𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍|
— Vogel Cruise Line, The Mediterranean Sea.
— 6:30 p.m. May 1, 2015.

𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 with the bow tie sloppily strung around his neck. After fiddling with it a moment longer, Wes threw his hands in the air, too frustrated to be bothered with it anymore. He stormed out of the bathroom and crossed his arms as Williams looked up from his laptop, the only piece of their own equipment that had been brought aboard the ship.

Williams stifled his laughter and tried to keep a serious face. "Need some help?"

"No." The retort was empty as Williams stood from his seat and began to tie the fabric into a neat little bow.

"My grandfather taught me when I was younger," Williams explained, filling the silence with a reminiscent look and a fond tone of voice. "He always said a man should look presentable when dining at a table of roses."

"Please tell me you aren't talking about Rhodes." Wes eyed the shorter agent. He attempted to tilt his head down, but the ribbon around his throat choked him in the process. He cleared his throat before adding. "The most that Rhodes and roses have in common is the thorns they're covered in."

"She's not that bad once you get to know her," Williams insisted as he made the final adjustments. He added an absent-minded note. "The two of you managed to get along just fine for the first two weeks of this mission."

"Peace only lasts a minute, Williams." Wes coldly replied, looking up toward the ceiling to avoid the feeling of choking. However, once the younger agent pulled his hands away and took a step back to admire his work, Wes faced him as if giving much-needed advice. "Peace and trust, the two most fragile virtues that our world depends on to survive. My advice, don't buy into either of those lies. Trust no one and expect war."

"That's a pretty grim way at looking at the world." Williams tilted his head, looking at Wes with what he assumed was sympathy.

"It's realistic," Wes contradicted as he strutted across the room and lifted his tuxedo jacket from the bed. With one swift motion, he threw it over his arms and fastened it closed. He took an additional moment to smooth out the wrinkles before looking himself over in the mirror."

Williams nodded his head as if listening to a silent symphony with a mile-wide grin on his face. "You look—"

"Like an overdressed penguin," Wes interrupted. His nose wrinkled at the suffocating clothing that replaced his usual S.H.I.E.L.D. mandated uniform that had become like a second skin.

"I was gonna say classy," Williams corrected as he took his seat by the laptop once more. "Which is exactly the look we're going for since Sinclair has reservations at the one restaurant with a strict dress code."

The door to the room opened. Both Williams and Wes turned their heads as if prepared to knock out the oncoming intruder; however, they restrained themselves at the sight of Rhodes. They both gawked, Wes only showing a smidge more of self-control as his jaw didn't visibly drop.

Rhodes was practically unrecognizable as her blonder hair curled around her face and shoulders. Red seemed to be a common theme in the room as it was the shade of her dress, lipstick, sequined handbag, and the flushed faces of her male acquaintances. She rolled her eyes and playfully knocked Wes across the face with her bag to keep his eyes from drifting toward the low-revealing cut of her dress. "Eyes up here boys."

Wes blinked his eyes quickly and uncomfortably adjusted the tie around his throat that felt like it had slipped tighter on its own. Williams whirled around and buried his face into the glow of his laptop screen, so close a parent might scold their child and insist they'd go blind.

Although she had called for a bit of decency, she didn't quite follow her own advice as her eyes drifted up and down the suit that complemented Wes's athletic form. "You clean up nice, Davis."

"You'll have to thank Mr. Smith for the view." Wes rolled his eyes, but there was a light playfulness to his tone of voice. However, the annoyance of wearing someone else's clothes was also present.

"Looks like I will." She agreed, much to his surprise, before leaning over Williams's shoulder. "You have eyes on Sinclair yet, Theo?"

"Negative, Sam." Williams fingers clicked across the keyboard as he rapidly typed several unintelligible series of code into the system. He moved like a whirlwind, too quick for anyone to understand his intention. "I should be connected to the security systems across the ship in a few minutes though. But for now we'll have to make do with the camera I've scraped up."

"You brought cameras and a laptop, but weren't able to bring ammunition?" Wes asked pointedly.

Williams quickly shook his head, unafraid to correct the assumed accusation. "I brought my laptop. These cameras, on the other hand, are a Williams's original. Now they're not the most beautiful things you'll ever see, but keep in mind I made 'em in fifteen minutes without notice."

