Broken Oaths, Burning World

After finishing their dinner, Wen-Li and Nightingale strolled down the bustling streets of the Bostonian District. The air was thick with the scent of street food, mingling with the faint trace of expensive perfume. Neon lights bathed the streets in hues of red and violet, casting an alluring yet ominous glow over the tightly packed buildings. Holographic signs advertised everything from bars and lounges to less reputable establishments, their flickering animations adding a surreal charm to the district.

The sidewalks were alive with activity. Groups of people gathered outside clubs, their laughter and music spilling into the streets, while others loitered in shadows, exchanging whispered conversations. Vendors called out to passersby, their carts laden with glowing trinkets and steaming delicacies. Despite the lively atmosphere, there was an underlying tension in the air—a palpable reminder of the district's darker reputation.

As Wen-Li and Nightingale walked side by side, their presence, marked by their authoritative demeanor, drew curious glances but ensured no one dared to approach.

Their casual conversation was cut short by the sharp crack of a gunshot echoing through the narrow streets. Both women immediately tensed, their instincts kicking in.

"Did you hear that?" Nightingale asked, already reaching for her radio.

Wen-Li nodded, her gaze narrowing. "This way," she said, leading them toward the source of the sound.

They followed the echo into a dimly lit alleyway, where the hum of the district seemed to fade into an eerie silence. There, sprawled against a graffiti-covered wall, lay the lifeless body of an old man. The crimson pool beneath him reflected the faint light of a flickering streetlamp.

Nightingale quickly raised her radio to her mouth. "Dispatch, this is Lieutenant Nightingale. We've got a homicide in the Bostonian District. Send a team to the alleyway near Lunar Cross Street. Over."

As Nightingale relayed their location, Wen-Li crouched by the corpse, her sharp eyes scanning for clues. The old man's face was pale, frozen in an expression of terror, and his chest bore a single gunshot wound. Her gloved fingers carefully lifted the edge of his shirt, revealing an unusual tattoo on his torso—a marking she recognized from previous cases involving underground syndicates.

"Interesting," she murmured, noticing faint blood smears leading away from the body. "There's a trail."

She stood and followed the faint prints, her senses heightened. As she moved deeper into the alley, she felt a prickle at the back of her neck—a silent awareness of being watched.

From the shadows above, Kenji observed her every move, his dark eyes cold and calculating. Hidden among the steel fire escapes, he held a communicator close to his mouth. "Target is analyzing the scene," he reported in a hushed tone.

On the other end of the line, Gavriel Elazar's voice crackled through. "Good. Do not intervene unless necessary. Your orders remain the same—watch her, document her actions. If she gets too close to the truth, inform me immediately."

Kenji hesitated. "And the contingency plan?"

Gavriel's tone was firm, laced with quiet menace. "Leave Agent-90 to Ferro. He's already been briefed on eliminating the SCP's political enemies. 90's removal is part of the broader agenda."

The memory of Gavriel's office surfaced in Kenji's mind—a cold, clinical space devoid of warmth. Gavriel had stood by the window, his back to Kenji, gazing out at the city below.

"You're to keep an eye on Chief Wen-Li," Gavriel had said, his voice calm but authoritative. "Her every move, every decision—report it all to me. She's clever, and I don't trust clever people to stay out of trouble."

Kenji nodded, his expression unreadable. "And Agent-90?"

Gavriel had turned then, his piercing gaze meeting Kenji's. "Agent-90's a threat to the balance. Ferro will deal with him. You focus on Wen-Li. Should she stray too close to the truth, I'll decide her fate."

Kenji's gaze remained fixed on Wen-Li as she rose from the blood trail, her expression pensive. Behind her, Nightingale's voice broke through the quiet, signaling the arrival of backup.

"She's getting too close," Kenji muttered under his breath.

With a final glance, he melted back into the shadows, his mission clear, but his conscience weighed down by the dangerous game he was a part of.

