Chapter Two

Harrison woke up in the middle of the night, around two in the morning, from a phone call. The caller was Mrs. Joanna, Alyssa Joann's mother, who was calling Harrison. He reached for his iPhone from the nightstand and answered the call. "Hello?" he said in a tired voice. Mrs. Joanna informed him that Alyssa had been taken to the hospital and was in the emergency room being treated by doctors and nurses. "What happened?" Harrison asked.

"I don't know," Mrs. Joanna replied.

"But I tried to call her all day, and she never answered. I had a bad feeling that something bad had happened to her. So I went to her apartment and found her unconscious in her bedroom. I think she overdosed on some kind of medication, and pills were lying next to her on the bed," she said in a concerned tone.

"Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes," Harrison said.

"Okay," Mrs. Joanna replied before hanging up. Harrison immediately got out of bed and went to the closet to get dressed. Once he was dressed, he rushed downstairs to the living room, grabbed his wallet and car keys, opened the door, and stepped out of his apartment. He ran to his car, got in, started the engine, and drove away from his house, heading straight to the hospital. Harrison was extremely worried about his girlfriend.

At the hospital, Alyssa's parents and Harrison were waiting to hear from the doctors. When the doctor came into the waiting room and asked for Alyssa's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Joanna, along with Harrison, stood up and walked toward the doctor. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could," said Dr. Jordan. Mrs. Joanna screamed and fell to the floor, Mr. Joanna bent down to comfort his wife, and Harrison was in shock. He couldn't believe that he had lost his girlfriend. Harrison was worried that Alyssa had died from an illegal drug. "There was too much fentanyl in her system," Dr. Jordan said.

Harrison sighed and closed his eyes. Mrs. Joanna continued to cry while Harrison, after opening his eyes, walked past Dr. Jordan and left the waiting room, feeling upset. In the hallway, Harrison leaned against the railing, holding onto it with one hand, still in denial that his true love had died.

Now Harrison had to find out who had killed his girlfriend. He walked past the railing and left the hospital quickly. At Alyssa's funeral, Harrison stood at the podium and delivered his eulogy, facing the guests. He sighed as he read the eulogy to remember and honor Alyssa's life. Harrison was deeply saddened by her death, and Peter also attended the funeral, listening to Harrison's eulogy. Harrison cleared his throat before finishing his speech. He felt guilty for not being able to save Alyssa.

At the funeral, Harrison was meeting with Alyssa's friends and family outside the church, and Harrison was all dressed up in a black suit and was also wearing his gun holster behind his suit as a DEA agent. Harrison had to also wear an inside-the-waistband (IWB) holster to his girlfriend's funeral service. As a DEA agent, he is considered a federal law enforcement officer (LEO) and is likely authorized to carry a concealed weapon off-duty. Federal law enforcement agents (like the DEA) are generally permitted to carry firearms off-duty.

Under the Law Enforcement Officers Safety Act (LEOSA), qualified federal officers are authorized to carry concealed firearms nationwide, regardless of state or local laws. IWB holsters are a common, approved method for plainclothes or off-duty carry, as they provide maximum concealment under a suit jacket or formal attire.

Many LEOs like Harrison are considered on-call 24/7 and are expected or authorized to carry weapons even when off-duty. Given that the girlfriend was killed and the killer is still at large, Harrison has a reasonable fear of a continued threat or an attempt by the perpetrator to witness the aftermath of their crime.

If Harrison sees a crime being committed, he is obligated to take action. Carrying a weapon ensures he can fulfill this duty if the killer appears. While LEOSA allows carrying in most places, he must adhere to federal laws and agency policies that restrict firearms in certain federal buildings. However, a private funeral home or church is generally not restricted by federal law, though he would need to be mindful of state-specific "gun-free zone" laws (though LEOSA usually overrides these for qualified officers). An IWB holster hidden under a suit jacket is appropriate. A bulky, visible holster would likely cause alarm or be considered unprofessional etiquette at a funeral. If the funeral is followed by a reception where alcohol is served, DEA policy—like most law enforcement—strictly prohibits carrying a firearm while consuming alcohol. Harrison would likely wear a suit, with his DEA-issued firearm in an IWB holster at the 3 o'clock or 4 o'clock position (behind his strong-side hip), concealed by a blazer. He would be on high alert, scanning the room rather than mourning. Inside the church this time, it was time for him to speak; Harrison approached the podium with a practiced walk.

