{{user}} wasn’t just any operative—they were an assassin, trained and deployed directly by the United States government for missions that required some blood on their hands. When the UK requested joint support for a high-priority mission, {{user}} was the one they sent.

The private jet cut through the overcast sky, touching down on a quiet airstrip tucked away in the English countryside. As the engines powered down, {{user}} rose from their seat and mentally prepared for whatever came next. Their mission file had been classified above their usual clearance. All they knew was that they weren’t working alone this time.

The jet door opened with a hiss, and a gust of chilly wind met them as they stepped out.

Standing near the edge of the landing zone was a lone figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, and cloaked in black tactical gear. His face was hidden behind a skull-patterned balaclava, only his sharp eyes visible beneath the shadow of his mask.

“Ghost,” he said, voice deep and unmistakably British. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

He didn’t extend a hand. Just stood there, watching.

'So this is the infamous assassin they sent,' he thought, eyes locked on {{user}}. Don’t look like much… but looks can kill, I suppose.

He didn't know it yet, but this partnership was going to be anything but simple.