Chapter 12
Beverly Hills — Allysa's Mansion
The morning sun bathed the mansion in warm golden light, its rays glinting off the polished rooftop and pristine white exterior. Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and refined, with only the faint hum of the air conditioning breaking the silence.
Bernard's office reflected the same elegance as the rest of the estate. Smooth white walls, finely carved wooden panels, and soft LED accent lights surrounded neatly arranged bookshelves, while a modern white desk sat at the center beneath a warm desk lamp.
Seated calmly in a black office chair, Bernard stared intently at a framed photograph of himself and Allysa resting on the desk. Dressed in a dark robe, his medium-length slicked-back hair remained perfectly in place, his expression unreadable as his eyes lingered on the picture.
The sharp vibration of his phone interrupted the silence.
It rang once.
Bernard picked it up, a faint smile forming on his face before answering.
"Hello, Uncle."
A warm chuckle echoed from the other end of the call.
"I'm getting older, yet I still feel young, my nephew," the elderly man said with amusement. "How have you been? How's my favorite nephew doing?"
Bernard leaned back slightly in his chair, maintaining his composed smile.
"I'm doing well, Uncle. Work has been keeping me busy."
"That's good to hear," the man replied warmly. "Tell me... how's Allysa doing?"
Bernard's gaze drifted back to the photograph on his desk.
"She's doing well, Uncle. She's here with me, and she's doing just fine."
"I'm glad to hear that," the man said with satisfaction. "Actually, I have something for both of you. If you two ever decide to visit France, I'd love to give it to you personally."
Bernard let out a quiet chuckle, though behind his calm smile lingered a hint of thoughtfulness.
"We'll think about it, Uncle," he replied politely. "If the opportunity comes, the two of us will definitely consider visiting."
The call continued, while Bernard's eyes remained fixed on the photograph resting quietly before him.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was entirely different. The mansion's modern kitchen was bright and spacious, illuminated by warm ceiling lights and streams of sunlight pouring through the wide glass windows, reflecting softly off the smooth marble countertops and polished wooden cabinets.
Celine continued her routine patrol through the kitchen, her messy bun swaying lightly as she walked. Dressed in a fitted tank top and cargo pants, she surveyed every corner with practiced eyes before approaching one of the maids washing dishes by the sink.
"Hey, have you seen the two guards?" Celine asked calmly.
The maid paused for a moment, water dripping from her hands as she continued rinsing a plate. Her sky-blue maid uniform was slightly damp around the sleeves, and a few loose strands of hair clung to her forehead.
"No, Ms. Scarlet. I haven't seen them," she replied politely.
"I see." Celine leaned casually against the versatile kitchen island, which served as both a dining space and an extra preparation counter. "By the way... what's your name?"
The young maid quickly dried her hands with a towel before offering a cheerful smile.
"Christine Pratt."
Celine returned the smile, extending a hand slightly.
"I'm Scarlet. Nice meeting you, Christine."
Christine smiled even wider.
"I already know your name, Ms. Scarlet. I've heard Charlie and Ms. Allysa mention you a few times."
Celine scratched the back of her neck awkwardly and let out a small laugh.
"I guess my name isn't exactly new around here anymore... hehehe."
"It's alright," Christine replied warmly. "It's still nice meeting you."
The two exchanged smiles before another familiar voice echoed through the kitchen.
"Well, hello there, ladies. Good morning to you, Christine... and not-so-good morning to you, Scarlet."
Zion strolled into the kitchen wearing a black shirt and dark pants, his neatly middle-parted hair perfectly in place. A pistol rested securely in the holster behind his waist as he approached them with an amused grin.
"H-Hi... good morning, Jonathan," Christine greeted shyly.
Celine folded her arms and shot him an exaggerated glare.
"Wow. My morning's already ruined because of you."
Zion chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Just kidding, Scar." He glanced toward Christine with a playful smile. "Make sure she doesn't get offended too quickly."
Celine narrowed her eyes, trying—and failing—to hide the amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Anyway," Zion continued, his tone becoming more professional, "it's your turn to patrol the outer perimeter with Alejandro. I'll relieve you in about an hour, then we'll take the next rotation together."
Celine gave a quick nod.
"Got it."
She turned back toward Christine, waving enthusiastically as she headed for the exit.
"See you later, Chris!"
Christine laughed softly and waved back.
