Wall Street, Stratton & Co.
Jordan had his female secretary pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window when he suddenly paused and frowned. "What the hell was that just now—was that an earthquake?"
A moment later, after finishing up, he pulled up his pants and walked out.
"Donnie?!"
Jordan roared across the trading floor, "Can someone tell me what the hell just happened? Why does it feel like my entire company is shaking?!"
Behind a wobbling desk, Donnie slowly climbed up from the floor and muttered, "…Did it just vibrate?"
Jordan immediately facepalmed. "Fuck me… I'm surrounded by idiots who do nothing but fuck around all day!"
At that moment, the phone rang, and Jordan picked it up with a grin. "Dove! I knew you'd show up at Wall Street!"
He chuckled and continued, "You know why? We've got a psychic connection. Every time you come near, I can feel it—just like when a beautiful woman walks into the room, my eyes are always drawn to her."
He paused for a second, then added, "…Damn, so I can have a psychic connection with a man too? Dove, you must be way too handsome."
On the rooftop of the same building, a group of robbers monitored the streets below through binoculars as more and more police cars flooded the area.
Simon frowned and asked, "What's going on with that gunman at the subway station, and where the hell did he come from?"
"I don't know," a henchman replied, "but it could be a smokescreen—the police might be using the 'gunman' story to evacuate civilians."
Simon thought for a moment, then nodded, realizing that was the only explanation that made sense.
He had already told McClane about the bomb on the train, which meant the police must have gotten the information from him, though it was unclear how the message had spread.
"I told you to follow the rules and not involve the other cops… that bastard," Simon muttered, though it didn't matter much since the bomb still exploded exactly where it was supposed to and everything remained on track—McClane hadn't stopped anything.
Still frowning, Simon continued, "There's one more thing—can anyone explain how McClane got to Wall Street early? I calculated the time; it should take at least thirty minutes from Broadway, so how did he beat the clock?"
A subordinate raised his hands helplessly. "Because they didn't follow any normal route—they drove on sidewalks, jumped between roads, and basically drove like tanks while completely ignoring traffic laws."
Simon fell silent for a moment before saying flatly, "…Very good. I underestimated McClane—and that Asian man."
His eyes darkened slightly as a dull pain throbbed in his head, forcing him to quickly take out an Aspirin tablet and swallow it dry, as his condition—severe headaches that sometimes even caused him to stutter—required frequent painkillers.
He then picked up the phone again and said coldly, "Let's move on to a more interesting game."
On another nearby rooftop, O-Ren Ishii crouched low with a sniper rifle, the Germans clearly visible through her scope.
She took out her phone and reported, "I've found them."
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[DIng! You evacuated civilians in advance, moved the bomb, and saved countless lives, protecting the peace of the subway station]
[Skill Points +20]
[Skill Fragments +10]
[Bone Strength +5%]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 138]
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" Luca said calmly before hanging up and walking into Stratton & Co.
---
Meanwhile, McClane and Keung climbed into a surveillance vehicle where Patrick Denham, David Mills, and several FBI agents were already reviewing the subway explosion.
David let out a long breath and said, "Unbelievable… a blast that big and only minor injuries, no fatalities—that's a miracle," before looking at them and adding, "McClane, Keung, this is thanks to you two."
Keung waved it off modestly. "Not us—it was Dove; he risked his life to move the bomb."
McClane nodded without hesitation. "With Dove backing us up, I feel a hell of a lot safer—he can handle anything."
The others exchanged complicated looks, realizing their confidence now came from a mafia figure.
Denham chuckled and shook his head. "I wouldn't celebrate just yet," he said as he pulled out a file and handed it over. "Take a look—recognize either of them?"
The file showed two men, one in black with sunglasses and another in a German military uniform.
McClane shook his head. "Never seen them."
Denham explained, "During the Colombo war, Gallo hired an international mercenary group, and I've been tracking them—the first is Mathias Targo, a former Hungarian Army explosives expert now working freelance as a contract terrorist."
