Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

A month passed in the blink of an eye. Monica was still stationed with GSG9 and hadn't returned. The rules over there were strict, and the two could only speak on the phone occasionally.

Owen made it a point to spend time with his family. His recent time as a fugitive had genuinely frightened them. Thankfully, it had all turned out to be a false alarm in the end.

Swagger had left the United States, adopting a new identity. Last time they spoke, he was in Iceland, watching the northern lights.

The past two months had been exhausting for Owen. A presidential transition in the U.S. wasn't just a domestic event—it attracted the attention of the entire world. As the sole superpower, the stance of America's new leader could directly impact the global balance.

During this time, the nation's security level had been raised across the board. CTU, FBI, local police, CIA, NSA—every relevant agency was on high alert. No one could afford to slip up.

David Palmer kept his word. One month into his term, the new president issued a formal directive from the White House regarding CTU's restructuring.

CTU was officially removed from the Pentagon's command structure and elevated to an independent agency. It had finally come into its own—no longer a subdivision of the CIA or the military, but a standalone force that reported directly to the president, equal in status to the CIA.

Palmer announced the new appointments: Jack Bauer, formerly head of CTU Los Angeles, was promoted to Director of Counterterrorism—CTU's top position nationwide. The new president used a presidential appointment clause to send Jack's name straight to Congress for confirmation. In the meantime, Jack would serve as acting director.

Jack departed for Washington, but Owen declined the position of CTU Los Angeles branch chief. Despite his many contributions and distinguished service in the recent operation, he knew that he wasn't the right fit for that level of responsibility.

He was comfortable on the front lines—but overseeing everything from above? That wasn't his strength.

Jack shared that view, which is why the position went to Tony, the former head of field operations. Owen was then appointed as Tony's replacement, the new head of field ops. Meanwhile, Chloe also received a promotion—becoming the new head of the Data Support Division.

"My little Steve is becoming a big shot now…"

His mother teased him with joy in her eyes. Owen wrapped her in a big hug. Amanda joined in as well, and the family embraced each other in warmth and happiness.

His mother had originally wanted to throw a party to celebrate. After all, just days ago Owen had been splashed across every TV station in Los Angeles as a wanted man—only to have his name cleared later. She figured the party would be a great chance to clear the air with neighbors.

Unfortunately, Owen already had plans that evening with some friends, so she let it go.

...

Evening – Wildcat Bar

When Owen arrived, Carl and Carlos were already there. His promotion had first been shared with his old pals at the precinct.

Looking around the bar, he saw mostly familiar faces—all officers from the West Hollywood precinct. The bar was close to the station, and most of the local cops liked to hang out there after work. It had practically become an extension of their break room.

"Steve, you finally made it—come over here!"

The bell above the door gave away his arrival. Carlos and Carl immediately waved him over.

Owen made his way across the room, raising his hand in greeting to friends offering their congratulations with lifted glasses.

At their table, even George "Old Man" was there.

"Old man, how's the injury?"

"Bang bang bang~~"

George pounded his chest. "I'm as strong as a damn bear now. That little scrape's nothing."

Behind the bar, Ivan had just topped off a customer's drink and came over smiling. "Owen, I heard you got promoted?"

"Yup."

"This one's on me," Ivan said with a grin as he filled Owen a glass of whiskey.

Carlos, George, and the others raised their glasses too. With a crisp clink, they all downed their drinks.

Owen belched afterward—he still wasn't used to whiskey. Normally, he preferred tequila.

"Same as usual?"

"OK."

Ivan poured him a shot of tequila. Owen took a few sips and felt much better.

"Ha ha ha, Owen, tell us what you've been up to lately! What's it like working at CTU?"

George was in high spirits after his drink and itching for conversation.

Owen shook his head. "CTU? Not exactly a fun job. Compared to that, being a cop feels way easier…"

"Oh come on, don't bullshit us. Tell us about the terrorists you've caught!"

Carlos chimed in, half-joking, half-curious.

Truthfully, Owen wasn't exaggerating. In just a few months at CTU, he had been involved in more shootouts than in all his years with the Major Crimes Unit. The enemies CTU faced weren't just your average criminals—they were the kind who'd rather die than surrender. Still, most of it was classified. He couldn't share much.

Ding-a-ling!

The bell rang again. Everyone turned toward the door. This time, it was Carl.

He was still in uniform, likely just off patrol.

"Hey guys!"

Carl headed straight over. Ivan handed him a glass of rum.

Carl waved it off. "Not tonight—still got patrol. Just give me a beer."

Ivan poured him a tall one, and the crew clinked glasses once more.

It had been a while since Owen saw his old buddies. Tonight was the perfect excuse to reconnect, and they had plenty to talk about.

After seven or eight rounds, Owen was feeling it. In a festive mood, he even rang the bar bell to buy a round for everyone in the bar, earning a wave of applause.

Carl had to leave after his beer—he was on night duty. Owen didn't insist, just promised to meet up again soon.

As the night wore on and the drinks piled up, George headed out early—age catching up with him. Carlos found himself chatting up a woman at the pool table. Not wanting to ruin his game, Owen stepped outside through the back door to relieve himself.

Just as he finished, his phone rang. At that hour, he assumed it was Monica, and answered without checking the screen.

But a different voice came through.

"Hi Owen, it's been a while. How have you been?"

"…Beth?"

"Of course it's me. Who else would it be? Don't tell me you've forgotten me already?"

Beth's voice was bright and teasing.

"Forget you? No way. You're my only rich friend. I just didn't expect a call from you."

Owen chuckled. He had a great impression of Beth. She was independent, calm under pressure, and could be ruthless when needed. Back in that nightmare hostel in Europe, Beth's swift justice had deeply impressed him.

Her wealth came from her mother, but she lacked the usual snobbery. She treated people the same as before.

After returning from Europe, they hadn't kept in touch. Beth hadn't come back to Los Angeles—she'd gone straight to New York to continue her studies. Owen had no idea how she handled her classmate's death, but there hadn't been any media fallout.

"Ha ha, I just called Monica and she told me you got promoted. So, how about some Boston lobster? My treat."

"You're in L.A.?" Owen asked, thinking she must've come to town.

"Nope, I'm in Phoenix. But if you're up for it, I can send a helicopter to pick you up. Two hours round trip—you'll be back in time for bed."

"…"

Owen was speechless. Was this how the rich lived—taking a two-hour flight just to grab a meal?

"…Better not. I'd feel like I was disrespecting Benjamin Franklin."

"Ha ha ha…"

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