"See you, Ms. Scarlet."
Just as Celine was about to reach the kitchen door, a frantic scream echoed from the second floor. Everyone instinctively looked up as Nathalie came rushing down the staircase, her footsteps pounding against the polished wooden steps.
"AHHHHH! Guys, look at the news!"
Her voice was filled with panic. Celine, Zion, and Christine immediately turned toward her, while Bernard, who had been inside his office, stepped out and looked down from the second floor with a puzzled expression.
Without wasting a second, Nathalie grabbed the television remote from the coffee table and switched on the large flat-screen TV. The familiar CCC News logo appeared, with the broadcaster standing before a rotating blue holographic globe as a bold red banner flashed across the screen.
BREAKING NEWS.
Behind the anchor, live footage showed the film studio engulfed in smoke and flames pouring from shattered windows. The sounds of distant gunfire crackled through the broadcast as the camera zoomed in on the chaos below.
"Breaking News. The Studios has come under attack by heavily armed assailants. More than fourteen gunmen are believed to be inside the complex, causing widespread destruction and severe property damage. The S.W.A.T. team has yet to arrive, while W.I.A. units are still on their way to the scene."
The broadcast shifted to aerial footage from a news helicopter circling above the studio. Below, police officers and studio security exchanged heavy gunfire with mercenaries as terrified civilians fled in every direction, smoke rising into the clear morning sky.
Celine's face turned pale.
Oh no... Gary... Allysa...
The thought struck her instantly. Beside her, Zion and Christine stood frozen as they stared at the horrifying footage, unable to believe what they were witnessing.
Without saying another word, Celine spun around and sprinted toward the hallway.
Zion watched her in confusion as she disappeared around the corner. Celine rushed into her room, located just beside Gary's near the kitchen wing, and quickly grabbed her tactical jacket before stuffing spare magazines and boxes of ammunition into her gear with practiced speed.
Only moments later, she rushed back downstairs.
The living room had fallen silent. Nathalie, Christine, and the four maids stood together, their eyes fixed on the television as the breaking news continued to unfold.
Just as Celine reached the front entrance, Miguel stepped inside after finishing his patrol.
"Scarlet... I've been waiting for you."
He paused, noticing the tactical gear strapped across her body.
"Wait... where are you going?" he asked calmly, curiosity replacing his usual relaxed expression.
Celine looked straight at him, her breathing still uneven.
"Alejandro... look at the news. That's where I'm going."
Miguel gave a slight nod before walking into the living room. His eyes shifted toward the television just as the news anchor repeated the report.
"Breaking News. The Studios has come under attack..."
He remained composed, silently taking in the situation.
"Alejandro... Jonathan... let's help them!" Celine pleaded, unable to hide the panic in her voice.
"Scarlet," Miguel replied firmly yet calmly, "we have to stay calm."
"Stay calm?!" Celine shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "Gary's in there... he's alone!"
Miguel met her gaze without raising his voice.
"If we rush there without knowing what we're walking into, we'll only get ourselves killed... and everyone in this mansion will be left unprotected because no one will be here to defend them."
Zion stepped closer, concern evident on his face as Christine, Nathalie, and the maids continued watching the live broadcast behind him.
"He's right, Scarlet," Zion said quietly. "Before Gary left, his orders were for us to remain here and secure the mansion."
Celine clenched her fists, determination burning in her eyes.
"Before Gary left..." she said, her voice firm despite the emotion behind it, "...he put me in charge. Right now, I'm the acting leader... and from this moment on, you follow my orders."
From the upper floor, Bernard stepped out of his office and slowly descended the grand staircase. His eyes fell immediately on the television, where the breaking news continued to show the burning studio in real time.
For a brief moment, his expression shifted into panic—though his movements remained controlled. His voice suddenly rose as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh no… ALLYSA!"
He rushed forward, drawing the attention of everyone in the living room. Miguel and Celine locked eyes almost immediately, the tension between them sharpening as Bernard's voice filled the space.
"We have to save her!" Bernard insisted, his tone desperate yet carefully composed.
Celine stepped forward, while Nathalie narrowed her eyes slightly, crossing her arms as she observed him closely. Miguel moved in front of Bernard, raising a hand in a calming gesture.
"Sir Bernard, please stay calm," Miguel said firmly but respectfully. "We don't know what we're dealing with yet. If we go in blindly, we'll only put ourselves in danger—and no one here will be left to protect this house."
