My Star My Spy: Chapter 10
Outside Director Max's office, the studio hallway remained bright and polished beneath the soft glow of overhead lights. White walls, glass panels, and the quiet movement of staff gave the place a calm, professional atmosphere despite the tension lingering underneath.
Charlie stood a few steps away from the office entrance, casually scanning the surroundings while waiting. His posture looked relaxed, but his eyes still moved carefully across the hallway from time to time.
The office door opened.
Allysa stepped out first beside Director Max, adjusting the strap of her bag lightly over her shoulder as her eyes immediately searched the area. Her gaze moved from one end of the hallway to the other.
Director Max noticed almost instantly.
"Sweetie, who are you looking for?" she asked warmly as they walked forward together.
"I'm looking for my bodyguard," Allysa answered while continuing to glance around the hallway.
"Bodyguard?" Max repeated softly before her eyes landed on Charlie nearby. "Oh… Charlie."
Allysa approached him at a steady pace.
Charlie turned toward her and smiled lightly. "Oh, hey, Ms. Allysa. Are you done already?"
"Not yet, Charlie," Allysa replied calmly. "By the way… have you seen Patrick?"
Charlie scratched the back of his neck awkwardly before letting out a quiet chuckle. "Oh… he went to take a dump in the bathroom."
He tried holding back a grin. "That spicy bacon earlier really messed up his stomach."
Allysa pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. "Oh… I see."
Director Max stepped beside her again, gently placing a hand near Allysa's arm as if reminding her of the schedule. "Sweetie, the media won't wait too long," she said warmly.
"Oh, right," Allysa replied, quickly regaining composure.
She looked back at Charlie while beginning to walk beside Director Max down the hallway. "Charlie, tell Patrick to head to the conference room once he gets back."
"Got it," Charlie answered immediately.
Director Max lightly guided Allysa forward as staff members ahead prepared for the upcoming press statement. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor while nearby employees briefly glanced toward them in curiosity.
Then—
"Ms. Allysa, wait!"
Charlie suddenly jogged toward them, his expression turning more serious.
"I should go with you," he said quickly as he caught up beside them. "Patrick told me to stay close to you at all times."
Several nearby staff members turned their heads briefly at the sudden urgency before returning to their work. The atmosphere remained calm on the surface—
but something underneath it no longer felt completely safe.
Meanwhile, Gary continued through the studio hallways, his footsteps quiet against the polished floor as he moved beneath the soft white glow of the overhead lights. Reflections slid faintly across the glass walls around him while distant conversations and muffled movement echoed deeper inside the building.
His eyes never stopped moving.
Every passing staff member, every corner, every security camera mounted along the ceiling entered his awareness for even the briefest second. He observed naturally without lingering too long on anything, blending into the environment while silently dissecting it.
So far—
Nothing suspicious.
"Hm… no signs of any threat," he thought quietly as he turned another corner inside the studio complex.
Two security guards walked past him from the opposite direction, their radios clipped neatly to their uniforms while faint static occasionally crackled from their earpieces. Gary's gaze flicked toward their IDs, their posture, the rhythm of their steps, and the disciplined way they carried themselves.
Real security.
There was no stiffness in their movement, no hesitation in their eyes, no subtle mismatch in behavior like the disguised men earlier. They moved with routine familiarity, like people who genuinely belonged there.
Gary continued walking deeper into the hallway, maintaining an unhurried pace to avoid drawing attention. Staff members brushed past him carrying folders, tablets, and cups of coffee, too occupied with schedules and studio work to notice the silent vigilance behind his expression.
Then—
A sudden wave of dizziness hit him.
The lights above blurred faintly for a second as pressure tightened behind his eyes. Gary slowed his steps slightly, his jaw clenching as heat spread uncomfortably through his body.
"Augh… I don't feel good," he thought irritably.
He pressed a hand against his forehead before sliding it down toward his neck, feeling the warmth beneath his skin almost immediately. His body felt heavier now, slower than before, like something was quietly draining his strength from the inside.
Damn it.
I'm sick.
