Studio Conference Room
The storage room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a single emergency light mounted near the ceiling. Outside, distant gunfire and terrified screams continued to echo through the studio, turning what had once been a normal workday into a nightmare.
Allysa sat against a stack of storage boxes, her hands clasped tightly together. The fear she had been trying to suppress was finally beginning to show as her shoulders trembled ever so slightly.
Beside her, Director Max remained calm despite the chaos surrounding them.
She gently rubbed Allysa's back, doing her best to comfort her while maintaining a reassuring presence. Even so, the concern in her eyes was impossible to hide.
A few feet away, Charlie stood near the door with his Glock 17 raised.
His attention never wavered.
Slowly, he pushed the door open just enough to peek outside.
The hallway beyond appeared empty.
No mercenaries.
No movement.
Only the distant echoes of gunfire and panicked voices reverberating throughout the building.
Charlie studied the corridor for another second before quietly closing the door again.
Click.
He lowered his pistol slightly and walked over to Allysa.
Then he knelt beside her.
"Ms. Allysa," he said warmly, keeping his voice calm and steady. "Don't worry. Patrick is coming."
Allysa lowered her gaze.
For a moment, she remained silent while listening to the battle raging somewhere beyond the walls of the storage room.
Another burst of gunfire echoed in the distance.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
Her fingers tightened.
"I hope so, Charlie," she whispered.
Fear lingered behind her voice.
"Let's just hope he gets here... and that he hasn't died."
The words hung heavily in the room.
Director Max immediately squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
"Don't think like that," she said softly. "From what I've seen, Patrick isn't the type of person who goes down easily."
Charlie nodded in agreement.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Trust me, Ms. Allysa," he said. "If Patrick is still breathing, he'll find a way here."
Outside, the sounds of battle continued.
Inside the storage room, however, all they could do was wait.
And hope that Patrick arrived before the danger found them first.
Meanwhile, outside the conference room, Gary advanced cautiously through the hallway with his M4A1 raised. Despite the fever weighing on his body, his movements remained steady and controlled as he scanned every doorway, corner, and blind spot ahead.
The studio had become a war zone.
Shattered glass covered portions of the floor while abandoned equipment, overturned furniture, and scattered documents littered the corridors. The distant sounds of gunfire and screaming echoed throughout the building, reminding him that the battle was far from over.
As Gary rounded a corner, he immediately spotted three familiar figures.
Agent 229-H stood near an intersection with a Tommy Gun in hand while Frank and Ken secured the rear, their weapons raised as they watched for threats approaching from behind.
"Agent 229," Gary called out quietly as he approached. "Did you dismantle the bomb?"
Agent 229's expression darkened slightly.
"Negative, Agent 429," he replied calmly. "We can't disarm it."
Gary frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Frank glanced down the hallway before returning his attention to the conversation. "The bomb isn't alone," he explained.
Agent 229 nodded.
"We discovered that all the explosives inside this building are connected. If we cut the wrong wire or accidentally trigger one device, every bomb in the studio could detonate simultaneously."
For the first time in several minutes, genuine concern flashed across Gary's face.
"Shit..." he muttered under his breath.
His eyes briefly lowered as he processed the information.
They planned this really well.
"What matters now," Agent 229 said firmly, "is getting your client out of this building alive."
Gary looked at him.
"What about you guys?"
Before Agent 229 could answer, movement appeared at the far end of the hallway.
Several mercenaries rushed into view.
"CONTACT FRONT!" Frank shouted.
The mercenaries immediately raised their rifles.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gunfire erupted throughout the corridor.
Gary dove behind a concrete pillar while Agent 229 slid behind an overturned cabinet. Frank and Ken separated to opposite sides of the hallway, creating overlapping fields of fire.
Bullets tore through the walls around them.
Chunks of plaster exploded into the air while spent shell casings bounced across the floor. The narrow corridor instantly became a deadly kill zone.
Agent 229 leaned out from cover and fired his Tommy Gun.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
Several mercenaries ducked behind cover as rounds ripped through the hallway.
"We'll be fine, Agent 429!" he shouted over the gunfire. "Get back to your client!"
Frank popped out from behind a support column and fired his Daewoo rifle.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A mercenary staggered backward before collapsing behind a desk.
Ken immediately joined in, his M4A1 barking short, controlled bursts downrange. The combined fire forced the attackers to retreat behind walls and doorframes as the hallway filled with smoke and flying debris.