Bernard clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering briefly toward the screen before returning to Miguel.
"Alejandro, I understand," he replied, his tone still laced with urgency. "But Allysa is in there. I can't just sit here and do nothing."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly as if trying to convince rather than command.
"Alejandro… please. If you need weapons, I can provide them."
Behind him, Nathalie exchanged a skeptical side glance, while Christine and the others remained fixed on the news broadcast, the burning studio flickering across their faces.
Miguel didn't immediately respond. Instead, he studied Bernard carefully, his expression unreadable as he weighed the situation.
"Even if you give us weapons, sir," Miguel said calmly, "it won't change the fact that we don't know what we're walking into. Charging in without intel means we're walking straight into death."
Celine immediately turned toward him, frustration breaking through her composure.
"Bernard is right, Alejandro!" she snapped. "We can't just sit here! Patrick is in there too, and so is Allysa!"
Miguel's gaze shifted sharply to Celine, his tone dropping into something more serious.
"Scarlet… listen to me," he said firmly. "A true leader doesn't just think about action. They think about consequences."
A heavy silence followed.
Their eyes locked—Miguel's steady and disciplined, Celine's burning with urgency and emotion. The tension between them filled the room as the chaos on the television continued to flicker in the background.
The room fell into a tense silence as one of the maids stepped forward from the group. Unlike the others, she wore a fitted black uniform, her posture unnaturally straight as she walked with the precision of a military officer rather than a household worker.
The other maids instinctively stepped aside, giving her space as she approached the center of the room. Her expression was firm yet composed, and her presence alone seemed to quiet the growing chaos.
"Enough. Everyone."
Her voice was calm, but carried authority that made even Bernard pause. She stood still with her hands clasped neatly behind her back, chin slightly raised as she surveyed the room.
"Lucia…" someone murmured under their breath.
Every gaze turned toward her, including Miguel and Celine, both momentarily taken off guard by her sudden intervention.
Lucia didn't flinch under the attention. Instead, she continued in a steady tone.
"All of your concerns are understandable," she said evenly. "But I don't agree with rushing in without information. We need to trust the one bodyguard Allysa brought with her."
She paused briefly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at the television still showing the burning studio in the background.
"That man… Patrick. He's trustworthy. Someone who would protect her even if it cost him his life."
A quiet weight settled over the room as her words lingered in the air.
Nathalie, who had been silent until now, slowly stepped forward beside her and nodded.
"She's right," Nathalie added calmly. "Bernard, Celine… we should trust Patrick. He already proved himself yesterday. He saved Allysa once—he won't stop now."
For a moment, no one spoke. Even the tension in Celine's expression softened slightly, though her worry remained evident as she stared at the screen flickering with chaos.
Miguel exhaled quietly, his eyes shifting between Lucia, Nathalie, and the others as he considered their words without lowering his guard.
Bernard exhaled slowly, his expression settling back into controlled calm as he turned away from the group. Though his earlier panic had faded, the tension in his shoulders remained as he glanced once more at the television before heading back up the grand staircase.
"Fine… I'll trust Patrick," he said in a low, measured tone. "But if something happens to her… I don't know what I'll do."
Without waiting for a response, he continued upstairs, leaving the living room in a heavier silence than before. Celine followed shortly after, her mind still locked on the crisis unfolding in the studio.
Downstairs, Lucia turned her attention back to the household.
"Maids, return to your duties. There is still work to be done," she said calmly but firmly.
The three maids, including Christine, immediately bowed and returned to the kitchen without hesitation. The tension in the room eased slightly as routine slowly resumed, though the atmosphere remained uneasy beneath the surface.
Lucia then shifted her focus to the remaining group—Miguel, Zion, Celine, and Nathalie. Her sharp gaze lingered on each of them in turn.
"You three… I assume you don't know my name."
Zion scratched the back of his head lightly, offering a polite shrug.
"Actually, we don't. But I've seen you around."
Nathalie smirked slightly, stepping forward with casual confidence.
"Guys, this is Madam Lucia. She's one of the head maids here. Also… she makes really good coffee and tea."
Lucia's expression didn't change, though her posture remained as strict and composed as ever.
Miguel stepped forward respectfully and gave a slight nod.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Lucia."
"Likewise," she replied simply.
Celine, still visibly tense from the situation, crossed her arms.