While the computer loaded his code into the ship's system, Williams directed the others' attention toward the matching set of boutonnière and corsage. Wes scoffed, but before he could retort how cheesy he saw the objects, Rhodes voiced her delight. "How cute!"

"There's no way I'm wearing... that." Wes gestured vaguely to the vibrant red rose that served as his boutonnière. Based on the smug look plastered to Williams face, a look he hadn't ever seen on the agent before, their conversation earlier hadn't been completely unplanned. However, ten minutes later he was walking down the halls of the cruise ship, arm-in-arm with Rhodes, playing the part of doting newlywed husband. Unfortunately, part of that role included the sickening aspect of wearing the matching flower set that doubled as cameras.

He could still feel the phantom pain in his chest from the spot that Rhodes had taken great pleasure in 'accidentally' stabbing him while pinning the boutonnière to his lapel. If only he'd had the same opportunity with her corsage.

The host standing at the podium by the front doors of the restaurant appeared bored and generally unenthusiastic about his job. It was clear he was running on very little sleep from the dark bags, implying that the man's patience would be little to none. His voice was monotonous as he hardly looked up from the scratched wood. "Name."

"Smith." The jolly laugh was like nails grating on a chalkboard to Wes's ears, and it was obvious that Rhodes had no sincerity in her tone. It was unnerving to see the woman that usually kept her composure so collected now looked like an obnoxious American tourist, too rich to care about formalities. It was clear the host thought so as well as he rolled his eyes, looked up the reservation, then motioned for the couple to follow as he grabbed a pair of menus and led them back toward a table.

"Here on Vogel Cruise Lines, we try to create a sense of family." The speech felt poorly rehearsed as the host continued to speak in his monotonous tone. "Keeping up with the mindset of our founders, each couple will be paired up with another for the duration of the trip."

Even though they had no feeling to them, the words of information were alarming for Wes all the same. He quickly pulled his arm away from Rhodes and tried to interject his own opinion. "No, no. That's alright. We're perfectly fine on our own—"

"Don't be ridiculous, darling," Rhodes elbowed him in the ribs as she forced her arm around his. She practically spoke between gritted teeth as if threatening him. "We have no intention of being difficult. We don't want to start a problem that might cause a scene."

The host sighed as if he weren't paid enough for all the trouble he dealt with. "I don't really care, I just need an answer."

"Wherever you originally planned to seat us will be fine." As Rhodes spoke, that fake smile reappeared on her face. He was growing tired of that smile, and of her presence in general. They might click for a few minutes, but there was always something just slightly wrong that created an unnecessary conflict between them.

The host rolled his eyes again and motioned for the couple to follow him as he led them toward the back of the restaurant and seated them at a table with a couple that miraculously appeared even more obnoxious than Rhodes. It was as if they were an exaggeration of the stereotypes associated with Western America. Despite the formal setting of the restaurant, the couple both wore a pair of boots, accessorized with a matching pair of spurs. The husband had at least groomed his handlebar mustache, but the hat on his head looked as if it were compensating for something else as it stood eight inches off his head. It was like his wife's hair was trying to compete with the hat to reach heaven first as the unnatural perm practically buried the features of her face, similar to that of an ungroomed poodle.

"Well howdy do," the woman greeted them with a thick southern drawl and a nod of her head. Her husband offered a grunt under his breath as if repeating his wife's statement, that didn't stop her from taking off at a thousand words per minute. "Now I'm Darla and this here is my husband, Clem. We're the Walkers. It's a pleasure to meet the both of y'all. Where y'all from? Clem and I are from Las Vegas. A wonderful place to visit if you ever find yourself out that way. Now how rude of me, I haven't stopped jabbering long enough for you to introduce yourselves."

The husband muttered a gruff agreement under his breath and Wes almost felt sorry for him. The woman was either crazy or just talked more than a squabbling chicken, but he couldn't have been so far from the crazy trail himself if he married her... that or he didn't know what he was getting himself into.

"We're the Smiths," Rhodes took the opportunity to introduce them as a couple. "I'm Sam and this is my husband, Wesley."

He felt his eyes narrow both inconvenienced and uncomfortable by the reveal of his first name to a pair of strangers, much more so since they were meant to be undercover. She also seemed to understand how he felt about his first name as a smug look briefly crossed her face the second she introduced him.

