It's been five hours since the distressful 911 call from 8430 Renton Avenue S.
Police cars flooded the rainy street and the SWAT team had encircled the entire house, waiting for command. A black 2012 Nissan Pathfinder arrived to the scene and out of it emerged one of the best agents of the FBI. Her skin was a light caramel, her eyes were the color of almonds; her short aqua green hair was getting wet in the process as she strolled towards the house.
“Tell the SWAT team not to advance yet, Vincent.” She commanded while walking to her team's leader. “I'm going in.”
“Are you crazy?” Vincent yelled. “She'll kill you Romero! You need someone else to go with you.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I'm the one she wants. Me taking someone along puts the rest of the team at risk. I'll be fine Vincent.”
Finally, Vincent allowed Romero to go alone. It was true, she was the only one that the captor really wanted. However, if she lasted more than an hour in the house, the rest of her FBI team and the SWAT Team would go in to help her. Romero marched on, her boots splashing in puddles along the way.
She finally reached the main entrance of the infamous house.
Romero broke the lock on the door. No bother in even knocking, she thought. I know Beth better than anyone.
Walking in nonchalantly, she scrutinized every nook and cranny of the household. No one in sight. After a while, the noise from a walkie-talkie broke the silence. “Special Agent Romero, do you need backup? Repeat, do you need backup?” Romero brought the device to her mouth and replied. “Not Yet.”
She knew the SWAT team was starting to worry.
Only 25 minutes left.
She searched high and low, looking for any secret passage or any door that would lead her to the hostage. Finally, Agent Romero gave up the lone search and decided to call backup. She was about to walk back towards the main entrance, when she noticed something above the bookshelf in the dining room. Romero stood in silence.
A lightbulb went off in her head. Bingo. Of course Beth would try to hide the door that leads to the basement. She ran back to the dining room and pulled out her walkie-talkie.
“This is Agent Romero. I request backup to move a bookshelf in the dining room only. Repeat, only to move a bookshelf.” She spoke in a panicked manner.
After having a SWAT team member push the bookshelf aside, she gripped the door handle. “Beth, please tell me he's in a good condition.” She whispers to herself.
She swung the door open. Going down the steps of the basement slowly, Romero pulls out her walkie-talkie again to report her findings.
“I found him,” She told Vincent. “He's in the basement.”
He wasn't in the best condition either. Movement was restricted because he was chained to the wall with chackles clasped around his wrists and ankles. He was covered in sweat, his facial hair grown out, his hair greasy with sweat, a little dirt here and there, and he was unconscious. Also, he only wore jeans that seem to be covered in dirt and the legs of the jeans have been cut off to give the captive's legs some air. He is barefoot and it looks like he might be starving as well.
“Damn it Beth.” She muttered under her breath. Romero was glad Beth was no where in sight, but she knew she would turn up eventually. After all, there was only 15 minutes left.
She got closer to Beth's hostage and tried to wake up the poor soul. “Hey, wake up.” He didn't respond. She tried to wake him up for about most of the time she had left. Then she took hold of his sweaty face and checked for breathing; it was slow and fading.
“Well, well, well.” A shadow came out from the opposite corner of the basement, revealing a person wearing a hoodie who was trying to conceal their identity the best they could. “What do I owe the pleasure of Special Agent Elizabeth Romero being in my basement?”
“Enough talk,” Liz pointed to the hostage. “Start explaining why he's in your god damn basement, or else.” Liz pulled out her gun.
“Oh my. An AMT Auto Mag III? Are you trying to scare me?” Beth brought forward the bigger gun that she had been hiding behind her back.
Romero gulped in fear but her words were strong. “Desert Eagle?” She questioned.
“Yeah,” Beth replied. “I got it imported from Israel in great condition.” Liz took in a deep breath.
“Beth, if you do this, it won't be good for either of us. Put the gun down.” It was silent for a while, both women aiming the firearms in each other's direction.
Time was running out. “Beth, on the count of ten, you put the gun down. Ten.” There's ten seconds left anyway before the SWAT team comes, Liz thought.
“In your dreams, you fucking bitch.” Romero kept counting. Nine, eight. Seven. Six. “If it's going to end like this, pretty boy goes down too.” She pulls out a Micro Desert Eagle and aims it at her captive. Five. Four.
“Beth, you don't have to do this.” Liz said worried, “Remember who your friends are.”
Beth frowned, then answered. “I have no friends.”
“Okay then,” Liz's expression turned blank. “Three.”
Both kept their fingers close to the trigger, waiting for the countdown to end.
“GO TO HELL!!”