Clarisa Village – San Diego, California
The moon hung bright over Clarisa Village, casting pale light across the near-empty neighborhood. From afar, the city glowed—billboard signs flickering, car horns echoing faintly, trucks rumbling along the main road. Even distant police sirens drifted into the quiet streets.
But inside the village itself, everything was still. Too still.
Most houses stood dark, abandoned, "For Rent" signs swaying lightly in the wind. Only one small two-story home showed signs of life—a dim glow from inside, a faint noise leaking through thin walls. In the garage, the motorcycle from the hit gleamed beneath a single dusty bulb.
Inside, the place was nothing fancy. Cheap furniture, cluttered tables, and a candle flickering in the center of the room.
"HAHAHA! We're rich, dude!" Dave shouted, laughing loud enough to wake the dead.
"Hell yeah, man," Jack said from the couch, sprawled out lazily. "Those bastards had no idea. We were clean. Smooth. Professional."
Dave held up the bag of money like a trophy. "Bro, what should we even do with this one mil?"
Jack scratched his chin, eyes lighting up. "Hmmm… how about we get some drinks, hit a strip bar tonight—maybe grab a couple ladies?" He grinned, excitement bubbling in his voice.
Then—clank.
A sharp sound tapped the upstairs window.
Clank.
Jack stopped mid-smile.
"Who the hell is throwing rocks at our window?" Dave muttered, eyes narrowing. He jabbed a finger at Jack.
"Jack, you lazy fuck, go check it out."
"Huh?! Why me?" Jack looked genuinely offended.
"Because I said so. Probably just some idiot kids. Go scare 'em off."
"Fine, dude…" Jack grumbled. He stood, cocked his pistol with a shaky hand, and walked toward the stairs.
He reached the window. Pulled the curtain aside—
And froze.
Outside, standing perfectly still beneath the moonlight, was a figure cloaked in black. A long, dark coat flowed behind him, a sleek suit underneath. And on his face—
A tech mask, glowing faintly. Expressionless. Cold. Watching him.
Jack's breath hitched. Terror crawled up his spine. Someone had found them. Someone who wasn't a kid. Someone who wasn't here to scare them. But to end them.
Jack stepped back, drawing his pistol with shaky hands. Dave raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Bro… put that gun down. What's wrong with you?" he asked, trying to stay calm, unaware of the danger.
"Bro… someone's outside. He's… scary," Jack whispered, his voice trembling with fear.
"Goddammit." Dave snapped, standing abruptly. He cocked his Glock 21 and peered out the window. The street below was empty. He squinted. "The hell? Bro… there's no one here." He laughed nervously, trying to mask his unease.
"Fuck you! I saw someone—standing there… perfectly still!" Jack's voice quivered.
"Shut it. No one's there, you stupid moron," Dave said, trying to convince himself as much as Jack.
Then—a sudden beam of light cut across the second-floor window.
"What the—?!" Jack yelped, raising his wrist to shield his eyes.
When he lowered it, his heart skipped a beat. Outside, perfectly aligned, stood a team of black-clad tactical personnel. Their gear was sleek, imposing, and utterly silent, with BATT UMG armored trucks. Shadows pooled around them, the darkness of their uniforms swallowing the faint light of the moon.
Dave's grip on his Glock tightened, and his voice trembled.
"What the hell…?!"
The two men froze, the reality of what they were facing finally sinking in: they were no longer in control. They were being hunted.
The E.I.S. black tactical team, wearing tactical gear and masks, stormed the house, breaching the front door with precision. Wood splintered under the force of their entry, and within moments, they were in a tight, disciplined line-up behind the walls. Frontier entered first, calm and commanding, followed by his soldiers, each moving silently in perfect formation.
He raised a hand, signaling left. The team swept the room. Right. Sweep. Clear. Every corner, every hallway, was covered with military precision.
Frontier's pistol stayed trained ahead as he advanced toward the stairs. Upstairs, Jack and Dave scrambled.
