Reborn in 24 TV SHOW

Club, Fourth Floor

A group of tense guards stood in formation at the elevator, guns aimed at the doors. They watched the elevator numbers climb steadily upward, ready to turn whoever emerged into a bullet-riddled mess the moment the doors opened.

Ding~~

The elevator arrived. The guards gripped their weapons tighter as the doors slid open—revealing an empty space.

They exchanged confused glances. Then, without warning, two small black objects rolled out of the elevator and onto the floor. The guards froze, their eyes widening in shock.

"Grenades!" one of them shouted.

All of them dove to the ground, curling into defensive positions. They were professionals, many of them with military experience, and instinctively minimized their body profiles to reduce the blast impact.

But no explosion came. Instead, two figures dropped from the top of the elevator shaft and began silently dispatching the prone guards.

Before any of them could recover and retaliate, a series of suppressed gunshots echoed through the corridor. Within seconds, the guards lay dead, leaving Owen and the female assassin standing amidst the bodies.

Owen kicked one of the "grenades" aside, revealing it to be nothing more than an orange wrapped in black paper. He reloaded his weapon and glanced down the corridor ahead. It branched off in two directions. He exchanged a brief look with the assassin, and they silently split up to cover both sides.

Outside the Club

On the road leading to the entrance, two convoys converged at high speed. One consisted of police vehicles with flashing lights and GIPN (French SWAT) assault trucks. The other comprised seven or eight sedans packed with armed Albanian gangsters.

Both groups came to abrupt stops, staring at each other in mutual shock. Then, the Albanians lost their composure and opened fire.

Horpast, one of the gang leaders, had no idea why Mark had summoned him here, but the sight of police confirmed his worst fears. "They're coming for us!" he yelled internally.

He had seen this pattern before. Horpast was among the first wave of Albanians to establish territory in Paris, back when violent gunfights with the police were common. It was only after Mark arrived and began bribing high-ranking officers that things settled down. The gang shifted from drug trafficking to human trafficking, and monthly protection payments kept the authorities at bay.

But Horpast had always been skeptical about maintaining peace with the police. He viewed them as predators who would fatten up criminal operations only to slaughter them when the time was right. To him, this ambush was proof that the "slaughter" phase had begun.

"Rescue Mark! Kill these leeches!" Horpast roared as he fired at the police vehicles.

On the other side, Damien ducked behind the bullet-riddled police car. His partner had been shot dead in the initial volley, but the car's bulletproof doors had saved Damien's life.

Behind him, the GIPN assault truck was under heavy fire. Bullets clanged against its armored frame as the team disembarked and scattered to defensive positions.

The difference between trained special forces and gangsters quickly became evident. Though the Albanians were aggressive, they were no match for the counter-terrorism expertise of the GIPN. Within minutes, several gang members were dead. Their poor tactics and inferior marksmanship left them vulnerable, and a full collapse was inevitable.

A GIPN sniper climbed atop the truck and began picking off targets. Under the coordinated assault, Damien noticed the enemy fire weakening. "Numbers don't mean shit if you don't know how to fight," he muttered grimly as he repositioned behind cover.

Inside the Club

Owen crouched at a corner, listening to approaching footsteps. A guard cautiously advanced, unaware of the ambush awaiting him. As soon as the man was within range, Owen leapt out and shot him in the stomach. The guard doubled over in pain, temporarily incapacitated.

Owen used him as a human shield, firing two more shots to take out reinforcements. He then pressed the barrel against the wounded guard's armpit and squeezed the trigger twice, killing him instantly.

Stepping over the bodies, Owen continued his search. The corridor was divided by wooden doors spaced at intervals, each with a circular glass window. Approaching one, Owen heard faint footsteps and the creak of doors opening and closing on the other side. Someone was systematically searching each room.

As the footsteps drew nearer, Owen suddenly rose and fired through the glass. The bullet shattered the window and struck the unsuspecting figure. Through the cracked glass, Owen could see the guard's shocked face frozen in death.

Owen had no idea where Amanda was, but the increasing density of guards gave him a clue. He had already lost count of how many he had killed on his way here.

At a large door, Owen shot the last guard standing in his path. With only a few spare magazines remaining, he quickly scavenged ammunition from the dead. Just as he was pocketing a fresh magazine, the door behind him burst open.

A long-haired man wielding a submachine gun fired a hail of bullets.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Owen dove into a forward roll, narrowly avoiding the initial volley. The corridor offered little cover, forcing him to lift a corpse as a makeshift shield.

Thwack-thwack-thwack!

Bullets thudded into the corpse, causing it to jerk violently. Owen crouched low, trying to remain hidden behind the gruesome barrier.

Suddenly, a series of gunshots echoed from the side.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The gunman's body hit the floor with a heavy thud. Owen peered out cautiously and saw the female assassin standing there, her gun still smoking.

She walked over to the fallen attacker and fired two more rounds into his head to ensure he was dead. As the slide locked back on her empty magazine, she glanced at Owen and began reloading.

Owen gave her a grateful nod, muttering under his breath, "Didn't expect to bump into you again."

The assassin rolled her eyes and calmly continued her task.

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