Gary stopped near the wall, lowering his head slightly as exhaustion finally pushed against him harder than he expected. He placed both hands on his knees and took a controlled breath, trying to steady himself without making it obvious.
The polished wall beside him felt cold against his palm as he used it to keep his balance. For a brief moment, the sounds around him felt distant, muffled beneath the pounding pressure building in his head.
"Focus, Gary," he told himself firmly. "You can do this."
He shut his eyes for a second before slowly straightening himself again.
Nearby staff members glanced toward him briefly while passing by, some looking mildly concerned before continuing on their way. To them, he simply looked like an exhausted employee trying to recover from a rough morning.
But Gary knew better.
His body was weakening.
And this was the worst possible time for it to happen.
Still, he forced himself forward again, posture steady despite the strain weighing against him. Even while sick, his eyes continued scanning the hallways relentlessly, refusing to let his guard fall for even a second.
As Gary stepped into Section B-6 of the hallway, the atmosphere immediately felt different from the rest of the studio. The lights above flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows across the narrow emergency corridor while silence pressed heavily against the walls.
No staff.
No movement.
Only the distant hum of ventilation echoed through the empty passage.
Gary walked steadily despite the exhaustion weighing on his body, one hand briefly brushing against the wall as he pushed forward. His breathing remained controlled, but the fever burning beneath his skin made every step feel heavier than before.
Then—
He accidentally brushed shoulders with someone.
THUD.
Gary stopped instantly.
In front of him stood a man in his forties wearing a dark leather jacket, dark cargo pants, and a black cap pulled low over his eyes. A guitar case rested across his back while two older men walked beside him, both dressed in old-fashioned clothing and carrying black briefcases.
For a brief second—
Their eyes locked.
"Agent 429-J," the man in the leather jacket thought immediately, recognition flashing behind his calm expression.
At the same time, Gary's eyes narrowed slightly.
Agent 229-H.
The hallway suddenly felt even quieter than before.
Gary slowly turned around, and by the time he did, the three men had already stopped walking as well. The flickering lights above reflected faintly across the corridor while tension quietly settled between them.
The man in the leather jacket faced Gary fully now.
"Agent 429-J," he said in a deep, serious tone.
Gary remained calm despite the fever pressing against his body. His sharp eyes moved briefly toward the two men standing beside him.
"Agent 229-H," Gary replied evenly. "Agent 100-H… and Agent 099-G."
The older men exchanged faint looks before returning their attention to him.
Agent 229-H studied Gary carefully beneath the dim hallway lights. "What are you doing here, Agent 429?" he asked calmly. "I thought you were on a mission."
"I am on a mission," Gary answered without hesitation. "I'm here for my client."
The hallway fell silent again for a moment.
Then Agent 099-G suddenly smiled faintly.
"The Rookie Legend himself," he muttered with quiet amusement. "Agent 429-J… also known as Borja."
Gary exhaled softly, keeping his composure steady despite the tension beneath the conversation. "Hey, Agent 099-G… Frank. Agent 100-H… Ken."
His tone remained calm, almost casual.
"What's up?"
Ken observed him carefully, his sharp eyes lingering on Gary's face longer than necessary. The faint flicker of the hallway lights reflected across Gary's artificial facial mask, subtle enough that ordinary people would never notice it.
"It's strange," Ken said quietly. "Nothing's changed about you."
His gaze narrowed slightly.
"With or without that prosthetic mask… we already know it's you."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"The Top Spy."
Ken studied Gary quietly beneath the flickering hallway lights, his scarred face remaining calm and unreadable. "I've been seeing the three of you around lately," he said in a relaxed tone.
Gary's expression didn't change.
The faint fever in his body still lingered, but his eyes remained sharp as ever. The empty emergency hallway around them felt colder now, the silence carrying a strange familiarity between agents who no longer needed introductions.
Agent 229-H crossed his arms calmly while observing Gary carefully. "Anyways, Agent Gary… you shouldn't be wandering too far from your outpost."
His gaze narrowed slightly.
"You need to stay close to your target."
Gary remained silent, listening.
"We know you're here hunting those mercs," Agent 229 continued calmly. "We're just not sure why they suddenly showed up here."
