Reincarnated in Banshee Town

The midday sunlight was particularly dazzling. After staring at the ceiling dazed for a while, Ethan turned around and got up. He opened the window and took a few deep breaths in front of the lake, and he felt very good.

I was busy until midnight yesterday and today I can finally enjoy a paid vacation, he thought.

He arrived barefoot in the living room, opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of Coca-Cola, and drank it. Then he crumpled the can into a ball and took a shooting stance. The Coca-Cola can slid in a perfect arc and fell into the trash bin.

They knocked on the door, and Ethan took the pepperoni pizza from the delivery person, handed them the tip, and returned to the living room. With a slice of pizza in his mouth, he took the remote control, turned on the TV, and then settled comfortably on the couch.

On the television, Spartacus was fighting hard in the arena. Today he could finally relax without worrying about the outside world. They must have already noticed the disappearance of the Moody brothers. He wasn't concerned about the investigation, as Chief Hood wasn't a real Sheriff, and they had no personal grudges against them. As long as no one found the bodies on the mountainside or the weapon in his storage space, there wouldn't be much that could be done in a police investigation.

After Ethan stayed home for a day, he received a call from Alma in the evening. Unfortunately, it was a short vacation. The investigation of the case by the district attorney's office had concluded, and Alma informed Ethan that he should return to work tomorrow.

The next day, Ethan returned to the precinct, entering through the main door with a cardboard tray full of steaming coffee cups. The aroma of fresh coffee began to fill the air, attracting the attention of several officers.

—Wow, the hero of the day has arrived!—exclaimed Alma from the reception, flashing a smile as she reviewed some documents. You're a sweetheart, Ethan.

Ethan smiled back as he approached her.

— I know. —he replied, handing him a cup—. I thought a little extra caffeine wouldn't hurt.

Alma picked up one of the cups, inspecting the label.

—Mmm, the double espresso I need. You know how to please a lady —she winked at him, grateful.

As she continued her rounds, she headed towards Brock's desk, who was focused on his computer, frowning.

—Brock, I brought brain fuel,— she announced, raising the cup in his direction.

Brock looked up, relieved to have an excuse to step away from the screen.

—Ethan, you're a saint,— he said, grabbing the cup with one hand and raising it in a gesture of gratitude before taking a sip. I needed this. Last night was brutal.

Ethan nodded, handing him the cup with a smile.

The next on the list was Emmett, who was in the archive room looking for some documents. Upon seeing Ethan enter, he leaned against the shelf. and handed him a cup.

Emmett laughed as he took a sip.— After the night of patrolling we had, this coffee is the best thing that's happened to me today.

Finally, Ethan found Siobhan at her desk, reviewing reports. She was so focused that she didn't notice his arrival until he placed the cup in front of her.

—Something to keep you alert, Siobhan,— he said, catching her attention.

She looked up, surprised, and smiled.

—Thank you.

—No problem. You know the team always comes first.

After delivering the last coffee, Ethan leaned against Alma's desk. After joking with Alma while holding the task list, Ethan reviewed the report logs from the past two days through the reception computer.

As always, nothing unusual: just noisy disturbances, traffic violations, fights, and things like that.

It doesn't matter if someone reports the crime. There is no corpse, no shooting scene, no witnesses. The Moody brothers are simply treated as missing persons.

After having his coffee, he fastened his seatbelt and went out to patrol. The day was quiet and there were no calls, after the end of the shift he went to the precinct to check out.

At night, Ethan was chatting with Brock and Hood. Outside, the sound of horse hooves was heard, and a carriage stopped in front of the door.

An Amish man with a black hat and a bushy beard opened the door and entered.

—Mr. Bowman, how can I help you?— Brock glanced sideways at the approaching person.

—Officer Brock. —Bowman nodded towards Brock and then looked at Hood—. Are you the new boss?

—That's right, what's up?

Hood stood up to respond; Brock crossed his arms and took a step back.

—There might be something happening at Yoder Farm tonight. My son said he saw someone organizing a party there and it didn't seem right to him.

—Maybe a rave?— Emmett quickly stood up from the back.

Bowman thought for a moment and replied:

—Yes, my son Solomon was talking about those kinds of parties.— He saw those people getting ready in The Yoder Farm barn.

—Alright, we'll take care of it. — Ethan, please escort Mr. Bowman outside.

When Brock and Emmett heard the news, they nervously walked towards the equipment room. 

—Mr. Bowman, come here and thank you for coming to tell us about this.

—Officer, I hope only you know that I came here to report the crime.—

After Bowman walked out the door, he said worriedly to Ethan.

Ethan nodded, fully understanding his fear of reprisals.

—You can call me Ethan.—Don't worry, we haven't seen you tonight.

—Thank you. By the way, this is my daughter, Rebecca.

