Tim Chang, The Bodyguard

"Good morning, Sir!"

"Morning, Chang! You arrived early," a tall, muscular man replies to the greeting.

"It's my first day of work, Sir. I need to make a good first impression," I say, scratching the back of my head, blushing a little.

"I hope you're planning to make it a habit," the man says while handing me an earset.

"Absolutely, Sir," I respond, quickly taking the earset and putting it in my ears.

"Phone," the man speaks again, raising his hand to take my smartphone. I turn it off before handing it to him. He places it inside an iron suitcase.

Not long after, ten more men with toned, muscular bodies arrive. After giving their phones to the tall man, they all receive earsets and stand next to me.

"Okay, gentlemen. Good morning. We will start our morning briefing by introducing our new member, Timothy Chang," the muscular man announces, raising his hand briefly to point at me.

Before I can say anything, he continues, "As you all know, after what happened to Burton two days ago, we're changing our positions. Slovosk, you will take Burton's position. Adam will replace Slovosk, and Chang will take Adam's spot. Understood?" His voice is stern and low. We all nod almost in unison. I can feel some glances in my direction, sizing up the new guy.

"Okay. Today's frequency is 878. Mr. Chekhovsky will be here in 30 minutes. Regular protocol. He has no scheduled outings today and no visitors, so today should be as uneventful as usual. But no one is allowed to lower their guard. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" we respond together.

"Okay. Dismiss. Get to your posts," the man concludes the briefing.

"Jackson, Chang!" the muscular man calls me and another guy. I approach him, as does a black man with even more muscle than our leader.

"Yes, Sir?" Jackson responds.

"You will be Chang's supervisor for today. Explain all the front-position protocols to him," the muscular man orders.

"Yes, Sir!" Jackson replies. Once our leader walks away, Jackson turns to me and smiles. "Hey, I'm Jackson," he says, extending his hand.

"I'm Chang. Tim Chang. Nice to meet you," I respond, shaking his hand.

"I'm Mike. Michael," he adds reluctantly. I raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know… My mom had this crazy idea that I might become the next king of pop," he says with a shy grin.

"Well… you can always try," I say, trying hard not to make a teasing remark. "Nice to meet you, Mike," I add.

"Same here. Alright, let's get to our position while I explain the protocol," Jackson says, leading me toward the basement's front door.

The job for front-door bodyguards is simple. According to standard protocol, we must be in position five minutes before Mr. Chekhovsky's car arrives. Four men stand at the basement entrance, while another waits at the elevator to ensure it opens right as Mr. Chekhovsky reaches it.

The process of escorting Mr. Chekhovsky from the car to the elevator must not exceed two minutes. Zero tolerance for delays. Once he is inside, two bodyguards in the elevator take over his protection.

After that, our job is to guard the basement. Two men stand at the entrance, ensuring that not even a mouse gets inside, while the others conduct hourly bomb detection sweeps throughout the basement. In the evening, we repeat the morning routine in reverse.

Once Mr. Chekhovsky's car disappears down the street, I exhale in relief. My job is done for the day. It's an easy gig considering the pay. But it's only my first day—I won't jump to conclusions yet.

"Hey, Chang. Good job!" Jackson pats my shoulder.

"Thank you," I reply, taking off my earset.

"We're throwing you a welcoming party tonight. It's a tradition for newcomers. Just pizza and beers," Jackson tells me.

"Sure, I'll come," I say.

"Great! 9 o'clock at Alfredo's," Jackson says, giving me the details. I nod in agreement, and he smiles broadly in return.

I arrive at Alfredo's Pizza Shack at 9:01 PM. The neon sign is still lit, but the place looks almost empty. I kill my motorcycle's engine, get off, and walk to the front door.

It's unusual for a pizza place to have its windows covered with blinds. It's too quiet inside, yet two cars are parked in the lot.

I sigh. I really want to leave, but that would be bad for my future. I sigh again. Boys.

Eventually, I grab the doorknob and pull it open.

The moment I step inside, two hands grab me and yank me in with immense force. I twist one arm free and drive my knee into someone's stomach. A fist comes at my face—I dodge just in time, causing it to slam into the door with enough force to leave a hole.

More hands clamp down on me. One grips my neck, choking me. I struggle but can't move.

"Enough! Don't hurt him just yet!" a man's voice orders. My captors freeze. I scan the room, searching for the voice's owner.

I recognize him—one of Mr. Chekhovsky's inner-circle bodyguards. Actually, all ten men inside the shack are his bodyguards. Just as I expected.

"Welcome, Chang," the man says, approaching me. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Issac," he says.

"What do you want? Jackson said this was a welcoming party," I say, glaring at Jackson, who sits at the bar.

"There will be a party. But first, we need to make sure you're worthy of being one of us," Issac replies.

"Mr. White read my resume and profile. I passed his tests—that's why he decided—"

"Mr. White's decision has nothing to do with our trust. We need to trust each other with our lives. We have to know whether you're an equal partner or just a liability. No one wants a burden in this job, Chang," Issac cuts me off.

"I can take care of myself," I assure him.

"That's not enough," Issac says. "What… are you afraid?" He cups my jaw with his large hand.

"I'm not—"

"Good. Then I'll make it easier for you. No weapons. You only need to fight us one by one."

"Two at once will be fine," I say before jerking my head to break free of his grip. Then I spring into action—I plant my foot on the doorframe, roll my body, and drag two men down with me. I launch my foot over my head, kicking Issac square in the face before landing back on my feet. My arms swing forward, forcing the two men holding me to slam into each other.

"Three down. Who's next?" I ask.

The remaining seven men close in on me at once. They're all taller, more muscular, and well-trained in combat—some even know martial arts. One mistake, one mistimed dodge, and I could suffer serious damage.

After more than half an hour, I finally take down the last man. I can barely stand. My whole body aches.

"Can we start the party now?" I ask, panting. "I'm starving…"