"Dude… we've been breached?!" Jack stammered, his hands trembling.
"Fear not," Dave muttered, leveling his M16A1. His eyes narrowed as he loaded the weapon. "We can handle this."
Jack fumbled with his pistol, trying to steady his aim. Both men pressed themselves against the walls, waiting for an opening.
The first door burst open.
Frontier stepped in, fluid and deliberate. "I know who you are—Jack and Dave," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Criminal duo. Most wanted."
He moved forward and kicked open another door.
"I've heard about your past. I once felt pity," he continued. "But the moment you chose violence… redemption was gone."
From behind the last door, Dave shouted, "Don't come any closer! I swear, I'll shoot!"
Frontier paused, pistol raised. "I've seen hell," he said softly through the mask, then signaled his team.
A soldier pressed a trigger. Smoke grenades hissed as they rolled inside.
Within the room, Dave pressed himself into a corner, ready to ambush. Jack mirrored him on the opposite side. The smoke thickened, swallowing everything.
Jack fired blindly into the haze.
A shadow moved.
Frontier slipped through the smoke and locked Jack in a chokehold before he could react. Jack struggled, but Frontier twisted and drove a knee into him. Jack collapsed with a heavy thud.
Dave lunged with a knife.
Frontier sidestepped, caught his wrist, and twisted hard.
A crack.
Dave cried out as a kick slammed into his abdomen, knocking the breath out of him. Another strike sent him crashing to the floor.
Silence fell, broken only by Dave's ragged breathing.
Frontier stepped forward, voice cold and controlled. "Do you know what happens to people like you?"
"Please… just let me live!" Dave begged.
"They die in misery," Frontier replied. "Because they believe money can save them. They use it for power… for privilege… and choose evil every time."
Dave gritted his teeth, trembling. "You're inhumane…"
Frontier paused for a moment. "No," he said quietly. "I just don't believe in humanity anymore."
He took another step closer.
"You killed an innocent man," he continued. "You were given a second chance… and still chose this."
Dave's breathing grew uneven.
"Did money blind you that much?" Frontier asked. "Was it worth leaving everything behind?"
Dave said nothing.
"Or maybe you truly believed it could save you," Frontier went on. "But it won't."
The soldiers behind him stood like statues, silent and unmoving.
Frontier raised his pistol.
"Money is nothing but paper… and paper can be torn apart."
Two shots rang out.
BANG. BANG.
Dave's body crumpled to the floor.
The room fell silent, save for the faint hiss of the dissipating smoke.
Frontier lowered his weapon and stepped past the body without a second glance and the E.I.S Black Team followed behind.
L.A. – Beverly Hills
The moon hung high over Los Angeles, casting the city in a soft silver glow. The skyline shimmered in the distance, skyscrapers reflecting the light, while hillside homes sparkled like scattered gold. Pools glimmered beneath quiet waters, street lamps lined the avenues, and the occasional car passed through the night.
It was calm—almost serene. A rare kind of peace in a city that never truly slept.
Inside Allysa's mansion, elegance filled every corner. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, their light dancing across polished floors. The quiet inside stood in contrast to the vast, silent night beyond its walls.
On the first floor, Gary lay in his room, eyes closed but alert. A pistol rested against his chest—a constant reminder of the life he lived. Even in rest, responsibility weighed heavily on him.
In the room next door, Zion snored loudly, tangled in his blanket, completely unaware of the tension surrounding them. Miguel, on the other hand, slept calmly, his pistol within arm's reach on the bedside table—a silent sign of readiness.
Celine's room was different.
Still. Awake.
A small lamp cast a warm glow across the room as she stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small photograph, its edges worn with time.
It was a picture of her and Gary during their training years.
"Oh, Gary…" she whispered, her voice soft, almost fragile. A faint smile touched her lips. "If only you knew… I really love you."
Her eyes glimmered with something deeper—longing, obsession, certainty.
