The longer Diana spent with Drystan, the more she believed that the TruthSpeakers hoisted him onto her just to be rid of him. The only thing she did was scoff at his millionth remark about her job—of which he still barely knew any details about.

"So this is what money does to people!" he yelled gleefully. "The billionaires on the ICA's board have fingered your brain to be the obedient little pup you are. It's natural you wouldn't understand."

It was near impossible to finish the briefing at this rate. "I will not have you talk as if you know me."

"But it's true!" Drystan raised his arms in mocking disbelief. "You have worked there for how long, and for how many contracts? I bet your parents are rolling in their graves."

Diana shut her laptop. "What would you know about my parents?"

Drystan giggled. "Did I hit a nerve?"

"I'm asking. Do you even know who they are?"

"Should that matter?"

What Lars saw in this boy was beyond her. "Have you heard of Blue Seed?"

"The pharmaceutical corporation in Britain? Yeah. I've seen them sponsor racing events. Rotten as they come."

"Then you know of the people who stood up to them?"

"What does this have to do with any—?"

"For once in your life, sit down and think. It might do you some good."

Despite the nasty look he gave her, he ran through all the names and faces in mind. Why that company specifically? Why is she trying to... Oh. "Peter and Nancy..." It all clicked. The poisoned younger brother, the Burnwood lawsuit, the car bomb. "You're their daughter..."

Diana nodded, using his shaken demeanor to speak. "They were at the forefront of the litigation. Lars Roth was still a private detective at the time. He'd heard of my parents' plight and flew over to help—all at the cost of nothing. He believed that justice would have its way. We all did."

"I... But the fact you chose this line of work means you turned your back on their—!"

"I took this position at the ICA to go after these very people. People who see themselves as untouchable despite their heinous actions. Besides, Drystan, did you honestly think every bit of the contract money goes to me?"

The bewildered look he gave confirmed her suspicion.

"Most of it goes to the Agency. If it was the money I wanted, I'd have split from the ICA ages ago."

Drystan reclined in his seat, looking as though he'd seen a ghost. "I'm..."

"The word you're looking for is 'sorry'."

He shifted uncomfortably, his mouth fidgeting as though it was physically difficult to say it. "I... I never thought about it. What you've lost is... tragic. I read about that case. Nancy and Peter were excellent people; some of the last paladins in a world of bystanders, fighting for what is right."

Diana shook her head. "They didn't see themselves that way. All they wanted was some closure for my brother."

"But it was cheaper for Blue Seed to take their lives than it was to admit fault..." Drystan could feel her eyes drilling into him. The smugness under her calm posture. He could have shunned her away with harsh words and anger; hid his red embarrassment behind them like he's done so many times. But he hesitated.

A change that Diana picked up on like a kink in a system. Softening her tone, she pressed, "I'm just trying to understand why. We never knew each other. Hell, you don't know much of anyone. Yet you see most of them as your enemy, and to be frank, it's quite obvious."

Drystan shook his head, his lips trembling as he tried to find his words. "If I have ever lashed out at anyone, it's because they deserve it. Do you have any idea what it was like, scraping by the bottom of the barrel, all while hundreds of people passed by to flaunt their brand name accessories? Their money-oriented selfies of gourmet food? It's not just the one percent who are greedy and exuberant. If they had all donated a fraction of their worth to Mum..." He shook his head again, his eye twitching as it does when he's about to explode. Drystan took his phone, rapidly typing in some names. "Which reminds me. I have a list of social media idiots to put on the list."

That's the most reason-based thing I've heard you say, Diana thought, and she knew was getting closer to the root of everything. There was one thing he let slip. "To Mum?"

The boy went quiet for a bit, debating with himself whether to talk. He finally looked back at Diana... but instead of the judgment he expected to see, she met him calmly. He took a breath. "She got cancer. The government doesn't need any other reason to rob us dry. College wasn't worth the drain on my family at that point, so I did them a favor and dropped out. I tried working to raise enough to keep her treatment going, but most of it went to rent and food."

There was a lull in their conversation. A silence long enough that Drystan almost blew up again. But it all washed away from a simple touch: her hand on top of his. "I'm sorry." He froze. "It sounds like you care about her a lot."

"Don't worry about it," Drystan said in a breath, tugging his hand away. "I've already paid her dues. If she's gonna be fine? Well, there's no way to know. But it's thanks to Surtr." Diana was gifted a legendary sight, then. One that she never imagined possible: a sincere smile on Drystan, unmarred by his politics and killings, and unfocused on anything around him. "And now I have a better apartment, a healthier diet, and a better computer. I turned down anything extra..." As quickly as it appeared, his smile faltered. "Though the same cannot be said for my compatriots."

Diana grinned, amused. "You also realize their hypocrisy?"

"It's mind-numbing. Me? I just need enough to live and do my work. But Madelyn gets a mansion. Hasani gets to live in the Heliopolis Palace. Fedyenka's about to become the next Tsar. Myung was already a billionaire beforehand, and Clera plays as her yes-man like a parasite!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, chuckling. "I wouldn't be surprised if Surtr asks me to get rid of them."

She smiled back. "He must trust you with his life."

"Yeah..." Momentary silence befell the two again, and this time there was no tension to speak of. This time, it was Drystan who spoke first. "I realize... you're not all bad."

"And I realize you're not eternally angry. See? We're both more than meets the eye." She watched him lean his chin on his palm, contemplating. Now was a good time to press something on her mind. "After I lost my parents, revenge was the only thing on my mind. In... some ways, I was like you. I lost myself and went off a crooked path, all to get back at Blue Seed."

Drystan's eyes widened again. "You were behind the board killings?"

