Outside, Ethan glanced at the tall steps leading up to the house and immediately an idea crossed his mind. At his suggestion, they agreed not to force entry this time. With so many kids inside, a single mistake that allowed one or two to be taken as hostages would be a disaster.
After a brief exchange, the team scattered to take their positions.
Ethan moved cautiously toward the front door, his 9mm in hand, and crouched beside the steps. It was the perfect blind spot; if the occupants were distracted for even a second, they wouldn't notice someone hiding there.
According to the radar, there were two people on the first floor, three on the second, and eleven in the basement.
Sixteen people… all crammed into a tiny building.
Halstead took point as the vanguard. With his military training, he moved smoothly and precisely; within seconds he reached the front door and pressed himself to the side, alert to any sound from inside.
Fast footsteps approached behind him. Ruzek caught up and positioned himself close, crouching low to avoid exposure.
Ethan gestured for him to get even lower. He adjusted himself beside the steps as well, keeping out of sight of anyone who might peek out.
—We're in position, on your signal, Ethan. —Hank reported through the earpiece. He and Antonio were already moving up the rear of the house.
Ethan covered the mic with his hand.
—Erin, how's it going on your side? —he whispered.
—In position —she answered. She sounded focused, with that faint natural tension before a breach.
Ethan looked across the street. Olinsky waited hidden behind a parked vehicle, silently watching the front of the house.
—Now! —Ethan ordered, giving the signal.
But no one moved.
A car was slowly approaching from a distance, swerving erratically.
Bang!
The front of the car jerked sharply and crashed violently into the iron gate of the front yard; the hood popped up and a burst of white smoke shot out.
The sudden noise drew the attention of those inside the house.On the second floor, the curtains shifted.
Erin pushed open the car door just in time, stumbling as she yelled:
—Oh my God, my dad is gonna kill me!
Her acting was a solid seven out of ten; it would've been even better if she'd added a sob.
Ethan checked the radar and saw the bright dot on the second floor move toward the window and then back to its previous position.
The two red dots on the first floor were heading quickly toward the front door.
Wow!
The front door flew open, followed by a shrill soprano voice:
—Are you stupid?! Who's gonna pay for that?!
Boom, boom, boom!
A heavyset Black woman with a loud, stomping gait came out of the house, marching down the steps. She muttered curses under her breath as she tugged at her T-shirt, clearly irritated by something she'd heard inside. Seeing her so close, Ruzek shrank even further behind the porch pillar; he felt his heart hammering in his chest.
From inside the house, another light flickered at the front door—someone had peeked out before slipping back in.
—It was just an accident… I'm sure we can work something out —Erin said from the sidewalk, raising her voice a little to draw the woman's attention away from the entrance.
The woman stopped halfway down, turning her head toward Erin—giving Ethan, Ruzek, and Halstead a few seconds to rush through the front door.
A thin, sickly-looking Black man staggered forward as he walked into the living room.
—Don't move! —Ethan shouted, lunging at him, grabbing his jaw and pressing the barrel of his gun against the man's neck—. If you make a sound, you'll be the first to die.
Outside, Olinsky peeked out from behind the car, watching as the three men slipped inside through the front door, and he smiled as he lowered the brim of his baseball cap.
Not far from him, Erin was still arguing with the Black woman.
Ruzek slipped into the house, scanning the area quickly with his AR-15 in hand.
At the top of the stairs, Halstead stood sideways, gun raised, watching carefully as he aimed upward.
Ruzek opened the back door, and Hank and Antonio slipped in behind him.
—Where's the basement entrance? —Ethan flipped the thin Black man onto the couch, pressing his gun against the man's collarbone—.
The thin man breathed sharply, his eyes darting between Ethan's hands.
—Say it —Ethan insisted, loosening his grip slightly and pressing the gun against the man's eyes.
—There's a hatch under the kitchen table —he stammered—. Please, don't kill me.
Ethan looked up and signaled; Ruzek rushed over. He pulled out handcuffs, restrained the thin man, and then shut his mouth tightly with tape.
Everything happened silently; it had been a clean entry.
The yelling and cursing outside continued, drawing attention. Ethan released the man, stood up, and stepped aside. Hank and Antonio, after quickly clearing the rest of the first floor, also moved into the living room.
In the kitchen, they slid the table aside without making noise. Under the rug was a wooden hatch that blended with the floor. Ethan crouched, ran his fingers along the edge, unlocked the latch, and lifted the board carefully.
Below was nothing but a narrow wooden staircase descending into darkness.