"You're mine, Gary," she murmured. "Whether you like it or not… no one else will have you."
Her fingers traced the edges of the photograph before pressing it gently to her lips.
"You're the only one who truly understands me… not even my mother."
For a brief moment, her gaze softened.
Then it hardened again.
A quiet storm, hidden beneath silence.
Flashback – Training Field
The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the field in shades of gold and crimson.
Celine stood tall, posture rigid—every inch the disciplined agent she was trained to be.
"Sir!" she called sharply.
"I've completed fifty push-ups," she added, snapping into a crisp salute.
Gary stood before her, calm and observant. A faint flicker of approval passed through his eyes.
"Well done, Celine," he said, his tone firm but steady. "Remember this—an agent must never show unnecessary emotions. Emotions are a liability. Get rid of them."
"I'll remember that, sir!" she replied, her voice sharp with determination.
Gary nodded and gestured toward a nearby rock. "Take a rest."
He sat down, letting the fading sunlight wash over him. The sky burned with color—a quiet contrast to the harshness of their training.
"Sit," he said, glancing at her.
Celine hesitated for a second before sitting beside him.
A faint smile appeared on Gary's face. "Don't tell your mother, Cassandra Kane, that we trained for three hours straight," he added lightly.
"Sir Gary… may I ask something?" Celine said, her voice more cautious now.
"Go ahead."
"It's personal… but… did you get rid of your emotions too?"
Gary didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"Yes," he said. "The moment I chose this path. I learned early that emotions make us weak."
Celine listened closely, her expression shifting.
Gary turned slightly toward her. "That's how I became who I am. Your mother trained me this way." His voice remained calm, but something deeper lingered beneath it. "She once told me—'Emotions are a liability. Kill them before they kill you.'"
There was a quiet weight in his words.
He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, grounding her.
Celine felt it—the strength, the discipline, the control.
And something else.
He's… amazing, she thought, admiration blooming into something deeper.
Beneath the fading light of the sun, she began to understand.
Not just the training.
But the man standing before her—
A man who had learned to erase himself just to survive.
Flashback – Director Kane Office
Inside a white-walled room streaked with gray and wooden concrete accents, everything was in perfect order. Files lined the shelves, books were neatly stacked, and a small plant rested beside a couch. A portrait hung above the desk where Cassandra Kane sat, her posture rigid and commanding.
"Celine… you are a failure as a daughter."
The slap echoed sharply across the room.
"Mother! I was scared! I couldn't do anything!" Celine cried, tears welling in her eyes.
"Do not call me 'mother' in here," Cassandra replied coldly. "You know the rules—only formal."
Celine froze.
"You are no different from your older sister, Alysha," Cassandra continued. "Now get out of my sight."
Celine turned away, her small frame trembling as she walked out, holding back her tears.
Present Day
Celine lay on her bed, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling.
"Only you understand me, Gary…" she whispered, her fingers tightening around the photograph. "I'll always admire you… protect you… until you see how much I love you."
She pressed a soft kiss against the photo before tucking it into her pocket, hugging herself as memories of her past crept in.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Hello? Who's there?" she asked, sitting up.
"Hey… it's me, Allysa. Can I come in?" a gentle voice came from outside.
"Oh, it's you, Allysa. Yes, come in," Celine replied, quickly forcing a smile.
The door opened, and Allysa stepped in, concern visible on her face.
"Hey… are you okay? Why are you still awake?" Allysa asked softly.
"I… I can't sleep," Celine answered, her tone carrying a faint bitterness beneath it.
Allysa walked further inside and sat on the chair near the bed. "Are you sure you're okay, Scarlet?"
"Yeah… I'm okay," Celine said, giving a small, strained smile. "You can't sleep too?"
"Yeah," Allysa sighed. "I'm just worried about Bernard. He hasn't come home yet… and it's already one in the morning."
"He's not home yet?" Celine asked, sitting up slightly.
"No," Allysa replied quietly. "Maybe he's just busy with work."