"Guilty as charged. But in the end, I failed. The woman at the top, Cheryl Franklin, is still somewhere out there..." Diana took a deep breath, returning to the invested boy. "Which is why I have been curious. I could not topple one corporation. How is 'Ragnarok' supposed to take on all the world's powers?"

At first, Drystan appeared like a deer in headlights. But a smug grin snuck its way on, curving his lips until he could no longer contain his joy. "That's something I could only have dreamed about. One would think them untouchable. These powers are built on sins and strength—nothing can contest their armies. So I want you to picture this:

"Imagine we stood before the Great Pyramid of Giza. A titanic structure with an unshakeable foundation. One day, you see something odd. One of the bricks at the base had collapsed. It was hollow—a lie. Then you look at the next brick. And the next. Hollow, hollow, hollow. This magnificent symbol of power was built on lies. Suddenly, it doesn't feel so grand and stable, hm?"

Diana nodded. "And if the world knows... the Great Pyramid becomes little more than a sandcastle."

He snapped. "Bingo."

"Is... that all there is to it?"

But he only looked at her, wondering what kind of question that was.

There has to be more than that, she thought. Exposing every dirty government secret to the public won't be the thing that destroys them. It will be the other countries when they learn of those secrets. If this was before the '40s—before nuclear bombs were a thing—perhaps it would not be the end of the world. And, at the top of her mind, Diana had to wonder: where were the people in all of this? How would this help?

But she couldn't say any of that. Not without crushing what trust she's earned.

"I understand you a little better now, Diana." The arrogance returned to his countenance, and she knew their bonding time was over. "You're a victim. Society has shaped you like an abusive husband, denying your choices, changing the way you think, yet never letting you leave... But don't fret. You've shown you're not beyond help. I will save you. I'll save us all."

Sunlight peeked over the horizon, making the Labrador Sea glisten as the city of Nuuk slowly awakened. Faint songs of choir members' practice escaped their houses, kindly reminding Annie of today's festivities. And that, unfortunately for her, these empty, snow-covered streets would brim with people. She leaned against a streetlight as snow piled up to her ankles, hugging herself in the few dull grey layers she could bring without forsaking dexterity.

Annie always thought it a wonder how their mentor could tank through it. Chitter always said focusing on the mission 'turned it off', but perhaps they were nowhere near seasoned enough to do that.

"Morning, Pisspot!" Adorned in a similarly thin muted brown sherpa jacket, her partner, Reuben, finally appeared with breakfast in a bag. She envied the buzz cut, which must've been far less itchy under the beanie compared to her stuffed mess of hair. "Sorry I'm late. I scouted a pretty perch up in someone's attic, then the homeowner woke up, and I had to wait for him to finish his 4 A.M. snack before getting out of dodge." He presented the wrapped food of buttered bread with pickled herring and onions, smorrebrod style, and Annie could guess where he got them. "Couldn't get any coffee, though."

Annie withheld the click of her tongue. "Morning to you, too, Dipshit. Not exactly clear skies for a picnic, either." Still, she partook in the coffee-less breakfast. "There's a few points of interest I saw during my survey. There are wide open spaces for a snow structure competition, and I thought we could collapse one on our mark, but..."

"Hinges too much on chance, and I don't see a reason they'd go inside."

She nodded. "On the upside, plenty of snow piles and nooks and crannies to hide whatever inside, and people's houses are gonna open up when National Day kicks in. Anything on your end?"

"I already told you about the house I found. It's on the hill," he said, pointing through the darkness. "Windows in all cardinal directions. Perfect view over Nuuk. I also found out they're holding a grand seal hunt near the waters. So in the off chance our marks feel like partaking, that'll make things easy for us." Swallowing another bite of food, he perked up in remembrance. "Management got back to us about our targets, too."

About damn time. She knew things were tight up there, but this was ridiculous.

"There's two. A guy named Dione Bronson and a gal, Tamara Vidal."

"I've heard of Tamara. Former CIA; ex-head of Future Federation. Who's Dione?"

Reuben smiled at her. "Would you believe their description is not even a paragraph long?"

"I shouldn't be, at this point."

"All our intel says is that he's the unwanted son of an actress. Not much is known about him, yada yada, a very reserved person, and rarely shows himself." He wiped his hands of crumbs, muffling a sigh. "But what's interesting is that whoever the client is, they're willing to pay five times the regular rate to prioritize them."

Annie laughed. "No wonder the Puissance Deux pulled us out of Egypt. Lord knows they need the money." It was no secret that the Puissance Treize, once the ICA's biggest rival, was hanging on by threads. After their gamble with Agent 47 cost them $500 million, Al-Fulani's life, and Pierre Douay's disappearance, only two of the 13 board remembers remained. The rest wisely cut their losses. "What's so special about them?"

"Silence, maybe. People pay way too much to bury a hatchet. Either way, it's not our job to speculate."

The pair finished breakfast, and when silence passed and it became evident there was nothing else, Annie raised a brow. "That's it?"

"Mhm. But that's why I hired Popsicle the moment we were told to fly here."

Hearing their informant's name eased her. "Every day I become more and more grateful you grew a pair."

"He's meeting us in the bar. Come on." They gladly ditched the cold and lonely post as, one by one, residents emerged from their houses.

The bar called Sassuma Arnaa's Tears welcomed the pair with warmth, prompting them to remove their coats. The bartender shot them a greeting, and they walked past the few guests and the stone fireplace. Despite the large windows giving a view into the Nuup Kangerlua fjord, Reuben led them to seats lacking the view, facing the entrance.

Reuben shot a text. The barkeep asked them what they'd like, but Annie waved her off with a "We're waiting for a friend."

The two must've looked like twins next to each other, mostly because of the countless tiny scars around their body—most of which were inflicted by each other.

Sometime later, and a bald man entered the bar. He set sights on Annie and Reuben first things first, and though that raised some alarm in them, he made his way over to their table. The duo glanced at each other with a nod, and Annie reached for something in her coat.

