05:13 AM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
The nightmare ended with a guttural scream that left his throat raw. His hands shook as he buried his face into the pillow, chest heaving. He could feel it — the wrongness of it. Every nerve screamed it.
"You're so wrong… Vivienne… so fucking wrong."
He muttered, voice cracking. But there was no correcting it. No making sense of it. Not tonight.
His body betrayed him. Sleep claimed him again before he could even argue with himself. Exhaustion, pure and heavy, dragged him under.
08:59 AM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
The alarm clock shrilled. He slapped it into silence, chest tight. Every muscle ached from yesterday's phantom nightmare. After a quick shower keys clicked in the door knob. Lock turned. Engine roared to life. Metro City was waking up, unaware of what Adrian Cole was about to endure.
09:34 AM | NPU Headquarters, Floor 2, Metro City
He parked, locked the car, and made his way through sterile corridors. Floor two smelled of recycled air and faint disinfectant. Elias waited, his posture straight, expression unreadable.
Adrian slid into Elias's office, keys still warm in his hand, the nightmare from last night still clinging to his mind like smoke.
"Sit." Elias didn't look up, fingers tapping against the edge of the mahogany desk.
Adrian flopped into the chair, muscles stiff, thoughts tangled. "So… what's the update?"
Elias exhaled sharply. "You need to know.… Marcus—he's gone. Died on the last op Like you saw in the pictures I'm guessing."
Elias's gaze didn't flinch. "The files you recovered—they were useless. The intel was compromised. Someone got to them before you even touched them."
Adrian's hands curled into fists on his knees. "Nothing. He died for nothing. And you're sitting here… telling me this like it's a damn weather report?"
"You'll survive," Elias said flatly, leaning back. "Adrian, you handle yourself. First things first—you have a new mission. There will be talks at a gala. Elite crowd. Enhancement programs. Viral acquisitions. You need to be there."
Adrian exhaled, dark humor bleeding through his grief. "Fantastic. Nothing's more fun than going to a gala after my partner—if you can even call him that. Died."
Elias ignored the jab, shuffling papers toward him. One file slid across the desk—The Veil Society Gala, Ironcliff City.
"Adrian." Elias's voice was sharp. "Files for The Veil Society Gala. Read them."
Adrian snatched the folder. His thumb traced the embossed emblem — Veil Society. Ironcliff City. Elite. Corrupt. Lethal.
He flipped the first page.
FILE: VEIL SOCIETY GALA - IRONCLIFF CITY // CLASSIFIED ACCESS
⚠ WARNING: Highly confidential. Exposure to unauthorized personnel will be met with lethal countermeasures.
EVENT: Veil Society Gala, Night of [Redacted], Ironcliff City.
PURPOSE: Auctioning Enhancement Programs, Viral Prototypes, and Classified Antidote Fragments. Attendees: High net-worth individuals, corrupt corporates, and international dignitaries with ties to clandestine operations.
SECURITY PROTOCOLS: Private security personnel, biometric verification, restricted airspace. Electronic surveillance: Total.
TARGETS OF INTEREST: Enhancement Serum (Prototype), Viral Sample Vx-11, Classified Auction Ledger.
ADVISORY: Attendees are armed. Expect psychological manipulation, bribery, and lethal contingencies.
Adrian's brow furrowed. He barely finished scanning when Elias slid another folder across the desk.
"Your partner on this mission is… Aveline."
Adrian froze. Eyes widened. Jaw tightened.
"Partner? Are you fucking shitting me? Who the hell even is she?" He practically tore the folder open.
FILE: AVELINE - C.R.I.M.E.S DIVISION AGENT // HIGH-PRIORITY PROFILE
Profile ID: FMC-032
Name: Aveline
Age: 32
Lineage: Half-Canadian, half-Russian, part Italian
Languages: English, Hindi, Marathi, Italian, Russian
Background:
At age 13, killed her abusive mother; demonstrated complete emotional detachment.
Incarcerated in juvenile system, transferred to adult prison due to severity of crime.
No documented remorse. Lacks empathy; behaves pragmatically, manipulative, highly calculative.
Recruited into C.R.I.M.E Division for proficiency in covert operations, psychological resilience, and operational detachment.
Status: Active field agent, C.R.I.M.E Division.
He turned the page.