Gary exchanged a glance with Agent 229 from across the corridor.
Neither man needed to say much.
They both understood.
Agent 229 gave a sharp nod.
Gary returned it.
"COVERING FIRE!" Agent 229 roared.
Without hesitation, he stepped from cover and unleashed another burst from his Tommy Gun. Frank and Ken followed immediately, their rifles hammering the hallway with suppressive fire.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
BANG! BANG!
RAT-TAT-TAT!
The mercenaries were forced back as bullets slammed into the walls around them. Several attackers ducked for cover while others struggled to return accurate fire under the barrage.
That was the opening Gary needed.
Without looking back, he sprinted down the corridor toward the conference room while the three veteran agents continued covering his advance. Gunfire thundered behind him as he disappeared deeper into the studio, racing against time to reach Allysa before the situation became even worse.
Meanwhile, inside the conference room area, Randoft advanced through the chaos with ten mercenaries at his back. His M4 Carbine remained raised and ready, fitted with a scope and tactical attachments as he methodically searched the building.
The hallways were eerily quiet compared to the battle outside.
Distant gunfire still echoed through the studio while emergency alarms continued blaring overhead. Broken chairs, abandoned equipment, and scattered papers littered the floor wherever he looked.
A security guard suddenly appeared from a side corridor.
The moment the guard raised his pistol, Randoft reacted.
BANG!
The shot echoed through the hallway.
The guard collapsed onto the floor before he could even pull the trigger, his weapon slipping from his grasp as his body hit the tiles with a heavy thud.
Randoft didn't spare him a second glance.
Instead, he calmly continued forward while scanning the surrounding area.
Meanwhile, inside a hidden storage room nearby, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
Allysa sat quietly beside Director Max while Charlie stood near the concealed entrance with his Glock 17 aimed toward the wall in front of him. Every sound outside felt amplified in the cramped space.
Then—
A gunshot echoed through the corridor.
BANG!
Allysa flinched instinctively.
Director Max gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder while Charlie tightened his grip around the pistol. His eyes never left the hidden entrance.
Outside, Randoft slowed his pace.
A faint smile appeared beneath his mask as he studied the area around him.
"Mmm," he muttered. "The smell of money."
A low chuckle escaped him.
He raised a hand and signaled his mercenaries.
"Search the area."
The mercenaries immediately spread out.
Some checked offices while others moved through adjacent hallways, clearing rooms and inspecting potential hiding spots. Their boots echoed across the floor as they systematically searched the conference wing.
Randoft's eyes suddenly settled on something.
A storage room.
His gaze lingered there for a moment.
Slowly, he approached the door.
Inside the hidden compartment beyond that wall, Charlie's pulse quickened.
He heard the approaching footsteps.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Charlie raised his Glock slightly higher.
His finger rested against the trigger while Allysa and Director Max remained completely silent behind him. The tension inside the cramped space became almost unbearable.
Outside, Randoft stopped directly in front of the storage room.
His M4 remained trained on the doorway.
Slowly, he reached for the handle.
Inside, Charlie steadied his breathing.
If that door opened—
he would shoot.
No hesitation.
No warning.
Randoft's hand closed around the doorknob.
The latch clicked.
The door swung open.
CREAK.
Charlie tightened his grip.
Ready.
Prepared.
Willing to fight to the death if necessary.
But then—
Nothing.
The room was empty.
Randoft lowered his rifle slightly and glanced around the storage space.
"Shocks," he muttered with mild disappointment. "No one's here."
After a few seconds, he stepped back into the hallway.
"Move on," he ordered.
The mercenaries regrouped and continued their search deeper into the building.
Their footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Only after the sounds disappeared did Charlie finally release the breath he had been holding.
Because unknown to Randoft—
the storage room he searched was merely a decoy.
On the opposite side of the wall, hidden behind a concealed maintenance compartment, Allysa, Director Max, and Charlie remained perfectly still.
And for now—
they were still alive.
The hidden storage room fell into silence after the footsteps outside finally disappeared. Only the distant echoes of gunfire and screaming lingered beyond the walls, a constant reminder that the battle was still raging throughout the studio.
Charlie remained near the entrance with his Glock 17 raised.
His finger rested along the trigger guard as he listened carefully for any sign that the mercenaries had returned. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, but he didn't dare lower his guard.
Seconds passed.