"Be happy you're living," the bald man said, and their eyes narrowed.

"For you're a long time dead," Reuben finished, nodding and letting 'Popsicle' sit at their table.

"Plastic surgery," he answered the unasked questions. "One of my clients leaked my info."

It wasn't out of the question. He was always cautious when it came to appearances. Still, the assassins knew better than to let go of doubt. Reuben leaned onto the table. "I see you're well. How was Croatia?"

"Croatia? I haven't been there for months."

"I know. How was it?"

"You tell me. That's where we first met. And you're the one who put a gun to my head the first time we met."

Reuben cracked a smile. "Hey, sorry about that. Again."

"I've told you before, I don't do apologies."

Annie nodded slightly, relaxing better in her seat. "Is Maria well?"

'Popsicle' shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his deceased daughter. His brows furrowed, and his exhale inflated. "Are you done? Also, you can let go of the trigger, now."

Annie's shoulders sunk, finally satisfied. Not that she budged on the gun under the table. "No."

"Of course. It never hurts to be safe."

"Great," Reuben said. "So we can get down to business?"

"I would like that. One of your marks, Dione, is already here. Tamara's on a shuttle about to arrive. They're going to meet at City Hall to discuss business matters, staying inside where it's protected."

"Mm. Bodyguards?"

"None. They're relying on local security."

Easy pickings, he thought. A little too easy. "How long do they intend to stay?"

"Until they've finished discussing. I would say within four or five hours." A good amount of time. Reuben was about to raise another question when 'Popsicle' interjected. "I heard you purchased a VKS rifle with a STs-130PT2 cartridge."

Reuben sighed. "You heard correctly. What about it?"

"May I see it?" The pair looked at each other. "I promise information in exchange."

Reuben sighed. "Gun enthusiasts..." He put the briefcase on the table, sliding it over to him.

'Popsicle' cracked it open just enough for only his eyes to admire. He took a closer look at its magazine, especially the ammunition. Satisfied, he slid the case back. "It's a beautiful piece. Well maintained. Should last you your entire life."

"Thanks. The info?"

"The Berthelsen household is an ideal place to set up. It's on a small hill, and from the attic is a window on each side. Almost all of Nuuk will fall under your scope."

He grinned smugly. "We have the same eye for things. I thought I'd sneak in to do just that."

'Popsicle' nodded. "Then all the better."

"Anything else we need to know?" Annie added. "Competitors, perhaps? Or counter-hires?"

"The only person who knows about you is right here."

She nodded. "Thank you, Popsicle. You're doing god's work."

"Agreed," Reuben added, rising from the seat. "I'll wire second installment to your account after we're done. Let's go."

'Popsicle' did not move as the gun went away, and Annie rose to leave. He only offered a silent wave, ordering a drink.

But when they had finally gone, and minutes had passed since they disappeared into the white morning, 'Popsicle' apologized to the bartender, paid for the untouched drink, and left as well.

Location: Nuuk, Greenland
Targets: The Prowler, The Sniper

It wasn't long before Nuuk swelled with thousands of people from all over the country. The peaceful morning had given way to Greenlandic National Day, and the noise made that readily apparent. Flags rose high as a marching band roamed the street, with spectators flocked at the side. Citizens brandished their traditional garb of kamiks, holmensklæde trousers and silk anoraks, complete with multi-color glass beads covering their upper halves.

All the while, Annie took her scouted route to the shuttle, stalking it from across the road.

Most of the passengers arriving were locals hailing from different parts of Greenland. The rest were tourists. But skimming through the underdressed and gawking foreigners, her eyes landed on a blonde woman dressed warmly. The woman glanced around, settling quickly on the distant City Hall.

"I have a visual on Tamara."

"Copy," Reuben said through the earpiece. Annie followed her.

Her free thoughts faded and made way for her surroundings. She scanned the passersby as they came and went. An Inuit woman in her traditional dress; no sign of weapons; uninterested. A couple waiting around the corner, watching—looking; they glossed over her; no weapons, either; probably searching for a friend. Three hunters head to toe in hunting clothes of polar bear pelts; only two talking; the other holding a rifle case.

Following Tamara took her to the snow structure competition from before. Instead of empty lots, the contestants had made quick work in the time between her coming here. Intricate, work-in-progress statues cropped up of cartoon characters, abstract pieces, and others. A family of five, the Svendsens, focused on size over detail. They passed buckets of snow and ice in a chain from ground to roof, slowly crafting what Annie guessed was a medieval castle.

Nuuk's City Hall, admittedly not an attention-worthy sight of a rectangle, came into view, where more people gathered outside. Many political leaders prepped at their own podiums while a choir sang festive songs. But the chief attraction was the free-for-all buffet of coffee, tea, bread, cheese, and butter for everyone.

As much as the smell of fresh coffee enticed her, Annie knew she couldn't take any. Never accept candy from strangers, she thought. She could almost hear Chitter say it in her deadpan tone for how much she drilled it into them.

As for Tamara, she approached a guarded side entrance where it opened the moment she came near. Poking his head out with a gentle smile and sunken eyes was a suited, much younger man, hair slicked back in a small man bun. The two exchanged some pleasantries before she stepped inside, and the door shut.

"I have a visual on Dione, too. They're together at City Hall like Popsicle said they'd be," Annie said, turning heel. "We'll need a plan. I'm coming over to you."

"Copy."

Reuben was one of many guests crammed into the Berthelsen house, owned by an upper middle class family who wanted to share their comforts in an annual Kaffemik. And with well over 50 pairs of shoes at the front door, he and many others took refuge in the spacious backyard. It was at a cost, however, as the backyard grill assaulted his senses with mouth-watering scents.

