There weren't many people in the alley—it was around midday, and Owen's group was sizable. They walked along the narrow lane, laughing and chatting. Up ahead were a few other young men and women.
Several side alleys branched off on either side. Some pedestrians turned and disappeared into them. If this were an actual operation, this kind of terrain would be a nightmare—interconnected alleyways where people could appear from anywhere. Navigating it would be a matter of luck and snap judgment.
But clearly, this wasn't one of those times. The group continued down the alley in high spirits.
"You sure this is the right way?" Kasibayev joked, glancing at Ferede.
"Trust me, absolutely," Ferede said, patting his chest with confidence.
There was only one pedestrian left ahead of them now—a woman carrying a paper bag with two baguettes poking out. She probably lived nearby.
Owen's team was used to walking fast. They soon caught up with her. Normally, a woman alone might be cautious of a large group behind her, but since there were two women among them and a few older-looking men like Ghost and Kasibayev, they didn't come off as threatening.
Just as they were about to pass her, a young man suddenly tumbled out of a side alley. He rolled out backwards, like he'd been kicked. Panicked, the young man scrambled to his feet and began begging, "No, please don't kill me! Please..."
The group stopped.
Still pleading, the young man sounded terrified. He glanced toward Owen's group and then wailed again, almost sobbing, "Please, I don't want to die..."
Then—bang bang—two gunshots rang out. The young man collapsed.
"Ahhh!" the woman nearby screamed, dropping her baguettes and bolting. Honestly, this was a textbook response in America—abandon everything and run.
The Omega team instantly kicked into combat mode. Owen let go of Monica's hand, both of them pressing against the wall and drawing their pistols. The rest of the team was equally fast, each pulling out their handgun and taking position.
They lined up side by side, presenting a smaller target profile. This was textbook CQB formation. Today they were all in plain clothes, carrying only their sidearms—no body armor.
"Oracle, cover Becky. Target Eye, mobile support. Everyone else, get ready," Owen ordered quickly.
With everyone armed, they formed a tight line along the wall. Becky, unarmed and not combat personnel, was immediately pulled to the rear. Swagg and Ferede, being snipers, weren't frontline brawlers, so they defaulted to protection and support roles. The others—all combatants—moved forward.
Monica, though pregnant, was only about two months along. It wasn't showing yet and didn't impact her abilities, though Owen wasn't about to let her take point.
Each member placed a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them—a standard technique for tight-formation movement.
"I'm one, Ghost is two, the rest adapt as needed," Owen whispered.
Normally, CQB tactics would have someone up front as a shield—someone wearing body armor. But today, no one had armor and this situation had flared up too suddenly. So the top two—Owen and Ghost—took the lead directly.
Owen had chosen himself and Ghost for good reason. They were the best marksmen in the team. Monica would've been ideal for second assault—fast trigger, dead shot, and great synergy with Owen—but again, there was no way Owen would let her take a risk now. Ghost, with his accuracy and experience, was the next best choice.
They had no idea what was actually in the side alley—how many people, what kind of weapons, if it was random or targeted. Omega had to treat this like worst-case scenario.
The team advanced along the wall with extreme caution.
"HAHAHA~~"
The "dead" young man suddenly jumped up, laughing hysterically. Seeing the fleeing woman and her abandoned bread made him howl with amusement—until he turned and saw Omega's formation: tight, armed, and tactical. His laughter died in his throat instantly.
Now Owen got it. It was a prank. A damn prank. Rage surged through him—but protocol came first. They had to keep treating this like a live threat until it was 100% clear.
They crept forward, reached the corner, and began to cut it—meaning they moved around it in tight formation, clearing each visual angle before moving forward. The kid just stood there, stunned, watching them work, realizing he had royally messed up.
Once they cleared the 270-degree corner, Owen and Ghost switched roles—Ghost took lead, Owen became second.
The alley bent into a wide open space. Standing there was another dumbfounded young man, clearly the second prankster, frozen with fear.
What the hell...? We were just goofing around! Who are these people with guns?! What have we done?!
Owen marched over to him, spotting a speaker and recorder on the ground. He hit the play button.
Bang bang. Gunshots rang from the speaker. Fake. It had all been a setup. Two idiots pulling a violent prank.
"Fuck!" Owen snapped, and without hesitation, kicked the guy in the chest, sending him flying.
"You think this is funny?!" he yelled, stalking over and landing a few more hard kicks. The guy rolled on the ground groaning.
Around the corner, the other prankster was already getting his ass handed to him by the rest of the team.
This was America—a country swimming in guns. If Owen had been just a bit more trigger-happy, hadn't confirmed the threat first, these morons would've been corpses.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The woman must've called the cops. Let's see how these guys explain themselves.
Soon, tires screeched nearby and four officers showed up, guns raised, shouting commands.
"CTU! Do not fire—we're CTU!" Owen shouted, raising his badge high.
He held it out clearly. U.S. police don't mess around—if they feel threatened, they shoot first.
The officers looked shaken—there were only four of them, and they were facing a group of armed people, all serious, calm, and dangerous-looking. This wasn't some random gang.
One officer approached, glanced at Owen's ID, then nodded to his teammates. He didn't even call it in to confirm—just decided to believe them on the spot.
Owen nodded and holstered his weapon, then pointed at the two beaten-up pranksters.
"These two idiots thought it'd be funny to fake a shooting."
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