Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

Tristan could sense the exact location of the explosive, too. It was entering the building from the other side—closer to the stage. He didn't know the exact map of the audience hall, but he knew there had to be a back entrance for employers and the performers.

It also had to be guarded, but from Tristan's estimation, the explosive had already moved past the security somehow.

'This is very, very wrong… Is this an assassination attempt on me? But nobody knew that Tristan Hayes would be here today—he isn't here today! Very few people knew that Tristan Gemello would be watching Nelson perform, either. And more than that—who in their right mind will place a bomb during a concert, when the hall is full of people?'

As Tristan thought this, he was already standing up from his seat and speed-walking to the exit from the VIP zone. A moment later, two tasks popped up in the criminal category.

[New task: disarm the explosive. Value: 250.]

[New task: prevent any interruptions to the ongoing Nelson's concert. Value: 250.]

Tristan glanced at them, then looked at the crowd of people ahead. Upbeat, fast music was filling the hall, and the movements of people waving their hands and stomping their legs with the beat were making the floor shake.

It would take a lot of time to reach the stage directly. There was security near the stage, too, and Tristan doubted even his ability to talk his way past them when the music made hearing someone talk impossible.

'I can't call for help—either nobody will believe me in time for it to matter, or I will have too many things to explain. Like how I knew about the explosive… No, I have to deal with this myself. I need to find a way around. And fast! Right, there were maps of the hall hung around in case of a fire, for evacuation.'

Tristan remembered walking past it on the way to the VIP zone. He ran toward it now. The darkness hid him as he moved, and he purposefully kept his eyes away from the lit stage to adjust to it better.

Thoughts continued to flicker through his head.

'I can activate a fire alarm to make people leave at least, but there's a chance this might provoke the bomber into exploding everything immediately instead of setting the bomb up and leaving. At least, I suppose that's his plan. Also, the fire alarm might start a panic in the crowd… This won't help anyone. Shit.'

Soon he was on the ground floor, near one of the exits, where there was a map of evacuation routes on the wall. Tristan examined it for a moment.

Then he went to the nearest exit. The security guard posted there looked at him curiously, but didn't stop Tristan—he was paid to check people who entered, not left.

'The fastest way around is through the outside! Entering through the back entrance—the same way the bomber took. I assume it's one person or a small group, and they sneaked in—or there'd already be alarms blowing.'n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Outside of the concert hall, the street was very quiet and empty compared to the inside. A few people lounged around, smoking or just talking, not listening for whatever reason.

Tristan ran past them all, catching only a few curious glances before he was out of sight. He moved too fast for people to have time to notice him.

The rest of the way was less straightforward. Tristan had to cross a paid parking lot, for which he had to vault a fence—twice. But that was an easy feat for someone like him.

And on the other side of the second fence, Tristan found a dumpster. An overflowing dumpster with no people around it. Not a single eye, belonging to a person or a camera, was watching Tristan.

'I would rather explain what Hayes is doing in a place where he isn't supposed to be than explain why a guitarist and a singer Tristan Gemello knows how to disarm explosives.'

With that thought, Tristan put on his special earring, changing identities. Then, to be more thorough, he took off his shades and turned his jacket inside-out.

Then he continued to run. The explosive was still moving slowly through the building, and Tristan was catching up with it now. The map of evacuation routes in his memory let him guess through which entrance the bomber entered.

He ran up to it in a few more seconds. The door was half-open, with a pair of security guards standing there, as if nothing was going on—until they noticed Tristan.

Both men tensed immediately, and their hands began reaching for the shockers on their belts. No wonder—Tristan was running directly toward them.

A thought of just shocking them and moving on flicked through Tristan's mind, but he let it there and instead stopped in front of the door.

"Staff only," a guard said.

"So the person who just entered—he was staff?" Tristan asked, guessing about the number and gender of people.

The guards frowned. From the recognition in their eyes, Tristan knew they understood who he talked about.

'So the bomber really went through this entrance… And he was a man, and alone.'

"And who's asking, mister?"

Tristan mentally cracked his knuckles.

His old instincts were telling him to knock these two out. Even if that raised a lot of alarms as soon as they could call them. Or kill them—then they definitely won't call any alarms.

'But these people are on my side. They just don't know it,' a part of Tristan reminded him. Stay tuned with empire

If he killed them, he would have a lot of regrets.

But there was another part of Tristan which now suggested him an entire avenue of possibilities.

He was so used to being a terrifying and murderous gang boss, strict even during the nicer parts of his leadership, that he forgot criminals could also be very charming con men.

Or very scary con men.

Tristan straightened his shoulders and put on his harshest scowl. His entire posture shifted to something military-like, and even his clothes looked more like a uniform when he stood this way. He added to this performance a careful measure of fearsomeness—not too little, not too much.

'Federal agent Garret Michelton! I'm pursuing a dangerous criminal that's inside this hall as we speak. Let me pass, IMMEDIATELY!'

As he spoke, Tristan pulled out his wallet and flashed his ID at the guards, making sure to move fast enough that they wouldn't be able to make anything out.

The guards stood, taken aback. A moment later, seeds of suspicion began brewing in their heads—but Tristan pushed on before they could take root.

'No time to chat. I have to go in and stop him. Keep guarding this entrance, and for God's sake, don't let ANYONE ELSE in! Or out. The criminal might have accomplices. Don't call the police, either—if the criminal is spooked, who knows what he might do! He's armed and dangerous. You aren't trained to deal with people like him.'

When Tristan spoke in his hypnotic voice, it was hard to stop listening. And the way he spoke, with utter conviction and absolute authority, removed all rational thoughts from the minds of the guards.

They just believed what they heard, at least for now. They even saluted Tristan—first one guard, then another joined him.

'S-sure, Mr. Michelton! We will stay here!'

'Good. Don't worry, I'm not alone in this,' Tristan added, just so make sure that these two won't do anything stupid out of concern instead of suspicion.

Then he rushed inside, following a route mapped out in his head.

He thought the bomber was going toward the stage, or the technical places underneath it before—but now that he got farther, Tristan realized that the bomber's target was very different.

It was ABOVE the stage!

'The rafters! With the spotlights and the props… It's probably the only place around the stage that's not being watched at the moment.'

Tristan changed his route. Thankfully for him, there was no one on his way. In a short while, he was running up the stairs to the rafters. Although his steps were quick, he moved noiselessly—though music from the stage hid all sounds, anyway.

He was almost up there when an idea hit him.

'Shit. There actually IS a reason someone would come all the way here with an explosive DURING a concert. The reason is that they want to blow everything up, but their explosive isn't timed or even remote-detonated… And they have to be here to set it off. A suicide bomb. Or a vest. And I don't even have a gun on me…'

No points to buy one, either.

Tristan bit his lip, but didn't slow down. The explosive was only a short distance ahead—he felt it almost like another limb. Or a phantom itch outside his body.

And now Tristan saw the silhouette of a man ahead, carefully walking past the blazing spotlights.