Broken Oaths, Burning World

At precisely 8:30 AM, the SSCBF Headquarters buzzed with the fervent hum of activity. Engineers hunched over consoles, officers barked commands into comm devices, and clerks scurried between stations clutching stacks of paperwork. The rhythmic clatter of keyboards mingled with the occasional bark of orders, creating a symphony of controlled chaos.

Suddenly, Captain Robert's voice boomed through the atrium, cutting through the din like a siren. "Make way! Clear the path!"

The workers instinctively parted, stepping aside to reveal a harrowing sight. Wen-Li, her black uniform torn and streaked with crimson, clutched her arm tightly, blood seeping through her fingers. Draped over her shoulder was Jane, her unconscious form bundled in Wen-Li's coat, blood oozing from a wound in her stomach. The air was heavy with tension as Robert strode ahead, his hand firmly gripping Sakim's collar.

"Find Dr. Abrar immediately!" Robert bellowed, shaking Sakim with urgency. The young officer, wide-eyed and frazzled, nodded and bolted down the corridor, disappearing into the labyrinth of the medical wing.

In the commotion, Demitin stepped forward, her steely gaze narrowing as she addressed Robert. "Captain, she's part of the Sinners, isn't she? A known insurgent."

"So what?" Wen-Li's voice was hoarse but resolute as she glared at Demitin, her other hand pressing against the bleeding gash on her arm. "She's a human being, and we have a duty to help her."

Before Demitin could respond, Dr. Abrar appeared with an air of unshakable authority. The seasoned medic, clad in a pristine lab coat, surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. "What's all this commotion?" she demanded sharply before her gaze fell on Jane's pale face. Without waiting for a response, she barked orders to her medical team. "Get her to the operating room immediately. She's losing too much blood."

"Doctor, the Chief is injured too," Robert added urgently, his voice edged with worry.

"I'll tend to her once this one is stabilized," Dr. Abrar replied curtly, her focus unwavering.

From the side, Nightingale and Lan Qian arrived, their faces etched with concern. Commander Krieg followed closely, his towering presence adding weight to the already tense atmosphere.

"Chief, are you alright?" Nightingale asked, her voice soft but laden with worry.

Wen-Li managed a faint nod, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm fine," she muttered, though the blood soaking her sleeve told a different story.

"Move!" Robert barked again as the medical team placed Jane on a stretcher. The unconscious woman's head lolled to the side as they rushed her toward the operating room. Wen-Li, meanwhile, was gently guided toward a separate healing room, her steps faltering but determined.

As the chaos subsided, Commander Krieg crossed his arms, his deep voice rumbling. "This day just keeps getting better," he muttered dryly.

From the corner of the atrium, Sakim reappeared, his face flushed from exertion. "Dr. Abrar's team is ready," he reported, slightly out of breath.

Robert turned to him with a sharp nod. "Good. Make sure there are no further interruptions."

With Jane whisked into the operating room and Wen-Li finally receiving medical attention, the tension in the headquarters began to dissipate. But the lingering question hung in the air like an unwelcome specter: why had Wen-Li risked so much for an enemy operative?

As the doors to the medical wing closed behind her, Wen-Li exhaled slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in her arm. "We save lives," she murmured to herself, her words barely audible but firm with conviction. "No matter who they are."

Inside the sterile, brightly lit operation room, Dr. Abrar and his team worked with meticulous precision. Jane lay unconscious, her pale face obscured by an oxygen mask, her shallow breaths amplified by the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator. The room was filled with the metallic tang of blood and the hum of monitors tracking her fragile vitals.

The puncture wound in her stomach was deep and ragged, blood pooling despite the surgical suction. Dr. Abrar's gloved hands moved deftly as he spoke with authority. "Clamp the artery—careful, the abdominal aorta too close. If we miss, we'll have a haemorrhagic catastrophe." His team nodded, working in synchrony, passing instruments with silent efficiency.

The doctor carefully sutured the perforated stomach lining, his expression taut with concentration. "This is no ordinary wound," he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "It looks deliberate. Whoever inflicted this had cruel precision." He paused for a moment, before adding, "Administer more heparin—her blood's clotting too quickly."

Meanwhile, in the adjacent health facility, Wen-Li sat stiffly on a cot as Nurse Anne applied antiseptic to her arm. The gash was shallow but still stung fiercely, a stark reminder of the earlier chaos. Anne, ever the professional, secured the bandage with nimble fingers and straightened with a polite smile.

"Chief Wen-Li, I've done all I can for now," Anne said, stepping back. "But you must rest. Your body's been through considerable strain."

Wen-Li shook her head, her gaze sharp despite her weariness. "What about Jane? Has Dr. Abrar said anything?"

Anne hesitated, then turned to face her fully. "Dr. Abrar is still operating, Chief. When he's finished, he'll come to update you. With your permission, I'll attend to other patients now."

Wen-Li nodded, a flicker of gratitude softening her stern features. "Go ahead, Anne. Thank you."

As Anne exited, Lan Qian and Nightingale stepped closer. Wen-Li gestured for Lan Qian to close the door, her voice low but steady.

"Let's talk," she said.

Breaking the silence, Nightingale crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "Chief, what exactly happened back there?"

Wen-Li exhaled, tilting her head back for a moment before diving into the explanation. "Actually, blah blah blah blah, so so so..." she began, recounting the events in intricate detail, from Jane's entrance on the train to the explosion and Agent-90's dramatic intervention.

Nightingale frowned, her brows knitting together. "So, Agent-90 appeared out of nowhere and vanished like a wraith. That's... peculiar."

"I feel so," Wen-Li admitted, her voice tinged with both frustration and curiosity.

Lan Qian, seated nearby, rested her hand on her cheek, her expression pensive. "Chief, why didn't you fight back more aggressively? You could've handled her."

Wen-Li deflected with a question of her own. "Nightingale, what about the new candidates? They're supposed to arrive today."

"They're scheduled for 9:00 AM," Nightingale replied in her usual flat tone, checking her watch.

A knock interrupted their conversation, drawing their attention to the door. "Come in," Wen-Li called out, straightening instinctively.

Dr. Abrar entered, his face lined with exhaustion but composed. "Chief Wen-Li," he said, inclining his head respectfully, "may I have a word about Jane Hamilton's condition?"

Wen-Li gestured for him to proceed, her tone expectant. "What's the situation, Doctor?"

