William Brandt is retired, or at least he's supposed to be. So, why did the caller ID read: Eugene Kittridge? First of all, he was head of the CIA, not the IMF. Second of all, if it wasn't work-related, why would Kittridge be calling him? Kittridge doesn't even like him, and Will doesn't either, but still? You have to answer it, Will. "Shit," Will presses the accept call button with a sigh.

"Hello?" As per protocol, Kittredge makes sure it's actually William Brandt.

"Call sign?" Protocol, annoying, but necessary.

"Special agent William Brandt, call sign, Jupiter 68S12." There's a brief pause before Kittredge speaks again, his voice laced with an unusual amount of urgency that Brandt has never heard from the calm, calculated Kittredge. Something's really wrong.

"Brandt, I need you to come down to Germany, now." Ramstein-Miesenbach. "You do realize that I'm retired, right?" Kittredge's voice leaves no room for protest, "Brandt, I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important, alright? Just get here,' Brandt can't respond before the line goes dead.

——————

At lunch, the atmosphere in the room shifts as Will takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he has to say. His heart races, his palms clammy with anticipation. This is the moment he's been dreading, yet he knows it can't be avoided any longer. Clearing his throat, Will finally breaks the news to everyone, his voice tinged with a mixture of reluctance and determination. "I need to talk to you all," he begins, his words hanging heavy in the air. As he glances around the table at his four children, their eyes widen with curiosity, sensing the gravity of the situation. Will swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to ease the tension that filled the room. "When are you going to be back?" They know. What really punches him in the gut is the fact that he doesn't even need to say it. They just knew. They expect it.

Will hesitates for a moment, his gaze dropping to the tabletop as he grapples with the weight of his response, before eyeing Jane, hoping for some kind an answer. Jane shakes her head, I don't know. "We won't be gone long. We'll be back in a few days, two or three maybe."

The children exchange glances, their expressions a mixture of skepticism and disappointment. They had heard similar promises before, only to be left waiting in uncertainty. "Guys, we won't be gone long," Will reassures them, his tone firm yet gentle as he met each of their eyes in turn.

Lila, the youngest of the siblings, frowns at him, her bottom lip trembling with uncertainty.

"Promise?" she asks, her voice small yet earnest. Will's heart clenches at the vulnerability in her eyes, the weight of her trust resting heavily on his shoulders. Swallowing back his own doubts, he nods solemnly, "I promise," he vows, his words a silent pledge to return to them as soon as he can.

As they finish their meal in silence, the unspoken tension lingers in the air, a reminder of the uncertainty that lies ahead. But amidst the uncertainty, there is also a glimmer of hope, a promise of reunion that Will holds onto tightly as he prepares to embark on his journey. Don't make promises you can't keep.

———————

Ramstein-Miesenbach, Germany

The first thing Will notices when he enters the small building is the faint but very noticeable blood-splattered white floor under his feet.

The metallic smell that hangs in the air quickly fills his senses. As he scans the area, the second thing he notices is the bodies. A handful of corpses littered the floor in front of him. What the hell? "Will." He turns to Jane who is now standing beside him, the same perplexed expression echoes across her face. "W-what happened?"

"We're not sure yet. Benji and Luther are checking the cameras and Kittredge is talking with the witnesses." Will's brain is in a fog as if he's just woken up and isn't yet awake completely. It's like he's stuck in a dream that he can't wake up from. "How-how many….?" Jane hesitates for a moment before speaking, "We-we're….still counting. More than a dozen so far."

"Oh my God….Why'd….? Who did this?" It doesn't make sense. If this was some kind of retaliation for something, they wouldn't attack somewhere so obvious, would they? Who would want retaliation, and for what? "We don't know. But I think it's personal. This was a message. Not sure what, but it's for someone here." Shit.

—————————

"Luther, you find anything?" Luther nods, pulling up a list of names next to a photo pulled from facial recognition software. "Not really. Just a bunch of aliases."

"So, this guy's been erased from every government database in the world?" Luther sighs in irritation, staring at the screen. "Either he's been in the military or the government or he's just that careful, but that's next to impossible." Benji and Luther turn as a very tired Ethan walks in, scanning his surroundings on instinct.

His jacket is tattered with blood, his shoulders sagging slightly. They know Ethan well enough by now to know when he's holding something back. "Uh, you okay, Ethan?" Ethan offers a stiff nod as his eyes focus on the computer screen behind Luther. "Yeah. I'm good, uhm, It's just been a day, I guess."

"Looks like it." Luther side-eyes Benji in a not-now look. "Ethan, what happened?" Ethan stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm not exactly sure, honestly, uh, some guy, I think his name was Nick something was following me, and when I cornered him, he….slit his own throat…." At this, Ethan's met with extremely confused Benji and a very concerned Luther staring at him in disbelief. "Yeah. I don't know either."

