In the corridor, as Owen passed a trash bin, he casually tossed the pistol into it. He would never actually open fire on the soldiers, so having the gun or not made no difference. Even if he were caught, he wouldn't shoot. He could be ruthless toward enemies, but these were just ordinary people.
Owen jogged along while listening to the chatter over the comms, following the emergency evacuation map toward the nearest exit. Embassy staff had clearly received the alert—doors were closed, and everyone stayed hidden inside. No one was foolish enough to peek out.
He rushed forward and suddenly stopped—according to the radio chatter, a squad of soldiers was approaching from ahead. Owen turned and started back down the stairs, but only descended one floor before hearing a dense cluster of footsteps coming from below. Clearly, soldiers were heading up from that side too.
He turned again and headed up. The embassy wasn't tall—four or five stories at most—and he quickly reached the top floor. According to the evacuation map, there was an emergency escape route on the roof.
Following the diagram, he soon reached a door. But the door was sealed tight with a deadbolt. Looking around, he quickly spotted a fire extinguisher in the corner. He picked it up and smashed the lock a few times until it broke and entered.
The space inside was cluttered with miscellaneous junk. At the end of the corridor, another door stood—according to the map, beyond it was the emergency staircase. Owen sprinted over and tried the door—it was locked.
He stepped back two paces and kicked it hard. The door burst open. But once outside, Owen couldn't help but curse.
Shit\~\~\~
What lay beyond was a standard metal fire escape, but only a short section remained. The rest had been removed, likely for security reasons.
Frustrated, Owen kicked the iron frame, which wobbled, clearly long neglected and rusted.
From here, the height was roughly that of a fourth floor. The soldiers would soon sweep through this area. He had to find a way out—fast. His brain kicked into overdrive, analyzing every possibility. Not far across from him stood a wall—the other side belonged to the French Embassy. This was the embassy district: a row of buildings, each representing a different nation.
He measured the distance. From the corridor to the edge wasn't long enough for a proper run-up. Making a clean jump was difficult—especially since the top of the wall was lined with spikes. A bad jump would turn him into a kebab.
He looked up and to the sides. The side wall had some architectural ridges—barely passable footholds. The roof had an overhang; with some effort, he could step onto the railing and climb up.
He made his decision quickly. Normally, he'd have gone for the rooftop—easier access to neighboring roofs—but in the embassy district, there were wide gaps between buildings. Once on the roof, he'd be stuck. It would become a trap.
Without hesitation, Owen removed his jacket and hurled it onto the spiked wall. It snagged on the tips. Then, gripping the wall's decorative ridges and stepping on the narrow ledges, he carefully edged his way outward.
This was the second time he'd done something like this—the first was at Zhongchen Tower, a far more dangerous climb at over twenty stories high.
Owen moved slowly and precisely. Every movement tested his grip, balance, footing, and core stability. One misstep would send him plummeting.
The American soldiers would soon find the broken door and search the area. Though anxious, Owen maintained his cautious pace. He soon reached a corner. He reached out and grabbed the edge around the bend, then shifted his body around it. Compared to the flat wall, the corner was easier to navigate. He moved through it with minimal effort.
Back inside the passage, the search team found the broken door lock. They exchanged glances, then, led by the bald security officer, entered the area with weapons raised.
Just as Owen crossed the corner, a loud bang echoed—the escape door was kicked open. Several soldiers and the bald officer with guns appeared behind it.
Expecting to catch Owen there, the officer frowned when he saw the empty platform. He looked up, then down, then to both sides.
The lower fire escape was gone, with no sign of anyone. From this height, jumping down would likely mean broken legs. The surrounding walls were bare—unless Owen was Spider-Man, he couldn't have gone either direction. The only possibility was the rooftop. The officer was about to call for a sweep of the roof when one of the soldiers tapped his shoulder.
Following the gesture, the bald officer spotted the yellow jacket snagged on the spikes above the wall. He recognized it instantly—it belonged to their suspect.
"Report, report. The target has escaped into the French Embassy…"
"Are you sure?"
"Confirmed. His jacket's on the wall spikes."
The bald officer relayed the report continuously over the radio, then led the soldiers off toward the French Embassy.
On the side of the building, hearing the door close behind him, Owen exhaled deeply, knowing he had narrowly escaped. From here, things would be easier. He gripped the edge of the wall and let his body hang, then released and dropped to the next ledge below. Repeating this several times, he eventually landed on the ground.
…
On a bustling modern street, Janet handed the taxi driver a few dollars and stepped out. In front of her stood a car dealership. Through the glass windows, she could see various cars displayed in the showroom.
According to the plan she and Owen had made, they needed a tough vehicle. Owen would've just stolen one from the street—but Janet was a woman, and women's greatest hobby was shopping.
The moment she walked in, a sharply dressed male salesperson noticed the radiant Janet and warmly approached her. Female clients were always greeted by male sales reps—this was the golden rule in any country.
Although Janet was in disguise, she was still a woman. Even in disguise, she had to look gorgeous. The kind of plain, forgettable disguise where you blend into a crowd? Not her style.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Gerard, a top sales consultant here. How can I assist you today?"
"I need a car…"
Janet wasn't quite sure how to describe what she wanted. In Western car dealerships, a single store didn't sell just one brand but many—Japanese, American, German—offering various models. Janet found the options overwhelming.
"Of course. We have a wide range of vehicles. I'm sure there's one that suits you. If you could tell me more about the specifications you're looking for—what kind of engine, transmission, fuel efficiency, general price range—I'd be happy to make some recommendations."
Gerard was a seasoned salesman—he knew customers needed guidance.
Janet thought for a while and then said, "I want a red one…"
Gerard was instantly speechless.
He led her to the display area and began showing her all the models available in red. After going through a few options, Janet finally remembered what she was here for.
Glancing around, she quickly spotted a Hummer off to the side of the showroom. She walked over without a word and began circling it. The Hummer's rugged, muscular design struck her as perfect. What they needed was a vehicle that could take a beating—and this one definitely could.
(End of Chapter)
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