He was going to read his eulogy. His training told him to stay low-key and avoid attention, but this wasn't a mission—it was Alyssa. He swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like a brick. He didn't have a flashy story or a grand declaration to share. The truth was, his relationship with Alyssa was his quiet refuge from the chaos of his job, the safe place he came home to.

"My name is Harrison Lawrence. For those who didn't know me, I was Alyssa's boyfriend," Harrison said.

He took a deep breath after a moment. He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence of the church. "I'm not... I'm not good at this," he started, his voice barely above a whisper, the words struggling to come out.

"I am a DEA agent. My job was to protect Alyssa." He looked down at a piece of paper, though his eyes didn't focus on the words. He didn't need notes. He had the eulogy memorized, just like he knew the details of a suspect's file. He lifted his gaze to a photograph of Alyssa on an easel. A memory flashed through his mind—Alyssa laughing, her face glowing with joy. He couldn't recall what had made her laugh that moment, but he could still hear it. He could hear it now.

"Alyssa taught me to be more than just her boyfriend. She taught me how to be strong, how to believe in myself. Alyssa was the love of my life. She was amazing. I loved her deeply, just as she loved me. And now she's gone forever," he continued, his voice shaking as if on the verge of breaking. "I remember when we argued about what movie to watch—those weren't just fights over films. It was about what Alyssa wanted. My job was to make her happy. We were happy. We loved each other—so much." Harrison said.

A tear slid down his cheek, tracing a path across his tired face. He didn't wipe it away. For the first time in his career, he didn't hide the emotion. "I spent my life chasing drug dealers," he said, the words heavy with meaning that the congregation couldn't fully grasp.

"I hunted them down to make sure they couldn't hurt others. But the truth is, I feel like I should have protected her more. She taught me to look for the good instead of expecting the worst. To see the light, not just the darkness." He paused.

The silence in the room was thick; all the people at the ceremony were watching him closely. This was the hardest part. He looked at the faces again, and this time, he saw real sadness, not just curiosity. He found a strange strength in that. "She used to say that dogs were like people—how they can love people," Harrison said with a small, hurt smile.

"I also remember that Alyssa was my first real girlfriend. I was going to ask her to be my wife, my love of my life." His voice was shaky.

"I remember when we argued about what movie to watch—those weren't just fights over films. It was about what Alyssa wanted. My job was to make her happy. We were happy. We loved each other—so much." Harrison said.

A tear slid down his cheek, tracing a path across his tired face. He didn't wipe it away. For the first time in his career, he didn't hidethe emotion. "I spent my life chasing drug dealers," he said, the words heavy with meaning that the congregation couldn't fully grasp.

"I hunted them down to make sure they couldn't hurt others. But the truth is, I feel like I should have protected her more. She taught me to look for the good instead of expecting the worst. To see the light, not just the darkness." He paused.

The silence in the room was thick, all the people at the ceremony were watching him closely. This was the hardest part. He looked at the faces again, and this time, he saw real sadness, not just curiosity. He found a strange strength in that."She used to say that dogs were like people—how they can love people," Harrison said with a small, hurt smile.

"I also remember that Alyssa was my first real girlfriend. I was going to ask her to be my wife, my love of my life." His voice was shaky.

"My world was always black and white, right and wrong. She showed me all the colors in my life. And even though she's gone, that color remains. I look around this room, at all of you, her family and friends, and I seeit. I see that she created a chain of memories, and I see Alyssa in all of you because she didn't know how loved she truly was before she passed." Harrison said.