"Would you like some fresh reindeer?" a caterer asked, taking a juicy kebab off the grill.

Reuben glared at the man. He couldn't find any weapons on him, and his other hand was flipping meat with tongs. And judging by his awkward fidgeting under his gaze, the caterer was safe. "Don't ask me that," he said, walking back inside.

He passed by the homeowner, a grandfather sat in the living room with at least five guests around him. "... The trick is to tie bear skin to the soles of your shoes," he said, demonstrating on himself. "That'll muffle your footsteps, letting you get close to the seal. And when you're right there..." He raised an empty rifle, firing it. "You shoot it with the 30.06, then the harpoon, so it does not sink."

The audience ooh'ed and ahh'ed, save for a hunter dressed head to toe in a polar bear pelt outfit, hood and mask covering his head, laying a worn leather rifle case on his lap. "That's clever; using bear skin to cover your footsteps."

The grandfather waved him off with a smirk. "It's really nothing special. We've been using the same tricks over generations..."

"Excuse me," Reuben interjected. "The restroom is busy. Is there one upstairs I can use, perhaps?"

The homeowner nodded amiably, providing directions to the first door on the left. But Reuben did not need the restroom. He'd stepped around this house already, and every inch was familiar. His path took him to the home office, where the attic hatch remained flat against the ceiling. Reaching for a long stick, he prodded at and carefully let down the ladder.

The attic was dull and dusty, and though it had windows in all cardinal directions, Reuben had to wipe one down of dust just to see through it. He leaned on the windowsill, picturing himself with the VKS in his own little sniper nest.

"Popsicle has a good eye for these places," a voice behind him said.

A quick glance, and he smiled as Annie climbed into the attic. "You gotta give me some credit, Pisspot. I eyed this place the moment we stepped into town."

She walked beside him, peering out the same window. "I was thinking we take a simple approach. I stalk and relay our targets' locations, try to direct them somewhere open, and give you a clean shot."

"The Xenia approach. A classic. Only problem with that is that they're hiding in City Hall."

"Then I'll have to drive them out."

Reuben nodded, though paused in contemplation. Before she could ask what was up, he added a condition. "Then I'll go with you."

"Have you got your lavvy face up your tube? May as well kill them in City Hall at that point!"

"May as well. But the Client paid so much money for a reason. I have a feeling it's not the walk in the park you expect it to be. Me being there is half the work."

Though she scrunched her face like usual whenever he said something outrageous, she bit her tongue. Reuben was not wrong. If only there were three of them—if Chitter or Xenia or anyone else to travel this path—she was sure they'd glide through these contracts. But as things were, it was just her and Dipshit. "I'll manage on my own," she answered. "You need to be here for when the targets run out, and when you have a shot, take it."

Reuben didn't agree, but he knew when Annie couldn't be convinced otherwise. "But how are you going to get them out?"

"I smoke them out. Literally."

He could work with that. "Chitter wouldn't be happy about the collaterals."

"I swear, I'm gonna kill you."

Sarcastic laugher filled the attic. "Can't wait for that." The comment earned him a jab on his arm.

Now that they were mostly on the same page, Annie made her way down to the exit. Reuben jammed the hatch shut behind her, ensuring no more interruptions.

She passed the polar bear-dressed hunter, who was asking the grandfather for spare bear skin.

She moved quickly, scanning everyone on her left and right. A habit hammered into them by Chitter, which by now could be done as easily as she breathed. The crowd was much more manageable this time, now that the hunters were heading to the water's edge for the mass seal hunt about to begin.

City workers also hauled batches of fireworks in that direction, a spectacle ready and waiting.

Annie even spotted the hunter from the Berthelsen house joining the crowd, likely eager to put his knowledge to use.

"Listen..." her earpiece rang. "After this mission, I want us to jump ship."

"You mean—"

"Not from the business, but to greener pastures. The ICA is the top of the top, and I know for sure they won't have shoddy intel or a shortage of workers. I heard from Popsicle that we wouldn't be the first to change hands, either."

"First Chitter and her principles, now the Puissance Deux. You're a fickle man, Dipshit."

"Yeah, and who's been with me all this way?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm only here because you haven't lost your teeth like the others."

"Careful. Chitter might carve your lips out if she heard that."

"More likely, she'll floss them like she's probably doing for her kids."

"Wow. To think you were once her favorite..."

She passed the snow structures again, with the Svendsens' having grown exponentially. The family of five created making conveyor belts with themselves to supply snow buckets upward.

After them was City Hall. The crowds still lingered around the provisions, though the politicians were now engaged in both Danish and Greenlandic speeches. As for the building itself? Not the most secure thing she's seen. Annie couldn't stop thinking about the Client's high price.

She entered the building's main hall, which, much like outside, was lined with tables of pastries and drinks. Some lucky politician had claimed the inside for himself, where his speeches wouldn't compete for everyone's attention. There were some security guards patrolling around, but it definitely was no bunker.

And, through a second-floor window peeking into an office, she spotted her targets.

She noticed a side corridor with doors for restrooms, but at the end was a very enticing 'employee only' entrance. She made their way over, finding it to be locked. Checking that nobody was paying attention, Annie went at it with a lock pick.

A click told her she was through, and after making sure the coast was clear, slipped inside.

It was a locker room for employees to change into their outfits. A lucky break, Annie thought, and she picked the lockers for a uniform to borrow.

As soon as she tidied herself up, the new 'office worker' grabbed the knob to another hall. She stopped as two voices neared.

"I swear, I heard crying from the maintenance closet! The one that mayor Nielsen told us not to go near. It was faint, and I asked if anyone was there..."

The guard rolled her eyes as they continued their patrol. "You've been watching too much of Everett Emery."

"No! I swear, I'm not lying!

"Then what happened next?"

