The Billionaire Twins Need A New Mommy!-Chapter 746: Protocol

Meanwhile...

Tyga yawned as he stretched his arms and legs. They had been working through recordings, files, and even tracking the Church’s movements over the past few years. They were told to review Yuri’s recording, but their priority remained the Church’s traces.

"We’ve been doing this all night and day," he muttered as he reached for his mouse, checking the data about the team that left with Izu. "I guess they still haven’t reached them."

When Tyga turned to Pika, he saw the latter yawning as well. "Haha. Coffee?"

Pika didn’t answer, so Tyga shrugged and decided to make it himself. They had been running on fumes. Compared to the others, they had a lot of catching up to do.

But just as Tyga rose to his feet, Pika suddenly paused mid-typing.

"Hmm?" Tyga turned, only to see Pika slowly look at him.

Pika looked like he could collapse at any moment, yet his eyes shone with shock.

"What is it?" Tyga asked, striding to Pika’s station. "Did you uncover something?"

"The call," Pika said as Tyga stood beside him. He pointed at the screen. "We already traced where the phone call came from, but even with everyone’s input, we’re getting different locations."

Tyga nodded. "Uh-huh. So did you find where it really came from?"

"No." Pika exhaled and turned to him, dread creeping across his face. "That’s not it. I checked the voice again and found out that... it’s not her."

"What?"

"Look at this."

Pika suppressed another yawn and replayed the recorded call Hugo had received. Then he pulled up Yuri’s original voice recording and began matching them through several programs.

They sounded identical, but...

"It’s heavily engineered," Pika said, bringing up the voice-matching results. Slowly, the screen displayed an unmatched result. "I tested it through multiple programs and software. The results are consistent."

He looked up at Tyga.

"Tyga... we’ve been played."

"Damn! We need to tell Sir Allen about this—" Tyga tapped the desk and turned to leave.

But the moment he did, he stopped. His head spun violently, and he staggered back until his back hit the desk.

"What the hell?" he breathed, clutching his head. He looked at Pika, who was blinking heavily. "Pika?"

Pika held his own head. "I feel... dizzy." He smacked his temple, but it barely kept him awake. "Tyga, I—"

Before he could finish, Tyga collapsed to his knees.

Pika’s breath hitched as he saw Tyga struggling to stay conscious.

"Your nose," Tyga rasped, covering his own.

Pika instinctively covered his. Then he dropped beside Tyga, shaking him.

"Hey!" Pika called in panic. "Are you okay?"

"Get me the scissors."

"What—?"

"Just get it!"

Pika didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the scissors from the drawer and handed them over.

Tyga took a deep breath and held it. With clenched teeth, he drove the scissors into his own thigh.

Pika’s eyes widened in horror, still covering his nose.

As blood began to seep through Tyga’s pants, Tyga exhaled sharply. The pain hit like lightning, adrenaline surging through his system.

"Cover your nose," Tyga forced out as he crawled back against the desk. Sweat broke across his skin as he fought both the gas and the shock from the stab wound.

That was when he noticed the thin smoke curling through the office.

"Shit," he muttered, turning to Pika. Pika was still covering his nose, but his eyelids were drooping.

"Pika, I’m sorry."

"Huh—"

SLAP!

The slap echoed sharply. Pika’s ear rang violently. For a split second, it felt like his brain shifted inside his skull. Pain exploded across the side of his face, then dulled into a stunned numbness.

"Why would you—"

"Still feel sleepy?" Tyga cut him off.

Pika blinked, still shocked. "No."

His gaze then dropped to the scissors embedded in Tyga’s leg.

Tyga clenched his jaw and grabbed the mouse cord, yanking it free and tying it tightly around his thigh. Once secured, he took several jagged breaths before yanking the scissors out and pressing his palm against the bleeding wound.

"Tyga—"

"It’s not deep," Tyga said grimly. "Just enough to keep me conscious. It’ll stop eventually. You need to radio everyone."

He whipped his head toward Pika, his expression dark.

"We’re under attack."

And from what he remembered in history, this was exactly how Nathalie Zorken had taken the island and its people captive back then.

Despite the ringing in his ear, Pika paled. But his instinct took over. He jumped back into his chair.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his face, he worked with pure adrenaline. After a few frantic keystrokes, he slammed Enter.

Alarms blared throughout the entire mansion. A sound they had hoped never to hear echoed from every corner of the estate.

But Pika wasn’t done.

He continued typing, sending emergency alerts to those stationed outside the island as well.

Once finished, he followed protocol, grabbing essential drives and shoving them into his bag.

Meanwhile, Tyga pulled himself upright using the desk.

"Keep still—" Pika muttered while packing. "We’re getting out first."

"Get the Madam—"

"No," Pika turned sharply. "Protocol says we secure ourselves first so we can help others once we’re clear. I already alerted those stationed with the Madam and the children. Florida will be there."

He ground his teeth.

"If the Madam and the twins were alerted, we’ll meet at the exit. There’s a secret passage they can take. I’m sure they’ll use it."

"Pika..." Tyga called, realizing Pika was clinging to training and discipline.

In emergencies, they were not mandated to rescue the family.

They were trained to evacuate.

Bitter as it was, Tyga nodded and limped beside him, helping gather remaining data.

*****

Meanwhile, as alarms blared across the mansion, not everyone moved immediately.

Why?

Because many members of the Order were already unconscious.

Some had reacted quickly enough to resist the gas. Others never saw it coming and remained unmoving despite the deafening alarms.

One of them was Allen.

Armed men stormed into his office, surrounding the desk where half his body lay sprawled across it. Coffee soaked into the scattered papers beneath him.

One of the men nudged Allen’s side with the muzzle of his rifle. When Allen didn’t move, he turned to the others.

"Take him."