Content Warning
This chapter contains discussions of trauma, grief, violence, and adult subject matter. Please proceed with care.
05:13 AM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
The nightmare spat Adrian out with a scream so raw it left splinters in his throat. Breath catching, he clawed at the pillow sweat-clammy, shivering, heart pounding as if it wanted out.
Shadows clung to the corners of the room and to his skin. Somewhere in the dream Vivienne had said the words again—unerasable, viral. You're a mistake. You always will be.
He pressed his knuckles to his eyes. "You're so wrong… Vivienne… so fucking wrong." It sounded pathetic. It sounded like seven year old trying to justify something that didn't need justification in the first place.
His body didn't care. Exhaustion, pure and undebatable, dragged him under before he could argue. This time he sank into nothingness that didn't even bother to be dark.
08:59 AM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
Bleep—bleep—bleep.
The alarm was a blade. Adrian slapped it silent and lay there, chest tight. Muscles shrieked protest from yesterday's rooftop, yesterday's grief, yesterday's everything.
Steam and cold water did nothing to scrub away the ghosts in his mind; the mirror revealed a man gaunter than the day before, eyes shot through with barely repressed nightmares.
Keys in the lock, door shutting, engine roaring the city around him as ignorant as ever, no understanding of how Adrian, still pulped and haunted, was about to be thrown to the wolves again.
09:34 AM | NPU Headquarters, Floor 2, Metro City
The sterile hallways swallowed him up, Elias waiting, ramrod-straight, mask welded on.
Adrian slumped into the chair across the desk, hating everything about how heavy his limbs felt. He didn't let the tremble in his hands show as he dropped his keys.
"So," he managed, dry, "what's the morning update? Weather? News? Local deaths?"
Elias let the silence stretch, drumming his fingers. "You need to know. Marcus is dead. Confirmed, roughly four hours after capture." A steady pause. "I assume you saw the image."
Adrian stared at the desk. He nodded, once.
Elias's tone sharpened. "The files you recovered were compromised. Nothing useful was inside. Someone sanitized them likely before you even reached Nexo."
Adrian's knuckles whitened where they gripped his knees. "So that's it? He died for nothing. His last act: a dead end. And you're dropping it on me like it's the week's closing stock report."
"You'll survive," Elias said flatly. "That's what you do, Adrian. But for now—fresh mission. I know you're grieving. There's no time."
He shuffled a folder across the desk. The cover was expensive, thick. Adrian's thumb brushed the embossed emblem.
FILE: VEIL SOCIETY GALA - IRONCLIFF CITY // CLASSIFIED ACCESS
⚠ WARNING: Highly confidential. Exposure to unauthorized personnel will be met with lethal countermeasures.
EVENT: Veil Society Gala, Night of [Redacted], Ironcliff City.
PURPOSE: Auctioning Enhancement Programs, Viral Prototypes, and Classified Antidote Fragments. Attendees: High net-worth individuals, corrupt corporates, and international dignitaries with ties to clandestine operations.
SECURITY PROTOCOLS: Private security personnel, biometric verification, restricted airspace. Electronic surveillance: Total.
TARGETS OF INTEREST: Enhancement Serum (Prototype), Viral Sample Vx-1.089 Classified Auction Ledger.
ADVISORY: Attendees are armed. Expect psychological manipulation, bribery, and lethal contingencies.
Elias spoke with no extra syllables: "Elite gala tonight. Auction, enhancement serums, viral protos. You need to blend in, find the assets, mark the buyers, and don't get dead."
Adrian let out a hollow, scraping sound—a laugh that wasn't one. "Gala. After I lost my partner. You always know how to throw a party, Elias."
One eyebrow ticked up. "You're not going alone. Meet your new partner."
Another file slid across. Adrian scanned the label: FILE: AVELINE - C.R.I.M.E.S DIVISION AGENT // HIGH-PRIORITY PROFILE
Profile ID: FMC-032
Name: Aveline
Age: 32
Lineage: Half-Canadian, half-Russian, part Italian
Languages: English, Hindi, Marathi, Italian, Russian
Background:
At age 13, killed her abusive mother; demonstrated complete emotional detachment.
Incarcerated in juvenile system, transferred to adult prison due to severity of crime.
No documented remorse. Lacks empathy; behaves pragmatically, manipulative, highly calculative.
Recruited into C.R.I.M.E Division for proficiency in covert operations, psychological resilience, and operational detachment.
Status: Active field agent, C.R.I.M.E Division.
He turned the page.
FILE: C.R.I.M.E DIVISION — NPU OPERATIONAL BRANCH
⚠ TOP SECRET // ACCESS LEVEL: NPU AGENT-3
CLASSIFIED STATUS:
Fully operational. Eyes everywhere. No public acknowledgment.
Specializes in containment, infiltration, intelligence, and extraction of high-risk assets.
