Shanghai Pudong International Airport, China

Travelers stream through the terminal in waves, each with a destination, a purpose, or a loved one waiting on the other side. Among them stands Y/N, dressed impeccably as a chauffeur. His attire: a peaked cap, dark sunglasses, and a neatly buttoned trench coat lends him a sense of quiet authority, blending him seamlessly into the line of other drivers awaiting their clients. Each driver holds a sign with a name, a client to pick up, but Y/N's attention is razor-focused, his eyes scanning over the crowd

And there he is...

Patrice

Moving with purpose, he glides through the sea of people, slipping past hurried travelers and weaving effortlessly around tourists. Y/N, maintaining a discreet distance, begins to follow. He avoids staring directly at Patrice, instead tracking his movements through a careful study of reflections in glass panels and his own peripheral vision. He blends smoothly into the flow of the crowd, moving with an easy, unhurried grace. The airport lights flicker against the polished floors and reflective surfaces, providing glimpses of Patrice from various angles as he maneuvers his way toward an exit

Outside, in the relentless pace of Shanghai's highways, Y/N is behind the wheel of a sleek black sedan, maintaining distance while keeping Patrice's cab in sight. The highway's roar is muted within the car, as Y/N's eyes scan the road, his hands steady on the wheel

The sprawling skyline of Shanghai rises ahead, towering glass and steel giants looming against the horizon, the lights of downtown casting an ethereal glow that contrasts with the darkness of the approaching night

They then arrive near the waterfront, where Patrice's taxi slows and finally stops in front of a shadowed office tower. The building stands as a monolithic presence, its ninety floors soaring into the night sky, surrounded by a ring of other skyscrapers that line the river. The building is dim, only a few scattered lights revealing the interior offices, giving it a cold, imposing appearance.

Patrice steps out of the taxi, carrying an aluminum briefcase. Y/N, watching from his vantage point in the parked sedan across the street, observes as Patrice walks calmly toward the glass entrance of the building, his stride purposeful, unfazed by the darkness or the quiet eeriness of the place.

Y/N shifts slightly in his seat, his gaze never leaving Patrice, his breath steady as he watches. The distant city lights reflect off the glossy surface of the building, casting faint glimmers across its sleek facade. Patrice approaches the entrance and pauses momentarily, surveying the area before stepping inside.

Inside the building, a lone security guard sits at his desk, looking up as Patrice strides forward. The guard's expression shifts from indifference to surprise, his mouth opening slightly to speak.

Before a word escapes his lips, there's a flash...silent, almost imperceptible. In a heartbeat, the guard crumples forward, collapsing behind his desk. Patrice lowers his weapon with chilling calm, barely breaking stride as he steps over the fallen guard and continues into the shadows of the tower

From his position in the car, Y/N's eyes narrow, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He watches as Patrice vanishes into the depths of the darkened building. The hunt has officially begun

The silence of the building is almost suffocating, every step echoing ominously in the dark, vacant lobby. Y/N's eyes dart around, gun drawn, senses heightened, as he slips cautiously past the first fallen guard sprawled lifelessly near the entrance. His footsteps are soft, calculated, but in the cavernous space, even the slightest sound seems amplified, bouncing off the empty walls around him. Shadows loom, stretching across the floor as dim light seeps through tinted windows

He rounds a corner, halting as he spots yet another guard lying still, a grim testament to Patrice's cold efficiency. Y/N's heart pounds in his chest as he inches forward, his breathing controlled, steady. He strains his ears, catching a faint noise in the silence. His gaze flickers upward just as he sees movement above him, the glass elevator doors sliding open

Patrice steps into the elevator, a ghostly figure in the dim light. Y/N watches as he reaches out, pressing the button for the 67th floor, his expression blank, methodical. The elevator hums to life, and with a soft shudder, begins its ascent, gliding up the vast interior atrium of the tower. Light from distant, flickering ceiling fixtures casts an eerie glow on the glass walls, illuminating Patrice as he rises

Without a second thought, Y/N bolts across the lobby, his footsteps a quick, quiet patter against the marble floor. He reaches the elevator shaft just as the glass carriage begins to pull away from the ground. Timing his movements with precision, Y/N launches himself forward in a desperate dive, grasping onto the underside of the elevator's frame with both hands. The impact rattles through his body, his fingers clinging tightly to the cold metal as he steadies himself

The elevator continues to go up, carrying Y/N along with it as it climbs higher and higher. The city lights outside are distant now, mere glimmers against the night as the floors blur past, each level flashing by. Y/N's muscles strain, his hands beginning to ache as he holds on, sweat trickling down his face. He dares not look down; the dizzying drop beneath him is too great, a sheer descent stretching to the empty lobby far below.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the elevator slows, easing to a stop on the 67th floor. Y/N hangs there, his grip tightening as he listens intently, waiting. Above him, Patrice steps out of the elevator, his footsteps faint but steady as he disappears down the corridor. Y/N holds his breath, his fingers trembling as he waits, counting the seconds, willing himself to be patient.

When the footsteps finally fade into silence, Y/N shifts, carefully swinging one leg up to hook over the side. With huge effort, he pulls himself up, maneuvering his body into position as he braces against the elevator frame. He forces the door open of the unused elevator by his side, his muscles protesting with every movement.

He slips through the doorway and lands in the corridor beyond, heart pounding. The air is cold, sterile, and the floor stretches out ahead of him, dimly lit and silent. The hunt continues

The corridor is a shifting world of light and shadow as Y/N maneuvers through the darkened floor. Vivid, surreal colors flash across his face, bathing him momentarily in the glow of enormous LED screens from the skyscrapers outside. Images flicker and fade. Jellyfish, flowers, faces... all casting strange reflections across the glass partitions and turning the abandoned, under-construction office floor into a disorienting maze

With each step, Y/N's own reflection flickers in and out of view, his figure duplicating and fragmenting, as if being watched from every angle. He snakes through the glass partitions, moving with silent precision, until he finally spots Patrice in the far corner of the floor

Patrice is crouched, intent, methodical. With a quiet click, he opens the aluminum briefcase, which smoothly unfolds, transforming into a sniper rifle. Y/N watches, gun at the ready, his curiosity piqued but his stance steady. Patrice doesn't notice him, fully absorbed in preparing his weapon. He carefully places a glass cutter against the window and carves a small hole. The high-pitched whine of wind pressure slices through the silence as the cut completes

Across the way, through the window, Y/N sees the target... a luxurious hotel suite set like a stage, the scene framed perfectly for Patrice's rifle. A stunning blonde woman glides into view, followed closely by three serious-looking bodyguards. She checks the champagne, her movements calm, oblivious to the sniper preparing his shot

Intrigued, Y/N inches closer, taking advantage of the flickering lights that alternatively reveal Patrice's position and cast Y/N back into shadow. Patrice adjusts his scope, focusing on the suite. He watches as an older Chinese man, clearly powerful, enters and is seated in a special chair. The woman treats him with respect, and he leans forward, flashing a satisfied grin as a bodyguard unveils a priceless Modigliani painting.

