"Hey Lucy, give me the lamp," a young, blonde man said to the young woman next to him. Both were clad in beige jungle clothes, wearing hats. Their thick boots crushed the insects crawling beneath their feet. It got worse and worse the deeper the two went.
The young man searched every angle of the cave for any clues. That was when he stopped, his headlamp focused on a certain point in the mud.
He turned toward the woman, who analyzed it with a disappointed tone.
"Footprints. Someone was here before," she said, stepping closer together with the man.
The man crouched down, analyzing the print.
"This looks fairly new. Perhaps we still have a chance. Come on!" he shouted, already running deeper into the cave, Lucy struggling to keep up.
Reaching a deeper part, the tunnel grew smaller and smaller, but soon paintings appeared on the walls. Ancient symbols and pictures were depicted, and both smiled, knowing they had finally found something.
The young woman took dozens of pictures eagerly, the flash constantly illuminating the tight tunnel as they continued forward.
Soon they had to crouch as the ceiling grew lower and lower. Then they saw a small light shining through the gaps of some vines.
The young man stepped forward, pushing the vines aside, then suddenly stopped.
"Hey, what is it?" the woman asked.
"Look for yourself," the man muttered, almost breathlessly.
The woman squeezed in beside him, both now crouching before an enormous cave. It was so enormous it almost looked majestic. The cave was open to the ceiling, with vines and greenery hiding the opening, but sunlight still managed to find its way through, illuminating the cave and, at its center, a small stone and moss-covered building.
"The temple. We have actually found it," the man laughed heartily, embracing the woman and giving her a kiss.
The two climbed all the way down, reaching the building, the woman once again eagerly taking pictures. That was when they heard voices.
Both froze and ran inside the building.
Inside stood two men, both black-haired, looking at a large wooden chest. They did not even notice the other two entering. Their attention was fixed on the chest, one man already unlocking the ancient lock.
"No!" the young man shouted, knowing the dangerous traps laid out here, but the men near the chest did not care. When they opened the chest, something started rumbling, first slowly, then louder and quicker. It sounded like some kind of mechanism.
"You idiots!" the young man shouted, receiving only questioning gazes from the other two men.
Soon the building started to shake. Small stones, then larger ones collapsed and fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing the two men near the chest, who ran immediately, closely followed by the other two.
A large boulder came crashing down, missing them by hair's breadth.
"There is a secret exit behind the corner!" the man who opened the chest shouted. All followed him. They reached it and made it outside, all but one. Lucy was still lagging behind, and suddenly she tripped, falling to the ground.
"AHHH!" she screamed for help, but before the young man could react, another large boulder came crashing down with enormous speed.
"NOOOO, LUCY!" the man shouted, despair and grief filling his cracking voice. He kneeled before the collapsed building for what felt like eternity. Rain was already pouring down through the opening of the cave, soaking him.
When he stood up and turned, he looked at the black-haired man who had opened the chest. Their eyes met, their facial features standing out in the rain, a pair of blue eyes meeting.
"It is your fault!" he shouted in agony, his eyes wet, either from the rain or from tears.
.....
Small raindrops began pouring down onto the ruined factory, where both men stood, their faces older, more mature, yet slightly different. The deep blue eyes met once again.
One of them was black-haired, the other blond.
"Paul," James said, mustering the man before him, slowly circling him.
"It was you all along, huh," Paul said, circling in the opposite direction, his voice deep, almost disappointed.
"Indeed. You have grasped it quite late, Paul," James said, tilting his head and adjusting the grip on his pistol.
Paul looked at James for a moment. The expression, the gaze, the tone. He is proud, Paul thought.
"Are you proud of your actions, James? Are you proud of the torment you put me through, the torment of the countless others you sacrificed in vain?" Paul asked, venom in his voice.
James only laughed before his smile vanished once again. "And you, Paul? Why are you acting so high and mighty? The Butcher of Madrid judging me morally. How ironic. Truly, Paul, how ironic. The soldier, the Nazi, the killer, wishing to judge me?" James suddenly shouted.
Paul paused for a moment, going deep into himself, rembering the past for a moment.
"You, James, you have not changed at all. You are the same whenever I meet you. You were, you are, and you always will be self-serving. That is the difference between us. That is why I judge and you do not. My actions hurt many, but they also benefited many. Your actions hurt all and only benefit you. You are the ultimate evil in this world."
"Evil? I'm America. I'm justice. You are Germany, you are the evil. History is my witness. History is my judge!" James shouted, the rain already soaking his hair.
For the first time, Paul laughed, not out of amusement, but out of hypocrisy.
"History, James? History is relative. We know that by now, don't we? I will change it for the better. You will change it for yourself," Paul said, shaking his head.
"You are just as egoistic as me, but you just don't want to see it," he whispered. "This board we call history can only bear one player, and it will be me!" he shouted, raising his pistol.
Paul had his gun raised as well, and both men leapt into motion, firing at each other. The shots only grazed flesh before they dove for cover behind rubble and shattered bricks.
"Oh Paul, you know you cannot win," James shouted. "You know your past will catch up with you. Fate will deal justice."The last words trembled, almost emotional, as his thoughts raced back to the day he and Paul had first met. Back to the accident. At least that was what Paul had called it.