He let his hands fall from the podium. He had done all he could. "The facts are these: Alyssa is gone. But the effect... the effect is all of us, standing here, remembering." He said. "I want to thank you. Thank you for coming to Alyssa's funeral today and for honoring her memory." Once again, he introduced himself. "My name is Harrison Lawrence." He said.

But here, with Alyssa Joanna's coffin next to him, closed with flowers on top, the world he had built with her had shattered. He gripped the edges of the podium, his knuckles white. The audience saw an agent in a dark suit. He saw Alyssa's friends from rehab, her parents with red-rimmed eyes, the faces of people whose lives she had touched. He took a deep breath, the scent of lilies and old woodfilling his senses.

"I'm a DEA agent. That's my job, not my life. And that's why it wasn't my whole life—because of her." He paused, letting the silence settle heavily.

"My work involves seeing the worst in the world. It's a world filled with darkness, deception, and violence. I've spent years training to detect lies, to predict the next move, and to never let my guard down." He gazed at the flowers surrounding her casket, a bright burst of color against the dark wood.

"But Alyssa had a way of seeing beyond all that. She saw the real me—the man who smiled when she brought home a new stray, or who cooked terrible meals and called them five-star." A soft, sad laugh echoed through the pews. He smiled faintly.

"She was a good nurse. She spent her days helping people fight for their lives. She had a special gift, the kind of gentle hands and kind words you don't find every day."

"Our lives were so different. She'd come home and tell me about a girl with a broken leg, and I'd tell her... nothing. I'd talk about my day in vague, sanitized terms. She'd get frustrated sometimes, and tell me I was holding back. And she was right. I thought I was protecting her. But in truth, I was just trying to protect myself from the idea of losing the one good, pure thing in my life."

Harrison took a deep breath and said, "We had plans. So many plans. We were going to get married, start a family, and make those plans our shield against the darkness of my job. Like as long as we had a future, the past couldn't touch us." His voice softened, revealing a vulnerability he never showed in the field.

"The last thing I remember her saying was... we were in the middle of a stupid fight. And she said, 'I wish you would just be here with me, completely, for once.' And then she was gone. Killed by a worthless person. He took away the person I loved the most."

The irony wasn't lost on him.

"I've dealt with men who made a living on death, and yet I couldn't protect her from a single moment of chance. And now, the one thing I held back from her—my fear, my vulnerability—is all I have left." He bowed his head, his hands finally loosening their grip on the podium. Harrison was a grieving man who had lost his safe harbor, his future, and his reason for coming home.

"She wasn't just my girlfriend. She was my everything," he concluded, his voice barely above a whisper.
"And now I'm lost, forever." He walked away from the podium, his movements slow and heavy, leaving his words—and his heart—behind. When he stepped away, the applause was subdued but warm. He didn't look at anyone. He didn't have. He had given them his truth, his raw, unpolished tribute. As he returned to his seat, he felt the familiar, heavy weight of his profession. The job had taught him to compartmentalize, to build walls. But Alyssa had always found a way to tear them down. Now, with her gone, all he had left were the fragments of a broken wall and a grief that was anything but controlled.

The funeral was finally over. As soon as everyone had started to leave, it was time for the after-funeral gathering. Harrison was standing outside Mr. and Mrs. Joanna's back porch, thinking. Peter walked out of their house, stepped out, and shut the door, sighing as he noticedHarrison leaning over the rail. Peter didn't know what to say to Harrison.

Until he said, "I'm sorry, Harrison."

Harrison sighed, brushed his hair back with his hand, and nodded his head no. Harrison was angry at himself—for not being able to save Alyssa. After his girlfriend Alyssa Joanna's funeral, Harrison was at her parents' house, not wanting to attend the after-funeral party and standing outside on the back porch.

