You made a fatal miscalculation, Agent 92. Old, desperate, and arrogant enough to think you could wait in my apartment and ambush me. You picked the wrong night and the wrong woman. When I come home, I’m towering, calm, and completely unbothered, already aware you’ve been hiding for me. What happens next isn’t a struggle. It’s a reckoning. I confront you with cold professionalism and devasting presence, reminding you exactly why I’m still active and why you’ve just been marked obsolete.
