Carrying the cash and the list provided by Anthony Zerilli, Philip walked out of the restaurant with his head held high, already planning to head straight back to the precinct and round up his guys to deal with those damn criminals.
As for that list…
"Dove, the list has already been handed over to the police," Zerilli said calmly. "Philip is a notorious brute in Detroit. If he's in charge, he won't let anyone off the hook. Not a single one of them is walking away clean."
By this point, Zerilli had already left the restaurant and was now speaking with Luca over the phone from inside his car.
But instead of sounding reassured, Luca's tone remained low and heavy.
"I hope he gets it back. That tanker and its cargo alone are worth millions. I just got to Detroit, haven't even made a dime yet, and I'm already bleeding money. Zerilli… your city's a mess."
"As long as your list is accurate, Philip will give us results," Zerilli replied evenly.
"That list came from my driver after he got beaten half to death. He'll never forget those guys who robbed him at gunpoint—even if it kills him," Luca said, his voice turning colder. "I came here to do business, peacefully. But if anyone touches my property… I won't let it slide."
Zerilli could hear the killing intent bleeding through the line and thought to himself—Even I have trouble keeping those gangs in check, and I live here. You? An outsider? Good luck.
After offering a few perfunctory words of reassurance, Zerilli ended the call, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes.
If the police could handle this cleanly, that would be ideal. No need for a full-scale shootout with heavily armed gangs.
Those guys might act tough in front of the Mafia—but in front of the police, they'd behave. At least a little.
Near the police station, a car sat quietly at the curb.
Inside, Luca handed a miniature camera to Leon.
"All the cameras in place?"
"They're set," Leon nodded. "Installed exactly where you wanted."
"Take this one too. Fixed angles aren't enough—get moving footage. Make sure it's clear, and record everything."
After a bit of editing, that would turn into a perfect news package.
Leon accepted the equipment but frowned slightly. "You really think that cop—Philip—is going to follow your script? What if he actually does things by the book?"
"Zerilli already pointed him in the right direction," Luca replied calmly. "And in Philip's eyes, those people aren't even human—they're just beasts in human skin. When it comes to dealing with them, he's more ruthless than anyone. If things don't escalate naturally… we'll help them along."
His expression didn't change.
"I trust violent cops like him. When their safety's on the line, they'll do things that make the entire country shut up."
Leon understood instantly.
Right then, at the station entrance, Philip led a fully armed patrol team into a convoy of police cars and headed straight toward the East Side.
A system panel flickered in front of Luca.
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[Character Card: Philip Krauss]
[Rank: B]
[Source: Detroit]
[Skill: Forceful Law Enforcement]
[Forceful Law Enforcement]
Effect: When operating under "Official Authorization," deploying excessive force grants a +20% boost to Combat Effectiveness. Additionally, increases Criminal Deterrence by +20%; low-level thugs are significantly more likely to "break" or surrender out of pure terror.
Drawback: This skill leaves a persistent paper trail. Reduces the success rate of avoiding legal repercussions or Internal Affairs (IA) investigations by 40%.
[Learning Requirement: Law Enforcement Background | Affinity — Friend or higher | Cost: 50 Skill Fragments]
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Luca let out a quiet scoff.
Perfect fit for a cop like him.
If someone like David had this ability back during the religious murder case, he would've turned into a full-blown enforcer.
In the original timeline, the Detroit riots weren't caused by Philip alone—but plenty of officers acted just like him. No restraint. No mercy.
The Detroit Police Department had no shortage of officers who disliked Black communities.
Philip was simply the most extreme.
At one point, he had locked a group of innocent people inside a motel and tortured them for nearly an hour—going as far as executing victims just to force confessions.
To him, they weren't people.
And in the end?
He walked free.
Even when the victims' families sued, the court acquitted him.
That was just a glimpse of what was coming.
Rioting civilians.
Violent police.
Law and human rights meant nothing to either side.
Detroit was a powder keg—and the fuse was already burning.
Negotiation?
Pointless.
Only overwhelming force would make people understand consequences.
Martin Luther King Jr. had given people a dream—but for many, that dream had warped into something else entirely.
"Let's go," Luca said calmly. "Time to watch."
East Side.
A predominantly Black neighborhood.
The police convoy arrived without sirens and parked quietly outside the complex.
Philip stepped out, reached under his seat, and pulled out a double-barreled shotgun.
Click.
He racked it with a grin that didn't look friendly.
"Alright, boys," he said. "Time to make some money."
One officer hesitated. "You sure the truck thieves are here?"