As soon as DEA agent Peter Saw walked out of Mr. and Mrs. Joanna's house, Harrison told Peter he thinks Jose Alvarez, a drug lord, killed his girlfriendAlyssa by giving her fentanyl.

"I think I know who killed her," says Harrison.

"Who?" wondered Peter.

"Jose Alvarez," answered Harrison.

Peter nodded and asked, "Are you sure?" Harrison nodded his head and said, "Come on, I'm sure," Harrison replied, feeling frustrated. He looked at Peter angrily before shifting his gaze to the cars of the guests at the after-party. Peter sighed and gave a nod. Lawrence stared at the evidence board, his jaw clenched tightly.

The crime scene photos showed a jumbled mix of human suffering: the sterile white floor of a penthouse, the bright red stain, and Alyssa's face, now a frozen expression under the harsh flash of the camera. "It just doesn't make any sense," Peter said, standing beside Harrison. His face was covered in steam. "Why would Alvarez kill Alyssa?" Harrison turned away from the board, looking directly at Peter.

"Because he's a narcissist. He knows what he's capable of. He didn't just want her dead—he wanted to end her life with his own hands. It proves he owns everything, even the lives of those close to him." Peter shook his head.

"The autopsy report says she also suffered from blunt force trauma. She was hit on the head before she died from fentanyl," Harrison explained.

"Yeah, but the coroner still listed it as a drug-induced death," Peter said, bitterness thick in his voice as heavy as the city smog.

"Alvarez knows how to work the system. He's been doing it for years. He uses drugs to cover up his tracks and then moves on to the next victim," Harrison said, sighing.

"So how do we prove it?" Peter asked, his eyes drifting back to the evidence board.

He was new to this, having just been transferred from a task force in California. He was still trying to understand the sheer ruthlessness of the drug cartels.

"How do we get Alvarez to confess?"

"We don't," Lawrence replied, his voice low and growling. He picked up a photo of Alyssa smiling, her arm around his neck.

"He is a drug dealer who killed someone I loved. Now I just wish I could take everything back to the way it was before Alyssa died. Jose uses drug addicts as part of his drug network because he thinks it's something he's allowed to do. Of course, he's a drug lord and he hates drug addicts who are fighting their addiction. Something in the Sinaloa area is where he's making fentanyl and methamphetamine. He doesn't care. He has others he's killed." Peter looked from the photo to Lawrence, seeing raw grief and determination in his eyes. He knew this was more than just a case for his partner.

"We'll get him," Peter said firmly. "We'll get him, Harrison." Peter continued, nodding his head.

Harrison nodded, but then noticed a man wearing a baseball cap. The man had a gun, his face covered by a ski mask, and he was dressed in black clothing. Harrison was armed at the funeral, carrying a loaded handgun to make sure that Jose Alvarez wasn't anywhere near him
or Alyssa's funeral.

"Peter?" Harrison called out.

Peter's eyes landed on the armed man. He watched, frozen, as the man raised the weapon and aimed it at both him and Harrison.

"GET DOWN!" Harrison shouted, his voice sharp with urgency.

They dove for cover as the gunman opened fire and then ran off. Everyone screamed and yelled until Harrison grabbed his gun from his holster, stood up from the porch, and started running after the man. Peter ran after Harrison, both chasing the man and continuing to follow him.

After the man ran into a store, Harrison slowly walked into the gas station, gun aimed forward, looking for the man. Could it be Jose Alvarez? "Get out! Get out now!" Harrison shouted to the employee, the customers, and the manager.

They all quickly left the gas station and stepped outside. Harrison checked every angle of the gas station, keeping his gun aimed while searching for the man who had tried to kill him and Peter. He knocked on the door of the men's bathroom, aimed his gun down, opened the door, and pointed it forward, catching his breath.

The man was no longer there. Harrison put his gun back into his holster and turned around, starting to walk away from the bathroom. After Peter noticed Harrison walking towards him, he asked if he was wondering who had tried to kill them, as he put his gun back into his holster.

