Counterterrorism in America

Both sides engaged in a chase around the building, circling through hallways and rooms. After running for a while, the blonde man grew wiser. He stopped sending all his men after Steve Owen and instead ordered only a few to continue the direct pursuit while positioning others to flank him.

Several times, Owen barely avoided being surrounded. As he ran through a passageway, he suddenly heard the sound of a door opening ahead. Someone had looped around to cut him off. Without hesitation, Owen launched forward with a flying knee. The flanking attacker turned a corner just in time to be struck squarely in the face, knocking him out cold.

Owen didn't pause and rushed toward the door ahead. The second attacker opened it at that very moment, only to be swept off his feet by Owen's sliding tackle. Owen grabbed the door and slammed it shut, trapping and incapacitating the second man.

The footsteps behind him grew louder—more pursuers closing in. Owen resumed his sprint, disappearing into the stairwell. As another group of attackers hurried upward, Owen ambushed them by leaping from above, knocking them down like bowling pins. By the time they scrambled to their feet, Owen was already descending to the next floor.

The cat-and-mouse game continued.

However, no matter how smooth Owen's movements were, this wasn't a performance with multiple chances to reset. There would be no second take. After kicking open a door and rushing inside a room, Owen suddenly realized the fatal flaw—there was no back door. He turned, only to be greeted by a hail of bullets.

"Damn, they finally got me."

The group of pursuers, gasping for breath, gathered outside the room. Owen had given them a marathon chase. Despite having over a dozen men, they struggled to catch him. Now that he was trapped, they took a moment to catch their breath rather than rushing in immediately.

Inside the room, Owen was cursing himself. The place was a dead end—no skylight, no back exit, just a large floor-to-ceiling window. With the corridor blocked by gunmen, he quickly moved the sparse furniture to barricade the door, hoping to buy some time.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The men outside started ramming the door, but with all the furniture wedged against it, they couldn't break through right away.

After a while, the pounding stopped. Owen wondered what their next move would be. Suddenly, gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the wooden walls, showering the room with debris. Owen barely managed to drop to the floor in time, covering himself as splinters and dust engulfed him.

All the furniture was blocking the door, leaving him with no cover. Miraculously, when the gunfire ceased, he was completely unharmed.

The room was a wreck. The walls were riddled with bullet holes, and the large window had shattered entirely. Through the perforated wooden wall, Owen could see shadows moving outside.

Clink… clink.

Something rolled into the room through one of the holes. Owen immediately recognized the sound—it was a grenade.

"Shit…" Owen muttered, spinning around and diving headfirst out of the window.

BOOM!

The explosion roared behind him. The shockwave, along with dust, debris, and shards of glass, blasted outward. Covered in soot and fragments, Owen clung to the window frame, dangling outside the building.

"Cough… cough…"

The choking dust made him hack violently. His ears rang from the force of the blast. The explosion had blown a large hole in the wall, and several attackers, sneering with malice, stepped up to the shattered window. Beneath them, Owen's hands gripped the window ledge, his body hanging precariously.

Owen's legs dangled in the open air, the floor below too far to reach. To make matters worse, the lower-level windows had also shattered from the explosion.

A pair of military boots entered his field of view. Looking up, he saw the blonde man. The man stared at him with a sadistic grin, his eyes burning with vengeance.

"So, you're the bastard who threw my brother off the building, huh?"

The blonde man's voice was eerily calm, but his foot pressed firmly onto Owen's hand. Owen gritted his teeth, enduring the pain. The man wasn't satisfied with a few stomps and began grinding his boot down harder.

Agony shot through Owen's fingers, but he refused to cry out. He clamped his jaw and bore the pain silently.

The blonde man was still venting his rage when his radio crackled to life.

"Alex, what are you doing? Get to the 18th floor. We need to leave now," Hans's voice ordered.

It seemed Hans had been rescued, just as Owen had predicted. The vault door had been damaged earlier, making it impossible to lock from the inside. Anyone outside could simply turn the mechanism to open it.

Though Alex wanted nothing more than to torture Owen, he knew he couldn't disobey Hans's order. Reluctantly, he grabbed the radio and replied, "Understood. I'm on my way."

Before leaving, Alex gave his final instruction: "Throw him off the building."

Several thugs approached, preparing to stomp on Owen's hands.

Bang!

A sniper's shot rang out. One of the thugs crumpled instantly, tumbling off the edge.

Seizing the opportunity, Owen grabbed Alex's ankle and yanked hard. Alex's upper body tilted forward, and he almost fell, barely managing to hold on. Meanwhile, Owen used Alex's body as leverage, scaling him like a ladder and swiftly climbing back inside the building. His movements were seamless and precise. By the time the remaining thugs realized what had happened, Owen was already back on solid ground.

Alex, still dangling, tried to pull himself up. Another gunshot echoed, and a second thug fell to his death. The last attacker turned to confront Owen, but Owen gave him no chance. A swift kick sent him plummeting after his comrades.

As for Alex, the explosion's aftermath had given him just enough leverage to scramble back onto the floor.

18th Floor

Hans knew something was wrong when his men guarding the hostages stopped responding. The police had likely made their move.

Still, it didn't matter. He already had the bearer bonds in hand. As long as he escaped, he could live like a king. Those two nuisances—Owen and the sniper—were irrelevant now.

Alex was taking too long. Hans couldn't afford to wait any longer. Staying here increased the risk with every passing second.

"Forget it. We're leaving," Hans announced.

The remaining thugs followed him, carrying several large bags stuffed with bonds. Behind them, every corner of the vault was rigged with explosives.

The tech expert, Theo, excitedly carried two travel bags filled with cash. He didn't even notice that one of the bags felt oddly heavy.

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