"I agree… you do make good coffee," she said bluntly, though her tone lacked its usual warmth.
A faint pause followed before Lucia continued, her attention now fully on them.
"May I ask your names?"
Miguel answered first without hesitation.
"I'm Alejandro Alex Gonzales."
Zion followed with a relaxed nod.
"Jonathan Winchester, ma'am."
Celine exhaled lightly before responding.
"Cassandra Scarlet West… but you can call me Scarlet."
Lucia gave a small, approving nod after each introduction, as if memorizing their identities carefully.
"Nice to meet you all," she said calmly. Then her gaze sharpened slightly as she added, "Correct me if I'm mistaken… but you are from the Shield Agency. The same organization Allysa trusted for her protection."
Miguel's expression remained steady as he stepped forward.
"Yes. We are from that agency."
Lucia and Miguel held each other's gaze for a moment longer than the rest, a quiet understanding passing between them as the weight of the situation settled once more over the mansion.
Meanwhile, en route to The Studios — Los Angeles
Four UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters bearing the white-and-black insignia of the Western Intelligence Agency (W.I.A.) thundered across the Los Angeles skyline. Flying low between towering buildings and massive billboards, their rotor blades roared overhead as startled pedestrians looked up, watching the formation race toward the city.
Below them, a convoy of black Mercedes-Benz SUVs and heavily armored Hummers, each marked with the Western Intelligence Agency emblem, sped through the streets with unwavering precision. Their engines growled in unison as civilian vehicles quickly pulled aside to clear their path.
Inside one of the Mercedes-Benz vehicles, heavily armed W.I.A. personnel sat in complete silence. They wore black tactical uniforms beneath reinforced body armor, their shoulders bearing a dark American flag patch alongside the agency's emblem—a deer's head marked with a precise crosshair.
Most of the operators concealed their faces behind black balaclavas, while others wore heavy-duty combat helmets fitted with ballistic goggles. Rifles, pump-action shotguns, and spare ammunition rested securely at their sides as they waited for the inevitable firefight.
A patch stitched onto each operator's shoulder read:
DELTA COMPANY.
High above, inside the lead Black Hawk, a tall man rose from his seat and gripped the overhead support bar as the helicopter vibrated beneath him. Dressed in the same tactical gear as the operators below, he held a pump-action shotgun across his chest, his black gloves wrapped tightly around the weapon while his neatly groomed hair remained untouched beneath the cabin lights.
His expression never changed.
Calm.
Focused.
Ready.
He raised a hand to his headset and keyed the radio.
"Ground Delta One, this is Airborne Delta Two. What's your current situation?"
Static crackled briefly before a composed voice answered.
"Major, Ground Delta One is en route to the designated waypoint. What's your status up there, Airborne Delta Two? Over."
The major looked through the helicopter's open side door as the city rushed beneath them.
"So far, so good, gentlemen," Major Gabrielle Lopez replied calmly. "Weapons check. Stay sharp."
He paused, gripping his shotgun a little tighter before speaking once more.
"We're heading into a war zone."
A faint smile formed across his otherwise stoic face.
"May God have mercy on our enemies."
"Hohorah" He said
The transmission ended as the four Black Hawks accelerated toward The Studios, their rotors echoing across the Los Angeles skyline while the Delta Company convoy continued racing below.
Meanwhile, inside The Studios...
The hallway had fallen into an eerie silence.
Once bustling with actors, staff, and production crews, it now looked like the aftermath of a battlefield. Ceiling lights flickered overhead, casting uneven shadows across the long corridor as shredded documents drifted lazily across the polished floor, stained with smears of blood and scattered shell casings.
Several doors hung half-open from stray bullets, while shattered glass glittered beneath Gary and Allysa's careful footsteps. The distant echoes of gunfire and muffled explosions still reverberated through the building, reminding them that the battle was far from over.
Gary advanced slowly at the front, his M4A1 shouldered and his finger resting safely along the receiver instead of the trigger. Every few steps, his eyes shifted from one corner to another, scanning through his optic with practiced patience while Allysa followed closely behind, her breathing still uneven from everything she had endured.
She lowered her head slightly, clutching her trembling hands together.
"Patrick... I'm sorry..."
Gary didn't take his eyes off the hallway.
"What are you apologizing for, Allysa?"
Her voice trembled as she answered.
