The following days passed in eerie calm. Outside, the media was frantically searching for Omega, but no one had any idea where the group operated—or even where their office was.
Omega had been publicly acknowledged, yet it remained shrouded in secrecy. Everyone wanted to find just one Omega member—just one—but no one could.
All Omega operatives had dual identities. First and foremost, they were CTU agents; only when necessary did they reveal their affiliation with Omega.
In these few days, someone unexpected became famous: the military enthusiast, David Blanchett. His idiotic behavior had landed him in mortal danger, but his dramatic long-distance rescue by Omega had made for sensational news.
The public was amazed by the sheer audacity of his deception—especially when several girls he had catfished came forward. His reputation tanked overnight, yet ironically, he also skyrocketed to fame as the only civilian known to have had contact with Omega.
They couldn't find Omega, but to the media hounds, finding the hospital David was in was child's play. Reporters swarmed in like sharks smelling blood. If they couldn't get a direct interview with Omega, they'd settle for an indirect one—David had been rescued by them, he had to know something, right?
"Sir, can you describe what the Omega operatives looked like? Maybe their weapons? Any distinguishing features?"
"Mr. Blanchett, what can you say about Omega's operation to rescue you?"
…
The press was relentless. David lay in his hospital bed, dumbfounded by the sea of microphones thrust into his face. His throat moved, but nothing came out.
Internally, David was crumbling. He remembered a few fragments from that night—but everyone had their faces covered. They wore those black tactical masks used by special forces.
"I just remember… um… I think… maybe… their eyes were very bright. Yeah. Super bright. Like stars in the night sky. And I'm pretty sure… they were all men."
The surrounding reporters collectively turned to stone. This guy…
The journalists felt insulted. One unanimous thought ran through their minds: Why did Omega even bother saving this piece of trash? Would've been better if he'd just died.
…
Owen switched off the TV in silence. He didn't want to see any more interviews about that hostage. He was sure the press wouldn't get anything useful out of David. During the mission, everyone had worn full face coverings and only used codenames. The only slip-up had been when Owen shouted Bayev's name during the explosion aftermath—but given David's condition at the time, he likely hadn't registered it.
Jack had called earlier. As suspected, the press conference had been orchestrated by the White House. President Palmer clearly had an agenda. Fortunately, the mission had been a success. Omega's first overseas rescue had gone off nearly flawlessly—apart from a slight delay in locating the target, the rest of the op had been textbook.
In the wake of the operation, Omega remained on high alert. They'd destroyed a freighter operated by Al-Qaeda, taking out dozens of terrorists directly or indirectly. Given how terrorist organizations operate, retaliation was inevitable. So, over the past two days, the U.S. had placed all suspected Al-Qaeda cells and affiliates under tight surveillance. Any suspicious moves were to be dealt with immediately.
Palmer had given only one directive: no incidents. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong. As a result, not just CTU and Omega but also other intelligence agencies like the NSA were working around the clock.
Domestic and international departments were all mobilized. Some minor incidents had already occurred—attention-seeking individuals made moves that were easily misconstrued, and in the dead of night, CTU or FBI teams showed up at their doors. A few late-night comedy shows had started roasting the agencies for overreacting, but some keen-eyed observers sensed there was more going on behind the scenes.
With Monica now staying with Beth, Owen barely went home anymore—he just stayed at Omega HQ. Apart from the occasional phone call, he practically lived at the facility. With little day-to-day work, he spent most of his time training with the team.
Lately, he'd also been learning sniping techniques from Swagg. His Bullet Time ability gave him a monstrous advantage in marksmanship, but sniping wasn't just about accurate shooting. There was far more to it: camouflage, spotting, calculating ballistic trajectories based on wind, humidity, and distance…
One afternoon on a grassy hillside, the wind rustled the tall weeds. Owen, camouflaged in a ghillie suit, lay prone on the ground, feeling as though he'd become one with the earth. He could almost hear the heartbeat of the land with every breath.
Suddenly, Swagg's voice came through the headset: "Owen, you're dead."
"What?!"
Owen was stunned. He'd thought this was his best camouflage yet. He'd even given up on observing the field—his only goal was to avoid being found by Swagg and Fred.
"Black rock, five meters to the right."
Owen sighed and stood up. Swagg's position callout was spot on.
"How did you find me?"
"Simple. The grass around you bent at a slightly different angle."
"…Right."
Owen was too deflated to feel anything at that point. He spat out the stalk in his mouth and reaffirmed a truth in his heart: all professional snipers were freaks—and their spotters were freaks too. The observational skills of these people bordered on the inhuman.
He looked defeated, but he didn't know that Fred was the one who was truly shocked. Owen's progress over just a few days was astonishing. The guy had freakish talent. When it came to accuracy, Owen now rivaled any pro sniper. What he still lacked was the rest: observation, patience, endurance.
Owen had no idea his two sniper instructors held him in such high regard. As far as he was concerned, he was just abusing Bullet Time to compensate for everything.
"You draw fast? I've got Bullet Time. You shoot fast? I've got Bullet Time. You're accurate? I've got Bullet Time. You reload like a machine? I still have Bullet Time. No matter what you do—Bullet Time wins."
After training, the trio returned to Omega HQ. As soon as Owen walked into his office, the phone on his desk started ringing.
He picked it up. Becky's voice came through.
"Owen, you'd better come over. We just found something interesting on the dark web…"
______
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