"That's a mighty purty ring, sugar." Darla's eyes glanced down at the ring on Sam's finger. Wes hadn't even noticed its appearance until it had been pointed out. A genuine smile crossed her face as she looked down at the small ring decorating her hand.

She nodded her head in agreement before finally looking up to continue the conversation. "Lots of other girls want something big and shiny, but I always wanted something that meant something, you know?" She paused, allowing the curiosity of her implied story to settle. Even Wes appeared curious by the little diamond. "This ring belonged to my mother, and hers before her. It was a family tradition for it to be passed down to the eldest child of the family. Wesley understood how much that tradition meant to me..."

Her words faded and her breath hitched as her eyes watered. Wes could easily see that her next words held some truth to them, they had to. Surely she wasn't that good of an actress. Darla reached across the table and placed a comforting hand on Sam's wrist. "Take your time, dear."

Sam wiped away the tears that threatened to fall down her face and released a heartbreaking chuckle. "It's silly that I get so emotional, but my mother passed on when I was young. The ring was all my dad had left of her and I wasn't sure he was willing to hand it over." Her smile brightened as she laughed again, choking back the tears as her hand grabbed his. Wes looked up in surprise, but didn't object. "But Wesley wouldn't take no for an answer. He marched right up to my daddy's garage and refused to leave until he had his blessing for my hand in marriage. He took me up to the hillside where my father proposed to my mother, and my grandfather to my grandmother, then knelt down on one knee and said the most beautiful words I'll ever remember."

Clem coughed, interrupting the story before Sam could continue. It was like he peered into Wes's very soul as he stared him down. "And what was it you told her?"

"Pardon?" Wes choked on his glass of water that the waiter had just set down on the table. He'd felt himself parched and saw the drink as an opportunity to break away from the emotional tale that he was being drawn into. Clem saw through the act and looked as if he were testing the truth of the story.

It was the first time that the husband had spoken and it was clear that whenever the rare moment occurred that his opinion was voiced, it was taken as sacred word.

"What'd you say to her, son?" Clem repeated his question testily. "In a moment like that, a man never forgets the promise that seals the memory."

"It was a very emotional day, I'm not sure I remember—"

"Bullshit."

"Clem!" Darla exclaimed and knocked her husband across the arm. "Watch your language. This is a fine establishment."

Clem muttered a gruff apology under his breath, returning to his pattern of silence; however, Darla agreed with her husband and turned toward Wes expectantly. Sam even appeared annoyingly bemused by the tough spot he'd suddenly been placed in. It was like she was testing him and his merit as a spy alongside the couple seated across from them. Wes cleared his throat, took a deep breath, then opened his eyes.

"Well... the walk up that hill was the most terrifying moment of my life. I felt like my lungs were collapsing with each step and I wasn't sure I was actually gonna make it to the top. But once we were there... the view was breathtaking." His head subconsciously turned to face his partner. It was the first time he noticed how blue her eyes were. He normally associated them with ice, but in that moment they reminded him of a warm summer sky. "I took her hands in mine, and looked her in the eye as I took a knee, offering the ring that symbolized my heart..."

He took her hands in his and gently squeezed them. "I said 'Sam. From the moment we met, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. You were the brightest thing to ever step foot in any room, and I found that infuriating. I couldn't understand the unbearable heat that rose in my face whenever you were near and the deep-seated desire to step closer even though I might get burned..."

He took a deep breath as his words were suddenly caught in his throat. He didn't understand why he was suddenly finding it difficult to think the longer he stared into her eyes, he was just spewing lies made up on the spot... right? "With you I can't think and logic is tossed out the window, but without you, I can't survive. I love you more than words can wield the matter, dearer than eyesight, space and liberty. So with this ring I offer my heart, my soul, my life..."

His voice faded and as he finished, he swore he saw Sam's eyes glisten before she quickly averted her gaze. Darla immediately clapped her hands together obnoxiously, calling attention to the table. But due to the southern woman's charm it was only a moment of silence before the enter room was clapping for a reason unbeknownst to them.

Something of interest caught Sam's eye and she quickly took hold of Wes's arm, pulling him up from his seated position at the table. "How about a dance?"

She didn't let him answer as she dragged him away and pulled him into the center of the crowd joined together in the restaurant that doubled as a ballroom. At the front, on the stage, a small stringed band played slow music to set the mood for the variety of couples aboard the ship, the goal for the evening: romance. Whether old or young, they were certain to ensure love would be made that evening.

