Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Mutassim had lost all faith in his father.

The once-mighty "Lion of Libya" had grown old, his fangs and ferocity gone.

Another day passed.

The government's 3,000-strong force was down to 500. Only a few died in battle; most deserted. They might have been Gaddafi's most loyal fighters, but without conviction, even loyalty faltered in the face of certain defeat.

"Father, you go ahead. I'll stay and hold off the rebels a bit longer," Mutassim said, eyeing the trucks with a flicker of frustration.

If his father had listened earlier, using this wealth to reward the soldiers, they might not have crumbled so fast. But there were no "what-ifs."

Another defeat loomed, and his father was fleeing again.

This time, Mutassim wouldn't follow. He'd die like a hero, proving the Gaddafi name still carried honor and glory.

Gaddafi patted his son's shoulder, a trace of sorrow in his eyes. "Mutassim, I'm proud of you. You're the most like me. Try to survive and find me."

"I know, Father," Mutassim replied coolly.

Gaddafi's convoy left Sirte with 100 men, unaware that NATO had him in their sights. His preplanned escape route had been betrayed by his second son, Saif al-Islam.

Saif's fate was no better. In Baghdad, he was being interrogated by Martin. Once he'd surrendered all details of his offshore accounts—transferred to Martin's name—his time was up.

As in the original timeline, Gaddafi's convoy was bombed by NATO planes en route to a secret base in Ram Kerr. But the cunning Gaddafi had anticipated this, using a decoy convoy to draw fire while he and his most loyal fighters, along with his wealth, slipped away on a side route.

He reached Ram Kerr safely.

The village's residents—retired Gaddafi bodyguards and their families—were fiercely loyal.

In a prepared room, an exhausted Gaddafi turned to his female bodyguards, whom he treated like daughters. "You should all flee. This place isn't safe. Someone betrayed me."

"Sir, we're your guards—your daughters. You raised us, trained us to fight. Those who wanted to leave did. We won't abandon you," Jaleena Khalaf Al-Naas said firmly.

The other three nodded resolutely.

Gaddafi sighed, touched. "To think, in the end, it's you I can rely on, not my sons."

Jaleena, surprised, said, "Sir, your son Mutassim is a brave warrior."

Gaddafi sighed again. "I know. I didn't mean him."

He'd long suspected Saif's betrayal but refused to believe it—until this escape route was exposed, forcing him to face reality. Even Ram Kerr was likely compromised, but he needed supplies. Heading west into the vast desert without them meant death, whether from rebels or nature.

So, Gaddafi decided to rest one night and leave at dawn, assuming rebel ground forces wouldn't reach so quickly.

He underestimated their obsession.

That night, a 260-strong rebel force, including mercenaries, crept toward the village.

The fight erupted abruptly.

Jaleena, posted on the roof, spotted the enemy first and fired the opening shot. Fierce combat followed.

Gaddafi, startled awake, fled to the basement, praying in the dark. "Lord, protect your child…"

His final guard was loyal but outnumbered. After half their number fell, the unit collapsed—some fled, others were captured, including Jaleena.

Her sharpshooting had killed several rebels, making her a target.

A rebel leader approached, eyeing the beautiful warrior. "So, you're the Golden Treasure. Nice blonde hair—rare in Libya. Tell me where Gaddafi's hiding, and I might spare you."

His leering gaze disgusted Jaleena. She spat in his face. "Dream on."

The leader sneered, wiping his face and grabbing her chin. "If you don't want to live, I'll oblige. My men will take good care of you. You'll die… satisfied."

The rebels behind him laughed, their predatory stares making Jaleena's skin crawl.

A rebel rushed up, whispering to the leader.

"What? Those mercenaries want the trucks?"

"Damn it, that's the Transitional Council's money. Their contract doesn't cover this."

"Let's go stop them."

"You four, tie up this Golden Treasure and lock her in that room. No one touches her until I do."

The leader stormed off with his men.

The four rebels bound Jaleena, groping her in the process. Furious, she cursed until they gagged her.

Elsewhere, the rebel leader clashed with the mercenaries.

"Damn it, you can't touch that! It belongs to the Transitional Council, the new Libyan government!"

"We don't care about your council or government. We seized it—it's ours."

"No, we paid you to fight, not to loot."

"Hah! We lost brothers taking this village. Your pay's a joke. We deserve a share."

As the argument raged, a shout rang out from a nearby house: "Eureka, we found Gaddafi!"