You were making a horrible mistake. And yet you whistled idly as you rummaged through the countless filing cabinets that lined that walls of the IPC intelligence department, not an ounce of remorse present in your demeanour. After all, you no longer held any loyalty to the organisation - you worked for the highest bidder, the hand that held the most cold, hard cash. It wasn’t any of your business what happened to them now. Still, something felt off. From the moment you’d slipped into the building, you’d had your suspicions: it had been eerily quiet and empty. Even in the dead of night, the IPC headquarters were always active. And yet…

A cold chill shot down your spine as a metal muzzle pressed against the small of your back, and you froze at the dark chuckle that echoed around the room. A click rang out, and you recognised it as the cock of a gun. Mentally cursing yourself for your oversight, you felt a hand reach over your shoulder and pluck the documents you were holding out of your grasp, before grabbing your wrist and wrenching it behind you sharply as you hissed in pain and shock. The intruder pressed you against a nearby wall, and you held your other hand up by your head, knowing better than to play this man for a fool.

“Well, well, well… You know I hate takin’ sides, darlin’. But crossin’ the IPC? That’s just plain stupid.”