Counterterrorism in America

Owen struggled to his feet, finally seeing light again. They had landed in what appeared to be a laundry room, surrounded by large industrial washing machines typical of hotel operations. Beneath them was a thick pile of bedsheets and blankets—probably tossed down from the suites above. McClane lay beside him, groaning as he tried to stand.

Both men were sore and shaken, their muscles screaming from the adrenaline-fueled fall. Owen shuddered at the thought of how close they'd come to death. If the laundry chute had extended all the way to the first floor, no amount of cushioning would have saved them.

McClane wobbled unsteadily, still dazed. Owen moved to steady him, but their attention snapped to a sudden clatter in the chute. Something heavy shot out of the opening and crashed into the pile of bedding.

They exchanged a quick glance. Neither needed to speak to know what the other was thinking—they ran for the door without hesitation.

"Boom! Boom!"

Explosions roared behind them, throwing both men off their feet. McClane hit the ground hard and immediately started cursing.

Owen tasted blood—his lip had been split. Damn it! These bastards aren't holding back. Two grenade attacks in ten minutes?! They're not planning to leave any survivors.

West Hollywood Police Station

In the chief's office, Chief Javier rubbed his beard and looked at George "Papa" Chrysler with a bewildered expression. Moments earlier, George had stormed into his office with an alarming report—Loyalty Tower had been taken over by armed terrorists.

The source? Detective Steven Owen. However, when George tried to call Owen back for confirmation, there was no response.

Chief Javier's first thought was that it might be a prank. This was Los Angeles, after all—Hollywood's backyard, where all kinds of eccentric behavior were the norm. But something about this situation felt off.

When repeated attempts to reach Owen failed, George began to worry that something might have happened to him. Javier decided to verify the situation himself by contacting Magel Corporation, the building's main tenant and a major taxpayer in his district.

He dialed the number for CEO Aoki Masaru—no answer. He tried again and again but received no response.

His frown deepened. Next, he called Vice President Reyes. Still nothing.

A sense of dread settled over him. He continued calling each of Magel's executives, one by one, but no one picked up.

Please, let this be nothing... he thought anxiously.

Finally, he grabbed the police emergency line and barked an order:

"Attention, all units. This is Chief Javier. I don't care what you're doing—drop it. I want every available officer at Loyalty Tower on Berkley Street within five minutes. This is not a drill. I repeat—this is NOT a drill. Get moving!"

The station erupted into chaos.

Outside, officers scrambled to their patrol cars, sirens blaring as vehicles sped away from the station. Across West Hollywood, patrol units changed course and raced toward Loyalty Tower.

If you had been watching from the skies, you would have seen a flood of police cars converging on a single location from all directions.

The media quickly caught wind of the commotion. Reporters monitoring police channels heard the order and sprang into action. News vans loaded with cameras and eager journalists tore through the streets, rushing to cover what they knew would be a major story.

33rd Floor, Loyalty Tower

Owen and McClane sprinted through the fire escape stairwell, their lungs burning and their legs screaming in protest. They were out of bullets, save for a single grenade they'd managed to take from one of the robbers.

Since the earlier encounter, it seemed like the robbers knew exactly where they were at all times. Every time Owen and McClane tried to outmaneuver them, another group would cut them off. It was as if the terrorists were tracking their every move.

"This doesn't make sense," Owen muttered as they ducked into a corner to catch their breath. He had even tried to fake their location by leaving signs on various floors, switching between the building's multiple stairwells. But no matter what they did, the enemy always found them.

Owen's mind raced until the answer hit him: The surveillance cameras!

He had assumed, like in the movies, that the robbers would have disabled the building's cameras early on. Clearly, that wasn't the case. It explained how the enemy kept pinpointing their position.

"Shit… they're watching us," Owen whispered.

With this realization, the two men began methodically destroying every camera they encountered. After setting another decoy on one floor, they finally saw results. The next wave of robbers was misdirected, buying them precious time.

"Gotcha," McClane muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The two men started playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek with the robbers. One moment they were spotted on the 33rd floor's northwest corner, the next they appeared on the 36th floor's northeast side. By the time the robbers reached the 36th floor, the surveillance team reported sightings on the 30th floor instead.

The blonde leader of the pursuit squad was furious, his patience rapidly wearing thin. Over the radio, he repeatedly threatened to skin Owen and McClane alive once he caught them. His frustration grew with each failed encounter.

"Where the hell are they?!" he roared at the surveillance operators.

The technicians were equally frustrated. Many of the monitors were now malfunctioning, displaying static or blank screens. They could only guess at Owen and McClane's next move based on their last known location.

"Come out, you cowards!" the blonde man finally screamed into the radio. "You're weak, pathetic! Keep hiding, but I'll find you and cut your heads off myself!"

This outburst triggered something in McClane, who couldn't resist the opportunity to taunt his pursuer. Grabbing the radio, he unleashed a string of colorful insults aimed at the blonde man's entire family.

The blonde man was apoplectic. "You bastard! When I catch you, I'll make you regret every damn word you just said!"

Meanwhile, Owen and McClane continued their frantic game of evasion. On more than one occasion, they narrowly avoided being caught, hiding in ductwork and storage rooms as the robbers stormed past. Each close call left their hearts pounding, the thrill and terror of the chase surging through their veins.