MI6 had not been joking. "Don't worry. You'll hit the ground running." They had said.

His first day working for the Secret Intelligence Service, more commonly known as MI6, someone had sat him in front of a highly sophisticated networking computer. Multiple screens rose before him, their surfaces slick and bare. A head set lay on the table. Matt was told to connect to it.

He explored the software with a cursory glance. He recognized its make-up at once. It was nearly identical to the support program he had used to communicate with the Syndicate during operations.

His fingers slid over the headset and a shudder of pleasure raced through him. He had just begun to get over the shock of abstaining from technology. The prospect of working for MI6 had been too tempting, though.

Matt's heartbeat quickened and in a moment he had forgotten his neo luddism vows and donned the headset.

"Agent Miller," a cool, British accent greeted him from the other line. The bank of screens lit up, each showing a different angle of the same scene: a sparse desert landscape, a camera set in what he assumed was a helmet, the sleek black clad figure of a woman in a tech vest. "The name is Asha. Pleasure to meet you." The feminine voice clicked across the line as if she had been in the room.

Working as Asha Odekar's handler was a challenge that reinvigorated Matt. Each day brought a fresh mission. Together they worked highly dangerous, highly sensitive, and highly classified operations. He inwardly rejoiced at the opportunity to contribute to the success of the mission.

In the Syndicate, Matt's genius had been needed, true. But, the Sword of Damacles had practically hung over his head the entire time. He was never quite sure whether the end of the day would find him victorious or dead by Killbane's hands.

In the MI6, it was different. Asha, a solemn woman nearly twice his age, freely gave her approval. It was not uncommon that she would reward him with a six pack of his favorite energy drink after a long day in the field with Miller as her only life line. It was cleansing to have his talent recognized and celebrated.

The skill of the hacker was immediately apparent to all. That was not terribly surprising, seeing that it had been the reason for his recruitment. The team soon garnered praise from the highest areas of MI6.

It was this unparalleled acumen that caused that fateful mission to fall into his lap. As Matt sat through the briefing, he could not believe his ears.

It was to be a joint operation between the United States and MI6. A former high ranking officer in the United States had defected and was leading a terrorist cell in the desert.

Matt read over the dossier before him, flipping through the many black and white pictures. He recognized one immediately. Cyrus Temple, the former commander of STAG. An odd smile flitted over Miller's lips as he recalled how Cyrus had been a strange ally in their fight against the Saints. Now he had gone and turned terrorist. How quaint.

"Bollucks," Matt suddenly said. Asha and the man conducting the briefing paused to look at him. Matt's finger was resting purposely on the glossy photograph of the woman he knew to be the leader of the Saints, Rain. "We're cooperating with the Saints? The street gang? You can't be serious." Miller explained, his voice dripping with astonishment.

"It seems the U.S. of A thinks the same as our England," Asha said, her brow furrowing in amusement as she looked pointedly at Matt. "You had a stint in a gang too, if I recall from reading your dossier."

Matt jerked his head aside in annoyance and shoved his hands into his deep pockets. "I led a gang. But that's beside the point. The Saints are led by a sociopath. This woman," he pointed vehemently at the photograph of Rain. "She is practically one flew over the cuckoo's nest."

"Really?" Asha's eyes lit up. She came to stand behind Miller and peered at the photograph over his shoulder. "That should make things interesting. She is the lead operative working with me."

Matt steeled himself as he plugged in to the communication software. He had replaced the ungainly headset with a wireless Bluetooth by now. The young man closed his eyes to quiet his mind. He pictured before him his virtual world, alight with blue EL wires. A steady electronic beat filtered through his thoughts.

When he opened his eyes again, a strange sight appeared before him. Asha took up several of the screens, as usual. That was nothing new. Front and center, though, occupying a prominent position in the bank of screens, stood three members of the Saints. He picked out the two lieutenants easily, though Matt could not recall their names. The third, who he could only assume was Rain, was covered head to toe in tactical armor.

He had not seen her in months, not since Steelport. In fact, he had never seen her in person at all. In all of their encounters, he had only viewed her through screens and his virtual construction. Underneath the tactical armor, he could distinctly make out the corded muscles of the leader of the Saints. Her shape was decidedly feminine, even under the layer of protective gear. He had somehow failed to notice that in the weeks of Steelport. The realization brought him no pleasure.