A strong, dense, indescribable odor rose instantly—something between humidity, confinement, and something else none of them wanted to identify.
Ethan gestured with his hand. The three of them went down one after another, breathing through their mouths to lessen the stench.
—These bastards… —Hank muttered, his expression tightening.
The three exchanged looks, and Ethan led them down the stairs.
The lighting was dim, barely enough to make out shapes. From below came muffled shouts, distorted by the bad acoustics of the basement:
—Hurry up! If you're not done soon, no one eats tonight!
At the bottom of the stairs, Ethan noticed the lower section was covered with a thick panel of soundproofing material. He lifted it carefully. As he did, the barrel of Halstead's gun slid over his shoulder, slowly peeking inside.
The basement was large but repurposed for something entirely different. Half of the space was covered by a massive dust sheet, beneath which stretched a long table used as a packing area.
The other half served as a communal dorm: mattresses on the floor, tangled blankets, piles of clothes.
Inside, several small figures moved, focused on their tasks. Some were teenagers; others were even younger children, all handling bags, boxes, or makeshift machinery.
Ethan felt his jaw clench.
At that moment, Hank stepped forward sharply, grabbed the plastic sheet, and tore it away.
—Chicago Police! —he roared, his voice echoing through the basement—. Everybody freeze!
Eight or nine kids, wearing nothing but dirty underwear and gas masks, stood in a line at the workbench. Their bodies bore marks of whippings in varying severity.At Hank's shout, all of them flinched.
The two heavyset overseers holding whips reacted like startled animals—they moved quickly to the side of the basement. A shotgun hung on the nearby wall.
—Stop! —Ethan and Antonio shouted, lunging immediately.
Boom!
One of the overseers hit the floor as Ethan tackled him hard. The man thrashed desperately, trying to break free.
Ethan pinned him down, using his body weight, and grabbed his arm. With a firm twist, he yanked it back to immobilize and even dislocate it.
Crack!
—Ah!
The scream had barely begun when Ethan's fists came down like hammers.
Bang, bang, bang!
Each blow landed clean, and within seconds, the man was unconscious.
—Ethan, stop! —Hank threw himself on him, gripping his arm—. There are kids here.
—Tch. —Ethan spat before letting go.
The man Antonio held stared in terror; his partner's arm had been broken in seconds.
His head, after several punches, was unrecognizable—his nose shattered, his face smeared with blood.
—You —Ethan stood and grinned as he approached the overseer Antonio held—. Where's the silencer?
Whack!
A pair of bloody hands suddenly grabbed the man Antonio was restraining by the neck.
Ethan stared straight into the man's eyes.
—Tell me now, or things get very ugly. Your choice.
—I'll talk, I'll talk —the supervisor said, quickly looking away from Ethan and reciting an address—.
—See? That wasn't so hard, was it.
Ethan released him and slapped him across the face.
Hank and Antonio exchanged a look: the address he'd given belonged to Schneider's cousin. They'd been there before, but nothing suspicious had happened while they were watching.
After securing the two men, Ethan walked through the packing area, taking everything in. The table was covered with bricks of cocaine and heroin. This was an improvised lab—and the kids were the labor.
On the shelves, large and small bags of various substances were stacked. At a glance, there were easily over two or three kilos of product… and still, this wasn't all. There had to be about $1.5 million worth of merchandise here.
But what truly tightened his chest was the group of children huddled against the wall, their eyes wide with terror.
—Don't be scared, we're with the Chicago Police Department —Hank said, showing his badge with a tense smile—. We're here to get you out of this place.
The children curled up, hugging their knees, trembling uncontrollably.
They were wearing masks that covered their faces, a detail that made the scene even more disturbing.
—Are you here, Danny? —Ethan cleared his throat. His hands, hidden behind his back, were covered in blood, and still, he managed to force a smile—. I'm a friend of your mom, Juliet. I'm taking you home to her.
—I… I'm Danny —a tiny voice answered from a corner. The boy stepped out slowly from the shadows, taking off his mask with shaking hands—. Is it… really true?
He was much thinner than in the photos; the sunken eye bags and messy hair spoke for him. But even so, Ethan recognized him instantly: this was Juliet's son.
—Yeah —Ethan assured him with a firm nod. Then he turned to Antonio—. Do me a favor… don't lose sight of him for even a second.
—Don't worry, I know how to handle this —Antonio replied with a brief smile, keeping his weapon trained on the two traffickers lying still on the floor.
Only then did Ethan let the air leave his chest. He had found the kid. That was the primary objective. But not the end.
He straightened up, his gaze turning hard.
