"Pfft, pfft, pfft~~"
In the darkness, the distinct muffled sound of suppressed gunfire echoed softly. Two guards outside the villa dropped silently to the ground.
Moments later, several shadowy figures crept along the wall, merging with the shadows. The team stacked up at the door.
Further away, Swagg and Fred pulled their triggers one after the other. Two guards positioned above were taken out. The others slipped silently through the porch, entering the villa perimeter under the cover of darkness.
Through the windows, silhouettes moved inside the villa. Owen signaled with a hand gesture—Sam and his squad moved left, while Owen led Omega to the right.
Their target tonight was Guzmán. Though Ela had resigned from the DEA, she still held several covert informants. Whether voluntarily or under duress, they had provided substantial intel that allowed Guzmán's movements to be triangulated.
As one of the Sánchez Group's top enforcers, Guzmán was already on Sam's hit list. Previously, his whereabouts had been trackable, but ever since Owen's team captured him, Guzmán had grown more cautious, rendering Sam's previous surveillance work useless. Fortunately, they still had Ela.
A soft thud broke the stillness as a patch of grass twitched. A hidden sentry had just been eliminated by Swagg. With sniper cover, both teams swiftly crossed the open space in silence and approached the villa.
Guzmán, always a wary man, had hidden himself in this seemingly unrelated villa. On paper, the owner had no ties to him whatsoever. Still, he hadn't expected to be found.
Inside, Guzmán lounged in a robe, sipping red wine, when a sudden chill ran down his spine. He glanced around at the armed guards stationed throughout the villa—no ordinary goons, these were seasoned fighters assigned by Dorok.
Their presence bolstered Guzmán's confidence for a moment—until that confidence shattered in seconds.
One by one, those supposedly elite guards collapsed. Four of them near the windows went down instantly. Through the broken light, several figures entered the room, each wearing night-vision goggles, moving with precision.
Guzmán froze. He didn't dare make a move until he realized they weren't planning to kill him on the spot. Only then did he breathe slightly easier.
"Whatever Lofta is paying you, I'll double it—no, triple it..."
He mistook Omega for Lofta's hired guns—mercenaries, like Dorok's own elite squads. Every major cartel had some version of them, more or less.
Gunfire rang out again outside. The remaining guards were being taken down. Shouts of alarm echoed through the halls.
Terrified, Guzmán watched the intruders and clung to hope. As far as he knew, Lofta's elite units were mercenaries, and mercenaries could always be bought.
"Four times. How about that?"
Still no response. Some of the black-hooded men seemed to chuckle. A second group entered from another door—clearly the source of the earlier gunfire.
"We need to move."
One of the new arrivals gave the signal to retreat. But then one of the original masked men stepped up to Guzmán, pulled down his hood, and smiled.
"No matter what you offer, it won't save you. I told you—I'd be back for you…"
The skull-patterned mask. Guzmán's face went ashen. He recognized him—one of the Americans. The one who had tortured him the worst last time.
Guzmán was quickly handcuffed and hooded. Ghost shoved him roughly into the trunk of a waiting vehicle. Sam's squad, covering the rear, laid down suppressive fire as they withdrew. Last out, Mohawk dropped his rifle, pulled a claymore mine from his bag, planted it on the main door, and hit the trigger.
As the engine roared and the car sped away, an explosion erupted at the villa's entrance. They didn't look back, but the blast from the claymore meant only one thing: dismembered bodies everywhere.
...
As the first light of dawn crept over Juárez, the chaos of the night seemed momentarily forgotten. The streets looked calm. But the consequences of last night's events would soon be felt.
The city government building stood in central Juárez, right at a main intersection. Early in the morning, workers arrived from all directions—not officials, but cleaning staff.
Everything seemed normal. The middle-aged women trudged sleepily toward the building. But then a piercing scream cut through the quiet, sending shivers down everyone's spine.
At the corner, a corpse hung beneath the pedestrian bridge, face blackened and bloated—clearly dead for some time. His tongue lolled grotesquely from his mouth.
In Juárez—or even in Mexico—seeing a body hanging from a bridge wasn't exactly rare. But right in front of the government building? That was unusual.
Once the initial shock passed, one cleaner finally summoned the courage to approach. She peeked around to get a better look—and screamed again.
"It's Guzmán…"
The notorious enforcer of the Sánchez Group, feared and hated by all, now swayed in the morning breeze, dead. Everyone in Juárez knew his face. He was a name to be feared, a name whispered in dread. Now, that name was just a corpse on a hook.
Guzmán had been killed, his body strung up at the city government's front gate. Even the ordinary citizens of Juárez knew what this meant—total war was coming.
The remaining five major cartels also received the news. All signs pointed to the Lofta Group. After all, Guzmán's role in the Sánchez Group was equivalent to that of Blayman—the fat lawyer from Lofta who had been assassinated.
The other groups ordered their men to stand down. No one wanted to get dragged into this brawl. For now, preserving their strength and waiting for the perfect time to swoop in was the best strategy.
...
Washington – Omega Headquarters
Jack Bauer stood in Omega's central hall, watching the breaking news from Juárez on screen. The city had descended into complete chaos. Gunfights erupted everywhere, day and night. The Sánchez and Lofta Groups were at all-out war, and not even the Mexican government could intervene.
"Becky, track Owen and his team for me…"
Jack had been mulling it over for some time. His gut told him Owen and Omega were involved.
For safety reasons, every Omega member carried a tracking device. It allowed their location to be pinpointed instantly via satellite during operations.
"On it," Sweetpea replied, typing quickly.
Moments later, the screen lit up with the team's location.
"Their trackers say they're at the Royal Crown Casino in Las Vegas…"
Jack stared at the screen in silence for a long moment, then turned and walked away.
Behind him, Sweetpea's lips curled into a quiet, victorious smile.
______
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