Even the emergency departments of hospitals in a metropolis like New York couldn't handle thousands of casualties. Many seriously injured people might die before they could get to the operating table.
Luke had already started to use the Light of Life to try his best to keep the most seriously injured people alive.
However, there was nothing he could do for those who were injured in the head or who were bleeding profusely.
At the same time, his clone also took action. He put on a stranger's face and went to the subway station in Queens to rescue them.
Compared with the main body, the clone basically didn't have to worry about using the Light of Life. He just needed to cover it up a little, and it was much more efficient than the main body.
Even so, many of the injured would inevitably die in time.
In about half an hour, he finished the preliminary rescue work at the subway station.
Amid the screams and wails in the subway station, he called Selina and they returned to the surface.
He had done everything he could, and could only leave the rest to the patrol officers and paramedics who arrived one after another.
This was already the luckiest of the eight subway stations, because Luke and Selina had been nearby when the explosion happened.
They didn't waste any time, and drove to another subway station in Brooklyn.
His clones were working hard at the three subway stations in Queens, and Luke and Selina just had to take care of the three subway stations in Brooklyn.
As for the two subway stations in Manhattan that had exploded, there were several hospitals nearby, and the situation was much better than in these two boroughs. They could only hope that the rescue workers would be able to do their best.
While Luke and Selina were busy, the Detective Bureau was also in chaos.
Most of the agents had rushed to the subway stations, and the remaining clerks were extremely busy.
The phones on their desks and in their pockets rang one after another, leaving them flustered.
Some of the detectives' acquaintances called the police, while others asked about the situation from relatives and friends.
At that moment, the May afternoon weather was extremely irritating. Everyone was sweating profusely, and many people's throats were already hoarse.
As the head of the Detective Bureau, Dustin didn't make a move.
He had to stay in the department to ensure that he could communicate with both sides.
However, he didn't stay in the office, but stood at the door.
If anyone had a problem they couldn't solve, they could ask him directly.
At the same time, he would take some time to check the status of the discussion groups on his phone.
It was one thing for the Detective Bureau group; the information in it kept increasing, and he couldn't read it at all.
Luke, Selina, and Elsa's group, on the other hand, didn't have much information, but it was all very important.
When they had nothing to do, Luke and Elizabeth would secretly do intelligence research. Elsa and Elizabeth were in charge of administration at HQ, and Elizabeth was in charge of network information collection. They were both experienced intelligence workers.
Apart from ensuring each other's safety, the rest of the information was necessary and concise.
Unlike in the Detective Bureau, some of the hundred or so detectives directly left voice messages cursing.
They weren't scolding their colleagues, but they were scolding the big bosses at the headquarters for not sending reinforcements.
A few African American detectives showed off their racial talents and cursed as if they were rappers.
But Luke believed that in an hour or two at most, these swearing raps would all be withdrawn.
What you said can not be counted. This is a classic function on QQ.
It fully proves that what is said on QQ can not only be sent quickly, but also be eaten back faster.
At this moment, the phone in Dustin's office rang. He immediately walked over and picked it up.
A man's voice came from the other end. "Hello, is this Superintendent Dustin Hammer?"
Dustin frowned. "That's me. Who are you?"
The man on the other end of the line chuckled. "Sampler Simon once said to the gang that a good show was about to begin. Give me your gang, or I'll twist your head off. Look, the subway station is just the beginning. Hm, you have a man named John McClane, right? "
Dustin's tapping hand paused. "He's on indefinite leave."
The other end of the line laughed. "No, he has to be here. He has to be here today."
Dustin: "Who are you?"
The man on the other end of the line: "You can call me Simon."
Dustin: "What do you want?"
Simon on the other end of the line: "I want to play a game."
Dustin: "What game?"
Simon: "You can call it — Simon said. Simon will tell Officer McClane what to do, and Officer McClane has to do it. Disobedience will result in punishment. "
Dustin's heart skipped a beat, and his face darkened. "What punishment?"
Simon chuckled. "There's going to be another big 'accident' in the downtown subway station."
A moment later, Dustin hung up and dialed John's number on his office phone.
Half a minute later, he put away his phone and walked to the door with a dark expression. He raised his voice and roared, "Connie, do you know where John is?"
Connie covered the phone in her hand. "I don't know. Maybe he's drunk to death in a dumpster somewhere."
Dustin put his hand to his forehead. He guessed that was the case.
Helpless, he could only send a message to John and Joe in the group.
The message to John was to ask him to contact him immediately.
The message to Joe was to ask him to put down everything he was doing, find that bastard John as soon as possible, and then inform the department.
Half an hour later, in a logistics van, Joe took the painkillers that Connie had brought from the police department and gave them to John, who was sitting on the floor, along with a bottle of mineral water.
Dustin and a few key officers from the Detective Bureau stood in a semicircle and watched from above with pained expressions.
Even someone as calm as Dustin couldn't help but complain, "Jesus (God), John, you look like a piece of sh * t."
This was because he had told John not to drink too much and to get a good rest.
Now, it seemed that those words were indeed meant for a dog to hear.
John pretended not to hear anything. He was still hungover and had a terrible headache. So be it!
Accepting the two painkillers that Joe poured out, he raised his hand.
Joe shook the bottle helplessly and gave him two more pills. Otherwise, John might go on strike when he had a headache and had to do what Simon had said.
He swallowed the painkillers with water, took out a cigarette, and took a puff. Then, he asked, "Hm, what was the lottery number from last night?"
Everybody said in unison, "4667."
John shrugged. "Looks like we're all hopeless."
Everybody was speechless.
More than half of the people in NYPD liked to bet with their police numbers as a gamble. It was normal for them to not win the lottery, and nobody took it seriously.
They were all old acquaintances and remembered each other's numbers, so they knew who hadn't won every time the lottery was announced.
"We're almost at Hell's Kitchen, boss," Billy, who was driving, reminded him.
Dustin was speechless. You deserve to be a driver for the rest of your life! Even if he didn't mention the Clinton area, he could've mentioned the street name. Why did he mention Hell's Kitchen?
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