Y/N, watching with growing intensity, takes another cautious step closer. He keeps his gaze on the scene unfolding in the suite, waiting to understand Patrice's purpose here. He sees the tension in Patrice's posture, the slight adjustment of his grip, and realizes he's seconds away from a kill

Then...

Bang

Patrice pulls the trigger, and the shot reverberates through the air, taking down the man in the suite with brutal accuracy

The LED lights shift once more, and in a brief reflection, Patrice catches sight of Y/N, poised in the glass. Patrice whips around, firing his rifle directly at Y/N's reflection, shattering a glass partition. The real Y/N lunges from the darkness, seizing the barrel and knocking it aside before Patrice can shoot again

They collide violently, grappling at the very edge of the towering window. Patrice tries to regain control, aiming the rifle, but Y/N forces him back, muscles straining, determination flaring in his eyes

Y/N finally gains the upper hand, and with a swift, brutal movement, flips Patrice out of the window.

But Patrice's hand darts up, clinging to Y/N's wrist with a vice-like grip, pulling him toward the precipice. The wind howls around them, the skyscrapers spinning in Y/N's peripheral vision as he fights to keep his balance

Y/N leans down, shouting over the wind

Y/N: Who's got the list!?

Patrice hangs on, his expression blank, his grip slipping. Y/N's frustration builds as he demands

Y/N: Tell me! Who are you working for!?

Before Patrice can answer, his hand slips, and he plummets into the abyss below, disappearing into the shadows of the city streets

Y/N pulls himself back from the ledge, breath ragged, muscles trembling. The surreal, shifting LED lights flash on again, illuminating his figure for a split second. Across the way, the woman in the hotel suite catches a fleeting glimpse of him before the lights blink out once more. When they flicker back on, Y/N has vanished into the darkness

After that, Y/N inspects the aluminum briefcase Patrice left behind. His gaze sharpens as he examines the meticulously organized compartments, each one fitted with tools for infiltration and assassination. His fingers trace over the slots for the glass-cutter and suction cup used to break through the office tower's high-rise windows. He pauses when he notices one last fitted compartment, reaching in to remove a single item: a casino chip with the name "The Floating Dragon" etched onto its surface. He turns it over, absorbing the potential lead

Meanwhile...

London, England

In her quiet London apartment, Natasha sits hunched over her laptop, a coffee mug cooling beside her, and a muted television flickering in the background. Her gaze is locked on a blurry image displayed on her screen, a surveillance shot from Hong Kong, showing her alongside a man

The NOC List, which Natasha was partially responsible for, held the names of undercover agents embedded in critical missions worldwide. With its theft, the list had triggered a national security crisis, raising alarm and heavy scrutiny

Then, unexpectedly, her screen blinks, snapping her back to the present.

The image of a fruit machine appears, its reels spinning. She stares in confusion as the symbols flash by, finally settling on a line of skulls.

A chill runs down her spine. She clicks on the flashing prompt that reads "Here"

The screen shifts to YouTube.

Her blood runs cold.

Five photos appear, lined up across the screen, each accompanied by a name and embedded location.... details of the first five agents on the stolen NOC List, their identities and covers exposed in real time.

The implications hit hard. These were her agents, her recruits. She feels the weight of each name, the horrifying realization that she can't do anything to stop this from spreading. A pulse of vulnerability and anger flashes across her normally steely expression.

Before it can deepen, she snatches up her phone and presses an emergency contact.

Natasha: Tanner, he's posted the first five names. Their cover's blown. Get them out now

The message is urgent, unfiltered, her voice edged with fury and concern.

As she hangs up, another message blinks onto her screen. Words appear slowly, like they're taunting her, each letter sinking into her mind.

FIVE MORE. EVERY WEEK.

And below that, more words flash up in bold, chilling clarity:

Natasha stares at the message, her breath sharp. For a brief moment, her unbreakable exterior almost cracks, but she swallows hard, composing herself. Whoever had done this wasn't just after the list. This was personal

Macau, China

In the warm, muted light of his Macau hotel room, Y/N prepares to shave, lathering his face as he readies his straight razor. The air is still, the only sound the soft scrape of his brush against his skinuntil a knock breaks the quiet.

His eyes narrow as he instinctively reaches for his Walther, holding it close to his side as he moves to the door. He listens.

Kate: Room service...

A smirk crosses his face as he opens the door, revealing Kate standing there, her expression confident.

Y/N: I didn't order anything...not even you.

Without another word, he turns and heads back toward the bathroom, casually resuming his preparation as if her presence is of little consequence. Kate steps inside, unbothered, her gaze following him.

Kate: I've got some new information.

Y/N: Aren't you a little overqualified to be delivering messages?

Kate: Well, it's all part of the learning curve...and Q's afraid of flying.

Y/N: Of course he is

He looks at her in the mirror, their eyes meeting. She lingers in the doorway, her posture relaxed, yet her presence charged. Her gaze flickers to the razor in his hand

Kate: Cutthroat razor. Very traditional.

Y/N: I like to do some things the old-fashioned way.

There's a charged silence between them, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. Kate's lips curl slightly, her eyes holding his.

Kate: Sometimes the old ways are the best...

Without breaking eye contact, he flips the razor, offering her the handle. She takes a step forward, reaching out to accept it, her fingers brushing against his

Kate: Are you putting your life in my hands again?

There's a spark in her eyes... a mutual recognition of the trust and tension between them. She steps closer, sliding the razor from his hand with the faintest hint of a smile, and motions for him to sit. Y/N complies, settling back with an air of composed confidence

A few moments later, on the balcony, Y/N sits with his gaze out over the city, but his focus remains entirely on the woman before him. Kate kneels between his legs, the razor in hand, her concentration fixed as she leans in close. The proximity between them feels electric, both intimate and dangerous

Kate's hand remains steady, the blade carefully poised under Y/N's chin. He stays still, his face expressionless but his eyes sharp, watching her every move. The razor traces the contour of his jaw, and she rises slowly, their faces now so close that he can feel her breath, warm and slightly uneven

Y/N: M's already briefed me on the list. Raising the tantalizing question of what you're really doing here.