Then another few seconds.
Nothing.
Slowly, Charlie lowered the pistol and released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"We're still safe," he said quietly.
The words seemed to drain some of the fear from the room.
Beside a stack of storage boxes, Allysa finally exhaled while Director Max closed her eyes briefly in relief. The crushing tension that had gripped them for the past several minutes loosened just enough for them to breathe again.
Then—
CLICK.
The sound of a door opening echoed from somewhere behind them.
Charlie's head snapped around instantly.
His heart lurched into his throat as he spun toward the sound and raised his Glock once more. Director Max froze while Allysa instinctively stepped back, fear flashing across her face.
A figure appeared in the doorway.
For a split second, nobody moved.
The room felt frozen in time.
Then the emergency light above flickered.
And the figure stepped forward.
Gary.
Dust covered parts of his clothing, and faint scratches marked his sleeves from the fighting outside. His rifle hung against his shoulder while his eyes immediately searched the room, making sure everyone was still alive.
The moment Allysa saw him, something inside her broke.
"Patrick!"
The name escaped her before she even realized she had spoken.
She rushed toward him.
The fear.
The uncertainty.
The horrible thoughts she had been fighting ever since the attack began.
Everything came crashing down at once.
Gary barely had time to react before Allysa threw her arms around him.
For a brief moment, surprise crossed his face.
Then his expression softened.
Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her.
Behind them, Charlie stared for a second before lowering his pistol completely.
A shaky breath escaped him.
"Thank God..." he whispered.
The strength seemed to leave his legs as he dropped onto a nearby crate, rubbing a hand over his face. Only now did he realize how terrified he had been that Gary wouldn't make it back.
Allysa buried her face against Gary's chest.
The sound of his heartbeat reached her ears.
Steady.
Calm.
Alive.
Her shoulders trembled as tears finally escaped.
"Patrick..." she whispered between sobs. "I thought you were already dead."
The words struck harder than any bullet.
Gary looked down at her.
For a moment, the gunfire outside faded into the background.
The mercenaries.
The bombs.
The bloodshed.
None of it mattered.
Not right now.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
Small.
Almost unnoticeable.
But genuine.
"Allysa," he said softly. "You're safe now."
His voice carried a quiet certainty that made the chaos outside seem distant. It wasn't bravado or false reassurance—it was the voice of someone who would stand between her and danger no matter the cost.
Allysa tightened her grip on him.
There was something about Patrick that she couldn't explain.
Something familiar.
Something that made her feel safe in a way that didn't make sense.
She had only known him for a short time.
Yet standing there in his arms felt strangely natural.
Comforting.
As if some forgotten part of her already knew him.
Slowly, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
The feeling remained.
And for the first time since meeting him, Allysa found herself wondering why being near Patrick felt less like meeting a stranger—
and more like finding someone she had lost a long time ago
As they left the storage room, the atmosphere immediately changed. The distant echoes of gunfire, shattered glass, and panicked screams filled the hallways, creating a constant reminder that the studio was still under siege.
"We better get going," Gary said calmly.
Holding his M4A1 firmly against his shoulder, he took point at the front of the group. Behind him walked Allysa and Director Max, while Charlie stayed at the rear, his Glock 17 raised as he watched their back.
The group moved cautiously through the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. Every intersection, doorway, and blind corner felt like a potential threat.
Gunfire suddenly erupted ahead.
Four mercenaries appeared from the far end of the corridor, sprinting toward them with rifles in hand. Before they could raise their weapons, Gary had already sighted them through his optic.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp cracks of his rifle echoed through the hallway.
Each shot found its mark.
The mercenaries stumbled and collapsed one after another, their bodies hitting the floor with heavy thuds. Empty casings bounced across the polished surface as Gary immediately scanned for additional threats.
More movement.
Several mercenaries appeared from behind them.
Charlie reacted instantly.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
His Glock barked repeatedly as he fired down the corridor. One mercenary dropped while another crashed into the wall before sliding to the floor.
Gary glanced over his shoulder.
Charlie met his gaze.
Neither man said a word.
They simply nodded.
Then continued moving.
The group pushed deeper into Section B9, passing overturned carts, abandoned equipment, and scattered paperwork that littered the floor. Emergency lights flashed intermittently overhead, bathing parts of the hallway in pulses of red and white.
Suddenly, Gary stopped.
His rifle remained trained ahead as his eyes narrowed behind the optic.
