Regaining control of the situation, Owen bent over the bearded man's corpse and quickly found the key, twisting it a few times to unlock the handcuffs. He tossed the cuffs aside and pulled the Beretta M9 from the man's waist.
He racked the slide to check the chamber—round loaded. Owen pointed the barrel at the two men in front of him.
A moment later, the sound of an engine echoed from afar. Out on the water at the boathouse entrance, a black dot approached, gradually revealing itself to be a small motorboat, and Swag's figure became increasingly clear.
While keeping an eye on the two captives, Owen took a quick glance—Swag was driving a small boat, the kind that could carry only two or three people, with a simple outboard motor mounted on the back. Who knew where he'd gotten it?
After sniping two of the enemies from afar and seeing that Owen had armed himself, Swag had packed up his rifle and moved in.
In front of Owen, Curly and the other man remained motionless, hands raised.
"Get on your knees, hands on your head~~"
They complied. Owen, holding the gun with both hands, cautiously approached, retrieved the weapons from their waists, and tossed them aside before retreating to a safe distance.
Swag's boat pulled into the boathouse, and just as he leapt off, Owen instinctively glanced his way. In that split second, the guy beside Curly suddenly moved.
To be fair, his timing was good—Owen had indeed been distracted. But he'd kept a safe enough distance that as soon as the man leapt up to lunge at him, Owen fired.
Two shots hit the man's thigh, and he fell mid-lunge with a cry of agony.
Swag, not taking any chances, rushed over with his pistol drawn and kicked the man's gun even farther away.
The two of them, guns trained on the remaining captives, stood on either side. Owen asked, "What's your relationship with Nina?"
Silence. Owen hadn't expected an answer—this was just a psychological trick.
When someone is resistant, asking several questions in a row leads them to assume the first is what you most want to know. Even if forced to answer, they'll instinctively avoid the first question or respond with lies, favoring the later ones.
So Owen followed up immediately: "Where are Jack Bauer's family being held?"
Still silence. Though fear showed in their eyes, their mouths remained shut.
"Pop~~"
Without hesitation, Owen shot the injured man again, drawing another scream.
"I don't need both of you alive—only one of you needs to answer. Who wants to be the other one?"
Owen applied his usual interrogation strategy—pit them against each other. But the two weren't biting. The injured man even spat a string of curses at him.
Owen didn't hesitate—another shot to the man's other leg. The guy was tough, taking two bullets without breaking. Aside from more screaming, the defiance and insults continued.
Owen watched their faces closely, applying techniques he'd learned from "Heartbeat" training. Subtle facial reactions could reveal inner thoughts.
Curly said nothing, but a flicker of pity in his eyes didn't escape Owen.
Between the two, Owen chose Curly. He'd been the one in charge earlier, likely knew more, and clearly seemed easier to break.
"Fine. If you want to be the one, I'll make it happen..."
Owen picked up the power saw from the floor and walked over to the still-cursing man. With a buzz, the blade spun to life. Despite the guy's resistance, Owen forced his hand down and sliced into it.
Blood and flesh flew. The curses turned into piercing screams. Owen's hand never paused, his eyes fixed on Curly.
"Oh God, Owen, that's disgusting..."
Swag was the first to be repulsed by the sight, turning his head slightly. But Owen acted like he didn't hear, keeping the saw going. Blood spattered across his face. The man losing his fingers might have regretted his defiance by now—his shrieks had warped into a new pitch.
"Stop, stop, STOP! I'll tell you, I'll tell you everything! Just give him a quick death!"
By the time the third finger was severed, Curly finally broke. Owen stopped, and the screaming gradually subsided into sobs.
"Where is Jack Bauer's family?"
Owen asked again. Just as Curly hesitated, Owen revved the saw up once more.
"Alright, alright, I'll talk..." Curly finally surrendered completely. "I don't know the exact location—I'm not from California—but I can take you there..."
Owen exchanged a look with Swag. "Let's go~~"
He tossed aside the saw. The two of them escorted Curly out. Before leaving, Owen didn't forget to put a bullet in the head of the man on the floor, ending his suffering once and for all.
...
On the road, Owen and Curly were in one car—Curly driving, Owen in the passenger seat. Swag didn't ride with them but followed discreetly from behind.
Since Swag was a nationally wanted fugitive, it was safer for them to travel separately. That way, if something happened to one of them, the other could still act.
Back on the highway, Owen kept the Beretta M9 aimed at Curly from the front passenger seat.
He wasn't worried about tricks—he was an expert driver himself and had made Curly buckle his seatbelt. Even if Curly tried to jump out, Owen was confident he could shoot him before he hit the ground. Curly surely knew that too.
Although Curly was driving, Owen still asked about the general location. Curly, not being a California native, could only give a vague direction—somewhere in west Los Angeles.
The car sped along. Curly behaved obediently. Whether waiting at red lights or passing police, he stayed calm and didn't try anything suspicious.
Gradually, they reached the city's outskirts, not far from the area Curly had mentioned.
Swag was no longer visible behind them. Who knew where he was hiding, but Owen wasn't worried. He and Swag were in constant communication. If something happened to Swag, Owen would know immediately.
Ahead was a railroad crossing. The "ding ding ding ding" of the warning bells signaled an oncoming train. Cars on either side of the road began to stop.
Two vehicles up ahead came to a halt. On the opposite side of the crossing, cars also paused to wait.
The sound of the train rumbled through the tracks—"clank clank"—as a freight train approached and quickly passed through, the alternating light and shadow of its long cars dizzying to the eye.
They resumed driving. Owen wasn't paying much attention—Curly's cooperation had lulled him into a bit of complacency.
But something felt off—Curly wasn't slowing down as they neared the crossing.
"Stop! Stop the car~~"
Owen ordered, but Curly just glanced at him, speeding up instead.
"I said STOP~~~"
Owen's voice rose, and he pressed the gun hard against Curly's head. Curly still didn't respond. The crossing loomed closer and closer.
Fuck!
If Owen didn't know what was happening by now, he might as well be dead. He just hadn't expected this kind of suicidal resolve from Curly. People in the USA usually didn't go down like this.
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