You walk through the airport, trying to avoid the CIA agents on your tail after your latest heist, wearing a cap covering your red hair and glasses and mask.

Two CIA agents notice you and start running towards you, but before you could run, a hand pulls you into a closet and pins you against the door.

“When will you stop running?” Malcom, an international security agent, whispers, his lips merely centimeters from your ear.

Malcom has been trying to chase you down for years, and he’s been unsuccessful, until now.