Bab1

The cold air bit sharply as the Christmas Eve blizzard raged on. The
howling of dogs echoed in the distance, disturbed by the constant rumble
of snow falling in heavy chunks, blanketing the yard and trapping the front
door. Outside, only the faint glow of streetlights could be seen, the rest
shrouded in thick fog as far as the eye could see. There was no sign of life;
people were surely huddled inside their homes.

A man with deep blue eyes and a brown jacket slowly drew the curtains
shut. He moved toward the fireplace and sat on the sofa, reaching for a
sleek black device lying on the table. The gallery displayed a photo from
last Christmas, one of him with his wife and daughter, who would turn 14
this year. Time had flown by so fast. He had missed so much of his
daughter’s growth—something he knew he might regret for the rest of his
life.

He closed the gallery as a notification popped up, a message from the

man who had trapped him into being here, doing a job he had tried to
escape from the beginning. Dylan Carpenter. That’s the name he had
saved in his contacts.

[Sam, they got Leo.]

That one message made him freeze for a moment. The man, Sam, stood
up from the sofa, pressed the call button, and the phone began to ring.
After three rings, the man on the other end picked up, and his voice came
through.

"Tell me," Sam said, walking toward the desk in the corner of the room,
waiting for the other man to respond.

But all he heard was the sound of someone running—heavy breathing,

quick footsteps, and the crunch of dry leaves. Sam’s eyes widened,
realizing something was wrong.
“Dylan, what’s going on?” he asked, trying to gauge the situation. The
man still hadn’t responded.

“Dylan!”

“They knew. They already know, Sam. You need to get out of that house.
They’re coming!” Dylan’s voice was breathless, like someone being
chased. Maybe he was.

Bang!

The gunshot from the other end of the line nearly made Sam drop his
phone.

“Oh fuck!”

“Dylan, where are you? Tell me what’s going on!” Sam demanded,
pushing for an explanation. He could still hear Dylan running. With no
other choice, Sam moved to his laptop, trying to track Dylan’s location.
Dylan’s phone was always traceable; every member had to know each
other’s whereabouts. The GPS showed Dylan heading into the forest, his
pace slowing. Why?

“Fuck! Fuck!”

“Dylan!” Sam kept trying to get him to talk.

“Sam, get the fuck out of there! They’re coming after you!”

Then the call cut off. Sam tried to call back, but it didn’t connect. Dylan’s
GPS signal slowly disappeared. He could no longer track him.
“Fuck, Dylan!” Sam cursed, gripping his phone. He was trying to process
what Dylan had just said. Someone was after Dylan, and someone was
coming for him. That sentence could only mean one thing.

He hurried over to the window, pulling the curtain aside carefully. Two
figures emerged from the thick fog, out of the blizzard. Two men, their
faces hidden beneath heavy coats. One of them held an AK-16 rifle. Sam
quickly closed the curtain, his breathing growing faster.

He moved into the kitchen, peeking out from the back. Three more men
were approaching, a jeep parked in the yard. He was surrounded.

“Fuck!”

Sam dashed to a bedroom with the door slightly ajar. He flipped the bed
over, pulling out a small black chip stuck to the underside, then slid it into
his pocket with a bit of adhesive. He peeked out the window again—those
two men were now at the front door, trying to break in.

Sam pressed random buttons on his control panel, activating the security
system, locking the house completely. But how long could he hold out in
here?

“One, two, three… Six of them.” He counted. Way too many for one
person to take on alone.

He quickly grabbed a revolver from behind an old brown wardrobe with

distinctive yellow-edged markings. There were several types of guns
displayed there, but he chose the .44 caliber revolver with seven
chambers. Easier to carry. Sam moved quickly, tossing aside the books on
the wall to reveal several buttons. Each button would activate a timed
bomb within the house. He set the timer for 30 minutes.
The house was surrounded. They moved in slowly, like rats. Sam bolted in
the opposite direction, but one man was already waiting for him. He had
no idea when they’d gotten inside.

Bang!

Sam dove for cover. The man began firing, shredding the wooden cabinet
where Sam had taken refuge.

“Fuck!” Sam swore. He wouldn’t last here.

Amid the tense situation, his phone rang. It was Emily, his wife. Gunfire
raged in front of him, and the phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

“Shit! Not now.” He swiped the red button and ended the call.

Bang!

Another shot. Sam had no choice. He fired back, three shots in total,
trying to conserve his ammo. He backed away, running toward the living
room where two more men were waiting. They unleashed a barrage of
bullets. Sam retreated, hiding behind a steel cabinet in the corner of the
room.

