Owen retreated toward the bathroom as Chebi came barreling after him. The guy was like a heavy tank, crushing everything in his path. The suite lay in ruins behind them.
When Owen got to his feet again, he was gripping a toothbrush. After fighting this long without a proper weapon, he'd finally found something, however modest.
The two of them fought their way from the living room to the bedroom and then into the bathroom. Chebi lacked Owen's agility, but his brute strength was overwhelming. He was burning with rage, determined to snap Owen's bones one inch at a time.
Though the presidential suite's bathroom was spacious, it still offered limited maneuvering room. Owen's flexibility was constrained here, and that only worked to Chebi's advantage.
Step by step, Chebi advanced. As he passed the sink, he ripped it straight from the counter with both hands, raised it overhead, and hurled it at Owen.
These kinds of attacks almost never landed on Owen, but they were full of brute force. Apparently, muscleheads loved these dramatic moves. Chebi launched a few more swings, wrecking water pipes in the process. Jets of water sprayed from the broken lines like fountains.
Chebi lunged again, throwing a punch. Owen dodged and, gripping the toothbrush in reverse, jabbed rapidly at Chebi's body in several spots. Before Chebi could react, Owen had already retreated out of reach.
Chebi let out a grunt of pain. Each spot Owen had struck was now oozing blood—small puncture wounds. It was a stark reminder of what a difference even a modest weapon made in Owen's hands.
Chebi was tough, his vital areas well-protected, and Owen had struggled to deal damage bare-handed. But now, even a toothbrush turned deadly when wielded by him.
Enraged, Chebi roared and charged again. The result was the same: more wounds, more pain, no gain.
Now it was Owen who pressed the offensive. Chebi looked around, trying to find something to use as a weapon, but Owen didn't give him the chance. He moved in closer, striking first.
Chebi retaliated—his punches were like wrecking balls—but Owen dodged them and answered with more stabs, drawing more howls of pain.
After several exchanges, Chebi's body was riddled with wounds. In desperation, he let out a roar and charged like a mad bull, committing to a suicidal blitz. He knew he couldn't catch Owen through finesse, so he gambled everything on a reckless charge.
Owen sidestepped it, stabbing him again in the back with the toothbrush as he passed. This time, the toothbrush snapped in half, the broken handle embedding itself in Chebi's wound.
The weapon was gone, but Owen no longer feared him. Chebi was bleeding heavily—time was now his enemy.
Owen pressed in again. Chebi swung a heavy punch, but Owen ducked under his arm and stomped hard on his foot. Chebi howled and nearly jumped, giving Owen the chance to grab his outstretched arm. With a short, brutal twist, Owen snapped his little finger.
Crack.
Chebi screamed, and when Owen prepared to follow up, the big man went berserk. Ignoring the pain, he bear-hugged Owen and suplexed him hard to the ground.
Both hit the floor with a crash. As Chebi struggled to rise, Owen, still lying down, kicked him hard into the nearby bathtub. As Chebi landed, his body struck the faucet handle.
Water gushed forth.
Owen sprang up and rushed to the tub—only to see that Chebi wasn't alone. Another body lay face down, already dead. The tub bottom was flooded with blood.
Chebi tried to stand but slipped on the blood and fell back in.
Perfect.
Strike while the iron is hot.
Owen pounced, wrapped Chebi's arm in a joint lock, and wrenched him downward. He planted a foot on the back of Chebi's head, pressing him against the bloody waterlogged corpse.
Water continued to pour in. Chebi thrashed violently. His face mashed up against the other dead man's, his own face streaked with smeared blood from the dead man's wounds.
Owen held tight. The tub wasn't large, and as water continued to rise, the level eventually covered half of Chebi's face. The bloody water turned pink, and half his head was submerged.
Chebi fought, trying again and again to lift his head. Owen stomped him down each time. Water started to gurgle into his mouth.
Owen knew he just needed to hang on. Eventually, the water would get into his lungs.
Chebi struggled with renewed intensity, even risking breaking his own arms to escape. But Owen wouldn't allow it. He locked him down. At that moment, air was a luxury Chebi couldn't afford.
Bubbles streamed from Chebi's mouth and nose. His resistance weakened, then faded altogether. Finally, he went still.
Only then did Owen release him, slumping against the corpse beside him, utterly spent.
He lay there for nearly a minute, catching his breath. Then he stood and glanced once more at the two bodies before heading out to check on Nikki.
"Nikki? Nikki?"
He patted her face gently. Her brow twitched. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
"You okay?"
"Ugh… it hurts."
Seeing her safe, Owen returned to the bathroom, hauled both corpses from the tub, and searched them.
Chebi had nothing suspicious—just some IDs and local currency. But when Owen turned to the other corpse and finally saw the face, he realized the man's neck had been twisted. He had died from a broken neck.
Despite thoroughly searching the body, Owen found nothing that could reveal the man's identity.
Why did the CIA want to kill him? And who was this dead man?
He had no idea. But one thing was clear—he needed to call Jack.
Owen dialed. A few seconds later, the call connected.
"Owen, you've arrived in Manila?"
"Yeah, Jack, but there's a problem."
"What happened?"
"The CIA tried to kill me…"
Owen explained the entire incident in detail. Jack paused in thought.
"Owen, send me photos of both men, and get their fingerprints. After that, leave the area."
"Got it."
Owen hung up, took photos of the two corpses from multiple angles, then opened a special app on his phone. He carefully pressed their thumbs, index, and middle fingers to the screen.
Once done, he found Nikki, still shaken.
"Grab your stuff. We're leaving."
She nodded, dazed, and followed him. Owen leaned against the door, listening. Hearing nothing suspicious, he cracked it open slightly and peeked outside.
All seemed quiet.
The two of them closed the door behind them and slipped away.
(End of Chapter)
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