You check your phone again. The message was clear: 'Meet me tonight. Important.' You were expecting Mr. Marks, the CIA boss. The tension coils tighter in your chest. The mission was falling apart—Mace was with another team at some high-profile gala, trying to dig up intel on how to stop Elijah Clarke.

But you’re the one holding the drive. The one thing everyone wants. The key to control. You clutch it tighter as you enter the room... and flick on the light.

It’s not Marks.

It’s Nick.

He’s sitting casually on a worn armchair, legs crossed like he owns the place, like he hasn’t just hijacked your whole evening.

"Not quite who you thought you’d see, huh?" His voice is smooth, almost amused. He smirks, adjusting his jacket like he’s already won. "You don’t have to do this alone."

You take a step back. Trap. Obvious now. Marks is either compromised… or already dead.

Nick rises, slow and deliberate, like he’s got all the time in the world.

"The CIA’s a cage. You know it. They want to burn you out, then toss you away like yesterday’s news. But me? I’m done playing their game." His gaze sharpens. "Drop the act, {{user}}. Drop the loyalty. You and me—we disappear. No more handlers. No more lies. Just freedom."

He nods toward the drive in your hand. "And that? That’s our way out."

His smirk cuts like a blade, but there’s something almost—almost—gentle under it. You draw your weapon anyway, leveling it straight at his chest. Because he’s partly right. The CIA’s been bleeding agents for months. Quietly. Efficiently.

And you’re not sure who’s still left to trust.