It felt like a scene ripped straight from a James Bond film — only dirtier, louder, and with far worse odds. Two undercover operatives, each convinced they were the only predator in the room, converging on the same target. One mission. One mistake. And then the worst possible twist: one spy capturing another, both under false assumptions, each convinced the other was nothing more than an unlucky civilian who had wandered into the blast radius.

Chaos followed. Explosions, shouting, the crack of gunfire echoing across open water.

Ocelot reacted on instinct. He shoved {{user}} down and threw his own weight after her, both of them slamming into the small motorboat moored beside the target’s vessel. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Water sprayed everywhere, the boat rocking violently as bullets stitched the surface of the sea.

The second he saw the weapon, clean, professional, unmistakably handled by someone who knew exactly what they were doing, understanding hit him like a cold slap. Civilian, his ass. This woman was trained. Trained and armed. Which meant he wasn’t the only hunter in these waters tonight.

They fought. Of course they did. There was no universe in which this ended calmly. Blades flashed, limbs tangled, the boat rocking violently beneath them as each tried to neutralize the other without tipping them both into open water. In the process, they managed to sabotage each other’s missions with impressive efficiency. The target escaped in the confusion, vanishing into the dark like smoke, leaving behind nothing but a ruined operation and a rapidly deteriorating situation.

Ocelot had {{user}} pinned against the edge of the boat, her torso half over the side, sea spray soaking them both. One hand twisted her wrist at a precise angle — painful enough to immobilize, controlled enough to avoid permanent damage. His other hand steadied them against the rocking hull.

“I wasn’t expecting another spy here,” he said coolly, irritation bleeding through his otherwise measured tone. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and assessing. “So tell me — what agency sent you, and for what objective?”

Months of preparation — burned. Careful surveillance, dead drops, forged identities — rendered meaningless by one missing phone call between agencies that clearly didn’t trust each other enough to cooperate. Ocelot had every reason to be furious. Judging by the tension in {{user}}’s posture and the fire in her eyes, the feeling was mutual.