When pushed to their limits, people instinctively seek safety—and for Megan Fox, that meant scrambling behind her fiancé, Brian Austin Green.
Say what you will about Brian's flaws, but in this moment, he stood tall. Even bound and helpless, he positioned himself between Megan and the three armed robbers, his jaw set.
One of the robbers, checking his watch, yanked the gag from Brian's mouth with a smirk.
"Fuck you! Whatever you want, take it from me! We're engaged!" Brian snarled.
Megan's eyes welled up at his defiance, her muffled whimpers muffled behind her own gag.
The lead robber said nothing. Instead, he dragged forward a burly bank guard—a 6-foot-tall mountain of a man—like he weighed nothing.
The guard knew what was coming. He thrashed, his eyes locked on Brian, "Mmph! Mmmph!"
Another robber gestured at Claire to remove the guard's gag. The moment she did, the guard spat:
"Now you play the hero? When it was just one guy watching us, you played dead! Pathetic. That pretty boy over there actually fought back!"
He glared at Brian with pure disgust. "How the hell did she end up with a coward like you? Spineless bastard. Heh—ptui!"
Claire scanned the hostages. Every bank guard was sneering at Brian. Only Megan seemed confused, her eyes darting between them.
She didn't know.
When the robbers first stormed the set, Shia LaBeouf and some crew had resisted. The robbers beat Shia down but spared lives. Brian had tried to fight too—until one punch to the gut supposedly "knocked him out."
Funny how a 6'2" man "passed out" yet somehow cushioned his fall with his hands.
Claire had no time for drama. Her muscles were coiled springs, her body drenched in cold sweat under the damp London night.
The two robbers beside her seemed amused by the confrontation. One even drew a knife, tracing it lazily over Brian's cheek.
"That your fiancée?" the robber taunted. "What if I take her… and let you live? Deal?"
Brian's eyes flew open. Behind him, Megan froze, her body curling tighter into his shadow.
The crew and guards looked away.
Claire exhaled sharply—and edged closer to the robbers.
"We're out of time," one muttered.
The knife-wielder shoved Brian down—right onto Megan—before grabbing her arm and hauling her up.
Claire's eye twitched.
He was just a footballer. Two trained robbers? No chance.
But then—
Megan thrashed like a wildcat, her curves doing nothing to distract from the terror in her eyes. The female hostages were crying now. They knew what came next.
The robber yanked her against him, knife at her throat—
—just as the second robber narrowed his eyes at Claire.
"Why so quiet?"
Their gazes locked.
The robber reached for Claire's mask.
She jerked back—
—and his boot slammed into her chest, sending her crashing onto the concrete.
"What the fuck?!" the other robber barked.
"He's not one of us!"
Claire scrambled backward, one arm raised defensively.
No time for questions. The robber's gun rose—
—and Megan screamed, her gag finally loose.
"HELP!"
The sound snapped something in Claire. She bit her tongue hard, the metallic tang sharpening her focus.
Then—
[Ding.]
[Stress Response Activated.]
[Full-Spectrum Vision Engaged.]
Claire's panic dissolved. The world sharpened into grids, trajectories flashing like neon signs.
[Option 1: Disarm via wrist strike. Caution: Surveillance active—legal self-defense justification possible.]
[Option 2: Target old lumbar injury. Risk: Stray bullet may hit Brian. No PR fallout.]
No hesitation.
As the robber's finger tightened on the trigger, Claire moved.
A duck. A pivot.
BANG!
The shot did hit Brian—non-fatally, just as predicted. His howls filled the air.
Claire's foot cracked into the robber's lower back—right where the system's red marker glowed.
The man folded like paper.
But Claire was already lunging for the second robber—
—wrenching the knife from Megan's throat and yanking her into his arms.
Megan's scent flooded his senses—
BANG! BANG!
Two shots.
Claire spun, shielding Megan as they crashed behind the Transformers set's giant Bumblebee prop.
Pain exploded through his back. Warmth spread. Cold followed.
[Stress Response: Critical.]
Somewhere, sirens wailed. Boots pounded. Helicopters thrummed.
"Safe…" Claire slurred.
His vision blurred.
Megan was scrambling away—toward Brian. Not a glance back.
Guns trained on Claire. Right. He still wore the robber's gear.
With his last strength, he ripped off the mask and fumbled for his Manchester United ID, clutching it like a lifeline.
"Damn," a SWAT officer muttered. "Guy's got the face for Hollywood. Why rob banks?"
Claire's head lolled against Bumblebee's leg, his left knee propped up, the ID dangling from limp fingers.
A soldier checked his pulse—
—then swore, grabbing the ID.
"FUCK! It's Claire Lee—the one who called it in! MEDIC! NOW!"
P.S. A Dog's Diary: "I can never resist missing you in the dead of night."
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