He could see it now.

Running through the snowy streets and into small hidden side streets that most foreigners would easily overlook, but then again, even some locals would overlooks these hidden passage ways. One would need a specially trained eye just to find them and that eye took time to develop. Either that or one would be required to study the city's infrastructure, development maps, and real estate. Studying the general trends of a city would also be rather useful in figuring out how to navigate it as well. But he doubts that any "local" person would ever do something like that.

His target; however, would.

If there was anything that he knew just from observing his target's movements, it was that this person was definitely not from Russia. Or Europe. No. Their movements seemed to carry a more fluid grace about them while still remaining very controlled something that he noticed about Asians. He could reason it out to the stereotype that it was because of martial arts training but he had to admit – with his current target – it might actually be true.

Victor scowls as he suddenly lost sight of his target. The tall silver haired man stops and quickly looks around in an attempt to catch even a hint of where the other had gone. But too much avail, he was unable to find anything. He was all alone on this cold winter's night with just the moon and stars to keep him company. He curses himself for that mistake, for falling into his thought and losing track of his target because of this. Losing your target was a rookie mistake and with how long he has been in the field, Victor Nikiforov not in the position to be making such errors.

"Firebird, do you copy?" says a familiar male voice into his ear piece.

A frown crosses his face. "I lost him," says Victor simply as he looks around once more. "That bastard got away."

"Really?" the shock in the other male's voice was evident. "The Great Victor Nikiforov, the Russian Firebird, lost his target?"

"Hush with that tone, Georgi," retorts a sharp female voice, "If you were out in the field, you would have lost Vitya's target too. They have slipped out of the hands of many of our previous agents."

"But still-"

"Return to base Vitya," says the woman this time in a sweeter tone, "we'll need to regroup."

"Understood," nods Victor as he continues to scan his perimeter for anything at this point, anything that he could possibly work off of. He absolutely refused to leave the scene empty handed, not when he had been so close this time. The tranquillizer should have worked! It had been working, but how could he have lost them?

Victor does a quick scan of the area and that's when he sees it towards the northwest corner of the courtyard. It was something that anyone would be able to easily over look if they hadn't been paying attention. Victor hurries over and observes the tiny drops of red in the white snow. Blood. His target had been bleeding and had done a good job hiding it until now. This tiny slip up meant the world to Victor. That meant that his target could not have traveled too far because in their line of work; no matter how small the injury, it could easily become a great hassle to deal with later.

"So the living legend finally graces us with his presence," comments the same female voice from before.

"Milochka."

The red haired woman smiles back at him cheerfully before giving him a small wave. Standing beside her in the hotel room was a tall man with his dark hair styled similarly to a pompadour with a point so sharp it could cut. Georgi attempted to stare him down with a smug look but it was far from being effective. Both males knew that compared to Victor – despite Georgi possibly being his biggest competitor in age and experience – he did not have the drive, talent, or work ethic to possibly compete with him.

"It took you long enough to get here," scoffs another male voice. Victor quickly turns his attention to a blonde teenager sitting on the couch flipping through Instagram with a scowl on his face. "Stupid, old man."

Victor allows for fake tears to form around his eyes as he launches himself at the teen. "Yura! Why must you be so mean?"

"Oh pull it together Vitya!"

"What are you children doing?" The group of four quickly turns their attention over to the newest presence in the room sitting in a recliner.

He was old and wrinkled but still carried himself as a man of great power. The man was not too tall and had a very stocky build with balding grey hair. With one look in his eyes, you could only guess what hardships he had had to deal with in life. One could only guess what kind of missions he had to complete and what his eyes would have had to see in order to get to where he was now. Victor shudders slightly at the thought of that. Whenever he thought of his Commander, the first thought that always came to mind was that Yakov Feltsman was not a man that Victor Nikiforov wanted to ever be. The thought of ever becoming someone like him frightened him. But Victor had to admit, probably because of his experiences, that was why Yakov always held his small group of agents so close to him. They were the best team in all of Russia – all members of Russian Intelligence – and had only gotten that far because of Yakov.

"Sorry Yakov," says Mila apologetically.

"Hmm," hums Yakov as he looks around at his group of children – talented children that he had personally scouted nonetheless – but children all the same. "I heard that you had lost your target in the field, Vitya." He watches as Victor bows his head. "Don't look so disappointed. The one you are after is the Kitsune; they have escaped every other agent before you and unlike every agent before you, you were at least able to injure them."

He watches as Victor nods back at him. "We will capture that fox and show the world we are not a force to be messed with! Now hurry to bed. The Grand Prix is tomorrow and Vitya, I need to in top form if you are going to win gold!"

With the declaration, the group began to retire to their rooms for the night. That was the guise that they all chose to hide under. No one would ever guess that the best intelligence team in all of Russia was a group of Figure Skaters. No one would ever guess that the Russian Firebird – a living legend amongst hit men – was Victor Nikiforov the Russian Ice Skating Hero! If someone were to even bring it up, it would be quickly dismissed as impossible due to Victor's fame and widespread fan base that sought to capture his every move on film.

Just as Victor was making his way out Yakov stopped him. "Vitya."

"Yes Commander?"

"Do not be disappointed in your performance tonight," says Yakov, "I know you will be able to bring Kitsune down."

"I was just so close!" hisses Victor, "I nearly had Kitsune in my grasps!"

"Vitya, it is all right," says Yakov, "Lilia and I gave you the alias of Firebird for a reason. The Firebird can be a glowing symbol, a bright blessing or the bringer of doom. You have been a blessing to Russia and a doom bringer to our enemies. I know you will succeed. Think about that."

Victor does not dare to turn around and look Yakov in the eye. He knew his Commander only wanted to encourage him to do his best. If anything, for the 20 plus years that he had worked with him, Yakov had been like the father he never had growing up. He might as well take that advice to heart.

Somewhere in the very same hotel, there was another preparing for the Grand Prix Final, gritting their teeth in pain and despair knowing that tomorrow would only be their worst skating performance.