"Maybe. Someday," Paul said.
James froze.
Paul was suddenly beside him.
He pulled the trigger, but James reacted like a cornered animal, hurling himself forward as the shots tore uselessly through the air.
Paul managed to break free, driving his knee into James' stomach and raising his submachine gun again. But James recovered faster than Paul had anticipated. He grabbed the weapon, slammed his boot into Paul's stomach, and tore it from his hands.
The gun flew away in a high arc, clattering across the concrete.
James managed to raise his gun and pulled the trigger, but nothing followed except a hollow click from the barrel.
For a brief moment, both men froze, staring at each other without moving.
Then, just as suddenly, they jumped apart.
Paul reached behind his back and drew a knife. James did the same, revealing his blade from the inside of his breast pocket.
Both men shifted their feet into fighting stances, their shoes pressing hard against the ground.
Paul's posture was steadier. Heinrich's memories and years of elite training guided his movements. He held the knife close, the blade angled inward toward himself, controlled and precise.
From somewhere nearby, they heard gunshots. They had faded briefly before returning again.
Must be Heydrich, Paul thought.
"Give up, James. Your men are being slaughtered one by one," Paul said. He did not truly believe James would surrender. The words were meant to shake his resolve.
James clenched his teeth, his eyes drifting unconsciously across the rubble and the scattered corpses.
"Paul, you son of a bitch. You will bleed!" he shouted, lunging forward.
The two men clashed violently. Steel met flesh. Bloody cuts appeared across their bodies, but most of them marked James.
The gunfire echoed again in the distance.
James breathed heavily, blood running down his body. Paul looked little better. After fighting for so long, he was at the very edge of his stamina.
Then, suddenly, they both heard a sound. Ragged breathing.
A silhouette emerged from the rubble. A man was crawling toward them, his condition horrifying. Severe burns covered his body, and both legs were gone, torn away completely. Somehow, he had survived.
It was Michael.
He dragged himself forward, stopping right beside James. James' eyes widened with something close to happiness.
Paul's eyes widened as well."James, stop!" he shouted.
James did not hesitate.
In one clean motion, he slit Michael's throat.
In that moment Paul stopped everything. He calmly laid his knife on a collapsed wall. Then, without haste, he tore away what remained of his shirt. Rain poured over his bare body, revealing countless scars and old marks, fresh wounds bleeding among them.
Paul stood motionless, staring straight into James' eyes.
"Just like with Lucy back then. You remember, right? You called it an accident. This was one too. You aren't mad are you?"James smiled, madness flickering in his eyes.
Paul did not smile.
"For that, I have already received my punishment," he said, his demeanor growing even colder.
He picked up the knife again and pressed it against his scarred torso. Slowly, deliberately, he drew the blade across his skin, carving a new line among the others. Blood seeped from the fresh cut, mixing with the rain.
"For what you just did," Paul continued, his voice steady, "you have received no punishment."
He looked at James, his eyes burning with absolute killing intent.
"I will deliver it."
Paul ran toward James. Fear was visible in James' eyes, yet his ego would not allow him to flee, even as his body begged for it.
They clashed again, Paul driving James back relentlessly. The fight tore through the factory and spilled out into the open.
James was barely standing. Every cut Paul delivered was more devastating than the last. A deep crimson pool spread beneath him as he staggered toward the water.
James' eyes darted everywhere, searching desperately for an opportunity, even far into the distance.
There, on a crane, Gustaf was still fighting two men. All three were bloodied and exhausted.
For a split second, Gustaf saw an opening. Gathering every last ounce of strength, he delivered a devastating kick. One man stumbled, nearly flew backward, and fell from the towering crane. His shouts for help cut off abruptly as he hit the ground.
The other agent froze in shock. Gustaf seized that instant, driving his blade into the man's chest. He collapsed in agony.
Gustaf finished him with a ruthless kick, jaw clenched tight.
He then grabbed the large black case that had been lying nearby.
Back at the factory, James forced his wounded body onward. His fingers brushed across his face, blood flowing from a horrific scar Paul had carved into him. Frustration and desperation twisted his expression.
Then he tripped.
James found himself at the very edge of the pier. His gaze was no longer on Paul, but on the object lying beside him.
My pistol, Paul thought, eyes widening as he followed James' stare.
James snatched it up, lightning-fast despite the ruin Paul had made of his body.
In that moment, everything slowed.
Paul lunged toward him. Behind him, Heydrich had noticed what was happening and was shouting something as he ran.
James' finger reached the trigger, feeling the cold metal beneath it. A surge of satisfaction spread through him.
Then pain exploded in his torso.
The shot was delayed. Before he could fire, his body was hurled backward, the pistol slipping from his grasp. His eyes followed it as it fell, greed etched into his gaze.
James flew through the air and crashed into the cold waters of New York Harbor.
Only then did the echo of the gunshot ring across the shattered, burning pier. Sirens wailed in the distance, louder now, but still far away.
Smoke drifted from the sniper rifle Gustaf had fired.
Seeing his shot land and Paul spared, Gustaf collapsed, nearly lifeless, onto the ground.
Paul instead just remained standing, the rain washing away the blood.
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Grande Finale
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