After Bowman expressed his gratitude, he introduced Ethan to the woman who was standing next to the carriage.

Rebecca, who was wearing traditional Amish clothing and a white bonnet, turned around and saw Ethan, with a trace of panic in his eyes.

Before Ethan could speak, she quickly leaned forward and said:

—Good evening, nice to meet you, Officer Ethan.—

Ethan suppressed a smile, pretended not to recognize her, and greeted her without any expression. At Bowman's insistence, Rebecca winked at Ethan, then turned around and got into the carriage to leave with her father. When the carriage departed, Ethan quickly returned to the police station.

In the equipment room, under the light, the table was full of weapons and bullets. Brock and the others were constantly loading bullets into the magazines.

—Why did you take out all your weapons?— "Does anyone want to tell me what happened?" Hood asked. 

Ethan stepped forward, took an empty magazine, and asked while loading bullets into it.

—These rave parties are very organized and are usually held with the aim of selling ecstasy and cocaine. There are many illegal kitchens around here, many farms are abandoned, and they take advantage of that to grow drugs.

Emmett repeated what he had just said and then placed the magazine he had in his hand into the gun.

—What do you think will happen at a party where someone is selling drugs?— Brock then holstered the gun and looked at the Sheriff.

—Generally, when we get the news, the party is already over and we've never been able to catch these traffickers. Now the opportunity has arrived.

Siobhan tucked the spare magazine into her belt and adjusted the soft armor.

Ethan said nothing as he prepared, he understood that party. 

—So, what are we waiting for?

After taking the roll call, Hood faced everyone's gaze, cleared his throat, and then said:

—Let's get to work.

Soon, a group of them arrived at the outskirts of Yoder Farm. The police car was parked far away to avoid alerting the traffickers; the police lights and sirens had not been turned on since they left the station.

Ethan closed the car door, walked forward, and looked at the barn across the street. Through the gaps in the barn, he could see the lights inside flickering wildly to the sound of the music.

There were cars parked in front of the barn and two African American men were guarding the door.

—What are your plans?

—Let's just act. This place only has front and back doors. As long as we are careful, we should be able to handle it.

—No, who knows how many teenagers are inside. If this causes panic and something happens, we'll be in trouble.

Emmett shook his head disapprovingly.

Hood impatiently took off his uniform jacket and tucked his police badge into his pants pocket.

—I'll go in there myself.— If I can find one of the traffickers and subdue him, I can control the scene without causing too much chaos.

—Wait a minute,— Brock quickly stopped Hood. The law requires you to identify yourself. What you're doing is illegal.

—Don't be so rigid about doing things. If you have any objections, call the police to arrest me.

Hood moved Brock's hand aside, tucked the gun into his waistband, lifted his shirt to cover it, and walked towards the barn, heading for the main door.

Brock wanted to say something else, but Hood was already gone.

He saw Hood walking towards the front of the barn, and two men dressed in black stopped him at the door. Suddenly, Hood attacked and knocked the two men unconscious with several powerful blows. After greeting them, he opened the front door and entered.

Siobhan let out a soft gasp and asked Brock, confused:

—Can we do this?—

—I don't know, you should call the police and catch him,— said Brock, angrily.

Although things didn't go according to his instructions, after Brock sighed, he still asked Emmett and Ethan to go to the back door to protect it and prevent anyone from escaping. He and Siobhan stayed at the front door, waiting for Hood's radio notification, ready to receive reinforcements.

Swatting away the mosquitoes that surrounded them, Ethan and Emmett moved to the back door. As they turned the corner, Ethan saw that the door was only guarded by a man in a black shirt, who kept scrolling on his phone, displaying a lewd smile.

—Follow me,— Ethan instructed Emmett as he reholstered his weapon and approached from the side with a quiet step.

Emmett, with the gun in hand, looked around cautiously.

When he was still a few meters from the door, the guard heard footsteps and looked up at Ethan, but it was already too late to issue any warning. The moment he lifted his head, Ethan quickened his pace and, with a swift movement, punched the guard in the ear with a powerful blow.

The guard's phone slipped silently from his hand as the battle on the screen continued uninterrupted. Ethan took the handcuffs from his belt and, with skill, handcuffed the unconscious guard. Emmett also ran towards him with small steps. Both stood guard at the back door, waiting for Hood's signal to act.

—You really don't act like a rookie,— Emmett commented, looking at him with admiration.

VWho knows, maybe I have a talent for this,— Ethan replied with a smile. Then, he pressed his hand against the wooden door, which trembled slightly from the noise inside, preparing to enter.

—Something is wrong inside.— Call an ambulance and get in quickly to take control of the situation —Hood instructed over the radio, his voice emerging through the loud music.

Ethan and Emmett exchanged a brief nod and opened the back door to rush inside. Despite being mentally prepared, Ethan's body shuddered as he crossed the threshold. The sound coming from the speakers made his heart race, feeling his hair vibrate to the rhythm of the music.