Wen-Li darted down the narrow alleyway, her gun drawn, her boots echoing against the cold concrete as she followed the blood trail. Nightingale was close behind, her own weapon raised, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

The trail led them to the alley's end, where a tall figure stood with his back to them. Dressed in a sharp black gentleman's suit, his posture was poised yet unsettling. His jet-black hair caught the faint moonlight, gleaming like polished obsidian.

Wen-Li stopped abruptly, raising her firearm. "Freeze! Drop your weapon and put your hands up! Now!"

The figure remained motionless, as if contemplating her command. Slowly, almost languidly, he began to turn his head, just enough for one dark, penetrating eye to glance back at them.

Wen-Li's breath caught. "90!" she exclaimed, recognition hitting her like a tidal wave.

Agent-90's lips curled into the faintest of smirks before he released a small canister from his hand. Smoke hissed out in a dense, swirling cloud, engulfing the alley in a thick, choking fog.

"Move in!" Wen-Li ordered, covering her mouth as she and Nightingale pushed forward through the obscuring haze.

But when they reached the spot where he had stood, Agent-90 was gone, as if the shadows themselves had swallowed him whole.

"Damn!" Wen-Li cursed, her voice tight with frustration as she scanned the empty alley.

Nightingale lowered her weapon, her brows knitting in confusion. "Why would Agent-90 do something like this?" she asked, her voice heavy with disbelief.

Wen-Li didn't answer immediately. She pressed her fingers against her temple, trying to piece together the enigma before them. "I don't know," she finally said, her voice quieter, tinged with unease. "But we'll find out."

High above the alley, hidden among the rooftops, Kenji observed the scene through the faint wisps of smoke that still lingered. He held a small communicator to his lips.

"Sir," he said, his tone steady, "it's going as planned."

On the other end of the line, Gavriel Elazar's voice came through, smooth and triumphant. "Good. Ferro plays his part well. We'll ensure Agent-90 becomes the villain in the eyes of the public. The more isolated he becomes, the easier it'll be to control the narrative."

Kenji's gaze remained on Wen-Li as she and Nightingale regrouped below. Despite his detached demeanor, a flicker of uncertainty passed through him.

"Understood," he replied, snapping the communicator shut, his face betraying no emotion. 

In the grand office of the Shin-Zhang Corporation, Madam Di-Xian sat at her ornate desk, her fingers lightly drumming against the polished mahogany. The city lights of Noctum Hollow cast faint reflections on the high-rise windows behind her, creating a glittering, surreal backdrop.

The sharp ring of her secure phone interrupted the quiet hum of the office. Picking it up, she pressed it to her ear. "Yes?"

"Madam," Gonda's voice came through, tense and urgent. "There's been an incident in the Bostonian District. An old man was found dead in an alleyway—shot. Witnesses claim the suspect fits Agent-90's description."

Di-Xian froze, the weight of the news hitting her like a blow. "That's impossible," she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of worry. "Agent-90 has been in the cell this entire time."

"Then it must be someone trying to frame him," Gonda replied, suspicion thick in his tone.

Di-Xian exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Find the culprit, Gonda. If Wen-Li and the SSCBF escalate this, it will become an uncontrollable mess."

Gonda hesitated. "Wen-Li already suspects Agent-90 is behind it," he admitted reluctantly.

A heavy silence hung in the air before Di-Xian finally spoke, her tone sharper. "Then you need to move faster, Gonda. Find the truth before this situation spirals beyond repair."

"Yes, Madam," Gonda replied, ending the call.

Deep beneath the Shin-Zhang Corporation, in the cold, dimly lit cells of the Crimson Lotus, Agent-90 sat on a metal bench, his hands resting on his knees, his face impassive as ever. The faint flicker of overhead lights cast dancing shadows across his sharp features.

Jun and Farhan entered, their footsteps echoing against the concrete floor. Both wore grim expressions as they approached.