"I didn't take you for a dancer."

Sam focused back on Wes as he interrupted her train of thought. Previously, she'd been distracted by everything but him as her eyes dashed around the room, looking for something. However, as the music transitioned into the next waltz, she took his comment as a challenge, sidling up beside him while placing one of his hands around her waist and keeping the other clutched tight in her hand. A competitive look crossed her face along with a confident smile. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Davis."

He almost assumed she was going to lead the dance, but was relieved to see he wasn't made the fool as she followed his steps. He didn't think she'd move as gracefully as she did while wearing the tight dress, but the slit running up her left leg provided more freedom of movement. It was slow going at first as he was forced to recall the brief lessons he'd received from Pierce, but once he got back into the motion, they were breathtaking as they glided across the floor. For the first time in their career as partners, they were in perfect sync. The world around them melted as one pair of blue stared into the other, trying to understand everything that had been left unspoken.

As the tempo of the music crescendoed and reached the climax, he listened to the involuntary instinct to twirl her hand. The hem of her red dress spun, shimmering the room with a flash of red light as the glitter on her gown caught the reflected light from the crystal chandelier above just right. Her genuine laugh was like music to his ears, a thought he never believed would cross his mind when thinking of his previous comparisons; however, he was too far gone in the moment to notice or care. As the song ended abruptly, he dipped her last minute and those eyes stared into his, easily compared to endless pools. He could feel her hot breath just inches away from his lips. But as the slow melody of the next song began, he gently lifted her to her feet and continued a more relaxed version of their previous waltz.

It was a bittersweet moment when she broke the silence. "So... 'dearer than eyesight, space and liberty'?"

He chuckled sheepishly at the amused look that had appeared on her face. "Shakespeare."

She raised an eyebrow, both impressed that he possessed literary knowledge but also disappointed that the words weren't his own. "Did you steal all of that from Shakespeare?"

Wes shook his head. "No, most of it was made up on the spot." He could see the gears in her head were turning, trying to imply hidden meanings that hadn't been intended in the moment. He quickly changed the topic of discussion. "What about the proposal and ring? Where did they come from?"

Sam took her hand that had been placed on his shoulder and looked down at the ring. A reminiscent smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, genuine and beautiful. "For the most part it was true. The ring did belong to my mother, but my father gave it to me in his will."

The words were heavy on his heart as she revealed the fact that both parents were gone. Sure, he probably could've read that fact somewhere in a file buried away on the helicarrier, but sometimes hearing the words was more emotional than just reading them off a structured page. Wes opened his mouth either to offer his condolences or some other comforting word, but Sam shut him up as she quickly gestured to one of the nearby tables.

"There he is."

Wes turned and suddenly remembered why they were present in the restaurant in the first place: Sinclair. The man was larger than he remembered, but perhaps that was because the suit he wore was too tight to properly conceal his burly physique.

The waltzing couple managed to move closer just as a second individual joined Sinclair at his table. There was something familiar about the man, but Wes couldn't quite place how just yet.

"Eyes on the prize, Theo." Sam had lifted her hand up to her earpiece to signal Williams about their findings.

"Copy," Williams replied from the other end of the comms. "You are clear to drop the package."

As they passed by the table, Sam dropped her corsage on the ground, which Wes kicked beneath the tablecloth before they continued their dance back toward the center of the room to remain inconspicuous.

There was only static at first, but Williams quickly modified his tech to provide an insight to the conversation. Sinclair's voice was gruff and kept low as he quietly discussed the details of business. "I'll assume you have the payment as discussed through our previous contact. Meet at the front deck; twenty-three hundred, not a minute later. I'll be waiting with the package."

"The handler will meet you there." Even though he'd just taken a seat, the other man stood and extended his hand. Sinclair respectfully turned down the offer, muttering something about trust issues and bacteria, but no ill feelings were formed. "A pleasure doing business with you, Agent Deimos."

Sinclair frowned at the use of the code name. He removed the toothpick that had been hanging out of his mouth, clearly compensation for a bad smoking habit, and pointed it toward the other man accusingly. "Tell Kaos that I'm done with him after this. I'm not in that line of work no more."

The other man scoffed as he walked away. "There is no other line of work for men like us, Deimos."

