Slade floats adrift, unconscious and bleeding. The tides carrying him away, mixing his blood with the water. Pain and shock filling his sense like his lungs began to fill with water as a rather large drop caused him to sink underwater. His body was like stone as he lost control of it and succumbed to his fate. However, just as all hope seemed lost, a hand grabbed his and dragged him out the water. Although his vision was blurry, Slade could make out a black, male figure who was preforming some basic CPR to little effect. It was when he injected Slade was a shot of, what he assumed was adrenaline, did Slade's lungs fire out water through his mouth. The only problem was Slade attempted to look at the man only to meet the bottom of a boot and then darkness.

Waking up, Slade felt his body strained and contained. Slade made the assumption that he was zip-cuffed to a seat as his so called saviour sat opposite him.

"Why are you here?" The man spoke with a clear African accent but underneath it was a hidden Scottish voice.

"What?" Slade struggled to take in the poorly lit room he occupied.

It was the classic torture room, the wooden chair, zip-cuffs, low hanging light to desensitise victims, creaky wooden floorboards, white, bloodstained walls and a captor with a knife ready to extract information. Slade was trained to avoid scenarios like this not escape them.

"Why are you here?" The man asked again impatiently. "You are a US government agent?"

"Yes, a very important one who doesn't even know your name." Slade shook his head from side to side, trying to escape the nausea he felt.

"I'm not telling you my name Mr Wilson, but I'll ask again, why are you here?" The man snapped angrily.

"Do you just have a torture room set up for strangers who appear? Anyway, why did you help me?" Slade completely side stepped the question, still trying to regain his sight.

"It would've been worse to have a US agent in my back garden." The man replied swiftly.

"Suppose so, listen, I don't care who you are, what you've done or why you did it, I just need to contact my people and get out of here." Slade desperately tried to convince the man to let him go.

"No." The man replied with a deadpan expression.

"Ok, how can I convince you that I mean no harm?" Slade finally felt like he had done control and broke his thumb to escape the zip cuffs.

The man sat back for a minute, he hadn't really though of that. What could he do? Carve his own eye out? Nah. Cut off a finger? Nah. How about-but just while the man was thinking, Slade brought his fist around and hooked him in the jaw.

The man was no stranger to violence and in return made an attempt to stab Slade in the chest, only for Slade to deflect the knife with his forearm and headbutt the man in the nose, allowing a grunt of pain to escape from the man's trachea which was soon crushed by a jab from Slade and then a quick and swift kick to the stomach. The man fell back, completely immobilised but awake, as Slade tore the stitches the man had put in his back from the knife wound. Slade searched the man and found a key which presumably open the door. Slade picked the man up and opened the door, leaving the room and coming into the blinding sun.

It must've been quite a while since Adeline quite literally backstabbed him, perhaps a little under a day. Looking around, Slade decided to go to the main building, built of wood. It looked sturdy but also very dry. The river just off to the side must've been how he got there. The ground was brown and dry, but felt unsteady. Slade quickly concluded that he is probably in drugs of some kind, possibly painkillers. Slade carried the man to the main building and kicked the door open. The sign hanging down had 'PEABODY'S ARMS' written poorly in marker pen.

Slade dropped Peabody on the counter and looked around. The room was set up neatly and expertly. Gun racks were apart, held on plastic holders, with lights underneath certain ones to draw attention to them, with glass windows protecting each weapon. Some of them even looked experimental, and privately developed. The lighting on the ceiling however, was nothing to boast about and the floorboards seemed to creak no matter how you moved on them. The entire room smelled of oil and bleach, not a nice combination. Slade searched for any trace of his radio, eventually coming behind the counter to a series of shelves and cabinets. Slade eventually began to search through them.

Peabody finally recovered and managed to choke out a few words. "You...here...me?"

"No I wasn't here for you, I don't care if you're an arms dealer, I actually might need one." Slade opened a few more drawers while giving Peabody a sharp answer.

Slade kept looking for his radio to no avail.

"Bottom shelf...left." Peabody guided.

Slade followed his guidance and found his radio, immediately attempting to contact Samuels. However, he found the radio empty. "Please don't tell me you destroyed this!" Slade exclaimed with panic.

"No, the parts are in that shelf, I was looking for a tracker." Peabody answered honestly.

"Paranoid much?" Slade remarked in a tone reminiscent of Wintergreen.

"Careful." Peabody defended.

"So what do you sell other than guns?" Slade asked.

"A few things, none for free." Peabody began to attempt to move.

