Counterterrorism in America

Bryan remained unfazed as Toby spat in his face. He calmly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it off. Toby even dared to laugh, but Owen inwardly sighed, already pitying the man. Toby had no idea what horrors Bryan would soon unleash on him.

Sure enough, in the next second, Bryan drove two long metal spikes into Toby's legs. Toby shrieked in pain, but this was only the beginning. Bryan shoved a cloth into Toby's mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue, then flipped the electrical breaker on the wall. The room lights flickered as electricity coursed through Toby's body, making his screams rise and fall in sync with the flashing lights.

Owen watched, every hair on his body standing on end. His own methods earlier had been brutal but driven by raw emotion. Bryan, on the other hand, was cold and methodical. In person, his ruthless efficiency was terrifying to witness. There was no human rights or mercy here—just a relentless pursuit of results.

Yet Owen made no move to intervene. He wasn't about to be a moral savior now.

After a short time, Bryan cut off the electricity and leaned close to the gasping, convulsing Toby.

"Tell me where they are, and I'll make it quick," he said in a low voice.

Toby's defiant grin returned. "Your daughter and that other girl... they'll suffer a hundred times worse than me. Thousands of men will violate them. You'll be picking up their corpses by the end!" he spat.

Bryan silently turned back toward the breaker. Terror flashed across Toby's face.

"No! No, please—"

His cries were cut short as Bryan threw the switch again. Toby's body convulsed violently, his eyes rolling back. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, and muffled groans escaped through clenched teeth. This time, the current lasted longer—nearly the length of a cigarette break. When the power was finally cut, Toby's body continued to twitch involuntarily.

"Tell. Me. Where. They. Are," Bryan repeated slowly.

Five minutes later, Bryan and Owen had all the information they needed.

Despite arriving nearly ten hours earlier than in the original timeline, Kim had still been taken to the auction. Toby didn't know any further details—no names, no addresses, nothing of real use.

Amanda, however, had been sent to an exclusive club where some powerful figure had requested "fresh merchandise." She had been selected and delivered by Mark, Toby's brother.

Both men were deep in thought, trying to plan their next move, when they heard a noise from outside—a faint metallic clank, like a large gate being pushed open.

Pasadena Road – Back Entrance of a High-End Club

A white van rolled to a stop near the rear entrance of the club. Mark climbed out of the passenger seat, and several of his men began ushering a group of frightened, beautiful girls from the vehicle.

The guards at the door didn't move to open it for him. Irritated, Mark cursed under his breath and made a phone call.

"We're here. Open the back gate," he said curtly.

Moments later, a middle-aged man—none other than Bryan's former colleague, Ken—emerged with several subordinates. At a gesture from Ken, the girls were taken inside.

Mark wasn't even allowed to enter the premises. He scowled, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He was just a tool, kept out of sight despite handling the club's dirty work. The protection he received from powerful figures like Ken came with a price—obedience. If he wanted to keep operating in Paris, he had no choice but to comply.

"I asked you to handle something for me. Did you do it?" Ken inquired.

Mark hesitated.

Ken's expression darkened. "Don't tell me you didn't do it."

"By the time you told me, the girl had already been sent to the auction. You know their rules—once a girl goes in, she doesn't come out," Mark replied defensively.

Ken exploded in fury. "Goddammit! Are you trying to get us both killed?! I told you that Kim had to be brought back!"

Mark tried to reassure him. "It's just one guy. We don't need to be scared. I'll take care of him. I promise."

Ken sneered. "Promise? You have no idea who you're dealing with. That man could kill all of you single-handedly."

Mark shrugged off the warning, his ego blinding him to the danger. He had fought his way to power through countless bloody turf wars. The idea that one man could bring down his entire operation seemed absurd.

Ken wasn't convinced. "If I were you, I'd call for reinforcements. If you don't, the only thing you'll be collecting is bodies."

With that, Ken stormed off, leaving Mark fuming. Nevertheless, he made a call to his men at the Paradise Street compound, but no one answered.

"Damn it, Toby," he muttered. "Probably fooling around again..." He tried calling others but received no response.

Growing uneasy, Mark finally contacted another lieutenant.

"Luke, head to Paradise Street and check on the situation. No one's answering their phones."

"Got it. I'm on my way," Luke replied.

"And bring Horpast with extra men to the club. I'm here now."

"Understood."

Paradise Street

Luke pushed open the large metal gate and immediately sensed something was wrong. The guards were gone, and the entire compound was eerily silent. Guns, once prominently displayed, had vanished.

He led his men cautiously into the courtyard. They hadn't gone far when a gunshot echoed from the small dining room. Rushing toward the sound, Luke was met with a gruesome sight: bodies strewn across the floor.

"Edgar... Daniel... Hatch..." Luke muttered in disbelief. His men exchanged nervous glances.

As he stepped over a corpse, gunfire erupted.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Caught off guard, Luke's team was wiped out in seconds. He alone survived, only to find himself dragged into a corridor filled with even more bodies—gang leaders he had known personally.

Bryan pressed a gun to Luke's head.

"Where's the auction being held?"

Silence.

Bang!

Bryan shot him in the leg.

"Tell me where the auction is!"

"B-Brook Estate," Luke stammered through gritted teeth.

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