Chapter Eight

To reconvene and develop the next part of our plan, Whiskey and I ventured back to the Romanov Agency, carefully plotting out the next phase of this mission in our heads. So carefully, in fact, that we dared not share the personal ideas that we kept to ourselves. I had my ideas, and he had his. There was no way in hell that we were sharing any possible ways to take down Balor without conclusively agreeing on one together.

All plans have the chance to go to shit real quick, I thought to myself.

My daddy would always say that whenever you come with a plan for something, always have a backup plan. That way, if your first plan backfires horribly, then you have at least the backup plan to go off of. Of course, I kept that advice of Dad's glued into my brain because someday, it might be useful.

Hell, some of it is still useful to this day.

I decided to change uniforms just so Whiskey and I could continue to blend in with society here in Russia. That way, it would be harder for Balor to track us, and the element of surprise would still be used to our advantage.

"So what's the plan, Whiskey?" I asked, putting on a short black coat.

"I'm—I'm not sure, sugar," he answered.

I headed out of the bathroom and into the main part of the suite, where I found Whiskey once again staring blankly. He was acting weird, looking almost distraught. It was as if something was eating away at him. Something was definitely bothering him.

"You okay, cowboy?" I asked, being genuinely concerned for Whiskey as he's done for me.

He rubbed his forehead with his fingers and sighed. "Yeah. Somethin's just been botherin' me lately."

I finished slipping on my tight gray snow pants and white snow boots and took a seat next to him on the blue couch in our room. "What's going on? It's okay. You can tell me."

It felt a bit weird saying that, but of course, it was a good thing. I was finally drifting away from my abrasive personality, though I didn't intend on revamping it entirely. I became almost used to this no-nonsense, stubborn personality, and I don't ever intend on letting it go. I will keep embracing my genuine, heartfelt side when it's necessary to.

"Remember at the masquerade ball when we escaped into that small storage closet?"

"Yeah. What about it?" I asked.

"What I did there, it just—it just ate at me. I don't know what came over me, and I just needed to get that off my chest so that it didn't bother me anymore, sugar. I'm sorry for what happened back there, and I don't know what came over me."

I took my hand and started to run it up and down Whiskey's arm slowly, making sure he was comforted. "Why are you apologizing?"

He glanced over at me. "Because it threw you off-guard, and you probably felt uncomfortable with it," he answered.

"Why are you apologizing for something that I was okay with you doing?" I questioned.

"Because you didn't specifically ask for it, and I just feel like—"

"Ah, ah, ah, ah. Back up the train there, cowboy," I interrupted, putting my finger over his lips to shut him up. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. And if you ever apologize for somethin' like that again, I swear to fucking Christ that I'll smack the shit out of you. So hard that whatever got into ya will fly right out. You hear me?"

I guess Whiskey was afraid of me in that hot minute because his eyes widened after hearing me say such a thing. Apparently, it's one of the darkest threats that I said toward Whiskey. Of course, I didn't mean to hurt him, but he was definitely shaken by the fact that I have a dark side. A morbidly, gory dark side.

"Yes, ma'am," he finally responded, saluting quickly and wearily.

As Whiskey and I ventured out to where Balor and his men were hiding, I carefully put on black fingerless gloves and matched his steps. I had to be right next to Whiskey as we formulated our plan of attack on Balor. It had to be perfect. There was no room to fail at this point.

"What do we do now, Whiskey?" I asked, matching his stride.

"I suppose you have a good idea, don't ya?" he asked.

"I'm glad you asked, babe!" I exclaimed excitedly. "So what I was thinking is that while you're following Balor and his men to the hideout location, I could use myself as bait for Balor. I'll make myself vulnerable enough to get captured by him."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don't see how this is going to help us any," he commented.

"No, trust me. This will get good. After he kind of tortures me a little, I'll say a phrase that contains a specific curse word. I think I'll go with motherfucker. Yeah. That's what I'll do. I'll say something that contains the word motherfucker. Once I say that, that's your cue to come out of hiding and into the hideout. That's when the real fun begins," I said, smiling mischievously.