"Should've guessed, never understood you people." Slade spat.

"What do you mean?" Peabody rubbed the blood streaming down his nose from Slade earlier assault.

"Why money? Is it really worth it?" Slade got rather angry, this anger not coming from the situation but a personal reason involving his older brother.

"Some of us were abandoned by the only things we had, family, government, etc. It's what we are good at." Peabody answered in an empty tone, as if remembering something.

"But how do you justify the things you do?" Slade continued to wonder.

"I don't, I just live with it, I don't really care anymore." Peadnody didn't really think about the often, he just did things.

"So why you on the run anyway?" Slade finally asked.

"I was abandoned by the people I worked for, powerful people." Peabody brooded.

"A government of some kind?" Slade wasn't interested much, mostly because he thought Peabody was a liar.

"Much, much bigger than that, but if I tell you, you'll be dead before you get home." Peabody laughed darkly, wishing he was joking.

"Subtle. So why'd they abandon you?" Slade inquired.

"I was expendable that's all. They had me do something and once I did it, they left me out to dry. They own America, Russia, China, Britain, everything. So there basically nowhere I can hide." Peabody stated without an inch of care of how he sounded.

"Paranoia isn't airborne is it?" Slade chuckled to himself in disbelief.

"You laugh now, but you'll know what it's like one day." Peabody's demeanour dropped.

"What?" Slade took offence to the comment and began to feel an unsettling feeling of inner denial.

"To be abandoned, betrayed by your own country." Peabody almost sounded like he was nostalgic.

"Never going to happen." Slade pushed his emotions away, taking comfort in complete denial.

"Mr Wilson, how did you become an agent?" Peabody cut to the chase and Slade was confused by his change in attitude and tone.

"Went through a programs, impressed the right people, became a patriot." Slade just shrugged off the question.

"No, what drew you to it?" Peabody inquired further.

"I guess it was just...what I'm good at." Slade again shrugged off the question, denying the feelings inside him.

"Do you really want to be an agent?" Peabody asked him directly with no tone or emotion.

"..." Slade then turned his attention back to finding the missing pieces.

Slade eventually found the piece he was missing and put them back together over a series of minutes. Peabody was still recovering from Slade's assault and thought about reaching for a gun but decided not to, he would rather make a deal. Slade managed to get the radio working and tuned it to Samuels frequency.

Slade contacted Samuels full of shame. "Major?"

"Slade! Where have you been? Where is Adeline?" Samuels exclaimed.

"Adeline was a traitor, she joined whatever his name is, DeadBorn. The prick, she shot me. Twice." Slade explained with a slight sting of embarrassment.

"Damnit! How did you escape?" Samuels further question Slade, now angry.

"They think I'm dead that's what matters, I need to get out of here." Slade evaded.

"Do you have confirmation of Nuclear?" Samuels has brought up the actual mission, which made Slade feel like he accomplished something.

"Yes, but I think Wintergreen was killed." Slade admitted.

"At least that's over with. I need you here in Washington, Reagan demanded your presence. I'll send extraction over."

"Ok, I'll sit tight." Slade turned and looked over at Peabody. An idea struck him that should've really struck him before. "What do you sell?"

"Weaponry, information, hell-anything with a price tag. Why? You wanting something?" Peabody inquired.

"Do you do favours?" Slade's idea formed fully.

"For a price." Peabody smirked, wiping his nose.

"How about protection?" Slade cocked his head to the side.

"Explain." Peabody got the smell of a deal and jumped on it.

"If you promise to help me out if I need it, I'll keep you off the record. No mention of you to the US." Slade promised.

"Mmm, ok, but if you double cross me-" Peabody replied after careful consideration.

"I won't. Now, show me what you sell." Slade ordered.

"With pleasure." Peabody replied with a rather large smile.

3 Days Later...

Slade walked into his briefing room. He always hated briefing rooms. They were stuffy and full of tension. These mission were usually designed by the people who would gladly send others to their deaths before heading off to fight the battle. Cowards. But they were necessary evils. I mean, he knows that he can't just walk into a mission blind and expect it to work out.

Ever since the Congo mess, Slade has been under extreme surveillance, and untellable pressure. He felt vetted and uncomfortable in his bed, never a good sign. Samuels had given him a beat down in the reports, blaming him for the failure of the mission to cover his own ass for never fully investigating Adeline. But he still got off too easy. Slade hated that. So when he was asked to enter a briefing room for almost certainly the last time, he shivered at the chance. Slade was now on his way there, regretting every step he took.

