A Novel Wouldn't Dare Write This

In the modest room, Smith had been through two intense firefights—one with Quintana, and the other with the corpses cooling on the floor.

Quintana went to the bathroom to change clothes and nurse the crying baby. Russell and Smith were looting the bodies. The hotel was no longer safe; the next wave of attackers could arrive any minute. They hoped to find useful leads from the dead before the enemy showed up.

All the attackers wore matching uniforms. Smith pegged them as veterans and found clues from their sidearms.

Quintana finished changing. The three didn't dare linger and sped away from the hotel in the car.

The cops were late again. As Ford pulled out of the hotel gate, urgent sirens echoed from the street corner. In the rearview mirror, Russell spotted over a dozen police cars and two armored riot vehicles.

The doors of the riot vehicles swung open, and two squads of SWAT officers filed out with rifles. They wore helmets and tactical vests, and when they turned, white English letters showed on the backs of their black gear.

S.W.A.T.!

Russell frowned. He knew what SWAT was—they didn't usually deploy unless it was for extreme violent crimes, typically targeting hardened criminals and gangsters.

Their appearance meant Russell and Smith had been branded as top-tier threats by the higher-ups.

Ding!

Host has encountered S.W.A.T., triggering a lottery draw. Draw now?

Well, at least there was one piece of good news.

Russell comforted himself as he started the draw. Soon, the system prompted him with a character card.

Character Card: Swart (You guys said I used aimbot with 100 kills and 0 deaths in transport ship and kicked me out of the room. You noobs, I, Swart, never cheat.)

Russell: "..."

Good riddance. 100 kills and 0 deaths—if you're not cheating, who is!

Smith sat in the passenger seat, holding a looted pistol with a strong metallic feel.

"Check this out. A Nite Tac pistol from Hammerson Arms Company. Been on the market less than six months, and every single one of them was using this model."

"What's there to see? Isn't it obvious?"

Russell glanced at it and lost interest. He'd never heard of any arms company called Hammerson. It was a company that only existed in the plot. Even a fool could tell the attackers were connected to it.

Smith thought the same. It wasn't that he was too smart—it was that the enemy was too stupid, delivering clues right to their doorstep.

Russell drove Ford out of the city. They were being hunted everywhere, so they'd have to rough it in the car for the night. The two men had no complaints. Quintana took the back seat with the baby, a poor soul grateful for any place to rest.

Maybe it was because they'd fought side by side, but Smith gradually warmed up to Russell and briefly recounted the strange events he'd encountered.

Russell got the full story. Both were curious about the baby's mysterious background. What kind of identity could provoke such relentless pursuit?

Smith decided to check out the so-called Hammerson Arms Company. Russell had no interest in joining the chaos and chose to stay behind, using protecting Quintana and the baby as his excuse.

Quintana didn't want Smith to risk it alone, but Smith nodded in agreement. Only by ensuring Quintana and the baby's safety could he go all out.

The plan was set for the next day. Smith left early in the morning. His plan was simple: first, infiltrate Hammerson Arms Company, then improvise from there.

Russell was speechless at the crude plan. It only confirmed that Smith was the male lead of this new chapter—only a protagonist could pull off such recklessness. If an ordinary person tried that, Russell would eat his hat if they didn't die.

Smith really was the male lead. In just half a day, he came back with intel. The one who wanted the baby dead was a major shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company. The motive was simple: to stop the baby's father from getting a DNA-matched bone marrow transplant.

So the next step was to find out who the father was, hand the baby over, and Smith could bow out.

Based on the clues Smith had gathered, the baby's father had an incurable disease. Unable to find a matching donor, he decided to have a child himself. He paid three women to be surrogates, built a hidden safe house, and had the CIA protect them.

At this point, it was crystal clear. The major shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company had attacked the safe house. The baby in Smith's arms was the sole survivor. The unknown father was a very powerful man, and because he stood in the way of Hammerson's interests, they were desperate to kill him.

Russell was baffled. Smith's reasoning made sense, but it felt like he had a god's-eye view. Then again, considering the guy was a male lead, it all seemed only natural.

For a protagonist, this was just basic!

In the few seconds Russell zoned out, Smith quickly identified the baby's father. He picked up a newspaper smeared with baby poop, pointed at the politician whose face was half-covered, and said with certainty, "It's him, Senator Lattridge!"

Russell: "What's your reasoning?"

"His power is enough to mobilize the CIA, and he's a staunch advocate for gun control. He's given speeches on it more than once. If he becomes president, Hammerson Arms Company will go bankrupt!"

Russell: "..."

Forgive me for not buying it. Your reasoning is too far-fetched. Even novels wouldn't dare write this. And that newspaper couldn't have shown up at a better time!

Quintana blindly supported her beloved's wild theory: "If we contact Senator Lattridge, will we be safe?"

"No, that would only make things worse. Not just Hammerson Arms Company—the entire U.S. government will come after us..." Smith's face grew grim. "You need to leave with the child. Don't come back until I've settled everything."

"How are you going to settle it? By fighting an entire country?" Quintana shouted. She didn't want Smith to risk himself again. Seeing no hope, she started to give up.

Smith grabbed the hysterical Quintana, locking eyes with her deeply. "Trust me. I'll fix this... for you both."

Russell coughed lightly to remind them he was there. It didn't help.

Russell: "..."

The baby started wailing. Quintana's dazed eyes cleared. She pushed Smith away and switched to mother mode.

Smith stood there helpless.

Russell didn't want to get involved in this mess, but if Smith bit it, he'd have come all this way for nothing. Counting the cards in his interface, he decided to lend a hand.

"I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it alone..." Smith glanced at Quintana and, for the first time, spoke humbly to Russell. "Protect her and the child. I can't lose them."

Seeing the tough guy bow his head, Russell softened. "No problem. I'll return them to you in one piece. Just don't hold back on the training."

Smith gave a light smile and raised his fist. "Of course! If you add more money, I'll consider teaching you some special tricks. Diapers and milk powder aren't cheap."

Russell bumped his fist against it. "Don't worry, Cross will cover the full cost. How much milk money you can earn depends on your skills."

Smith grinned. If he could make a tidy profit every time he taught Russell a special trick, he'd make sure Cross went broke.

"Deal. Good luck to you!"

"Same to you!"

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