The uneasy silence is broken as Kittredge, Will, and Jane join them. "Well, we've got quite the predicament, huh?" Jane elbows Will as he huffs out a chuckle.

Ethan eyes the computer screen closer without a word. "You recognize him at all?" There's a heavy silence that hangs in the air as Ethan doesn't acknowledge Jane's question. "Ethan." He finally turns to face them, even more unsettled than when he'd come in. "No. No, I don't know who he is. He's not the guy I saw earlier so, no. I don't know," he says coyly.

Another long silence precedes as the other five all exchange a 'he's lying' glance. Will opts to leave it be for now and continues the conversation. "I've never seen him before either, but as far as I can tell, he's gotta have some kind of training if he was able to do all this by himself."

"Military?" Kittredge shakes his head, "No, it's too precise, too balanced to be military. It's not IMF training either though." Luther musses, "What about KGB?"

"Could be, not sure though….Ethan, any ideas?" As they turn their attention to Ethan, the silence stretches once again as he stares off into space as if dwelling on something important.

"He's gotta be an agent of some kind. Maybe a private sector….?" Kittredge motions to the hallway, "If we split up and talk to….whoever's left, maybe we'll get something to go off of."

—————————

After wandering for a while, Ethan finds himself standing disquietly in the middle of a daunting hallway with corpses surrounding him, his mind shifting between two worlds.

One world here, standing among his dead colleagues wanting to just go home and stay retired from everything with his family, and nothing more. The other, a past he's worked so hard to bury in a lockbox deep inside his head and never open again. But at the moment, standing here feels all too familiar.

He can see the scene playing out in front of him as his mind goes through every single possible scenario. The scene unfolds with grisly clarity.

In this moment, Ethan feels himself transported back to the heart of darkness, standing once again at the precipice of unspeakable terror.

The memories claw at Ethan's mind with relentless ferocity, threatening to drag him back into the abyss from which he's fought so hard to escape. Fear and dread coil around his heart like a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs and leaving him gasping for air in the suffocating grip of despair. The killer slaughtering the unsuspecting agents who try desperately to defend themselves only to be shot or stabbed, their throats slit, bullets piercing their flesh, blood, and guts spilling out of their wounds as they slowly die, the killer simply moves on to the next victim without a care in the world. It's something so gruesome and terrifying to anyone else who would have seen it, even if they were agents or trained to handle this kind of situation, but it feels startlingly normal to the small part of Ethan's brain that's still trapped in that other nightmarish world of death. He can see the killer so vividly in his mind that the feeling gnawed at him just as it had back then. He can see himself standing right next to the killer, trying to maintain his stoic demeanor while holding back the mounting discomfort and disgust he pushed to the back of his mind as it began to swell, almost breaking through that cold exterior, almost.

And amidst the chaos, Ethan feels a familiar sensation creeping up from the depths of his soul. Fear, cold and unrelenting, wrapped its icy tendrils around his heart, squeezing until he could scarcely draw breath. Dread, like a weight pressing down upon his chest, threatens to crush him beneath its suffocating embrace.

Guilt gnaws at him like a ravenous beast, tearing at his conscience with remorseless fury. Anger boils within him, a seething cauldron of rage threatening to consume him whole. Pity and remorse mingle with the other emotions, a bitter cocktail of sorrow and despair.

Ethan remembers that feeling more than he ever wants to. It's a feeling that's impossible to define completely. Maybe it's fear or dread? Guilt? Anger? Pity? Remorse? A combination of all of them?

"Eh-h-elop-m-" Ethan's mind snaps back to the present as his eyes catch a glimpse of movement to his right. After a moment, Ethan crouches down to the young agent's side and quickly covers the agent's chest wound, a bullet wound that's visibly squirting dark red blood in spurts, like a rhythm that matches his heartbeat. With every breath, more blood spurts out from the wound.

Ethan sticks his fingers as deep into the wound, probing as best as he can, and grasps a severed nerve that's pulsating, the source of the enormous amount of blood that's now forming a small puddle on the floor, and pinches it together as best he can in a futile attempt to stint the bleeding a little bit to buy the young man some more time. "Hang on, man. You're gonna be alright." The agent gasps as he forces out somewhat comprehendible words through the blood collecting in his mouth. "'Sss, bad? Ow bad? How…."

Ethan doesn't know how to answer that. The poor guy's moments away from death from the blood loss, but how the hell do you tell someone that? Turns out, he doesn't need to as the agent seems to understand the expression on Ethan's face. Ethan sees tears forming in his eyes as he desperately tries to speak. "'S 'Kay, I know…." The man takes a few more strained breaths before nothing but blood spills from his mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…."