Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

The plane flew through the night sky toward Los Angeles, and the cabin was quiet.

After chatting for a while, the remaining three people were also tired. Beth and Monica gradually closed their eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

They had started looking for someone early that morning, called the police, got kidnapped, killed, took revenge, then rushed to the airport, never stopping along the way.

Whether it was the fear and anxiety earlier, or the later acts of revenge and killing, all of it had been mentally exhausting. Once they relaxed on the plane, sleep came rushing in immediately.

The girls were asleep, but Owen didn't dare to sleep. He was tired too, but still forced himself to stay awake. After all, the plane was an unfamiliar environment, and maintaining a necessary level of alertness was important—something he had learned from Bryan.

After the three girls fell asleep, the cabin quieted down. The flight attendant considerately dimmed the lights on the girls' side of the cabin wall.

Owen looked at the three girls. It was clear they weren't sleeping well. The horrific experiences of the day had clearly affected them—this could be seen from how, even though their eyes were closed in sleep, their eyeballs were still moving rapidly underneath. They were clearly having nightmares.

...

Before he realized it, eight hours had passed. The captain's voice came over the speaker—they were about to arrive in Los Angeles.

The three sleeping girls were startled awake by the announcement and fastened their seatbelts as the plane began its slow descent.

Through the window, the signal-lit runway could be seen below. The plane jolted slightly, landed successfully, and began taxiing.

It was the middle of the night when they arrived in Los Angeles. Beth had arranged for a car to take them home. Owen and Monica shared one vehicle; they dropped Monica off first and then Owen returned to his rental apartment.

Beth had left with three people but came back with only two. Owen didn't know how she would explain Lorna's disappearance to Lorna's family.

But that wasn't his concern. Considering Beth's influence, she should be able to handle it easily.

The next day, Owen slept until almost noon. Only in his own place could he sleep peacefully.

He contacted Monica, who had also just woken up not long ago. The two of them arranged to have lunch together.

Owen was actually a bit worried about Monica, because the slaughter they had carried out yesterday in that small town in Slovakia had been intense—it could very well cause psychological trauma.

Owen himself was already feeling a bit out of control. He'd had a similar sensation the last time he came back from Paris, and Bryan had taught him some methods to cope.

It wasn't that he felt guilty—it was just that they had killed too many people yesterday, especially at the hotel, where it was practically a massacre. The other side didn't even have weapons, and after getting used to killing, it was far too easy for a bloodthirsty impulse to take over—where every move became lethal. This could be considered a kind of war syndrome.

Bryan had taught him that during times like this, he should avoid handling guns and instead find something he enjoyed doing—as a form of distraction. The human capacity for self-healing is strong, and after a while, things naturally improve.

He didn't know if Monica was affected. While Monica's job meant she frequently killed criminals in shootouts, that kind of killing was completely different from what they experienced yesterday.

Moreover, SWAT officers are required to see psychologists regularly. If a mission involved excessive killing, they would even schedule special psychological assessments.

These sessions not only helped relieve mental stress but also served as evaluations of their mental health. If any psychological issues were detected, the officer might be temporarily removed from active duty.

When Owen had his last bout of instability, Bryan had played the role of a psychologist. Though the methods were different, he'd still managed to bring Owen's mental state back to normal.

But people think differently, and as a result, war syndrome manifests in different ways. Owen didn't know what Monica was thinking, and naturally didn't know if she'd been affected.

Those veterans who had gone through hell were the best examples.

Most Vietnam War veterans were able to readjust and return to normal life after leaving the battlefield.

But some people remained trapped in their memories. They could never forget the scenes of killing opponents, or even civilians. Even after leaving the battlefield, they often had nightmares and eventually fell into depression or committed suicide.

Some extreme cases never managed to detach from that wartime mindset and ultimately became homicidal maniacs.

It just goes to show—everyone is different. No one can predict how it will turn out in the end.

Owen wasn't too concerned about the killings at the abandoned factory, but he was worried that the massacre at the hotel might affect Monica.

And then there was what happened at the police station. After those four officers surrendered, Monica had clearly been reluctant to kill them.

Although the dog-head tattoos later proved that they weren't as innocent as they claimed—having such a tattoo meant they had tortured prey before—people like that deserved to die.

After asking Monica about how she was doing, Owen was finally at ease. Monica didn't seem to be affected.

"Don't worry, Owen, I know what you're worried about. I see a psychologist regularly—I know how to adjust myself…"

"That's good. Can you tell me what your method is?"

"Very simple. Shooting and painting…"

Owen was speechless. It really is true—everyone has their own way.

Owen's method was to avoid guns for a while and go do things he liked—like rock climbing, skydiving, street racing, and parkour. He'd already decided to invite Carlos to go skydiving with him tomorrow.

But Monica's method was practicing shooting and painting.

Painting, he could understand. At least it helped calm the mind.

But shooting? Wouldn't handling guns remind her of everything that happened? On second thought, though, it did make some sense—Monica had spent most of her time with guns. Only when she was training with firearms could she be completely focused.

...

After parting ways with Monica, Owen went to the West Hollywood precinct to find his extreme sports buddy Carlos.

"Hey, Owen~~~"

"Owen, long time no see~~"

A bunch of old colleagues at the station greeted him warmly, and Owen greeted them back one by one.

In terms of workplace atmosphere, the West Hollywood precinct was a million times better than CTU. Every time he walked into CTU, it felt like the end of the world—everyone seemed buried in endless work. Let alone greeting each other, they barely had time to discuss work.

When he entered the Major Crimes Unit, most people were already out on cases. Only a few were still at their desks, and Carlos was one of them. Owen had called him in advance—otherwise, there was no way this guy would be sitting still at his desk.

Detective "George Old Man" was still in the hospital, and now the Major Crimes Unit was directly under Chief Wayne Haviland. But to be honest, there wasn't much managing to do. Each detective had their own cases, and they didn't need his help with investigations. Most of the time, Haviland simply assigned the cases.

"Man, how have you been? Oh, judging from your face, something troublesome happened, didn't it?"

Owen had just slapped Carlos on the shoulder when he noticed the guy looked miserable—obviously something had gone wrong.

"A few days ago there was this psycho, used a sniper rifle and a phone to trap a PR manager from a small entertainment company in a phone booth for two hours. During that time, a pimp and a pizza delivery guy were killed. The saddest part is, at the beginning we didn't even realize he was being threatened. The sniper had him under control, and he couldn't tell the truth…"

"Don't tell me you were the one handling that scene?"

"Dude, it was me. That's why I'm so depressed. But that bastard faked his death using a corpse and tricked us. He just walked away like nothing happened…"

"What exactly did he do?"

"He forced the guy he was holding hostage to confess all his dirty deeds to the media—his infidelity to his wife, how he mistreated his subordinates, how he lied to and used people around him. If he didn't confess, the guy threatened to shoot him or someone he cared about…"

Owen frowned. "Why'd he do that?"

"No reason. Just said it was punishment for him. Probably wanted to teach him a lesson…"

Shit!

Back when Owen was a cop, he hated this kind of person the most.

And unfortunately, there were a lot of people like that in the U.S.—each one thinking they were God, punishing sinners on behalf of God, making society panic. Technically speaking, these people were all terrorists.

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