"I don't know," answered Harrison.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Come on, let's go," said Harrison. Harrison and Peter left the gas station and walked back to Mr. and Mrs. Joanna's house to pay their respects.

Once back at the DEA headquarters, they reviewed the case of Alyssa Joanna. "So unfortunately, as mentioned through the phone records, Alyssa was in contact with a man named Michael Joseph, who reached out to her through WhatsApp.

Alyssa asked Michael if he had any opioids, and I think Michael was a fake person using the real name of Jose Alvarez," said Harrison. When DEA agents like Harrison are involved in a case where a victim, such as Alyssa Joanna, was given/illicit substances without their knowledge or agreement, they look through any information that is relevant to the investigation, including phone records.

This is done as part of their larger investigation to understand the circumstances behind the drug distribution and find those responsible."Let's meet up, Alyssa," says Peter, reading the text message between Alyssa and Jose.

"What about at the hotel where Jose and Hernandez were staying?" wondered Harrison.

"Do you think Alyssa may have met Jose at the hotel he was staying at and given her fentanyl which she thought was heroin?" says Peter.

Harrison sighed. "Maybe. But I think Alyssa was tricked into thinking that Jose Alvarez was named Michael Joseph and she ended up in the hospital on the same day she overdosed on fentanyl," says Harrison.

Peter sighed and cleared his throat. "I'd think Alvarez may have some kind of problem with drug addicts," says Peter.

"But why would Alvarez want to have a grudge against people who deal with drug addictions?" says Harrison.

"There must be a reason. We will just keep on investigating," says Peter. Harrison nods his head. Peter asked Harrison a question.

"Did you ever consider marrying Alyssa?" wondered Peter.

Harrison looks at Peter and says, "Yeah. I was planning on asking her to marry me on the night of her twenty-sixth birthday. It was only five weeks until her birthday," Harrison said.

Peter nods his head as he understands Harrison.
"I'm sorry, Harrison. I am," says Peter.

Harrison doesn't say another word this time and he hears from another agent, Logan Bedd, who walks up to Harrison and Peter and says to Harrison that there's been a lead on a woman named Mariana Gomez who worked for Alvarez and was spotted at a grocery store outside and giving out drugs to drug addicts.

Another victim was transported to the hospital due to another overdose incident and more drug addicts are dying. Logan said to Harrison that she had smuggled more than ten kilos of methamphetamine and fentanyl to California through the same warehouse she worked at along with Hernandez and Jose Alvarez. " I'll still go undercover. I think she won't know who I work for. I'll just talk her through it and then we will immediately arrest her," says Harrison.

"Okay. We will keep an eye on you and Mariana. She's also a dangerous person. So do not tell her you're going undercover," says Peter.

"Peter, I know. As I mentioned before, I have worked multiple undercover operations before," says Harrison.

"Great. Let's get moving," says Peter.

Harrison and Peter, along with five other agents, including Logan Bedd and Harrison, were dressed up as non-DEA agents. He had no badge on him and had his Glock 17 handgun tucked behind his back in his pants, hiddenunder his sweater. Harrison was wearing sweatpantsand a baseball cap. He got out of the undercover car and walked up to Mariana, who was standing behind the table, and saw Harrison walking up to her.

"Hi," says Mariana.

"Are you Mariana? We spoke on the phone. I'm Bett Davison, and I would like to buy some of your stash," says Harrison.

"Sure. It's $175 for cocaine and $150 for heroin," says Mariana. Harrison took out his wallet, took out $325, and handed the money to Mariana. Mariana smiled at Harrison, counted the money, and handed over fentanyl and methamphetamine to Harrison.

"Gracias," says Harrison in Spanish.

The main objective of a DEA agent like Harrison going undercover to interact with a drug smuggler connected to the Sinaloa Cartel and involved in the trafficking of fentanyl and methamphetamine is to gather information, build a strong case, and ultimately stop the illegal activity.

