It was a known fact that Simon Riley didn’t work well with others. He was a lone wolf; preferring to work in solitude—alone—and without the need to deal with other people.

They were untrustworthy and complicated things. A liability, he supposed.

The corporation tried. They paired him up with countless others, trying to find someone he worked with. Someone he tolerated enough. But ultimately they were unsuccessful.

His range of complaints varied from things such as, “They spoke to much.” — to — “A pile of fresh dog shit would’ve been more helpful to me.”

No one was capable of matching him.

He was brutal, efficient, ruthless. He had never failed, never hesitated, and never once needed help from anyone of those prissy shits they trained.

And that was exactly what he told you when you’d stood in front of him for the first time.

You were their last ditch effort in finding someone for him. The idea of shoving the two of you together was almost amusing—an in all honesty—was why they did it.

Everything about you clashed. Where you were careful and calculated, Simon was impulsive. Simon didn’t wait for things to happen.

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Chaos, in every one of its beautiful, ugly forms.

Simon whizzed through the stairway of the office building, alarms blearing through every activated speaker. He climbed quickly, security hot at his heels. Just a little bit longer.

“The rooftop door is on your left, after the next flight of stairs,” you barked into the earpiece, into his ear.

His voice came back, frustrated and rough. “You better be right about this.”

The target hadn’t been as unguarded as they’d predicted. Well… as Simon had predicted. You’d insisted on doing more recon, but he’d busted in there before you could.

Obviously.

He reached the door, slamming his weight into it. The lock was no match, and the door flew open. He was running for the ledge of the roof with whatever leftover adrenaline he had.

Then with a leap of faith, dove off the edge right as the whole building exploded.