"If it's okay… what does he do?" Celine asked gently.
"He owns a hotel in France," Allysa explained. "And it's expanding into the United States."
"Oh… I see. So he's a businessman."
"Yeah," Allysa nodded with a faint smile.
"Then maybe he's just busy," Celine said. "Businessmen travel a lot, right? Maybe he's somewhere else right now."
"You're right," Allysa said, exhaling softly. "This isn't the first time. Last time, he said he was in Vegas meeting investors… so maybe it's that again."
She let out a quiet chuckle.
Celine responded with a small laugh—but there was something bitter underneath it.
"Anyway, let's not think about that for now," Allysa said gently.
"Yeah… so what do you want to talk about?" Celine asked.
Allysa hesitated slightly. "Scarlet… can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"I know this is personal… but do you have a boyfriend?" Allysa asked, her voice calm but curious.
Celine let out a soft chuckle. "No, I don't. I've been single my whole life."
She smiled—but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Really? I mean… look at you, Scarlet. You're beautiful. There's no way no one likes you," Allysa said warmly.
"Well…" Celine glanced away. "My mom's expectations are high. So I'm not really allowed to have one."
She paused for a moment.
"Although… there is someone I admire."
Her eyes softened, distant.
"Oh?" Allysa leaned forward, intrigued. "Who?"
"It's a secret," Celine said, letting out a soft laugh.
"Ahh," Allysa chuckled. "Well, that's alright. We all have our secrets." She smiled warmly.
"Yeah…" Celine's smile faded into something smaller, almost sad.
"Hey, Scarlet, want to go downstairs and grab a midnight snack?" Allysa asked, her tone light and inviting.
"Oh, no. As security, we need at least seven hours of sleep," Scarlet replied calmly.
"Come on," Allysa said with a playful grin, extending her hand. "Let's forget about that for tonight. I'm not going anywhere tomorrow anyway."
Celine looked at her for a moment, then sighed.
"…Alright, Allysa."
She took her hand, and the two girls headed downstairs together.
Meanwhile, on the first floor of the mansion, in a quiet room along the hallway, Gary lay asleep.
His gray-painted room was neat and minimal. A wooden drawer stood against the wall, and a small table beside his bed held a few essentials. He slept shirtless, a pistol resting on his chest.
Even in sleep, he wasn't at peace.
He stirred, rubbing his eyes as his head shifted slightly—his mind slipping into something deeper.
A dream.
Or a memory.
Darkness surrounded him.
Objects floated in the void—pictures, ammunition, drawers, even a clock—drifting aimlessly in the empty space.
Then—
He stumbled forward, an M4 suddenly in his hands.
Gunfire erupted.
The world snapped into chaos.
APCs rolled past him, the word "PULISYA" painted across their sides. Smoke filled the air as bullets tore through the battlefield.
"SPO6 Borja!" a voice shouted. "We need—"
An explosion cut it off.
Gary was thrown back, his body slamming hard against the ground. Pain surged through him as he tried to move—but couldn't.
All around him, his team fell.
Another blast went off nearby.
A sharp, burning pain tore through his shoulder.
Still, he forced himself to stand.
More gunfire. More bodies dropping.
Then—
A glance to the side.
Another bomb.
Click.
His body froze.
Click… click…
Then—
Everything went white.
Gary's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, his body tensing as pain flared in his abdomen. The wound Allysa had treated had reopened, blood slowly seeping through.
He sat up, wincing, steadying himself.
Then—
His phone rang.
The sharp sound cut through the silence.
He picked it up.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Good evening, Agent 429 J. We have a delivery for you and your team. Sent by the Handler," a calm voice said.
Gary's expression hardened. "What delivery?"
"Weapons. Ammunition as well—for additional protection. Those pistols won't be enough."
"…Understood," Gary replied. "I'll pick it up."
"Be careful. The W.I.A. is on high alert—especially in your area," the caller warned.