"Charlie, we need to get to the parking lot quickly," he said calmly, though the tension in his grip betrayed his urgency.
Charlie nodded immediately.
"Yeah. We need to get there."
Allysa remained silent as she walked behind them. Director Max stayed close to her side, occasionally placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder while they continued forward.
As they approached a four-way intersection, something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Gary's instincts flared.
A split second later—
A figure exploded from the side corridor.
A mercenary wearing a clown mask and mismatched tactical gear slammed the butt of his rifle into Gary's weapon with tremendous force.
CRACK!
The impact knocked the M4A1 aside.
Before Gary could recover, the mercenary drove forward and struck him again.
The blow caught Gary across the side of his body.
The force sent him crashing onto the floor.
"Patrick!" Allysa shouted.
Gary hit the ground hard, sliding across the polished surface. His rifle slipped from his grip as the mercenary immediately pounced, attempting to overwhelm him before he could recover.
At the same moment, another attacker emerged from a nearby doorway.
Charlie barely had time to react.
The mercenary slammed into him and drove him backward.
Both men crashed into the wall.
A powerful arm wrapped around Charlie's neck.
A chokehold.
Charlie's Glock slipped from his grasp and clattered across the floor.
"Charlie!" Director Max cried.
Gary raised both arms defensively as the mercenary on top of him threw punch after punch. His forearms absorbed the impacts while he struggled to create space, every strike rattling through his body.
The hallway erupted into chaos.
Charlie fought desperately against the chokehold.
Gary battled the attacker pinning him to the ground.
Director Max stumbled backward.
And Allysa froze.
Fear gripped her chest as everything happened at once.
Then—
She turned.
And her blood ran cold.
Standing directly in front of her was a man carrying an M4 Carbine.
Long hair.
A scar running across part of his face.
A devil tattoo visible on his neck.
Randoft.
A slow smile spread beneath his cold eyes as he looked directly at her.
"Well," he said, his voice calm and unsettling. "Looks like we finally found each other."
Allysa couldn't move.
For the first time since the attack began—
A cold smile spread across Randoft's face as he seized Allysa's wrist and pulled her toward him. His grip was painfully tight, forcing her to stumble forward despite her desperate attempts to resist.
"Let me go!" Allysa cried, struggling against him.
Randoft merely chuckled and tightened his hold. The scar on his face twisted slightly as his grin widened, making him look even more unsettling beneath the flashing emergency lights.
Behind them, Gary finally found an opening.
The mercenary pinning him down overcommitted on a strike, exposing his centerline for a brief moment. Gary reacted instantly, driving his fist upward into the man's jaw before following with a brutal punch to the abdomen.
The mercenary grunted in pain.
Gary didn't stop.
Another punch slammed into the man's stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. The attacker doubled over, his guard dropping completely as he struggled to recover.
That was all Gary needed.
His fist shot forward and crashed into the mercenary's face.
CRACK!
The mercenary stumbled backward before collapsing onto the floor, unconscious.
Gary immediately pushed himself up.
His chest rose and fell heavily as a wave of dizziness swept through him. The fever burning through his body made every movement feel heavier than it should have.
Then—
A sharp impact struck him from behind.
THUD!
Another mercenary slammed the butt of his rifle into Gary's back, forcing him forward. Pain shot through his body as he nearly lost his footing.
"Patrick!" Allysa screamed.
Director Max rushed forward without thinking.
"Get away from her!"
She tried to pull Allysa free, but one of Randoft's men stepped in and swung the butt of his rifle.
WHACK!
The strike caught Director Max across the side of her face.
She cried out and fell hard onto the floor.
"Director Max!" Allysa shouted, her eyes widening in horror.
Randoft grabbed Allysa's chin aggressively and forced her to look directly at him. Fear flooded her chest as she saw the cruel amusement in his eyes.
"I'll have fun with you first," he said with a wicked smirk. "Then I'll hand you over to the boss."
Allysa's face turned pale.
Every instinct told her to run, yet Randoft's grip was impossible to break. Her heart pounded violently as panic threatened to overwhelm her.
Randoft began dragging her down the hallway.
His mercenaries immediately formed around them, creating a moving shield while keeping their weapons trained on every direction.
Gary looked up.
His vision blurred for a moment.
Through the chaos, he saw Allysa being taken away.
"Allysa..."
