Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Martin yawned as he entered the editing room, ready to start the day's work.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Gordon.

He stepped into a quiet corner.

"Gordon, what's the situation?"

"Gaddafi's on the run. Satan's team is tracking him."

"Tell Satan not to rush. Prioritize our soldiers' safety."

"Got it."

"And tell him Gaddafi won't escape. No matter where he goes, I'll find him."

Martin was confident. Years ago, through Mutassim, he'd placed a magical tracking aura on Gaddafi.

"Understood."

…

The underground tunnel's ventilation system was top-notch. Though dimly lit by fluorescent reflectors, it wasn't damp or stifling.

Satan's team crept forward, silent as shadows. After about 100 meters, they reached the tunnel's first turn.

Satan tilted his ear, listening, then peered around the corner. Ahead was a vast underground chamber.

He raised a fist, signaling a halt. His men froze in place.

Satan gestured to Ram. With Ram's sniper and marksman in tow, they edged toward the turn.

Their eyes widened.

Ram swallowed hard.

Before them were crates upon crates of gold. A dozen soldiers were sealing them, while others operated forklifts, loading the gold onto trucks.

At the chamber's right, near a tunnel entrance, Gaddafi stood watching his wealth being packed. Around him were at least 200 elite soldiers, with an inner ring of over 30 female bodyguards.

His second son, Saif al-Islam, stood behind him, gaze dark and unreadable.

An hour later, the gold was nearly loaded.

Gaddafi said something to a female guard, then headed to his ride—a black bulletproof Maybach. Saif boarded a separate, identical Maybach, both unmarked with tinted, bulletproof windows.

Satan spotted Jaleena Khalaf Al-Naas climbing into Gaddafi's car, rifle in hand, and felt a twinge of unease. Capturing Gaddafi in front of her would complicate things. He hadn't felt this conflicted in years.

But he quickly buried the feeling.

Ram whispered, "Strike now?"

Satan shook his head. "Not yet. We follow Gaddafi out of this maze first."

Though confident his team could fight through rebel lines, why risk it when there was an easier path? The tunnel system was a labyrinth, with four branches just in this chamber. Without tailing Gaddafi, they'd get lost.

The gold was loaded. The Maybachs led the way, followed by armored vehicles, then trucks brimming with gold.

"Move!"

As the last truck started toward the tunnel, Satan and Ram lunged. Ram yanked the door open; Satan slashed the driver's throat with a dagger, then stabbed the passenger in the temple.

Both died silently.

The trucks ahead rolled on, oblivious.

Satan's men swarmed, draping a tarp over the truck's cargo bed.

Big Dog counted down with three fingers.

Two soldiers lifted the tarp. Silenced pistols sprayed, dropping five smoking soldiers inside, riddled with holes.

In the tunnel, a bearded soldier in another truck lifted its flap, peering back. "What's that noise? Why hasn't Abdou's truck caught up?"

Then he saw headlights round the bend, honking once.

Relieved, he dropped the flap and settled back.

Big Dog drove, tailing the convoy. Satan rode shotgun, rifle ready. Ram sat in the back atop gold crates.

Ram grinned. "Knowing my ass is on stacks of gold bars gets me all kinds of excited."

"Excited for what? Planning to fuck the gold?" a teammate teased.

"That'd take a harder gun than Ram's got!" another laughed.

"Haha!"

"What's the deal with the boss and Gaddafi's bodyguard chick?"

"What else? He's into her."

"When we nab Gaddafi, we toss her in the boss's bed. Think he'll thank us?"

"He'll kill you."

"The big boss will kill you."

"How much you think we'll get from this job?"

"Plenty. The big boss isn't stingy, and he's loaded."

The tunnel was vast, with over a dozen forks. Without the convoy, they'd have been lost.

Gaddafi's escape route was far more intricate than anyone imagined.

After roughly 1.5 hours, a sliver of light appeared ahead. The tunnel sloped upward.

"Fuck, finally the exit," Big Dog muttered. "How paranoid is Gaddafi? Building this massive underground maze—how many years, how much money? Every fork probably leads somewhere different. A damn labyrinth."

"You only get one life. No amount of protection's enough," Satan said coolly.

"Who says? I don't give a shit about my life," Big Dog boasted.

Satan smirked. "You call yours a 'small life.' If you had Gaddafi's status or wealth, you'd guard it too."

Big Dog shrugged. "Dunno. My life's sold to the big boss. When I'm too old to fight, if I'm still alive, I'll be a Hellfire instructor, living easy."