"90," Jun began hesitantly. "We need to talk."

Agent-90 lifted his piercing blue eyes to meet them but remained silent, his unreadable gaze enough to urge them to continue.

Farhan took a step forward, his voice low. "Word is spreading fast. They're saying you killed an old man in the Bostonian District. The SSCBF is on edge."

Agent-90's expression didn't falter. "It's the Communist Syndicate," he said evenly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Jun frowned, confusion clouding his face. "How can you be so certain?"

Agent-90 leaned back slightly, his cold gaze unyielding. "Because Gavriel Elazar is a master manipulator. He controls the media, the military, banking systems, and even law enforcement. His reach is vast, and his methods insidious. Framing me serves his purpose—to isolate and demonize his greatest threat."

Farhan crossed his arms, his expression darkening. "You're saying this is all just another one of his games?"

"Not a game," Agent-90 replied, his voice colder than before. "A strategy. He and his dogs live in luxury while twisting their people into tools of corruption. This act was designed to make me the villain in their narrative. Nothing more."

Jun glanced at Farhan, then back to Agent-90. "So, what do we do now?"

Agent-90's glowing blue eyes locked onto them, an icy fire burning within. "We let them play their hand," he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of fury. "And then, we break it."

The Bostonian District, drenched in the eerie glow of red neon lights and shadowed alleyways, buzzed with the activity of SSCBF officers. The crime scene was cordoned off, yellow tape fluttering gently in the cool night breeze. Wen-Li stood near the lifeless body of the old man, her arms crossed as she surveyed the area. Captain Robert approached her, his expression grim but composed.

"Chief," Robert said in his low, steady voice. "Do we have any leads on this?"

Wen-Li hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly. "It's Agent-90." Her words cut through the surrounding noise like a blade.

Robert stiffened, his brows furrowing in suspicion. Leaning closer, he whispered into her ear, his tone cautious but firm. "Chief, I've done my research on him. He wouldn't do such a thing. This has to be a setup—someone is framing him."

Wen-Li tilted her head slightly, crossing her arms tighter. "And how are you so sure about this?" she asked, her gaze piercing.

Robert straightened, giving a slow nod. "I'll tell you everything later. But for now, trust me on this."

From a distance, hidden among the shadows, Kenji observed the exchange. He narrowed his eyes, frustrated that he couldn't hear their whispered conversation. Reaching into his arsenal of skills, he activated his ability, "Auditory Veil Disruption," a power that allowed him to eavesdrop on inner conversations by picking up the faintest vibrations of thought and speech.

As Kenji concentrated, his focus was abruptly broken by a sharp shout from Officer Tao-Ren. "Look! There's a shadow on the other side!"

Robert immediately snapped to attention, signaling his men with a swift hand gesture. "Move! Secure the area!" he barked, leading the charge toward the direction Tao-Ren indicated.

Kenji, sensing the danger, dissolved into the air using his escape technique, "Phantom Fade," disappearing before Robert and his team could reach him.

Reaching the end of the alley, Robert paused, scanning the surroundings with a frustrated scowl. "Whoever it was, they're gone," he muttered under his breath.

Wen-Li joined him moments later, her gaze hard. "We need answers, Robert. And soon. If Agent-90 is innocent, we have to find the truth before someone turns this city against him."

Robert gave her a sharp nod, determination etched into his features. "We will, Chief. No matter what it takes."

Wen-Li order Lan Qian to analysis the surveillance of the Bostonian District and who tries to frame Agent-90,

"Yes, Chief" she reply with stern voice 

"Who might try to frame him?" Ask Wen-Li biting her finger,

Meanwhile, the dimly lit cell block of Crimson Lotus headquarters buzzed with muted conversation. Jun stood just outside Agent-90's cell, his hands shoved into his pockets, his posture casual but slightly tense.