Dr. Abrar let out a long sigh before replying. "It was touch-and-go for a while. The puncture wound was severe—it pierced her stomach lining and nicked a major artery. We managed to stem the bleeding and repair the damage, but her recovery will be slow. The trauma she's endured, both physical and mental, will require extensive care."

Wen-Li absorbed the information, nodding gravely. "And her prognosis?"

"She's stable for now," Dr. Abrar continued, his voice gentler. "But I must emphasise, Chief, her body will need time to heal. And so will her mind. Don't fret too much—my team will keep her under close observation."

"Thank you, Doctor," Wen-Li said, her voice softening.

As Dr. Abrar exited, Nightingale glanced at Wen-Li, a trace of curiosity flickering in her eyes. "So, what now, Chief?"

Wen-Li's gaze drifted toward the window, her expression unreadable. "We wait," she said simply. But beneath her calm exterior, her mind churned with questions—about Jane, about Agent-90, and about the battle that seemed far from over.

In the sprawling megacity of Lóngchāng (龙昌) also known as Prosperous Dragon, daylight unveils a vibrant downtown bustling with life and the seamless fusion of ancient Chinese cultural motifs and cutting-edge futuristic technology. The cityscape is a kaleidoscope of towering skyscrapers adorned with intricate holographic displays of dragons, traditional calligraphy, and dynamic nature scenes. These holograms shift throughout the day, reflecting seasons, festivals, or public sentiments.

Along it's architecture is mixed with tradition and modernisation such as the city's skyscrapers are interconnected by glowing, transparent skywalks that hover mid-air using anti-gravity tech. Elevated gardens filled with bioengineered bamboo and lotus ponds dot these walkways, offering bursts of green amidst the urban expanse.

Buildings are constructed with neo-onyx and crystalline alloy, materials that glisten under sunlight. Their exteriors feature flowing neon etchings resembling traditional Chinese brushstrokes. Rooftops are capped with pagoda-inspired structures, incorporating solar-collecting panels shaped like dragon scales.

Massive, floating lanterns drift above the streets, doubling as public displays and surveillance drones. Their warm golden light contrasts beautifully against the sleek metal architecture. At the heart of downtown stands a monumental structure: a shimmering obelisk called The Prosperity Nexus, symbolizing the city's progress and unity. This obelisk projects holograms that display cultural stories, technological advancements, and public announcements.

At the bustling market the streets below teem with life. Traditional open-air markets spill into the thoroughfares, where vendors sell everything from fresh produce to AI-augmented jewelry. The mix of aromas from robotic street food carts—serving fusion dim sum and synthesized tea—permeates the air. Self-driving cars and sleek hover-rickshaws zip silently along magnetic lanes. Many pedestrians prefer glide boots, which allow effortless movement through the streets on invisible, energy-efficient rails.

Along the streets, dynamic art installations come to life as sunlight powers them. Giant holographic dragons weave through the air, occasionally swooping down to interact with children who reach out excitedly. Large communal squares like Harmony Hubs serve as cultural and social meeting points. Here, street performers blend traditional music played on AI-infused guzheng with pulsating electronic beats, drawing crowds of locals and tourists. Groups of elderly citizens gather under the shade of towering lotus-shaped sculptures for synchronized tai chi, their movements augmented by holographic guides. Nearby, a group of children participates in a cyber-kite flying competition, their kites shimmering with LED displays of phoenixes and other mythological creatures.

The entire downtown exudes a warm, golden glow under the sunlight, amplified by the reflective architecture. The hum of life—a mix of laughter, distant street performances, and the gentle whirr of hovering vehicles—creates a soothing yet lively urban ambiance. Despite its high-tech advancements, Lóngchāng retains a deeply rooted sense of cultural pride, visible in its architecture, traditions, and everyday interactions.

Downtown Lóngchāng represents the perfect harmony of past and future, offering a glimpse into a world where progress and heritage coexist in radiant splendor.

However, Agent-90 standing at the edge of the tallest building looking down the bustling city, whereas Ferro hide himself from him and glaring at him what he was doing at the moment a call comes it was Alvi informing that there will be new candidates of the SSCBF his mission was to take Hecate Jones and Hella Bexley from the prison cell to enter the headquarter he must be one of the candidate who apply for SSCBF and one of them is Tingong Xiaoyu who lives in Qīnglián Haven. He nodded and replied with a cold tone "Roger that!" and hung up the call. As for Ferro he can't hear whom he was talking to but he must follow the order.

Agent-90 glance back which makes Ferro hide himself from him, Agent-90 gives a smirk instead of using the stairway or elevator he jump off the cliff at the moment Ferro snape he ran and found that he opened the parachutist and landing safely, he curse himself "Damm". But he kept following him.

Meanwhile, the prison cell block was a labyrinth of reinforced steel, its stark fluorescent lighting casting a cold, clinical glow over the somber stone walls. The air carried a faint metallic tang of disinfectant and iron. Chief Wen-Li strode purposefully through the corridor, her polished boots echoing with each deliberate step. The guards saluted her as she approached the secured cell where two teenagers, Hecate Jones and Hella Bexley, were being held.

Inside the cell, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Hecate, wiry and sharp-eyed, sat cross-legged on the bench, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the cold surface. Hella, her auburn hair disheveled, leaned against the wall, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees, exuding defiance tinged with fear.

Wen-Li paused before entering, straightening her coat. She stepped inside with a measured calm, her presence authoritative yet not overbearing. Pulling up a chair, she sat down, her posture poised but not confrontational.

"Good morning, Hecate. Hella," Wen-Li began, her voice steady but laced with an undertone of warmth. "I'm here to ask you a few questions. Let's start with something straightforward: how well do you know Agent-90?"

The girls exchanged uneasy glances. Hella's lips tightened, her face clouded with apprehension. It was Hecate who finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's… not someone you forget."

Wen-Li tilted her head slightly, her expression encouraging. "Not someone you forget. That's quite the description. Elaborate for me."

Hella suddenly leaned forward, her voice cutting through the quiet like a whip. "He's a monster," she spat, her eyes wide and glistening with the tremor of raw emotion. "You don't understand. He's not human."

Wen-Li observed her with a measured gaze, letting the words hang in the air before nodding gently. "I see. Go on."

There was a pause, the weight of unspoken memories pressing down on the two girls. Hecate took a shuddering breath and began to speak.

"It was in the Wasteland," she said, her voice quivering yet resolute. "We were part of the group. The Sinners, we thought… We thought we were strong enough to take on anything. But when he came, it wasn't a fight. It was… slaughter."

Wen-Li leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she probed gently, "You mean the day 73 of you fell, and 107 outlaws perished as well?"