The line turned to static once more with a sudden 'crunch'. Wes quickly turned his head and watched as Sinclair stood from the table and stormed off in the opposite direction. It seemed that in his moment of blinded rage, he'd stomped on the corsage and destroyed their method of eavesdropping.

Although they had stopped dancing, the pair of spies still stood inches away from one another, posed as if waltzing with the other couples in the room. With said realization, Wes cleared his throat and Sam pushed herself away, creating some distance between them once more. It was like she couldn't help the words that left her mouth next. "Not bad, Davis... I thought for sure you were gonna step on my feet at least once though."

Wes frowned. The moment of peace had passed and just like that their alliance was over. It was clear the comment was intended to wound rather than just make fun, and as a man, he couldn't just roll over and let her win. "I thought you were decent too... for two left feet that is."

"At least I wasn't stiff as a board," she retorted, crossing her arms while slowly starting to tap her foot.

Wes scoffed to hide his wounded feelings. "That's because I still have some composure left."

"Get a room!" The shout over the comms reminded them of Williams's presence. However, he sheepishly seemed to apologize for his comment. "We should focus on scouting that meeting."

"I plan to do more than just scout," Wes noted as he walked back toward the entrance of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard." Sam rushed to keep up with the pace of his walk, lifting the skirt of her dress so her legs weren't hindered while walking.

As the couple passed by their original table, the Walkers had received their food and each waved a giant crab claw in the air as if trying to greet the other couple; however, they stopped once they noticed the displeased look on their faces and the tension in their posture as they stormed past.

"The honeymoon phase sure passes faster and faster." Darla shook her head and clicked her tongue as if witnessing a real shame. Clem grunted in agreement before coating the meat of his claw in butter and allowing the crustacean to slide down his throat.

"You're gonna run headfirst into more danger after that's what got us stuck here in the first place?" Sam asked Wes to confirm her statement, word for word, hoping it might knock some sense into him.

"They've got nowhere to go," Wes insisted, no longer caring whether or not he received stares from the other passengers. "There is a real opportunity here to catch them in the act and it'd be foolish not to take it."

Sam sighed as she kept his quick pace. "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

Wes didn't verbally reply, but the quick shake of his head was enough to remind her of his stubborn nature. He didn't even glance over his shoulder as he relayed a set of new instructions over the comm system. "Williams. I want you to contact Pierce as soon as you find a signal, it's time to end this mission."

———

There was a light mist in the air, both from the water below and the sprinkle from the clouds that blocked out the night sky. Maximus Sinclair impatiently looked down at his watch. Although he was forced to squint to see the hands of time moving across the analog watch, he could see it was less than a minute to eleven and the handler had yet to show themself.

He ran a hand through his slicked back blond hair that had started to fall out of place due to the humidity of the stale night air. Not even the light rain could clear the thick fog that the ship was cruising through.

He tapped his foot and looked down at his watch once more to see that ten seconds had hardly passed. Max didn't consider himself an impatient man unless the surrounding circumstances inconvenienced him. Considering that he was only getting soaked with each passing second, he considered himself inconvenienced. He closed his eyes and directed his chin toward the heavens as if trying to change his mind about the evening while picturing himself sprawled out on a beach in the Philippines.

At the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, his ear twitched. Despite the impulse to turn around, he remained still until the individual cleared their throat. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He released a breath of relief before opening his eyes and slowly facing the handler. However, he raised an eyebrow in confusion. He'd never been given anything to identify the handler, but the image standing across from him wasn't what he'd expected.

The pair of individuals standing across from him looked extremely young to be accepting highly volatile chemicals. The boy couldn't have been much older than sixteen or seventeen while the girl beside him was much younger. He could feel his neck craning as he looked down to comply with the formalities of an agreement.

However, his doubt dissipated the second the boy's mouth opened. "Δύναμη μέσα από την ενότητα."

Strength through unity. The translation of the Greek motto popped into his mind. Internally, he was annoyed by all the secret organizations and their insistence on a phrase of code words, but this was the last time he planned to deal with it so he didn't voice his complaint. He'd been serious when he'd say he was done playing the game. It had always been his goal to look out for himself, and that was still the case as he noticed organizations collapsing right and left. Secrets didn't tend to last and he didn't want to be around when everything was exposed. The Philippines were starting to sound like an even better idea than before.