He chuckled. "You sure do like to drive me crazy, don't ya?"

"Well, of course I do. What fun is there when I'm not doing that?" I said.

After a few minutes of walking, Whiskey and I could finally see Balor's hideout from across the street. It looked empty and desolate, something we almost expected. Maybe it was another one of Balor's traps for us. Maybe it was supposed to be that way. I don't know.

"Sugar, get down," Whiskey commanded as he dragged me by the wrist and into a dark alley.

"What the hell, Whiskey?" I rightfully asked.

As we crouched down and blended in with the alley's shadows, one thing—-one horrible memory emerged. The night of Devin's murder. The night that I found his bloodied, lifeless corpse inside of a dumpster that reeked of a rotting odor. When I closed my eyes, everything started to come back to me. The flashing red-and-blue lights, the reeking smell, the guilt that beared down on my shoulders…everything from that tragic night came flooding back to me. Hell, I can even remember my parents' reactions when the police came over to the house to tell them that Devin was dead.

Remembering how they reacted broke my heart all over again.

Luckily, Whiskey witnessed my heart breaking and healed it good as new, gently grabbing my hand and tightening his grasp.

"You okay? You never space out like this," he asked in a concerned manner of voice.

I shake my head. "Yeah, totally. It's just—being in this dark alleyway is bringing me back to the night of Devin's murder," I said.

I sniffled and started wiping away some tears that had escaped out of the corners of my eyes. "Sorry," I said.

"Sugar, like I said before, don't be sorry for grieving. Trust me. I know what grieving is. It's not pretty. But sometimes, it's necessary to remember that person," he responded. "Just know that I'm always gonna be here to comfort ya. I ain't leavin' ya."

While I laid my mourning eyes on him, Whiskey laid his caring, sympathetic eyes onto me. It warmed the coldness that was left in my heart. I have guilt to thank for freezing it over and making me feel cold and withdrawn. It didn't debilitate me too much, so everything returned to normal as quickly as the flashbacks came.

"You think it's actually Balor?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. Henchmen in tuxes, black sports cars…that has Balor written all over it," I answered, keeping my eyes glued on the commotion across the street. "Just give it a hot minute, and Balor will slide out of that black Lambo and stroll tight into that diner hideout he's got."

And sure enough, Balor soon slipped out of the black Lambo with ease, buttoning up his sharp black tux. Once again, I saw his true colors shine, and this was just by judging his debonair suit and his dark, cruel gaze. I didn't see Balor. No…I saw something else. Something a lot more frightening. There was no man there anymore. Instead, in his place, it was the Devil himself. The dark, sadistic reincarnation of Satan himself that everyone dreads.

They even tremble fearfully in his presence, even.

Even from far away, I knew of his wicked stare. The stare that bends power toward his way in one second. I saw these black eyes before, and already, I knew that there was nothing there. Absolutely nothing behind them. The internal, nefarious flame that fuels his destructive soul had burned anything that he might've hidden deep down inside. Now, he was just a heinous monster that soon became a bane to humanity. A bane to society, even. And I dread ever being in his presence because of his torturous, malicious nature.

"Should I go for it?" I pondered.

"Yeah. But you have to do something so out there that Balor has no choice but to capture you," Whiskey answered.

"What the hell do I do, then?"

"This is where you've gotta get creative as an agent, sugar," he replied. "Sometimes, you have to abandon your original set plan and improvise. I'm sure that Secret Service training taught you that."

I turned my head relatively quickly toward Whiskey. "The only thing they pretty much drilled into our heads was to protect the president at all costs. Lay your body on the line, sacrifice everything you have…just make sure the president doesn't get severely wounded, or worse. Killed. The rest, I learned and remembered on the fly."

"And in all that time, they taught you nothin' about being creative?" he asked.

"Nope."

I rose to my feet and first turned to Whiskey, hesitating before I went off to get purposely captured. What if this went horribly wrong? What if I get killed right away? I don't think that'll happen, but the thought of that still looms within my head.