Hecate nodded, her fingers trembling as she clutched her knees. "Yes. It was chaos. One moment, everything seemed under control. The next, he appeared like a shadow out of nowhere. His eyes—" She faltered, her voice breaking.

Hella, her own face pale, took over. "His eyes turned… wrong. Like something demonic had possessed him. They weren't human anymore, Chief. Crimson. Burning. And the way he moved—like he wasn't bound by flesh and blood, but something darker. He tore through us like we were nothing. No hesitation. No mercy."

Wen-Li's brow furrowed as the girls spoke, their words painting a vivid, harrowing picture. She waited a beat before responding, her voice measured. "You're saying it wasn't just his skill, but something else—something… unnatural?"

Hecate nodded rapidly. "Yes. It was like he became a different entity altogether. One minute, he was a man with a gun. The next, he was… a reaper." She shuddered, her hands gripping the edge of the bench. "I only survived because he didn't notice me. He was focused on someone else."

Hella added, her voice soft but resolute, "He could've killed us all. But something stopped him. I don't know what. Maybe it wasn't his time to finish us yet."

Wen-Li leaned back slightly, processing the information. The term "demonic" and the descriptions of his eyes aligned unsettlingly with her suspicions. She clasped her hands together, her expression softening as she offered the girls a small, reassuring smile.

"I appreciate your honesty. I know reliving this isn't easy, but it helps. You're safe now. Whatever you experienced, I promise I'll do everything in my power to protect you."

The girls exchanged another glance, their rigid postures softening slightly at Wen-Li's assurance.

"Is there anything you need? Anything at all?" Wen-Li asked gently, her voice imbued with genuine concern.

Hecate hesitated before murmuring, "Just… don't let him come near us again."

Wen-Li nodded solemnly. "Understood." She rose to her feet, smoothing her coat. "Rest assured, we're going to get to the bottom of this. And if there's anything else you remember, anything at all, tell me immediately."

As she turned to leave, her thoughts churned. The monstrous transformation, the crimson eyes—it was as she feared. The spirit or entity that had latched onto Agent-90 wasn't just an urban legend. It was real, and it was dangerous.

Stepping out of the cell, Wen-Li resolved to uncover the truth. But in her heart, a seed of doubt lingered: if the monster within Agent-90 truly was unleashed, would even she have the strength to stop it?

At the district of Qīnglián Haven which is known as Lotus Haven, it is a tranquil district filled with lush green spaces, floating gardens, and eco-friendly residential communities. It's the cultural soul of the city, housing museums, art galleries, and temples restored with modern holographic enhancements.

Agent-90 keeps himself in the shadows, not being recognised by the surveillance. At the moment in 8:45 am Tingong Xiaoyu comes out from his home and gets inside of his BMW-587 high electronic car and drove off. At 8:50 am he arrives wearing his blazer, shirt and tie and full jeans as he walks out the guards ask him to stand to analyse him then let him in. As he entered, Tingong Xiaoyu notice that there are more candidates and as he was going to approach him he suddenly got bump with the janitor who was mopping the floor making his clothes dirty.

The janitor ask him forgiveness because he was going to be mad but instead he forgives him and told him to be careful as the janitor walk by, Tingong Xiaoyu goes to the restroom to clean up himself. As he was cleaning his blazer for being wet he curse the janitor as no one was there. Later janitor enters Tingong Xiaoyu minding his own business abruptly the janitor comes behind him and choke him up making him senseless. Turns out to be Agent-90 himself he disguise himself as Tingong Xiaoyu and dumped his body into the dumpster along with the janitor's body inside the dumpster. 

Agent-90 blended effortlessly into the throng of candidates, his expression inscrutable. The mission had only just begun, and already the chessboard was set for the next move.

The chamber was austere yet dignified, its polished oak table dominating the room with an air of gravity befitting its purpose. Behind it sat the trio of evaluators, their presence commanding but not overtly intimidating. President Song Luoyang, regal in posture with a quiet but undeniable authority, sat at the center. On his right, Commander Krieg loomed, his severe expression punctuated by the faint scars etched across his face—a man of action turned judge. To the President's left sat Chief Wen-Li, her penetrating gaze as sharp as blade.

The room smelled faintly of leather and varnish, the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows casting shifting patterns on the walls as if reflecting the weight of decisions being made within.

Agent-90, concealed behind the guise of Tingong Xiaoyu, strode into the room with calculated composure. Dressed impeccably in a sharp navy suit, his movements were deliberate, almost rehearsed, as though every gesture had been calibrated to perfection. The subtle absence of his spectacles further obscured his identity from Wen-Li, though her sharp eyes seemed to linger on him with an air of recognition she couldn't yet place.

He stopped precisely three feet from the table and offered a crisp salute, his voice steady yet unyielding. "Tingong Xiaoyu, reporting as instructed."

The President inclined his head slightly, gesturing for him to take a seat. The questioning began.

"Mr. Tingong Xiaoyu," began Commander Krieg, his gravelly voice breaking the silence like the toll of a distant bell, "your application states you served with distinction in the Southern Vigilance Corps. Elaborate on your tenure there—specifically, how you handled operations requiring minimal collateral damage."

Agent-90 inclined his head, his expression measured but resolute. "Commander, my role in the Southern Vigilance Corps necessitated precise execution in volatile situations. One mission stands out—a hostage rescue in Tóngbǎo District. It required neutralising six armed insurgents without alerting reinforcements. Using stealth and tactical misdirection, I ensured all hostages were secured with zero fatalities among civilians. The key, I found, was leveraging environmental advantages to mitigate direct engagement."

Commander Krieg's eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating the response before nodding. "Impressive."

President Song leaned forward, his tone calm yet probing. "Mr. Tingong Xiaoyu, the SSCBF is no stranger to adversity. Loyalty, above all, is the cornerstone of our organisation. Tell us—have you ever faced a situation where your loyalty was tested, and if so, how did you respond?"

Agent-90's jaw tightened briefly, the faintest shadow flickering across his expression. "Loyalty, sir, is not proven in ease but in extremity. During a covert assignment, a trusted ally compromised the mission under duress. I was faced with a choice: cover for them or prioritise the greater mission objective. I chose the latter. It was not without personal consequence, but loyalty to the mission and the lives it safeguarded outweighed individual allegiance. Hard decisions define true loyalty."

The President's lips twitched into a nearly imperceptible smile, his approval subtle but present.