Time to focus. The group cut through the terrorist cell as a lawnmower might through the yard. Matt monitored the group's vital and equipment statistics. Rain's microphone appeared to be malfunctioning, but all else was stable. They moved with precision. Deliberate, deadly action. The distinct pop of bullets filled Matt's ears. The masked Rain moved with fluid grace, sinuously attacking and feinting.

He picked out Kenzi's voice as she directed the Saints. Still slumming, Agent Kenzington? Matt thought mockingly. A special place of scorn was held in his heart for the former FBI agent that he had disgraced in his efforts to rise to the top of the hacking world. He held no ill will for her, though, despite the fact that she had been instrumental in his own fall from the throne of the Deckers.

He listened to her guide the saints with amusement. Belatedly, Matt realized he had not revealed himself to the group yet. Hesitant as to how they would react, he chimed in at last.

"Is that Matt Miller?" Kenzi barked, her irritation audible. His lips twisted into a rueful smile as he recalled his own emotions when he had discovered much the same information in the briefing. Perhaps they weren't so different after all.

Asha was quick to defend his status in the MI6, but the Boss' thoughts would remain a mystery until her microphone began working.

The team made short work of the compound defenses. The infiltration was far from subtle, but it was extremely effective.

Cyrus Temple was a shell of a man. The group gunned him down with ease. It was almost sad to see the former commander of STAG fall. Almost.

Unfortunately, that shell of a man had made backup plans. In his dying moments, Cyrus made sure that his work would be finished without him. A low growl split the air and a nuclear bomb the size of a handicapped bus began to launch. Swears from the group sounded through Matt's Bluetooth. He echoed them vehemently. Judging from the monitors, that bomb was large enough to destroy all of Virginia. The nuclear fallout would make the continent a wasteland and poison the oceans. The entire world would be affected.

He sat back in his chair. So that's it then, he thought. MI6 is sure to sack me now. Perfectly good job gone to waste.

What happened next changed his entire opinion of Rain, leader of the Third Street Saints and acted as a catalyst to his shifting views on life.

Stepping apart from the group, Rain took a great running leap and latched onto the nuclear bomb just beginning to lift off.

"One flew over the cuckoo," he heard Asha say, awe in her voice as the entire group watched in confusion and growing dread. Whatever else the group was feeling was drowned out as the low growl of the bomb turned to a deafening roar and shot upward, out of sight, carrying Rain with it.

"Don't you guys get it? She's sacrificing herself. Now is your chance to say goodbye!" Kenzi could at last be heard.

Could it be true? Miller had always considered the leader of the saints a textbook example of sociopathy. And, yet, would she really give her life up to diffuse the bomb? A strange feeling invaded his gut. He was having a great deal of trouble connecting describable thoughts to what he was seeing.

Though the others had lost sight of her minutes ago, he and Kenzi were afforded the peculiar image of watching Rain through her helmet camera, clinging desperately to the rocket. He barely heard the others taking their last chance to tell the woman how they felt.

The odd sensation in his stomach intensified as he watched the screen. It was like viewing some episode of Nyteblade, mechanical and, yet, impassioned. Rain was scrambling across the surface of the bomb, ripping off metal plates and wires, dodging debris and clutching at the slick metal surface for dear life.

"If I had known you would be willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the world.. I probably would not have tried to kill you." He found himself saying out loud with more than a bit of shock. Rain gave no indication that she had heard him over the roar of the bomb and continued her desperate work.

Was it possible that the leader of the Saints could succeed? Miller had to consider it at least feasible. Viola had once told him of Rain's escape from the plane crash that had started the Syndicate on their war path. At the time, he had thought Viola mistaken. But now, watching the Boss work, he began to think anything was possible.

Bloody hell, he conceded as she ripped out the last of the control wires to the bomb and abandoned her perch, falling away. The woman has done it. The bomb's now useless shell continued its descent and Rain flashed a triumphant gesture towards Matt's screen.

Though the bomb had been rendered impotent, the fallout had already begun. The world, Matt's world, would not be the same again.