"Places, everyone! Action!"
"Ahhh!!!"
The actor playing the gang leader let out an enraged shout before opening fire. His henchmen, including Owen, followed suit.
Although the assistant director hadn't given Owen any instructions, he had already read the full script. He knew exactly what was supposed to happen and didn't mess up his role.
Pulling the trigger, Owen was surprised to realize that the MP5 he had been handed was the real deal—just loaded with blanks. With every shot fired, the special effects team triggered explosive squibs, creating simulated bullet holes across the air duct.
"Cut! Hey, you in the back! Yeah, you! What the hell are you grinning about?!"
Owen blinked.
The director was looking right at him.
Judging by the reactions of the people around him, there was no doubt—the director was yelling at him.
Crap.
He had been too focused on watching the squibs go off, completely forgetting to control his facial expression.
Realizing his mistake, Owen quickly apologized—only to glance past the director and spot Monica, nearly crying with laughter behind him.
"Alright, let's go again. Everyone, focus—let's get it right in one take."
The actors and extras all nodded, getting back into position.
Owen prepared himself again.
The scene restarted—gang leader shouting, gunfire erupting, Owen firing along with the others. This time, he made sure to put on an angry expression.
Not that it really mattered—he was in the very back. Even if he made it on camera, it would probably be for less than a second.
This time, no one screwed up.
"Alright! That's a wrap on this scene. Moving on to the next setup…"
Owen exhaled in relief, about to step away—
But the assistant director suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Where do you think you're going? You can't just disappear! What about your professional ethics? What if you're in one shot but missing in the next? The audience will notice!"
Owen was speechless.
Professional ethics?
He had just wanted to have fun—how did he end up getting roped into this? Now, he couldn't even leave until they finished filming this entire sequence.
Meanwhile, Monica was laughing even harder.
This woman… she always loved seeing him suffer.
Scene after scene, take after take, Owen was tortured by the endless re-shoots.
Even when he had actually been in Nakatomi Plaza fighting terrorists, he hadn't been this exhausted.
An entire hour later, the assistant director finally turned his attention elsewhere.
Owen seized the chance—tore off his costume, grabbed Monica, and bolted before they could pull him back in.
Outside the set, Monica was dying of laughter, clutching onto a pole for support while gasping for breath.
Owen, on the other hand, looked utterly drained.
After escaping the set, they wandered around Hollywood for a while.
Since they were already here, skipping the Walk of Fame would've felt like a waste.
The area was packed with tourists—mostly from Asia and Europe.
People crowded around the pavement, searching excitedly for their favorite celebrities' handprints, eagerly snapping photos once they found them.
Neither Owen nor Monica were die-hard fans, but they still joined in on the fun, soaking in the lively atmosphere.
All around them, they heard travelers speaking different languages.
Owen could pick out Russian, German, Japanese, and French—this place really was a miniature United Nations.
Hearing German suddenly sparked an idea.
Monica was of German descent. Though she had been adopted by an American couple as a child, she still spoke the language fluently.
From their conversations, Owen had learned that ever since coming to the U.S., she had never gone back to Germany—or even to Europe.
Maybe… it was time for her to return to her homeland.
Once the idea took root in his mind, he couldn't shake it.
Now was the perfect opportunity.
Both of them were still technically on leave—if they waited until after they resumed work, there was no telling when they'd have another chance.
And on top of that—
Yesterday, Sam had refunded Owen a hefty sum.
It was the operational cash they had given him for the Colombia mission.
Not only had Sam returned the entire amount, but he had even added a bonus since the CIA had covered the costs.
Sam had made a killing off the mission and had deliberately set aside a portion for everyone involved—that was just how he operated.
Even though Owen had originally asked for their help, in the end, the mission had profited them all.
And in Sam's book, if money was made, then everyone got a cut—no matter how small.
After refunding the original contributions, Owen split the remainder into nine shares—
ASH, Reche, Heartbeat, Campbell, Owen, Monica, and the three fallen comrades: Morris, Coulson, and Nicholas.
It didn't matter whether they were alive or dead—everyone got their due.
With this extra cash in hand, Owen's finances were in great shape—and now, he was determined to surprise Monica.
—
The next morning, backpack slung over his shoulder, Owen showed up at Monica's doorstep.
As he passed the house across the street, old Mrs. Lucy spotted him.
With a knowing smile, she gave him a thumbs-up.
Owen chuckled, returning the gesture.
Reaching the front door, he pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
A moment later, Monica appeared, dressed in casual loungewear, looking completely caught off guard.
Owen hadn't told her he was coming today.
"You? What are you doing here? Didn't you say you were busy today?"
Grinning, Owen leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips.
Then, he pulled out two plane tickets and waved them in front of her.
"I was busy. I was busy planning your surprise."
Monica blinked.
"Surprise? What is this?"
"Plane tickets. To Munich."
"Munich? Germany?!"
"Not just me. Us. I'm taking you back home."
Owen gently ran his fingers through her hair.
For a moment, Monica froze.
Then, with a giddy squeal, she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist like an excited child.
"Really?! Are you serious?!"
She shouted with joy, bursting into laughter as Owen spun her around in circles.
"Of course."
Seeing her so happy, Owen felt just as thrilled.
But suddenly, Monica's brow furrowed.
"Wait… but we haven't even made any plans?"
Owen just chuckled, ruffling her hair.
"No need for plans. We'll go wherever we want, whenever we want. This is a spur-of-the-moment adventure."
Her eyes widened.
A spur-of-the-moment adventure.
Those words held a magnetic pull for any young soul.
Smack!
Owen playfully slapped her butt.
"What are you waiting for? Go pack!"
"Fifteen minutes! No—ten minutes!"
Monica dashed upstairs, excitement practically radiating from her.
Even after she disappeared inside, her joy still lingered in the air.
Owen turned back toward the street—
And saw Mrs. Lucy still watching, beaming at them.
This time, she gave him a thumbs-up with both hands.
Owen laughed, waving back at her.
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