He tried to move forward, but his legs felt heavy. The fever that had been slowing him down all day now hit him like a hammer, draining the strength from his body at the worst possible moment.
The hallway spun briefly around him.
Gunfire still echoed throughout the studio.
Director Max struggled to sit up.
Charlie was still locked in a desperate fight nearby.
And Allysa was being dragged farther away with every passing second.
Gary forced himself back to his feet despite the fever burning through his body. His vision swam for a brief moment, but he pushed through it as another mercenary rushed toward him and drove a punch toward his face.
Gary slipped to the side and absorbed part of the impact. The moment the mercenary overextended, he retaliated with a swift kick to the man's midsection, forcing him backward.
The mercenary staggered.
Gary stepped in immediately.
His elbow shot upward and struck the side of the man's face, followed by another from the opposite direction. The attacker lost his balance and dropped to one knee.
Before the mercenary could recover, Gary drove a kick into his face.
The impact sent the man crashing onto the floor.
Another attacker charged from the side with a combat knife in hand. The blade flashed beneath the hallway lights as the mercenary lunged forward.
Gary stepped back just enough to avoid the strike.
His hand shot out and seized the attacker's wrist.
Using the mercenary's momentum against him, Gary forced the arm downward and slammed a kick into the man's torso. The knife slipped from the attacker's grasp and clattered across the floor.
The mercenary stumbled.
Gary followed with another kick, sending him sprawling onto the polished tiles.
Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around Gary's neck from behind.
A chokehold.
The third mercenary tightened his grip, attempting to drag him backward.
Gary reacted instantly.
He drove the back of his head into the attacker's face.
The mercenary grunted and loosened his hold.
Gary twisted free and immediately grabbed the fallen knife from the floor. In one smooth motion, he turned and drove the attacker back, forcing him out of the fight.
Blood stained Gary's hand and splattered across parts of his face, giving him a frightening appearance beneath the flashing emergency lights. His chest rose and fell heavily as he searched for the next threat.
Then he saw Charlie.
The mercenary who had tackled him earlier was still on top of him, raining blows while Charlie struggled to defend himself. Without hesitation, Gary sprinted forward.
The attacker noticed him too late.
Gary struck hard and fast, forcing the mercenary away from Charlie before he could react. The man collapsed to the floor and stopped moving.
For a moment, the hallway fell quiet around them.
Charlie lay against the floor, breathing heavily.
Bruises marked his face, and his once-clean white polo was now stained with dirt and blood from the fighting. He looked exhausted, but alive.
Gary extended a hand toward him.
Charlie looked up and grabbed it firmly.
With Gary's help, he pulled himself back to his feet.
"Thanks," Charlie said, catching his breath..
Gary gave a firm nod as he picked up his M4A1 from the floor. Blood stained his hands and parts of his clothes, while the fever burning through his body made every breath feel heavier than the last.
"Charlie, go help Director Max," Gary said in a serious, deadpan tone. "I'll go save Allysa."
Charlie nodded immediately.
"Alright, Gary. Got it."
Gary was about to leave when Charlie suddenly called out to him. Reaching into his waistband, he pulled out a Glock 17 and extended it toward him.
"Here. You might need it."
Gary glanced at the pistol before looking back at Charlie.
"It's yours, Charlie. You need it."
Charlie shook his head and gestured toward the fallen mercenaries scattered across the hallway.
"I'll be fine. There are plenty of weapons lying around from these guys."
For a moment, Gary hesitated.
Then he slowly accepted the Glock 17 and secured it beside his other gear. Without another word, he turned and sprinted down the corridor, disappearing around the corner as the sounds of gunfire echoed deeper within the studio.
Charlie watched him go before turning his attention to Director Max.
She was sitting against the wall, one hand pressed against the side of her face where she had been struck. Her breathing was uneven, and she looked visibly shaken from everything that had happened.
"Director Max," Charlie said, kneeling beside her.
He carefully helped her to her feet.
"Can you walk?"
Max nodded weakly.
"I think so."
Charlie supported her weight as they slowly moved away from the battlefield. Around them, shattered glass, overturned equipment, and abandoned belongings littered the hallway, serving as reminders of the chaos that had consumed the studio.
---
E.I.S. Monitoring Room
Far from the battlefield, deep within an E.I.S. facility, dozens of monitors illuminated an otherwise dark room. The glow of screens reflected across the faces of intelligence personnel as streams of surveillance feeds, satellite imagery, and classified data scrolled continuously before them.