Other DEA agents were also looking for Mariana, as she had run onto the side of the street and then hidden behind a gas station. Harrison continued aiming his gun to ensure Mariana wasn't armed or carrying any weapon. Harrison and Peter quietly and slowly walked to the gas station, where there was a bathroom outside that Mariana could be hiding in.

Other DEA agents, including Harrison, were wearing their DEA bulletproof vests to protect themselves from being shot. Harrison and other DEA agents had to wear protective gear to ensure their safety. Bulletproof vests are designed to stop bullets from entering the body by distributing a bullet's energy across a network of strong fibers.

These vests are made of multiple layers of ballistic fabric, such as Spectra or Kevlar, which absorb and spread the impact energy like a net. By doing this, the bullet is slowed down, deformed, and prevented from entering the wearer's body. Harrison spoke into his two-way radio to clear the streets because Mariana was found on the streets. She was eventually caught after Harrison shot her with his gun and she fell onto the ground.

Logan ran up to Mariana, leaned over to take her hands, put them behind her back, and took out his handcuffs to make an arrest. Mariana was handcuffed and was angry and shouting in Spanish.

"DEJAME!" shouted Mariana.

"Get up!" Harrison shouted after walking up to Mariana and helpingLogan pull her up from the ground. Mariana laughedand she said in Spanish that Harrison would nevercatch Alvarez. "Get her out of here," says Harrison. Harrison sighed and turned around. Peter walked up to Harrison and asked him if he was okay. Harrison nodded his head and said, "I'm fine." Harrison walked past Peter and he was a bit upset.

Therefore Harrison and Peter were driving down the street of Los Angeles once again and keeping track of Jose Alvarez's SUV to a house where he and Peter watched him go in the house after Jose parked his car and got out of the car. "So he's not just a kingpin, he is a junkie too!" Harrison said. Peter was the one driving. He pulled the gear and put it in park. After parking the side of the sidewalk across the house, he sighed. "Jose Alvarez also had been involved in a shooting incident when he was fifteen. He shot one of the LAPD officers during a high chase back a few months ago," says Peter.

"Yeah. I remember hearing that on the news." Harrison answered. "So do you think he's capable of doing what he does now for the rest of his life?" Peter asked.

"I mean, it's his career. He's a kingpin, of course." Harrison said.

"Okay. And are you sure he may be the suspect in your girlfriend's murder?" Peter asked.

"Yeah. I checked the label on the pill bottle, and it was a non-prescribed medication. It's fentanyl and Alyssa O.D.'d." Harrison said.

The bottle; he'd treat it like a crime scene. As a DEA agent, his eyes are trained to hunt for the National Drug Code (NDC) and the DEA registration number—the digital fingerprints of a controlled substance. Harrison's gloved fingers hooked around a generic orange vial. He didn't look at the drug name first; he looked for the gaps. He rotated the bottle. Where a patient's name should have been clearly printed—John Doe or Sarah Smith—the thermal paper was suspiciously blank or, worse, had been carefully scraped away with a thumbnail.

A legitimate prescription is a legal contract between a doctor, a patient, and a pharmacy. No name meant no contract. Harrison's thumb traced the 11-digit National Drug Code (NDC) near the barcode. He pulled his phone, opening the FDA's NDC Directory. He punched in the 5-4-2 digit sequence.

The screen flashed: fentanyl, 30mg. He peered through the plastic at the little blue pills inside. They matched the code, but the label didn't list a pharmacy. Every legal label must have a pharmacy's name and physical address. This bottle had a generic "City Pharmacy" header but no phone number. Harrison knew the DEA's Pharmacy Search would likely show no such registered entity in this zip code.

