[Gravesend Bay Junkyard]
Bullets tore through the air, punctuating the heavy thudding of Jake's heart. They were pinned down behind an old rusted car, its windows shattered, and tires already flattened. The smell of metal and oil mixed with gunpowder as the squad of six officers took cover, with Amy, Boyle, and Jake crouching low.
Jake glanced at Amy, eyes wide with the adrenaline of what was about to happen.
"Amy, do you see anything?!" he hissed, voice barely audible over the noise.
She shook her head, peeking around the corner of their cover. "No! They're too spread out. We need a distraction."
Jake raised his hand as if he had just been crowned the King of Awesome. "Got it! I'm the distraction."
Boyle squinted at him, concerned. "Jake, that's a terrible idea. The last time you volunteered to be a distraction, we almost got caught in a flesh-eating zombie cult."
"First of all, that was a cannibal cult," Jake threw him an incredulous look. "And second, that was one time, Boyle! And you were so dramatic about it! I wasn't that close to being sacrificed."
Boyle lowered his voice. "You had a ceremonial dagger two inches from your throat."
"Yeah, but I talked my way out of it," Jake shrugged. "Same here. Trust me, I've seen enough action movies to know what I'm doing."
Amy rolled her eyes. "Just don't get yourself killed, okay?"
"Done and done!" Jake grinned. "Gimme five, Amy!" He slapped her palm, narrowly avoiding a bullet that whizzed past. "Okay, here's the plan," He said, standing up slightly behind the car. "I'll be the decoy. You two go around the left, sneak up, and take the shooters from behind."
Boyle opened his mouth to argue, but Jake cut him off. "Look, I'm basically Bruce Willis right now. Die Hard style. This is my moment." He looked at the officers. "You guys just provide cover fire."
Amy exhaled sharply. "This is insane."
"I live for insanity!" Jake puffed out his chest,
"That's a cool catchphrase, Jake," Boyle, as usual, praised him.
"Thank you, Boyle." Jake gave a slight nod and then, with a final glance at his teammates, he sprang from behind the car with a yell,
"Yippee-ki-yay, mother—" He ducked back down as bullets sprayed the ground in front of him.
The officers around them opened fire immediately, filling the air with the deafening sound of gunshots. Jake ducked low, keeping his head just behind cover as he darted to the next pile of scrap metal.
"Amy! Boyle!" he shouted over his shoulder, but he was already moving again, running from cover to cover like an action hero who had just received a paycheck.
"Cover him!" Amy shouted to the officers. She and Boyle sprinted toward the left side of the junkyard, staying low.
Jake's voice rang out. "This is it! I'm about to be the hero of the day! You're welcome, America!"
Boyle turned to Amy. "I can't believe this is happening. He's a walking disaster zone."
Amy scanned the area. "He's also probably going to get himself killed along with us."
"Yup!" Boyle said, sounding way too cheerful. "But if he's gonna die, I wanna be there for the moment when it happens."
"Focus, Boyle," Amy hissed, already moving forward. They took positions on opposite sides of an abandoned trailer. Boyle looked to her, eyebrow raised.
"Plan's simple. I sneak left. You sneak right. We get the shooters."
"You're assuming this will work," Boyle said, adjusting his gun. "I'm assuming it won't."
Before she could respond, Jake leapt from his position again, dodging behind a rusted dumpster just in time to avoid another barrage of bullets.
"How am I doing, team?!" he shouted, his voice filled with reckless excitement. "Is this everything you dreamed of?"
Amy glanced at Boyle, deadpan. "This is a nightmare."
Boyle nodded, never missing a beat. "An action-packed nightmare. But a nightmare, nonetheless." He turned to Amy. "I can't believe this is happening. He's a walking disaster zone."
As they snuck forward, the officers laid down suppressive fire. The shooters from the SUV weren't making it easy. They fired from a range of positions, moving around the junkyard with military precision. But Jake—oh, Jake wasn't about to let a little thing like bullets stop him.
He dashed from cover to cover, doing his best to make himself look like an idiot to distract the enemy. He grabbed a barrel and threw it over his head, screaming, "WOOO! You guys are garbage! This is what happens when you pick the wrong target!"
The enemies opened fire at him, and Jake dropped to the ground, narrowly missing a bullet to his gut. He scrambled behind a rusted car, barely taking a breath. "Okay! New strategy. Run like a maniac!"
He bolted again, moving across the open junkyard, yelling, "I'm like a human jack-in-the-box! You can't hit me!"
Amy peeked from her cover, watching him. "I don't know how, but this is actually working."
Boyle squinted. "It's not working. But I'm also not sure it's not working."
"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" She muttered.
Boyle took a step forward. "Just wait for the cue. When Jake distracts them enough, we hit the back."
Jake's voice rang out again, "Who's ready for a close-up, suckers?!"
Amy exhaled sharply. "Here's the cue," she muttered, pulling out her gun. "Let's go."
Boyle followed her, and they dashed forward to flank the shooters.
Meanwhile, Jake continued his chaotic rampage. "Can't catch me, can't catch me!" He darted around a wrecked car, this time aiming for the farthest edge of the junkyard. The shooters were getting frustrated.
"BOOM! Gotcha!" Jake shouted, throwing a metal pipe into the air and distracting one of the shooters just long enough for Amy and Boyle to slip behind them. Amy's eyes locked onto the shooters, "This is for Ray." She open-fired.
Boyle followed too, shooting the goons before they could shoot them.
Nine of them with automatic rifles were gone in the blink of an eye.
Boyle pointed his gun at the last goon, "Choose very carefully... Punk!"
