Counterterrorism in America

Owen continued his search, but as he entered one room, someone inside grabbed his arm and yanked him in. His gun was knocked to the floor, and before he could react, he was thrown over the attacker's shoulder. In a desperate move, Owen twisted his body mid-air, locking his arms around the man's head and his legs around his waist. Both of them crashed to the ground.

With the enemy immobilized by his hold, Owen quickly drew another gun and pressed it against the back of the man's head. Bang! Bang! The attacker went limp as blood sprayed across Owen's face. Panting heavily, Owen wiped his face, scanned the empty room, and moved on.

The number of rooms he had searched kept increasing, but strangely, fewer and fewer gang members showed up to stop him. Despite cycling through several different guns due to running out of ammo, Owen still hadn't found Amanda or Kim. His anxiety deepened with every passing second.

Finally, he reached the small dining room where Bryan had already captured five gang leaders. The scene was grim: bodies littered the entrance. Bryan shot Owen a questioning look.

"No luck," Owen reported grimly. "I found Cynthia, but Kim and Amanda weren't there."

Both men turned to face the five gangsters, who were now kneeling in a line outside the room. They had little fear of the police; the Albanians had long since bribed the authorities and driven away local residents. Even the sound of gunfire would be conveniently ignored.

Holding up photographs of Amanda and Kim, Owen and Bryan demanded answers.

"Tell me where these two girls are," Owen growled.

The gangsters glanced at the photos, then at each other, before bursting into laughter. Their earlier fear dissipated; realizing that these men were here to rescue someone gave them a sense of control.

"Spit," the scrawny man at the front sneered and spat at Owen. His defiant attitude was infuriating.

"You're not police. Who the hell are you?" he asked mockingly. "And what's your relationship with these girls?"

"The girl in the photo is my sister," Owen said, his voice cold and steady.

"Your sister, huh?" The man cackled. "Well, I got a taste of that bitch last night. You wanna know how she screamed?"

Owen's blood boiled. His eyes blazed with fury.

"You bastard! What did you just say?" he roared, punching the man square in the face. Blood streamed from his broken nose, but the scrawny gangster merely chuckled, licking the blood from his lips with a perverse grin.

Owen forced himself to stay calm. He held up the photo again and drew a knife from his belt, pressing it against the man's left eye. His voice was low and menacing.

"Tell. Me. Where. She. Is."

The man continued to laugh derisively.

"Last night... her screams were—"

Squish!

The laughter stopped abruptly as Owen plunged the knife into his eye socket. The man convulsed violently before slumping to the floor, dead. Blood pooled beneath his body.

Bryan remained emotionless, but the other four gangsters were visibly shaken. Their mocking expressions disappeared, replaced by fear and anger. One began muttering curses under his breath, while another fell eerily silent, his face twisted in terror.

Owen's entire body trembled with rage. Fear for Amanda's life gnawed at him, clouding his judgment. Memories of the events in the Zhongchen Tower haunted him; nothing was playing out the way he had expected. He couldn't shake the fear that Amanda might already be lost to him.

Without hesitation, Owen stepped in front of the second man, holding up the photograph once more.

"Tell. Me. Where. She. Is."

"Fuck you! You don't have the balls—"

Crunch!

The knife buried itself deep in the man's eye. His body twitched once before collapsing. Owen moved on to the third man.

This time, the gangster was already shaking like a leaf.

"Please! Don't kill me! The girls... Mark took them. I swear I don't know anything else!" he stammered, tears streaming down his face.

Bryan intervened, placing a hand on Owen's shoulder to stop him from killing the man.

"Mark? Isn't that you?" Bryan asked, pointing at the bearded thug.

"N-no! That's Toby. He's Mark's brother!"

Hearing this, Owen's rage erupted again. He launched into a brutal assault on Toby, beating him bloody within seconds. It was only the possibility of further information that kept Owen from finishing him off right then and there.

Meanwhile, Bryan continued questioning the trembling gangster.

"Mark took the girls. Where did he take them?"

"I-I don't know! I swear! He often takes new 'merchandise' out to important clients... bigwigs who like to sample the goods. But he never tells us where. I'm just guessing!"

Bryan exchanged a glance with Owen.

The gangster, desperate to be believed, added, "I swear! He just left not long ago... right before you guys arrived. He used a white van to take the girls."

A white van. Owen and Bryan both recalled seeing such a vehicle leave the compound earlier. That explained why the windows had been covered.

They turned their attention to Toby, who stubbornly refused to meet their eyes.

Owen's patience snapped. He stormed over and drove his knife through Toby's hand, pinning it to the table. Toby screamed in agony, thrashing wildly.

"Where did he take them?"

Toby howled but said nothing. Even as Owen twisted the blade, his cries grew weaker, but he remained silent.

"He's a tough one," Bryan observed calmly.

"I'll handle it," Bryan said, dragging Toby into a separate room. Owen followed close behind.

Bryan secured Toby to a chair and retrieved two long metal spikes, each wrapped with electrical wiring. He held them up in front of the trembling gangster.

"This is your last chance. Talk, and I'll make it quick," Bryan warned.

Toby spat defiantly.

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