He found a name for a "Dr. Aris" at the bottom. Beside it was a string of letters and numbers: BA4529183. Harrison didn't need a database for this; he did the "Check Digit" math in his head. Finally, he looked for the mandatory legal warning:

"Caution: Federal law prohibits the transfer of this drug to any person other than the patient for whom it was prescribed". On this bottle, the warning was missing entirely—a dead giveaway that the label was printed on a home inkjet, not a professional pharmacy management system.

"Non-prescribed," Harrison muttered, dropping the vial into an evidence bag. "And not even a good fake."

Peter said, "So you're saying that Jose may have met up with  Alyssa who gave her an illicit drug?" Peter said, frowning at Harrison.

"Yeah. I mean. My girlfriend was a junkie too. I'd just know that she was fighting for her sobriety. Then the next thing I know she's gone," said Harrison.

"Well uh, that's a pretty big deal. But Jose is a big deal to me. I mean, this guy has been working in the Sinaloa area for quite some time. He has mules who he hired sell illicit drugs to drug users," says Peter.

"See? That's the thing. Alyssa was a junkie. But I don't see how she would get herself in that kind of trouble?" Harrison said.

"But you said that Alyssa may have been killed by Alvarez. Maybe a grudge?" Peter said.

"Yeah. To me, yes," Harrison answered. Peter nodded his head. Peter sighed and looked back at the window.

He and Harrison saw Alvarez walking back outside the house. "There he is," Harrison said. Harrison leaned up in his seat. Jose Alvarez looked around outside before getting into his car. Jose shuts the door and drives away.

"Let's see where he's going next."

Peter pulled the gear into drive and pressed on the gas pedal before driving away. Harrison sighed as he was sitting in the passenger seat. He and Peter were back in the streets of downtown Los Angeles and they'd followed Jose.

But then eventually they'd lost track of him. "Where did he go?" Harrison asked.

Pop, pop, pop!

The sounds of a gunshot were being fired at Harrison and Peter and they'd hidden as they'd covered themselves with their hands. It was Jose who tried to shoot them. Jose then sped up his SUV and he got in front of Harrison and Peter. But this wasn't Jose. It was his partner Hernandez.

He got out of the window and started shooting again using his rifle at Harrison and Peter. The car sort of swerved a little bit and the rifle continued to shoot. "You picked the wrong day, Hernandez!!" Harrison said. He pulled out his Glock 19 gun from his holster and rolled down his window before getting out of the window of the passenger's side and he aimed his gun at Hernandez and started firing.

The SUV swerved a little bit. Tires were screeching. Peter began to speed up the Mustang. Cars were being pushed to the side of the road during a dangerous high-speed chase. Harrison aimed his gun once again after Hernandez evilly smiled at Harrison before taking his rifle and aiming it at Harrison once again and this time Harrison started shooting once again.

Other cars continued to swerve off the road and crashed. Tires screeched once again and Harrison kept on shooting. Harrison was out of bullets. He immediately got back in the car and was looking for more bullets and found them in the glove box.

He grabbed the bullets and closed the glove box. "Harrison, hurry!" Peter said, swerving off the road once again. Harrison eventually loaded his gun before he got out of the car window once again and Hernanes started shouting. Harrison then started shooting once again and more cars were swerving off the road and beeping their horns.

"Shoot!" Harrison said.

Harrison got back inside the car and looked for more bullets in the glovebox. He then found d more bullets and reloaded his gun after closing the glovebox. Then Jose's SUV swerved really fast as he and Hernandez were driving down the freeway of traffic on 10th Street. "We're gonna crash!" Harrison said. Peter continued swerving, getting in front of other cars. So did Jose.

Harrison and Peter eventually lost sight of the car. Jose and Hernandez were no longer on the freeway. "Dang it! We lost them!" Harrison said, banging on the dashboard.

Harrison sighed and put his gun back into his holster. Harrison leaned on the window and closed his eyes as he rubbed them with his fingers, his elbow leaning against the window of the door. Harrison removed his fingers from his eyes and groaned. Peter looked at Harrison noticing his partner was in distress. He refused to ask him if he was okay. He wasn't.