The amused look was wiped from his face as he reached for the briefcase on the ground at his side. He clicked open the latches on the side after inputting the code and opened the case to reveal five vials of luminescent green liquid.

"These things must be quite important if Kaos keeps trying to get his hands on them," Max gruffly noted, trying to pry some information out of the kids. "This is what, the third or fourth time you've had them stolen? Hopefully he can keep his hands on them this time around."

The boy looked annoyed by the conversation while the girl's face remained emotionless. The eerie way they held themselves only reminded him that he hated kids. He rolled his eyes and closed the case, clicking shut the locks before signaling that it was time to uphold their end of the bargain. "Hope you've got enough lunch money to pay for these bad boys."

The boy lifted a briefcase, similar in shape and size to the one held in his Max's hand. The lid was opened for just a second to prove that Kaos had been good on his word about the cash. After a quick exchange, Max was prepared to hightail it out of there, get some much needed rest, then enjoy the rest of the cruise until he arrived at his final destination: the ever-awaited Philippines. However, a flash of moment caught in his peripheral vision alerted his reflexes and his hand immediately drew his handgun from the holster concealed beneath his damp suit jacket. Unfortunately, the action wasn't quick enough to stop the fist that connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling back onto the deck.

———

The second that Wes had seen the glowing green vials that constantly kept popping up in his life at the most inconvenient times, he'd lost sense of his self-control and leapt over the crates that had served as a hiding place. It had felt so good to finally release his pent up frustration as his fist caught Sinclair across the jaw. He might have been confused about a lot lately, but he never gave an opportunity for that confusion to interfere with the one thing he could count on: combat. And that was true until he turned around and his blood ran cold.

There she was for the second time, not much older than he remembered her. She tilted her head in a way that he remembered her doing all those years ago when there was something she didn't understand. In that moment, his sight flickered between the past and the present. The cold-dead look in his sister's eyes shifted back and forth between the sweet smile he used to cherish. However, the moment passed and her face was suddenly covered in ash. Her hands reached out toward him as if pleading to be saved from her fiery fate.

As Wes froze, Sam had quickly leapt into action. The boy had stretched out his hands and it was obvious that they were dealing with an enhanced. Although the ocean was calm, the boat shook and the ground was unsteady as she ran across the slick surface. Even without the heels she'd worn to dinner, she still slipped and fell. However, she managed to warp her body in a way that would kick the boy's legs out from under him and hopefully distract him long enough that she could regain her footing. As her attack had the element of surprise, the boy was knocked off his feet and the breath was stolen from his lungs as he collided with the deck.

Sinclair had finally risen back to his feet, grasping the lower half of his face to catch the blood that leaked from his nose and mouth. Where most of their adversaries would wipe away the blood and grin at the challenge, Sinclair massaged his jaw and released a tired sigh as he took off the top layer of his suit before rolling up his sleeves. He retrieved his handgun from a puddle on the deck as the rain started to fall harder than the innocent mist of earlier. Although his hair fell in front of his eyes, he could see well enough to aim the barrel toward the weak point between Wes's shoulder blades, who foolishly still stood in a dazed stupor.

As the gunshot echoed, Sam felt the world around her slow. It seemed like seconds always turned to hours when all logic was tossed out the window and expectations shattered. She discarded all of her training in the moment that she made the tough split-second decision without thinking about the repercussions. It was the kind of recklessness she had chastised Wes for a multitude of times before that moment. Her mind screamed at her to get up, but she could only move at the sluggish pace, constrained by the laws of time. Her heart pounded against her chest and the steady echo of the drum beat was all that could be heard as she dove to pull Wes from the line of fire.

She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact of hot metal tearing through flesh and muscle, but Sinclair's eyes widened at the horrifying monstrosity that manipulated the shadows to engulf the bullet. A searing pain tore through his gut. His eyes glanced down and his hands trembled as the red liquid seeped into his shirt, now stained with his own blood when it should have been that of another. His face contorted with pain as the nerve center of his brain finally recognized the injury. His knees buckled and his legs gave out before growing cold and numb. He gasped for breath as his view narrowed as a side effect of the pain. But the last thing he saw before blacking out entirely was the form of the shadow beast morphing back into the face of the innocent little girl with cold, dead eyes.

"Taylor..." Wes's voice was a whisper as Sam tried to get him to snap out of his daze.

