This scene sent the media into a frenzy—again.
The footage was captured by every major news outlet and broadcast live across the United States. And the image spoke for itself: that Black man on the terrace was clearly not a terrorist—he had to be some kind of lone hero.
This kind of story was tailor-made for the American imagination: one man, alone, fearlessly infiltrating a terrorist-occupied White House. It wasn't just a movie fantasy anymore—it was real, playing out in front of millions.
Reporters began speculating feverishly about the mystery man's identity. The most popular theory was that he was a Secret Service agent. Others suggested he might be from the CIA or FBI—classic Hollywood protagonists who always emerge when the country needs them most.
Dozens of theories spread like wildfire within minutes. One media outlet dubbed him the "Gun-Toting Spider-Man," and the nickname exploded online. The Google search trends for "Spider-Man with a Gun" skyrocketed, quickly reaching the top of the charts.
No group responded more passionately than Black advocacy organizations—after all, in the grainy footage, the man climbing the wall like Spider-Man clearly had dark skin.
Owen, unaware he had just become a viral superhero, had barely had time to catch his breath. The sudden appearance of the terrorist on the terrace had startled him. Thankfully, his reflexes kicked in—he drew his pistol and took the man out instantly. As he fired, Owen rolled forward onto the floor, springing to his feet in a fluid motion just as more gunshots rang out inside the room.
Under bullet time, Owen's P229 pistol delivered precision headshots to the remaining two terrorists. Blood sprayed as they dropped. When the effect faded, they were already corpses.
It had all happened fast—and ended even faster. The setup of the Yellow Room helped: nearly all the hostages were seated or crouched, and only two terrorists had been guarding the door. Owen didn't even need to aim carefully.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Owen scanned the room to confirm no more enemies remained.
He stepped inside, met by stunned gazes from the hostages—watching this soot-covered "Black man" who'd seemingly fallen from the sky. Owen had no time to explain. Walker was still out there, and their pursuers could arrive at any moment.
"I'm CTU. The terrorists could breach this room any second. Who here has military experience? I need help."
Owen's voice was low but firm as he swept the crowd with his eyes.
"I do. I'm the Secretary of Defense. Twenty-three years in the Army," came a resolute voice.
"I do too…"
"Same here…"
After a moment of surprise, multiple people responded. Among them, Owen spotted the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary of State, as well as a younger man.
He didn't waste words. He grabbed weapons from the three corpses and tossed them over. "Hold this room. No one gets in. I'm going to get my guy. Make sure you check your targets."
The Secretary of Defense nodded. Owen crouched at the door. The gunfire outside hadn't stopped—clearly, they hadn't realized what had just happened inside.
Owen peeked quickly, then flung the door open and fired a few sharp bursts.
In the hallway, several terrorists were laying down suppressive fire. They never expected an attack from behind. Caught off-guard, they were all taken down in seconds—perfectly placed rounds tearing them apart.
"Walker! Get over here! Fall back with me!"
Owen yelled as he covered Walker's retreat back to the hostage room. Behind Walker, Staz and his men had just caught up—only to be driven back by Owen's fierce covering fire. It was a narrow escape. Just a few more seconds and Walker would've been surrounded.
…
At the Pentagon, President Palmer had just hung up the phone when he saw the news footage. Most people probably thought that figure on the terrace was a Black man. But President Palmer, along with the CTU rapid response team nearby, immediately recognized the soot-covered "Black man" as none other than Owen.
And with that, Palmer gave the long-awaited order to all three units.
As Staz's group converged, the Delta Force's Alloy Squad and the Marine Corps' Force Recon launched the first shots of the mission to retake the White House.
The media went wild again. It felt like a real-life Hollywood thriller. The lone hero story hadn't even cooled down, and now the military was moving in with overwhelming force. Though few knew the exact names of the units, the differences in uniforms made it clear—it was Delta and the Marines. Once again, broadcast waves carried the news far and wide.
"Pfft-pfft-pfft—"
Silenced gunfire echoed as rooftop terrorists were swiftly eliminated. These enemies had already been marked in advance, each assigned at least two snipers. When the command came, not a single one survived.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
Confirmation came in from all directions as the two elite squads advanced on the White House. Their coordinated, precise attacks sliced through the enemy like hot knives through butter.
Two loud explosions signaled the forced breaching of entrances and windows that had been rigged with tripwire explosives. Force Recon and Alloy Squad moved in without hesitation.
Gunfire erupted throughout the building. Owen had already informed the Pentagon of the hostages' location. The units were split accordingly—Alloy Squad, with fewer members, focused on storming the hostage room and rescuing captives. Force Recon, being larger, swept the rest of the White House, neutralizing all remaining hostiles.
The fighting was intense and fast. At every corner, flashbangs—"nine-flash grenades"—were tossed in. As soon as they detonated, clearing teams followed. The scattered terrorist guards stood no chance. Both squads advanced with deadly efficiency.
In one hallway, Alloy Squad moved in standard CQB formation.
"Switch formation."
The squad leader, codenamed Sandman, gave the command near a junction. Grinch, Tucker, and Frost took positions to cover the corridor and side passages.
"Ratatat."
Frost dropped a terrorist who had suddenly appeared. Grinch and Tucker opened fire next, quickly eliminating several more enemies.
"Clear!"
Grinch reported in. The advance continued.
Everything was textbook. Every corner, every room, every encounter—they executed flawlessly, just like in training. Alloy Squad tore through enemy resistance. The opposition was weaker than expected—until they reached their final objective.
There, they ran into Staz and his men.
Staz's team consisted entirely of loyalists—Delta Force veterans who had defected with him. These were battle-hardened warriors with top-tier skills, instincts, and resolve.
Both sides exchanged fire through the walls. For the moment, it was a stalemate.
Initially, Staz had planned to have his men storm the hostage room. Hostages were still his strongest leverage. But the corridor was sealed tight—defenders inside had him pinned. One of them was an exceptional marksman. In just a few exchanges, two of Staz's men had already taken hits. Thankfully, they wore armor—or he'd have lost two of his best.
Staz was preparing to bring more firepower to bear and break through when Alloy Squad arrived. It didn't take long for him to realize the mercenaries he'd positioned to hold the rear were no match for this new threat. The combat style was all too familiar—it was definitely Delta Force.
Against Alloy Squad, the mercenaries were being wiped out.
Under pressure, Staz made a tactical switch—redeploying the mercenaries to attack the hostage room while his trusted Delta defectors held off the approaching elite unit.
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