Finally, Wen-Li spoke, her voice clear and unwavering. "Mr. Tingong Xiaoyu, many can follow orders, but leadership demands adaptability under unforeseen circumstances. Describe a time when improvisation was pivotal to your success."

Her question lingered in the air, weighted by the razor-sharp focus of her scrutiny.

Agent-90 met her gaze without faltering, though her familiarity gnawed at the edges of his mind. "Chief Wen-Li," he began smoothly, "improvisation is often the difference between success and failure. During an ambush on a supply convoy, our planned route was compromised. With limited time, I orchestrated a diversion using decoy vehicles while leading my team through an uncharted mountain pass. The terrain was treacherous, but the supplies reached their destination intact. The experience reinforced my belief that rigidity has no place in the field."

Wen-Li nodded, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. She studied his face for a moment longer, her intuition tugging at a thread she couldn't quite grasp.

The panel conferred briefly in hushed tones before President Song spoke again. "Mr. Tingong Xiaoyu, your responses demonstrate exceptional resourcefulness and commitment. We believe you possess the qualities required to serve in the SSCBF. Welcome to the team."

Agent-90 stood, saluting crisply once more. "Thank you, sir. I will not disappoint."

As he exited the chamber, the weight of scrutiny lifted, his movements returned to their usual predatory fluidity. His expression remained stoic, but his eyes burned with quiet determination. Every step forward was part of a larger game, every move calculated.

From behind the closed door, Wen-Li sat back in her chair, her brows furrowed slightly. There was something about him—something hauntingly familiar. But no matter how much she tried to place it, the answer eluded her, veiled by the absence of those spectacles.

Agent-90 smirked faintly as he descended the hallway, his mind focused on the path ahead. He had infiltrated the SSCBF. Now, the true game would begin.

At the medical faculty exuded a hushed solemnity, the kind that seemed to cling to the air like a shroud. The faint hum of medical equipment filled the sterile room, accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. Jane Hamilton, lying prostrate upon the hospital bed, stirred faintly, her body rebelling against consciousness with pangs of sharp, unrelenting pain. Her breathing hitched, and her eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes glazed with confusion and fear.

A soft voice interrupted the disarray of her thoughts. "Don't strain yourself, lass."

Jane's head snapped to the side, her neck protesting the sudden movement. Standing by the window was Chief Wen-Li, her silhouette backlit by the morning sun streaming through the blinds. Wen-Li turned toward Jane, her expression gentle yet tinged with authority.

"C-Chief?" Jane stammered, her voice cracking under the weight of disorientation.

Wen-Li crossed the room with unhurried grace and lowered herself into the chair beside Jane's bed. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her presence both calming and commanding. "Aye, Jane. It's me."

Jane's breaths grew uneven, panic clawing its way up her throat. "I—I don't understand. Why? Why did you save me? I was going to... to blow up the train. I—"

Wen-Li cut her off with a warm, understanding smile, the kind that seemed to melt away defences. "And yet, you're here," she said softly. "Let me tell you something I've come to learn in this line of work. No matter a person's intentions—no matter their sins—if their life hangs by a thread, you act. You save them. That's what separates justice from vengeance. It's not just about punishment; it's about choices. Redemption. And today, you've been given a chance to make yours."

Jane's eyes widened, her breath hitching as if she had been struck by Wen-Li's words. Her voice trembled as she asked, "But what happens to me now? Surely, I'll be imprisoned for what I've done."

Wen-Li leaned closer, her expression softening further. "No, Jane. I'm giving you one last chance. But hear me well—cause trouble again, and the consequences will be far graver than a prison cell."

Jane's lip quivered, her head bowing as tears welled up in her eyes. But it wasn't just regret that overtook her features—it was something closer to awe, admiration even. "You're... you're unlike anyone I've ever met. After all I've done, why would you—"

Wen-Li silenced her again, this time with a slight shake of her head. "It isn't about what you've done, Jane. It's about what you'll do now. Redemption is earned, step by step."

But even as Wen-Li's words began to sink in, Jane's hands gripped the bedsheets tightly, her knuckles blanching as a shadow flickered across her face. "He... he nearly killed me," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Agent-90... his eyes—they weren't human. They were... something else. I thought I was going to die. I still feel it, like he's watching me."

The mention of Agent-90 made Wen-Li's brows knit momentarily, but her composure never faltered. She reached out and gently wrapped her arms around Jane, pulling her into an embrace that was both protective and tender. Jane stiffened at first, unaccustomed to such warmth, but then melted into the hug, her shoulders trembling as silent sobs wracked her frame.

"You're safe now," Wen-Li murmured, her voice steady and soothing. "He won't hurt you anymore. Not while I'm here."

Jane buried her face in Wen-Li's shoulder, clutching onto her like a lifeline. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the girl who had been consumed by fear and anger began to feel a glimmer of something else—hope.

Captain Lingaong Xuein strode confidently through the HQ, leading a group of fresh-faced recruits. She gestured theatrically at every corner, as if she were unveiling the Sistine Chapel to a congregation of astonished art critics.

"And here, ladies and gentlemen," she proclaimed, "is one of our finest officers. Meet Captain Robert Voreyevsky!"

Robert, immersed in a tablet filled with surveillance data, didn't look up. Lingaong jabbed him sharply in the ribs with her elbow, causing him to startle and nearly drop his tablet.

"Ah—uh—yes, indeed," Robert stammered, recovering his composure with the grace of a startled cat. "It's, uh, a pleasure to have you all here. Welcome to the lion's den of justice!"

The recruits exchanged amused glances, and one even stifled a giggle. Lingaong smirked at Robert and continued. "Now, let's introduce you to your fellow officers who'll help you navigate the labyrinthine chaos of this institution."

They reached the main office hub, where the atmosphere buzzed with activity. "Meet Lieutenant Nightingale," Lingaong announced, gesturing toward a woman with an air of unshakable competence, "and Lan Qian, our prodigious data analyst."

Lan Qian gave a polite nod while multitasking furiously on three holographic screens. A recruit, Tsutsuji Maruyama, looked on in awe. "Could you teach me how to do that?" she blurted out, to which Lan Qian replied with a small, amused smile, "Start by drinking less coffee."

"And these," Lingaong continued, motioning to three officers standing nearby, "are Koizumoto Daishoji, Sakim Massersi, and Demitin Koğlulanci. They're, well… colourful."

As if on cue, Sakim broke the fragile silence. "You know," he said to Daishoji, "the other day when Agent-90's case was mentioned, you were just sitting there munching biscuits while I cracked the code!"