"Well... nothing happened. The crying stopped. That's when one of the mayor's guests found me and asked me to turn the other way."

"Probably because of the leaky pipes in there the mayor told us about, hm?"

"No, you don't get it...!"

Their conversation faded away, and Annie made her way through. From there, it was an easy infiltration to the second floor, as none of the guards or employees suspected any unsavory folks during a national holiday.

As she found the offices, Tamara just left hers with the company of Nuuk's mayor, Nielsen, an older native who looked like a minnow standing up to a shark. Who, despite a stern demeanor, failed to hide the fidgeting of his hands or the displeased sagging of his wrinkles.

"Is Mr. Bronson not required to attend your video conference?" he sheepishly asked.

"He is. But he's the only one to get a pass," Tamara said frankly.

"I-Is that so?"

"Mhm. Anonymity is a gift, Nielsen. The moment you learn that, you might just rise higher than you are now."

"I... see?"

Annie caught a peek inside the swinging door. Dione was still inside, sipping a cup of coffee all to his lonesome. Her hand came to rest over her hip. Maybe she wouldn't even need to cause a diversion. It was an optimistic thought, but reality shut her down as a bald janitor came out of nowhere, mopping a spot close enough to the office that he'd make a definite witness.

Not a moment later, Dione left the office, coffee still in hand, as if trying to piss her off.

Suppressing her urges, Annie kept walking. She eventually found a small lounge, complete with sofas stuffed with flammable cushions. She rummaged through drawers, grabbing whatever else could work as fuel and throwing them into a pile.

Once it was enough, Annie lit a match and threw it onto the sofa. It wasn't long before it caught fire, and the blaze spread and spread. Smoke crawled along the ceiling, reaching the fire alarm. There was an immediate shift in the crowd, and she knew there'd be a stampede for the exit.

She was making her way to the much more isolated fire escape when a faint voice called, "Is anyone there...?" Ordinarily, she'd have kept running, but this voice was familiar. It came from an unremarkable door off to the side—a maintenance closet. She remembered a conversation between two guards.

Annie attacked the lock with her pick, quickly getting through to find a horrid sight. A man tied to a chair, bloodied and beaten; swelling on his face and body. But through all the misery, he was alive enough to raise his head—and notable enough for Annie to recognize.

"Popsicle?"

"Annie...? Is that you...?"

She scanned the room, finding that it was only Popsicle here. "What happened?"

"The targets... they knew about us. The guy, Dione... he got me after I arrived in town." Popsicle listed his head to the side, but Annie kept him straight by pulling his hair—the only part of his head not stained with blood.

"After you arrived? You mean you weren't here to greet us?"

Popsicle weakly shook his head. "No...?"

Then... "Who did we meet in the bar?" A question that wouldn't find its answer. All Annie knew now was that they were in trouble, and Reuben was vulnerable.

Annie shot up, dashing out the door with Popsicle watching in horror. "Don't go. Please..."

But she was long gone, and dark plumes of smoke were finding its way to him.

"The person you met... It was Agent 47..."

...

Reuben started whistling once he knew he was alone in the attic. He briskly set to work, sliding his fingers around the rim of his suitcase and unlatching it to reveal his Russian bullpup—at which he catcalled in admiration. His hands glided over each piece during assembly, everything clicking in its place in a matter of seconds. He rested the rifle on a stack of boxes at the windowsill, catching City Hall in his scope.

He watched as smoke leaked from its windows, and scores of people fled the building. He heard the faint sirens of fire engines. Reuben zoomed in on Annie's mug as she ran out the side, smirking.

Even better were the two targets running out of the smoke-infested building, lingering perfectly in his crosshairs. "Both targets are in my sight. Ready to fire."

"Hold your trigger finger. Something's not right."

"Am I hearing you right? You want me to hold off on my kill shot?"

"Listen to me, Reuben!" He swallowed his frustration, focusing entirely on her words. "The man we met was not Popsicle. He was there in City Hall, half-dead. You do the math!"

His finger itched over the trigger. Just a hair and her head would explode! But he knew better. "Copy," he breathed, softening his hold.

Reuben hid behind the cover of the walls, assessing that there was indeed nobody with him. Keeping himself out of sight of the windows, he scanned around the room for any anomalies. His first instinct was the rubber duck, but a second inspection confirmed it was just a noise maker. Other than that, the only thing in the attic were family relics, vintage photographs, and tons of cardboard boxes.

He sighed. "It's all clear on my end." As he asked that, he returned the VKS to his hands and almost repositioned. But as he felt the weight of his rifle, he bit his lip. Reuben disassembled his sniper rifle until it was as he first took it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Was he overthinking it? His eyes wandered down to the 5-round magazine; the last part he hadn't checked.

He emptied the mag in horror.

"Bastard!" Reuben tore his beanie off, trying to focus on his shaking breath. "He replaced my ammo with SLAP rounds. That, combined with my muzzle brake, would've turned this rifle into flying shrapnel." A cold sweat entranced his body, and the attic's silence became deafening. "I almost fucking died..."

"He must've been in the house with us, then," Annie said. "But where was he?"

"We're gonna waste hours trying to figure that out. Right now, we get through this alive."

"Right. Right... If it really is him, he probably knows where you are. You need to get out."

"Already on that."

Reuben took one step to the attic hatch when heavy metal filled the silence in an instant. He flinched, and though his reflexes stifled the movement, he couldn't stop his hand from peeking the window.

Fireworks shot into the sky. Residents cheered as they exploded and lit up the skies with magnificent lights and colors.

Their pops reverberated across Nuuk.

A hole splintered in the attic wall. Reuben's scalp exploded. Chunks of skull and brain matter splattered on the floor. The looping metal muffled as giblets blanketed the rubber duck's speaker. His body twitched in the pool of blood, an iron grip still on his rifle.

