"So that's the real reason behind the whole attack…" Thief says, clearly mesmerized. "I thought you were going to kill him during the gas attack."
"They would have known it was me. They know my face, and it wouldn't take long before my identity was exposed," I explain.
"So instead, you attacked him to gain his trust…"
"Exactly. At first, I only wanted to be part of his inner-level security. I never expected him to make me the head of his bodyguards."
"That's great, right? You can change some protocols to give yourself an advantage—"
"No. On the contrary, I'm going to make the protocols even stricter and train the bodyguards to protect him better."
"But why?"
"So he feels completely secure. Only then will he truly relax and start trusting me—until he finally lets his guard down."
"What's your plan to kill him?"
"I have several. I need to analyze which one is the best. Don't worry, we still have plenty of time."
"Just be careful, okay?"
"Of course. Talk to you later," I say, ending the call with Thief.
After witnessing how Mr. Chekhovsky executed his own bodyguard leader without hesitation over a single mistake, I know better than to underestimate him. I can't afford any mistakes—neither in my plan nor in my role as bodyguard leader. Otherwise, I'll end up just like Mr. White.
Being in charge means I'll have access to his schedule before anyone else. I'll be near him all day in the office and even have clearance to enter his house—though only for urgent matters.
The team guarding his house has no direct connection to the office security. The only way I can enter is with a code word given by the house's security leader—but only once Mr. Chekhovsky personally approves my visit. It's a long and complex process that I hope I won't have to use.
----------
The first thing I do as bodyguard leader is brief my men. I decide to tell them the truth about Mr. White before announcing a few protocol updates.
"Our job is to protect the person who hired us—Mr. Chekhovsky. When his life is in danger, there is only one protocol: Guard him with your lives. Forget all other rules. Your only goal is to ensure his safety—even at the cost of your own life."
The ten men in front of me are stunned. I see hesitation in almost everyone's eyes.
"I will—"
"Mr. Chang, sir…" Issac interrupts.
"Yes, Issac?"
"It's our job to protect him. But you can't force us to sacrifice our lives for his. Instinctively, we won't do that."
"That's why, this weekend, I'm requiring all of you to undergo intensive training to reprogram that instinct," I declare. "By the end of the weekend, your instinct will be to save Mr. Chekhovsky, not yourselves."
A few murmurs ripple through the group—protests forming but suppressed by fear.
"Carrera?" I call as he raises his hand.
"Mr. Chang… we all have families. Most of us are the only providers for them. Let's say your training actually works—which I doubt—but let's say it does. If we die protecting him, what happens to our families?"
I approach him, meeting his gaze head-on.
"Look, White died because he let his guard down. And if any of you make the same mistake, Mr. Chekhovsky will definitely kill me next. You know why? Because I'm your leader. But before I die at his hands, I will personally kill anyone who fails to follow my protocol."
The air goes still. The tension sharpens.
They all remember how I took them down at Alfredo's Pizza Shack. They know I'm capable of making good on that threat.
Then, I clap Carrera's shoulder and smile—lightening the atmosphere just a little.
"Besides," I add casually, "yesterday, Mr. Chekhovsky approved my proposal to fully support your families financially for ten years if you die in the line of duty. Not if I kill you—only if you die protecting him. The legal documents will be ready by next week."
I let that sink in.
"So… choose wisely how you want to die, boys," I say, giving them a wink.
The room shifts. Hesitation turns to calculation. Money is powerful.
"Alright. Today, we're operating under Protocol 578. Standard security. Mr. Chekhovsky isn't going out and expects no guests."
----------
After safely escorting Mr. Chekhovsky to his office, I busy myself with recruiting new team members. I have his approval to hire three new guards instead of just one.
I use the standard recruitment tests and interview questions—but I add a test of my own.
It's similar to what my men will face during training this weekend. The goal? Protect a human-sized balloon dummy from a barrage of attacks.
I never expected the test to be this difficult. Out of ten candidates, seven fail miserably.
I watch as one man rolls across the floor, clutching the balloon like his life depends on it. A splatter of blue paint explodes across his upper arm as he gets hit—but he keeps moving.
He sneaks, shields, crawls, redirects—never once exposing the dummy.
When he finally reaches the finish line, the balloon is spotless—even though his own arm is soaked in blue paint.
I exhale, relieved.
He's the last candidate.
I didn't meet my quantity goal, but I did find the quality I wanted. And that's what matters most.