Chapter Two
The Final Act ll
"So," Dominic asked beneath the stage lights, arms open as if embracing the entire theater, "who is ready for the final act?"
For one suspended heartbeat—
Silence.
Then the Palace Theatre erupted.
Applause crashed like thunder. Cheers rolled from balcony to stage. Thousands rose to their feet, chanting in rhythm.
"Dominic!"
"Dominic!"
"Dominic!"
His name shook the hall.
Dominic smiled faintly.
"I like the enthusiasm," he said smoothly. "And without further ado… let's begin."
The words had barely left his lips—
BOOM.
The grand doors of the theater exploded inward.
Armed men in black combat suits stormed through the aisles with terrifying precision. Boots struck marble in synchronized rhythm. Rifles raised. Formation tight.
Within seconds, they surrounded the stage.
Red laser sights trembled across Dominic's embroidered suit.
The audience gasped—
Then settled.
Of course.
This was part of the show.
From within the formation, one man stepped forward.
White beard. Sharp eyes behind thin spectacles. Black jacket over tactical trousers. Grey streaks threading through dark hair.
Authority radiated from him.
"Mr. Dominic," he announced, voice carrying across the hall, "you are under arrest on suspicion of being allied with the Horsemen. Come calmly with us, or we will use force."
The audience leaned forward, captivated.
Dominic's smile didn't fade.
Then—
A low hum vibrated beneath the stage.
The soldiers stiffened.
Their rifles jerked upward.
Metal tore from their hands as if seized by invisible force. Weapons shot toward the ceiling in violent arcs, slamming into hidden rigging above.
In less than three seconds—
They stood disarmed.
Gasps echoed across the hall.
That was why no metallic objects had been allowed inside.
The old man's eyes narrowed.
"Is this one of your tricks?" he demanded. "Do you think you can stand against all of us?"
Dominic tilted his head slightly.
From the moment they entered, he had counted.
Ten.
Including the old man.
Three moved first.
They charged.
The leftmost soldier threw a punch.
Dominic shifted right — the fist grazing past him by less than an inch.
His right knee drove upward into the attacker's stomach.
Without lowering his leg, he pivoted sharply and spun — his heel cracking against the second soldier's temple.
The third lunged and caught Dominic's raised leg.
A mistake.
Dominic lifted himself slightly and struck with his free foot, slamming into the man's jaw.
Three down.
The audience roared.
The old man did not.
"Together," he ordered.
The remaining seven attacked simultaneously.
One reached first.
Dominic stepped back, dragging his foot subtly across the stage.
A concealed mechanism activated.
The surface beneath the charging soldier began spinning violently like a high-speed treadmill.
He slipped forward.
Dominic stomped twice.
Panels burst open.
Mechanical claws snapped upward and locked around the soldier's ankles.
The device spun.
The trapped body became a projectile, flung sideways into another charging agent. Dominic released the mechanism at precisely the right moment, sending the disoriented soldier crashing into a third.
Three more down.
Only four remained.
They adjusted instantly, attacking in perfect unison.
Smoke erupted from vents beneath the stage floor.
Thick. Blinding.
Through the haze—
A sharp crack.
One soldier collapsed unconscious.
Another rushed toward the sound, striking blindly.
His wrist was caught mid-swing.
Twisted.
A sickening angle.
Dominic struck his torso and sent him flying.
The final two attempted to escape the smoke.
Steel cables snapped tight around their ankles from beneath the floor, yanking them backward. They slammed down hard.
Two precise strikes.
Silence.
The smoke cleared.
Nine soldiers lay incapacitated.
Only the old man remained.
He looked at Dominic differently now.
"Quite smart," he said quietly. "From the beginning, you anticipated every tactic. As if you've experienced this a thousand times."
His gaze flickered upward.
The timer.
10:13
10:12
10:11
10:10
It was nearing ten minutes.
"You're not escaping," the old man said coldly. "There are hundreds of units outside."
Dominic smiled faintly.
"Did I ever say I was going anywhere?"
The old man replayed everything in his mind.
The so-called magnetic field.
The flying weapons.
The claws.
Slowly, the illusion unraveled.
Their phones were still on them.
Their badges.
Metal untouched.
There had been no magnet.
Thin cables had been attached to their rifles upon entry, yanked upward by concealed rigs.
The spinning "claw" maneuver? Just one disoriented agent used against another.
Perception manipulated.
Expectation weaponized.
He reached for his hidden knife.
Nothing.
The pocket lining had been sliced clean.
It was gone.
He had been distracted from the beginning.
"Five years," the old man muttered. "I've chased you for five years."
13:05
13:04
13:03
He lunged.
For his age, his speed was monstrous.
Dominic caught the punch but was forced back half a step.
Strength.
Real strength.
The old man removed his jacket.
His arms were muscular, scarred — forged through real combat.
He attacked relentlessly.
Right hook — dodged.
Left strike — avoided.
Low kick — Dominic retreated.
Then he sent a spinning kick towards
Dominic's head but Dominic dodged at the last second.
For the first time, Dominic remained on defense.
Even with that he look confident as if everything has been planned out.
Seeing this the old man attacked even more fiercely, as this wasn't only about his job and mission anymore, it is about his pride in his combat which has been forged in wars, he wants let himself with defeated by a kid who looks barely over 25.
10:01
10:00
The numbers flipped.
The old man glanced upward—
And in that fraction of distraction—
Dominic moved.
A clean counter to the torso.
A precise strike to the neck.
The old man staggered.
As consciousness faded, realization struck him.
The timer…
It had never mattered.
If Dominic wanted to reveal something, he could have done so instantly.
The countdown was bait.
They had fought against time—
Instead of against him.
Darkness consumed him.
He fell.
Silence filled the theater.
Dominic adjusted his cuffs.
Then he walked calmly off the stage.
At the entrance, he paused.
Turned.
Smiled at the audience.
Then stepped outside.
An army awaited him.
Police vehicles. Special forces. Helicopters circling overhead. Weapons aimed from every direction.
Spotlights converged.
Stillness.
Dominic snapped his fingers.
Every screen flickered.
Across the theater district.
Across New York.
Across the nation.
Across the world.
News stations. Government databases. Corporate servers. Private security monitors. Phones. Radios.
Every interface displaying information—
Changed.
The countdown appeared.
9:07
9:06
9:05
Global.
Simultaneous.
Then he looked at the officers with an indifferent look as if all this is nothing but a little inconvenience.
The officers surrounding him felt it immediately.
they couldn't understand why they felt as if they've already lost.
They had numbers.
They had weapons.
But Dominic stood before them—
Calm.
Composed.
As if everything unfolding was merely a scheduled inconvenience.
And for the first time—
They wondered whether this had ever been a fight they could win.