...

Annie picked it up immediately. Though masked by the fireworks and fire engine sirens, and unnoticed by the crowds, the rifle shot was unmistakable to her ears. She ducked behind a building, shielding herself from the marina.

"Reuben, come in!" she spat. The seconds ticked by. Her brows twitched as festivities and delight surrounded her, unmarred. "This is no time for joshing around! Come in!"

But nobody answered. And deep down, from the moment she heard that shot, she knew nobody would. That lousy brat she used to scrap with was gone, and not even by her hand. She laughed. Laughed as reality sank in, and there was a new person who needed to die.

"Miss, are you okay?"

Annie snapped her head up at the man. Running on adrenaline, she couldn't assess him like normal. And in this business, those seconds mattered between life or death. So she did the next best thing and pulled out her silenced pistol, firing twice into his stomach.

The surrounding joy finally morphed into terror as he crumpled into the snow, staining it red. Annie bolted into the crowded streets, shoving her way through confused bystanders. Her destination was the marina; where the shot came from.

While she ran, she finally calmed down enough. There was no way that guy was the shooter. He couldn't have run over to her in that short amount of time. This meant he was still out there, and Annie intended to find him.

The harbor smelled of sea salt and blood. Many dinghies, kayaks, and larger vessels brought the hunters' prizes of dead seals to shore, and they proudly showed them off. Some already started skinning their catches, hooking them on racks or just laying them out, fileting them swiftly in anticipation of bringing them home.

Other hunters met up with family and friends, only now learning about recent events.

"They've put out the fire, thankfully, and nobody died. But I heard that it was arson..."

"Did you hear? Ejnare's been murdered. Some foreigner shot him dead..."

Annie passed by them, eyeing every passerby she could. She spied the lone hunter just arriving via kayak, hiding himself with a hood and goggles. But the only weapon he carried was a hunting rifle over his back, and he unmasked with a friendly smile upon meeting his wife.

There was one busy cutting up seals and sliding each chunk into a nearby bucket. He was engrossed in his work, and if he noticed her, he didn't show any sign of it.

There was another. The hunter from the Berthelsen house, polar bear coat and all. He even carried the same worn rifle case! The only discernable difference was that his hood was down, revealing a trimmed head of black hair. He didn't have anyone to meet or stop for, continuing into town despite the gossip.

Certain that she had her target, Annie followed him.

The man fileting his seal also realized Annie was leaving. Reapplying the bearskin to the soles of his shoes, he left his station and walked after her.

This chain took Annie back across Nuuk. A crowd had gathered near the murder site, with police having cordoned off the area and hidden the victim. She clicked her tongue, deeming it better to go around and avoid potential witnesses recognizes her face. The hunter behind her simply cut through.

The man with the case made it to the snow structures, stopping in front of the Svendsens' plot and staring in awe at its size. Clearing his throat, he shouted, "Hey, Agpa!"

The father and lead builder peeked his head over the top dome. "Yeah?" he yelled down.

"Someone asked me to return this to you!" He lifted the old case up.

Agpa lit up with relief. "I've been wondering where it went!" He looked around, quickly coming up with a solution. "Come in! Just leave the case by the door! I'll grab it later!"

The deliverer gave a thumbs up, and the event organizers let him through a fence gate.

The 'hunter' circled around the back of a nearby house. He took its garden hose, attaching it to the water heater's drain valve.

Coming from behind the plot was Annie, hopping the fence and running inside the castle-shaped igloo.

Seconds behind her was the 'hunter', spraying boiling water at the foundations.

"I need more snow for the main hall!" Agpa shouted, and his youngest daughter waddled with a bucket of snow almost as big as her, handing it to her older sibling, who passed it upward. Laughing, she scurried off to gather more snow, passing Annie without even batting an eye.

She jumped over the running hose, which she didn't remember being there, going to the corner of their plot to fill her bucket.

The man with the case marveled at the interior, which, bland as it was, felt surprisingly cozy. He left the rifle case down at his feet, wandering into the main hall and just taking it all in. Then he thought he heard running water, which shouldn't have been anywhere near here. His focus went to an adjacent room, where sunlight shone through the floor as steaming water flooded it all away. "Hey, Agpa?" he shouted, stepping back.

Annie rounded the corner, raising her silenced pistol behind the man. The man who, in her mind, killed her longtime partner. Between him and the rushing waters, she saw the latter far too late.

The structure shifted. The Svendsen family's screams pierced the air as snow chunks dropped from above. Walls crumbled as the roof fell in, and clouds of snow flew into the air.

For Annie, everything turned white in a matter of seconds. Other than her vision spinning and forcing her flat on the ground, it was all a blur. She tried to scream, only to realize the snow had filled her mouth and crawled down her throat. She tried to breathe, but her nose was plugged. She couldn't even wiggle her fingers and toes.

But Annie could hear. There was a deafening silence. Then murmurings. "Agpa!" someone shouted. "Come on! I see them!" Digging. Digging. A gasp of breath from another. Crying. She tried desperately to wave any part of her body, but nothing moved.

Prayers. More crying. More breaths. None from herself.

"One, two, three, four, five..." Agpa's children, including the man she followed. "That's everyone."

"Thank god..." Agpa said. "Come in, everyone." He pulled his family in, hugging them tight.

"We have to keep building!" It was the eldest son. "We still have a chance to win!"

"He's right!" a younger daughter added. "I can keep going!"

"No." It was an unfamiliar voice. Not belonging to the dad, his children, or anyone around. It filled her with dread. "All of you go home and get warmed up."

"But what about the competition?" the youngest whined.

"No... he's right," Agpa said. "We don't need this to know how much we love each other. I... We can do something. Indoors."

"But—!"

"No buts!" He turned to an organizer. "Excuse me! We'd like to drop from the competition."

