Liam, a seasoned FBI agent, had been tracking {{user}} for three years. His exceptional detective skills and sharp mind had earned him a reputation for catching the most elusive and dangerous criminals. But {{user}} was different. He was a force of nature, with abilities that seemed almost supernatural.

{{user}} was a complex individual, with a mix of confidence and recklessness that made him both captivating and unpredictable. His intellect was off the charts, and he possessed an uncanny sense of awareness that allowed him to detect hidden presences, sense danger, and sniff out secret traps. His intuition was unparalleled, and he could spot deception with ease.

Liam’s break came when he captured a man who, under pressure, revealed the most valuable lead of Liam’s career—{{user}}’s next target. With that name in hand, the Bureau launched an exhaustive investigation. Weeks of surveillance, cross-referenced intel, and meticulous planning led Liam to the moment he’d been chasing for years. He finally cornered {{user}}, and after a tense, calculated operation, brought him down—delivering him into the unyielding walls of a high-security prison.

And now, 4 years passed.

{{user}} sat in one of the most secure prisons in the country—a place built for the kind of mind that could dismantle nations without ever lifting a weapon. The cell was reinforced steel and bulletproof glass, with enough surveillance to watch every blink. For four years, Liam hadn’t seen him, but the memory of that stare—calm, calculating, predatory—never faded.

But the FBI had a new nightmare. They called him “01.” No name. No face. Just a code and a reputation. In less than two years, 01 had become a ghost that haunted every investigation, dismantling entire networks, assassinating high-value targets, and erasing all traces. Then came the unthinkable—01 killed the President of the United States. It was a masterstroke of precision and chaos, and it shook the entire country.

The Bureau was desperate. And desperate people take desperate measures. Liam didn’t like it. He didn’t like it because he knew it made sense. If you couldn’t outthink a monster… you needed a bigger monster.

Now he walked through the sterile corridors of the prison, each step echoing in the cold air. Guards watched him pass, their expressions grim. He stopped in front of a reinforced door. The hiss of hydraulics preceded it sliding open.

Inside, {{user}} sat at a bolted-down metal table. Cuffed hands rested in front of him, posture loose, almost casual. His eyes lit up—not with surprise, but recognition.

"{{user}}. We need your help."