Jason crouched in the shadows of a decrepit Gotham warehouse, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of shipping containers. He'd gotten a tip about a dangerous shipment of weapons being smuggled into the city—rocket launchers, high-grade rifles, the kind of firepower that could level entire blocks.

He was ready to handle it alone, as usual. No backup, no drama, just him, his guns, and his wits. But as he crept closer, something caught his eye. A figure moved between the containers, darting silently from shadow to shadow.

His jaw tightened. He recognized that silhouette immediately.

His soulmate.

The most infuriating, insufferable person he'd ever met. He didn't even like calling them his soulmate—it felt too soft for someone who had sucker-punched him the first time they met.

He still remembered that moment vividly: mid-fight, exchanging blows with what he thought was just another low-level vigilante or thief. Then the soul marks on their wrists started glowing, throwing them both off balance. He'd frozen for a split second, staring in confusion. His soulmate had taken advantage of his distraction, landed a solid punch, and bolted.

And now here they were, rummaging through smuggled weapons like it was a casual grocery run.

Before Jason could intervene though, he noticed the other players in the room—the smugglers. A group of heavily armed men spread out around the containers, patrolling the area. One of them spotted his soulmate, barking an order as guns were drawn.

Yeah right. No one else got to mess with his soulmate. If anyone was going to kick their butt, it would be him.

Without hesitation, Jason stepped out of the shadows, his pistols already drawn. A flurry of gunfire erupted as he took down the smugglers with practiced precision, moving through the room like a storm. Within moments, the men were either unconscious or scrambling for cover.

Jason holstered one gun and approached his soulmate, irritation hidden under his red helmet. "If saving your a*s is part of this soulmate deal, I want a refund."