"Wait," Gary said quietly. "You're here hunting the infiltrators too?"
Frank let out a faint chuckle while adjusting the briefcase in his hand. "Yeah, kid."
"The three of us were assigned to this studio long before your mission even started," he continued calmly. "We've been monitoring this place for a while now."
The flickering lights above buzzed softly for a moment before stabilizing again.
Gary glanced briefly toward the empty intersections surrounding the hallway. "Did you guys find anything suspicious?" he asked calmly. "Any unusual activity?"
"Negative so far," Agent 229 replied. "That's exactly why me, Frank, and Ken are still here."
The older agent's weathered face remained composed beneath the dim lighting, old scars and wrinkles visible along his jawline and forehead. Despite his age, there was still a quiet sharpness in his eyes that hadn't faded with time.
"Get back to your mission," Agent 229 said calmly. "We'll handle this side of things and contact you if we find anything."
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small communication device.
"Take this."
Gary accepted the tiny comms device without hesitation before placing it discreetly into his ear. The piece was small enough to remain completely hidden beneath his hair.
"We'll stay in touch," Agent 229 added.
"Alright," Gary replied quietly before looking at the three agents again. "Can I give you guys orders as well?"
Frank smirked faintly at that while Ken remained expressionless.
"Anytime," Agent 229 answered calmly.
Gary's gaze sharpened slightly as his tone turned more serious. "I want all of you checking isolated areas with low foot traffic."
He paused briefly.
"Secure every perimeter and make sure there aren't any explosives hidden anywhere inside the studio."
The hallway fell silent again for a second.
"Who knows what's going to happen today," Gary finished quietly.
Agent 229 gave a small nod of approval. "Sure thing, kid. We've got it from here."
His eyes briefly narrowed toward Gary.
"Now go," he continued calmly. "Before those assassins get anywhere near her."
"Copy," Gary replied immediately.
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the hallway he came from, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. The three veteran agents remained standing beneath the flickering lights as Gary calmly disappeared beyond the crossroads corridor ahead.
E.I.S. Headquarters – Same Day
Birds chirped softly across the mountains surrounding the hidden E.I.S. facility while the morning sun illuminated the distant skyline of Los Angeles. Thin clouds drifted slowly across the bright sky, casting moving shadows over the landscape below.
Inside Cassandra Kane's office, the atmosphere felt controlled and refined beneath the warm glow of a yellow desk lamp. Grey-toned walls, framed paintings, and a large bookshelf behind her desk gave the office an elegant yet authoritative presence.
A Supervisor Guard stood motionless near the center of the room.
He wore a black tactical uniform fitted with side holsters and a five-arrow insignia stitched along the shoulders. A black forage cap with a gold emblem sat neatly above the balaclava concealing his face, leaving only his eyes visible.
Behind the smooth black desk, Cassandra Kane sat calmly in her chair.
Her wavy hair rested near her shoulders as she silently reviewed documents spread across the desk in front of her. Even while seated, her presence carried quiet pressure that filled the entire office.
"Director Kane," the Supervisor Guard spoke calmly. "We received a report regarding Don Rosso."
Cassandra slowly lifted her gaze toward him. "Speak, Supervisor."
"Don Rosso was executed during an operation near the Port of Los Angeles," he reported emotionlessly. "According to our source inside the L.A.P.D., he was killed by a .357 Smith & Wesson round."
The office fell silent for a brief moment.
Cassandra's fingers tapped lightly once against the surface of her desk before stopping again. "Have you run any reports lately?" she asked calmly. "Or traced the bullet?"
"I did, Director," the Supervisor replied. "Unfortunately, the weapon owner couldn't be traced."
A faint irritation crossed Cassandra's eyes before disappearing just as
quickly.
"Damn it…" she muttered quietly.
Her posture remained composed as she leaned slightly back into her chair. "Supervisor Guard, tell our operatives to gather more details about who killed Don Rosso."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"And make sure the report is full. Detail. Understood?"
"Yes, Director," the Supervisor answered immediately.
He saluted sharply before turning toward the office doors. The sound of his boots echoed softly against the polished floor as he exited the room.