At the center of the room floated a massive holographic projection of Earth.
Red markers blinked across various regions of the globe, each representing ongoing operations, active agents, or potential threats being monitored in real time.
Standing before the display was Cassandra Kane.
She wore a black trench coat over a pristine white suit and matching necktie, projecting an image of authority and composure. Her dark wavy hair was neatly tied into a ponytail, and her eyes remained fixed on the constantly shifting data.
Beside her stood Frontier.
His tactical suit was reinforced with protective plating, and black gloves covered his hands. A specialized tech mask concealed his face entirely, giving him an intimidating and unreadable presence.
On Cassandra's opposite side stood the Supervisor Guard.
Like always, he remained perfectly still, his posture disciplined and unwavering as he observed the room.
A Visual Guard approached them from one of the monitoring stations.
He wore a black tactical uniform, gloves, a balaclava, and rectangular glasses. Two-arrow insignias rested on his shoulders, marking his rank within the organization.
"Director Kane," he said.
Cassandra didn't turn around.
"Speak."
The Visual Guard straightened.
"The studio in Los Angeles is currently under attack by unidentified mercenaries. Allysa was present at the location while conducting a press statement regarding yesterday's assassination attempt."
Frontier shifted his gaze toward the guard.
The atmosphere around the three immediately became more serious.
"Are there any agents in the area besides Agent 429-J?" Cassandra asked calmly.
"Yes, ma'am," the Visual Guard replied. "Agents 229-H, 100-H, and 099-G were operating in the vicinity. Unfortunately, we currently have no confirmation regarding their status."
The room fell quiet for a brief moment.
The only sounds came from the hum of computers and the occasional beep of incoming intelligence reports.
"Continue monitoring the situation," Cassandra ordered.
"Yes, ma'am."
The Visual Guard saluted sharply before returning to his station.
Frontier remained silent for several seconds before speaking.
"What should we do now, Director?"
His deep voice carried through the dim room.
"Should I deploy reinforcements?"
"No."
Cassandra's answer came immediately.
Frontier gave a single nod.
"Yes, ma'am."
Silence returned once more.
Cassandra slowly lifted her eyes toward one of the larger monitors displaying activity within Los Angeles. The reflection of countless data streams flickered across her face as she watched the situation unfold from afar.
For the first time since the report began, a thought crossed her mind.
I trust you with this mission, Gary.
Her expression never changed.
But deep down—
she was watching very closely.
Meanwhile, deeper within the studio, Gary moved cautiously through a wide hallway littered with debris and abandoned equipment. The sounds of gunfire echoed from distant corridors as guards and mercenaries continued battling throughout the complex.
His M4A1 remained raised and steady.
Gary's finger rested alongside the trigger guard while his eyes scanned through the optic, searching for movement. Despite the chaos around him, he maintained complete focus.
Nothing.
Then suddenly—
Mercenaries appeared from a side corridor.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
Gary dove behind cover as bullets tore through the walls and shattered decorative panels around him. Chunks of concrete and glass exploded into the air as rounds slammed into his position.
He remained perfectly still.
Waiting.
Listening.
The gunfire continued for several seconds before gradually slowing.
Reloading.
Gary immediately seized the opportunity.
He stepped out from cover and squeezed the trigger.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
His M4A1 roared to life.
The mercenaries barely had time to react before rounds struck them. Bodies crashed onto the floor one after another as spent casings scattered across the polished tiles.
Gary advanced.
Then his instincts screamed.
More mercenaries emerged behind him.
He immediately ducked back behind cover as another wave of gunfire erupted. Bullets ripped through the air above his head and punched fresh holes into nearby walls.
Gary tightened his grip on the rifle.
Quickly checking his magazine, he estimated roughly three-quarters of his ammunition remained. More than enough.
The gunfire suddenly stopped.
Another reload.
Another mistake.
Gary stepped out once again.
His optic aligned with target after target.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The hallway echoed with precise rifle fire.
The remaining mercenaries dropped before they could even finish reloading. Their weapons slipped from lifeless hands and clattered across the floor.
Silence followed.
Gary continued forward.
His eyes swept every corner, every doorway, and every shadow. Experience had taught him that the moment things seemed safe was often when they became most dangerous.
Eventually, he entered a massive open atrium.
The space was beautiful.
