The Ninth Special Service Division, Aircraft Carrier.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Ivan Petrov had been walking freely aboard this same vessel, a respected member of the elite team. Now, shackled and restrained in an interrogation room, the cold metal of the handcuffs bit into his wrists. Chains, taut and heavy, stretched from the steel cuffs to the far end of the table, bolted firmly into the ground. The air in the room was thick with tension, stifling under the dim, sterile lights that flickered occasionally above.
It was a far cry from the freedom and command he once held. Ivan shifted slightly in his seat, the scrape of his chair against the metal floor echoing in the otherwise silent room. His mind churned as he tried to piece together the events that had led him here.
Nothing made sense. He had been a loyal agent, despite his unorthodox methods, and had always carried out his missions successfully. The worst that could be pinned on him was his phantom alter ego—an uncontrollable manifestation of his darkest instincts. Sure, it had caused trouble, but he had dealt with it. Or maybe, it was Melanie Chase's defection, and her subsequent death at his hands, that had sparked suspicion. Though even that felt like old news by now, something no longer relevant.
The only other thread he could grasp was the conversation he had with the Grove team during his last mission in the ruins. Maybe the Service Division suspected him of leaking too much information. Perhaps there was a mole inside The Ninth Division—someone who had set him up.
As his thoughts spiraled, the door slid open with a near-silent hiss. In walked Detective Riles, a man dressed sharply in the black uniform of The Ninth Special Service Division, his demeanor cold and calculated. Ivan knew Riles—they had worked together before, though they weren't close. There was always something off-putting about the detective's steely professionalism, as though empathy had no place in his world.
"Finally," Ivan muttered, his voice dry as he stifled a yawn. "I was starting to think you were leaving me here to rot. So, what's the accusation this time?"
Riles didn't respond to the jab. He moved with precision, his eyes never leaving Ivan, setting down a sleek, black laptop on the table. The metallic clink of the chains echoed softly as Ivan shifted to get a better look at the screen. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.
The detective opened the laptop, the glow of the screen casting harsh light across Riles' sharp features. He turned it toward Ivan. On the screen was a high-resolution photo of a young man in a military-style uniform.
Ivan stared at the face on the screen, his mind recalling the name before he even needed to speak it aloud.
"Helson," he said, his voice low. "Yeah, I remember him. One of the team members who didn't make it out of the ruins. Died during the last op."
The weight of those words hung in the air. The mission had been dangerous from the outset, a descent into chaos almost from the moment they touched down. Ivan had managed to salvage a victory—retrieving critical intel and getting most of the team out alive—but a few, including Helson, hadn't been so lucky. The ruins had claimed them.
"Of course, you remember," Riles said, his voice emotionless. "You should."
Something in Riles' tone caused a knot to form in Ivan's gut. The detective's words were a prelude to something more—something darker.
With a few keystrokes, Riles closed the photo and began playing a video. It was grainy at first, but the clarity sharpened as the footage began to roll.
It was a body cam recording. Helson's body cam.
Ivan leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. The footage was shaky, the beam of a flashlight cutting through the darkness of what was unmistakably the underground ruins where they had conducted their mission. The harsh breathing of the young agent filled the audio, his fear evident in every labored breath. The camera trembled with his hands, the stress and tension making every movement jerky and uncertain.
Suddenly, a figure stepped into the light.
Ivan's figure.
The screen illuminated Ivan's face, or at least someone who looked exactly like him. The same cold expression, the same eyes narrowed with focus, as though the situation was nothing more than a battlefield training session.
The real Ivan felt a chill race down his spine. He knew he had never encountered Helson in the ruins. This… whatever this was, was not him. But the figure on the screen was indistinguishable from him in every way.
"Sir…sir," Helson stammered in the video, clearly startled. "I didn't see you. I thought—"
"Your condition is terrible," the Ivan on the screen said, his voice clipped and harsh. "Keep calm and keep your gun steady, or you're not going to survive this mission. It's basic training, but it looks like I'll have to remind you here."
"Sorry… won't happen again, sir," Helson stuttered, his fear tangible.
"If there's a next time," came the cold reply.
Ivan watched as his doppelgänger asked Helson a few more questions, probing for information. Then, as calmly as if he were ordering lunch, the Ivan in the video raised a gun.
The barrel was aimed directly at Helson.
The young agent barely had time to react. His gasp of horror filled the screen as a gunshot rang out. The video spiraled, the camera falling to the ground as Helson collapsed, his life snuffed out in an instant. The screen cut to black.
The silence that followed was oppressive. Ivan felt his jaw tighten, though his face betrayed no emotion beyond a flicker in his eyes.
Across from him, Riles studied him, his fingers intertwined, resting under his chin as though waiting for a confession.
"Anything you want to say?" Riles asked, breaking the silence, his voice low and expectant.
Ivan stared at the black screen for a moment longer, as though expecting it to come back to life. His mind was racing, calculating his next move, but outwardly, he remained calm.
"No," Ivan said finally, his voice deliberate. "I can see this situation doesn't look good for me. But no matter what I say, you're not going to believe it, are you?"
"Try me," Riles countered.
Ivan leaned back in his chair, the chains rattling slightly with the movement. He tapped his knuckles lightly on the metal table, the sound a small, hollow echo.
"Do you believe that was me in the video?" he asked, eyes locked on Riles.
"Seeing is believing," Riles replied. "The footage came directly from Helson's body camera. Standard Ninth Division procedure. You know how it works."
Ivan raised an eyebrow. "We deal with impossible things all the time, don't we? Shapeshifters, mind control… You remember Melanie Chase—the one who could turn into anyone, even mimic their voice?"
"She's dead," Riles interrupted. "You made sure of that."
"True," Ivan said, nodding slightly. "But just because she's gone doesn't mean the trick died with her."
"Maybe," Riles conceded, though his tone was far from agreeable. "But you've got a history of impulsive behavior, disobeying orders, and that phantom doppelgänger of yours… who's to say it's not still lurking in your mind, influencing you?"
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Ivan's lips. "You've really thought this through."
"So you admit the video is real?"
"That's not what I said," Ivan replied coolly. "I haven't seen Helson since we landed in those ruins. This video? It never happened, not from where I'm standing. Did you even check my body cam?"
"It was damaged in the ruins," Riles said icily. "Conveniently."
Ivan sighed, leaning back again. "Then I guess I don't have anything more to say, do I?"
Riles stood abruptly, gathering his things, clearly frustrated. "Those handcuffs," he said, motioning to Ivan's restraints, "are designed to inhibit your abilities. Professor Miyazaki's invention. You're welcome to try escaping. I'd like to see you try."
"Maybe you're right," Ivan replied with a lazy grin, his voice dripping with indifference. "Maybe I am an unstable factor. But for what it's worth, I don't care anymore."
With one last glare, Riles left the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the room. The weight of isolation pressed in on Ivan, but he remained calm, even smiling faintly.
His thoughts turned again to Siegel's words. The ruins mission had been a trap. Someone, perhaps even someone within the division had set them up to fail. Now, it seemed they were using this fabricated video as a way to eliminate him.
But it wasn't just him, was it? Fana, Duan, Larry Wade—they were probably all being targeted in their own ways. Whoever was pulling the strings didn't just want him gone; they wanted the entire "Ultimate Power" team dismantled before it could even begin.
The enemy was hidden, powerful, and entrenched within The Ninth Division itself. The situation was dire.
Unless…
"Agent Petrov."
The voice came from behind him, hoarse and rasping, like the whisper of death itself.
Ivan's lips curled into a dark smile, his suspicions confirmed.
"Well, well," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Came just in time."