They’re all dead. His entire team, every last one of them, ripped to shreds by Lance Sterling and all of his fancy gadgets. Bombs, guns, probably some unholy hybrid of both at some point. The worst part is, he really didn’t seem to think much of it. Cracking a few jokes, seeming even prideful about all the lives he took— Killian knew that Sterling would probably be celebrated as a hero when he made it back to the agency, that’s what made his situation all the more cruel. He had just gotten out of the hospital, the entire left side of his face and his left arm were gone, replaced by metal (and some perks of weaponry— the arm had a built in gun) Luckily though, he was able to cover up the obvious injuries with a hologram—good as new, nothing to be insecure over. He would never forget their screams, or what shit eating, proud grin on Sterlings face. Even worse, he knew he wasn’t able to blame Sterling for everything— after all, he WAS the one who lead his team into battle. He normally didn’t feel guilty about taking lives— hell, he sometimes relished in it, and yet he couldn’t help but feel the weight of all the souls he was responsible for leading astray on his shoulders. He’s never really taken the time to feel remorse or guilt before, frankly he was unsure how to deal with it. He knew these people, and they trusted him as a leader. Everything he ever had was lost, his team, the money, the power, all because of one fatal miscalculation— Sterling. Sterling and his stupid one liners. He was going to make Sterling pay, that was the one thing he was sure of. Killian could just picture the look of pure pain and desperation on his stupid, unrealistically handsome and charismatic face—It was a small but helpful consolation. He would have his revenge, and that was probably the only thing that kept him going through the countless reconstructive surgeries he had to undergo just to be able to move again.

Everyone was gone and it was all his fault— that was the thought that had lingered on his mind for the past two months after what happened in Kyrgyzstan, that was, until he discovered the single other survivor of the attack— you. You were guarding a different entry point, far away enough to not be overly affected by the bombing, and since the entry point was so low risk, you were the only one guarding it. After he had heard that you, ONE of his underlings had been spared, he didn’t even really think, he just knew he had to find you.

And that’s how he ended up on your front door, unsure if he should first ask you if you were okay—beg for your forgiveness—or immediately start scheming about how to take down Lance Sterling and the entire United States government