Robinson stared at the massive cargo ship looming ahead, then turned to Paul.
"Let me be the distraction," he said firmly.
"I'll act like some dumb kid who wandered in. Pretend to be all friendly. You slip in from the other side."
Paul hesitated. "Rob—"
"I know the risk," Robinson cut in, serious now.
"But I also know how to annoy people just long enough for you to get inside."
Paul gave a nod. Marcus handed Robinson a small helmet, chuckling.
"Street actor. Don't overdo it, man."
Robinson casually strolled toward the ship's ramp, putting on his best clueless grin. He started whistling loudly—off-key and annoying.
Two guards at the boarding platform turned sharply toward him.
"Hey there! This the ship for... old jacket delivery or something?" Robinson asked with fake excitement.
"My mom said someone here's got my vintage leather jacket!"
He got closer, waving like an idiot.
"Mind if I hop on? I love the ocean, bro. So peaceful and mysterious, right?"
The first guard lowered his rifle slightly.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked flatly.
"Name's Robinson," he replied cheerily.
"Or my friends call me… Binson the Cool!"
He gave two thumbs up with a goofy grin.
The second guard frowned and reached for his radio.
"Got some lost kid here. Want us to deal with him?"
Meanwhile, Paul and Marcus moved silently along the shadows, sneaking in through the container stacks on the side of the dock.
Paul slipped into a narrow hallway inside the ship, navigating around crates and piping with precise footwork.
And in the control room—right on time—stood Vance.
Vance, a high-ranking Zero Divide handler and former street racer, now the logistics brain behind their international operations.
He wore a sharp black suit, slicked-back hair, and black gloves.
He was mid-conversation on a secure tablet, speaking in a low tone.
Vance:
"The shipment to Japan begins at 1 AM. All encrypted data should be uploaded by then. The FBI must not—"
He turned around—and froze.
Paul was already there.
Gun raised.
"Bad news, Vance," Paul said coolly.
"The FBI knows everything."
Vance stood calmly, even with Paul's pistol aimed at his chest.
A smirk crept across his face as he slowly stepped toward the table.
"So, you finally show up yourself, Paul," he said mockingly.
"The FBI's loyal dog… infiltrating our world for years, and now you think you can shut it all down? Too late."
Paul didn't flinch, his eyes locked on Vance like steel.
"You've ruined enough lives, Vance. This ends tonight."
But Vance let out a low chuckle.
He subtly pressed a small button under the table—the doors sealed, red emergency lights dimly flashing.
"You think I didn't plan for this? An FBI rat trying to be a hero?"
He leaned closer.
"If I go down tonight… your son's next. Robinson. The vultures are already circling."
Paul's jaw tightened.
"Leave him out of this."
"Too late," Vance sneered.
"You may have been undercover, but to the criminal world, you were one of us. And your son? He's the offspring of a traitor. That's a mark he'll never escape."
Meanwhile – In the lower corridor of the ship,
Robinson was being dragged by two guards toward an interrogation room.
He struggled against their grip, but one slammed him into the steel wall.
"Yo, I swear I just got lost! I thought this was a party boat!"
Robinson kept up his dumb-kid act, but things were heating up fast.
Just as one guard opened the interrogation door—
a sharp voice cut through the hallway.
"Let him go."
Marcus's girlfriend appeared from around the corner, gun raised.
She fired a warning shot into the ceiling. The guards flinched.
Robinson seized the moment—kicked one guard in the knee and broke free.
"Damn—didn't think you'd show up too," Robinson gasped as she pulled him up.
"Told you," she said calmly. "I don't leave people I care about behind."
They bolted down the corridor toward the cargo hold.
Meanwhile, Marcus was in the engine room,
staring at a half-open steel crate.
Inside: a digital time bomb.
The countdown read: 00:15:36
"Sh*t," Marcus muttered.
"This isn't just a security system. It's a failsafe."
He reached into his side pouch and pulled out a compact toolkit.
"If this hits zero… the ship, the docks, everything within a hundred meters? Gone."
Back to Robinson and Marcus's girlfriend,
They burst into the engine room.
Robinson saw the glowing red countdown.
His face went pale.
"…What the hell is this? They were really gonna blow everything up if the deal fails?"
She nodded grimly.
"This isn't just about money. It's cleanup. If they lose—everyone burns."
💥 00:06:42 — The bomb is still counting down.
In the engine room, Marcus is sweating, face tense. His hands tremble as he carefully cuts a protective wire.
"This isn't a regular bomb..." he mutters, voice low and full of dread.
"It's got a secondary trigger. One wrong cut and—BOOM."
Robinson and Marcus's girlfriend stand behind him, eyes locked on the blinking red screen.
"Marcus, you've got this, right?" Robinson asks, tense but trusting.
"I need someone to hold the stabilizer. Even the slightest movement could trigger it."
Robinson steps forward without hesitation.
"I'll do it."
"Rob, this isn't a street race. One wrong move and we're all gone."
"You told me we're family now, right?" Robinson looks at him.
"I'm not leaving you alone."
Marcus swallows hard, then nods.
"Okay. Hold this. Don't move. Not even a twitch."
Meanwhile, in the control room, Paul and Vance are locked in a fierce standoff.
Helicopter blades whir faintly in the distance—the FBI is closing in.
Paul gets a message in his hidden earpiece.
"Unit breaching west side. Two minutes to control room."
Vance senses the pressure rising. He raises his hands slowly… then smirks.
"If you think you're taking me alive, Paul… you're dead wrong."
Suddenly, he whips a hidden blade from his sleeve—lunging at Paul.
Paul deflects just in time, narrowly avoiding a wound—they grapple violently in the cramped room.
CRASH!
Paul slams Vance into a control panel—sparks fly.
FBI bursts in.
"DROP YOUR WEAPON!"
Paul raises his hands.
Vance, semi-conscious, is cuffed and dragged away.
00:01:14 – Engine room
Marcus is down to the final wire.
"Robinson… don't move. No matter what happens."
Robinson grits his teeth. His hands ache. Sweat drips down his face.
"Hurry up, Marc… timer's at one minute!"
Marcus pulls the main connector.
Final seconds—00:00:03… 00:00:02…
CLIK!
The entire bomb system shuts down. The lights go dark.
"...Are we alive?" Robinson whispers.
Marcus collapses onto the floor, panting.
"If the red lights are gone… yeah, we made it."
They chuckle—tired, relieved, alive.
Minutes later, Paul enters the engine room.
He sees Robinson standing beside the now-disabled bomb.
Paul is silent. Then slowly walks forward.
"You… helped disarm that?"
Robinson nods.
Their eyes meet. No words—just understanding.
Marcus, lying back, adds:
"Your kid just saved this whole ship, Paul."
Paul exhales, pride in his eyes.
"Maybe… it's time he learned more than just driving fast."
Outside, the ship is now under FBI control. The Zero Divide operation has been stopped. But their shadowy network still lurks beyond reach.
Robinson stands at the ship's edge, looking out over the night sea.
His thoughts are heavy.
"I thought everything would be over once Mom was safe… but this feels like just the beginning."
Paul joins him, standing by his side.
"If you're ready… I can train you."
Robinson doesn't answer.
But from the look in his eyes—he already has.