"You've probably never heard of this group before. I won't get into the details, but they're powerful," Bernie said, unaware of the twitch in Owen's eye. "The Syndicate is made up entirely of agents from intelligence services around the world—active, retired, or defected. CIA, Mossad, MI5, FSB, DGSE… you name it."
He assumed Owen was completely in the dark and began giving him a basic rundown.
"Your old colleague Nina Myers was one of them. Unfortunately, she died not long after joining. Did you know? The Syndicate had its eyes on you too. You're still on the watchlist. Ha!"
Bernie laughed smugly, clearly enjoying Owen's stunned expression.
But Owen wasn't faking. He was genuinely shocked. The idea that he had been marked, evaluated, perhaps even courted by such a covert global group—without ever realizing it—was terrifying. It also explained how they had his personal data, even information about the Keats Island nuclear event.
It all traced back to Nina.
"Relax, though. I didn't call you here on behalf of the Syndicate," Bernie continued. "I'm here as the number two of Cruel Angel."
Apparently, Bernie didn't want to say more about the Syndicate. That was fine. Owen now had clarity: they weren't after him—or his family. For now, that was enough.
"So what does Cruel Angel have to do with this?" Owen asked.
"I know everything. Their weapons, manpower, locations—I'll give you a full list. Everything you need to wipe them off the map in the U.S., once and for all. That's a hell of a gift, isn't it?"
"What's the price?"
Owen knew better than to believe in free handouts. As number two, Bernie was part of the group's core. Selling out Cruel Angel completely wasn't a whim—it had a motive.
Bernie snapped his fingers. "Smart. Just one condition: I want White Mask destroyed."
"White Mask? Why?"
"Because they killed the person I loved. I watched Zheng from White Mask murder Anthony with my own eyes. Did you know? We were going to register our marriage in Vegas next month."
His voice cracked. Bernie lifted his left hand to show a ring.
Owen wanted to say something sympathetic—"I'm sorry," or "That's tragic"—but the words didn't come. Bernie was their enemy. And frankly, the whole romance-with-Anthony bit... well, it was a lot to process.
"White Mask tried to kill me too. If it hadn't been for you guys showing up, I'd be dead. I want revenge. I want White Mask buried with Anthony. I don't know everything about them, but I'll tell you every detail I do know.
Anthony never wanted to be part of the bombing. Targeting civilians went against everything Cruel Angel stood for. But White Mask approached us. Anthony couldn't refuse. He agreed—but made it clear Cruel Angel wouldn't be involved in future attacks, like the ones planned for the train station and the mall…"
"Wait, wait. Did you just say train station and mall?"
Owen zeroed in on those words. White Mask wasn't just behind the movie premiere bombing—they were planning more. And soon.
"Yes. After the premiere, they scheduled follow-up attacks on both a train station and a shopping mall. The train station hit is scheduled for… tomorrow."
Crack.
There was a faint sound, and Owen immediately sensed something was wrong.
"Where?"
Bernie didn't answer.
"Where!?"
Bernie had gone quiet. Owen turned—and saw blood. A bright crimson stain spreading across Bernie's chest. The light in his eyes fading.
Shit.
Owen crouched just as the next volley of bullets shattered the gondola's tempered glass.
Wind howled through the broken windows. They were suspended in mid-air, and now exposed.
Fuck!
Owen threw himself over Bernie's body. One quick glance was enough—gunfire was coming from the opposing gondola, moving closer with every rotation of the cable line.
The sound of muffled gunshots—"pfft, pfft, pfft"—confirmed the shooter was using a suppressed rifle.
Bernie's body shook violently as it absorbed several more rounds. He was taking the hits for Owen.
In the other gondola, Hammer was unloading his clip, finger hammering the trigger. He'd already confirmed Bernie was hit, but he didn't stop. White Mask had never intended to trust Cruel Angel. Just like Avril found Anthony, Hammer had tracked Bernie.
Clink-clink, crack—
More rounds hit the gondola, destroying the remaining glass. Sparks flew off the metal frame. The air filled with shards and wind.
Bernie's body was barely intact. A meat shield against 5.56mm assault rounds didn't offer much protection. Owen couldn't last much longer.
He grabbed Bernie's Browning and fired back—but managed only two shots before ducking again.
This was a nightmare. Nowhere to hide. No cover. If the shooter had more ammo, Owen was done.
He aimed for the support cable, trying to snap it—two shots sparked off steel. No good.
Pfft pfft—
More bullets. One round tore through Bernie's body, nearly hitting Owen.
Now they were close enough to see each other's faces. Hammer had just finished his magazine and was reloading. Once his rifle roared again, Owen's fate would be sealed.
No time left.
Owen took a breath, crouched low—and fired a single round at the floor beneath him.
CRACK!
The tempered glass shattered completely. The floor dropped out from under him.
He fell.
All he could do was hold on to Bernie's corpse, using it as a cushion.
Seconds later—WHUMP.
Bernie hit the ground first. Owen landed on top, rolling off in a bruised heap.
It hurt. A lot. But miraculously, he was alive. Only some scrapes and bruises.
Pfft pfft pfft—
More bullets rained down from above. Hammer was still shooting, unwilling to let Owen go.
Owen held his breath, took aim—and entered bullet time.
In this slowed reality, he couldn't miss.
His bullet smashed through the gondola's underside window, bursting the floor glass.
Tempered glass shattered completely—but instead of falling, Hammer grabbed the frame, dangling. His gun, however, wasn't so lucky—it plummeted into the ravine below.
The two locked eyes—just ten meters apart. Owen was out of bullets. Hammer was unarmed.
Hatred smoldered between them like a wildfire.
And slowly, the gondolas passed each other, growing farther apart.
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