February 16, 2030 — Afternoon
Detective William Vexley stood outside the grand colonial-style estate just beyond the city limits, the sun casting sharp shadows on the cobblestone driveway. Dressed in a charcoal-gray trench coat over a tailored suit, he carried a slim envelope tucked under one arm. The iron gates had already opened for him—the guest of honor.
Inside, the air smelled of polished mahogany and something floral, diffused faintly from expensive oils burning in corner lanterns. Captain Emil Graves stood in the foyer, tall and striking in civilian attire, his smile tight but warm.
"Vexley," he said, clasping William's hand firmly. "Always a pleasure."
"It's been too long, Emil."
The two men had shared drinks and stories before, old colleagues from different lanes—Graves, the ever-ascending military prodigy, and Vexley, the relentless hound of city crimes. Their relationship had always been rooted in mutual respect, but now it hovered between camaraderie and subtle gamesmanship.
"I thought I'd stop by," William said casually. "Had something I wanted to share. Sensitive."
Graves raised a brow, intrigued. "Then let's talk somewhere private."
They moved to Graves' study, a sleek room lined with dark bookshelves and embedded LED lighting. Vexley placed the envelope on the glass table and slid it toward him.
Graves opened the file, eyes narrowing as he read. It was a meticulous fabrication—crafted by Vexley the night before. Inside were falsified surveillance photos, hacked metadata, and planted statements tying Colonel Marcus Halvern's death to a revenge-driven victim. Someone who had supposedly escaped abuse within Halvern's covert units. It painted a narrative: personal vengeance, not political sabotage.
"This…" Graves began, flipping through the papers. "This isn't on any record I've seen."
"It wouldn't be," William said coolly, leaning back. "You and I both know there are things people want erased. This person? He slipped through your cracks. My hunch says he found out who Halvern really was and made his move."
Graves was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, it was low, almost admiring.
"How did you even find this?"
"I dig deeper than most," William replied. "And don't worry—I'm not planning to make this public. Just figured you deserved to know who might be gunning for your circle."
The Captain leaned back in his leather chair, studying him.
"You always were sharp, William. Too sharp for your own good sometimes."
"I prefer to think of it as… professionally curious. Sometimes, we have to play dirty to appear clean"
Graves smirked and reached for a decanter, pouring two glasses of amber liquid. "Then you'll enjoy this." He handed William a drink and raised his glass. "To the truth—however twisted it is."
They drank.
As the light from the windows shifted into amber hues, Graves stood and walked to his desk. He picked up a sealed black envelope and tossed it onto the coffee table.
"A private gala," he said. "Tomorrow night. Discreet location. I'd like you there. There are a few friends you should meet—people who think the world needs to be seen from the shadows."
William raised an eyebrow. "You sure I'm not too loud for that crowd?"
Graves chuckled. "You're loud when you need to be. But smart enough to know when to listen."
Vexley took the envelope, nodded, and rose from the chair.
"I'll be there."
As he left the estate, the polished luxury of the place clashed with the truth in his gut. Graves trusted him—maybe too easily. That was both a blessing and a warning.
Same Time — O.Y.A. Arctic Base
Victoria sat in the steel-lined comms room, the soft humming of old servers pulsing around her. On the screen in front of her, Agent December's face flickered into clarity. His eyes, sharp and cold as ever, stared at her.
"You've been quiet," he said. "Report."
"I made contact with Vexley," Victoria replied. "He's deeper in than we expected. He'll be at the gala tomorrow. Graves trusts him."
December's face didn't change, but there was a shift in his tone. "Good. But don't let that sway you. Graves is still a threat."
"You think he's the one orchestrating everything?"
"I think he's a gatekeeper," December said. "And behind that gate is a council we haven't fully identified. Billionaires, weapons contractors, foreign agents. The same ones who fueled what happened in Palestine five years ago. Graves connects them all."
Victoria leaned forward. "So what's the plan?"
"We execute."
Silence settled. Only the faint crackle of encrypted comms filled the air.
"Are you authorizing an assassination?" she asked, her voice careful.
December nodded. "It's time. Graves dies. And soon."
She breathed in. "Understood."
"One more thing," he added. "I've dispatched Agent April to Tehran. The situation between Israel and Iran is escalating. Our intelligence suggests bio-weapons are in play. April will confirm. If Graves is tied to it, we expose the whole system."
The screen cut to black.
Victoria leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling.
The fox had entered the serpent's den.