Location: CIA HQ, Langley, Virginia
There they stood — in silence.Not peace, but pressure.Not calm, but the kind of stillness that came before something exploded.
Vance's rage broke first.
With a guttural scream, he hurled the keyboard across the room — keys scattering like shrapnel.He slammed his fists down on the desk, splinters flying, until the wood cracked beneath the force. One final blow — and his hand punched straight through it, tearing through fiberboard like it was paper.
Blood trickled from his knuckles.He didn't feel it.All he saw… was the feed still black.All he heard… was that voice — mocking him.
"I'm one step ahead of you, Vance… and so is Mayors."
Cyrus stood motionless, but his silence was deceptive. Beneath that still exterior, rage twisted like a storm — deep, sharp, and waiting to explode.
Then — buzz — a low hum broke the tension.
A phone vibrated on the desk across the room, screen flashing.
Unknown Caller.
Everyone paused.
Vance walked over, picked it up, and answered.
No greeting. No delay. Just a voice, cold and calm:
"Come to where it started... I'll be there, waiting to finish you."
Click.
The line went dead.
But the message was alive — burning in Vance's ears like fire.
He knew that voice. Every syllable carried a grudge, a memory, a promise.
Jack Mayors.
Cyrus turned slowly, eyes like stone.
"Kill him. Bring me his head."
His voice didn't rise — it didn't need to. It carried the weight of finality.
"The victory must be ours."
Vance's grip tightened until his knuckles cracked. His eyes blazed with fury, not just at the threat — but at the challenge.
The hunt was no longer tactical.
It was personal.
And the show… had just begun
Location: Unknown
They embraced — tightly, like brothers who had seen too much and survived even more. In that quiet moment, surrounded by ruins and memories, Jack felt something he hadn't in years — warmth. Not just from the morning sun breaking through the clouds, but from within. After all the bloodshed, the loss, the pain… he finally felt alive.
Jack's voice trembled, thick with emotion. "Thank you… for staying. For being there. For Maria."
Six shook his head, a small, tired smile on his face. "No, Jack. I still owe you. After everything you've done for me… I'm just trying to even the score."
Jack gave a soft laugh — bitter, grateful, and human. "Then we're both in debt."
"Vance is coming for you… And you know it," Six said, his voice low, urgent. "You have to be ready, brother. Because there is no time and you can't lose, you shouldn't."
"I know he'll come. I came this far not to lose Six, but to keep my promise to some of the people that mattered to me. I won't stop until I keep that promise."
Jack stepped closer, his voice low but urgent."I need you to do me a favor. This—" he handed over the small drive, "—was hidden in Tyler's safehouse. The coordinates are inside. I need you to get there."
He paused, eyes distant, haunted."Something big is coming, Six. I don't know what it is... but every instinct I have is screaming."
Six took the drive without hesitation, looked Jack in the eye.
"Anything for you, brother."
He turned and walked into the shadows, already a ghost in motion.
Jack watched him disappear, alone with the silence.
Hope flickers. But it doesn't fade. It never fades.
Location: CIA HQ, Langley, Virginia
Dimly lit. The glow of the city filters through the tall glass windows. The only sound: the flicker of a cigarette lighter.
Cyrus stands near the window, a cigarette between his lips. Click. The flame touches the tip, and smoke curls upward like a ghost in the dark.
Behind him, a TV plays. A news anchor speaks over footage of Geneva's Palais des Nations.
TV NEWS ANCHOR (V.O.)"In three days, world leaders will gather in Geneva for the International Security and Human Rights Summit — a critical meeting expected to address global surveillance reforms and cyber control policies..."
Vance, sitting on the leather couch, leans forward, eyes on the screen.
Vance asked, "You really want to do this? Hit the UN while the whole damn world is watching?"
Cyrus exhaled the smoke and replied calmly, "No, Vance... I want them to remember."
Vance said, "Geneva's not a message. It's a declaration of war."
Cyrus turned slowly, his eyes sharp. He said, "Good. Then let it be heard in every capital. When the smoke clears, they'll know we were never in the shadows. We were the architects."
TV NEWS ANCHOR (V.O.)
"The summit is also expected to declassify confidential intelligence alliances. Sources say the revelations could reshape the power structure across nations..."
Vance said, "So that's it. You're not just stopping the summit. You're burying the truth with it."
Cyrus replied, "The truth is overrated. But fear? Fear builds empires."
He flicks ash into the tray. The screen behind him shows the UN emblem.
"Are you ready to kill him?"Cyrus asked, his voice low, almost amused, as he watched the smoke from his cigarette twist into the ceiling.
"When you say the word," Vance replied without hesitation, eyes cold, jaw set like steel.
Cyrus turned to face him fully, a ghost of a smile forming.
"Then say goodbye to him, Vance. This... make sure this is his last day on Earth."