Outside the office, two armed guards immediately approached him.
Both men wore black tactical uniforms fitted with pistol holsters and single-arrow insignia patches along their sleeves. Black balaclavas concealed their identities while red berets marked their rank within the facility.
Each guard carried a UMP45 held securely across the chest.
"Sir," Guard 08 spoke calmly while standing perfectly straight. "How may we be of service?"
The other guard remained completely silent beside him, posture rigid like a statue.
"Come with me, Private Guards 08 and 09," the Supervisor ordered calmly as he began walking down the white hallway.
"Yes, sir."
Both guards immediately followed behind him.
The hallway lights reflected faintly against their weapons as their boots echoed in synchronized rhythm through the corridor. While walking, Guard 08 and Guard 09 briefly exchanged silent glances beneath their masks before returning their attention forward.
Meanwhile, back inside Cassandra Kane's office—
she remained seated in silence.
Her fingers slowly pressed together in front of her while her thoughts turned darker beneath her calm expression. The warm yellow lighting around the office no longer softened the coldness settling in her eyes.
You're lucky, Monarch.
That night… you survived.
Her gaze lowered slightly toward the desk.
I know you're behind all of this mess.
A long silence followed.
Then Cassandra leaned back slowly into her chair, her expression calm despite the dangerous intent quietly forming behind it.
"And the next time we meet…" she thought coldly, "I'll make sure you never escape again."
The Studios Conference Room - Los Angeles
The conference room inside the studio buzzed with anticipation as Allysa stepped through the doors alongside Director Max and Charlie. Bright camera lights illuminated the room while dozens of reporters immediately rose from their seats, eager to hear her side of the story.
Microphones were raised almost instantly.
Phones recording videos, notebooks filled with notes, and cameras pointed directly toward her from every angle.
Questions erupted throughout the room.
"Allysa, what happened yesterday?"
"Are you still going to continue your career despite the attack?"
"Is this connected to your father's death?"
Camera flashes burst repeatedly.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
The bright flashes reflected across the polished floor and glass walls, creating a relentless storm of light. Despite the overwhelming attention, Allysa maintained her composure and stood confidently at the front of the room.
Director Max stepped forward and raised a hand calmly.
"Everyone, one at a time only," she said firmly.
The room gradually settled as the reporters lowered their voices. Although the excitement remained, they respected Director Max enough to give Allysa space to answer.
A reporter near the front stood first and extended his microphone.
"Allysa, regarding yesterday's incident, what exactly happened?"
The room fell silent.
Even the distant sound of camera shutters seemed to soften as everyone waited for her response.
Allysa took a small breath before answering.
"Yesterday was a drive-by attack," she said calmly. "Someone died right in front of me, and I still don't know who was responsible."
Several reporters immediately began writing.
Others exchanged glances while camera lenses remained fixed on her every movement.
"The police informed me that they're doing everything they can to identify and arrest the suspects involved," Allysa continued. "For now, all I can do is cooperate with the investigation and hope justice is served."
The room filled with the sound of scribbling pens and tapping keyboards.
A second reporter quickly stood before the silence could linger.
"Do you still plan to continue your acting career despite the danger?"
Allysa answered without hesitation.
"Yes," she said confidently. "I worked hard to get where I am today, and one incident won't stop me from pursuing the career I love."
A few reporters nodded while others continued taking notes.
The conviction in her voice carried throughout the room, steady and unwavering.
"I will continue being an actress," she added. "What happened yesterday was tragic, but I'm not going to let fear control my future."
Director Max remained beside her with a supportive expression while Charlie stood several steps behind, quietly observing the room. His eyes moved constantly between the reporters, entrances, and exits as if following Patrick's instructions even in his absence.
Then another reporter stood.
"Allysa, is this somehow related to your father's case?"
The atmosphere changed immediately.
The room grew noticeably quieter as every eye focused on her.
Allysa's confidence faltered for only a second.
A shadow of uncertainty crossed her face before she quickly regained control of her expression.
"I'm not sure..." she began softly.
The moment she hesitated, reporters leaned forward in anticipation.
Microphones slowly moved closer while cameras zoomed in, eager to capture every word.