A towering glass ceiling allowed sunlight to pour inside, illuminating an enormous chandelier hanging above the center of the room. Elegant balconies overlooked the open area from multiple levels, creating an almost theatrical atmosphere.
Yet something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Gary slowly looked upward.
Nothing.
He checked the left side.
Nothing.
Then—
A whistle.
Sharp.
Mocking.
Gary's eyes narrowed.
Movement appeared all around him.
Mercenaries emerged from surrounding hallways, balconies, and side entrances. Within seconds, they had formed a complete circle around him, rifles aimed directly at his position.
Gary remained still.
His gaze slowly lifted upward.
And there he was.
Randoft.
Standing on an upper balcony.
One arm was wrapped tightly around Allysa while the other held a pistol near her side. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth as fear filled her eyes.
"Mr. Patrick," Randoft called out with a sinister smile. "Ha... I know your name."
"Let her go!" Gary shouted.
His voice echoed throughout the atrium.
Randoft laughed.
"Nah. She's our prize. Imagine the bounty we'll collect once she's dead."
Gary's jaw tightened.
His grip around the M4A1 became so firm his knuckles nearly turned white beneath his gloves.
"Easy there, Patrick," Randoft continued. "You don't want her to die, do you? Kill me, and she'll die too."
Allysa struggled helplessly in his grasp.
Terror was written all over her face.
"How about this?" Randoft said calmly. "Put your gun down, and Allysa lives."
For several seconds, Gary said nothing.
His eyes met Allysa's.
Then slowly—
He lowered the rifle.
The M4A1 hit the floor with a metallic clatter.
Gary raised both hands.
"Good boy, Patrick," Randoft said mockingly.
"Don't kill her," Gary replied, his voice cold with restrained anger. "I already did what you asked."
Randoft chuckled.
"Actually, I want her alive. We're still going to have plenty of fun after I take her."
Gary's expression didn't change.
Beneath his black jacket, hidden from view, both his M9 Beretta and Glock 17 remained concealed.
"Well," Randoft said while dragging Allysa away. "My boys will take care of you now."
He turned.
"Finish him, boys!"
The moment he disappeared from view—
Gary moved.
Fast.
His hands shot beneath his jacket.
Both pistols appeared in a blur.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The first mercenaries dropped before they could even react.
Gary spun and fired again.
His M9 Beretta and Glock 17 barked repeatedly as muzzle flashes illuminated the atrium. Mercenaries collapsed from every direction while others desperately scrambled for cover.
The entire room exploded into chaos.
Gunfire echoed from every side.
Bullets shattered railings, punched through walls, and rained glass from the ceiling above.
Gary never stopped moving.
Every shot was deliberate.
Every target was chosen.
Every trigger pull had purpose.
Bodies continued falling.
Yet more mercenaries kept coming.
Soon Gary found himself driven backward toward a service counter near the edge of the atrium. Gunfire hammered his position from multiple directions.
Then—
Something landed nearby.
A grenade launcher round.
Gary's eyes widened.
He immediately dove.
BOOOOM!
The explosion erupted behind him.
Flames and debris blasted through the counter as the shockwave rolled across the atrium. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and burning fragments scattered in every direction.
Gary hit the floor and rolled.
Then immediately came up firing.
His pistols roared once more.
The mercenary carrying the grenade launcher never got a second shot.
He collapsed instantly.
The remaining attackers followed soon after.
One by one.
The atrium gradually fell silent.
Smoke drifted through the air.
The smell of gunpowder lingered everywhere.
Gary stood alone in the center of the destruction.
Sweat dripped beneath the prosthetic mask covering his face. His chest rose and fell heavily as anger burned in his eyes.
Slowly, he lowered both pistols.
Thin trails of smoke rose from the barrels of his M9 Beretta and Glock 17.
Randoft had Allysa.
And Gary was coming for him.
Randoft dragged Allysa through the corridor, but keeping control of her was becoming increasingly difficult. She twisted, struggled, and fought against his grip with everything she had left.
"Stop moving," Randoft growled.
Allysa refused to listen.
Fear surged through her body, but she forced herself to act. The moment she saw an opening, she drove her elbow into Randoft's side with all her strength.
"Gah!"
Randoft's grip loosened instantly.
Allysa pulled free and ran.
Her footsteps echoed through the hallway as she sprinted as fast as she could. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't dare slow down.
Behind her, Randoft struggled to catch his breath.
