Chapter 3: Die Hard Begins

At the West Hollywood Division, both Carlos and Owen were somewhat well-known figures. 

Carlos was famous for his extreme hobbies—especially street racing. He frequently received complaints and was on the chief's watchlist. 

Owen, on the other hand, was known for his unique shooting technique: the Mozambique Drill. 

The Mozambique Drill was an advanced shooting method based on a quick double-tap, which Owen had learned from a movie called *John Wick* in his previous life. The technique involved shooting twice at an opponent's torso to quickly incapacitate them, followed by a third shot to the head to ensure death by destroying the brain. 

Life carried on quietly for Owen. He thought this was how things would always be—until a piece of news over a month ago made him question the nature of his world. 

He had heard a name on the news: CTU. 

Owen's eyes nearly popped out of his head. CTU—the Counter Terrorist Unit—was a fictional agency from the TV series *24*, specializing in domestic counterterrorism in the United States. How could it exist in real life? 

That show had been a huge part of Owen's youth. He had been captivated by it, especially the intense, nonstop action. At first, he thought it might be a coincidence. However, after asking around and gathering more information, he confirmed something even more shocking: the name "Jack Bauer" had come up. 

Jack Bauer, the protagonist of *24*, was apparently the head of Los Angeles' CTU in this world. 

Owen found the revelation both amusing and bewildering. Was this world modeled after a TV series? Or perhaps a movie universe? He wondered if other elements like Marvel superheroes, the *Men in Black*, or aliens might also exist. But after some thought, he dismissed the idea. He had lived in this world for seventeen years and worked as a police officer—someone who had access to things most people didn't. If the supernatural truly existed, there would have been at least some signs by now. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Owen pushed those wild ideas aside. Ever since the car crash, memories from his previous life had been surfacing more frequently. 

For example, for the past hour, the name "Loyalty Tower" had been stuck in his mind, accompanied by flashes of gunfights and hand-to-hand combat. It seemed familiar, as if it were from a movie, though he couldn't recall which one. Coincidentally, he knew exactly where the Loyalty Tower was. Driven by curiosity, he decided to check it out. 

Before leaving earlier, Carlos had left him the keys to a car. Owen pressed the button on the key fob in the parking lot, and a Chevrolet's lights blinked in response. 

It wasn't the same Chevy from the crash; that one was likely totaled. This was a temporary vehicle issued by the department. In the plainclothes division, cars were typically either Chevrolets or Fords. 

Owen got into the car and found his handgun and badge inside. He started the engine, released the handbrake, and turned the wheel, setting off toward Loyalty Tower. 

By the time he arrived, night had fallen. At the entrance, security guards were checking invitations for guests entering the building. It seemed there was a party going on inside. 

After a moment's hesitation, Owen decided to go in. He flashed his police badge, surprising the security guards, but they quickly let him through. 

The interior of Loyalty Tower looked quite ordinary, no different from other office buildings. 

Owen noticed that the building directory only listed one company: Magor Corporation. Most of the other floors were marked as "under renovation," which explained why the exterior of the building appeared mostly dark. 

On the ground floor, Owen saw people waiting for the elevator and joined them. It was obvious that most of the elevator passengers were headed to the party. 

The elevator soon reached the 19th floor, and Owen followed the crowd into a large banquet hall. 

---

Meanwhile, in the executive office, Magor Corporation's president, Masaru Aoki, was raising a toast with his top executive, Ms. Holly. 

The company had performed exceptionally well this year, and in two months, Aoki would be transferring to the Tokyo headquarters. Holly was the leading candidate to take over his position. 

"Congratulations in advance," Aoki said. 

"And congratulations to you as well," Holly replied, clinking glasses with him. 

There was a knock at the glass door. Aoki acknowledged the visitor, and a sweet-looking female secretary entered. 

"Mr. President, Ms. Vice President, the party is about to begin. Also, Ms. Holly, your husband, Mr. McClane, has arrived." 

"Oh, then let's head out," Aoki said, gesturing for Holly to accompany him. 

---

In the underground parking garage, the sound of tires screeching echoed as a large box truck approached. The security guard stationed near the freight elevator watched in confusion. The truck bore the logo of a company called "Happy Times Party Services." 

The guard found it strange—why would there be two different service providers for the same event? 

The truck slowly backed up to the loading dock, aligning with the freight elevator. With the sound of clinking metal, the truck's roll-up door opened, and several men stepped out. 

The guard straightened up and walked over to question them, but before he could speak, there was a muffled *pop*. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and collapsed to the ground, dead. 

Hans calmly holstered his silenced pistol under his arm. Behind him, two teams of men in camouflage combat gear emerged from the truck. One of them dragged the guard's body away while the others began unloading equipment with practiced efficiency. 

---

Back upstairs, Aoki was introducing Holly to several influential figures from Los Angeles. Building strong connections with these elites would greatly benefit Holly when she assumed control of the company. 

Meanwhile, in the restroom, Owen was enjoying a moment of relief, savoring the satisfying sensation of "letting the waterfall flow." 

He had found no useful leads during his earlier exploration of the building but had spotted several high-profile guests, including a few CEOs featured on magazine covers. He planned to leave after finishing his business. 

Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the banquet hall entrance. 

Two squads of armed men in camouflage stormed in, immediately taking control of all exits. 

The guests were caught off guard, unsure of what was happening. Some even thought it might be part of the evening's entertainment, with prop guns as part of a staged performance. That notion was quickly dispelled. 

*Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!* 

Gunfire erupted, and panic set in. Guests screamed and cried, but the soldiers fired more shots, silencing the chaos. 

The armed men began herding the crowd toward the center of the hall. Once everyone was gathered, a man in a tailored suit casually walked up to the stage. 

Though he held a pistol, his demeanor was calm, almost elegant. 

The man cleared his throat and smiled politely. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in a measured tone, "it is my great pleasure to inform you... that you are now... hostages."