Allysa looked across the crowd of faces staring back at her.
For a brief moment, memories surfaced in the back of her mind.
Her father's death.
The threats.
The attacks.
The life she had been forced to leave behind in the Philippines.
A faint tension tightened in her chest.
"I honestly don't know," she admitted quietly. "But if I'm being truthful, I can't completely rule out the possibility."
The room immediately stirred.
Several reporters exchanged surprised looks while others quickly wrote down her statement.
"My father passed away years ago," Allysa continued, her voice calm despite the sadness lingering beneath it. "Ever since then, strange things have happened around me, and I still don't understand why."
The cameras continued flashing.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
"But until there's actual evidence, I don't want to make accusations," she said firmly. "I want the facts before I point fingers at anyone."
The room remained silent for a moment after she finished speaking.
Then another wave of questions threatened to begin.
Meanwhile, in another section of the studio, Gary stood near a polished marble wall surrounded by decorative indoor plants. The area was crowded with staff members moving between departments, their conversations blending into a constant hum of activity.
Despite the crowd, Gary remained alert.
His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings while his fever continued to weigh on his body like an invisible burden.
Then—
A faint burst of static crackled through his hidden earpiece.
KRRRT.
Gary immediately lowered his head slightly, ensuring nobody nearby would hear him. "Come in, Agent 229," he said quietly.
More static followed before a voice finally came through.
"Agent 429, we found an explosive device hidden inside an air vent in the northwest wing of the studio," Agent 229 reported.
Gary's expression immediately hardened.
His eyes narrowed as dozens of possibilities began racing through his mind.
"What?" he asked, keeping his voice controlled. "Can you defuse it?"
On the other end of the line, Agent 229 remained silent for a brief moment.
Nearby, Frank and Ken continued examining the device, their attention fixed on the wiring and trigger mechanisms hidden beneath the vent.
"Negative," Agent 229 replied grimly. "There's a secondary device installed underneath the first bomb."
Gary felt his stomach tighten.
A secondary device usually meant the bomb wasn't intended solely for destruction.
It was meant to trap whoever tried to stop it.
"We're still analyzing it," Agent 229 continued. "We'll update you as soon as we find a solution."
The seriousness in his voice left little room for optimism.
"Until then, return to your client," he ordered. "Protect her."
Gary's jaw tightened.
"Copy," he replied immediately.
The transmission ended.
Gary removed his hand from his earpiece and immediately pushed himself away from the wall. Ignoring the dizziness still lingering in his body, he turned and began moving through the crowd.
His pace quickened.
Because if there was one bomb...
There were probably more.
And if there were more bombs—
Then this was never just an assassination attempt.
It was the beginning of something much worse.
---
Outside the studio grounds, two black Chevrolet Savana vans rolled silently through traffic beneath the bright California sun. Their dark windows reflected the city around them, hiding the armed men waiting inside.
Within the lead van, the atmosphere felt almost relaxed.
Almost.
Randoft sat in the center seat with a phone resting in his hand. The live broadcast of Allysa's press conference played across the screen while her voice echoed softly through the speakers.
Around him, armed mercenaries sat quietly.
Their rifles rested across their laps while tactical vests, ammunition, and weapons filled the cramped interior of the vehicle.
Randoft watched the screen with calm amusement.
"You really don't know what's coming," he muttered.
A low chuckle escaped him.
The scar running across his face stretched slightly as he smiled.
Then he locked his phone and slowly stood.
Immediately, every mercenary inside the van shifted their attention toward him.
"Alright, boys," Randoft said calmly. "Let's wrap things up."
The men listened carefully.
"Put on your clown masks," he continued. "Or whatever you've got."
A few mercenaries laughed quietly.
Others began reaching into bags and compartments, pulling out masks, helmets, and face coverings.
The mood inside the van shifted.
The anticipation became something darker.
Something eager.
"Remember," Randoft said while pulling a mask over his own face. "We're taking the bounty for ourselves."
His eyes gleamed beneath the shadows.
"Everyone gets a share."
The mercenaries grinned beneath their masks.
The promise of money was all the motivation they needed.