The room froze. Every head turned toward Sakim in horrified unison. Robert, Nightingale, and even the officers stared at him with the kind of murderous intensity usually reserved for ancient grudges.

Realizing his blunder, Sakim paled. "Erm, I mean, hypothetically speaking. Not Agent-90—just a random biscuit story… uh..."

To diffuse the tension, Karin Hagiwara timidly raised her hand. "Um, who's Agent-90?"

Nightingale, sweating bullets, tried to steer the conversation. "Ah, well, we'll discuss, um, operational intricacies later—next question!"

But Yuzuriha Inoue wasn't about to let it go. "No, really. Who's Agent-90?"

At that moment, the sound of firm, purposeful footsteps echoed through the corridor. Chief Wen-Li entered the room, her presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone present. Her gaze swept across the recruits, and her tone was measured yet sharp as a blade.

"Agent-90," she began, her voice steady and cold, "is not just a name. He's a spectre—a figure who has haunted the SSCBF for years. He is a notorious assassin, responsible for killing 73 Sinners out of 99 and 107 outlaws out of 20,000. He's even taken down two of our organisation's chairmen."

The recruits collectively stiffened. Even the more seasoned officers exchanged uneasy glances. Wen-Li's eyes narrowed.

"He is not a man to be trifled with, nor a name to be uttered lightly. You are to avoid mentioning him unless absolutely necessary. Is that clear?"

A chorus of nervous nods and murmured affirmations rippled through the room.

Wen-Li continued, her tone now tinged with suspicion. "Now, a more pressing matter. There are 33 of you here—but one is missing." Her gaze sharpened. "Where is Tingong Xiaoyu?"

The recruits exchanged confused glances until Yuri Teruya hesitantly raised a hand. "Chief, when we were waiting earlier… we didn't see Tingong Xiaoyu."

A chill ran down Wen-Li's spine. Her mind raced as the pieces clicked together, and her expression turned grim. "Robert," she snapped, "check every corner of this building. Close off all gates and windows. Now."

As her orders were relayed, the surveillance cameras in the room flickered and buzzed. Wen-Li's stomach sank. Someone had already hacked the system.

Nightingale hesitated, then asked the question on everyone's mind. "Chief… what are you thinking?"

Wen-Li's voice was a low murmur, yet it carried the weight of her realisation. "Tingong Xiaoyu isn't a recruit. He's Agent-90."

The room erupted into chaos as officers scrambled to action. The alarms blared, bathing the HQ in crimson light. Wen-Li sprinted down the hallway, her heart pounding. "This time," she thought, gritting her teeth, "what are you planning, Agent-90?"

The faint hum of electronic interference buzzed in Kenji's earpiece as he crouched outside the SSCBF headquarters, his fingers deftly flying across his portable console. The display flickered briefly before stabilising, granting him access to the surveillance feed. He smirked triumphantly as fragments of a hushed conversation filled his headset.

"So, it's confirmed," Kenji muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Agent-90's already inside…" His expression darkened. Tapping into a secure line, he patched through to Gavriel, his superior.

The line crackled as Gavriel's smooth, commanding voice cut through. "Report, Kenji."

"It's him, sir," Kenji replied. "Agent-90 has infiltrated their headquarters. It looks like they're already on high alert."

Gavriel paused briefly, his tone measured yet razor-sharp. "Stay on his trail. I want to know every move Wen-Li makes in response to this. Keep to the shadows; I need her occupied, not suspicious. Understood?"

Kenji nodded instinctively, even though Gavriel couldn't see him. "Understood, sir. What about him?"

A moment of silence lingered, pregnant with tension, before Gavriel spoke again. "I'll deal with that personally. For now, Ferro is already en route. Coordinate with him but remain undetected. Agent-90's reign ends today."

Kenji swallowed hard, his usual cockiness subdued by Gavriel's icy resolve. "Yes, sir," he replied, his voice tight.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, Ferro received the order with stoic determination. The gleam in his eyes was nothing short of predatory as he armed himself, methodically checking each piece of gear with practised precision.

"This ends now," Ferro murmured, his voice low and resolute. He shouldered his weapon and melted into the shadows.

At the headquarters' rear gate, two guards stood watch, their post uneventful until the faintest shuffle of movement caught their attention. One turned to investigate, but before he could utter a word, Ferro's blade flashed in the dim light, swift and merciless. His other hand silenced the second guard with equal efficiency. The bodies crumpled soundlessly to the ground, their radios sputtering static.

Ferro slipped through the now-unattended gate, his movements fluid and precise. The dimly lit corridors offered him cover as he advanced deeper into the labyrinthine building.

His mind was a tempest of focused rage, each step driving him closer to his target. "Once and for all," Ferro muttered under his breath, his hand tightening on his weapon. "You're dead, 90."

Navigating the labyrinthine hallways with the ease of a predator stalking its prey, Ferro's gaze darted between the faint glow of emergency lights and the shadows cast by the architecture. Every sound, every flicker of movement heightened his senses.

Unbeknownst to Ferro, Agent-90 was already aware. From the moment Ferro crossed the threshold, 90 had anticipated the confrontation. Hidden within the intricate warren of the headquarters, Agent-90 prepared his counter-move, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

In the cat-and-mouse game now unfolding, the stakes were higher than ever, and neither predator nor prey was willing to falter.

The Detention Centre was a fortress, humming with tension as the sirens painted every surface in intermittent crimson. Officers and guards sprinted through the corridors, weapons ready, while robotic sentinels activated, their metallic forms moving with cold precision. The prisoners inside their cells, outlaws and Sinners alike, whispered in hushed, fearful tones.

Hella's voice cut through the din, trembling and urgent. "Hecate, he's here again!"

Hecate's piercing blue eyes flickered open, her pale hair reflecting the ominous red light. Her tone was calm but laced with steely resolve. "Let him come. We're ready." She glanced at her companion and added, "He'll come in disguise. Wait for the right moment."

In the hallway outside, a prison guard approached, his hat casting shadows over his face. A massive electric sniper rested against his back, but his movements were deliberate, almost too calm. When another guard stopped him for identification, the figure raised his head, revealing cold, predatory eyes before snapping the guard's neck in one fluid motion.

In an elevator, Wen-Li, Nightingale, Commander Krieg, and their group of new recruits stood ready, the tension palpable. Their weapons were gripped tightly, and the silence was broken only by the faint hum of the elevator descending. Wen-Li's sharp voice gave orders, her presence commanding even in the dimly lit space.