"It's because... I dragged you into all of this." She swallowed hard before continuing. "You're just an ordinary security guard... and your family must be worried about you. I... I can't risk letting you die because of me."
Gary slowed to a stop.
Without lowering his rifle, he glanced over his shoulder and met her worried eyes. Behind the emotionless prosthetic mask he wore, a faint sadness crossed his unseen expression.
"Look, Allysa..." he said quietly. "It's my job to protect you."
He turned his attention back toward the corridor, tightening his grip on the rifle.
"And it's my duty to keep you alive. So don't worry about me..." He paused for only a second before adding in a softer voice, "...I don't really have anything left to lose."
The words lingered in the air.
"Patrick..." Allysa whispered, unable to find anything else to say.
Gary resumed walking, his footsteps steady despite the fever weighing on his body. His rifle remained raised as he carefully checked every intersection, doorway, and broken office they passed, refusing to let his guard down for even a moment.
The green EMERGENCY EXIT sign finally came into view at the end of the corridor.
Just as they approached it—
A figure suddenly stepped out from behind a damaged concrete pillar, rifle raised.
Gary reacted instantly, snapping his M4A1 toward the target.
At the exact same moment, the other man leveled his weapon at Gary.
For a split second, neither of them pulled the trigger.
Instead...
Their eyes met.
Gary blinked once.
Then twice.
The other man answered with the same subtle pattern—a silent exchange of Morse code known only to trained operatives.
Recognition.
Agent 229-H.
The older agent lowered his muzzle by a fraction.
"Sir... what are you doing here?" Agent 229 asked, keeping his voice low.
Gary answered without breaking character.
"I'm a security detail assigned to Ms. Allysa Sydney Wu."
From behind cover, Frank and Ken immediately emerged with their weapons trained on Gary.
"Put your hands up!" they shouted in unison.
Agent 229 raised a hand before the situation escalated any further.
"Security detail on sight!" he barked. "Put your guns down!"
Without hesitation, Frank and Ken obeyed.
Both operatives slowly lowered their weapons, though their eyes never left Gary, the tension in the corridor refusing to disappear completely.
Allysa's eyes shifted between the four armed men, uncertainty still evident on her face. Although they had lowered their weapons, their tactical movements and calm composure felt far too disciplined to be ordinary responders.
"Who... who are you guys?" she asked cautiously.
Agent 229 stepped forward first, keeping his Tommy gun pointed safely toward the floor. Reaching into his vest, he pulled out a leather badge wallet and flipped it open for her to see.
"We're with the LAPD, ma'am," he said calmly. "Our priority is to get you and your bodyguard out of here safely."
Allysa studied the badge for a moment before nodding faintly, but something immediately caught her attention. Her eyes drifted downward toward the weapon hanging comfortably in Agent 229's hands.
It wasn't an assault rifle.
It wasn't a standard police-issued firearm either.
It was... a Tommy gun.
A look of genuine confusion spread across her face as she stared at the vintage submachine gun, unable to understand why an LAPD officer would be carrying a weapon that looked like it belonged in another era.
Behind his prosthetic mask, Gary noticed the direction of her gaze.
He already knew exactly what she was thinking.
Major Gabrielle "Dark Joker" Lopez was the last to descend.
Gripping the fast rope with gloved hands, he slid smoothly from the hovering Black Hawk, his boots landing firmly against the rooftop with practiced precision. The moment he touched down, he immediately brought his pump-action shotgun to his shoulder, the muzzle sweeping across the rooftop as his sharp eyes searched for any immediate threats.
The Delta Company operators quickly formed around him, each man covering a different sector with disciplined efficiency. Their rifles remained raised as they checked every access point, rooftop structure, ventilation unit, and doorway, ensuring the landing zone was secure before advancing.
Gabrielle raised a clenched fist, signaling the formation to halt.
After a brief sweep of the area, he extended two fingers toward the rooftop access door.
"Move."
The operators responded instantly.
One team stacked against the entrance while another covered the rear and elevated angles, their movements silent and synchronized from years of training. Once everyone was in position, the point man carefully pulled the heavy door open, revealing the dim stairwell leading into the building.
Gab entered first.
His shotgun remained leveled at chest height as he descended into the stairwell, every step deliberate and controlled. Behind him, Delta Company flowed into the building one by one, disappearing into the smoke-filled interior as the hunt for the mercenaries officially began.
