A small story that brought in the chaos between two men, and the fall of a woman.
The safehouse was silent, except for the buzz of a dying lightbulb swinging overhead. The air stank of mold, blood, and betrayal — the usual scent of unfinished business.
Two men stood across from each other. Neither reached for a weapon. Not yet.
Because what stood between them wasn't made of metal. It was made of memory.
She wasn't trained for war.
She had a desk job, a small apartment with a leaky sink, and a laugh that could stop time.
She was the kind of person who made danger seem distant — the kind who baked bread on Sundays and asked about nightmares without needing to understand them.
They both found her in different ways.
One through silence, the other through charm.
She saw the broken pieces in both and chose the quiet one. The one with the scars behind the eyes.
The other man never said a word. Just stepped aside. He let her go — not because he wanted to, but because love doesn't always fight fair.
And for a while, it worked. The quiet man and the woman who brought peace.
Until the mission.
It wasn't even supposed to touch her. She wasn't part of the world they lived in.
But they came for her anyway.
A retaliation. A warning. A message.
He told her to leave the city.
She refused. She said that she wants to be with him all the time and didn't want to leave his hand.
So she stayed.
And when the walls fell — when the op went dark, the allies turned, and the whole plan crumbled like ash — she was caught in the middle.
A bullet in the crowd. A name screamed over static.
He held her as the light left her eyes, whispering promises like they meant anything anymore.
He was too late
But the other man — the one who watched from afar, who never stopped loving her — he believed something else.
He believed the quiet man brought death to her door.
He believed he chose the mission over her life.
In the darkness, in the silence, in the wreckage of who they used to be.
There's no room for words. Only truth. Only blood
"You left her," one says.
"I lost her," the other replies.
The silence that follows is the loudest thing either has ever heard.
Jack Mayors never forgave himself.
Owen Vance never did either.
And Serah… she died loving both of them.
What came next wasn't about justice.
It was about reckoning.
Location: CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
The air inside the conference room was cold, sterile — but thick with tension. The kind that made even trained killers check their backs twice.
The lights were dimmed. Security feeds flickered across the wall. Files lay scattered across the mahogany table, redacted lines hiding the blood beneath ink. A name circled in red stood out: Jack Mayors.
He was no longer a ghost. He was a storm coming home.
They knew he was out there, watching. Planning. Moving like a shadow through their walls.
But even then Cyrus, one by one, had started to break his spine.
Nik — silenced in Prague.
Suzzane — choked to death while thinking of a world that got the justice delivered.
Tyler — shot in the Alps
Each death wasn't just a message. It was a countdown.
And now… There was only one step left.
The final piece on the board.
Maria C.S.
*Operation Black Silence Location: CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia / Field: New Jersey
The fluorescent lights in Langley flickered above Owen Vance as he stared at the live tactical feed on the wall. A map of New Jersey glowed red — specifically, an apartment block nestled in the quieter lanes of downtown. Unit #1016. The target: Maria C.S. Jack Mayors' sister.
The room was cold and humming with tension. No chatter. No hesitation. This was a kill order.
Vance stood with arms crossed, jaw clenched, as his black-ops unit — six of his best men — breached the first floor of the building. Night vision lenses blinked green. Heart monitors were steady.
"Proceed to hallway. Engage when required and whoever stands in your way.," Vance ordered calmly into the comms.
From the overhead view, the apartment block looked quiet. Kids played outside. An old woman sat on the bench. No one knew death had just walked in.
Field: New Jersey
Inside the dim hallway, boots hit the polished floor. Silencers were ready. The unit moved like a machine, reaching the third floor. Door 1016 — the end of the hall.
Then the first man dropped.
A blade slashed through the darkness. No scream. Just blood against the wall and a body hitting the floor.
"Man down," the second agent hissed, raising his rifle— Two shots. Precise. Silent.
He fell before finishing the call.
Panic rippled.
"Visual! Hostile in the corridor—" The third agent turned the corner.
Too slow.
A figure emerged from the dark — face obscured, movements like smoke. Bone snapped. A neck twisted. Another heartbeat gone.
In Langley, Vance leaned in.
"What the hell—?"
Agent Four ran, aiming wildly—until he was pulled into the shadows. A crunch. Then silence.
Only two remained. One aimed his rifle at the stairwell, hands shaking. His partner pressed against the wall near 1016's door, trying to open it.
A blur. Two bullets. Two more deaths.
The hallway fell into silence. Only the feed remained — showing a single man standing amidst the bodies, weapon lowered, blood on his sleeves. He crouched beside the last agent he killed, picked up the microphone still attached to his comms unit, and stared directly at the hallway camera — knowing exactly where it was.
He spoke.
"I'm one step ahead of you, Vance… and so is Mayors."
Then he tossed the mic.
The feed went black.
In Langley, Vance's expression didn't change. But his hand slowly clenched the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening. His best were gone. The op was burned. And now… Sierra Six was on the board.
And Jack Mayors was no longer alone.