American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

Early the next morning, Jack was woken up by a phone call from Rossi. Still yawning, he and Jane boarded a Gulfstream jet bound for Washington, D.C.

As the saying goes, when someone gives you something, you owe them a favor. Jane insisted on tagging along despite Jack's reluctance. Since she was involved in the case and the higher-ups hadn't said otherwise, Jack had no choice but to let her come. After all, she was also a key player in this situation.

Fortunately, Jane was willing to listen and promised to follow his lead, just like she did back in Wind River. Jack figured he wasn't afraid of bullets flying; as long as the U.S. Air Force didn't mistakenly drop bombs on their own troops like they had in past conflicts, he felt confident he could protect himself and those around him—even in the event of a small-scale war.

Having decided to risk it at the Mexican border, Jack had poured all his accumulated points into his attributes. His mental and physical stats had both broken the 30-point threshold, turning him into something akin to half a movie-version Captain America. In some respects, he might even surpass him, given how his once-vague danger sense had sharpened into something much clearer. It was as if his subconscious, having processed various sensory inputs, had started warning him about threats even before his mind fully registered them.

It wasn't quite as mystical as the sixth sense of a Saint Seiya, but it resembled the heightened awareness of a seasoned soldier who had survived countless life-or-death situations.

Moreover, Jack's abilities went beyond sensing danger. He could now read micro-expressions, observe emotional shifts, and even detect changes in the pheromones people emitted when they were nervous, excited, or sad. For example, last night, despite the stench of alcohol clinging to Jane, her body was giving off a strong scent of female hormones, which was incredibly intoxicating. Even after they'd showered and washed away the smell of alcohol, that scent only intensified.

No wonder that blind guy in that one movie could "identify women by their scent"—maybe it wasn't all just Hollywood fantasy after all.

Of course, Jack could chalk up these musings to justifying why he hadn't resisted Jane's charms.

So when Jane wanted to come along, Jack figured, why not? It wasn't that he'd given up on any sense of propriety, but deep down, a little voice in his head whispered that having someone to "unwind" with after risking his life might be a good pressure release valve.

A few hours later, the two followed Rossi into the Homeland Security Information Security Center on Nebraska Avenue Plaza, Washington, D.C. This building was to DHS what Quantico was to the FBI—their headquarters.

Several DHS agents greeted them, handing out ID cards, then led each of the three to different meeting rooms and lounges. Rossi, as a senior officer, was to attend the main meeting first, while Jack and Jane, as junior agents, had to wait in the lounge until summoned by the higher-ups.

Jack didn't mind. He wasn't the type to harbor childish thoughts like "my time will come" or feel the need to prove himself. He understood his role well. Even if he maxed out his stats, he wasn't going to become someone on the level of "The Homelander." And even if he did, what then? Super strength, invulnerability, flight, laser eyes—what good would it do in the grand scheme of things?

In his previous life, Jack had been thoroughly annoyed by a certain online debate comparing "The Homelander" to Sun Wukong. Some idiots would quote, "I want the heavens to be unable to block my eyes, and the earth unable to bury my heart," not realizing that if there ever were a day when "a great monkey rises to sweep away the ancient dust," those very idiots would be the dust that gets swept away.

People aren't born with absolute freedom. Jack knew he wasn't here to change the world, even with the cheat-like abilities he'd been granted.

He wasn't some revolutionary aiming to overthrow the system, but when the good people around him were threatened, he felt it was his responsibility to clean up the mess, making his immediate environment a bit safer. That was all.

After all, even in his previous life, when foreign dignitaries visited San Francisco, the local authorities knew to crack the whip on the city's inefficient services, using pressure washers to clean the streets.

As Jack was contemplating this, Rossi, who had paused momentarily, beckoned for Jack to follow him. With no other choice, Jack obediently followed, giving Jane a quick, apologetic smile before leaving. Jane, however, seemed quite happy, as if she herself had been invited to the meeting. She smiled sweetly back at him and followed a DHS agent to the lounge.

To Jack's surprise, there were quite a few senior officials at the meeting, none of whom he recognized. The FBI representative wasn't Rossi but a woman in her forties or fifties, an assistant director who, despite her age, still appeared quite striking.

Jack, adopting a "just here to observe" mindset, sat next to Rossi on the sidelines, keeping his eyes and ears open while the group of graying officials engaged in verbal sparring.

The assistant director, with a serious expression, presided over the meeting, her sharp gaze sweeping over the representatives from the DEA, DHS, and other security agencies seated on either side of the long table. Her demeanor was intimidating.

However, Jack noticed something interesting. Whenever her gaze passed over him, there was an almost imperceptible softness in her eyes.

Of course, Jack wasn't foolish enough to think this high-ranking woman was giving him special attention. It became clear soon enough: Rossi's reputation within the FBI was well known, and today, Jack got to witness it firsthand.

In contrast to the harshness with which she addressed the others, when the assistant director approached Rossi, she smiled warmly, even flirting a bit as they exchanged pleasantries. The contrast was stark.

The meeting itself wasn't very efficient, filled with bickering and arguments. But once the officials had divided the responsibilities and risks, they began to leave, each making sure to greet Rossi warmly on their way out. The assistant director lingered behind, taking a moment to embrace Rossi and exchange cheek kisses, looking positively radiant, as if she were a young girl experiencing her first crush.

"Dave~~~ Sweetheart~~~"

Her saccharine voice, complete with a drawn-out, flirtatious tone, was a far cry from the raspy voice she had used earlier when cursing at the old men. Jack couldn't help but shudder at the sound.

"It's been a while, Evelyn," Rossi said, though his use of her formal name seemed to sadden her.

"My dear, what did you just call me?" she asked, her expression wounded.

Rossi glanced briefly at Jack, who was pretending to be engrossed in his notebook. Clearly, he regretted bringing Jack into the meeting room early.

"Fine, fine. Little Muffin, I didn't expect them to send you. It's been two years, and you're as beautiful as ever."

Jack had to pinch his leg so hard to keep from laughing that tears nearly came to his eyes.

The next five minutes felt like an eternity, with Jack practically twisting his leg in circles to avoid laughing out loud.

"Alright, see you tonight."

"I'll be eagerly waiting for our wonderful evening, Dave~~~"

When Rossi finally sat down after the assistant director left, both men—one old, one young—let out long sighs of relief. Jack's was out of sheer pain, as he had to heal himself after practically self-harming to avoid laughing.

"Little Muffin, huh?" Jack teased.

"Shut up. Never mention this again, or I'll leave you in Mexico, and you'll never come back."

"Yes, sir!"

I slightly elevated Rossi's position within the FBI to fit the storyline better. Hope it works for long-time fans of the original series.

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