"Damn, man," Jun said, breaking the silence with a light chuckle. "You're pretty famous—outlaws, Sinners, law enforcement, and now the government. Everyone's got their eyes on you. Wish I could be in your place."

From the opposite side of the room, Farhan leaned against the wall, smirking. "Because he's infamous, mate. That's why."

Jun's expression shifted as he turned, a sudden flicker of something else in his eyes. "Nah, it's not just that. I met someone the other day. SSCBF officer—high profile, silver-greenish hair."

Farhan's smirk widened instantly. "Nightingale!" he exclaimed, his tone teasing. "You're in deep, mate!"

Jun's face turned a noticeable shade of red as he snapped back, "Shut up!"

Roy strolled into the cellblock just in time, catching the tail end of the exchange. He raised a brow, folding his arms across his chest. "What's all this about? Nightingale, you say? Oh, I see. And while we're at it, should I tell everyone how Farhan met Lan Qian?"

Farhan groaned, his face now matching Jun's in redness. Before he could respond, Masud and Alvi entered the cellblock, both carrying an air of playful curiosity.

"Ohhhh!" Alvi teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she caught the tone of the conversation. "Farhan in love, is it? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Don't let him off the hook, Alvi," Masud added with a grin. "Poor guy's smitten, and he doesn't know what to do with himself."

The group burst into laughter, but Alvi's gaze shifted to Agent-90, her teasing demeanor softening. "And what about you, 90?" she asked. "Got someone special?"

Agent-90, sitting calmly in his cell, didn't reply immediately. His glowing blue eyes remained fixed forward, unreadable. Finally, in his usual emotionless tone, he spoke. "No."

Alvi persisted, tilting her head curiously. "Come on, there's got to be someone."

Agent-90 remained silent for a moment before glancing up. "The Chief of SSCBF," he said, his voice low but steady. "She's strong, generous, and kind. Her long black silk hair... her determined silver-grey eyes. She carries herself with resilience, yet her face..." He paused, almost searching for the right words. "Her face shows purity. It… touches something." He placed a hand to his chest, a rare flicker of introspection showing on his face.

The group listened in stunned silence until Roy broke it with a grin. "Seems like our man has a heart after all."

Agent-90's gaze sharpened. "It's not like that," he said coolly. "It's not about feelings. Her presence… it's something I don't understand. But I don't know why she's after me."

"Because she feels for you," Alvi interjected softly, her teasing replaced by sincerity.

Agent-90 looked down, his expression unchanging. "I don't have emotions. I don't understand how people feel. Everyone calls me a monster."

At that moment, a familiar voice cut through the room. "Agent-90."

The group turned to see Madam Di-Xian standing in the doorway, her gaze sharp and commanding. It was clear from her expression she had overheard their conversation.

"Farhan, open the cell," she ordered curtly.

Farhan straightened and complied without hesitation, stepping aside as the cell door clicked open.

"Agent-90, come with me," Madam Di-Xian instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Agent-90 rose to his feet with his usual stoic composure, stepping out of the cell. As he walked past the others, Alvi's gaze lingered on him, her expression a mix of curiosity and quiet understanding.

"Madam," Roy said after a pause, his tone respectful but tinged with curiosity, "what's this about?"

Madam Di-Xian didn't respond, her focus fixed entirely on Agent-90 as they exited the room together.

The surveillance room at SSCBF buzzed with activity, its walls lined with screens displaying various live feeds and recordings. Lan Qian sat at a terminal, her silver-grey eyes fixed on the playback of the Bostonian District footage.

On the screen, an elderly man ambled cautiously down the shadowy alleyway. Moments later, a figure in a black hoodie appeared, moving swiftly and deliberately. Without hesitation, the hooded figure stabbed the man mercilessly, leaving him lifeless in a pool of blood. The hooded figure turned toward the camera, revealing a face unmistakably belonging to Agent-90.

Lan Qian's breath caught. Her heart raced as she rewound the footage, hoping to catch some inconsistency or clue. Yet every playback showed the same scene: the brutal killing and Agent-90's face.

