Chapter 5: First Shootout – Mozambique Drill

Owen picked up the receiver and dialed, but there was no sound on the line.

He hung up and tried again. Still nothing.

Frustrated, he tossed the receiver aside. A sense of unease crept over him. He checked several more phones throughout the floor, only to find the same result each time.

Reluctantly, Owen moved up to the 22nd floor, but the phones there were just as dead. It became clear that the robbers had severed the entire building's communication lines.

With no way to call for help, Owen was forced to play it by ear. He cautiously explored the floor. Unlike the 21st floor, a few lights were still on here.

The floor was eerily empty, but Owen soon stumbled upon something useful: a fire alarm.

Just as he was about to press the switch, he heard a faint click—the unmistakable sound of a fire door latch.

Someone had entered.

Owen crouched down and swiftly took cover behind a pillar, concealing himself in the shadows. He didn't dare peek, instead focusing on listening intently.

After a moment, he heard soft, shuffling noises, faint but distinct. It was almost like footsteps, though too light for normal walking. Had he not been listening so carefully, he might have missed it.

Slowly, Owen unsnapped his holster and drew his Glock, gripping it firmly. He cautiously leaned out just enough to get a glimpse of the intruder. In the dim lighting, he could only make out a shadowy figure moving stealthily toward his location.

Pulling back behind the pillar, Owen held his breath. The figure didn't seem to notice him and soon passed by, heading toward the opposite end of the floor. The sound of footsteps grew fainter and eventually disappeared.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Owen knew he had to move. The floor was no longer safe. He decided to head upstairs, not wanting to risk an encounter with the robbers.

Before he could act, a sharp ding echoed through the floor. The elevator had arrived.

The sound was deafening in the stillness, and Owen quickly ducked back behind the pillar, peeking cautiously.

The elevator doors slid open, and two men stepped out, both armed with submachine guns. They wore camo combat gear—clearly robbers.

Owen's mind raced. If these men were using the elevator without caution, it likely meant the shadowy figure from earlier wasn't one of them. Perhaps it was another survivor, like him.

The two robbers appeared relaxed, their weapons held loosely. They talked casually as they walked toward Owen's position.

Owen remained hidden. His spot was well-concealed; neither the shadowy figure nor the robbers had noticed him so far.

As the robbers passed by the other side of the pillar, Owen caught part of their conversation and overheard one of them being called "Max." The men continued chatting until one of them flipped a switch, illuminating the surrounding area.

Owen tensed, thinking he had been spotted, but forced himself to stay calm. He was still behind the pillar and out of their line of sight. Unless they turned around, they wouldn't see him.

Suddenly, a voice shouted, "Who's there? Come out!"

Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

The robbers opened fire, but not at Owen. Their bullets shredded a corner of the room, sending wood splinters flying from a battered desk.

Owen quickly realized they had found the other survivor. From his vantage point, he saw the robbers spraying bullets at a corner where a figure occasionally returned fire with a handgun. The shooter barely dared to peek out, only managing to fire a few wild shots.

If Owen didn't intervene, the person would be dead soon.

Though he wasn't a hero, Owen couldn't stand by and watch someone die. He decided to take a gamble.

Taking advantage of the gunfire to mask his movement, he crept out from behind the pillar and approached.

The two robbers displayed solid military tactics, alternating their fire to keep the target pinned down. The trapped survivor was struggling, completely suppressed.

Owen stopped about ten meters away, mindful of keeping his distance to avoid alerting the robbers with his presence. At this range, he relied on his shooting routine—the Mozambique Drill. He aimed at their torsos and fired two quick shots at each.

The bullets hit, causing both men to stumble back, but they didn't go down. Owen instantly realized they were wearing body armor.

"Ahhh!"

The trapped survivor seized the opportunity. With a shout, he charged forward, tackling one of the robbers to the ground. They grappled fiercely, rolling across the floor.

Owen noted that the survivor was a young white man wearing a white tank top. He appeared to be out of ammunition, which explained why he had been pinned earlier. Now that he saw an opening, he took his chance.

The tank top man's assault distracted the second robber. Owen advanced and shifted his aim, this time targeting the robber's thigh.

Bang!

The bullet struck true, and the robber cried out, collapsing to one knee. Owen sprinted forward and grabbed the barrel of the man's submachine gun.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

The gun discharged, bullets punching into the ceiling as Owen wrestled it upward.

Realizing his weapon had been compromised, the robber named Max didn't waste time. He abandoned the submachine gun and drew his pistol. Owen mirrored the move, pulling his Glock while activating his adrenaline-fueled "bullet time."

Everything around him slowed. He maintained his forward momentum, raising his arm just enough to adjust his aim.

Bang! Bang!

Both shots hit Max in the legs, worsening his injuries. The robber crumpled to the ground with a scream. Time resumed its normal flow.

"Fuck…"

Max writhed in pain, his composure shattered. When he looked up, he found himself staring down the barrel of Owen's gun.

Bang!

A single shot to the forehead ended him.

Owen didn't waste a second. He spun around, leveling his Glock at the remaining robber.

The second man had gained the upper hand in his fight with the tank top survivor. Blood streamed from the survivor's broken nose after several punches to the face. The robber wrestled for control of the survivor's weapon, then noticed Owen's approach.

Choosing to mimic Max's tactics, the robber released the submachine gun, stepped back, and drew his pistol.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Owen ducked into a forward roll as bullets whizzed past, striking the spot where he had been moments before.