“Who are you?!” Sam shouted, grabbing a smoke grenade from behind
the cabinet.

There was no answer, only a barrage of 20 bullets tearing through the

wall, making his ears ring. These men clearly weren’t here to talk. The
intruders wore masks, no uniforms, just bulletproof vests. No insignias or
symbols—they were unorganized mercenaries.
The gunfire stopped for a moment. Sam tried to catch his breath and
count his remaining bullets. Only four left. Not nearly enough to take them
all down. His breathing quickened. He knew if they caught him, he was as
good as dead.

Footsteps grew louder, closing in on him. Sam shut his eyes, listening. At
least four of them were moving toward him.

He still had the smoke grenade in his hand, his last weapon. He pulled the
pin and let it roll forward. The room quickly filled with smoke.

Sam dashed toward them, tackling one of the men. Another lunged at
him, but Sam pulled the trigger, hitting one of them. He threw a few
punches, rolled, grabbed the gun that had fallen, and fired again, hitting
at least two men who screamed from within the smoke.

A shot rang out, hitting Sam in the stomach, blood pouring out.

“Agh, fuck!”

Sam tried to run, but another bullet hit his temple.

“Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!” A heavy voice shouted, forcing Sam to raise
his hands. He hadn’t noticed the man who had just appeared, now aiming
a gun at his head.

“Drop your weapon!”

As the smoke in the room thinned, Sam slowly turned and dropped his
gun. He looked ahead. The man was alone.

“Kneel!” the man commanded.

“Who are you?” Sam ignored him.

“I won’t repeat myself. Kneel!”

Sam’s phone rang again. Lying on the floor in front of him, the screen lit
up with the name ‘Love’—a call from Emily.

“Don’t you dare fucking move!” The man hit him hard on the head, forcing
Sam to the ground.

“Where’s the chip?”

“Who sent you?” Sam asked, trying to fight the growing pain in his head.

Wham!

A hard punch landed on Sam’s face, blood trickling from his mouth as he
writhed in pain.

“Where’s the chip?!”

The phone kept ringing, irritating the man, who raised his gun to shoot it.
But he hesitated when they all heard something familiar.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It sounded like buttons being pressed in rhythm, slowing down like a

countdown.

“What’s that?”
Sam kicked the man in the groin and rolled to the side, slamming the red
button on the wall. The floor beneath him opened up, and he dropped
down just as bullets rained from above, hitting his stomach and shoulder.

BOOM!

In a split second, the bomb went off. The five men left inside were thrown
by the blast and engulfed in flames. Their bodies exploded like water-filled
balloons bursting. The explosion was massive, sending a towering plume
of fire into the sky. For a moment, the howling of dogs went silent before
resuming seconds later.

Sam barely escaped the flames, his rapid descent saving him from the
worst of the explosion. He crashed onto rocky ground below, the space
above crumbling.

He rolled out of the pit, crawling through the narrow tunnel, barely half a
meter high. As the final bomb detonated, the blast flung him outward,
scorching part of his body.

...

Silence. His ears rang with a hollow hum as he slowly crawled toward the
hose spraying water nearby. The distant sound of police and fire sirens
began to grow louder.

His phone rang again. It was still Emily calling. Sam immediately swiped
the green button, his hands trembling. He slowly brought the phone to his
ear.

“Dad, help!” The trembling whisper on the other end made his heart stop.

Chapter 2
Heavy breathing could be heard on the other end of the line, a small
whisper filled with fear. Sam remained frozen in place, still too weak to
support his shaky body. He had to cling to the ground, crawling toward
the edge.

“Dad?” The small voice called again, this time with a sob. “Dad, are you
there? Dad, please help. Someone broke into the house and took Mom.
They have a gun. I’m scared, Daddy, help!”

Sam pulled himself back to reality.

“S-Sarah, where are you?” He finally found his voice, though it was hoarse
and barely audible.

“I-I’m hiding in the closet. Dad, I’m scared. Please come here.”

Sam sprinted across the road, staring at his house, which was now
engulfed in flames along with his car. The distance between him and
Sarah was at least two hours away. And damn, his car was burning. Then,
his eyes fell on a nearby jeep.

“Okay, honey, listen to Daddy. Stay there and stay quiet. Tell me where
they are right now.”

Sam rushed to the jeep, trying to break the window. Unfortunately, it was
bulletproof glass, and he had to put in more effort.

“Damn it!” He cursed, realizing his strength wasn’t enough.