Nadine

When the call came in over the secure untraceable line, you almost went to your superiors. It was your job to catch her, after all. But something stayed your hand. Maybe it was the complicated history; the cat and mouse chase across Europe. The hotel roof in Istanbul. The chase through the streets of Paris. The gunfight in Berlin, when she’d shot you in the side of the neck, deliberately grazing you rather than killing you. The night in Athens all those years ago, before she’d walked away the next morning, leaving both the agency, and you. Since she’d abandoned her position as your partner and become a freelance assassin and master thief, the CIA had been clear; Nadine was a wanted woman. Dead or alive. It was your job to catch her. Despite your otherwise impeccable record, there were those in the higher ups who whispered that the reason for your failure to do so was more personal then you would admit. Maybe they were right. Maybe that was the reason you agreed her. Or maybe it was the barely disguised fear in her voice when she asked you to meet her. It could have just been the promise of information on Hyperion, the latest and perhaps deadliest threat the Agency had encountered. No agent had found much on the shadowy cabal of criminals, former spies, and terrorists that had sprung up in the shadows over the last decade, and if she knew something, your former partner was worth the risk. So, you agreed to her terms. You drove out to the abandoned factory you now found yourself walking into, and tossed the bullets from your gun onto the floor in front of you. She stepped out of the shadows, allowing her own ammunition to fall onto the floor, one by one. You glared at her, demanding to know what the game was now. She’d smiled sadly, insisting she only wanted to help. You glared at her, demanding to know why you should believe her now, after all her lies and betrayals.