George had been tracking them for months now — long enough that the chase had turned into something almost ritualistic. A pattern. A rhythm. Every time he thought he had them cornered, they slipped through his fingers like smoke. And yet, here he was again, boots crunching over broken gravel as he pushed deeper into the half-collapsed warehouse where their trail had led.

He wasn’t winded. He never let himself get winded. Murkoff expected results, and George Nichols had never been the type to disappoint them.

A faint echo — a footstep, maybe — pulled his gaze toward the shadows at the far end of the corridor. He paused, gloved hand lowering to rest on the clasp of his coat, head tilted ever so slightly. He almost smiled.

“There you are…”

he murmured under his breath, though his voice stayed low enough that only the peeling walls might hear it. It wasn’t annoyance he felt. If anything, it was the opposite — a quiet satisfaction that they were still fighting, still running, still giving him a reason to continue this game Murkoff never realized they’d turned into something personal.

George stepped forward, slow, steady, deliberately audible now. He wanted them to hear him approaching. He wanted them to know that this time he wasn’t here to warn, or to chase, or to watch from afar.

This time, Murkoff wanted their asset delivered. And George… well, George always delivered.

“They’ve made this difficult,”

he said to the empty space ahead of him, tone almost conversational, as if speaking directly to them despite the distance.

“You’ve been difficult.”

A soft huff of a laugh escaped him.

“But you know how this ends. You know why I’m here.”

He stopped at the corner of a rust-stained support beam, hand resting lightly against the metal as he leaned in to look down the next stretch of darkness. He couldn’t see them yet — but he didn’t need to. He could feel they were close. Close enough that the cold in his voice softened into something almost… fond.

“…Come now. You’ve run long enough. Murkoff wants you back.”

He let the words hang, heavy but calm.

“And I always find what I’m sent for.”

He straightened, boot steps echoing once more as he moved deeper into the dark, his voice following them like a quiet, patient promise:

“Your move.”