On a separate elevator, Captain Lingaong Xuein led her team, brimming with determination, while Lan Qian and her squad descended the stairwell, accompanied by robotic soldiers. The building was a hive of activity, each team preparing for what they knew would be a deadly encounter.

Inside the cellblock, the disguised guard used a keycard to unlock Hella's cell. As the door slid open, she lunged, her fear manifesting as a wild attack. But the guard sidestepped effortlessly, twisting her arm and rendering her unconscious. The faint thud of her body hitting the ground made Hecate call out, her voice strained. "Hella! Answer me!"

The figure stepped into the light, revealing himself to be Agent-90. His glowing blue eyes met Hecate's as he carried Hella's limp form. "It's time. Let's go."

Hecate's breath hitched at the sight of his eyes, demonic in their intensity, but she nodded.

In the hallway, Wen-Li's team turned a corner to find Agent-90 standing at the far end, his sniper rifle raised. The first shot rang out, narrowly missing them as Wen-Li shouted, "Take cover!" The recruits scattered, diving behind walls and debris.

As the elevators arrived, Captain Lingaong Xuein and her team pounded on the doors, trapped by Hecate's ability, Celestial Bind, which manipulated gravitational forces to lock the doors in place.

In the chaos, Amlawddox Hawkinson attempted to return fire, but Agent-90's shot found its mark, hitting him in the arm. He screamed in pain as another officer dragged him to safety.

Agent-90, running out of ammunition, handed Hella to Hecate. "Take care of her," he commanded, his tone sharp. "I'll clean up the mess."

Drawing his twin blades, Voltage Sabres, he activated their electrified edges. Sparks danced along the cutting edges as he moved with inhuman speed, charging into the fray. The recruits opened fire, but he weaved through the bullets with terrifying precision.

Wen-Li raised her arms, summoning her ability, Crimson Shackle, red chains of energy surging toward him. But with a single, powerful strike, Agent-90 shattered the chains, sending shockwaves through the corridor. Wen-Li staggered, disbelief etched on her face.

One by one, he incapacitated the officers, his movements calculated and brutal. With every strike, his swords discharged shocks, rendering his opponents unconscious. When the robotic soldiers arrived, he pivoted, slicing through them with ease, their mechanical remains sparking and crumbling.

Lan Qian's team arrived just in time to witness the destruction. Before they could react, Agent-90 appeared among them, taking them down in seconds. His blades were swift, his fists precise, leaving a trail of incapacitated bodies.

In the aftermath, Agent-90 approached Wen-Li, who struggled to her feet. His hand shot out, gripping her throat and slamming her against the wall.

"You think you can take these criminals with you?" she spat, her voice strained. "You're just like them!"

Behind him, Hecate's voice broke through. "Please leave Chief, 90! I beg you!"

He turned, his gaze meeting hers. Slowly, he released Wen-Li, who collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

"I'm here for a mission," he said coldly. "It's her order."

Wen-Li's eyes widened. "You mean…"

Before she could finish, he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. He turned to Hecate and nodded. "Let's go."

Carrying Hella, Hecate followed, pausing only to glance back. "Chief… goodbye."

Wen-Li remained on the ground, frozen in shock, as the distant sound of Captain Lingaong Xuein's team echoed through the hall, still trapped in the elevator. The tension in the air was suffocating, the aftermath of Agent-90's presence leaving an indelible mark.

The group hurried down the narrow corridor, the fluorescent lights above flickering ominously. Hecate, cradling the unconscious Hella, struggled to keep her composure, her breaths ragged. Agent-90 led the way, his steps purposeful, each one echoing through the metallic halls. Their goal was the parking lot—a swift escape from the chaos they'd left behind.

As they approached the elevator, its polished steel doors slid open with a gentle chime. Standing inside was an officer clad in standard uniform, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face. But there was something off—his stance, too rigid, too calculating.

Agent-90 froze, his instincts razor-sharp. "Take cover!" he barked, pushing Hecate and Hella behind a stack of crates nearby.

The officer raised his head, revealing Ferro, his cold, predatory gaze locked onto 90. Without a word, Ferro swung up a compact machine gun, the muzzle flashing as it roared to life. Bullets sprayed across the corridor, ricocheting off walls and shattering fluorescent tubes, plunging the area into erratic darkness.

Agent-90 rolled to the side, his movements swift and deliberate, avoiding the hail of bullets by mere inches. He crouched low, drawing one of his Voltage Sabres, its blade humming to life with an electric blue glow.

Ferro smirked. "You think that's going to save you, 90? You're outnumbered, outgunned, and this time, you're not walking out unscathed."

Agent-90's reply was icy and measured. "You talk too much."

Ferro unleashed another torrent of bullets, forcing 90 to dart between cover points. He signaled silently to Hecate, who nodded, gripping Hella tighter. While Ferro's focus was on 90, she edged further away, inching toward the emergency stairwell.

Agent-90 waited for a pause in Ferro's fire, then vaulted over a crate, landing closer to his adversary. Ferro quickly adjusted, switching to a semi-automatic mode for precision shots, each one narrowly missing 90 as he closed the distance.

With a sudden burst of speed, 90 lunged, his Voltage Sabre slicing through Ferro's gun. Sparks flew as the weapon clattered to the ground in two useless halves. Ferro snarled, stepping back and drawing a combat knife, its serrated edge gleaming in the dim light.

The two clashed, Ferro's knife meeting the crackling energy of 90's sabre. The sound of metal grinding against electrified steel filled the corridor as they traded blows. Ferro was skilled, his movements calculated and vicious, but 90's precision and agility were unmatched.

Ferro managed to land a shallow cut on 90's arm, blood staining his sleeve. "Looks like you're not invincible after all," Ferro taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Agent-90 didn't flinch, his expression unreadable. "Neither are you."

With a feint to the left, 90 disarmed Ferro, sending the knife skittering across the floor. Before Ferro could react, 90 drove the hilt of his sabre into his abdomen, the electric current coursing through Ferro's body. He convulsed, a guttural cry escaping his lips as he dropped to his knees.

Not wasting a second, 90 delivered a calculated blow to Ferro's temple with his fist, knocking him to the ground. Ferro groaned, trying to rise, but 90 stepped on his chest, pinning him down.

"You'll live," 90 said coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "But not well."

Hecate peeked out from her hiding spot, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. "Is it over?" she whispered.

"For now," 90 replied, his voice steady as he wiped the blood from his arm and retrieved Ferro's ID card. "Move. Quickly."