I'm here! Annie tried to scream, but that made the snow dig deeper into her throat. The noise, even the snow, began to blur. She heard the footsteps, walking away. All but one pair, standing over her. Waiting.

He watched over the spot for five minutes. Five minutes more, just in case. And when he was certain that nothing under the mass pile of snow was alive, Agent 47 grabbed the rifle case and left.

"Beautifully executed," Drystan's voice came through the earpiece. "Keep this up, and you two can redeem yourselves before long. We can do great things for this world under Surtr's lead."

"Excellent work, 47," Diana chimed in. "All that's left now is to locate their agency-issued laptop, likely still in their motel room. Intel shows they cycled through a list of aliases. Try looking for a room belonging to 'Greg Keenie' and 'Amelia Ridley'."

Knowledge that he stored as he stepped inside the motel. Agent 47 parroted those names to the receptionist, being given their room number and directions. He thanked him and went searching.

Picking the lock to their apartment, 47 let himself in. The room appeared barely lived in, and a few items were taken from their luggage. They were ready to go at any time. Finding the laptop was no chore.

Upon turning it on, 47 entered the password he got from Popsicle and navigated through the chats to find one payment made via an anonymous account. The only discernable detail was that it came from Nunchi Electronics; Myung's company. He plugged in a USB.

Drystan sat cross-legged, hunching over until his face was only half a foot away from his screen. For once, he went quiet as his fingers glided across the keyboard. "I'm in... Just gotta erase you, add that..." He hit enter. "Done."

"Mission complete," Diana said. "It's time to go, 47."

He promptly reset the laptop to how it was, taking the USB and leaving the apartment. Agent 47 would catch a shuttle leaving Nuuk—and its dead—behind.

Hours later, when the festivities have come to an abrupt end and police scoured Nuuk to investigate the series of deaths, the assassins' apartment opened again. The intruders were Tamara and Dione, who tossed the receptionist a couple grand of krone for silence and a room key. Dione entered first, scanning the room with a hand on his holster.

"Clear." Tamara walked inside next, prompting him to grumble. "You know I respect you the most out of our Heralds, but this whole thing seemed an unnecessary risk."

"A risk that will save our organization," she said matter-of-factly. "These assassins' presence just confirmed our mole is scared. If we're lucky, their contacts will give us a lead."

"I like the idea. But that's not the only reason, is it?"

Tamara paused. Naturally, he'd see right through her. Paranoia and security were two sides of the same coin. "Myung would be... a terrifying opponent. She has control over the ICA, and by extension, their top agent. She could easily disrupt Providence's steady balance for her own gain—or for another's. If she is not to be trusted, we're in a better position to see her slip up." She got on their laptop, plugging in Popsicle's password.

"It wasn't wise to use the Puissance Treize's services," Dione commented. "They're barely afloat, as is. They had to retire the secure laptops for a flimsy toy."

"But they wouldn't have a choice. They know we have someone in the ICA."

"Unless..."

"I know." Tamara located the chats and hit another roadblock. But there was a reason she brought the no-show Herald along. "Dione?"

He leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the Client's username. "It's a procedurally generated profile used by CICADA agents to maintain anonymity. These go inactive after a period and become bot accounts, usually being deleted by third parties. I've memorized the format and every word the name bank uses."

"CICADA," Tamara parroted. "Someone in CICADA sent assassins after us, knowing who we are and where we were. It's not looking good for Mrs. Yoshihara."

"But you and I both know how likely our mole isn't her. How do you want to play this?"

Tamara took a minute to think. Costs and consequences. Rewards and the long-term. The fact was, Heralds were replaceable. Some are more so than others. "Relay this news to Myung. But tell her we won't do anything to Yoshihara."

NATIONAL GREENLANDIC DAY MET WITH BLOODSHED

On a day meant to be full of a country's joy and heart, citizens were horrified by a series of disasters!

The entire city of Nuuk is under investigation as authorities scour for any clues, and many are left desperate for answers. During the festival of National Greenlandic Day, the City Hall almost burned down, two were murdered, and the suspect was dead under a collapsed snow structure. These events happened in different times and places. Not one person has provided any insight into the situation. Authorities have put together a timeline of the events, but have found nothing of clarity.

The City Hall went ablaze thanks to arson, which started in the employee lounge. Thankfully, there were only minor injuries, and the inferno was put out before major damage could be done. Authorities aren't even sure if it's connected with the murder cases.

A foreigner with no ID was found locked in the attic of a local. He was gripping a silenced VKS sniper rifle, his head blown apart by what authorities say was a powerful .50 cal bullet. It pierced the wall, killing him instantly. The homeowner claims the foreigner asked to use the upstairs restroom, but he never saw the guest again. His rifle was never fired.

Killed in the middle of Nuuk was 28-year-old Ejnare Geisler, who witnesses say went to help a woman who suddenly shot him dead. It was a random attack, and Ejnare was described as a kind, selfless man who nobody could hate.

The shooter was a foreigner woman, also without ID. After Ejnare's death was reported, police scoured the scene for her. However, there was no sign of the killer. It wasn't until the next morning when a local family dug up their collapsed snow structure, finding the suffocated body of a woman and a silenced pistol that matched the prior slaying's ballistics. The family states that their snow structure suddenly collapsed during a local competition. They never saw the woman enter and had no idea how she ended up there.

The two shooters still remain unidentified...

NAMES FROM VENEZUELAN HUMAN TRAFFICKING BUST REVEALED

Interpol has finally released names from Venezuelan's human trafficking bust, containing shocking names on a dossier of customers. Figures like the late Silas Lambros, uncle of the deceased Jonas Lambros of Lambros Tobacco, have made rounds around Greece in a new light.

