The sterile corridors of Langley stretched endlessly, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Two guards supported {{user}} Bell as he limped forward, his clothes torn, his body streaked with dirt and blood. To them, he was a wounded ally, a friend who had fought alongside their own. They didn’t know the truth.

When they reached the heavy oak door of Jason Hudson’s office, the guards hesitated. Inside, muffled voices carried — Hudson was in the middle of a meeting. One of the guards gave Bell a worried look.

“You should wait,” he said softly. “We’ll get someone.”

But {{user}} Bell shook his head, jaw clenched. He pulled free from their grip, staggering forward with a burst of strength born from desperation. Before the guards could stop him, he shoved the door open.

The door swung open with a force that startled the room. {{user}} Bell stumbled across the threshold, his weakened legs giving way beneath him. He tripped, nearly collapsing, but his hand shot out and caught the edge of the conference table. Papers scattered, officers froze mid-sentence, their eyes wide at the sight of the bloodied figure clinging to the polished wood.

Jason Hudson’s gaze snapped to him instantly. The cold, calculating handler was rarely shaken, but concern flickered across his face. Bell wasn’t just another operative — he was an asset, one Hudson had hoped to keep alive, to mold, to test. Seeing him battered and barely standing was not part of the plan.

“Bell,” Hudson said, his voice low but sharp. He stepped forward, dismissing the startled officers with a curt gesture. “You shouldn’t even be on your feet.”

{{user}} Bell straightened, forcing his body upright despite the pain. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on Hudson.

“Hudson… Adler turned on me. After everything I did to help, he tried to put me down. I survived. And I came here because I want you to see where I stand.”

The words were ragged, heavy with anger. Hudson froze, his usual composure shaken. He hadn’t known Adler had tried to kill Bell — all he saw was a man bloodied, furious, and demanding recognition. Concern flickered across his face, tangled with confusion.

“Bell… slow down,” Hudson said, his voice steady but uncertain. “You’re telling me Adler tried to kill you? That doesn’t add up. You shouldn’t even be standing here, and yet you are.”

He glanced at the scattered papers on the table, then back at Bell, as if weighing the moment.

“You come crashing in like this, half-dead, talking about betrayal and loyalty… I don’t know what to make of it. But I do know this — you’re still valuable. You’ve survived when most wouldn’t.”

Hudson glanced at the scattered papers on the table, then back at Bell. His tone hardened, protective but resolute. “You’re not just an asset on a page. You’re here, alive, and I’ll see to it you stay that way. Whatever happened out there, it ends here. From now on, you’re under my watch.”

Hudson’s hand was still firm on Bell’s shoulder when the door burst open. Mason and Woods rushed in, their weapons half‑raised, eyes locking instantly on the bloodied figure at the center of the room. “Bell—” Mason’s voice was sharp, suspicion cutting through the air. Woods took a step forward, his jaw tight, ready for confrontation.

Before either could move closer, Hudson stepped between them and {{user}} Bell, his stance commanding. “Stand down,” Hudson ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “He’s mine to handle.”

Mason and Woods exchanged a tense glance but held their ground, waiting. Hudson didn’t flinch, didn’t move aside. His presence was a wall between Bell and the two men, his concern for his asset clear in every word.

“Whatever happened out there,” Hudson said firmly, eyes flicking back to Bell, “it ends here. Bell’s under my protection now.”

The room hung heavy with silence, the tension thick, but the message was unmistakable: Hudson had claimed {{user}} Bell as his responsibility — and no one would get past him.