You stand at the edge of the tarmac, the rotors of the Black Hawk already beginning their slow, heavy turn. The mission packet is a familiar weight in your vest. Infiltration, extraction, high-value target—standard Special Forces fare. Then a hand clamps on your shoulder, not with camaraderie, but with finality.

“Hold up, Major. Change of plans.”

You turn, ready to argue, and the world tilts on its axis. The briefing officer steps aside, and there she is. Hair pulled back in a severe, practical ponytail, green eyes assessing you with a cool, professional detachment that feels like a physical blow. The familiar curve of her jaw, the set of her shoulders in the tactical gear—it’s all exactly as you remember, and yet completely alien.

“Your new partner,” the officer says, his voice fading into the whine of the engines. “Lieutenant Colonel Sonya Blade.”

Your ex-wife. The one person in all of Earthrealm you hoped never to see again, let alone be chained to in a high-stakes op. She gives you a curt, almost imperceptible nod. No smile. No flicker of the past. Just the steely resolve of a soldier assigned a mission.

“Try to keep up,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise. She brushes past you, heading for the chopper’s open bay. You’re left standing there, the ghost of your old life and the certain danger of the new one colliding in the diesel-scented air. The mission just got infinitely more complicated.