They entered the elevator, the doors closing behind them. As the lift descended toward the parking lot, Agent-90 leaned against the wall, his injured arm hanging at his side.

Hecate looked at him, her voice trembling. "Are you… okay?"

"I've had worse," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the door. He glanced at Hecate. "Focus on getting her out. That's all that matters."

The elevator chimed again, and the doors slid open, revealing the parking lot. The air was thick with tension, the sound of distant alarms still echoing. Agent-90 stepped out first, his sabre ready, scanning for any further threats.

"Let's go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Together, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the chaos and a broken Ferro, who lay in the corridor above, battered but alive, his pride and mission in tatters.

The SSCBF parking lot was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the Audi-982MV's engine. Agent-Jun sat behind the wheel, his gaze flicking to the entrance every few seconds. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, his nerves taut. When the heavy steel door creaked open, his body tensed, his eyes narrowing as he recognised Agent-90's imposing figure, Hecate trailing behind, struggling under the weight of an unconscious Hella.

Jun jumped out of the car. "What in the blazes happened?!"

"No time," 90 barked, opening the back door and ushering Hecate and Hella inside. He slid into the driver's seat with fluid precision. "Get in, or we're dead."

Jun barely had time to comply before the sound of revving engines echoed through the parking lot. Out of nowhere, SCP vehicles—sleek black cars and motorbikes emblazoned with their insignia—burst into view, tyres screeching as they skidded into formation.

"They've found us," Jun muttered, slamming the passenger door shut.

Agent-90 didn't respond. With a sharp twist of the key, the Audi roared to life, its twin-turbo engine echoing off the concrete walls as they sped out of the lot.

The downtown streets of Baegyeong were bustling in the midday sun, but that tranquillity shattered as the Audi hurtled onto the main road. Pedestrians screamed, diving out of the way as the SCP convoy closed in, their vehicles spitting bullets that pinged against the Audi's reinforced chassis.

Agent-90 swerved sharply to avoid a truck, the tyres shrieking in protest as they careened through a crowded intersection. A mother and her child froze in terror in the middle of the crossing.

"Hold on!" 90 growled, yanking the wheel hard to the right. The car swiped past them by a hair's breadth, veering into a glass-walled office building. The Audi ploughed through with a deafening crash, shards raining down like confetti as startled workers scrambled for cover.

Jun cursed under his breath. "You're going to kill us before they do!"

"Shut up and reload," 90 snapped, his tone colder than ice.

Behind them, the SCP vehicles weaved through traffic, relentless in their pursuit. A helicopter joined the fray, its rotor blades slicing through the air as it hovered above. Its mounted gun roared to life, peppering the streets below with suppressive fire.

Agent-90 pushed the Audi to its limits, weaving through the chaos with surgical precision. The car shot down a narrow alley, scraping the walls, and emerged onto a bridge still under construction.

"Bridge ahead—are you mad?" Jun shouted.

"Trust me," 90 replied, his tone as unwavering as his grip on the wheel.

Construction workers scattered, abandoning their equipment as the Audi barrelled onto the unfinished span. Coal fires burned in barrels, their orange glow contrasting with the midday glare.

"Jun," 90 said, his voice low but commanding.

Jun understood immediately. He leaned out of the passenger window, steadying himself against the frame. With a single focused breath, he aimed his pistol at a barrel near the centre of the bridge.

The shot rang out, striking true. The barrel erupted in a fiery explosion, a chain reaction igniting the others nearby. The inferno engulfed the bridge, forcing the SCP vehicles to brake hard, their drivers shouting in panic.

The helicopter swooped low, its pilot attempting to steady the craft amid the turbulence. Too late. A fireball licked its tail rotor, sending it spinning uncontrollably. It crashed into the bridge with a deafening boom, the impact shaking the ground as debris rained down.

Inside the car, Hella stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked around in confusion, taking in the destruction around them. "Where… where are we?" she murmured weakly.

"Safe for now," Hecate said, her voice trembling as she held Hella close.

Agent-90 glanced at Jun, who was catching his breath. "Nice shot."

Jun smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're welcome. Now what?"

"Now," 90 said, his gaze hardening as he navigated the Audi off the smouldering bridge and back onto the open road, "we finish this."

The Audi roared forward, its engine drowning out the distant wail of sirens as they disappeared into the city's labyrinth of streets.

The Syndicate Tower, a monolithic edifice shrouded in a veneer of respectability, pulsed with an undercurrent of maleficence. In the dimly lit chamber at the tower's apex, Gavriel stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cityscape sprawling beneath him like a conquered kingdom. His broad shoulders were taut, his hands clasped behind his back as he glared out at the horizon. Behind him, an eclectic assembly of powerbrokers gathered around a polished obsidian table, their faces betraying varying degrees of anxiety and frustration.

Arindam Chatterjee, resplendent in a navy Nehru jacket, broke the tense silence. "It seems our illustrious Agent-90 has slipped through the net. Yet again."

Gavriel's hand slammed onto the window frame, the crack reverberating through the room. "Incompetence!" he roared, turning to face them. His dark eyes burned with fury. "What am I surrounded by, fools? Ferro's grand plan was an unmitigated debacle!"

Edward Cartwright, ever the diplomat, raised a hand in placation. "Now, Gavriel, let's not forget—Agent-90 is no ordinary adversary. His escape was... predictable, perhaps."

"Predictable?" Gavriel spat the word like venom. "I don't pay for predictions, Edward. I pay for results."

Diego Cervantes, lounging in a chair with his characteristic nonchalance, tipped his head back lazily. "Word on the street is, he didn't manage it alone."

This caught everyone's attention. Gavriel's brows knitted together. "What are you implying?"

Diego twirled a fountain pen between his fingers, his smile sardonic. "A man named Jun. That's who helped him."

Gavriel let out a derisive laugh, his voice dripping with mockery. "Jun what? There are hundreds, if not thousands, of men with that name. What next? Shall we raid every registry and question every Jun in existence?"

Yuan Meiling, her silken qipao rustling softly as she leaned forward, cut through the sarcasm with her measured tone. "It's evident they're part of an operation—a clandestine organisation working in shadows, well-hidden from our reach."

Gavriel stroked his chin thoughtfully, his earlier fury dissipating into a calculated stillness. "Intriguing. So, the vermin scurry underfoot, thinking they are safe from the predator's gaze. But no one escapes forever."

"The boss arrives tomorrow," Yuan Meiling added, her voice sharp yet unyielding. "What shall we present to him, Gavriel?"

