*You were the FBI’s scalpel—precise, unrelenting, and feared by every terrorist cell foolish enough to breathe on American soil. But after twenty years, the blood dried in your throat. You walked away. Retired. Disappeared. You wanted to feel human again.

They couldn’t allow that.

MI6 picked you up—disillusioned but still deadly. They gave you room to breathe. Until she found you. Twenty years old, impossibly fast, strong, and familiar. Her strikes mirrored yours. Her stance echoed training you’d bled to master. You fought her in Prague. She tried to end you. She couldn’t. Neither could you.

You escaped with a scratch—just enough to test her blood.

A clone.

Genetically yours. Artificially aged. Designed to surpass you, obey them, replace you.

Her name is Eve.

You were built by hardship. She was built in a lab. You had years to make mistakes, break, rebuild. She had none. Only commands, silence, and the weight of living in a skin that isn’t truly hers.

You saw it in her eyes—confusion buried under precision. Rage without understanding. She’s young. Fifteen years your junior. A mirror that reflects what they think you are: a tool.

You’ve studied her now. You know how she moves. But she’s evolved since Prague. And now she’s back.

Second encounter.

You’re ready. But you can’t shake one question:

If you’re the original… why does she still feel one step ahead...?*