Other intriguing names include Warren Paxton, an antivirus programmer known to be hiding in Jamaica after evading taxes. Pictures have shown him under the protection of an unknown company of guards, often shirtless and surrounded by three women. He has made no statement surrounding the revelation.

There is also Blaine Hole, the former KKK Grand Dragon of Arizona and whose whereabouts remains a mystery. Formerly a pastor in the deep south during the 1960s who led firebombing campaigns and lynch mobs, he narrowly avoided arrest and has not been seen since. His family has announced him to be dead.

But of more damning news are Simon Devereaux and Sonya Valentine, the CEO and a head researcher of Biosphere, respectively. The company is known for their advancements in clean power and renewable energy, with the latter directly responsible for leading the team in the Philippines.

Their lawyers have claimed that Simon and Sonya have never met Raul, and that the names were likely listed as aliases by lower Biosphere employees. They claim to have started an internal investigation and already have suspects...

YOSHIHARA NOZOMI ON RECENT GLOBAL CONFLICTS AND HER FAMILY HISTORY

I had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on your view) of interviewing Director Yoshihara Nozomi of CICADA, a global private military contracting company. She was the only one gracious enough to grant me insight into the company, so I can only give her respect for that. Below is a transcript of some of the interview. You can find the rest on my website...

Q: What are your thoughts on the TruthSpeaker phenomenon making its way around the world? Especially Surtr and the anti-government movement he has caused?

A: They are terrorists. Period. All you must do is look at the footage of their actions. Relentless ransacking, brutal killings on the streets, people taking up arms against men and women trying to do their jobs. It's awful.

Q: CICADA has had a spotty history in the eye of the public and the media. There are claims that they are protecting individuals like Warren Paxton, and have participated in war crimes across the world. What do you have to say to these accusations?

A: Complete lies. We have committed an internal investigation through each tabloid drama, and have found nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, I would like to pose a question of my own to these journalists. If you were out on the field, fighting for your life when death stalks you around every corner, are you really going to concern yourself with rules and regulations?

Q: Onto a more personal note. There have been rumors circulating that you were chosen because of your yakuza background. I understand your father was the head of the Yoshihara-gumi. Do you have a response?

A: I think people love their assumptions too much. My father and his clan are long gone. My focus nowadays is CICADA and my three children whom I love. We are not yakuza. We are not uncivilized.

Q: Something that people have only recently caught on is the friendship between you and a South Korean tech mogul, Myung Soo-min. Some speculate you're using Nunchi Electronics to spy on everyone who uses their tech. Would you mind talking about that?

A: Soo-min and I have been friends longer than these conspirators have been alive. Back when I studied CSI, I transferred overseas to Korea. She sat next to me in class, and we hit it off. We realized we could make a bigger impact by working freelance, and we found a private detective who needed all the help he could get. We put big names behind bars, with the likes of the Puzzle Piece Butcher, Raymond Roberts, and the One-Eyed Hunter, Francis Hayes, among them. It went for a good while until external circumstances forced us to stop...

Q: What were those circumstances?

A: Rumors about our lead detective. Baseless rumors. We took on a case that was in over our heads. We were forced to look at reality. We dissolved, and we all went our separate ways. That is all..."

Shetland Islands, Scotland

Two caskets. One of them closed. A priest had volunteered to send them off with a eulogy and prayer. Annie and Reuben's only attendees were police officers and the local charity, ensuring they wouldn't move on alone. They'd be laid to rest in unmarked graves, another Jane and John Doe among many.

And though they had accepted during life that their old family wouldn't bother showing up at the end, that was not the case.

For on the hill over yonder, an aging couple watched on. The woman, long-haired with grey strands mixed in with dark brown, had an unreadable expression. Her husband, hiding a bald cap with a Scottish bonnet, wriggled his lips and a magnificent mustache curling at its ends.

He did it again when someone walked up beside them. "It's embarrassing what those two became," she said. "They turned their backs on you for selfish greed. Preferring money-throwing clients over our morals."

"That's enough, Xenia," the husband, Alfie, said. "No matter what they did, they were her pupils."

"I know. That's why I brought them over."

Alfie shook his head. "We all know this was an invitation. Otherwise, we appreciate you bringing their bodies back to us, but you need to go. Not unless you bring some important purpose."

Xenia turned her gaze behind him, locking onto the older woman. "I want Chitter to come back."

"That was a different life," he snapped back instantly. "She's Yvaine, now. We have kids to take care of."

"But clearly you have excellent babysitters."

"If you need killers-for-hire, go find Grandfather."

"This is only a job Chitter can do. Half-baked Shelter agents can only go so far."

"Chitter is dead. Has been for a long time. I'm sorry, Xenia, but you're out of luck."

"I ask this as the only one of your students still alive!" The declaration stunned Alfie, and the two looked at Yvaine for a reaction. But there wasn't even a blink. Regardless, she continued. "I've admired you my entire life. You doing this is—"

"You know I don't care about this stuff." The third voice cut through their debacle with a blunt edge. Alfie stepped aside, and Chitter finally bothered to look.

Xenia smiled knowingly. "But it got you to talk to me."

"What's the real reason you want me?"

"Surtr wants you in the TruthSpeakers. He wanted an alternative to Agent 47..." She felt at ease the moment Chitter's eyes narrowed. "And I suggested you."

"I think you've said enough, Xenia," Alfia butted in. "It's a whole nother thing to rope us into the conspiratorial cult you've helped establish. We have a family to—"

"Alfie."

"Yvaine...?"

She passed him, towering over Xenia with a permanent glare as she asked, "Who is it," almost monotone.

Of course, it would be the lab-grown killer to bring her back. Nobody liked seeing their years of training and effort measure up to an artificial creation. Especially the one that outdoes your students. "For now, Surtr wants us focused on a man named Sigmund Briar."