Chapter 15: The Terrorist Attack

Meanwhile, inside the restroom, Lorenzo gripped the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror.

His reflection stared back.

For several seconds, he remained motionless, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over his face.

"Get a grip, Lorenzo."

He wiped the water from his face and took a deep breath.

Whatever was wrong with his [Perfectionist] trait, he would have to find a way to deal with it.

He had enough problems without adding another one to the list.

’I should head back. There’s no point wasting any more time than I already have.’

With that thought, Lorenzo straightened his clothes and left the restroom.

His footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor as he made his way back toward the restaurant. His mind, however, remained occupied with his conversation with Sofia.

No matter how he looked at it, things weren’t going well.

He had hoped to learn more about her and perhaps find some way to repair their relationship, but all he’d accomplished was making her hate him even more.

Not that he could blame her.

’I’ll have to figure something out.’

He rubbed his temples, searching for a solution.

’I need to do something...’

Then he heard it.

A commotion erupted somewhere ahead.

At first, it sounded like nothing more than a few raised voices. But as Lorenzo continued walking, the noise grew louder. People were shouting, some screaming for help, while hurried footsteps thundered through the corridor.

His expression changed.

Something was wrong.

Before he could figure out what was happening—

BOOOOOOM!

The explosion tore through the building.

A tremendous shockwave slammed into Lorenzo, lifting him off his feet and hurling him backward. His body crashed against the wall with bone-rattling force, and the back of his head struck the concrete.

For a moment, everything went white.

He couldn’t see anything.

He couldn’t hear anything except a piercing ring that seemed to drill straight into his skull.

"...Argh."

His knees buckled as he slid down the wall, one hand instinctively clutching his aching head.

What the hell just happened?

He tried to stand, but his legs refused to cooperate at first. His stomach churned, and pain throbbed through his side where he’d struck the wall.

He forced himself to take a breath.

Once.

Twice.

Gradually, the world began to return.

The blinding whiteness faded into indistinct shapes. The ringing in his ears softened, allowing other sounds to seep through—panicked screams, hurried footsteps, and the unmistakable crack of gunfire.

Gunfire?

Lorenzo’s eyes widened.

He pushed himself upright and looked toward the source of the noise.

The sight that greeted him made his expression turn grim.

Armed men dressed in black were moving through the hallways, their faces concealed behind masks and their weapons raised. They shouted orders at the terrified civilians and restaurant staff, forcing everyone still inside toward the center of the hallway.

Some people were crying.

Others stood frozen in place, too frightened to move.

A few lay motionless on the floor.

The explosion had blown a massive hole through the outer wall of the restaurant building. Dust and debris filled the air, while daylight poured through the jagged opening. Tables had overturned, glass littered the floor, and the smell of smoke hung heavily in the air.

Lorenzo stared at the scene for barely a second before his mind began working.

Terrorists?

That was the most likely explanation.

But who were they targeting?

And more importantly, how many were there?

His gaze swept across the corridor, taking in the masked men, their weapons, and the way they were controlling the crowd.

He couldn’t determine their ranks from a quick glance, and right now, that information wasn’t his priority.

He needed to understand the situation before making a move.

Lorenzo pressed a hand against his side and tested his balance. The impact had left him aching, but nothing seemed broken.

Good enough.

He couldn’t afford to remain there.

A masked man turned toward the corridor where Lorenzo stood.

Their eyes nearly met.

Lorenzo immediately lowered his head and moved with the crowd, slipping between panicked civilians as they hurried away from the explosion. He kept his movements natural, resisting the urge to run faster than everyone else.

Drawing attention to himself would be a mistake.

He didn’t know the enemy’s numbers.

Picking a fight with armed men under these circumstances would be foolish.

For now, he needed to get somewhere safe, assess the situation, and figure out his next move.

But just as he began working through his options, a familiar face flashed through his mind.

Sofia.

Lorenzo’s steps faltered.

She was still in the restaurant.

She had been sitting at their table when he left for the restroom, which meant she might have been caught in the explosion.

For a brief moment, he stood motionless amid the fleeing crowd.

Then his expression changed.

’Damn it.’

He turned toward the restaurant.