However, Slade was denied access to Langley and so called up Samuels. He immediately regretted it. Apparently, due to the secrecy of the mission, Slade was now fired from H.I.V.E and was to meet with the President to discuss the matter directly. That's never a good sign. So Slade went home and waited in his chair and watched TV. Slade hated waiting. Patience came with age in his opinion and he had none today. He used the hours of boring time he had to think about Peabody's question.

"Do you really want to be an agent?"

The idea had never struck Slade, he just found himself with talent that could be used. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to be agent or a middle-class man. He could've just simply became a normal person. He had that choice. But what drew him towards this life is another story entirely.

At a young age, Slade found himself with a need to impress people, to earn their confidence. The reasons for this were simple, he could never impress his parents. They were always about his brother, Wade, god knows where he is now. Slade was thrown out of high school due to his lack of respect towards the teachers. So at the age of 15, Slade enlisted in the army, lying about his age. From there he worked in Guerrilla Warfare, a tactic he was very skilled at. He could predict enemy numbers and set up ambush points with little effort and maximum effect. He even used a set of Guerrilla Warfare tactics to save him and all his men in '76 when they were under attack from Russian forces in an blacksite. For this, he was highly regarded. His efforts were rewarded with a chance to join H.I.V.E, a select group of soldiers trained in espionage. He gladly accepted and this promotion not only granted him respect, but notice from his parents. Too bad they died in a bombing before he saw them again. The bombing was blamed on Wade who defected to Russia in '78 and hasn't been heard from since. The Russians may have killed him, or they may have him as a valuable asset, either way, he's dead to Slade, not that the two had a close relationship. Slade devoted himself to his work after this, and has become one of the most important tools in the military's arsenal.

But Slade's mental state is nothing but a question. He answers all questions correctly and is clearly in control but his house is empty with only a TV, a chair and a mattress. He was involved with a woman, Lilli, but she faded from his life and now they don't talk. Slade has never really looked at his life but upon hearing this question, has actually put some thought into his future. He wants nothing and has no one. Is it only a matter of time before he dies? Or will he end up like Peabody? Or maybe, will he become something worse? But, with self-reflection which may lead him down into levels of his conscience he never though existed, Slade looked at his watch and learned that the time was 9:15 PM. Still nothing.

10:10. Nothing. Slade went to sleep.

11:35. Nothing. Slade had woken up and made himself a breakfast seeing as though he's lucky to sleep 5 minutes.

12:50. Nothing. Slade was a rather amazing cook and ate the weirdest and most obscure dishes, everyone has a hobby. Rose scented bavarois poached figs, one of his favourites.

0:35. A knock. Slade opened his door to find two secret service agents standing outside his door in suits.

Slade went with them to a black SUV. He sat in the middle back seat with two agents beside him. He wondered what this briefing really was. The drive from his house to The White House was long and agonisingly slow. Nobody talked either through orders or breaking the perfect silence. Well the expection being the tyres that seemed to hum lowly for far too long. Even when they arrived all Slade could hear was that low hum, maybe it comforted him, seeing as though his nerves died down a bit.

Slade was brought through multiple rooms, all with the same bland layout, and white walls. If half of the money that went into decorating the White House went towards the military, their forces would increase tenfold, in Slade's opinion. Slade was eventually let go to walk down the hall to the briefing room. Now he was in the metallic part of the White House, the 'safe' part that bugged him to no end due to the fact that everything felt so unsafe from there on, like anyone could die at any point. Always a happy thought.

Slade opened the metal doors and looked around to understand his predicament.

Their was a large wooden table leather seats around it. In each of these seats was a large white male with the exception of one black male, who were decorated. Assuming they were the Joint Chiefs, Slade decided that this mission was almost certainly going to kill him. Major Samuels stood just off to the side of the table, talking to the commander-in-chief himself, Reagan. Slade assumed the immediate salute position trying to impress those around him as everyone's eyes seemed to drift to him. He was feeling nervous but almost satisfied with himself, knowing that he was the most important man in the room when the President is looking at you is an accomplishment to say the least.

Without a single word, Slade walked over to the nearest empty seat and sat there and waited for someone to stop looking at him and walk over. However, he was not expecting Reagan himself to walk over and open with, "Slade, we need your full attention."

"Of course, sir." Slade replied without emotion.

Everyone attention was then drawn away by the projection the appeared onscreen and detailed an Operation: Defused.