She pauses, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression before she answers.

Kate: My official directive was to help "in any way I can..."

Y/N: Like spying for Adler...

Kate's expression hardens slightly, but she holds his gaze without flinching.

Kate: He's not as bad as you think. Russell Adler enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1960 and qualified for U.S. Army Special Forces in 1963. He was recruited into the Central Intelligence Agency in 1965. Later, he joined the Special Activities Division in 1966 and was assigned to the—

Y/N: MACV-SOG in 1967 to investigate Soviet activity in Vietnam.

A faint, almost appreciative smile crosses her face as she realizes he's already well-informed.

Kate: So...you know there's more to him than meets the eye.

Y/N: We'll see...

He reaches up, fingers grazing the top button of her blouse, testing the limits of the moment. But before he can make a move, she stops him with a raised eyebrow and a gentle, insistent pressure on his shoulder

Kate: Keep still...this is the tricky part.

She carefully tilts his chin, her focus back on the blade as she shaves just under his jaw, her hand unwavering as she traces the delicate curve of his throat. She finishes the stroke, pulls back, and surveys her work. Satisfied, she steps back, her gaze sweeping over him with an approving gleam

Kate: That's better. You look the part now.

Y/N: What part?

Kate: Old dog...new tricks.

Y/N: I'm...not that much older than you...

She gives him a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with playful mischief.

Kate: Keep telling yourself that

Y/N stands tall on the deck of a sleek motor launch as it cuts through the dark waters of Macau harbor. Fireworks explode above, casting vibrant colors across the night sky, illuminating the glistening waves and the surrounding boats, each decked out with torches, running lights, and hanging Chinese lanterns. The Harbor Festival is in full swing, and the air is thick with celebration and mystery

In the midst of it all, Y/N stands out... dressed impeccably in a tuxedo, face clean-shaven, eyes sharp and focused. He looks every inch the refined, composed agent. He looks like himself again. He looks like Y/N L/N

The boat approaches a secluded bay and passes under an enormous arch carved to resemble a dragon's mouth, its fierce jaws wide open, beckoning visitors into the depths of mystery. As the boat moves through, Y/N's eyes take in his destination: The Floating Dragon, an opulent, sprawling casino floating on the water

Inside the casino, Y/N steps into a world bathed in shadow and soft, flickering light. The air is thick with an exotic scent, and the casino is unlike any he's seen before... an elegant, silent place, devoid of the usual slot machine sounds

This is a place where wealth and danger mingle, with high-stakes tables surrounded by shadowed figures. A dark, lacquered pagoda bridge spans a pit-like enclosure in the center of the casino, lit from below. As Y/N crosses, he glances down and a Komodo dragon hisses up at him, its jaws spread wide

Y/N doesn't flinch. He simply continues across the bridge, moving seamlessly through the crowd. The tension in the room is palpable, the atmosphere dense with intrigue. Y/N taps his earpiece.

Y/N: Good evening

In his ear, he hears Kate's voice, rich and familiar.

Kate: Evening.

He sees her across the room, wearing a striking, elegant dress that turns heads, her posture confident and self-assured. She looks ravishing, and Y/N's eyes sweep over her, but his tone remains professional as he keeps his voice low

Y/N: Don't touch your ear. I've got three exits and plenty of blind spots.

She lowers her hand after she reached for her earpiece, her voice coming through with a subtle smile.

Kate: I've got them covered.

Moving through the casino with practiced ease, Y/N scans the faces around him, sizing up the exits, marking the shadows where hidden threats might lurk. He approaches the cashier's cage, sparing Kate one last glance.

Y/N: You look...amazing in that dress.

Kate: You don't scrub up so bad yourself.

Y/N: It's amazing what one can do with an extra pair of hands.

She smirks as Y/N reaches the cashier's desk, presenting a single casino chip... the one he picked up in Shanghai. The cashier's eyes flick up to him, her expression neutral, but her gaze lingers a moment before she nods

Cashier: Good evening, sir. How can I help you?

Y/N: I'd like to cash this in, please

She takes the chip, her face revealing nothing as she examines it. Her smile returns, a touch sharper this time, and she gives a slight nod before disappearing into the back. Y/N's eyes subtly scan the casino floor, taking in every detail

At the top of the grand staircase across the room, a figure catches his eye. A woman stands with her back to him, dressed in a stunning, backless dress that reveals graceful curves. Even from behind, he knows it's her... the mysterious woman from the hit in Shanghai. There's something oddly familiar about her, something that stirs a faint, unsettling memory he can't quite place

One of her bodyguards catches Y/N's look, whispers in her ear, and she turns, her gaze finding him in the dim light. She locks eyes with Y/N, her expression poised and calculating. He responds with a charming, confident smile, a silent invitation and challenge all at once.

Just as he expected, the casino floor manager appears from the back, accompanied by an assistant carrying an attache case. They approach Y/N, and the floor manager offers the case to him with a practiced, ingratiating smile

Floor Manager: Good fortune tonight, sir.

Y/N: Let's hope so...

He opens the case briefly, glancing inside. It's filled with crisp Euros, as he suspected—Patrice's payment for the hit in Shanghai. He closes the case, taking a few gambling chips that the floor manager offers with a nod.

Floor Manager: With compliments of the house.

Y/N pockets the chips, his eyes returning to the woman at the top of the staircase. He senses she'll be key to the next step of the mission, a piece of the puzzle still shrouded in mystery

Y/N holds the attache case firmly as he strides toward the gambling tables, his eyes trained on the action but his focus entirely on the woman approaching him. She moves with a calculated elegance, her gaze locked on him with a mix of interest and subtle challenge.

Victoria: Now you can afford to buy me a drink

Y/N: Maybe I'll even buy two... I think I've got about four million euros in here.

She chuckles, a hint of intrigue flashing in her eyes.

Victoria: Not bad. I like this game.

Y/N: Well, why don't we play another?

Victoria: I don't gamble. I'm not very lucky.

Y/N: A little like our friend in Shanghai.

For a split second, her expression falters, just barely. She recovers almost immediately, her face a practiced mask of cool confidence

Victoria: I've been waiting to see who would redeem the chip. You made such a bold entrance into our little drama.