The barn was filled with young people, waving colored light sticks as they moved frantically to the beat of the music. Ethan looked at Emmett, who tried to shout something to him, but his voice was drowned out by the wave of sound. Resigned, he pointed to the equipment next to the DJ booth.

Ethan nodded, understanding the signal, and quickly headed towards the booth. Upon arriving, he looked around, identified some cables, and yanked them out forcefully. Immediately, the barn fell silent, but there were still many clearly drugged people who continued moving to the nonexistent rhythm.

Brock and Siobhan had already entered through the main door. Upon hearing the music stop, Brock turned on the speaker he was holding and shouted loudly in the barn:

—We are the Banshee Police Department.— Everyone inside, please do not move and accept the inspection in an orderly manner.

As soon as Brock finished speaking, someone in the crowd raised a hand with a gun, aimed at the ceiling, and began to shoot. The sound of the gunshots echoed in the barn, and the crowd erupted in screams.

Some people crouched down skillfully on the spot, protecting their heads with their hands, while others tried to run away in a panic. The scene turned into instant chaos. The traffickers organizing the party also shot at the ceiling from time to time, hoping to create more confusion and seize the opportunity to escape.

Ethan made his way through the crowd, trying to reach the traffickers, but was spotted by a suited man who quickly drew a gun and aimed it at Ethan.

—Is this Hansen?—Ethan wondered, as he hid behind a pillar.

A bullet hit the pillar, scattering sawdust into the air. Ethan felt a sting in his ears, and the people around him got so scared that they fell to the ground.

—Everyone to the ground and don't move!— Siobhan ordered, trying to control the situation.

Ethan took a deep breath, inspecting the bullet holes in the pillar, and then reached up to touch his ears. He exhaled with relief upon confirming that they were still in place, although he felt a slight trace of blood on his fingers.

—Ethan, are you okay?— Brock ran towards him to check. It's just a scratch, a few wood splinters.

—I'm fine. I'll take care of that later. Go help Siobhan —Ethan replied, pushing Brock towards the action, wiping the sweat from his hands, gripping his Glock 17 before quickly heading out.

Several traffickers were trying to escape through a gap in the wooden wall, and Hood, who was running from the side, began shooting at them. Panic-stricken, one of the traffickers stumbled and fell into the pond behind the barn. Hood, without wasting any time, threw his empty gun and lunged forward, struggling with the trafficker in the water.

Ethan didn't stop to help him, passing by while chasing Hansen.

—Hansen, stop!— Ethan muttered as he ran, his gun firing rapidly.

A scream echoed as Hansen clutched his thigh and fell to the ground, crawling towards the gun that had fallen to the side. Ethan, approaching quickly, stepped on his hand and kicked him in the stomach, pinning Hansen to the ground.

Hansen shuddered as if he had been given an electric shock, his eyes widened disproportionately as he tried to howl, but he only managed to make his tongue tremble wildly.

—You are under arrest,— said Ethan, leaning to turn Hansen and holding his arm to cuff him with a sharp click. Hansen finally howled, with tears and secretions running down his face.

Ethan gave Hansen a few pats on the thigh wound, smiling. "If you resist, it's going to hurt more."

—Damn you!— You can't do this! I'm going to ask a lawyer to sue you until you ruin yourself —Hansen shouted, desperate.

—No problem, I think you have a chance —Ethan replied sarcastically.

As Ethan dragged him back, he heard more gunshots from behind. He wiped the blood from his hands on the grass before lifting Hansen and heading back to where Emmett was.

—Don't shoot, it's me!— Ethan shouted, seeing Emmett standing nervously by the pond.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Emmett lowered his weapon, relieved.

—What's happening?

"This guy came running back, but I stopped him," said Ethan, pushing Hansen towards Emmett and then extending his hand to help Hood out of the pond.

Back at the barn, the mess was still evident. Ethan stepped outside for a moment, lit a cigarette, and smoked it while observing the chaos.

After extinguishing the cigarette, he struggled to drag the body in the pond to the shore. Just at that moment, Deva and her friend Beatty came out of the barn, followed by Hood and Brock, who were arguing heatedly about something.

Ethan really didn't like that girl. He waited until Hood left before approaching Brock.

—Can you believe it?— said Brock, waving his arms with enthusiasm. He just punched a handcuffed suspect in front of a dozen people! He'll get us all in trouble if he keeps doing this.

"—Alright, don't take it seriously." He'll be responsible for any trouble, right? —Ethan gave Brock a pat on the shoulder—. Come on, there's a lot to do.

That night, after returning to his residence and taking a shower, Ethan dried his wet hair with a towel, headed to the living room, and found a business card. The towel brushed against his ear, and he still felt a burning pain.