The case had already been filed—it involved huge losses and even touched the Mafia. From the department's perspective, it was better for the police to intervene than let two armed groups tear each other apart in the streets.
Philip snorted. "Why guess? Let's just go ask. The truck disappeared around here—it's definitely tied to them."
No one argued.
Just as they moved in—
BANG!
A gunshot rang out from inside the building.
The officers exchanged glances.
Well… that made things easier.
Following the sound, they rushed inside.
At the entrance, several men froze when they saw Philip.
Some dropped to the ground instantly, hands over their heads.
Others turned and ran.
Philip didn't hesitate.
He raised the shotgun and fired straight into a fleeing man's back.
At that distance, the blast shredded him instantly. The man collapsed, his back a bloody mess.
Philip calmly scanned the area, then pulled out a folding knife, flicked it open, and tossed it beside the body.
"Smarter this time," he muttered. "Armed suspect. Resisted arrest. I had no choice."
The man wasn't fully dead yet—his body twitched weakly—but he couldn't even speak.
Philip didn't bother finishing him off. Instead, he moved deeper into the building, shotgun ready.
Behind him, officers stormed in and subdued over a dozen suspects.
"Police! Hands on your head!"
"Down! Get down!"
"Run again and I'll drop you!"
The hallway descended into chaos.
People were dragged, beaten, kicked, and forced into the lobby, where they were lined up on their knees, hands locked behind their heads.
Gun barrels pressed against the backs of their skulls.
It looked less like an arrest—
and more like an execution lineup.
Meanwhile, officers searched the rooms and quickly uncovered large quantities of drugs and firearms.
That sealed it.
Drugs and guns?
Enough to bury them all.
"YBI," one officer reported. "These guys are with Young Boys Inc. Looks like we hit one of their stash houses."
Philip blinked.
He came for a stolen truck.
Instead, he hit a drug den.
Jackpot.
No wonder the Mafia didn't handle this themselves—they wanted the police to do the dirty work.
A cruel smile crept across his face.
Why show mercy to traffickers who used kids as runners?
Kill them all.
No consequences.
Even if they had already surrendered.
Still… the truck came first.
Philip swung the butt of his shotgun into a man's skull.
"Talk! Where's the tanker? Where's the gasoline?"
"I don't know!" the man cried. "We just sell drugs—we didn't steal anything!"
Philip leaned closer, voice cold. "Tankers. Out-of-state plates. Heading west. Ring a bell?"
"I swear, I don't know!"
BANG!
Next.
"If you don't want to die, start talking!" Philip roared. "It disappeared in your territory—you expect me to believe you know nothing?!"
The second man broke down. "We really don't! We don't rob people!"
Philip chuckled. "Oh, just drug dealers? Should I congratulate you for being 'law-abiding citizens'?"
BANG!
Next.
Around him, even the other officers started to look uneasy.
These men had already surrendered.
This wasn't enforcement anymore.
This was slaughter.
High above, unnoticed—
a tiny red light blinked from a hidden camera.
Recording everything.
Outside the complex.
Even from a distance, Luca could hear the shotgun blasts echoing.
More than one.
The system panel in front of him kept updating—kill counts climbing steadily.
All of it counted.
Because this entire situation—
had been engineered.
The actual thieves belonged to the "Black Killers" gang.
They had nothing to do with YBI.
Philip's interrogation yielded nothing.
Even under torture, no one could give him the answer he wanted.
Because they didn't have it.
One hour later.
Philip dragged the remaining survivors out of the building and left the scene like a man who owned it.
Much later, cleanup crews arrived.
Evidence was adjusted.
Reports rewritten.
By tomorrow, this would be a decorated success story.
A heroic drug bust.
And Philip?
A rising star.
As long as—
the footage never surfaced.
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[Ding! You secretly assisted the Detroit Police Department in dismantling a drug trafficking hideout. 15 suspects killed or arrested.]
[Detroit stability increased.]
[Reward: Skill Points x10]
[Reward: Skill Fragments x5]
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Luca dismissed the panel and spoke calmly.
"If people here saw how their own were treated… what would they think? No law? No justice? Do criminals not deserve rights?"
The answer was obvious.
Rage.
Explosive, uncontrollable rage.
And when the courts inevitably failed to punish the officers?
That rage would only grow.
Luca turned to Leon.
"Let's go to the union."
This entire incident started with a tanker truck.
When the backlash came—
it wouldn't just hit the police.
It would hit the unions too.
His gaze was steady as he made the call.
"Can you handle it?" he thinking about Jimmy Hoffa quietly.
"The anger that's coming?"
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Shoutout to Jetson Yee, my latest P Knight! My cat gets a feast tonight.
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