Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

From the rooftop of a nearby building, Swagger watched as CTU's vehicles drove farther and farther away. He packed up his sniper rifle and left. He hadn't hidden away as Owen had asked—he'd been protecting them in the shadows all along.

Just moments ago, he received a call from Owen, who told him everything that had happened. Swagger understood his fate very clearly—after tomorrow, he would live under a new name.

At CTU, the moment Jack Bauer walked in, he saw his wife and daughter waiting in the conference room. As they saw him, they rushed forward, and the family embraced, tears streaming down their faces.

The deputy director was about to say something when a call from the Pentagon came through. No one knew what was said on the line, but Owen noticed that the deputy's expression turned dark the moment he hung up.

He left without another word, and without being told, the team immediately began helping Jack and Owen gather evidence.

Nina's operation logs were pulled up immediately. She hadn't made any effort to hide her actions—many were clear at a glance.

The logs showed she had been in contact with Owen and had repeatedly violated protocol, using unsecured, unmonitored lines to call a suspicious number multiple times. Combined with her unreported disappearance, the signs all pointed toward Owen being falsely accused.

Tony was also able to testify that Owen's gun and credentials had been confiscated when Jack suspended him, and personally returned to his locker. The fact that the gun turned up at the scene of Nina's death raised serious doubts.

The final nail in the coffin came from financial records.

The data support team uncovered a hidden account belonging to Nina. Not only did it contain large sums of unexplainable money, but one of the transferring accounts matched the anonymous fund that had previously sent money to Chloe—confirming Nina's deep involvement.

An attempted assassination of a presidential candidate wasn't a small matter. It was immediately classified as an act of terrorism. Normally, CTU would lead the case, but because they were potentially implicated, Washington sent a special investigation team overnight.

The Los Angeles CTU forwarded all their findings, and everyone now waited for the results.

Although everyone believed Jack and Owen were innocent, until the investigation team gave their verdict, they had to remain in custody. Still, being in CTU custody was far more comfortable than the FBI.

Everyone there was on their side, and they were treated accordingly. Jack Bauer, for example, enjoyed a peaceful little stay in the holding room, doted on by his wife and daughter.

David Palmer acted swiftly—or rather, the CIA did.

By the third morning, the investigation team released its findings. Regarding the death of CTU agent Nina Myers, previous evidence was found to be flawed, with signs of tampering.

Steve Owen was officially declared innocent.

That same afternoon, the ever-ambitious CTU deputy director unexpectedly came forward to confirm that Jack Bauer's family had indeed been threatened—but that the situation had been under CTU's control. Jack had only pretended to be coerced, and all his actions had been officially authorized.

The investigation team conducted private interviews with Owen, Jack Bauer, and David Palmer. The final determination: Jack had committed no breach of protocol and was reinstated to CTU.

Soon after, a transfer order from the Pentagon arrived. The deputy director, now stripped of influence, stepped down. He would never understand how he lost the game when the goal had been right in front of him.

One piece of good news followed another. As everyone popped champagne in celebration, Owen caught sight of a breaking news story on TV.

"According to our Langley correspondent, at 10:18 AM today, terrorist suspect Bob Lee Swagger—wanted for the assassination of the Ethiopian archbishop—was killed by local police in Langley while hiding in a private residence.

Swagger was reportedly recognized by a supermarket employee while purchasing food. Surveillance footage led officers to his location. Multiple shootouts occurred, during which several officers were injured and Swagger was also hit.

After being wounded, Swagger set the building ablaze in a suicide fire. The blaze was eventually extinguished. Swagger's body was severely burned and unrecognizable, but forensics confirmed his identity…"

Owen stared at the charred corpse on the screen, feeling an inexplicable sense of frustration. He changed the channel—only to land on a press conference from the Washington investigation team.

"This was a well-organized terrorist attack. The name of the organization is being withheld for now, but its members are all former U.S. military personnel.

Our current intel confirms that Bob Lee Swagger and the attackers killed at the Hilton were all retired U.S. special forces. The Department of Defense is now conducting a full investigation…"

Owen turned off the TV. Everything had ended far faster than expected. In just one day, the Ethiopian archbishop's assassination and the attempt on the presidential candidate's life were both officially closed cases. It was as if the whole affair had been swept clean. For the first time, Owen truly felt the terrifying influence of those massive organizations.

Whether it was the CIA or that shadowy interest group, their reach was staggering. The affair had been resolved like leaves scattered in the wind, and not a single one of those self-righteous, freedom-loving media outlets dared to question it. That alone spoke volumes.

Still, the thought that those monsters continued to walk the earth while good people died made him bitter.

…

Two days later, at a high-end club.

On the 18th floor, in a private room, Colonel Daniel Glo was lying back in a massage chair, enjoying the touch of a masseuse.

The woman, dressed in a professional uniform, gently worked his back muscles as the colonel let out a satisfied groan.

Suddenly, he let out a pained gasp. The guards outside, always alert, rushed in.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, please don't report me…"

The colonel waved them off. "Get out. Don't come in unless I call."

The guards stepped out again.

"Your hands are pretty good. Keep going."

The colonel, magnanimous, let the woman continue. She resumed massaging him, but he noticed the strength in her hands had lessened. Just as he was about to ask her to apply more pressure, her hands suddenly wrapped around his head.

Before the colonel could react—crack. With a crisp snap, the woman broke his neck.

Calmly, Janet twisted his lifeless head into an unnatural angle and took a photo with her phone. Then she began to change clothes without hurry.

When no sound came from inside, the guards outside grew suspicious and knocked on the door.

Janet ignored them, grabbing a duffel bag and stepping out onto the balcony.

There, she hooked the bag onto a pole and jumped off the high-rise.

As she descended, the knitted bag unraveled like a sweater coming apart—slowing her fall perfectly.

Seconds later, she landed safely and slipped into a waiting taxi, vanishing into the city. Only then did the guards upstairs realize something was wrong and prepare to break the door.

…

A month later, due to the withdrawal of the current president—the Republican candidate—David Palmer officially became the new President of the United States.

The day after his inauguration, a report appeared on his desk in the White House.

One day earlier, Senator Dick of California had been assassinated by a sniper at his country villa. That same day, FBI Agent Stephen Williams was mysteriously killed on his way home, riddled with eleven bullets.

President David Palmer quietly read the file to the end, then calmly closed it.

"That should settle the score…"

Murmuring to himself, he tossed the file into the trash.

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