"The second," Denham continued with a more serious tone, "is a former East German colonel specializing in espionage and infiltration; back in World War II, similar units infiltrated Allied forces using English-speaking operatives."
"We traced his entry through medical records—he suffers from severe headaches."
McClane snorted. "Yeah, sounds like something's definitely wrong with his head."
Denham nodded. "His name is Peter Krieg."
McClane paused. "…Doesn't ring a bell."
Denham looked at him and asked, "Does the name Gruber mean anything to you?"
McClane's pupils shrank instantly as a memory flashed—Los Angeles, the bombing, the vault, the bonds, and a man falling from a skyscraper.
Denham spoke quietly, "Peter Krieger's real name is Simon Peter Gruber—he's Hans Gruber older brother."
McClane's mouth opened slightly. "…You're kidding me."
Now everything made sense—no wonder Simon had singled him out; this was revenge.
Denham sighed. "McClane, be careful—he won't let this go."
"Shit…" McClane ran a hand over his head. "Years later, and they're still coming after me like ghosts."
David patted his shoulder. "Kill one, get the whole family—I wouldn't be surprised if his parents show up next."
McClane fell silent for a moment before exhaling slowly. "This isn't just revenge—under normal circumstances, Keung and I should never have made it to Wall Street in time; he gave us an impossible task and twisted the rules, which means that bomb was meant to explode."
The room fell silent, the implication heavy—if this continued, more explosions were inevitable.
At that moment, a police officer climbed into the vehicle and said, "Sir, Simon's on the line," prompting everyone to immediately put on their earpieces.
Simon's voice came through. "The FBI's there too, right? Agent Denham, enjoying my medical records? If you have headaches, I can recommend a good hospital."
His mocking tone irritated everyone, and before Denham could respond, McClane snapped, "Were you dropped on your head at birth, or did your mom smash it in for you?!"
"I can hear the anger," Simon replied lightly. "That explosion upset you? That's the price of losing—you broke traffic rules, but you don't break mine, because I make the rules."
Then his tone sharpened. "New game."
"I've planted a 2400-pound bomb in one of 1,446 schools across New York."
Everyone froze, because 2400 pounds wasn't just a bomb—it was total destruction; if it detonated, entire schools would be reduced to rubble along with countless teachers and students.
"Your silence tells me you understand," Simon continued. "The rules are simple—try to evacuate, I detonate early; try to defuse it, it explodes."
"I've set a special frequency, and any interference outside of it will trigger the bomb, so I'll be watching—don't break my rules."
"To stop this, McClane and your Chinese friend must finish the game," he added before announcing, "Next location—a public phone booth at Times Square, twenty minutes."
The call ended.
"2400 pounds?!" David slammed his fist down. "That lunatic! If I catch him, I'll shove all 2400 pounds straight up his—"
"David…" McClane cut in quietly, his expression heavy. "My kids are in school."
The room fell silent as others spoke up, one after another, saying their children were in school too, causing the atmosphere to turn suffocatingly tense under the looming threat.
Keung stepped forward with a firm expression. "Gentlemen, this is not the time to fall apart—we save them."
Denham stood up. "No one's giving up—David, time to work together again."
McClane was already moving. "Keung and I will handle the game; you find the bombs—and protect those kids."
The team split immediately, with McClane and Keung heading to continue the game while Denham and David mobilized a citywide search.
"Simon said we can't evacuate, but he never said we can't search," David said firmly.
"Mobilize everyone—police, firefighters, traffic control, even librarians—every school, every building, search everything and find the bomb first!"
He checked the time—it was almost noon. "We have three and a half hours."
After a brief pause, he lowered his head slightly and said, "I'm counting on all of you."
Then he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and when the call connected, his voice finally cracked—
"Dove … help."
"I need your help so bad."
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Thx to Kayopa 77 for becoming my P Knight, my cats is eating big tonight.
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