The line went quiet.
Gary lowered the phone slightly, his eyes narrowing.
"Western Intelligence Agency…" he muttered.
A failed assassination attempt on the president… and now they're here? In Los Angeles?
His gaze darkened. "…Doesn't matter." He exhaled slowly. "I just need to be careful."
"I'll be there by 0300 hours," Gary said, his voice calm yet commanding.
"Roger. Meet me at Oribia Road, San Diego," the man replied.
"Understood."
Gary ended the call, his expression hardening as his eyes narrowed slightly.
He stood up and moved to his bed, placing a pillow beneath the blanket and shaping it into a crude decoy—a fake head to fool anyone who might check.
"Good enough…"
He turned toward the window and tapped the frame lightly.
"This window is too easy to open… I should've known this place was a liability," he muttered under his breath. "Anyone could break in."
Carefully, he pushed it open, making sure not to create even the slightest sound. His eyes scanned the outside—
Then he froze.
A CCTV camera.
"…Damn."
He stepped back into the shadows.
"I need another way out… no mistakes."
Meanwhile, downstairs, the living room was bathed in the soft glow of the television. The light flickered gently across the walls, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere.
Celine sat beside Allysa on the large couch, her posture relaxed but her mind still distant.
"Hey, Scarlet—here, have some chips," Allysa said, grabbing a bag and handing it to her.
"Oh, thank you, Allysa. That's very kind of you," Celine replied with a soft smile as she took it.
Outside, Gary moved along the side of the mansion, keeping close to the walls.
He pulled out a small mirror and angled it carefully around the corner.
"…Clear. No CCTV."
Step by step, he moved forward, his footsteps silent against the ground.
As he passed another window, he glanced inside.
Celine and Allysa sat together, watching TV, laughing softly—completely unaware.
For a brief moment, he paused.
Then he moved on.
Inside, the movie played quietly.
"So… what are we watching today, Allysa?" Scarlet asked, her voice calm.
"We're watching I Love You Until I Disappear," Allysa said with a bright smile. "It's my favorite movie. It's… really relatable."
Celine didn't respond immediately. She simply turned her gaze back to the screen, listening.
Outside, Gary reached the outer wall. With practiced ease, he climbed the white concrete surface and vaulted over.
He landed smoothly on the other side, the quiet streets of Beverly Hills stretching before him.
"…I'm out," he whispered, disappearing into the night.
Inside, the movie continued.
Allysa's eyes were already watering as she wiped away a tear, her voice soft.
"I love this scene… the way Zoey and Isaac love each other… it's so unconditional."
"Yeah… that's right," Celine replied quietly, her tone neutral, though her eyes remained fixed on the screen.
A pause.
"Allysa… can I ask you something?" Celine said.
"Of course, Scar."
"…How do you love a person?"
Allysa blinked, slightly surprised, then smiled gently.
"Well… when you love someone, you accept them for who they are," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean you let them hurt you—physically or emotionally."
Her tone grew more sincere.
"If they do, you have to step back… maybe even leave. Even if it hurts. Because staying in something like that will only destroy you. It's not healthy."
Celine listened in silence.
"And communication matters too," Allysa continued. "You talk about your feelings, your day, your fears… everything. It builds trust. It helps both people understand each other."
She let out a small sigh.
"But a lot of people forget that… some people are careless with the feelings of the person they love."
Celine nodded slowly. "…I see. Thank you, Allysa."
"Hey, you're welcome," Allysa said with a soft laugh. "And… Scar, I know we just met yesterday, but…"
She hesitated, then smiled warmly.
"I feel really comfortable around you. You're kind, you're genuine… honestly, I see you as the sister I never had."
For a moment, Celine said nothing.
Her eyes softened—something fragile flickering beneath the surface, something unfamiliar.
"Aww… thanks, Allysa," Scarlet whispered.
They leaned toward each other and embraced.
And for the first time in a long while—
Celine didn't feel alone.