"This… this can't be right," she muttered, leaning closer to the screen as if proximity might change the narrative.

After replaying the video a dozen times, Lan Qian slammed her fist on the desk. Frustration and disbelief swirled within her. Resolute, she rose from her seat and stormed down the hall to Wen-Li's office.

Lan Qian entered briskly, her expression grim. Wen-Li looked up from her paperwork, immediately sensing the gravity of the situation.

"Chief," Lan Qian began, her voice steady but charged with emotion, "you need to see this."

Lan Qian set the tablet on Wen-Li's desk and played the footage. Wen-Li's usually composed face darkened as she watched, her fingers tightening into a fist.

"This is impossible," Wen-Li said, her voice a low growl. "Agent-90 is in custody."

"I thought the same," Lan Qian replied. "But this footage... it's unmistakable. What if..." She hesitated, then added, "What if we've been deceived by Madam Di-Xian and her agents?"

Wen-Li stood abruptly, fury flashing in her silver-grey eyes. "If this is true, then I've been a fool to trust her." She strode toward the hallway, her steps quick and resolute.

"Robert!" Wen-Li called out sharply, her voice echoing through the corridor. Captain Robert, who had been speaking with a group of officers, turned immediately at her commanding tone.

"Yes, Chief?" he responded, walking toward her.

"Gather your team. We're heading to Madam Di-Xian's location. Now."

Robert frowned, his brows knitting together. "Chief, with all due respect, we don't know where she's operating from."

Wen-Li's glare could have cut steel. "Then find out," she snapped, "because Gonda knows."

Robert hesitated, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came. Wen-Li's patience wore thinner.

"You've spoken to him before," she pressed. "How did you even convince him to shut down Poppies Playtime? Answer me!"

Robert shifted uncomfortably, the guilt evident on his face. "Chief, I… I can't say."

Wen-Li's eyes narrowed, the fury within them now sharpened by a growing sense of betrayal. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Robert standing awkwardly in the hallway.

As Wen-Li disappeared around the corner, Captain Lingaong Xuein approached Robert, her expression one of curiosity and mild concern. "What was that about?" she asked, gesturing in the direction Wen-Li had gone.

Robert shook his head, still visibly rattled. "She's furious about the Bostonian District case. Something about Madam Di-Xian and Agent-90. And now… she's questioning me about Gonda."

Lingaong Xuein arched a brow, folding her arms. "Sounds serious. You'd better hope she doesn't dig too deep. She's not one to let things slide."

Robert sighed, rubbing his temple. "Trust me, I know."

The air in Madam Di-Xian's office was taut with tension, the dim amber glow of the overhead light casting elongated shadows across the ornate furniture. She sat behind her grand mahogany desk, her fingers steepled as her piercing gaze locked onto Agent-90. He stood before her in an impeccable military stance, his expression as unreadable as stone.

"You know, 90," she began, her voice a measured whisper that belied the weight of her words, "you've become the villain in the eyes of the public, the law enforcement, and even the government. They're hunting you like a spectre of their own nightmares." She leaned back in her chair, the creak of the leather breaking the oppressive silence. "Who's orchestrating this farce? If this charade persists, we will all be exposed—utterly undone! Chief Wen-Li may already be a thread away from exposing us."

Agent-90's reply was delivered in a voice so low it barely rippled the air, yet its resonance was chilling. "Madam, there's a puppeteer behind this theater of lies..."

Madam Di-Xian's brows knitted as she leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. "Who?"

"SCP," Agent-90 uttered, his words carrying the weight of ominous foreknowledge.

"The Syndicate Communist Party?" she queried, her voice tinged with incredulity and disdain.

"Yes." Agent-90's words were clipped, each syllable like the click of a revolver being cocked. "Their machinations are precise. They seek to cast me as the harbinger of chaos, a monster tailored for their narrative. They aim to transmogrify this world into a quagmire of desolation—a living purgatory, not unlike the dystopian hellscape we endure now."