Weapons were checked.
Magazines were loaded.
Bolts slid into place.
CLACK.
CLACK.
CLACK.
The sounds echoed throughout the van like the final preparations before a storm.
Then the engine growled louder.
The van slowly pulled away from the curb.
And with every mile bringing them closer to the studio, the countdown toward chaos continued ticking away.
At the guard outpost outside the studio, the atmosphere felt almost peaceful beneath the bright California sun. Cars moved along the nearby roads while pedestrians walked their dogs and went about their day without a care in the world.
Several security guards stood near the entrance gates, casually talking while monitoring incoming traffic. Their white polo uniforms and security badges stood out against the dark fencing surrounding the property.
One of the guards suddenly frowned.
"Hey, do you see that?" he asked, his attention locking onto a vehicle in the distance. "That van is coming in way too fast."
The other guard immediately turned toward the road.
"Yeah," he replied, his expression tightening. "I see it."
The approaching Chevrolet Savana continued accelerating.
It showed no signs of slowing down.
One guard stepped forward and raised a stop sign while his hand instinctively moved toward the pistol holstered at his side. The vehicle ignored the warning entirely.
"Stop the vehicle!" he shouted.
Then—
The passenger door suddenly slid open.
A masked mercenary leaned out of the moving van, an AK-pattern rifle already in his hands.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gunfire erupted without warning.
The peaceful atmosphere shattered instantly.
The guards dove for cover as bullets struck nearby structures and vehicles, sending fragments scattering across the pavement. Around the entrance, civilians screamed and fled in every direction.
Panic exploded through the area.
The Chevrolet Savana charged straight toward the security checkpoint.
CRASH!
The barrier arm snapped apart as the van smashed through and entered the studio grounds. The second van followed closely behind, pushing through the opening created by the first.
Inside the studio perimeter, alarms immediately began sounding.
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
Security personnel rushed toward defensive positions while drawing their sidearms. Some took cover behind vehicles, concrete barriers, and security booths as the situation spiraled into chaos.
The lead van screeched to a stop.
SCREEECH!
Its doors flew open.
Mercenaries poured out wearing tactical gear and mismatched masks, clown faces, monkey masks, balaclavas, and other disguises designed to conceal their identities. Their weapons came up immediately.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The attackers opened fire.
Security guards near Gate Five returned fire from behind cover.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The exchange echoed across the studio grounds as employees and civilians rushed to escape the area. Smoke drifted through the air while shattered glass and debris littered the pavement.
The defenders tried to maintain their formation.
But the attackers kept advancing.
A guard behind a security booth shouted instructions into his radio while another dragged an injured colleague behind cover. Nearby, more guards rushed in from surrounding buildings to reinforce the entrance.
One security officer broke from cover to help a fallen teammate.
"Hang on!" he shouted.
The moment he moved into the open, a mercenary spotted him.
The rifle swung toward his position.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
The guard immediately dropped to the ground as nearby officers returned fire, forcing the mercenary back behind a vehicle. Around them, the battle continued to intensify with every passing second.
What had begun as an ordinary sunny morning had transformed into a war zone.
And deep inside the studio, most people still had no idea how bad things were about to become.
Meanwhile, inside the studio, the distant sound of gunfire suddenly echoed through the building. The sharp cracks of automatic weapons immediately cut through the conference room chaos and sent waves of panic spreading throughout the facility.
People began screaming.
Staff members abandoned their stations while civilians rushed toward the nearest exits, their footsteps pounding against the polished floors.
Gary froze for only a fraction of a second.
His attention immediately shifted toward the direction of the gunfire.
Something's wrong.
Without hesitation, he pushed through the crowd and broke into a run. His fever was still there, weighing on his body, but adrenaline quickly drowned out the weakness.
The sound of gunfire grew louder with every step.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
As he approached Gate 6, the scene unfolding before him forced his expression to harden.
Security personnel were taking cover behind vehicles and barriers while civilians desperately fled the area. The once orderly studio grounds had descended into complete chaos.
Then two mercenaries spotted him.
Their rifles immediately swung toward his position.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gary's instincts kicked in instantly.