Y/N smirks, leaning back slightly with a casual confidence.

Y/N: Did I over-complicate the plot?

Victoria: Who doesn't appreciate the occasional twist? Mr...?

He lets the moment stretch, then delivers the line with effortless charm.

Y/N: L/N... Y/N L/N.

She raises an eyebrow, her eyes studying him carefully, perhaps for signs of recognition. She seems momentarily intrigued, almost as if the name itself has sparked a distant memory.

Victoria: Victoria... So... Mr. L/N... shall we discuss your next performance over that drink?

Y/N: I'd like that...

There's an intensity between them, an electric tension as if they're both fully aware they're playing a game, but neither knows quite how the other intends to play it. He can't shake the feeling that there's something unsettlingly familiar about her—a fragment of a memory, just out of reach.

His gaze slides past her for a moment, noting her bodyguards standing at a careful distance, their eyes cold and watchful.

Y/N: Will your friends be joining us?

Victoria glances back, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips as she regards the men shadowing her.

Victoria: That... I'm afraid, is... inevitable.

They head toward the bar together, their movements fluid and synchronized as if they've danced this dance before. Y/N keeps his expression light, but his mind is sharp, analyzing every gesture, every word. He knows there's more to her than meets the eye, and he intends to uncover every layer.

Across the room, Kate watches the scene unfold from her table. Her gaze lingers on Y/N and Victoria, and her jaw tightens as she sees the ease with which Y/N moves beside this mysterious woman. There's a flicker of something deeper in her eyes... a spark of jealousy. For the first time, she's seeing him with someone else, a woman every bit as striking and composed as she is.

Y/N, for his part, doesn't miss a beat, sensing Kate's eyes on him. He's keenly aware of the complex web around him... the mission, Victoria, and the steady, unwavering presence of Kate, both ally and something more. But for now, his focus remains on the woman beside him, her enigmatic smile hinting at secrets he's determined to uncover

At the bar, Y/N studies the bartender's hands as he meticulously stirs the martini, the clinking of ice against glass filling the brief silence between him and Victoria. She sits across from him, her posture elegant, her gaze both sharp and alluring. The air between them is heavy with tension, an intimacy neither is entirely prepared to confront.

Y/N: Perfect.

Victoria: Would you mind if I asked you a business question?

Y/N's eyes flicker with intrigue, his expression nonchalant as he swirls his drink.

Y/N: Depends on the question.

Victoria: It has to do with death.

He raises an eyebrow, impressed, though cautious. Her calmness under such a loaded question confirms his suspicions about her experience in the darker, more dangerous corners of the world

Y/N: A subject in which you're well-versed.

Victoria: And how would you know that?

He leans back, his gaze drifting over her, taking in her poised elegance mixed with a hardened edge.

Y/N: Only a certain kind of woman wears a backless dress and a Beretta 70 strapped to her thigh.

Victoria's lips quirk in a small, knowing smile, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

Victoria: One can never be too careful when handsome men in tuxedos carry Walthers... I am correct in assuming you killed Patrice?

Her voice is smooth, unperturbed, as though she were asking about the weather. Y/N takes a slow sip, choosing his words carefully.

Y/N: Yes.

He says it plainly, as if dropping a casual observation, but the weight behind it is unmistakable

As he watches her, something begins to click in Y/N's mind. An old, hazy memory of his grandfather Duncan's voice drifts up from the past... Duncan mentioning a lost sister, someone Y/N had tried not to think about. For more than two decades, Duncan insisted she was still out there, hidden from him. The woman in front of him had the same name. Victoria

And then, with an almost dizzying clarity, he remembers the worn photograph Duncan had once handed him: a girl with bright eyes and a defiant smile. He'd nearly forgotten her face until now, but it all comes rushing back. He feels a surge of recognition, like seeing a ghost come to life, and suddenly the familiarity he's felt around Victoria takes on an entirely different significance.

Y/N's breath catches, but he hides it with a quick, composed sip of his drink, his mind racing as he looks at her again, really looks at her. She resembles the girl in that photograph, though time and life have sharpened her features, adding an edge to her beauty. And the name... it all adds up in a way that makes his pulse quicken.

He sets his glass down, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N: Victoria...

Her gaze shifts slightly, sensing something has changed in his demeanor, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

Victoria: Yes?

He hesitates, the gravity of his question settling between them. He wonders if he's imagining things, if his memory and the desperation to find the sister he lost so long ago could be playing tricks on him. But there's only one way to know

Y/N: Does Piccadilly mean anything to you?

Her expression freezes for the briefest of moments, the name cutting through her composure like a shard of glass. For just an instant, her polished exterior slips, and something raw and haunted flickers in her eyes. She quickly recovers, but Y/N catches it, that moment of recognition... of pain

For Y/N, the mention of Piccadilly is a test, a carefully placed trigger. Memories from that day are scarce, mostly reconstructed from stories told by Duncan and Bucky. His parents had been killed in a terrorist attack there when he was just a baby. Victoria... his supposed sister had been there too, though they were split up in the chaos that followed. Bucky and Natasha had managed to save him, but Victoria had vanished into the void, lost to him for over two decades

Victoria's hands tighten around her glass, her knuckles white. Her gaze shifts, focusing on some distant point beyond him, as if she's unwilling or unable to face the question.

Victoria: Piccadilly...

Her voice trails off, tinged with a vulnerability she quickly buries, forcing a practiced smile. But Y/N knows that smile is a mask, a layer of armor to shield something fragile underneath. He's struck by how similar it is to his own way of hiding, of guarding the scars that remain from that day

Y/N: You were there, weren't you?

She remains silent, her face a careful blank. The silence is heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken history, of memories too painful to acknowledge. Y/N leans in, his voice low, gentle but relentless.

Y/N: They told me I lost a sister that day.

At this, her gaze snaps back to his, and he sees a flash of something. Recognition, disbelief, and maybe, just maybe, a spark of hope.

Victoria: I don't know what you're talking about.

But there's a tremor in her voice, betraying her. Y/N's hand reaches out, a small, tentative gesture, one that doesn't quite bridge the gap between them but acknowledges it, the bond they may share.

Y/N: If you were there... if you were her...

Victoria's eyes dart away, her jaw clenched tightly as if she's fighting back memories she's spent a lifetime burying. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely a whisper

Victoria: I don't... I don't remember much. Just flashes. Faces. Screams. And someone pulling me away...