The operation was still alive; the heart of the business hadn't been touched.
The snake's head was still missing.
Back in the living room, Ruzek and Halstead turned to look at them.
—Did you find the boy?
—Yeah, we've got them all. —Ethan nodded, quickly stepping behind Halstead and placing a hand on his shoulder—. Let's move upstairs.
Hank followed them, pressing his mic.
—Olinsky, send more patrol units to Schneider's cousin's place. Have them keep eyes on it. Silencer is there.
—Copy that.
Olinsky's voice had barely crackled out of the speaker when they reached the second floor.Halstead turned and headed down to the first floor.
—Erin, detain and quiet that woman —Hank ordered.
Ethan headed straight for the bedroom closest to the street, shouting:
—Chicago Police!
Bang!
The locked door burst open with a single kick.
On the bed, two men and a woman were in the middle of having sex.
The kick, violent enough to shake the room, terrified the Black woman, who clenched her teeth.
—Ah!
The scream made Ethan instinctively squeeze his legs together.
The two traffickers froze a few feet away, raising their hands as if calm… until they saw an opening.
The skinny one's eyes darted to the gun on the nightstand.The bigger one tightened his shoulders and shifted his weight to the right, calculating a jump.
Ethan read them instantly.
—Don't even think about it —he warned.
The skinny one lunged first.
His hand brushed the gun.
Bang!
Ethan fired before he could lift it. The bullet hit the wood just inches from his fingers, enough to make him recoil with a cry and raise both arms at once.
—Freeze! —Hank barked.
The big man, instead of giving up, dove toward the bed to grab another weapon hidden in the sheets.
Hank saw it.
—Gun! —he shouted.
Ethan reacted like a spring.
He surged forward and delivered a direct kick to the man's torso, slamming him against the edge of the bed.
THUD!
The man collapsed, breathless and unable to fight back.
The woman, startled, widened her eyes.
Her gaze flicked from the traffickers to the gun lying by her leg.
Hank aimed at her immediately.
—Don't even try it…
She trembled, hesitating for a second before slowly pulling her hand away.
Ethan stepped forward and, with a quick swipe, dragged the pistol out of reach, sending it sliding under the furniture.
—Weapon secured —he announced.
Jay appeared at the doorway, aiming on instinct at the chaos before him.
—Jay, it's us! —Hank exclaimed—. Unit Three, room secured.
Hank pressed the walkie clipped to his collar.
—Dispatch, this is Unit Three. Shooting contained, two suspects neutralized, one civilian detained.
Only then did Ethan allow his shoulders to loosen.
The room was under control.
But the operation wasn't over.
Outside, Erin quickly subdued the screaming Black woman. With Olinsky's help, she handcuffed her fast.
Erin stood up, ready to rush inside to help.
She sprinted toward the entrance.
Her eyes, however, held a strange look—something like distress.
—Clear —a voice called from the second floor.
Erin looked up instantly.
Ethan stepped out from a side room, signaling that everything was safe.
Patrol officers still hadn't arrived, so Antonio, Olinsky, and Ruzek stayed behind to secure the scene.
Hank left with Ethan, Halstead, and Erin, and both cars sped toward Schneider's cousin's house.
Jin's reports crackled through the radio: Schneider had been arrested at a restaurant, Connie taken from the Child and Family Services Center by patrol, and Bricks and Stockley—the transport handlers—were also in custody.
Only Silencer remained; if they caught him, the entire network would collapse. At that moment, the hidden lights of the Cadillac CTS flashed blue, and the engine roared as it shot forward, overtaking the other vehicles at full speed.
A trafficker like him had to be taken off guard; otherwise, he could slip away the moment he sensed something was wrong.
They now had to race against the clock to get there before he found out.
—Is your hand okay? —Erin asked, glancing at Ethan's bloody knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel.
—I'm fine, it's not my blood —Ethan replied, loosening his grip and flexing his hand a couple of times; it didn't affect his ability to shoot—.
—Did you find Danny? And all the kids? —Erin asked, adjusting her vest—.
—Yeah, he's safe —Ethan said, shaking his head—. But I can't stop thinking… if this place exists, there could be more. No one can guarantee it's the only hideout.
They accelerated, and soon reached Snyder's cousin's house.
The two cars shut off their emergency lights from a distance and quickly stopped at the corner.
Up ahead was an unmarked, stripped-down Crown Victoria; this car was reserved specifically for undercover patrol officers on reconnaissance.
They had just come from a shootout and had raced there, fully armed.
