Unknown
Destruction and blood would follow Jack Mayors from now on. The events in Prague had sealed his fate, making him a marked man. Every shadow felt like an enemy, every sound a threat. Jack was no longer just an operative on the run — he was the talk of the town, the subject of every whisper in the world of espionage.
As he and Tyler Rake sped through the deserted streets, the city's once-bustling life now seemed distant, overshadowed by the chaos they'd left behind. The roar of the engine was the only sound between them, a stark contrast to the silence that filled the car. Jack's mind was racing, yet his face betrayed nothing.
The sirens grew louder, echoing through the empty streets like the cry of a wounded beast. They were surrounded, but Jack knew that escape was still within reach — if they could just stay ahead of the impending storm.
Then, Tyler broke the silence. His voice was low, almost lost in the noise outside. "You found the package?"
"Yeah"
The road ahead was silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of sirens. Jack Mayors and Tyler Rake traveled in silence, each lost in their thoughts, the weight of the past hours heavy between them. Jack's phone buzzed, shattering the quiet and pulling him back to the present.
"Cafe Morgenland II, Berlin. 1900 hours," the message read.
Tyler glanced at Jack, concern etching his features. "I'm coming with you."
Jack's response was immediate, and firm. "No, this is my fight. I need to finish this alone."
Tyler opened his mouth to argue, but Jack's next words stopped him cold.
"I can't lose anyone else," Jack's voice was raw, the echo of his shout lingering in the air like a wound.
Tyler's resolve softened. "Is there something I can do?"
Jack reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pen drive. "There's encrypted information on here — data tied to global events. Find out who's behind it, and consider us even."
Tyler took the drive, his grip firm. "I'll take care of it."
Jack nodded the weight of his mission pressing down on him. The road ahead was his to walk alone. Meeting The Watcher was the first step in ending this nightmare, once and for all.
Location: Somewhere outside Berlin
The room was bathed in the cold glow of seven monitors, each displaying live feeds of the carnage in Prague. Bloodshed, chaos, death—it was all meticulously documented, but to The Watcher, the images were just data, mere variables in a grander equation. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, a rhythm only he could hear. The sirens in the distance grew louder, an unwelcome symphony of the city's despair. On the screens, the vitals of the operatives flickered with finality: 56 dead, not one survivor.
Alone in the dark, The Watcher's gaze sharpened. The time had come to unleash a weapon of his own—an asset locked away in Tihar Prison. A man with 136 confirmed kills and a résumé of unspeakable acts, including the notorious Afghan Slaughter. This man was more than capable; he was a force of nature.
With a calculated breath, The Watcher picked up his phone and dialed a secure line, 777.
"I've got an urgent locate and destroy," he said, his voice calm, devoid of emotion.
A pause, then the response, "Name?"
"Jack Mayors."
"Consider him dead."
The Watcher ended the call, a rare flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. The White Wolf was on the hunt, and Jack Mayors would soon be a ghost of the past. But before the final blow, The Watcher knew he had to speak with Mayors himself—a final conversation before the inevitable end.
L
Location: Berlin, Café Morgenland II
The café was half filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses, but Jack Mayors sat alone, his thoughts as cold and sharp as the glass of Veuve Clicquot he had just ordered. The bubbles rose slowly, catching the dim light, and reflecting the calm before the inevitable storm.
Outside, the sound of tires crunching on gravel signaled the arrival of a sleek, black car. It came to a halt in front of the café, and a man stepped out, his presence as dark and foreboding as the night itself. As he entered, the atmosphere shifted—a tangible weight that pressed down on the room. One by one, the patrons left, their conversations silenced by an unspoken understanding that something dangerous had just walked in.
Jack remained still, his gaze fixed on the glass in front of him. His body was relaxed, but every muscle was coiled, ready to strike. He didn't need to turn around to know who had entered.
"Jack Mayors," came the voice, smooth and mocking, with a hint of dark amusement. "Bravo indeed..."
Without looking up, Jack responded, "Cyrus Black."