Her words falter, and Y/N feels his heart break a little. She's been as lost as he has, wandering through the darkness with only fragments of a family she can barely recall.

For a moment, there's a profound silence between them, a shared grief that binds them. Y/N looks at her, the woman who might be his sister, and he realizes just how long she's been out there... 

Finally, he breaks the silence

Y/N: I want to meet your employer... sister.

The words are simple, but their impact is immediate. She freezes, her glass pausing halfway to her lips. The world seems to close in around them, the air suddenly thick with tension. Her eyes flicker, caught between surprise and something like dread

Y/N meets her gaze, unflinching, his voice steady and relentless. The games, the charm, all of it has fallen away. This is a matter of life and death, for both of them. She lets out a slow, quiet breath and finally looks him in the eye, a hint of defiance tinged with fear

Victoria: Be careful what you wish for.

Y/N: You're scared.

She holds his stare for a moment, a quiet challenge in her eyes. Then, as if conceding a silent defeat, she stands, gathering herself

Victoria: Thank you... for the drink.

She moves to leave, but Y/N reaches out, his hand closing around her wrist with a firmness that surprises her. Her bodyguards tense, ready to intervene, but she hesitates, looking down at his hand, then at him, with a mixture of frustration and something unspoken. Slowly, she sits back down, her expression guarded

Y/N leans forward, his voice low but unyielding.

Y/N: You put on a good show, but ever since we sat down, you haven't stopped looking at your bodyguards. Three of them's a bit excessive, don't you think? They're controlling you, not protecting you

She shifts uncomfortably, her face hardening, but he presses on, relentless.

Y/N: The tattoo on your wrist... it's south Nottingham sex trade. You belonged to one of the houses. What were you? Twelve? Thirteen? I'm guessing he was your way out. Perhaps you thought you were in love. But that was a long time ago

There's a beat of silence as his words sink in, piercing through her defenses. Her face remains impassive, but her eyes flicker, a flash of pain breaking through her composure. Y/N softens, realizing he may have been too harsh, but knowing it was necessary to confront the truth.

Y/N: I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner... I didn't even know I had a sister.

He pauses, his voice thick with regret.

Y/N: I never cared to know about my real family... and I'm sorry for it.

She glances away, her jaw clenched tightly. There's a flash of anger, or maybe it's just pain, in her expression as she turns back to him

Victoria: You know nothing about it.

Y/N: I know when a woman is afraid and pretending not to be.

Victoria: What do you know about fear?

Y/N: All there is...

She shakes her head, a bitter smile flickering across her lips.

Victoria: Not like this... not like him.

Y/N: I can help you.

Victoria: I don't think so.

He watches her carefully, reading the fear and resolve in her eyes.

Y/N: Bring me to him.

She studies him, her gaze piercing and cautious, weighing his words. For a moment, it seems like she might refuse, that the barrier between them is too strong to break. But finally, she speaks, her voice low and measured

Victoria: Can you kill him?

Y/N: Yes.

Victoria: Will you?

Y/N: Someone usually dies.

He's deadly serious, and she knows it. There's a glint of something in her eyes... hope, maybe, or resignation. She nods subtly, glancing toward her bodyguards.

Victoria: When I leave, they're going to kill you... If you survive, I'm on The Chimera. North Harbor, Berth Seven. We cast off in an hour.

She rises, her eyes lingering on him for a moment, a flicker of something she won't allow herself to express.

Victoria: Good luck.

With that, she slips away, her bodyguards falling into step behind her, their gazes trained on Y/N. He watches her go, the weight of everything left unsaid settling on him. He takes a deep breath, finishing his drink, and steels himself for the inevitable confrontation.

As he sets his glass down, the bodyguards remain, their eyes cold and calculating, ready for a fight. Y/N smiles faintly, the thrill of the challenge stirring in him as he rises from his seat

Y/N walks casually across the bridge above the Komodo dragon enclosure, the attache case filled with money swinging lightly at his side. Below him, the reptiles hiss and slither in the darkness, their scales glinting in the dim light. But his attention isn't on the dragons; it's on the footsteps approaching from behind. Three bodyguards fan out across the bridge, moving with deliberate precision

Y/N comes to a stop, his senses alert. The bodyguards close in, spreading out to block any chance of escape. The bridge is silent, save for the faint sound of the dragons below, and Y/N's hand tightens on the handle of the attache case

In a flash, Y/N strikes

He swings the heavy case, slamming it into the first Bodyguard's head, sending him sprawling onto the bridge. Without missing a beat, Y/N spins low as the second Bodyguard steps forward, driving the case into his knees. The man crumples, gasping in pain

Bodyguard #3 throws a punch at Y/N, but Y/N blocks with the case, deflecting the blow. Y/N retaliates, kicking Bodyguard #3 in the knee, then swinging the case into his stomach. The bodyguard doubles over, collapsing onto the bridge

Bodyguard #1, having recovered, barrels into Y/N from behind. The force of the impact sends both men crashing through the bridge railing and tumbling down into the enclosure below. They hit the sand hard, and Y/N's Walther flies from his grasp, skidding across the floor

Y/N and Bodyguard #1 scramble to their feet, both keeping a wary eye on each other as well as on the dark shapes slithering closer. The Komodo dragons, drawn by the commotion, circle them, hissing ominously

The bodyguard's gaze lands on Y/N's Walther lying in the sand. Y/N notices the glance and, just as the bodyguard lunges for the gun, Y/N kicks it, sending it sliding further away. He shoves Y/N aside and scrambles toward the gun. Y/N quickly maneuvers himself into position, subtly steering the fight.

What Bodyguard #1 doesn't see, however, is one of the dragons creeping up behind him, jaws open and ready to strike

He turns to Y/N, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger

Y/N, calm and cool, watches him with a slight smirk

Y/N: Good luck with that...

CLICK... CLICK...

The gun doesn't fire. The bodyguard's triumphant smile fades, replaced by confusion as he realizes the weapon won't respond. It's palm-coded to Y/N, and no one else

Y/N takes advantage of his confusion, stepping back with a dry smile.

While the bodyguard stares at the unresponsive gun, the Komodo dragon behind him strikes, its massive jaws closing around his leg. He lets out a scream, the gun clattering from his hand as he's dragged back into the darkness

Y/N seizes the moment. He sprints to the edge of the enclosure, leaping onto the back of one of the other dragons and using it to propel himself upward. He grabs hold of the bridge railing, pulling himself up just as another scream echoes from below

But as Y/N steadies himself on the bridge, he finds himself face-to-face with another bodyguard, his gun pointed directly at Y/N's head.