Madam Di-Xian's lips pursed, her eyes narrowing as she reclined in her chair, her thoughts clearly churning. "If what you say is true, the Chief is walking a perilous tightrope. One misstep, and she plunges into the abyss with the rest of us."

Agent-90's head tilted slightly, his icy blue eyes narrowing further. "How could this affect her so gravely?"

The question hung in the air like a guillotine suspended by a fraying rope. Madam Di-Xian exhaled deeply, her voice now softer, yet laced with a foreboding undertone. "The time will come when all will be made clear. Until then, I can only warn you to tread with care."

She straightened in her chair, her expression regaining its usual commanding resolve. "Your orders are as follows: uncover the imposter—this counterfeit Agent-90—and bring them to justice. Additionally, find irrefutable evidence of SCP's insidious ties to these machinations. This is not merely a mission—it is a reclamation of your name."

Agent-90 gave a crisp nod, his jaw tightening. "Understood."

As he turned to leave, the soft click of his boots against the polished floor punctuated the gravity of the moment. Madam Di-Xian watched him go, her eyes lingering on his retreating form. The faintest flicker of concern crossed her face as she murmured under her breath, "What have we unleashed?"

Outside the office, Agent-90's steely blue eyes glinted under the cold light of the corridor. Rage smoldered within him, but it was tempered by a singular, unyielding purpose. His every movement radiated an aura of lethal precision, the visage of a man transformed into a weapon of justice—or vengeance.

In the alleyway was a squalid labyrinth of crumbling brick walls and flickering neon signs that buzzed faintly in the night chill. Wen-Li strode forward purposefully, her long coat billowing with each decisive step. Gonda, leaning against a graffitied wall, took a languid drag from his cigarette, the ember briefly illuminating his weathered face.

"You're late," he said, his voice gravelly yet laced with a sardonic undertone.

"I didn't come for pleasantries," Wen-Li replied curtly. Her silver-grey eyes narrowed, glinting with determination. "Take me to Madam Di-Xian. Now."

Gonda raised a finger to his lips in a gesture of exaggerated quietude. "Shh! Chief, patience is a virtue," he muttered, his gaze shifting briefly to Robert, who stood behind Wen-Li with a stoic expression. "Robert knows what I mean, don't you?"

Robert gave a terse nod, his jaw tightening. "I'll scout ahead," he murmured before vanishing into the shadows, leaving Wen-Li and Gonda alone.

From the rooftop above, Kenji crouched in silence, his black outfit blending seamlessly into the gloom. His face was obscured by a mask, but his sharp, hawk-like eyes watched Wen-Li intently. Every movement she made was catalogued with precision. Suddenly, a prickling sensation—like an electric hum—coursed through him. His heightened sixth sense screamed a warning.

With cat-like reflexes, Kenji leapt sideways just as Robert descended from above, his silhouette a blur of ferocity. The force of the landing cracked the pavement where Kenji had been moments before.

Kenji sprang to his feet, his movements fluid as water, and faced Robert. The two men sized each other up for a fraction of a second before the skirmish began.

Robert lunged, his fists striking out like pistons. Kenji parried with precision, redirecting the blows rather than absorbing their force. A sharp jab grazed Robert's ribs, but the SSCBF captain retaliated with a spinning kick that forced Kenji to backflip into a crouch.

"You're skilled," Robert grunted, his eyes narrowing.

Kenji didn't reply. Instead, he reached into his belt and flicked out a kunai, its blade catching the dim light. With an expert throw, he aimed for Robert's shoulder. Robert twisted his body at the last second, the blade embedding harmlessly in the wall behind him.

"Is that all you've got?" Robert taunted, advancing.