The name hung in the air like a dark cloud. Cyrus took a seat opposite Jack, the creaking of the chair sounding louder than it should have in the now-empty café. Silence settled between them, thick and oppressive, each man weighing the other.
Cyrus broke the silence, his voice dripping with a mixture of admiration and condescension. "You're the talk of the town, Jack. Every operative worth their salt has your name on their lips. You're a legend in these parts."
Jack remained silent, his eyes cold, betraying nothing.
Unfazed, Cyrus continued, "I have to say, I'm impressed. Your performance has been... exceptional. You've outplayed the best. But you already know that, don't you?"
Jack's patience was wearing thin. "Why did you call me, Cyrus? To compliment me, or to waste my time?"
A sly smile crept across Cyrus's face. "To state facts, and perhaps, to propose a compromise. I know I've hurt you, Jack. I know what you've lost. Sarah... I can still hear her screams. So tragic, isn't it?"
Jack's hand tightened around the glass, the echo of Sarah's last moments stabbing at his mind, guilt and rage intertwining. Jack's heart pounded in his chest as Cyrus mentioned Sarah, memories of her final moments flashing through his mind like a broken reel of film. Her laughter, her touch, the sound of her voice—it all came rushing back, threatening to drown him in guilt and rage.
Cyrus leaned in slightly, his voice taking on a sinister tone. "You've been through hell, my dear boy. But look at you—a phenomenon. Fast, relentless, a ghost who knows when to strike. You could have been unstoppable... if only you had joined me."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "But there's one problem, isn't there?? You are the angel who serves God and protects his innocent little people, but Jack I don't serve the devil... I AM THE DEVIL"
The words hung between them, the tension palpable. Jack's mind raced, every word Cyrus spoke driving the knife deeper. This was more than a confrontation; it was a battle of wills, of ideologies. The room seemed to close in around them, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls, as the devil and the ghost sat face to face, preparing for the inevitable showdown.
Cyrus continued "Without further ado, I will kill you, 'cause I will do anything to protect the CIA and get what I want. "
"Like what killing a World Bank CEO??"
"Consider it a mercy."
"My foot."
"Your tone Jack, I will do what needs to be done, I will go through any way I want to get what I want and nobody can't stop me from doing that and I WILL BURN YOU OUT OF TIME!!!"
"Killing all those people at Malta, triggering a civil war, The Baluchistan Attack, all those innocent children and women. Is that YOUR MERCY??"
Cyrus said, "Oh…please the emotions... argh this is unbearable, Jack, if you wanna make an omelet you gotta kill some people. The world needs to be reformed and the next war that is going to happen is not with guns and armies, it is gonna be a technological war between countries, the war of a rapidly shrinking ecosystem with everyone at their peak to control the world... and all these deaths is just nothing but dust for me."
Cyrus leaned in slightly, his voice low and menacing. "The next few days are going to be busy for me, Jack. Stand in my way, and what happened to Sarah will seem like mercy compared to what's coming for you and your loved ones. To create order, sacrifices must be made. It's the price of progress. Death is closer than you think, Jack. Be careful what you do next."
Jack met his gaze, unflinching. "If you so much as touch any of them, there won't be a place on this earth you can hide from me. That's a promise."
With that final exchange, Jack stood up and left the cafe. Outside, a cold wind began to stir, and thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing the storm brewing within him. A few minutes later, his phone rang. It was Tyler.
"Speak," Jack answered.
"The World Bank CEO murder, the Baluchistan Attack, the civil war in Russia, the stock market crash, the Prague incident, and the Malta blast—all orchestrated by one group. A lethal syndicate of rogue agents, trained to do what were trained to, kills any one who stands in their way without remorse. They're headed by..."
"Cyrus Black," Jack interrupted.
"How do you know that?" Tyler asked, surprised.
"Spoke to him a few minutes ago." With that, the call ended Jack Mayors planning to stay one step ahead of Cyrus for what is going to happen is not a fight, but a slaughter.