He opened the back door of the Crown Victoria and dropped into the seat, adrenaline still pumping through him. When Burgess and Atwater saw him suddenly appear, their pulses jumped and, out of pure reflex, they raised their weapons instantly.
Burgess looked at Ethan and then turned to Hank to report:
—Everything's normal in the neighborhood, nothing unusual. There's another patrol watching the other side and behind the houses; so far no one has gone in or out.
—Good —Hank nodded, gripping his AR-15 as he moved forward—. Stay sharp, watch the perimeter, and make sure no one tries to slip out in the chaos.
—Understood, sir.
The two officers couldn't help feeling a little disappointed for missing the raid, but still reacted immediately.
—Hank, hold up a second —Ethan raised his hand to stop the group and looked directly at Burgess.
She had been covering for him since the beginning of this case; now he could return the favor. Burgess caught the intention and watched him expectantly.
—We might need reinforcements —Ethan commented, shrugging slightly—
Hank hesitated for a moment before asking:
—So what do you say? Can you two handle it?
Not every cop looks for confrontation; many see the job as a stable career and go through it without ever firing a shot.
But Burgess and Atwater weren't those types. Both nodded firmly, ready to jump into action.
—Yes, sergeant… we can handle it.
—Good —Hank said with a gesture.
The afternoon sun was blazing, beads of sweat rolling down everyone's foreheads.
The group, wearing their bulletproof vests, advanced with a hint of tension on their faces. Ethan was no exception; as people say, a bullet to the head would kill him too.
Still, he looked calmer, observing the others.
Ethan turned and whispered to the two men behind him:
—Stay alert at all times, and pay attention to your surroundings. And most importantly, don't be reckless. Understood?
The two nodded quickly, remembering Ethan's words clearly. They exchanged a look and wiped their sweaty hands at the same time.
The group moved quickly toward the target house, from where loud music and laughter echoed.
Ethan and Halstead pressed up against the door, one on each side, listening closely to the sounds inside.
A radar scan revealed a considerable number of people inside. There were four or five on the ground floor and more on the second and third floors. The number of alert points was the same as before—over a dozen—but the number of enemies was definitely higher.
Halstead raised his shotgun, loaded with breaching rounds, angling it at the door while Ethan stepped back.
—Bang!
The trigger was pulled, and the lock blew apart.
—Chicago Police Department! —Ethan roared, kicking the wooden door open.
The others rushed in one after another.
The nearby patrol officers simultaneously activated their sirens and lights, closing in fast.
—Police!
—Shit, the cops! —frantic screams burst from inside the house.
Ethan, AR-15 in hand, ran toward the living room. The five Black men inside scattered like a herd of startled animals the moment the door opened.
They frantically searched their backs, under the couch cushions, and inside cabinets.
Seeing this, Ethan leaned against the wall and opened fire.
—Rat-a-tat-tat!
Before the man near the TV could even pull his gun, blood sprayed, and the impact of the bullets knocked him backward.
The television crashed to the floor, the screen shattering beneath him.
The weapon swung quickly, and the man reaching under the couch cushions was hit several times, collapsing onto the sofa.
The others followed soon after. Halstead chambered a round and pulled the trigger.
—Bang!
One of the men running toward the back door dropped dead from the shot.
The remaining two found an opening and returned fire, bullets whizzing past them. Ethan grabbed Halstead, yanked him back, and took cover behind a corner.
Hank crouched, extended his AR-15, and unloaded wildly toward the source of the gunfire.
Ethan did the same, unleashing his own burst of shots.
PAM!
A single shot cut through the air like a whip.
Halstead, moving along the wall, barely had time to turn when a flash appeared from a slightly open door.
BANG!
The impact hit him square in the chest. His back slammed against the frame with a choked grunt as the vest absorbed the hit, crushing his ribcage like a brutal punch.
—Jay! —Hank bellowed.
With the thunder still echoing, Ethan let go of his AR-15, letting it hang at his side. In an instinctive blur, he drew his 9mm from its holster as his body launched forward.
Ethan sprinted toward Jay and grabbed him by the vest, dragging him behind cover while still firing.
Bang! Bang!
Two high-velocity rounds struck with deadly precision into two large heads. The man on the floor jerked his head and went still. The other froze, swaying slightly.
A small hole opened between his eyebrows.
—Boom!
The others stared in disbelief. Burgess let out a soft gasp, still not fully processing what had just happened.
A burst of gunfire exploded like thunder, then fell silent all at once.
—Clear!
Hank and Halstead, seeing Ethan had taken control of the situation, ran out and began a rapid sweep of the building as shouts of relief echoed.