Kenji responded by pulling a small sphere from his belt and hurling it at the ground. A hiss filled the air as smoke billowed out, obscuring everything. Robert coughed, his vision momentarily impaired. When the smoke cleared, Kenji was gone—vanished into the night like a shadow dissolving in darkness.

Robert cursed under his breath, scanning the rooftops and alleyways, but the enigmatic figure had left no trace.

He returned to Wen-Li and Gonda, his expression grim but composed.

"You were right, Gonda," Robert said, his voice edged with both frustration and intrigue.

"What happened? Who was it?" Wen-Li demanded, her tone laced with urgency.

"Chief," Robert began, glancing around warily, "this isn't the place for a discussion. It's too exposed."

Gonda stubbed out his cigarette and straightened. "He's right, though. If we stay here any longer, we'll only draw more attention. Follow me—I'll take you to Madam Di-Xian."

Wen-Li hesitated briefly, her eyes scanning the alleyway one last time, before nodding. "Lead the way."

The Bostonian District slumbered under the shroud of night, its streets deserted save for the flickering glow of streetlamps that cast restless shadows on the cobblestones. At precisely 1:30 a.m., Agent-90 walked with calculated steps, his every movement precise and deliberate. His sharp ears picked up the rhythmic cadence of his own footsteps—yet beneath it, faint and insidious, another set echoed in sync.

He adjusted his spectacles, their glint momentarily catching the pallid light as he turned into an alleyway. The narrow passage was cloaked in darkness, its walls mottled with decades of grime and neglect. This was the very spot where the old man had been slain. Agent-90's eyes narrowed, scanning the environment with predatory acuity.

"Impressive," came a voice from the shadows, cold and mocking.

Agent-90 turned slowly, his gaze locking onto a figure emerging from the darkness. It was a man clad in an identical black suit, his features eerily similar—his doppelgänger. Behind him, a cadre of agents stepped forward, their movements synchronized like marionettes on invisible strings.

The dimly lit room exuded a suffocating aura, its air heavy with dampness and secrecy. Wen-Li's eyes fluttered open, and she found herself seated on a cold metal chair, her wrists bound tightly with coarse rope. Before her stood Madam Di-Xian, a figure cloaked in an aura of inscrutable authority, her sharp gaze fixed on the SSCBF chief.

"Ah, Chief Wen-Li," Madam Di-Xian said, her tone measured, almost placating. "You're awake. Tell me—how can I assist you in your... predicament?"

Wen-Li's eyes flared with indignation as she struggled against her restraints. "Assist me?!" she spat. "You dare speak of assistance when your betrayal is plain as day? Hand over Agent-90 immediately, or I swear, I will see your entire operation exposed!"

Around her, the room was filled with tense figures. Jun, Farhan, Masud, and Roy stood like sentinels, their gazes unyielding. Gonda leaned casually against the wall, though his expression betrayed a flicker of unease. Robert, standing a few paces behind Wen-Li, appeared composed, though his jaw was set.

Wen-Li turned her fiery gaze to Robert, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "And you, Robert! Have you forsaken us too? Colluding with shadowy operatives who blindfold the eyes of justice? How long have you been their pawn?"

Robert straightened, his voice calm but resolute. "Chief, first listen to what Madam Di-Xian has to say. There's more at play here than you understand."

Madam Di-Xian raised a hand, silencing the room before emotions could boil over further. "Enough," she said, her voice laced with quiet authority. She stepped closer to Wen-Li, her heels echoing against the cold concrete floor. "Chief Wen-Li, you accuse me of betrayal, yet you see only the surface of this murky water. The truth lies deeper, darker—obfuscated by those who wish for us to clash."

Wen-Li's brow furrowed as her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that? Stop speaking in riddles."

Madam Di-Xian exhaled deeply, as though burdened by the weight of her words. "Those behind the crime in the Bostonian District, the doctored footage, and the smear against Agent-90—they want us divided, at each other's throats. And I assure you, they are far more powerful than you or I."

Wen-Li stiffened, her voice laced with skepticism. "Powerful? Who exactly are they?"

