"VIPs on site," the young man in the tailored black suit said quietly into the earpiece clipped to his right ear. His eyes swept the street in front of the gleaming glass building, taking in every shadow, every idle pedestrian, every glint of light that might spell danger.
Moments later, the first of several sleek black cars pulled up to the curb. Engines idled in perfect rhythm. Doors opened, and more men in suits stepped out, forming a practiced perimeter.
The young commander moved forward as the final limousine stopped in front of him. He opened the door with a precise motion, bowing his head slightly as the passenger emerged — a man in a pristine white suit, tall, dignified, with the composed air of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"Welcome, Ambassador," the commander said.
The ambassador nodded briefly and started toward the building's entrance. His escorts fanned out, their formation tight but unobtrusive. The commander led the way, eyes flicking constantly between windows, rooftops, and reflections in the polished glass.
Inside the building, the VIP's meeting began, and the commander remained outside with the rest of the security team. Time stretched. The sun climbed higher, the street growing hotter and quieter.
Then, hours later, the heavy glass doors opened again. The ambassador stepped out, followed by two aides. The commander straightened, scanning the street one more time.
Everything seemed normal. Too normal.
He moved forward. "Sir, it's better if you go back inside for now," he said quietly, his tone shifting from formal to firm.
The ambassador frowned. "What's wrong, Commander?"
"I don't like the feel of this. Please—"
He didn't finish.
A blinding flash tore through the street, followed by a thunderous roar. The parked cars erupted in fire, the shockwave hurling shards of metal and glass across the pavement. The air turned white-hot.
Instinct took over. The commander lunged forward, shielding the ambassador with his own body as debris rained around them.
"Get the ambassador to safety!" he shouted. His voice cut through the chaos, and two guards immediately pulled the stunned ambassador toward the building. Smoke and screams filled the air.
Then came the gunfire.
Figures emerged from the haze — armed men in dark fatigues, rifles raised. The commander drew his sidearm and dropped low behind the smoldering wreck of a sedan. Bullets tore into the walls behind him, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing between the buildings.
He saw one of his men fall. Then another.
The attackers were moving fast, closing in.
"Don't move, soldier!" one of them barked. "Drop your weapon, or you die here."
The commander exhaled slowly, squinting through the drifting smoke. "You don't want to do this," he said. "Walk away, and you might live to regret it."
The man laughed harshly. "You think you can take all of us? We've got the guns, soldier. Step aside. We already have what we came for."
The commander tilted his head slightly. "I hate to lose," he said softly. "Especially to amateurs."
Before the man could respond, the commander moved.
Two quick shots — one to the leg, one to the shoulder. The first attacker went down, his rifle spinning from his grasp. The others hesitated, startled by the precision and speed. That split second was enough.
The commander rolled to new cover, firing in controlled bursts. Each shot found its mark. One gunman screamed as a bullet tore through his arm; another collapsed with a cry. The rest broke formation, scattering toward the alley.
Breathing hard, the commander pushed himself up, scanning for movement. Smoke and fire still licked the remains of the cars, painting everything in flickering orange.
He glanced back toward the entrance. The ambassador was gone — safely inside, thank God.
He holstered his weapon and stepped forward through the debris, the acrid smell of burning fuel filling his lungs. Around him, the street was chaos — bodies, flames, broken glass. But his eyes remained sharp, searching the rooftops. Whoever had planned this wasn't done.
And neither was he.
When the last of the gunmen fell, the young commander didn't wait for orders. He sprinted into the building, boots echoing against marble floors, weapon drawn. Behind him, black-clad SWAT officers surged through the entrance, fanning out to secure the wounded attackers outside.
He took the stairs two, three steps at a time. His earpiece crackled with updates—radio chatter, gunfire, static—but he tuned it all out. The ambassador was still in danger.
He burst through the final door and onto the roof.
Wind whipped across the open deck, carrying the deafening roar of a helicopter's blades. Near the edge, two men were dragging the ambassador toward the aircraft. Another stood inside the chopper, rifle raised, signaling for takeoff.
"Let him go!" the commander shouted.