Meanwhile, inside The Studios...
Gary, Agent 229, Ken, Frank, and Allysa moved cautiously through the final stretch of the building until they reached the underground parking structure. Rows of parked vehicles stood motionless beneath the dim fluorescent lights, while the concrete pillars cast long shadows across the empty floor, making the silence feel far more unsettling than the gunfire they had left behind.
Gary swept his M4A1 across every lane, carefully checking between vehicles and behind the pillars. The smell of burnt rubber and gunpowder lingered in the air, and every distant echo made the parking garage feel like a trap waiting to spring shut.
Then, the low rumble of an engine broke the silence.
A black Chevrolet Suburban rolled into view and stopped directly in front of them. The driver's door swung open, revealing Charlie behind the wheel.
"Come on! Let's go!" he shouted.
Gary immediately opened the rear passenger door and motioned for Allysa to move first. Keeping one hand on his rifle and the other shielding her head, he quickly guided her into the back seat before climbing in after her.
"Move! Move!" Gary urged as he slammed the door shut.
Agent 229 remained outside with Ken and Frank, their weapons still trained toward the parking structure.
"We'll hold this position," Agent 229 said calmly. "You three get out of here. We'll be fine."
Gary met the veteran agent's eyes through the window.
Both men exchanged a silent nod.
The Suburban accelerated, its tires screeching softly against the concrete floor as it disappeared toward the parking exit, leaving Agent 229, Frank, and Ken standing alone beneath the flickering lights.
---
Inside the Chevrolet Suburban
Charlie gripped the steering wheel firmly, guiding the SUV through the winding exit ramp while constantly checking the mirrors. The distant sounds of sirens slowly faded behind them, replaced by the steady growl of the engine.
In the back seat, Allysa sat quietly with both hands clasped together in her lap. Her face remained pale, and although she tried to stay composed, the fear lingering in her eyes betrayed everything she had been through.
Gary, seated beside her, looked through the rear window, scanning for any vehicle that might be following them. His rifle rested across his lap, ready at a moment's notice despite the exhaustion slowly overtaking his body.
Charlie broke the silence.
"Patrick... should we head back to the mansion?"
Gary answered almost immediately.
"No."
The single word filled the vehicle with silence.
Allysa slowly lifted her head.
"...Wait... what?"
Gary kept watching the road behind them before finally speaking.
"Charlie... Allysa... we can't go back to the mansion."
His voice remained calm despite the fatigue creeping into it.
"We need to disappear for at least seven days. The situation is too unstable right now. Until we know who's behind all of this and whether they'll strike again, we have to lay low."
Allysa lowered her gaze.
"...Then where are we going?"
For the first time, Gary hesitated.
"I... don't know."
He let out a quiet breath.
"But we'll figure something out."
Charlie tightened his grip on the steering wheel before speaking again.
"I know a place."
Both Gary and Allysa looked toward him.
"My family's there," Charlie continued. "It's quiet, far from the city, and the people there are trustworthy. No one would think to look for us there."
Gary studied Charlie carefully.
"Are you sure it'll be safe?" he asked. "You know what happened today, Charlie. If they trace us there..."
Charlie nodded without the slightest hesitation.
"I'm sure."
His voice carried quiet determination.
"I swear on my life, Patrick."
Gary remained silent for a long moment, weighing every possibility in his mind. Behind the expressionless prosthetic mask, countless scenarios raced through his thoughts before he finally reached a decision.
I don't know if this is the right move...
...but I'll trust him.
He slowly turned toward Allysa.
"Is that alright with you?"
His voice softened slightly.
"If we go there... it means staying hidden for a while."
Allysa looked out the window at the passing streets before answering.
"I don't know either, Patrick..."
She forced a faint, tired smile.
"But... if it keeps everyone at the mansion safe... and keeps us alive..."
She nodded.
"...then I'll do it."
A quiet silence settled inside the Suburban.
After a few moments, Allysa looked toward Charlie once more.
"...Where exactly are we going?"
Charlie smiled faintly without taking his eyes off the road.
"Southern San Diego, California."
Gary gave a slow nod.
Beside him, Allysa did the same.
As the Chevrolet Suburban merged onto the highway, the burning skyline of Los Angeles slowly disappeared behind them, while an uncertain journey toward Southern San Diego—and whatever awaited them there—had just begun