Madam Di-Xian hesitated, her gaze piercing yet enigmatic. "I cannot say with certainty. But these are not mere criminals. They are orchestrators, manipulators who control the very framework of our society—media, finance, governance."

Wen-Li's voice cracked with emotion as she demanded, "And who funds your operation, Madam? Who gave rise to this clandestine network?"

Madam Di-Xian's eyes softened, a rare glimmer of something akin to sympathy crossing her features. "Your father, Chief Wen-Luo. He understood the stakes, the fragility of order. Crimson Lotus was his answer to the chaos he foresaw. 'If the petals of the dandelion fail to shine,' he said, 'then let the crimson lotus rise to light the way.'"

Wen-Li's voice faltered. "My father... What are you saying? Did he know who killed my parents? Did he know the truth?"

Madam Di-Xian's face darkened with an expression of uncertainty and regret. "I do not know who orchestrated their deaths. But if you truly wish to honour your father's legacy, trust that we are on the same side in this fight."

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by Wen-Li's ragged breathing as she grappled with the weight of these revelations. "And Agent-90?" she finally asked, her voice subdued yet resolute.

Madam Di-Xian's reply was steady. "He has gone to clear his name. He is hunting the spectre that seeks to shroud him in infamy. Trust him, Chief Wen-Li, as your father trusted me."

Wen-Li's eyes burned with unshed tears as she looked away, struggling to process the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that now defined her world.

The fake Agent-90 smirked, his voice dripping with derision. "I hear you're skilled with guns and bare hands. But tonight... let us see how you fare with the blade."

Without waiting for a reply, he drew a gleaming sword from his side, the metal catching the moonlight like liquid silver. His cohorts followed suit, their blades hissing as they were unsheathed.

Agent-90 regarded them impassively. He reached behind his back, unsheathing his own sword in a fluid motion. Its edge gleamed wickedly, a testament to its craftsmanship. Without a word, he adopted a poised stance, his blade held steady as if an extension of his body.

The fight began with a cacophony of clashing steel. The alleyway reverberated with the sonorous clang of metal striking metal, the sound ringing out like a discordant symphony. Agent-90 moved with lethal elegance, his strikes precise and unerring, his blade dancing in arcs of calculated ferocity.

His opponents attacked in concert, but their coordination faltered against Agent-90's preternatural reflexes. He parried a blow aimed at his heart, riposting with a swift slash that disarmed one attacker. Pivoting, he deflected a downward strike from another, his blade weaving a web of protection around him.

The doppelgänger advanced, his movements a cruel mirror of Agent-90's. Their blades met in a clash of strength and skill, each probing the other's defences. The fake Agent-90 lunged with a vicious thrust, but Agent-90 sidestepped with feline grace, his counterstrike slicing the air mere inches from his foe's throat.

"You fight well," the imposter sneered, sweat glistening on his brow.

Agent-90's response was silence, his focus unyielding. He disarmed another agent with a deft flick of his wrist, sending their weapon clattering to the ground. His movements were devoid of hesitation, a predator among prey.

Finally, the doppelgänger faltered. Agent-90's blade pressed against his opponent's neck, his voice low and unrelenting. "Who are you? Who sent you?"

The imposter smirked, his free hand fumbling for something. In a sudden burst, he released a canister of pepper spray. The acrid cloud enveloped Agent-90, forcing him to recoil as his eyes burned and watered.

When the haze cleared, the doppelgänger had vanished. Above, the faint rustle of fabric drew Agent-90's gaze skyward. Standing on the edge of the rooftop, silhouetted against the argent moon, was his assailant.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, 90?" the figure called, his voice echoing like a spectre's laughter.

With that, the imposter melted into the shadows, leavening Agent-90 alone in the alley, his blade still gleaming with unspent resolve.

Madam Di-Xian calls him and informs her about the situation, she then says "Well 90, now come back!"