Jimmy resumed his patrol, and with the previous actions as a foundation, he suddenly found the job of patrolling the highway extremely boring, showing no interest in stopping even the mild overspeeding vehicles.

After patrolling for a while, Jimmy pulled the police car over to the side of a small road, turned off the radio, and got out for a smoke.

The previous shootout had affected Jimmy's composure; while patrolling, he would unconsciously reach for his gun, feeling slightly obsessed. Jimmy himself wasn't a hot-headed person, and although he was not averse to using violence, at the least he shouldn't be constantly thinking about drawing his weapon.

Jimmy smoked a cigarette and got back into the car, deciding to issue a few tickets to change his mood, and maybe interacting with ordinary people would help him calm down.

For a patrol officer, issuing tickets wasn't difficult. He drove to the next intersection, parked on the curb as per old habits, and lay in wait.

A pickup followed several cars in making a left turn. However, before reaching the intersection, the light had already switched from yellow to red. Jimmy activated his lights and siren, turned the corner, and followed the pickup, signaling for it to pull over.

Jimmy got out and walked around from behind the pickup, touched the right rear turn signal, and approached the passenger side door.

Here's a little-known fact: in the United States, patrol officers commonly make this gesture of touching the vehicle's rear turn signal when pulling someone over, primarily to leave fingerprints.

"Good morning, sir. I stopped you because you ran a red light while making a left turn back there. Could you please show me your driver's license and vehicle registration? Is this your vehicle?"

"Yes, just a moment, I'll get it for you." The driver rifled through the glove compartment on the passenger side to fetch the vehicle registration card and then pulled out his driver's license from his wallet to hand it to Jimmy.

"One moment, please."

Jimmy returned to the police car to use the radio to contact the dispatch center, verifying if the license plate and driver's license matched and if there were any warrants or the like. Once he confirmed there were no issues, he filled out the ticket.

Jimmy handed the driver's license and vehicle registration back to the driver, and then proceeded with the ticketing routine.

"Sir, this is your ticket. Here is the reason for the fine, the amount. Please handle the ticket promptly. If you have any objections, you can go through the judicial process. My badge number is right here. Is that clear?"

"No problem."

After dealing with the ticket, Jimmy returned to the same intersection to continue his daze. Indeed, when in a bad mood, making someone else have a worse day really was a stress reliever.

Jimmy didn't issue tickets to everyone who broke the law, to avoid excessive policing. The police department currently did not set quotas for patrol officers, as the department's budget was provided by the county council. Although fines from tickets were a significant part of the budget, supervisors still refused to allow police to issue too many tickets.

Across the different locations in the United States, it varied. Some cities were sparsely populated; for instance, a small city with only 1,000 people meant very limited funds provided by the city government to the police department. They were required to generate a portion of their revenues themselves, typically mandating that officers issue 2-5 tickets per day or no fewer than 15 tickets a week, resembling an unwritten rule of sorts.

Jimmy flashed his lights to pull over another car; this time, it was special—not a traffic violation, but the car's brake light was illuminated on only one side. It wasn't a big deal; he only needed to inform them to get it repaired as soon as possible.

Jimmy parked and walked up, moving to the passenger side position. Just as he was about to speak, he suddenly saw the driver's right hand was not on the steering wheel, but rather at his waist. He didn't see clearly if there was anything in the driver's hand, so he immediately backed off to the side of the car door, drew his gun, and aimed it at the driver's seat.

"Put your hands on the steering wheel. Put your hands on the steering wheel. Put your hands on the steering wheel."

Jimmy kept shouting while he retreated to his police car, using the front of the car as a shield.

"Extend your hands out of the window! Extend your hands out of the window!"

The driver never complied with Jimmy's commands. His heartbeat was racing since he hadn't seen clearly whether the driver had a gun. Now, he had to proceed as if there were one.

After shouting a few times with no response, Jimmy couldn't wait any longer. He ducked beside the hood of the car, closed his eyes, and tried to use his "Heart Eye". Time seemed to slow down as images of the surroundings appeared in Jimmy's mind. The person in the car in front of him was bending over, apparently doing something. He couldn't see clearly, but the images suggested there was something grey in his right hand, with no definitive shape.

Jimmy opened his eyes, noting that the person still hadn't extended their hands. He picked up the radio and called the dispatch center directly to request backup from nearby officers, because the suspect appeared to have a gun.

After hanging up the radio, Jimmy continued to loudly insist, hoping the other party would abandon their unrealistic thoughts and comply with his demands, but to no avail.

While Jimmy continued to wait, the car in front suddenly moved, then accelerated away. Jimmy got into his car, turned on the siren and lights, and chased after, reporting the current situation as he went.

The chase lasted for a while, and another police car joined in from behind. With the suspect possibly armed, Jimmy didn't dare perform a PIT maneuver, risking his own life, so he had no choice but to follow.

The car ahead wasn't going particularly fast but just kept on without stopping. Jimmy made contact with the car behind him through the radio—it was Noah, who wasn't very far away and arrived quickly. Jimmy instructed Noah to be alert as he prepared to perform a high-speed interception when they reached a less crowded area.

Jimmy sped up and approached the car from the right. The car in front was obviously an experienced driver, making slight adjustments to its position, denying Jimmy several PIT opportunities. Seizing his chance, Jimmy bumped the rear right side of the car, causing it to shift laterally, but not to overturn or change direction, continuing forward. Jimmy accelerated again and this time rammed the side of the car, turning it almost 180 degrees. It didn't flip but had come to a stop.

Jimmy surged left, then steered forward to steady the police car before turning around to come back. Noah had already drawn his gun, pointing it at the driver.

"Raise your hands, get out of the car." Jimmy also drew his gun at the driver.

The driver was no longer able to move; with police cars in front and behind and guns pointed at him, the driver had no choice but to raise his hands, open the car door with his left hand from the outside, and get out, then lie down on the ground without needing verbal commands from Jimmy or Noah—it was clear he was a seasoned criminal.

Noah kept his gun aimed at the driver. Jimmy came from behind and cuffed him, then hoisted the driver up against the hood of the police car, first conducting a pat-down search to confirm there were no dangerous items.

Noah went to inspect the car.

"There's a handgun here, and a spare magazine." Noah found a gun underneath the driver's seat, then continued to search other areas.

"There's a bag of white powder under the back seat. We'll need to bring it back for testing." After inspecting the car, Noah reported back to Jimmy.

"Noah, I'll take him back to the station. Can you call for a tow truck?" Jimmy placed the evidence in the trunk and the driver in the back seat cage, and then drove back to the station.