Suddenly, a high-heeled shoe slams down on the bodyguard's wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. The bodyguard reels as Kate, standing over him, swings the attache case into his face, knocking him out cold. She grins at Y/N, looking unruffled

Y/N: Thank you...

Kate hands him the attache case with a playful smile.

Kate: Anytime.

Y/N dusts himself off, takes the case, and gives her a nod. He then glances over his shoulder at the enclosure below as another agonized scream rings out.

Y/N: Put it all on red.

He strolls away coolly, his stride casual and unbothered as he disappears into the casino. Behind him, the sounds of chaos and struggle fade, and a faint smile crosses his face.

Y/N: It's the circle of life...

...

Macau Harbor

The Chimera rests gracefully near the mouth of the harbor, its sleek silhouette framed against the shimmering lights of the distant festival. Lanterns and fireworks light up the evening sky, casting reflections on the still waters around the yacht. On deck, the crew moves quietly, preparing to weigh anchor, their movements efficient and disciplined

Inside the stateroom, Victoria stands alone, gazing out at the glittering lights on the horizon. She looks elegant, poised as always, but there's a tension in her posture, a flicker of worry in her expression. She glances toward the door every few moments, as if expecting someone

There's a knock on the door

Victoria turns, her breath catching.

Victoria: Yes?

The yacht's Captain appears in the doorway, a respectful nod as he addresses her.

Captain: It's time to cast off.

Victoria: Right...

The Captain gives a final nod and closes the door behind him, leaving her alone once more. Victoria's shoulders slump slightly as disappointment washes over her. She had hoped, perhaps irrationally, that he would come, that Y/N would choose to be here.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and for a brief moment, her carefully guarded facade drops. Her reflection reveals the deep sadness in her eyes, a longing she can't suppress. The weight of memories, of a life separated from her brother, of all the lost years, presses down on her

Minutes pass in silence.

Then, another knock on the door.

She straightens, her mask coming back up, but there's a hint of irritation in her voice as she calls out

Victoria: What is it this time?

She opens the door, prepared for the Captain or a crew member. But instead, standing there, slightly disheveled but unmistakably him, is Y/N.

For a heartbeat, she stares, as if uncertain whether he's really there or a figment of her imagination. Then, before she can stop herself, she steps forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her composure breaks as she holds him tightly, the walls she's kept up for so long finally crumbling. The years of loss, fear, and resilience surge up, and she lets herself be vulnerable, letting out a soft, choked sob

Y/N embraces her, holding her close, letting her release the weight of everything she's carried. His voice is gentle, reassuring.

Y/N: I'm here... I'm here.

She clings to him, her grip tight, as if afraid he might disappear. This moment, this connection, is something she's dreamed of but never dared hope for. Y/N strokes her back softly, comforting her in a way that only a brother can, as they stand together, united after all these years.

In that embrace, the world outside fades

...

Meanwhile...

London, England

Whitehall

M and Natasha stand in the center of Marshall's Whitehall office, watching as a BBC News broadcast plays on the large screen before them. The BBC Anchor appears on screen, standing in front of an image of a recently deceased MI6 agent

The headline at the bottom of the screen reads: "MI6 IN CRISIS."

BBC Anchor: Good evening. The controversy surrounding the Ministry of Defense has escalated today, as images of the Husein assassination continue to circulate. We should warn you, some viewers might find these images disturbing. Captain Husein, an MI6 operative embedded in the Middle East, was one of the five agents exposed in what is now being considered the greatest internal security breach in modern British history. The Prime Minister continues to express public support for MI6, while the opposition has taken the position...

The image abruptly cuts off as Marshall, stone-faced, switches off the broadcast. The room is left in silence, thick with unspoken accusations and tension. M and Natasha exchange a look but remain quiet, bracing themselves.

Marshall takes a moment, then turns to face them both, his eyes steely and unwavering.

Marshall: ...has taken the position we're a bunch of antiquated bloody idiots fighting a war we don't understand and can't possibly win.

There's a shift in Marshall's demeanor... his tone is cold, almost harsh. The military resolve in him is beginning to surface

M, however, stands firm, meeting his stare without flinching.

M: Three of my agents are dead already... Don't embroil me in politics now

The weight of the situation hits Natasha, whose jaw tightens with anger. Both she and M know that the lives of these agents were their responsibility. For M, as the head of MI6, it's a professional burden; for Natasha, who personally trained and vetted these agents, it's deeply personal.

Natasha's voice is bitter, cutting.

Natasha: Standing in the stocks at midday? Who's antiquated now?

Marshall's eyes narrow, his voice hardening as he cuts in.

Marshall: For Christ's sake, Natalia, listen to yourself! We're a democracy, and we're accountable to the people we're trying to defend... We can't keep trying to work in the shadows. There are no more shadows.

The air between them crackles with tension. Natasha's jaw tightens, and she squares her shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. They stand in deadlock, neither willing to yield.

Natasha: You don't get this, do you? Whoever's behind this, whoever's doing it, he knows us. He's one of us. He comes from the same place as Y/N. The place you say doesn't exist... the shadows.

For a moment, they hold each other's gaze, the magnitude of what's at stake reflected in their eyes. Marshall hesitates, perhaps just briefly, realizing the gravity of her words. But the impasse remains

...

Back to Asia...

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean...

The morning light casts a golden glow over the vast ocean as the yacht sails smoothly through the water, gliding past jagged rocks and lush, uninhabited islands

Victoria stands alone at the prow of the yacht, staring straight ahead with a distant look in her eyes, her hands gripping the rail tightly. Her face is tense, a flicker of fear showing in her otherwise stoic expression. The wind tugs at her hair, and her gaze is locked on the horizon as if bracing herself for what's to come

Y/N emerges from below decks, scanning the area casually but taking in every detail. The crew, who are unusually alert, stationed around the deck. Their eyes flick towards him and then away, keeping their distance but clearly on edge

Y/N slips his hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing the small radio transmitter that Q had given him before he left on this mission. He pulls it out discreetly, pressing the button to activate it. The signal is sent out, a silent call for help, and he slips it back into his pocket, continuing forward toward Victoria

As he reaches her side, she doesn't turn to acknowledge him. Her gaze remains fixed on the horizon, though her voice is barely above a whisper.