He should have been thinking about his own survival. He had no idea how many terrorists were inside the building, what their objective was, or whether more explosives had been planted nearby.

He didn’t even know if Sofia was still alive.

Yet, despite all those uncertainties, one thought drowned out every other concern.

I need to find her.

The realization made his jaw tighten.

Was this the [Perfectionist] trait influencing him again?

Perhaps.

But he couldn’t waste time trying to distinguish his own desires from the trait’s influence. Not when Sofia might be in danger.

He wasn’t going to let her die in front of him.

Lorenzo took one last look at the panicked crowd before turning against the flow of fleeing civilians.

----

Dead bodies.

That was all Lorenzo could see as he made his way back toward the table where he and Sofia had been sitting before the terrorists attacked the restaurant.

The once-elegant dining area had become a scene of carnage. Tables were overturned, chairs lay scattered across the floor, and shattered glass crunched beneath his shoes. Smoke drifted through the damaged ceiling, mixing with the metallic stench of blood.

Some of the bodies were sprawled across the floor, while others were partially buried beneath the debris.

Lorenzo barely spared them a glance.

His eyes were searching for one person.

"Sofia..."

He reached their table and stopped.

The chairs were still there, though one had been knocked onto its side. Their food remained untouched, now scattered across the table and floor. A broken glass lay near Sofia’s seat, its contents mixing with the bloodstains spreading across the tiles.

But Sofia was nowhere to be seen.

"She’s not here."

His voice was strangely emotionless.

For several seconds, Lorenzo stood motionless, staring at the empty chair.

Then his mind began working.

He hadn’t found her body.

That meant she might have escaped before the explosion, been caught in the attack, or been taken somewhere by the terrorists.

Of those possibilities, the last one concerned him the most.

Did they take her hostage?

I need to find her fast as possible

Lorenzo hand reached inside his blazer and unbuckled his gun holster, easing the weapon free but not drawing it yet.

’I can’t use the gun. A single shot will alert every terrorist on this floor and bring them all down on me!’

The thought was almost amused in its frustration. A small oversight but nothing was out his control yet.

’No time to dwell on it. I have to find Sofia first!’

He then picked up a fork that was laying on floor and turned to look around.

’No one is near my sight but I felt someone’s presence.’

Lorenzo quietly walk forward and hide behind the piller of wall, hiding his body presence from upcoming terrorist.

A masked man was walking past the hallway, weapon slung loose, clearly not expecting resistance in this section of the resturant, after all most of civilians in this part were dead or has been taken as hostage, there was nothing to fear. His footsteps were casual and confident.

Lorenzo waited until the man was walked passed by him.

Then he moved.

In a single fluid motion, years of Samuel muscle memory flowing through Lorenzo body for the first time in combat, he clamped his left hand over the man’s mouth from behind and drove the sharp fork into the side of the terrorist’s neck.

Once, twice, three times in rapid succession...

The fork was very sharp and Lorenzo took advantage of that fact.

His movment were cruel, without hint of any mercy in his actions.

"!!!"

Gurgle... gurgle...

The terrorist’s eyes went wide as he struggled, his body thrashing in Lorenzo grip, trying to scream.

But Lorenzo hand was clamped tight over his mouth, and the only sound that escaped was the wet, choking gurgle of blood filling his throat.

The man’s hands flailed uselessly against Lorenzo arm, grabbing, clawing and trying his best.

But... Lorenzo didn’t release him.

He held on patiently, his cold expression unchanged, until the terrorist’s struggles weakened and finally went limp.

He held the corpse for a moment longer, ensuring there was no last reflexive struggle, then carefully lowered it behind a damaged table where it wouldn’t immediately be spotted.

The fork was slick with blood. He set it down and used the dead man’s own uniform to wipe his hands clean.

Samuel’s memories had taken over completely.

His hands had moved with the precision and coldness of a man who had spent decades ordering murders.

For the first time since arriving in this world, the two consciousnesses had worked in perfect harmony.

He could hear voices now. The terrorists were coordinating through radio communications, their tone professional and organized. This wasn’t a random attack by amateurs. These were trained operatives following a specific plan.

’A kidnapping,’ Lorenzo realized. ’They came for someone specific.’

But for who?