Long Island, New York.
Mr. Deacon was cruising down the road in a white pickup truck, his face calm as he scanned his surroundings.
Even though Adam was a pro and didn't tail him too closely, Mr. Deacon—practically a war god in his own right—spotted him fast.
So, he floored it, trying to shake Adam off.
A few twists through the streets later, he realized that was a pipe dream.
Switching gears, he bolted toward the outskirts, glancing at Adam in his rearview mirror every now and then.
"Kate, where you at?" Adam asked through his phone. "He's heading for the suburbs."
"Almost there!" Kate replied.
Right as she spoke, Adam's sharp ears picked up the faint whir of helicopter blades closing in fast.
Yup, you guessed it! Kate wasn't messing around—she'd called in a police chopper! 🚁
Mr. Deacon clocked the big trouble overhead and made a snap decision. He veered off the road and plunged straight into the woods.
He wasn't Adam, and that pickup wasn't a sports car. Racing a police helicopter on open roads? Total fantasy.
"Move it!" Adam warned. "He's ducking into the trees!"
His sports car's low chassis wasn't built for forest trails—super inconvenient. But Adam didn't care about dinging it up. With killer eyesight and god-tier driving skills, he was holding his own just fine.
"I see you guys!" Kate shouted.
Next thing Adam knew, the chopper zoomed over his roof, zeroing in on Mr. Deacon's white truck. Kate's voice blared through the police megaphone: "NYPD! Pull over for inspection!"
Mr. Deacon ignored her, weaving deeper into the woods to dodge the helicopter's threat.
"Officer Beckett, he's blowing off your warning. Want me to force him to stop?" Adam asked.
"You up for that?" Kate replied, a little worried.
"Helping the cops is just good citizen duty," Adam said with a grin. 😏
"Alright," Kate said, knowing Adam's skills and personality all too well. She got formal: "Dr. Duncan, suspect's ignoring police orders. You're cleared to try and stop him."
"Got it!"
Adam felt a weird rush of excitement.
Kate, up in the chopper, knew his voice too well. She caught that vibe instantly, cursed under her breath, and felt her face heat up.
"Don't show off! Backup's already closing in—he's not getting away."
"Roger that!" Adam said, spotting flashing police lights in his rearview.
"Here I go!"
He saw his shot. His genius brain ran a split-second simulation of the crash—every calculation locked in. Then he gunned it. The supercar's insane acceleration kicked in, closing the gap in a flash. He nudged the pickup's side—not too hard, not too soft.
The terrain was already tricky, tilting the truck. One wheel hit a rock just as Adam's perfect tap landed. The pickup couldn't hold it together—over it went, sliding sideways until it smashed into a tree and stopped.
"Done!" Adam called out right after the hit. "Get ready to nab him, but watch out—he's dangerous!"
"On it!" Kate replied. She ordered the pilot to hover, dropped a rope ladder, and climbed down like a pro.
Adam hopped out of his car, eyes locked on Mr. Deacon's moves inside the truck.
Kate—looking badass as ever—ran up, gun drawn, and yanked Adam behind her. "Get back! I've got this!"
"How many clips you got?" Adam couldn't help asking.
"Six. Why?" Kate answered, inching closer with her gun up.
"If it gets dicey, empty 'em fast," Adam warned. "I'm dead serious this time."
"I'm the cop here!" Kate shot back. She knew he meant well, but she caught that faint teasing undertone—she'd heard this line from him before.
In the U.S., emptying a clip when danger hits is Cop 101. Some go overboard—blasting through every clip they've got. Empty one, reload, empty another, repeat. It's all about firepower to keep casualties low.
Criminals here can grab guns and ammo like candy. One slip-up, and cops are toast. Plus, unless it's a clean headshot, who knows if a hit suspect can still shoot back?
This ain't a game.
Adam had heard Kate's stories—like that one time they faced a hardcore thug. Multiple cops unloaded clip after clip—over a hundred rounds, turning the guy into Swiss cheese. And guess what? He still didn't drop. In their stunned disbelief, he fired back and took out a cop.
That mess made waves. After that, their precinct brass drilled it into them: danger hits, empty your clip first, and don't stop till the target's down for good.
"NYPD! Hands where we can see 'em—nice and slow!"
Kate and her partner moved in, guns ready, forming a tight combat stance as they closed on the flipped truck.
Backup patrol cars rolled up. Local cops piled out, taking cover behind their doors, guns trained on the scene.
Safety first!
"Come out slow!"
Mr. Deacon didn't resist. Hands up, blood trickling from his forehead, he stepped out with a creepy smile.
Adam was almost disappointed.
For anyone who might threaten him, Adam loved the U.S. police's "empty the clip" philosophy.
Mr. Deacon didn't matter to him.
No Mr. Deacon? Now that mattered.
Guess this guy didn't have the guts of that 30-something fake lolita after all. Shame.
Kate and her partner cuffed him. The local cops confirmed it was safe, then moved in to sweep the truck for evidence.
"Holy shit!"
Adam's jaw dropped when the cops pulled out a satchel and opened it—inside was a fat stack of photos, tons of them dead folks with their eyes wide open. 😳
"What's up?" Kate asked, confused.
"Look!" Adam pointed at the pics. "These are probably his victims."
"No way…" Kate flipped through them—hundreds, way too many to count. Even for a seasoned detective like her, it gave her chills.
"Why?" Adam asked, glaring at the still-smiling Mr. Deacon.
"I'm just helping the world clean out the walking dead," Mr. Deacon said calmly. "They're a waste of air—clueless about life's meaning."
"Even Anna?" Adam snapped. "She was head over heels with my friend!"
"Oh, her?" Mr. Deacon chuckled. "You don't have my gift—you can't see it. Without you butting in, I'd have sent her off peacefully. Pity."
"Why the sedative? Why not just kill her outright?" Adam pressed.
"Everyone deserves a shot at redemption," Mr. Deacon said, cool as ever. "In that life-or-death moment, if she'd figured it out—grasped her own worth, stopped being a waste—she could've come back to the living.
"But if she didn't? Straight to hell.
"Trust me, these walking corpses are all the same. Give 'em a second chance, and not one can figure out what life's worth."
"You buried them alive?!" Adam shouted, piecing it together in horror.
"What?!"
Kate and the others froze, staring at the calm Mr. Deacon, then at the thick stack of photos. Even with all they'd seen, their bodies shook.
This was next-level terrifying. 😱
"Adam, you sure?" Kate asked, dreading the answer.
"Find the latest dead guy with open eyes, crack open his coffin—you'll know," Adam said, his face grim.
Death by live burial—one of the worst ways to go. Straight to hell, alright.
(End of Chapter)