I was sent to capture the CIA's most wanted fugitive.
But things took a tragic turn,
My entire team was murdered before my eyes, and I was kidnapped by said fugitive.
It seemed like my government had forgotten me and I became a puppet for the fugi...
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"I didn't think she could do it."
"She?"
"Agent Laura Hill, the agent in charge of Code Hidalgo."
"And she brought all these?"
"Yes."
"Tell me, what else do you know about this Agent Hill?"
"Her mother is former special FBI agent Louise Hill, and she was under a program growing up, Project Flawless."
"and what is Project Flawless?"
"A secret special operation training developed by the late Agent Lombardi, our Itailan agent, Code name Tiger. Where he trained special children in extreme combat, undercover aids, martial arts, and even the art of seduction."
"And you're saying this Agent Hill took on Andreas Hidalgo by herself?"
"Yes Sir."
"Tell me more."
"Her mother allowed that she join the agency when she was only nineteen, even then, she was very strong, nothing and no one could get past her and she even beat up our best agents. The CIA Director at the time thought it best to enstate her, to have her as an asset instead of a liability; back then some even claimed she never felt pain."
"And how much of an asset has she been?"
My life hasn't always been mine.
I circled him, the metallic clink of my blades cutting through the air as I moved. The sharp steel had already tasted his blood, glistening crimson against the cold silver. I thrust my hips forward, my movements calculated and fierce, then back, taunting him. His expression remained unreadable, betraying nothing of what he might be feeling.
With each thrust, I could see the muscles in his arms twitch as fresh cuts opened, but he stayed silent, eyes locked onto mine. His breath came slow and steady, almost methodical, a stark contrast to the chaos around us. Blood dripped from his wounds, creating small rivulets that stained the floor beneath him, yet he remained as still as a statue.
His men, faces contorted with rage and feat surged forward in a desperate attempt to save him. He raised a single finger, and they halted, a testament to his absolute control. Their loyalty was unquestionable, but his command was law.
I couldn't tell if he was entertained or simply indifferent. His heterochromatic eyes, one bright blue and the other emerald green, bore into me with a chilling detachment. They were like ice, devoid of warmth, mirroring the cold demeanor that seemed to be etched into his very being. A reminder of my visit to his elder brother, Alexander Hidalgo. Perhaps, I mused, thus unyielding composure was embedded in their DNA.
Each drop of blood that fell seemed to resonate in the silent room, a macabre symphony that accompanied our deadly dance. The cuts on his arms and legs were precise, designed to inflict pain without fatality, yet he sat unmoving, a figure of stoic resilience. His eyes never left mine throughout the show.
