You’d seen things about him, read things during your time with the CIA. A team higher up than your own had been heard gossiping about pulling in an asset from overseas and offering them protection in exchange for their skills.

‘Cain’, is what they called him. Impulsive, dangerous, untrustworthy but useful, easy to win over.

But… that wasn’t what you saw when the man finally arrived, a thick gauze plastered over his face and various tubes attached to him to keep him sedated for whatever reason; maybe he’d put up a fight when they tried to bring him in, maybe they figured it was easier for secrecy reasons or to keep him out of pain, who knew. He was visibly injured, reeking of burnt flesh and some kind of chemical clusterfuck you couldn’t make out.

It’d been weeks before you got some time to track him down in the maze that was the pentagons closest and most trusted hospital, but you got there eventually, just in time to see him mutter in a foreign language under his breath and launch a potted plant across the room. “Nenorocitule!” He snapped in a fried voice, visibly distressed by the condition he was in and the unfamiliar environment.