Reincarnated in Banshee Town

At an intersection, Ethan slowed his car as the light turned red.

A roaring Dodge Challenger, painted a vibrant red, pulled up next to him, its bass-heavy music shaking the windows slightly.

Ethan frowned and lowered his window, allowing the sound to flood in.

The white guy in dreadlocks driving the Challenger noticed Ethan's glance. Smirking, he revved the engine provocatively.

—Hey, man, nice piece of junk you're driving! —the driver taunted loudly.

The blonde girl in the passenger seat shot Ethan a cheeky wink.

Ethan took a deep breath, keeping his cool. He wasn't about to engage with this nonsense. Instead, he reached into his pocket and smoothly pulled out his badge. With a calm smile, he held it up to the window and began spinning it idly between his fingers.

The music in the Dodge abruptly stopped. A gust of afternoon wind swept past, chilling the once-confident pair. The tension dissolved in an instant.

When the light turned green, Ethan threw a glance at the now-silent teens and pressed down on his gas pedal. His car roared to life, tires screeching as he left the Challenger far behind.

A few minutes later, Ethan knew he had arrived when he spotted several police vehicles parked outside a house. Parking his car nearby, he grabbed the bottle of red wine from the passenger seat and approached the house.

He rang the doorbell, and after a moment, Siobhan opened the door, holding a pair of barbecue tongs.

—Ethan! Perfect timing. Hope you're hungry —she greeted him with a warm smile.

—Absolutely —Ethan replied, handing her the bottle of wine.

—Come on in. Emmett and the others are already here.

The sky had not yet darkened completely, but the backyard was bathed in the glow of warm string lights. A white woman sat at the outdoor dining table, sipping a drink.

Brock stood at the grill, frantically flipping steaks and sausages, their juices sizzling on the hot coals. The irresistible aroma of roasted meat filled the air.

—How's that meat coming along, Brock? —Ethan asked as he approached the grill.

—Looking good, my man —Brock replied, clearly proud of his work.

Ethan greeted Brock before finding a seat at the table.

—Ethan, this is my wife, Meg —Emmett introduced, smiling happily.

—A pleasure, Ethan —Meg said warmly.

—The pleasure's mine, Meg. Emmett's a lucky man —Ethan replied, nodding politely.

After some light conversation, Brock brought over a tray piled high with perfectly grilled meats.

—Alright, everyone, dig in! Hope you're hungry —Brock announced proudly, placing the tray on the table.

Ethan loaded his plate with ribs and sausages, savoring every bite of the tender, smoky meat. The camaraderie around the table made him feel unexpectedly at home, a brief respite from the challenges of his new life.

A few days later, Ethan's training period ended, and the department issued him a patrol car—a sturdy Ford Crown Victoria. Its body bore the standard police colors and the Banshee Police Department emblem.

After Siobhan's reminder, he learned that only the front doors of the police car were equipped with bulletproof steel plates.

If a shooting occurs, it is best to use the front door as cover for protection. The vehicle itself, in addition to the engine and wheels, can be easily penetrated by firearms of slightly larger calibers.

To back up the firepower, he chose a shotgun, the police version Remington M870. With its dark body, simple lines, and enormous power, he fell in love with it at first sight, an extremely practical weapon and also the first choice among many police support firearms.

He loaded the Remington M870 into the trunk's gun box, drove away from the precinct, and began patrolling. On his first day of patrolling alone, he was in a good mood and even let some fines go, giving only warnings to the drivers.

At noon, he took a break for lunch and smoked a cigarette while waiting to catch an unsuspecting driver in a remote corner, when the radio he carried on his shoulder rang.

-Ethan, we received a 10-16. A woman called, claiming she was threatened by her ex-husband. Siobhan is on her way... - he said, indicating the address and the situation so she could come to provide support.

After putting out the cigarette, Ethan pressed the radio.

-10-4, on my way Alma, I'll be there right now.-Turning on the police lights.

Ethan quickly arrived at the caller's address.

Siobhan had arrived at the scene and was banging on the door with her shoulder.

Ethan got out of the car and heard the screams coming from the house, but no one was responding to the officer's shouts. He opened the trunk of the car without hesitation, took out the shotgun, and approached the door.

"Siobhan, get out of the way." After gesturing with his hand for Siobhan to move aside, Ethan aimed the gun at the door lock and pulled the trigger.

With a loud "bang," the door lock broke straight off.

When he cocked the gun, Siobhan drew her weapon, kicked the door open, and rushed inside.

Ethan also pulled the shotgun's stock, removed the shell, and reloaded the weapon, then entered the house with the Remington, senses heightened and adrenaline coursing through his veins. The atmosphere inside the house was tense, almost suffocating. The living room was in complete disarray, furniture overturned, a broken vase on the floor, and papers scattered everywhere.

The man lifted his head slightly, trying to assess the situation, but before he could react, Ethan lunged at him. With a quick and efficient movement, he grabbed the intruder by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into a submissive position, twisting his arm behind his back. The intruder tried to resist, but Ethan, with relentless strength, pushed him to the ground, keeping his knee firmly on the man's back.

"I said not to move!" Ethan repeated, pressing harder to ensure the intruder couldn't make any sudden movements.

"Siobhan, how about you go check on that lady?" Siobhan didn't look back.

She used her free hand to pull the handcuffs from her belt. Siobhan stayed close, taking the shotgun, covering them with her weapon held high.

A surprised woman dressed in white collapsed next to the sofa, blood slowly dripping from her forehead.

"Ma'am, how do you feel?"

-I'm fine. Can you help me inform my family? - The woman in white was choked with sobs.

-No problem, wait a moment. First, I'll call an ambulance to take care of her.

Feeling that there were no major emotional issues, Ethan pressed the radio.

"Alma, call an ambulance to report that there is someone injured at the scene."

Ethan finished subduing the intruder, checking one last time that the handcuffs were properly tightened, and then he pushed him towards the door, while Siobhan followed closely behind.

"We'll take him to the station." I want to find out what he was looking for—said Ethan with determination.