Victoria: It's not too late... We could turn back now

Y/N follows her line of sight, and through the thickening mist, dark shapes start to emerge. Silhouettes of jagged structures rise from the ocean like phantoms, an island slowly coming into view. The mist clears, revealing a sprawling, abandoned city

The atmosphere is heavy with tension, and Victoria's fear is palpable. Y/N takes in the scene, his expression unreadable, though his instincts scream at him to stay alert

Suddenly, he hears it...the unmistakable, chilling sound of several AK-47s being cocked behind him. Y/N turns slowly, and there they are, the Captain and the rest of the crew, now gathered and pointing their weapons directly at him and Victoria

Y/N keeps his voice steady, his eyes fixed on the Captain.

Y/N: I wouldn't be so sure...

His gaze shifts subtly to Victoria. Her eyes betray her fear, but she gives him the smallest of nods, a silent confirmation that she, too, understands the stakes

After that, Y/N and Victoria are marched through desolate streets, surrounded by the Captain and his crew. Their hands are bound, and the cold, steel muzzles of guns press into their backs, urging them forward

As they pass through a massive set of rusted gates, Y/N's eyes widen at the sight before him: an abandoned city, frozen in time. Dust-covered shop fronts line the main street, their signs faded and barely legible. A few rusted cars are scattered along the roadside, doors left ajar, belongings spilling out onto the pavement as if their owners had fled in haste

Y/N glances at Victoria, who walks beside him, her gaze fixed forward but her expression tense.

Victoria: They abandoned it almost overnight. He made them believe there was a leak at the chemical plant. It's amazing the panic you can cause with a single computer... He wanted the island, so he took it.

Y/N studies her, taking in every word, noting the bitterness in her tone.

Y/N: Does he always get what he wants?

Victoria gives a slight, humorless smile, her eyes reflecting a shadow of something darker.

Victoria: More than you know.

As they continue down the crumbling main street, the crew suddenly stops. Victoria is grabbed by one of the guards and pulled toward a narrow, dimly lit alley. She struggles slightly but knows resistance is futile. Her eyes meet Y/N's, a flash of regret in them as she's led away.

Victoria: I'm sorry...

Her voice is soft, almost lost in the vast silence of the deserted city. Y/N watches as she disappears down the alley, her figure swallowed by the shadows. He feels a pang of helplessness, a rare feeling for him, at seeing her taken away

Y/N sits bound in the cold metal chair, his eyes sweeping over the vast, dimly lit space, a strange fusion of industrial decay and high-tech machinery. Wires snake along the walls like tangled veins, connecting a series of computer terminals, each one glowing ominously in the wet, shadow-filled murk. At the far end of the room, a large industrial elevator begins its descent, groaning as it brings someone down from above.

A faint smirk tugs at Y/N's lips as he watches. This guy clearly knows how to make an entrance

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cold, striking handsomeness, and hair like spun gold. Damian steps out, his eyes locked onto Y/N with an unsettling intensity, as if he's studying every weakness, every vulnerability

Damian: Hello, Y/N. Welcome. Do you like the island? My grandmother had one too. Nothing to boast of...you could walk around it in an hour. Still, it was a paradise for us

He strolls toward Y/N with a relaxed, almost predatory ease, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips

Damian: One summer, we went for a visit and discovered the place had been infested with rats. They'd arrived on a fishing boat, and before long, they'd gorged themselves on the coconuts. So, how do you get rats off an island? My grandmother showed me.

Y/N watches, intrigued yet wary, as Damian moves closer, his voice turning almost reverent.

Damian: We buried an oil drum and hinged the lid. Then we wired coconut to the lid as bait. The rats would come for it, one by one, and fall into the drum. After a month, we'd trapped them all. But then... what do you do? Throw the drum into the ocean? Burn it?

Damian steps closer still, his face almost at Y/N's eye level.

Damian: No. You just leave it. They get hungry. And one by one, they start eating each other, until only two are left. The two survivors. And then, you release them back into the trees. Now, they don't eat coconut anymore. Now, they only eat rat.

He leans in, scrutinizing Y/N with a look that borders on fascination

Damian: You have changed their nature. The two survivors... This is what she made us.

Y/N's face remains impassive, though he can feel the weight of Damian's words pressing down on him.

Y/N: I've made my own choices.

Damian: You think you did. That's her genius

Y/N's mind races as pieces of a twisted puzzle fall into place. He recalls Natasha mentioning a young man she once trained, a brilliant agent who had disappeared. He'd read the file: a prodigy, a former CIA asset who crossed dangerous lines and had been burned. A ghost

Y/N: Station H, am I right? Hong Kong?

Damian's expression doesn't falter; instead, he smirks, a hint of pride in his eyes.

Damian: '06 to '09. Back then, I was her favorite... and you're not nearly the agent I was. Just look at you. Barely held together by your pills and your drink.

Y/N lets out a derisive snort.

Y/N: Don't forget my pathetic love of country.

Damian: You're still clinging to your faith in that woman when all she does is lie to you.

Y/N: She's never lied to me.

Damian: No? What did you score on your marksmanship evaluation?

Y/N: Seventy.

Damian laughs, a sound laced with contempt.

Damian: Forty. Did she tell you the psychologist cleared you for duty?

Y/N swallows, not liking where this is going.

Y/N: Yes.

Damian: No... no.

He gestures toward a nearby computer screen, and a file appears, displaying Y/N's evaluation results. Y/N's gaze hardens as he reads the cold, clinical assessments

Damian: Medical evaluation: Fail. Physical evaluation: Fail. Psychological evaluation: "Alcohol and substance addiction indicated. Pathological rejection of authority based on unresolved childhood trauma. Subject is not approved for field duty, and immediate suspension from service is advised."

Y/N feels a chill crawl up his spine, but he refuses to let Damian see his doubt.

Damian: What is this if not betrayal? She sent you after me, knowing you're not ready, knowing you would likely die... Mommy was very bad.

Damian's fingers reach out, tracing over the wounds on Y/N's shoulders and chest, lingering on the scars with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Damian: See what she's done to you.

Y/N: Well... she never tied me to a chair.

Damian: Her loss.

Y/N gives him a cocky grin, masking the fury building within him.

Y/N: You sure this is about our mother... Thomas?

Damian's face goes cold. He straightens, his smirk vanishing.

Damian: Thomas Kessler died the day our "mother" betrayed me... my name is Damian.

He leans in, his voice barely a whisper.

Damian: You see, we are the last two rats... we can either eat each other, or eat everyone else. You're trying to remember your training now... What's the regulation to cover this?

