Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

On their way out of the basement, Tristan pulled out the earbuds out of his parents' ears and threw them to the ground. He didn't speak to them, though.

When they stepped outside, Tristan heard shouts of firefighters and the rumbling of machines at work. Someone was pouring water out of a much larger hose than the one in the garden. There were police and ambulance sirens, too.

He contacted his own team through the earpiece and told them to keep low. In return, Cutout reported the firefighters were about to go inside the mansion to find Mr. and Ms. Hayes.

It was dangerous to stay still in the burning mansion for too long, but walking outside meant being noticed.

Tristan huffed.

It looked like he didn't have much choice.

'Good thing that this identity doesn't have much public reputation to care about.'

He turned to his parents and demonstratively hid his gun under his torn jacket. Then Tristan spoke in the most authoritative voice he could muster, bearing down on the tired man and woman in front of him with an oppressive aura of fearsome charm.

"Listen to me. We all are going out—and then you will tell the firefighters and the medics that you are alright, and you want to be left alone. And I saved you, and it was a true blessing that I was around when I saw the mansion burning."

The eyes of his parents flickered with a familiar mix of fear and uncontrollable awe. It seemed to replace at least part of the Michael-induced fog they had.

With the state they were in, Tristan knew his parents won't be up for much, if any, talking. But he still added,

"If you cross me again, if you throw me under the bus again, I swear—your bodies will be found in pieces all around California."

Tristan's mother was already pale, but now she actually wobbled on her feet in a genuine faint. Tristan caught her before she could fall.

His father just went deathly white and nodded weakly.

"I'm… we… we won't," he mumbled.

Tristan nodded, still looking down on them, and pulled the pair with him.

When they were approaching the entrance, Tristan pulled off the protective mask from his face. It was a relief to not be in that stuffy thing, but only for a moment. Then smoke immediately seared his eyes and nose, and the heat dried out the sweat on Tristan's skin.

With the soot all over his clothing and hands, Tristan looked very much like a person who went through an entire burning building to save someone.

Like that, he walked out toward the firemen in fireproof suits that were entering the mansion.

"There are survivors! Come here—is there anybody else inside?" a fireman asked Tristan, helping him to pull his barely walking parents outside.

"No, no one. You might as well let the rest burn," Tristan replied with a dose of venom.

Outside, police were already rounding up the servants who admitted setting the building on fire, while paramedics from an ambulance checked them for injuries. At the sight of the group emerging from the fire, a pair of paramedics ran up to them.

"I'm fine," Tristan waved their concerns away.

His parents coughed, but Tristan's medical expertise was high enough that he knew—they weren't in a lethal danger of dying from lack of oxygen or from their burns or anything else.

He had no remorse about subtly glaring at them until they also told the paramedics to leave them be. Paramedics still left them bottles of water, from which they gratefully drank.

"There's a hotel nearby," Mr. Hayes told Ms. Hayes afterward. "I'm going to call a taxi and get there. We will stay there for the night."

"Can we get the address of the hotel, Mr. Hayes?" a police officer asked, approaching the pair. "We will want to ask you some questions about this fire later. Since it was clearly arson, there will be an investigation into it."

Tristan watched this conversation from the side. It was easy to escape attention when everybody had so many other things to focus on.

But his parents really weren't in the state to snitch on him, or to tell much to the police at all. So Tristan relaxed a little and contacted Damien instead.

He didn't report yet, but he wasn't supposed to check in for five more minutes. Only then Tristan would have a reason to worry.

"Damien, report your status."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

There was nothing coming from the other side for a couple of seconds—then,

"Status—we got him, boss! Alive, unconscious, and only somewhat bleeding for you. Me and the boys were just tying him up—and I found his ID. It says, 'Michael McDowell'. I wanted to check his laptop too, but a bullet went through it."

Damien sounded incredibly pleased with himself. Tristan supposed he deserved it—Tristan himself didn't hope to capture someone as dangerous as Michael alive. He trusted Damien enough to know that it wasn't his first intention.

"Did you make much noise?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah. We are clearing out of here, double-time. Was just about to ask about the meeting point—same as we agreed on?"

"Yes. See you there."

"Got it. Over."

The conversation ended. Tristan frowned, watching his parents wait for a taxi. They were sitting on the sidewalk like a pair of hobos, hugging each other like lifelines.

There was a lot of turmoil written on their faces—dread, shame, and regret all at once.

Michael's influence was wearing off, and clearly, the Hayes couple didn't think that they were sinners deserving to burn anymore. As for what they thought about their assassination attempt at Tristan, he had yet to find out.

He really wanted to ask. And to tell them… things. He wasn't yet sure where to start—all the options were too attractive.

But his parents weren't able to talk without rest.

'I might as well deal with Michael first. Getting some answers before the man loses what's still left of his blood would be nice.'