He sprinted forward as rounds struck walls, pillars, and nearby structures, sending fragments scattering through the air. The sound of bullets snapping past him echoed across the courtyard.
His eyes quickly locked onto a reception counter ahead.
There.
Gary launched himself forward.
THUD!
He dove behind the counter as incoming rounds tore through stacks of files and documents resting on top. Papers exploded into the air and fluttered around him like a storm of white leaves.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
The gunfire continued.
Gary took a controlled breath before rising just enough to acquire his targets. His movements were precise, efficient, and completely devoid of panic.
He fired.
BANG!
Then again.
BANG!
The mercenaries were forced back as Gary maintained accurate suppressive fire from behind cover. Within seconds, the attackers disappeared from his immediate line of advance.
The area briefly fell quiet.
Gary slowly stepped out from behind the damaged counter, his M9 Beretta raised as his eyes scanned every corner and angle. Even amid the chaos, his movements remained disciplined and calculated.
Nothing.
At least for the moment.
He advanced carefully and noticed an abandoned M4A1 lying on the ground near one of the fallen attackers. The rifle was equipped with multiple attachments and several spare magazines remained nearby.
Gary immediately picked up the weapon.
With practiced efficiency, he secured the spare ammunition before holstering his Beretta. The additional firepower would be useful if the situation escalated further.
His grip tightened around the rifle.
Allysa.
Without wasting another second, Gary turned and began moving back toward the conference area. The sounds of gunfire, alarms, and panicked shouting continued to echo throughout the studio as he pushed forward.
No matter what was happening outside—
his priority remained the same.
Get back to Allysa.
Meanwhile, inside the conference room, the atmosphere changed in an instant. The sound of distant gunfire shattered the ongoing press conference, replacing anticipation with fear.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The reporters froze.
For a brief moment, nobody moved as the reality of what they were hearing slowly sank in.
Then panic erupted.
People scrambled from their seats while cameras, notebooks, and microphones were abandoned across tables and floors. The room that had been filled with questions only moments ago dissolved into chaos.
Allysa's heart skipped a beat.
Her eyes widened as frightened reporters rushed past her toward the exits.
Director Max immediately stepped closer to her.
"Stay close to me," she said firmly, though concern was visible in her eyes.
Beside them, Charlie's expression hardened.
Without hesitation, he reached behind his back and drew his Glock 17.
CLICK.
The sound was small, but it immediately caught Allysa's attention.
"Let's go, Allysa," Charlie said urgently as he lightly tapped her shoulder. "We need to move."
Another burst of gunfire echoed somewhere nearby.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The conference room doors suddenly burst open.
BANG!
Three armed mercenaries rushed inside wearing tactical gear and masks, their rifles already raised toward the crowd.
"GET DOWN!" someone screamed.
The mercenaries opened fire.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
People scattered in every direction as bullets tore through chairs, tables, and equipment. Glass shattered while terrified screams echoed throughout the room.
Charlie immediately shoved Allysa and Director Max toward cover.
"Move!"
The three of them dove behind a heavy conference table as rounds ripped through the space above them.
THUD!
Charlie quickly leaned out.
His Glock came up.
BANG!
One mercenary dropped instantly.
BANG!
A second attacker collapsed beside his fallen companion before he could react.
The third mercenary froze for a fraction of a second, staring at his dead comrades in disbelief.
Then rage replaced shock.
"Son of a—!"
He swung his rifle toward Charlie and opened fire.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Wood splintered as bullets slammed into the conference table. Allysa instinctively covered her head while Director Max crouched beside her.
Charlie remained calm.
The moment the mercenary paused to readjust his aim, Charlie moved.
He stepped out from cover.
BANG!
The shot echoed throughout the room.
The mercenary staggered backward before collapsing heavily onto the floor.
THUD.
Silence briefly returned.
Only the distant sounds of gunfire and alarms remained.
Charlie slowly swept the room with his pistol raised, making sure no additional threats were present. His breathing remained controlled despite the adrenaline pumping through his system.
Allysa sat frozen behind the table.
Her hands trembled slightly as she listened to the battle unfolding outside the room.
