It's over.
The former deputy sits on his perch far above the ruined city, and gingerly rubs where his ear used to be; he supposes he's lucky it was all he lost, in the whirling field of debris spawned by the impact.
Something about the quiet desolation makes him introspective. Who IS he, really, now that the need to chase a bunch of lawless hooligans around is gone?
The vast sea of brightness he gazes down upon is no longer city lights, but only the sun reflecting off a motionless landscape--stale traffic, now reduced to a mere still-life painting.