FILE: C.R.I.M.E DIVISION — NPU OPERATIONAL BRANCH
⚠ TOP SECRET // ACCESS LEVEL: NPU AGENT-3
CLASSIFIED STATUS:
Fully operational. Eyes everywhere. No public acknowledgment.
Specializes in containment, infiltration, intelligence, and extraction of high-risk assets.
Recruitment: Psychopathy, detachment, and operational adaptability considered assets. Emotional empathy is optional; tactical ruthlessness required.
MISSION PROTOCOL:
1. Assessment: Candidates evaluated on psychological durability, combat efficiency, field improvisation.
2. Recruitment: Only operatives capable of operating beyond moral and ethical boundaries selected.
3. Enhancement Trials: Agents may undergo experimental procedures to enhance reflexes, endurance, and cognitive processing.
4. Deployment: Covert operations globally, often under falsified identities or proxies.
RECRUITMENT HISTORY:
Agents include former criminals, black-badge specialists, ex-prison operatives.
The division relies on extreme adaptability; conventional morality is a hindrance.
SECURITY & ENCRYPTION:
Files are encrypted via triple-layer NPU protocols.
Unauthorized access = immediate termination of clearance; black-ops response initiated.
NOTES:
Agents are trained to survive alone, think three steps ahead of any threat, and manipulate scenarios for maximum gain.
Operational oversight minimal — micromanagement seen as interference.
Contingency protocols in place for all breaches.
ALERT:
C.R.I.M.E Division agents are not allies in traditional sense. Trust is earned only by results. One mistake = mission failure = expendable.
Adrian's lips twisted in dark amusement.
"Oh, fucking wonderful. My partner's a child murderer who killed her own mother. Real comforting, Elias. Real fucking comforting."
Elias's eyebrow lifted. "Pretty much standard for C.R.I.M.E Division. They only want psychopathic efficiency. Emotional attachments get you killed. Or worse, disqualified."
Adrian growled, fists tightening. "So I get to babysit a red flag? Fantastic."
"Do not underestimate her," Elias snapped. "She's competent, precise, and lethal if cornered."
Adrian scowled. He had no comeback. Words lodged in his throat. Instead, he stormed toward the door, spine stiff with frustration.
"Better send me her photo before I go there," he growled over his shoulder. "It'd be pretty fucked up if I got paired with the wrong partner, since you care so much now."
Elias's face remained neutral. Then, just as Adrian's hand hit the door handle, the news struck him like a bullet to the chest.
"You don't have an invitation. She does. You're going as her date. Pretend Date."
Adrian's soul left his body. He turned slowly, eyes narrow, voice low and dangerous.
"Motherfucker."
12:16 PM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
He slid into the worn leather chair. TV flickered lifelessly — a pointless background hum. He had never watched it, never cared, but the sound grounded him.
Jacket draped over the armrest, gear laid out like ritual. He suited up with precision, each movement deliberate. — Aveline's formal outfit already dancing through his imagination, eyes rolling involuntarily.
05:21 PM| Drive to Ironcliff City
Engine hummed. Metro City faded behind him. Highway stretched. Thoughts spun — files, partners, the goddamn gala.
"Lethal, psychopathic, perfect," he muttered, voice thick with sarcasm. "Nothing screams fun like pretending to date a murderer."
06:07 PM | Veil Society Gala Entrance, Ironcliff City
The eggshell-white building glimmered under the floodlights. Slight hints of yellow and brown gave it a courthouse feel rather than estate.
Statues flanked the entrance, polished marble reflecting faint light. Security guards scanned every arrival, cards waving under biometric scanners.
Adrian leaned against the stone wall, waiting. Phone in hand, jacket zipped, eyes scanning the crowd.
Notification pinged — her photo. Half-loaded. Pixelated, teasing.
Then: A breath. Warm, close, almost predatory. Russian-accented, sultry.
"That's me,"
Adrian's head snapped up. Cream dress. Bob haircut. Pearls. Matte black shoes that somehow screamed calculated elegance. Clutch in hand, fake but purposeful. A slit that allowed mobility, nothing provocative.
Lipstick soft red. Jacket draped casually — hiding a strap for close combat. Knife glinted in the wrong angle of light, but Adrian didn't notice.
Aveline smiled faintly. Eyes sharp. Presence commanding.
Adrian exhaled slowly, tension coiling tighter. This was going to be…interesting.