Unlike them, Erin, Atwater, and Burgess—now catching up—kept their weapons firmly aimed at the staircase.
The second floor was dead silent.
The men who had surrendered were handcuffed and escorted back upstairs.
Hank waited at the base of the stairs, handcuffs already ready. When Silencer stepped onto the last step, Hank grabbed him by the arm with a sharp twist that threw him off balance for a second.
The cuffs snapped shut with a dry, final click.
Silencer let out a short, disbelieving laugh, still carrying that arrogant air.
—Enjoying the success, sergeant?
Hank tightened the cuffs a bit more, forcing him to bend.
—Oh, more than you can imagine —he hissed, leaning close to his ear—
Silencer's face lost some of its color, the first real crack in his confident mask.
Hank straightened him and shoved him forward to hand him off to the officers coming up the hallway.
As they escorted him away, Silencer's smile finally faded, swallowed by the metallic echo of the empty building, and Hank allowed himself, for the first time that day, a small sigh of satisfaction.
Burgess stayed to watch the suspects while Ethan and his team hurried back to the previous room. Inside the small space, Erin had already helped Jay remove his bulletproof vest.
Fortunately, the vest had stopped the bullet.
—Did you guys find Silencer? —Halstead shouted, gasping in pain.
—Yeah, we got him.
—Guys! —Atwater's exaggerated shout rang out—. Get over here! You need to see this!
—Rest for a bit, the ambulance will be here soon —Ethan told Jay, giving him a pat on the shoulder before standing up.
Spent shells were scattered everywhere; several bodies lay in disarray, and the air reeked of blood.
Hank was also inside, staring at the wall wide-eyed. The shotgun blast had punched holes through the wooden walls.
Atwater stood in front of one of the holes and reached in. He pulled out a big bundle of cash wrapped in plastic, weighed it, and tossed it to Hank.
—Damn —Hank laughed, shaking his head as he caught the bundle—. These bastards probably didn't want anyone knowing they were hiding their money.
Ethan stepped up to the wall, widened the hole by force, and turned into a demolition machine. In an instant, he ripped off a corner of the hollow wall, revealing hundreds of identical bundles.
The sight left Burgess and Atwater speechless.
His movements were violent, tearing panels from the wall and tossing them aside. Hank assumed Ethan was simply excited and didn't suspect a thing.
After all, he was excited too. He looked at Atwater and then at the patrol cars outside the window.
As he tore down the wall, Ethan couldn't help thinking of Hood—he would've loved this moment.
On one of those reaches inside the hollow, his fingers brushed several packs of cash. While ripping the drywall apart with precise blows, he took the chance to slip as many bundles as he could into his dimensional space with absolute naturalness and skill. It was cartel money; no one would miss it.
When he finished, the wall was practically destroyed, revealing the mountain of cash hidden inside. Maybe he had weakened the structure too much, because the plastic-wrapped bundles stashed by Silencer and his crew suddenly gave way, collapsing in a noisy avalanche.
Hank swallowed hard, grabbed the walkie-talkie, and spoke in a tense but controlled voice:
—Platt, call the forensic accountants. Looks like we hit the jackpot this time.
The contraband seized earlier that day alone already represented a major bust—enough for a pat on the back and maybe a small reward.
But this… this was another level.
Bills scattered across the floor, bundles hidden between the smashed-open walls. It was estimated there were at least ten million dollars in cash.
—Oh my God! —Atwater exclaimed, pulling out his phone with excitement—. I think I need a selfie.
—No —Hank told him, wagging a serious finger.
Atwater put the phone down awkwardly, instantly regretting how excited he'd sounded. He worried he'd made a bad impression—until Hank raised his hand again and pointed at him with that same stern look.
—We all need a selfie.
Taking down a long-time trafficker along with a massive seizure—this was a win, a moment worth remembering. Hank wasn't about to kill the mood.
They wouldn't lose the money, but snapping a photo for the memories wasn't a problem. Everyone laughed and laid down on top of the stacks of cash to take pictures.
Halstead, not wanting to miss the chance, asked Erin for help getting up, leaving a smug grin saved in his phone.
Amusingly, Atwater asked Ethan to borrow his 9mm. He struck a heroic pose for the camera, grinning, and Burgess joined in on the fun. For those two patrol officers, it was an unforgettable moment—and it was definitely going to look great in their records.
The room was quickly sealed off; despite the bodies inside, no one was allowed in until the department's designated personnel arrived. Atwater and Burgess stood guard on each side.