"You little—!"
His face twisted with anger as he pushed himself forward and began chasing after her. The sound of his boots striking the floor grew louder with every passing second.
Allysa's heart pounded violently.
Patrick...
Please help me.
She turned a corner and spotted a reception counter near an abandoned section of the studio. Without hesitation, she ducked behind it and covered her mouth, desperately trying to silence her breathing.
The hallway fell quiet.
Too quiet.
Then she heard footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Getting closer.
"Allysa..." Randoft called out.
His voice echoed through the corridor like something out of a nightmare.
"Where are you?"
A pause followed.
"If I find you... I'm going to kill you."
Allysa squeezed her eyes shut.
Her entire body trembled as she prayed he would walk past her hiding spot.
The footsteps stopped.
Silence.
Then she saw the shadow of a pistol appear above the counter.
Randoft had found her.
A cruel smile spread across his face as he raised the weapon.
Then—
Something slammed into him from the side.
BAM!
Randoft was sent crashing across the floor.
His pistol flew from his hand and skidded several feet away.
"What the—?!"
He looked up in shock.
Gary stood before him.
Sweat soaked the collar of his black jacket, and his breathing was noticeably heavier from the fever burning through his body. Yet despite his condition, his eyes remained locked onto Randoft with frightening intensity.
Gary didn't say a word.
He simply charged.
His fist crashed into Randoft's jaw.
Then another.
And another.
Each punch landed with brutal precision, targeting vulnerable areas and refusing to give Randoft room to recover.
Randoft barely managed to raise his guard.
The barrage kept coming.
Gary ignored the pain.
Ignored the dizziness.
Ignored the fever threatening to drag him down.
The only thing that mattered was stopping the man who had taken Allysa.
Randoft finally retaliated.
His boot slammed into Gary's abdomen and sent him stumbling backward. Before Gary could fully recover, Randoft grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hauled him upright.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD!"
Blood dripped from Randoft's mouth as he roared in fury.
With a violent motion, he threw Gary across the hallway.
Gary crashed into the floor and rolled.
Pain shot through his body.
For a brief moment, the fever nearly overwhelmed him.
Allysa watched in horror.
"Patrick!"
Gary planted a hand against the floor and forced himself up. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he refused to stay down.
Randoft rushed him.
His fist shot forward.
Gary reacted instantly.
Using his right arm, he deflected the attack away from his face. Randoft immediately followed with another strike from the opposite side.
Gary saw it.
Read it.
Predicted it.
And found the opening.
His fist snapped forward and connected directly with Randoft's face.
The mercenary leader staggered.
His guard broke.
That was all Gary needed.
A powerful kick slammed into Randoft's torso and knocked him onto his back. Before he could recover, Gary was already on top of him.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
The blows rained down relentlessly.
Randoft tried to defend himself, but Gary gave him no chance to fight back.
"You're the one..." Gary growled.
Another punch landed.
"...who should stay dead."
The final strike connected with devastating force.
Randoft's body went limp.
Silence followed.
Only the sound of Gary's heavy breathing remained.
Slowly, he stood.
His vision blurred for a moment from exhaustion, but he remained upright. Blood stained his knuckles while sweat dripped beneath the prosthetic mask covering his face.
Then he looked up.
Allysa was staring at him.
For a brief moment, everything else seemed to disappear.
The gunfire.
The chaos.
The destruction.
None of it mattered.
Allysa ran toward him.
This time, Gary wasn't caught off guard.
She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he instinctively steadied her before she could lose her balance.
"Patrick..." she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
"Thank you for saving me."
The fear she had been holding back finally surfaced again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she buried her face against his chest.
Gary remained silent for a moment.
In his mind, a thought surfaced.
She's your mission now.. but why am i slowly getting….
Slowly, he placed a hand on her back.
Not as a bodyguard.
Not as an agent.
But as someone trying to comfort another person.
After a few moments, Gary gently pulled away.
"Allysa," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Are you okay?"
She nodded.
A small smile appeared through the fear and tears.
"Yeah. Thanks to you."
Gary returned a faint nod before glancing down the hallway.
The danger wasn't over yet.
"Come on," he said calmly. "Charlie is waiting for us at the parking lot."
Allysa took a deep breath and nodded.
Together, they began walking down the corridor.
Behind them, Randoft remained sprawled across the floor.
Unconscious.
Beaten.
But still breathing.