"This, gentlemen, is not going to leave this room. As you all know, Adeline Cain has defected to the Russians. The previously thought dead group of assassins, Cold Claw, have recruited their old member. These people, these things, are meant to be dead. Along with The Spiders and The Network. However, these will take a backseat to Nuclear. We are sending Mr Wilson in order to either capture this weapon or destroy it. Preferably capture it for us. We are also authorising the elimination of Russian representative, Dimitri Petrov, and Chinese representative, Jiao Li. This operation is strictly eyes only. Any mention of it outside this room will result in incarceration. Mr Wilson, if possible, download any schematics for this weapon." One of Chiefs droned on and on, losing Slade attention as he instead decided to case every inch of the bunker. New environments deserve as much attention if not more than people.

As everyone turned back to look at Slade, he nodded in agreement, if not exactly knowing what it is he's agreeing to. The meeting continued to bore Slade, all he could think about was how much hatred he held towards Adeline. How can you just turn your back on everything you've worked for? What does it take to do that?

After the meeting ended, Slade was invited to the Oval Office to meet with Reagan. Becoming suspicious, Slade obliged and met with Reagan. No one else was present and Reagan had a haunted expression on his face. This was obviously, a private matter.

"Hello Slade." Reagan attempted a smile but training taught Slade to see not only through it, but through him.

"Sir." Slade replied firmly.

"I have another operation I want you to execute. Operation Fire Storm. This was carefully crafted by a handful of people, and if you choose to commit to it, the country will be in your debt." Reagan tried to persuade Slade but he made the fatal mistake of appealing to Slade's ego.

"Sir, and if I choose not to?" Slade understood that if he didn't commit, black bag and blacksite.

"Then you don't, and we move on." Reagan replied unconvincingly and almost venomously.

"If I may, sir?" Slade inquired.

"Of course." Reagan handed Slade the file marked 'EYES ONLY'.

Slade quickly read through it but to cut to the basics, it was a hit on almost everyone involved in the project. This was not a mission, this was a contract.

"Operation Defused will provide a smokescreen for Operation Fire Storm. Defused has two objectives, eliminate the nuclear threat and destroy Nuclear completely or if possible, seize control of Nuclear and return it to the US. Fire Storm has multiple objectives such as eliminate The Network, eliminate Cold Claw, eliminate The Spiders, eliminate Dimitri Petrov, eliminate Jiao Li and if possible, rescue Bill Wintergreen, as his knowledge of the project may prove useful." Reagan basically ordered Slade.

"I'll do it." Slade answered without hesitation, Wintergreen doesn't deserve to be tortured to death for wanting some money. Slade had a very caring nature, so the thought hadn't occurred to him that he would have to kill people, people who were in this for reasons unbeknownst to him.

"That's that then, now go meet with Major Samuels, he'll further brief you on their information." Reagan ordered Slade again

Slade turned and left without a word. On his way out, he passed Bell who was shocked by Slade presence. Bell walked into the Oval Office and saw Reagan light a cigarette.

"Mr President?" Bell asked in a worried tone, higher than his regular tone.

"Bell." Reagan didn't even look at him.

"Did Slade take it?!" Bell raised his tone, leading to an irritating sound which made Reagan wince.

"...yes." Reagan replied after taking a smoke and drawing out the 's'.

"This is wrong. He has no idea what this means!" Bell raised his tone even higher, earning a glare from Reagan, who then turned around to look out the window.

Reagan looked out through the windows of the oval office, already letting his greed get the better of him in Bell's eyes. "Y'know Bell, I never really liked espionage. Too indirect, too slow, too boring. The Chinese and the Russians want us to assassinate the opposing representatives. Slade's a good agent, great even, but he won't be able to kill them both. Whichever one he kills first, the opposing country will be on our side. Imagine that, we are almost certainly going to eliminate a superpower and build trust with the other." Reagan smiled to himself, then remembered why he was really doing this and it immediately faded.

"Sir, I proposed this idea as an idea, we are sending that man to his death!" Bell shouted disapprovingly.

"Don't you think I know that? But one mans life cannot be worth more than every American citizen." Reagan snapped.

"Unless it's yours." Bell spat without thinking.

"Get out. And don't ever address me like that again." Reagan commanded after a long silence.

"Sorry, sir." Bell added faint spite to the last word.

"What the Syndicate wants, it gets." Reagan looked at a picture of him and Patti Davis, his daughter, "ones life IS more important than every American citizen." Reagan saw his reflection in the window, but couldn't bare to look at it. He turned away and sat in his seat, head in his hands.