The last one simply dropped his gun and surrendered as Boyle put cuffs on him.
It only took a few moments. By the time Jake finally looked over, his breath short, his hands on his knees, the fight was over.
He stood up and dusted himself off. "And that's how you do it, folks! Jake Peralta: the human decoy. The human wrecking ball. The… um, you know what I mean."
Amy and Boyle walked over with the goons, guns still drawn, but both wearing expressions of sheer disbelief.
"Search the place. See if you can find anything," Amy ordered the officers. "And Earl, take him to the van."
[Moments later...]
The officers were scattered around the junkyard as they searched for any clues that might lead them to who had set up the ambush. Amy called for medics and backup to seal the place.
Jake was still standing there, breathing heavily with his hands on his knees, trying to act like he had just come off a Hollywood set. Amy and Boyle approached him, their eyes scanning over the wreckage, before they zeroed in on Jake.
Amy raised an eyebrow, frowning. "Jake."
He gave a little wave with his hand, grinning like a lunatic. "What's up, Amy? You need me to save you again? Because I'm your guy. Jake Peralta: saving the day, one dramatic leap at a time."
Boyle nodded, looking up from his phone. "I got the plates, but uh... we might need to check on you first, buddy. I think you've got a serious... situation."
Jake, still high on adrenaline, didn't immediately catch Boyle's meaning. He just shrugged. "Nah, I'm fine. Just a couple of near-death experiences, no biggie. You should've seen me dodge those bullets. I was like a ninja mixed with a gazelle. A gazelle ninja."
Amy sighed. "You're bleeding, Jake."
Jake blinked at her. "Nah, that's just some dramatic flair. It's like a little cut, right? Nothing serious." He lifted his arm as if to show her how fine he was, but Amy grabbed his sleeve and pulled it up. His shirt was soaked in blood. "Oh. Well, that's… less than ideal."
Boyle shook his head. "Yeah, that's definitely not a little cut, Jake. You're bleeding a lot."
Jake stared at his arm in a daze, trying to process it. "Oh. Huh. I didn't even notice." Then, as if the reality of it hit him, he winced. The pain was spreading over his arm. "Okay, cool cool cool cool... maybe it's a little serious. But I mean, look at Ray. Dude got three bullets and was still conscious when the paramedics arrived. He's basically invincible. And I'm still here, living the dream."
Amy shot him a look. "Jake, this is not the time to compare yourself to Ray. You need to get to the medic."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm cool. But like… why is my butt cheek on fire?"
Jake reached behind him and rubbed his left butt cheek. His face froze, and his eyes went wide.
"Uhhh, guys?" he said slowly, still rubbing at his backside. "I think I've been shot... in the ass. Help me out here, Charles. Tell me what you see. Is it deep? Is it going to leave a hole in my perfectly sculpted butt cheek? Am I ever going to sit straight again?"
Boyle walked behind and took a look. He tilted his head, pretending to ponder. "Oh! You know, you might've damaged some... important nerves back there. Just saying. You might lose some... uh... functions down there."
Jake's face contorted, looking simultaneously horrified and confused. "Wait, what? You're saying I could lose—oh, God, Boyle, no, you're not saying what I think you're saying, right?"
Boyle gave a slow nod, his face so serious it almost seemed like he was giving medical advice. "I mean, you could lose the ability to perform... certain ahem duties in the future."
Jake froze for a second, his mouth hanging open. "Oh my god. No. No, no, no. This is the worst possible scenario. Not my perfectly sculpted butt cheeks. Not the Jake Peralta brand."
Amy, clearly exhausted, folded her arms and deadpanned, "Well, you did run into a bullet. Maybe it's karma for all those years of terrible dancing."
Jake pointed a finger at her, his face filled with equal parts fear and denial. "Don't even joke, Amy. I need that part of me to live. You think I can't be me without a fully functioning me? You're wrong. You have no idea how much that me does for me."
Boyle nodded gravely. "You know, you might want to... reconsider the way you sit for the next few days. It could be tricky."
Jake shot him an incredulous look. "Reconsider sitting? Are you telling me I'm going to have to stand for the rest of my life? Do you know how much standing is involved in normal life? Have you seen the way I sit? It's an art form. You can't just take that from me!"
Boyle made a thoughtful noise, clearly enjoying himself. "I mean, it might be time for some... modifications. You know, for comfort's sake. A special pillow, perhaps?"
Jake looked horrified. "You mean like one of those weird donut cushions?! Oh my god, Boyle, I can't even—do you know what that would do to my reputation? I would never survive that level of humiliation. My entire life is built on swagger and impeccable sitting posture. This... this could ruin everything."
Amy sighed and motioned for the medics, who had arrived by now, looking very confused as to what was going on. "Alright, enough. First, let's get you patched up before you bleed out."
Jake gave her a pleading look. "Can I at least walk to the car like a hero? Like Bruce Willis—you know, all gritty and intense, like I don't even care about the blood. Just a casual limp?"
Amy rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable."
...
...
[Meanwhile…]
[Outside Emma's Apartment]
Three figures, dressed in black tactical gear, moved silently through the darkened alleyway. The soft hiss of tranquilizer darts slicing through the air was the only sound that broke the stillness, each dart finding its mark with clinical precision. The four cops stationed outside Emma's apartment crumpled to the ground without a sound.
The trio exchanged sharp nods, then moved forward in unison, one of them pulling out a set of lockpicks and working on the apartment's door. It took a few seconds to pick the lock. Then he slowly pushed the door open...
Pop!
A bullet pierced through his head...
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[24 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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