When she'd opened her eyes, she was close enough to the team leader to feel his warm breath brush against her cheek. At first she was relieved that they were both still alive and for the most part uninjured, but then confused by how that could possibly be true. As she turned her head and watched the shadow beast morph back into the small girl, memories of Sokovia flashed into her mind. It wasn't the first time that they'd met, and she understood a fraction of how enhanced the child was. The girl's head tilted as she turned back to face the pair of spies and Sam quickly realized she was living out the nightmare of most horror films.

The girl's walk was slow and methodical as if trying to achieve optimal levels of fear before finishing them off. Sam continued her attempt of waking Wes, resorting to more violent methods when gentleness didn't work. She slapped him across the face before he finally blinked back to reality.

"Sam?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, almost concerned that she'd slapped him too hard by the way he'd said her first name rather than referring to her by her last, but she wasn't given the opportunity to object. A flying sheet of metal careened toward their heads and embedded itself in the side railing as she forced his head back down to the ground.

The boy had returned to his feet, holding out his hands to direct the metal, enraged that the fight had gone on as long as it had. The girl took a step forward, but he'd called her off as the metal surrounding him bent to his whim. The railings tore themselves from the deck and curled in the air like serpents taunting their next meal, knowing their prey had no means of escape. The boat rocked harder as the storm grew more violent foreshadowing the next series of events.

The spies rose to their feet, standing side by side as if they genuinely believed that they had a fighting chance. The boy chuckled under his breath, slightly amused by their stubbornness often mistaken for courage. It was the one thing he admired about humanity, they always fought for their cause even when it was a pointless battle. He flicked his wrists and the metallic serpents struck; however, his opponents weren't immediately slaughtered where they stood. Instead, he let the ocean claim them as he tossed them overboard. He and the girl took a step closer to the edge and watched as their uninvited guests disappeared beneath the waves, likely to be swept underneath the hull and crushed instantaneously.

Although he didn't mind the sight of blood that came with his role, he'd been told to limit the trail of bodies. K.A.O.S. preferred the shadows, as seen by his female counterpart, which meant they didn't want any traces of their deeds to expose their intentions. Much easier said than done in his opinion.

Satisfied with his work, Ryker turned back toward the other problem. He sighed as he glanced over Sinclair's paralyzed form before turning toward the shade. "Did you have to sever the spinal cord?"

As he expected, he didn't receive a response from the girl, just a tilt of her head. He sighed, manipulating the rails to straighten once more and merge to create a temporary cot. As he lifted Sinclair from the deck with a single thought, he turned back toward the girl with a warning. "Don't think I missed your other little stunt either. What was that, saving the enemy?"

The girl shrugged, offering more of a reply than he'd normally get. He rolled his eyes before signaling to wrap things up with a single finger. "Just get the case."

The girl shook her head. He frowned, but it didn't take much to understand what she meant. The case was gone as if it had completely vanished into thin air. In frustration, he dropped Sinclair, who released a moan of pain. The girl shot him a look, but Ryker couldn't care less about the state of their own agent. He cared about results, and right now they had failed which would be reflected on their treatment upon return to the Argonaut.

His hands trembled and he balled them up into fists to contain the wrath building within him. He needed to remain in control. He took a deep breath then addressed the girl a final time. "Search the ship."

She nodded her head in affirmation before dissolving back into her shadow form. Ryker turned back toward Sinclair. From the pained grunts, it was clear he'd finally woke up. Ryker stood where he could be seen and looked down at the man amused.

Sinclair's mouth had already filled with blood, so his speech sounded distorted as he asked, "What sort of monsters are you?"

Ryker had heard the question asked more than once, but it always brought a frown to his face when phrased that way. He closed his eyes, allowing Sinclair to realize his mistake before accessing one of his other mutations. A series of blue scales flickered across his form as he took on the older appearance of the man that had met with Sinclair over dinner. He grinned at the look of horror that masked Sinclair's face.

"The sort of monster you're about to be yourself, Deimos." Ryker's reply was ominous as he leaned closer to add a whisper in the man's ear. "They say Dr. Frankenstein works wonders."

———

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞| Thanks for reading! This chapter marks the end of act two. I didn't even realize how long it was until I finished, but I had a lot of fun writing it. From here the action should start to pick up as I have a lot planned for acts three and four. So, how are we feeling so far?