Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

At the end of the corridor, a room was guarded by several armed men — one even holding the leashes of two black hunting dogs.

Inside, Beth stood in a fierce standoff, gripping a pistol in one hand and pinching Stuart's groin with steel pliers in the other.

"Nobody move, you bastards! Call your boss! I want to buy my life back!"

It wasn't long before an old man, flanked by more guards, stormed over.

He didn't come to negotiate. With a single glance at the scene inside, he ordered coldly, "Take them out."

He meant to kill both Beth and Stuart.

As the guards prepared to shoot, Beth shouted, "Wait! I can pay! I want to buy my life!"

The old man, who had already turned away, stopped in his tracks. He turned back slowly, as if he'd just heard something amusing. "Buy your life? Sorry, honey. You can't afford it."

"Don't give me that. There's nothing I can't afford," Beth said, emphasizing each word. "I could buy every single one of you here."

The self-assured tone piqued the old man's interest. He looked her over, amused. "You gonna call your parents for the money?"

"No, asshole. It's my money. Give me a PDA, transfer account, recipient name. I've got accounts in Switzerland, Luxembourg, and the Isle of Man. Name your price, the money will be there in minutes. Don't doubt me. I could buy all of Slovakia."

Her confidence was palpable, and even the old man started to believe her. He fell silent, clearly weighing his options.

Beth continued, "And I want to buy back the lives of my friends, too. Name your price. I'm buying all of us out."

…

At the far end of the corridor, Owen and Monica were hiding just around a corner. Though they couldn't see Beth, every word she spoke reached them clearly.

The old man who passed by earlier with his entourage — Owen realized — had to be none other than Douglas Sasha, founder of the Doghead Society, just as Elikxil had described.

Peeking around the corner, Owen and Monica assessed the situation. Owen gestured, Monica nodded. Without a word, they split up.

Monica held position at the corridor entrance while Owen, claw knife reversed in hand, crept down the hallway toward the guards.

Every one of them was focused on Beth. Not a soul paid attention to their rear.

Owen's plan was simple — eliminate one guard and get a gun.

He wasn't worried about being exposed. He trusted Monica's aim implicitly after countless three-gun matches. As long as she was covering him, anyone who turned around would be dead before they could raise their weapon.

Beth's explosive act was a godsend. Though she had no idea, her performance — all fire and defiance — drew everyone's attention.

Owen had nearly reached the last guard when a low growl broke the silence.

The dogs. Damn.

He lunged forward without hesitation, driving his blade into the guard's back.

The startled dogs barked. Everyone turned.

But before the guards could bring their weapons around, Monica's gun blazed to life. Guard after guard dropped before they could react — any who posed a threat to Owen were swiftly silenced.

Monica's firing arc was limited, but she had given Owen just enough time.

In that precious second, Owen seized the dead man's weapon and returned fire. From beneath the corpse's armpit, muzzle flashes erupted, cutting down the remaining guards outside Monica's field of vision.

The gunfire was brief and brutal. In the span of moments, nearly every guard was down. These weren't elite soldiers — just mercenary thugs — and not a single one had fired back.

Only Douglas remained.

He stood frozen, not in fear, but in contemplation. Meanwhile, the guard who had held the dogs lay headless, and now the unrestrained beasts lunged at Owen.

Owen took two steps back and raised his gun.

Click.

A jam.

The dogs leapt.

Bang bang.

Two clean shots from Monica hit home. Both dogs twisted midair and crashed lifeless to the ground.

"Beth!"

With the threat neutralized, Monica stepped out from the corner.

"Monica!"

Beth nearly sobbed at the sight. The brave girl who had just tried to bluff her way out like a queen now looked moments from breaking down. No matter how tough she talked, she was still just a girl caught in a nightmare.

Monica let her cry briefly in her arms. But Beth wiped away her tears just as quickly. The softness in her face vanished.

She nodded to Owen, a silent thanks, then turned toward Douglas and pointed at Stuart. "That man told me he paid $70,000 to buy my life. How funny — just $70,000."

Douglas remained expressionless. Owen could tell the man had a spine. Even cornered, he didn't flinch.

Beth wasn't done. "He wanted to torture me. If I hadn't kept my cool, I'd be a corpse right now. And all for seventy grand."

Her voice turned mocking. Then her hand — still gripping the steel pliers — clamped down.

Stuart's screams filled the room, pig-like and panicked. Something fell to the ground. Owen winced instinctively.

Note to self: never cross this woman.

But Beth wasn't finished.

She picked up an ice pick and waved it before Stuart.

He screamed and cursed, but Beth was deaf to it. The pick drove into his right ear — and emerged from the left.

More screams.

Somehow, he didn't die. But Beth wasn't here for mercy. Over and over, she drove the pick into his head until he finally went limp.

Dead.

"Now," she said, turning to Douglas, face blank, "tell me where my friends are."

She approached him slowly, no longer holding the ice pick — this time, she carried a power saw.

The motor buzzed to life, its round blade spinning.

Douglas still didn't beg. He knew it was over. He stood silently, waiting.

Hard meets harder.

Beth didn't wait.

The saw bit into his face.

And the monster known as Douglas Sasha, head of the Doghead Society, was killed by the very prey he had once hunted.