He trails his fingers up Y/N's leg, the gesture both taunting and menacing.

Damian: Well... there's a first time for everything.

Y/N grins, defiant.

Y/N: What makes you think this is my first time?

Damian chuckles, releasing Y/N's binds with a flick of his wrist.

Damian: Naughty, naughty.

Y/N rubs his wrists, feeling the blood circulate once more, but he's still tense, aware of the guns surrounding him.

Damian: Chasing spies, so old-fashioned. Your knees must be killing you. England... The Empire... MI6... You're living in a ruin as well. You just don't know it yet. At least here, there are no middle-aged men giving orders and no little gadgets from those fools in Q branch.

He gestures to the rows of computers.

Damian: If you wanted, you could pick your own secret missions, as I do. Name it... destabilize a multinational by manipulating stocks... easy. Interrupt transmissions from a spy satellite over Kabul... done. Rig an election in Uganda... all to the highest bidder

Y/N: Or a gas explosion in London.

Damian: Just point and click.

Y/N holds his gaze steady, the steel in his voice unmistakable.

Y/N: Well... everyone needs a hobby.

Damian: So what's yours?

Y/N: Resurrection.

Damian chuckles, an unsettling sound that reverberates through the empty space.

Damian: Let me show you something.

He motions for Y/N to follow, leading him through the room, past banks of supercomputers and tangled cables. Damian's guards fall into step behind them

Outside, blinding sunlight sears into Y/N's eyes as he steps out, blinking to adjust. His gaze sweeps over the desolate, haunting sight before him: a massive courtyard, crumbling and abandoned, surrounded by looming, empty buildings. Streets and avenues stretch out like the bones of a dead civilization, dust and debris swirling in the hot breeze

They walk, Y/N bound and flanked by armed guards, each footfall echoing through the eerie silence of the ghost town. Around them are scattered traces of the island's hurried abandonment: old toys, forgotten luggage, discarded books, and broken cooking pots. Tiny remnants of lives left behind in fear and haste

Damian: Tells a story, doesn't it? They left the island so quickly they couldn't decide what to take, what to leave. What was important.

He steps lightly around an old, rusted baby carriage, his eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction.

Damian: And seeing this every day reminds me to focus on the essentials. There's nothing... nothing superfluous in my life. When a thing is redundant, it is eliminated.

They turn a corner, and Y/N suddenly freezes.

Fifty yards away, tied to a piece of the shattered statue, stands Victoria. Her head hangs low, her form limp under the blazing sun. Her body appears frail, bruised, and beaten, like a ghostly apparition in the stark daylight. For a brief, sickening moment, Y/N wonders if she's dead

Y/N: You goddamn animal!

Rage overtakes him, and he lunges at Damian, but the guards are faster, aiming their guns at him, stopping him in his tracks.

Damian: Now, now... let's not be hasty.

Nearby, a table has been set up. On it lies a beautiful wooden box, a bottle of rare Scotch, and two shot glasses. Damian approaches the table, pouring two glasses, and offers one to Y/N with a sly, mocking grin

Damian: Fifty-year-old Macallan. A particular favorite of yours, I understand... So, what's the toast? "To the women we love."

Damian strolls over to Victoria, glass in hand, and whispers mockingly to her.

Damian: Darling... darling. Look who's here.

She raises her head slowly, her eyes swollen and face bruised. Damian leans in, kissing her deeply, a twisted display meant solely for Y/N's torment. Y/N seethes, his fists clenching, fury simmering beneath his controlled exterior

Damian straightens, looking back at Y/N with a sadistic glint in his eye.

Damian: Now, now... stand up straight, keep still... And whatever you do, don't lose your head.

With a dark chuckle, Damian carefully balances his full shot glass atop Victoria's head, then returns to Y/N, flipping open the wooden box to reveal two sleek target pistols. Y/N recognizes the setup immediately... it's a sick, twisted version of the William Tell game.

Damian: Time to redeem your marksmanship scores... Let's see who can be the first to knock the glass from her head.

He hands Y/N one of the pistols, keeping the other for himself.

Damian: And just to be sporting, I'll let you go first.

He leans in close, his voice a cold, taunting whisper.

Damian: Let's see who ends up on top

A guard presses his gun firmly to Y/N's temple as he raises the pistol, his hand trembling slightly. The past failures flicker in his mind, the humiliation of those low scores... and the stakes have never been higher

Y/N forces himself to focus, his pulse roaring in his ears as he aims at the shot glass precariously perched on his sister's head. His gun hand trembles, betraying the turmoil within. Victoria's gaze holds his, a silent plea in her bruised, weary eyes

Sweat trickles down Y/N's face. Damian watches him with a sickening joy, drinking in every moment of his struggle

Damian: I can't believe it... I can't believe it. Did you really die that day? Is there any, any of the old White Knight left?

Y/N squeezes the trigger.

BAM!

The shot goes wide, missing Victoria and striking the broken monument behind her. Damian's laugh echoes through the empty streets, mocking and triumphant

Damian: My turn.

He raises his pistol with a calm, cruel smile, taking careful aim. Without hesitation, he fires.

BAM!

The bullet tears into Victoria's shoulder, and she lets out a muffled scream, her voice choked by the gag. The shot glass tumbles from her head, shattering on the ground as her pain echoes through the silent city.

Damian: I win. What do you have to say to that?

Y/N: It's a waste of good Scotch.

In the blink of an eye, Y/N springs into action. He pivots, grabbing the guard's gun hand, twisting it sharply and firing a single shot that drops the guard instantly. In one smooth motion, he seizes the fallen gun and spins, dispatching the remaining guards with ruthless efficiency. Each movement is precise, brutal, lethal... this is Y/N at his finest

In the chaos, Damian stumbles back, panic flaring in his eyes as he watches his guards fall one by one. Desperate, he turns to flee

Y/N raises his gun, aiming it directly at Damian

Damian: What are you going to do now? Take me back to Mother? All on your own?

Y/N's gaze hardens, his voice calm and resolute.

Y/N: Who says I'm on my own?

As if on cue, the deep, rhythmic thumping of helicopter rotors fills the air. High above the island, three RAF rescue helicopters appear, their silhouettes cutting through the sunlight. Damian stares up, his confidence shattered.

Y/N reaches into his pocket, retrieving the small radio transmitter. He extends the antenna, the tiny device flashing with a light.

Y/N: Latest thing from Q-branch. It's called radio.