The morning sun glinted off the shattered glass and scorched steel of the battleground. What had begun as a covert strike in the early dawn had become a televised storm. But before authorities could arrive and twist the narrative, the assassins were gone.
Agent August descended in a disguised emergency response vehicle, her white medical coat fluttering behind her, an oxygen mask clutched in hand. The chaos around them was fading into sirens and murmurs. Civilians stood frozen in place, phones raised, livestreams still running. The city hadn't just witnessed a battle—it had witnessed something far greater.
A reckoning.
August moved fast. With fluid coordination, she helped stabilize Agent October's dislocated shoulder and treated January's rib fractures with injectable nanofoam. She approached Agent February last, who sat motionless atop the crushed van, her rifle still resting on her lap. Her eyes were distant.
"February," August said softly. "We have to go."
February didn't speak. But when August extended her hand, she took it.
The team exfiltrated through a tunnel route just as the first police drones began to swarm the scene. By the time the authorities reached the crater where Michael had fallen, all that remained was blood, scattered armor fragments, and a message burned into the pavement by plasma heat:
"February"
8:34 AM - The Internet Erupts
Across the globe, videos uploaded by witnesses flooded social media. Multiple angles, enhanced audio, slow-motion replays of Agent November flying through the sky, Agent May's pinpoint shot, and February removing her mask. Viewers watched again and again as she aimed. Fired. And walked away from the man she once loved.
Hashtags exploded: #Skyblade, #SniperSisters, #BlackridgeTruth, #FebruaryKillsMichael, #ModernHeroesOrTerrorists.
In one viral thread, a cyber-sleuth connected footage from the battle to an earlier leak about Blackridge Containment Facility—the same place destroyed just a month prior.
Then came the bombshell.
A whistleblower account posted a dossier linking the mission to a covert NATO-backed operation targeting Russian bio-weapons. The files included Black List entries, the last known movements of Captain Emil Graves, and security clearance trails leading all the way to the President of Russia himself.
People were no longer just watching.
They were choosing sides.
Global Fallout
In Washington D.C., the Oval Office buzzed with tension. President Lawrence Reeves watched the footage again, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Around him, advisors argued.
"We need to distance ourselves," said National Security Director Hunt. "We can't be connected to a rogue international assassination unit."
"But they saved thousands of lives," the Secretary of Defense shot back. "You saw the weapon. The target was a confirmed terrorist."
"The President of Russia is about to accuse us of war crimes!"
"Let him! He's already knee-deep in this mess!"
President Reeves stood, silencing the room. "We issue a statement. Measured. No denial, no confirmation. We condemn the violence, call for peace, and begin backchannel talks with Israel and the UN."
His eyes narrowed at the paused image of Agent February on-screen, her mask halfway removed.
"But make no mistake," he said quietly. "These assassins just changed the world."
St. John's Private Hospital, London – 2:19 PM
Detective William Vexley blinked as the ceiling came into view. Soft lighting. The faint beep of machines. His chest ached, his ribs were bandaged, but he was alive.
He remembered fire. Pain. A woman's voice calling his name.
A nurse entered the room with a smile. "You're awake. Welcome back, Detective."
She placed a tray beside his bed, then added a bouquet of white lilies to the counter. Nestled in the petals was a small card.
Thank you for choosing to do the right thing.
- V.
Vexley stared at it for a long time. Then smiled.
7:02 PM - Tehran, Iran
Crowds gathered in Azadi Square, holding signs, chanting for truth. The footage of the assassins had made it past state censorship. Underground networks blasted the video from rooftop projectors. A symbol began to spread through the streets:
An hourglass. Split down the center. Crimson on one side, black on the other.
The Black List.
Rumors claimed that the virus Michael intended to use was meant to destabilize the Middle East, to start something irreversible. And now, the people wanted to know why.
Above it all, a woman in a dark chador stood atop a telecom tower, peering through her binoculars.
Agent April.
She whispered into her comms, "The protest is growing. Military hasn't moved yet, but Mossad agents are observing from a rooftop ten blocks east. I suggest we move soon."
7:10 PM - Jerusalem, Israel
Inside a luxury hotel overlooking the Dead Sea, diplomats murmured nervously. A gala was underway, but few drank the champagne.
Agent March leaned against the marble bar, dressed in a white tuxedo jacket. His comms were quiet, but his eyes tracked every official who whispered into secure phones.
His contact, a double agent in Israeli intelligence, brushed past and dropped a flash drive into his pocket.
"It's worse than we thought," her voice said in his ear. "They plan to activate the shipment within seventy-two hours. The virus isn't dead. It's already moving."
March didn't blink. He nodded, downed the rest of his drink, and walked calmly out the exit.
O.Y.A. Command Base – Undisclosed Location
Agent December stood in front of the holographic map, hands behind his back. The map was alive with red threads and blinking signals. Each dot represented chaos.
"The world is unraveling," he said.
Agent June folded his arms. "So what else is new?"
December turned. "We lost Michael, but we have the bio-weapon secured. For now. But our enemies won't wait. The world is watching us now. "
He pointed to locations on the map: Tehran. Jerusalem. Warsaw. Ankara.
"They know who we are. We just became targets."
The rest of the assassins gathered around the table: Agent July, recalibrating November's plasma cannon; Agent March arriving via hologram from Israel; Agent April live from Iran, wind whipping through her headset.
Then there was Brielle.
Agent February sat quietly in the corner, her mask placed gently on the table before her. Her eyes were glassy, but her spine remained straight.
Agent September entered last, tossing a fresh intel file onto the table. "We have movement in eastern Israel. Another faction. Possibly tied to Michael's command."
December nodded. "Then we proceed to Plan X"
Agent November cracked her knuckles. "We end this."
Agent January placed his hand flat on the table. "We always did."
The lights dimmed.
The assassins prepared.
They are about to move bigger chess pieces.
TO BE CONTINUED...