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Summary
One of the terrorists tried to shoot at the door, but it didn't work. All the other FBI agents were lying on the ground, dead. Then one by one, the terrorists fell to the ground and through the window, Fisk could see that it was him, Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter.
Fisk got out of the car, closing the door, and Dex aimed his gun.
“Detainee. Don't move.” He said with a firm, thick voice, his expression serious and his face a little bruised, a few cuts and scrapes but nothing major.