He took a final drag, the ember flaring like the fire about to be lit. He knew his soldier was ready. The plan was in motion. The fall of Jack Mayors had begun.
Location: The Safehouse (Where it all began)
Owen stepped through the wreckage of the compound, the shattered steel doors screaming on their hinges. Glass crunched beneath his boots like brittle bones. Lightning tore across the sky — a strobe of violence from above. Thunder cracked, rolling like a war drum.
His shirt hung in tatters. Blood soaked his chest, smeared down his arms. His left hand clenched a machete, the blade glinting menacingly beneath flickering lights. His right arm hung limp — dislocated, maybe fractured. Didn't matter.
Across the war-torn warehouse, Jack sat on a chair barefoot, and battle-scarred. Rain glistened off old wounds and fresh cuts. A wicked grin curled his lips. The machete on his shoulder dripped with blood — the red line of death itself.
Jack got up and turned around. There they stood, the two men, with rage.
"You look like hell, Mayors," he muttered.
Jack wiped the blood from his lips with a trembling hand. "You should've seen Tyler... before you carved him up."
Vance charged.
No more words. Just fury.
He came in hard, a blur of rage and muscle. Jack raised his blade — just in time to block the first swing. CLANG! Sparks flew. The impact rattled through his bones. The second strike slashed his thigh — deep — flesh tearing, blood spurting.
Jack screamed.
Rolled sideways.
The machete slammed the ground where his head had been — concrete shattered.
Jack was up — barely. Vance was faster. He slammed an elbow into Jack's jaw. Bone cracked. Jack staggered.
A savage knee — gut-punch. Jack folded over, gasping.
Another strike — a headbutt. Jack's head snapped back. Blood exploded from his nose.
He crashed into a stack of crates.
Vance grinned. "C'mon, Jack! I want to feel you break!"
Jack didn't reply. He swung.
The machete caught Vance in the shoulder — deep. Blood spurted. Vance hissed. Laughed.
The two men became a storm — hacking, dodging, slashing.
Steel scraped steel. Flesh met steel. Blood flew in arcs.
Jack carved into Vance's ribs. Vance responded with a spinning slash that grazed Jack's chest. Another twist — his blade caught Jack's side, tearing through skin.
Jack screamed again — more in rage than pain. He swung with wild ferocity, catching Vance's thigh.
Both men now soaked — not just in rain, but blood.
Vance ducked a killing blow, then tackled Jack into a steel pillar. The impact sent a thunderclap through the room. Jack hit the ground. Face-first. Spitting blood and teeth.
Vance was on him.
He lifted Jack by the throat — one-handed, like a monster — his other hand raised the machete.
"You should've stayed dead," he whispered.
Jack's fingers found something — cold, jagged. Rebar.
He rammed it into Vance's side.
The assassin roared — inhuman, animal. Dropped Jack.
Both men hit the floor like falling giants.
Vance crawled for his blade. Jack, barely able to move, clawed forward.
Too slow. Vance grabbed the machete.
He turned — Jack caught a boot to the face.
Blood burst from his mouth. One eye was gone — swollen shut. His ribs were cracked, maybe worse.
Vance stood tall, blade raised. "Time to end this, brother."
But Jack didn't flinch.
Because in that heartbeat — he remembered Tyler. The screams. The betrayal. The silence after.
Jack's voice came like a ghost. "This is for him."
He launched forward — not as a soldier, not as a hero — but as a man with nothing left.
They collided — crashed into a wall of chains and crates. Jack's hands moved fast — rage-powered. He grabbed a length of rusted chain, looped it around Vance's neck, and pulled.
Hard.
Vance thrashed. Clawed. Gasped.
Jack tightened it.
Then — SLAM! He drove Vance into the wall.
Again. Again. Again.
Vance's head cracked against the steel.
Jack dropped him.
The assassin collapsed, coughing blood. Crawling. Reaching...
But Jack grabbed the machete first.
He stood over Vance.
Bleeding. Battered. Broken. But standing.
He raised the blade.
Vance looked up.
Smiling still. But it was fading.
Jack's voice was low. Final. "Light it up."
The machete came down — straight into Vance's chest.
The sound — a sickening, crunching, wet snap — echoed through the hollow space. Vance arched once, twice…
And then…
Still.
Jack stood there, chest heaving. Machete in hand. Blood mixing with rain. The storm above screamed, but inside, it was silent.
He dropped the blade.
Fell to his knees.
Broken. Bleeding. Alive.
And Vance wasn't.
Vance's cell phone rang.
Jack took the call.
Cyrus spoke, "Is he finished, Vance??"
Jack coughed blood and spoke, "Did you really think you could kill me that easily, a*****e??"
Cyrus, "Jack...Serah must be proud that you came this far. But you won't move an inch from now. I'll make sure of that."
Jack said, "You took everything from me. Now, it'll just be in a matter of moments before you see darkness."
The war is set in motion.