The kidnappers turned, startled—but too late. He was already moving. The commander charged, tackling the nearest man and sending him crashing against a steel railing. They fought hand to hand, boots scraping against the concrete as the wind howled around them.
The second kidnapper tried to fire, but the commander grabbed his wrist, twisting until the gun fell free. He drove his elbow into the man's chest and sent him sprawling. The third man inside the chopper aimed his rifle—but before he could shoot, the commander leapt forward, caught him by the collar, and yanked him out of the aircraft. The man hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs.
The pilot shouted, reaching for his sidearm. The commander swung his pistol like a hammer, striking the pilot across the temple. The man slumped over the controls, unconscious.
"Stay down!" the commander barked, kicking the fallen rifle away. He turned quickly to the ambassador. "Sir, are you hurt?"
The ambassador shook his head, shaken but alive. "I'm all right, Commander. You've done everything to keep me safe."
"It's my job, sir," the commander replied, scanning the perimeter as the SWAT team finally burst through the rooftop door.
The armed men on the ground were swiftly surrounded and restrained. The sound of handcuffs clicking was drowned by the fading thrum of the helicopter blades.
The ambassador exhaled shakily. "You're good, son. What would you say if I offered you a place with my private security team? You'd be well compensated."
The commander gave a small, polite smile. "That's a generous offer, sir—but I'll have to refuse. I'm a soldier. I serve my country and its people, not just one man."
The ambassador studied him for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "You are exactly what they say you are." He clapped the commander on the shoulder. "Still, if you ever change your mind—"
"My apologies, sir," the commander interrupted gently. "The answer will remain the same."
He touched his earpiece. "HQ, this is Commander Reyes. The VIP is secure. Requesting a transport detail to escort him back to his hotel."
Within minutes, more security units arrived, along with medics to ensure the ambassador had no injuries. As they prepared to leave, the ambassador turned and extended his hand.
"It was an honor working with you, Commander."
"The pleasure's mine, sir," Reyes said, shaking his hand firmly. "My team will see you back safely. I'll remain here to lock down the scene."
"I know they're as trustworthy as you are," the ambassador said with a faint smile before following his escort.
When the last helicopter lifted off, the rooftop finally fell quiet. Reyes watched it disappear into the haze, the sound of the rotors fading into the distance.
Then his phone rang.
He reached into his jacket, glanced at the screen — and froze.
The name flashing there made his pulse quicken.
He hesitated for half a heartbeat… then answered.
The rooftop was finally quiet. Smoke drifted lazily into the afternoon sky, and the faint wail of sirens echoed somewhere far below. Commander Reyes adjusted his suit jacket, exhaling as the adrenaline began to fade.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen — and couldn't help but smile. He answered immediately.
"Ma."
"Where are you?" came his mother's voice, firm but affectionate. "Everyone's waiting. Don't tell me you're still on a mission."
"No, ma. Just wrapping up some training drills. I'll be there soon."
A soft scoff sounded through the line. "Young man, I know when you're lying. We're watching the news right now."
Reyes sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. It's just—"
"It's top secret," she finished for him.
He chuckled. "Yeah. Something like that."
There was a brief pause, and then her tone softened. "You really are his son."
He smiled faintly. "Guess it runs in the blood."
"Finish what you're doing and get here as soon as you can. The elders aren't known for their patience."
"I know. I'll be there shortly. See you soon, Ma."
Before she could reply, a soldier approached briskly, saluting. "Commander, the President's secretary would like to speak with you about what happened today."
Reyes nodded and ended the call, slipping the phone back into his jacket. "Let me guess," he said before the soldier could continue. "They're rerouting the ambassador to the President's residence instead of the hotel."
"Affirmative, sir."
Reyes gave a small, knowing smile. "Then our job here is done. Get the police to clean this up and secure the perimeter." He straightened his tie and started toward the exit.
"But sir, the secretary—"
"Everything's under control," the young man said, waving a dismissive hand. "The ambassador's safe. Compared to the secretary's temper, I'm more worried about the Demon General's wrath."
The soldier blinked, half amused, half nervous. "Yes, sir."
As the commander strode toward the stairwell, the younger man couldn't help but shake his head and mutter under his breath. "Like father, like son."