Recruitment: Psychopathy, detachment, and operational adaptability considered assets. Emotional empathy is optional; tactical ruthlessness required.
MISSION PROTOCOL:
1. Assessment: Candidates evaluated on psychological durability, combat efficiency, field improvisation.
2. Recruitment: Only operatives capable of operating beyond moral and ethical boundaries selected.
3. Enhancement Trials: Agents may undergo experimental procedures to enhance reflexes, endurance, and cognitive processing.
4. Deployment: Covert operations globally, often under falsified identities or proxies.
RECRUITMENT HISTORY:
Agents include former criminals, black-badge specialists, ex-prison operatives.
The division relies on extreme adaptability; conventional morality is a hindrance.
SECURITY & ENCRYPTION:
Files are encrypted via triple-layer NPU protocols.
Unauthorized access = immediate termination of clearance; black-ops response initiated.
NOTES:
Agents are trained to survive alone, think three steps ahead of any threat, and manipulate scenarios for maximum gain.
Operational oversight minimal micromanagement seen as interference.
Contingency protocols in place for all breaches.
ALERT:
C.R.I.M.E Division agents are not allies in traditional sense. Trust is earned only by results. One mistake = mission failure = expendable.
His eyes widened, jaw tightening as he skimmed. Murder at thirteen, zero remorse, psychological detachment—C.R.I.M.E Division recruited direct from prison. Operational specialty: infiltration, manipulation, survival. Trained to the bone.
He set the page down slowly. "She was thirteen."
"She survived," Elias replied. "That's our hiring criteria now."
Adrian barked a laugh, all marrow and nerve. "My partner's a child murderer. That's comforting. Next, you'll have me babysitting ex-cannibals."
"Trust Aveline to do what needs to be done. Or don't trust her at all. Either way—don't get in her way. She'll prioritize the mission."
It landed like a slap. Adrian scooped up the file, flipping absently through notes on encrypted security and enhancement trials. "Beautiful. We're both irredeemable, then."
Elias ignored the jab. "You don't have an invitation to the Veil Society gala."
Adrian paused, slow dread sinking in. "Then who—"
Elias's lips twitched with something almost like amusement. "Aveline does. You'll be her plus-one. Boyfriend, Adrian. Pretend boyfriend."
For one heartbeat, Adrian's soul packed its bags and almost filed for divorce.
He stood, facing the door, then turned back, murder in his eyes. "You want me to play date to a woman who'd cut my throat for a distraction?"
Elias didn't answer. His smile was all cold calculation. "Don't mess up her dress. They were out of bulletproof tuxedos this season."
12:16 PM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
Adrian dropped into his battered chair, TV flickering with the day's muted chaos. He went through the pre-mission ritual with mechanical precision: jacket draped, gear spread, gun checked, tie tied, tie untied, cursing Aveline's ghostly silhouette in his mind.
He tried to picture his fake smile and just couldn't.
05:21 PM | Highway Outbound, Metro/Ironcliff City
The drive out was all blurred cityscape, restless highway, hands gripping the wheel tight. Adrian practiced lines—how to seem like he belonged among billionaires, killers, biotech sociopaths. "Lethal, psychopathic, perfect," he muttered. "Should've ordered flowers. Let's just hope she won't take offense to not having any flowers by her 'date'."
06:07 PM | Veil Society Gala Entrance, Ironcliff City
Floodlights washed over the eggshell facade, statues flanking polished marble stairs like witnesses. Guards looked sharp, but so did the crowd every arrival a whisper of silk and steel. ID cards flashed, biometric gates clicked, air buzzed with threat.
Adrian leaned against the stone, scanning for any sign of his new "date." Notification pinged: a photo, half-rendered and no help at all.
Then a breath at his shoulder—warm, thick with Russian smoke and expensive perfume.
"That's me," said a voice, low and chiseled, with enough accent to freeze water.
Adrian straightened. Cream dress, sleeveless, slit for speed not seduction, pearls that gleamed like teeth, heels he'd bet money she could run in. The clutch in her hand likely hid something sharp. The jacket draped so carelessly was perfectly tailored for concealment.
But it was her eyes that decided things—blue, sharp, and infinitely full of warning.
She extended a hand, smile faint and precise. "You must be Adrian. I hope you keep up."
He took her hand. Cold as truth.
His thoughts tangled—Marcus, the failed op, the way Elias had delivered all this like a weather forecast and a death sentence blended.
Adrian squeezed her hand with just enough pressure to communicate: I can be dangerous, too.
"Let's make a good impression," he said, voice dry as gin. "Wouldn't want to get dumped in front of high society."
Aveline's laugh was as sharp as broken glass. "Try to keep up, babe."
Adrian exhaled. He stepped into the chaos by her side, the weight of survival and new alliances heavy as lead on his shoulders.
This wasn't the end of things falling apart. But for the first time in days, he felt the thrill of the unknown creep in alongside the pain.