An Outside Perspective is Always Clearer.
That saying couldn't have been more accurate.
Bryan's advice was like a guiding light for Owen.
Bryan's reasoning was simple and effective—process of elimination.
Police? Out.
FBI? Out.
CTU? Out.
That left only one reliable force—the military.
If the mercenaries or cartel gunmen dared to attack a U.S. military base, they would be hunted to the ends of the earth.
Owen also took Bryan's second point to heart.
He was too emotional.
Anger was a weakness.
If he wanted to become stronger, he had to learn to control his emotions.
No more acting on impulse.
No more wearing his emotions on his face.
Only calmness could prevent mistakes.
And in his line of work, mistakes meant death.
Or worse—his family's death.
Owen etched this lesson into his soul.
—
"Where to now?"
Monica had been driving toward the city outskirts.
Fewer surveillance cameras meant less risk of being tracked.
But she still didn't know their destination.
Now that Owen had finished his call, she asked.
"Hollywood."
—
It was nearing midnight.
Traffic was scarce.
If they kept wandering the streets, it would look too suspicious.
Since Bryan had said not to storm the military base at night, Owen decided to find a place to lay low.
And then—he thought of Hollywood.
Hollywood was the heart of America's film industry.
A symbol of California.
A dreamland for millions.
It was just northwest of Los Angeles.
Every year, countless people flocked there.
The massive crowds made it a perfect hiding place.
There was no way their pursuers would think to search there.
—
Hollywood District
Even at this hour, it was far livelier than the old city.
People still walked the streets.
Cars still filled the roads.
Owen had Monica drive deeper into the city, choosing a motel near the center.
She handled check-in alone.
Owen and Alex had both been on the news.
Monica was the safest bet.
The night clerk was a Black guy in his twenties.
He barely glanced at Monica's sunglasses.
A woman wearing shades at night?
Nothing weird in Hollywood.
He had seen worse.
—
"Fifty bucks."
He handed Monica a room key.
Owen had her book a double room.
If anyone checked the registry, they would see a man and a woman.
Less suspicious.
Hollywood's motel prices were steep.
A double room here cost a third more than in Los Angeles.
—
The room was basic.
Two single beds.
A desk and chairs.
That was enough.
Alex, however, would not be sleeping on a bed.
He didn't deserve one.
Under his bitter gaze, Owen and Monica each took a bed.
Alex?
The chair.
—
Night Watch
Owen took first watch.
Monica would take over later.
They slept in shifts.
In the middle of the night, a couple checked into the next room.
Owen felt uneasy.
Too much of a coincidence.
He stayed awake, gun in hand, just in case.
But the couple never made a move.
A false alarm.
—
Morning
Sunlight streamed through the curtain gap.
Owen and Monica stirred awake.
Neither had slept much.
They had been too wary of the next room.
Monica at least got some rest.
Owen?
Barely a wink.
Yesterday had been nonstop battles.
By early morning, exhaustion had finally knocked him out.
Now, he realized how close they had come to a fatal mistake.
If the neighbors had been enemies, they would have attacked at dawn.
The weakest hour.
When people were most exhausted.
Lesson learned.
—
9 AM
They didn't leave immediately.
Instead, they waited.
By mid-morning, Hollywood would be packed with tourists.
The perfect cover.
At around 10 AM, they stepped out.
Their stolen car had been abandoned nearby.
They had left it with doors and headlights open.
Someone had probably stolen it by now.
Not their problem.
—
Hollywood Streets
By now, the city was alive.
Tourist buses parked along the roads.
Groups of tourists poured out, waving little flags.
Owen bought two burner phones from a convenience store.
One for him.
One for Monica.
They were starving.
And exhausted.
Even the lightweight gear felt heavy.
Food first.
Then, the military base.
—
Jianbing?!
Just as Owen was thinking about food—
A familiar smell hit him.
A smell he hadn't encountered in years.
He turned—
And his eyes lit up.
Jianbing.
A street vendor selling Chinese-style crepes.
—
In Hollywood?!
More surprisingly—
The vendor was not Chinese.
He was a young American guy.
—
His stall stood beside a public phone booth.
Business was booming.
A circle of foreigners gathered around.
Curious.
Intrigued.
—
The vendor's skills were legit.
He scooped batter onto a hotplate.
Swirled it expertly into a perfect round crepe.
Then—
Egg. Flip. Sauce. Sesame. Green onions. Cilantro. Pickled veggies.
A hint of ketchup for local flavor.
And finally—a crispy fried cracker.
A golden-brown masterpiece.
Five dollars per serving.
—
Owen licked his lips.
A bit expensive.
But worth it.
The vendor's technique was flawless.
Authentic.
He had definitely trained in China.
Owen got in line.
—
A few minutes later—
He returned with three crepes.
Even Alex got one.
Owen wanted to show off his cultural pride.
—
First bite—
Soft, savory crepe.
Crispy cracker.
Exploding with nostalgia.
Monica and Alex might not appreciate it.
Owen didn't care.
He was in heaven.
—
The vendor noticed him.
When Owen ordered in Chinese,
The guy grinned and replied in fluent Mandarin.
"More spice?"
"Yes!"
"Enjoy. Come back soon!"
Owen almost shed a tear.
Pure hometown vibes.
—
Then—
"Ding! Ding!"
A Hollywood sightseeing tram passed by.
Packed with tourists.
Admiring the legendary film city.
Owen was halfway through his crepe when—
A phone rang.
The public phone booth.
Owen ignored it.
But—
It kept ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
His heart sank.
Something was off.
He picked it up.
A familiar female voice whispered—
"Oh my God, Owen…
Are you seriously eating Jianbing right now?"
_________________________
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