Arindam Chatterjee, his rich baritone laced with curiosity, asked, "And what of Wen-Li? She seems to be an obstacle of late."

A sinister smirk curled Gavriel's lips, his visage darkening with malicious intent. "Oh, Arindam, tomorrow will be... enlightening. Wen-Li and her merry band of self-righteous officers will learn that ignorance is no shield. Every secret they harbour, every shadow they think protects them—will be laid bare before us."

Philippe Devereux, a Frenchman with an air of perpetual scepticism, adjusted his cuffs. "And how do you intend to achieve such omnipotence, Gavriel?"

Gavriel chuckled, his laughter a chilling sound that made even Otto Kohlmann shift uncomfortably. "Ah, Philippe, some things are best experienced, not explained. Let us simply say... the chessboard is set, and I've prepared a move that none of them will anticipate."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Gavriel's words pressing heavily upon them. Outside, the city continued its oblivious hum, unaware of the storm brewing in the heights of the Syndicate Tower.

The dim room flickered with intermittent light, casting wavering shadows across its ornate Victorian interior. Hella and Hecate stirred awake, their senses assaulted by the austere elegance surrounding them. Before them, at the head of a long mahogany table, sat Madam Di-Xian, a vision of imposing grace in her tailored Victorian gown of deep burgundy. Her hair was styled in intricate coils, adorned with subtle silver pins, each glinting like stars in the faint light. Her piercing gaze rested on the two women as if peeling back their very souls.

Encircling the room were figures whose presence exuded quiet menace: Jun, Roy, Masud, Farhan, and Alvi, each poised with a steely calm that hinted at deadly proficiency. Their silhouettes stood rigid against the velvet drapes, their weapons visible but not threatening—yet.

Madam Di-Xian inclined her head with an air of controlled civility. "Welcome, Hella. Welcome, Hecate. You've endured much to arrive here. I commend your resilience."

Hella, her voice sharp yet tremulous, squinted against the flickering light. "What do you want from us?"

Madam Di-Xian's crimson lips curved into a subtle smile. "Not want, my dear. Need. The world teeters on a precipice—a crisis of unfathomable scale looms in both our present and future. Humanity's survival, such as it is, demands audacity and resolve. Qualities you both possess in abundance."

Hecate, ever the sceptic, crossed her arms, her light-blue hair shimmering like an ethereal halo in the unsteady light. "And what if we refuse?"

Before Madam Di-Xian could respond, Alvi, a wiry figure with sharp eyes and an authoritative air, stepped forward. His tone was measured, laced with subtle warning. "Then you resign yourselves to slavery—willing pawns in a game you neither control nor comprehend. Freedom isn't given. It's fought for. If you wish to live with dignity, then stand with us. Fight with us."

Madam Di-Xian extended a gloved hand, her voice a melodious blend of reassurance and steel. "This is no ultimatum, but rather an invitation. Join us and become part of the Shadow Defensive Force, the SDF. Together, we forge a line between chaos and order, between obliteration and survival."

Hecate's eyes narrowed, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You're asking us to be heroes when we're anything but. Do you not know who we are? What we've done? We are Sinners. We've left trails of blood and ash wherever we've gone. How can you even think of trusting us?"

Madam Di-Xian's smile faded, replaced by a solemnity that carried the weight of centuries. "I do not ask you to erase your past, Hecate. Nor do I seek saints. The world is mired in grey, and it is in the grey where battles are fought and won. You are Sinners, yes, but your strength lies not only in your sins but in your potential for redemption."

Farhan, leaning casually against the wall, chimed in with a dry chuckle. "And let's face it, you've already made enemies of just about everyone else. Might as well fight with the side that has a fighting chance."

Hella glanced at Hecate, her own expression a mix of caution and curiosity. "And if we do join? What happens then?"

Madam Di-Xian rose to her feet with an air of unassailable authority. "Then, my dear, you will be free. Free to wield your power not as tools of destruction, but as architects of a new future. A future where shadows defend the light."

The room fell silent, the gravity of her words settling over them like a heavy shroud. Hecate, her gaze flickering between the agents and Madam Di-Xian, finally muttered, "This had better be worth it."

A knowing smile returned to Madam Di-Xian's lips. "It will be. Welcome to the Shadow Defensive Force."

*The Shadow Defensive Force (SDF), also known as Crimson Lotus, is a covert organisation operating in the shadows to counter global crises, eliminate threats, and uphold freedom through strategic warfare and intelligence, often beyond the knowledge of conventional authorities.

Hella sat on the edge of a sleek black chair in the softly lit operations room of the SDF headquarters. The tension from earlier had ebbed, leaving a curious stillness in the air. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the faces of her newfound allies: Jun, Roy, Masud, Farhan, and Alvi. Yet, one face was conspicuously absent.

She frowned, her voice breaking the hushed atmosphere. "Where's Agent-90?"

Jun, leaning against the edge of a console, glanced at her with a fleeting look of understanding. "He's not here."

Hella's brow furrowed. "Not here? What do you mean? He was with us earlier."

Jun straightened, adjusting his gloves with deliberate precision. His tone was calm but laced with a faint note of gravity. "He's been assigned to a mission."

Hecate, standing beside Hella, crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "A mission? What kind of mission?"

Jun hesitated for a brief moment before speaking, his gaze steady. "It's classified. You know how he operates—alone, in the shadows. That's where he's most effective."

Hella's concern deepened, her voice tinged with frustration. "You mean he's out there risking his life again while we're here waiting? Why didn't he tell us?"

Alvi, who had been silently observing, interjected with a wry smile. "Because that's how he is. He doesn't explain, doesn't ask for permission. He just... goes."

Farhan added, his voice quieter, "And he always comes back. That's what matters."

Hella shook her head, her hands clenching into fists. "But what if one day he doesn't? You all talk about him like he's invincible, but no one is. Not even him."

Jun stepped closer, his expression softening slightly. "Agent-90 doesn't operate on the same terms as the rest of us, Hella. He's not driven by fear of failure or even survival. He's driven by something... deeper."

Hecate, who had been silent, finally spoke, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You mean revenge, don't you?"

Jun met her gaze, unflinching. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's something none of us can fully understand. But one thing's certain—he doesn't stop until the mission is done."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Jun's words settling over them. Hella glanced toward the door, her thoughts racing. Despite her frustration, she couldn't shake the image of Agent-90 out there alone, carving his path through danger.

Her voice was softer now, almost a whisper. "I just hope he knows what he's doing."

Jun's gaze didn't waver. "He always does."