was slumped against the wall. He had a ten-centimeter abrasion on his arm, and the wound was still bleeding. His lips were pale, and he looked at Bunker with a reluctant smile.
Bunker quickly found the strap on Emmett's duty belt and tied it around his arm; the bleeding slowed.
—Thanks. I guess you have changed. You've earned my respect, Kurt. You looked after my family.
Emmett raised his hand with effort.
—You shouldn't move.
Bunker and Emmett bumped fists lightly, and he also sat down beside him. His shoulder was already injured, and Chayton had just landed a strong kick to his chest; now that the adrenaline had worn off, pain surged through his whole body.
—Please... —Brock frowned as he saw the lovebirds kissing, a mix of annoyance and amusement in his voice—. Is anyone going to come, or are you two going to stay glued together all day?
After waiting a while without a response, Brock yelled with a voice full of pain:
—Hey, you two! There's an old man here asking for help!
Ethan let go of Siobhan, shot her a playful smile, and gave her a pat on the butt, whispering something in her ear that made her smile like a smitten schoolgirl.
Then he walked over to Brock, knelt in front of him, and in a low but firm voice, whispered:
—Easy, old man.
—Finally —Brock exhaled with a mix of relief and humor—. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me.
Brock was lying on the ground, sweating.
—What took you so long? —Brock joked, rubbing his chest—. A little longer and you'd have had to scoop up my sexy body off the floor.
Ethan noticed several small holes in Brock's uniform, right around the chest area. Concerned, he carefully tore the fabric to examine the impact sites.
Three bullets had embedded in the bulletproof vest. Brock had been incredibly lucky. If any of them had been just two centimeters lower, they would have pierced the plate and caused fatal damage.
As he helped him remove the vest, Brock finally exhaled in relief and gasped.
He opened the tight vest again; his chest was blue and purple, with two sunken areas. It was clear that his sternum had been fractured.
—Better lie down —Ethan said, patting his shoulder—. Paramedics are on the way. We'll get you to the hospital—don't move.
—Damn, you really got your ass kicked, pretty boy —Brock joked, leaning against the wall with a mocking smile—. Tell me, did the other guy end up worse than you?
Ethan let out a dry laugh while rubbing his sore shoulder.
—Nah, I just let him hit me a bit —he said casually—. I wanted him to lower his guard.
Brock raised an eyebrow, amused. The two shared a knowing smile, as the tension began to ease.
After confirming Brock was stable, Ethan stood up and walked over to the side of the cell.
He pulled out his mobile phone with a high-resolution camera and pointed it directly at Proctor.
—Click.
The shutter captured the image instantly, and on the bright, crisp screen, the scene froze—Proctor lying dead on the ground.
That photo was worth nearly two million dollars a year. Originally, reaching Proctor and taking him down required meticulously clearing out all of his protectors, facing multiple enemies without taking serious damage. But thanks to Hood and the Red Bone Gang, Ethan had managed to break through relatively easily and complete his mission.
Ethan frowned as his fingers quickly searched for Nola's contact on his phone. He sent the image with a simple message: Done. A few seconds later, the phone vibrated forcefully.
Without emotion, Ethan tapped the notification, took a photo of the devastated police station, and sent it to Nola—this time with the word Busy.
The station, now a wreck after the battle, showed the chaos and destruction, and there was still a long road ahead to clean up and rebuild.
With the death of Proctor and Chayton, the backbone of the Red Bone Gang had also been completely destroyed, and the remaining members could no longer make any noise.
The two main forces were wiped out in one swift blow. Although several police officers were injured, they were all alive. There were only a few civilian casualties, but it was inevitable.
Ethan turned his gaze outside and saw a black Rolls-Royce stopped in the middle of the street. Inside, Burton and Rebecca stared blankly, as if trapped in their own thoughts. After a few seconds of tense silence, the car started moving again with no clear direction, slowly gliding down the road.
Three days later, early in the morning, Ethan drove the patrol car to Davis Bar during his usual round. The bar was closed at that hour, as always. It was Sugar's time to rest—he usually took the mornings to go fishing or enjoy a quiet walk before starting the day.
However, several cars were now parked outside.
He parked the patrol car next to Hood's blue truck and, before getting out, took a small, sturdy suitcase he had brought with him. He opened it carefully and slid in several bundles of cash, adding up to nearly a hundred thousand dollars in cash. Then, he placed the suitcase on the passenger seat of Hood's truck, next to a small travel bag.
A gift—for Hood, to help him start his journey on the right foot.
Next to the truck were Job's yellow convertible and a silver Volvo. Pushing the wooden door open, he stepped into the bar.
As usual, Hood, Job, and Carrie were sitting in a row at the bar. Sugar wore a fisherman's hat, as always, and held a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
—You're finally here —said Sugar, raising the bottle and greeting Ethan.
The others also turned around, with different expressions—some relieved, others hesitant.
Ethan took off his sunglasses and sat on the high stool.
—Guys, Sheriff.
—Don't call me Sheriff —said Hood with a complicated expression. He shook his head and smiled— I'm not the Sheriff anymore. I resigned yesterday. I don't think I've ever seen the mayor so happy as when I handed in my badge.
Now he was only wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt, and the badge was no longer on his belt.
Ethan took the glass Sugar offered him, drank the whiskey in one gulp, and asked in a deep voice:
—Where are you planning to go?
—I don't know —Hood replied, spreading his palms with a crooked smile—. I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll go north, to Canada, take a look around. I'll go wherever—I just want to relax for a while. I've been living on the edge these past few years, and I think it's time to hit the brakes.
Ethan nodded and placed the glass on the bar.
—Have a good trip.
—Thanks.
Hood looked at his uniform and badge with a dazed expression.
—Bang, bang!
Sugar slammed the table, raised the whiskey bottle, and poured everyone a drink.
—It's time for you to move on and enjoy life.
—I'm sorry, Sugar. I promised you a lot of things over the years —Hood took a sip and apologized.
—Hey, don't say that —Sugar took off his fisherman's hat and spoke seriously—. I'm no ingrate. You brought me three friends, a hell of a ride, and almost two hundred thousand dollars. It was good knowing you, Hood.
Although the plan to rob the Genoa base had failed, the money stolen was not insignificant—especially for Sugar, who lived in a small town. For him, that amount would mean a comfortable retirement.
It was unexpected money, enough to live comfortably in the future. Of course, a life of luxury was out of the question, but he wouldn't have to worry for a good while.
Hood pressed his lips together and nodded. He had already said goodbye to Job and Carrie, so he turned to face Ethan.
—No need to say more.
Ethan raised his glass and clinked it against Hood's.
—You can always call me if you need help.
—Of course.
Hood drank it all in one go, placed the glass on the bar with a sharp thud, and stood up without a word. He walked toward the door, paused for a moment, then stepped out into the sunlight without hesitation. The roar of an engine slowly faded into the distance.
Sugar looked at the now-empty high stool and silently grabbed the bottle.
—Thanks —said Ethan, covering his glass with his hand—. I'm still on duty. I'll head out first.
He pulled out ten dollars and placed them on the counter. Ethan gave Job a pat on the shoulder, put on his sunglasses, and walked out of the bar.
After a while, Job and Carrie also left, one after the other.
Sugar scratched his gray beard, put on his fisherman's hat, and closed the bar's door.
The creak of the wooden door echoed as it shut, and he walked in with heavy steps. As he passed by the pool table, he ran his hand over the felt and stopped.
He remembered everyone's joy as they divided up the money.
A smile formed on Sugar's face. He wiped the tears from his eyes and turned to enter the service room.