More gunfire.
More screaming.
More chaos.
Where is Patrick?
The thought surfaced immediately.
She pressed her hands over her ears as another burst of gunfire echoed through the building. Fear tightened around her chest as uncertainty slowly crept into her mind.
Patrick...
Where are you?
Beside her, Director Max gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey," she said softly. "Look at me."
Allysa slowly turned toward her.
"We're going to be okay," Director Max reassured her. "Just stay calm."
Despite her words, even Max could hear the battle growing closer.
Charlie remained near the doorway with his Glock raised, his eyes locked on the hallway outside. Every instinct in his body told him the attack was far from over.
And somewhere inside the studio—
Gary was still fighting his way back to them.
Meanwhile, Gary advanced through the chaos with his M4A1 raised, every step measured despite the battle raging around him. The studio corridors that had once been filled with employees and reporters were now littered with overturned chairs, scattered documents, shattered glass, and fallen bodies.
The smell of gunpowder hung heavily in the air.
Distant screams mixed with the relentless crack of gunfire echoing throughout the building.
Then—
Four mercenaries appeared from a side hallway.
The moment they spotted Gary, their rifles came up.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
A storm of bullets tore through the corridor.
Gary immediately dove behind an overturned reception desk as rounds punched through nearby walls and furniture, sending splinters and debris flying across the floor.
The mercenaries continued firing.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
RAT-TAT-TAT!
Wood shattered around Gary's position while dust filled the air. He remained calm behind cover, listening carefully as the attackers emptied their magazines.
Then—
CLICK.
CLICK.
Reloading.
Gary moved instantly.
He burst from cover with his M4A1 already shouldered and squeezed the trigger.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
The rifle barked violently.
The first mercenary dropped before finishing his reload, followed immediately by the second and third. The fourth attempted to retreat behind a pillar, but Gary's final burst caught him before he could escape.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
The hallway briefly fell silent again.
Gary quickly swapped magazines.
CLICK.
A fresh magazine locked into place.
He pulled the charging handle.
CLACK.
Without wasting another second, he continued moving toward the conference room.
His eyes swept across every corner and doorway as he advanced through the devastated interior. Papers drifted across the floor while emergency alarms wailed overhead, creating a constant backdrop of tension.
Then danger struck again.
Several mercenaries emerged from another section of the studio and immediately spotted him crossing an open area.
"There!"
Their rifles swung toward him.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gunfire erupted from his right flank.
Gary's instincts exploded into action.
He sprinted across the open floor at full speed as bullets slammed into the tiles behind him, sending fragments flying into the air. Windows shattered nearby while rounds ricocheted off walls and support pillars.
CRASH!
CRACK!
The incoming fire chased him relentlessly.
Without breaking stride, Gary turned his upper body and fired toward the attackers.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
His M4A1 spat fire.
He wasn't even looking through the optic.
Years of training and combat experience took over.
One mercenary dropped.
Then another.
A third collapsed behind a desk as Gary's rounds ripped through the cover protecting him.
The surviving attackers scattered.
But Gary didn't stop moving.
Allysa was still ahead.
Suddenly, two more mercenaries appeared directly in front of him from a connecting hallway.
Their rifles came up immediately.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
The corridor erupted with muzzle flashes.
Gary reacted in an instant.
He dropped low and slid across the polished floor, one hand guiding the rifle while the other helped maintain balance. Bullets screamed over his head as sparks erupted from the floor around him.
While sliding, he fired.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
The first mercenary was thrown backward.
The second barely had time to react before another burst struck him squarely, sending him crashing onto the floor beside his partner.
THUD.
THUD.
Gary's slide came to a stop.
He immediately rose back to his feet and continued forward without hesitation.
The conference room wasn't far now.
Gunfire still echoed throughout the studio while mercenaries and security personnel fought across multiple sections of the building. Every second that passed increased the danger surrounding Allysa.
His fever burned hotter than before.
His muscles ached.
But none of that mattered.
With his rifle gripped tightly in his hands and his eyes fixed ahead, Gary pushed through the chaos and hurried toward the conference room.
Toward Allysa.