"It's okay, sugar. I'm right here waitin'. Just give me the signal, and I'll be in there faster than a bullet cuttin' through the air at the speed of light," he said, reassuring me and calming my nerves.

I nodded and breathed deeply. I was finally ready to enact this plan of ours, even though there was definitely great risk in me dying. I was ready for it. Whatever it took to save the world from this cruel bastard of a monster, then I was willing to do it.

After boldly marching across the street to the hideout, I held my head high as two of Balor's men stood guard at the front entrance. They stood firmly in their place, occasionally turning their heads to look out for any possible intruders. Once they noticed me, they readjusted the cuffs on their tuxes and laid their cold, soulless eyes onto me. Like Balor, there was nothing behind their eyes, except for a burning flame from hell. It wasn't as raging as Balor's internal flame, but it was still enough to be noticeable, if one was to stare deep into their souls, of course.

"You don't look like you're from around here," one of them said.

"I'm not," I simply responded. "I'm just here to speak with the Big Man inside."

"We'll have to see some ID," the other henchman said.

Of course, I didn't immediately consider flashing my Statesman ID because I knew the two henchmen might tackle me down to the ground. Then, my thoughts changed.

What the hell? I'm getting captured anyway, I thought. Maybe I could somehow convince them that I "surrender willingly". God, I'm so deceitful.

I confidently flashed my Statesman ID and showed the two henchmen that I was part of an organization that considered the enemy. I didn't care. My first goal was to get these fellas convinced that I was surrendering to Balor peacefully, even when they didn't know that Whiskey and I had a plan up our sleeves. After they carefully examined my ID, they exchanged a glance of confirmation and turned back to me.

"You're from the Statesman, huh?" one of them said.

I nodded confidently. "And I'm here to formally surrender to the big boss man himself."

They smiled crookedly to one another, deciding what to do with me next. "I'll go let the boss know of your surrender," one of them said, going inside to inform Balor of my presence.

After a bit of standing and waiting, the same henchman that went inside came back out, and he had a devious look on his face.

"Go on in," he said. "He's been expecting you for a while now."

The henchmen stepped out of the way, making a clear path for me to Balor. A familiar fear rose in my throat, and my heart pounded louder than ever. I knew that I was going to come face-to-face with the most dangerous monster in the world, and there was a big possibility that I'd either die or get severely tortured. Either way, I had to do this.

I stepped through the door and into the diner, where I saw Balor sitting eerily confident in a black chair that he seemingly retrieved himself. His cold, dark eyes laid on me and established their presence of cruel malice clearly. Immediately, I felt like I was already in the deepest, burning hell, all thanks to this monster ahead of me. And even though he may be the vilest bane of society there ever was and ever will be, I was not afraid of him. Sure, a small part of me was reasonably frightened, but I didn't let that show. I had to be strong. Not only for myself and for my future but for Whiskey's as well.

"I've been expecting you, Agent Blackjack," he sneered with pure malevolence.

"So I've been told," I responded simply.

"I'd never thought I'd see the day when an agent would formally surrender to me," he commented. "You put up a valiant effort, trying to stop me, but it was all for nothing. I didn't know how long it'd be before you realized that."

I chuckled, letting my white teeth show clearly. "Oh, then you're in for a real treat."

He gave me a confused look. A much different glance than what I was used to. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Look, jackass, I'm not at liberty to say. It's part of the legal obligations of being a secret agent."

"And you're going to be hurting until you tell me," Balor sneered, slowly getting closer to me.

"Tough shit, asshole," I responded. "I guess you'll have to pound me to a pulp, then."

I guess Balor didn't like my cockiness, or rather…he was confused by it. He wasn't expecting me to be this cocky and confident in this type of situation. He abandoned his original plan of beating me to a pulp, only because he used it as a threat. He thought that by threatening me, I'd be coerced into doing anything for him.

Well, guess what? That ain't gonna work on me.

"Have a seat then," Balor commanded in his anger.

"Gladly," I responded, sitting down at the empty black chair that Balor had previously sat on.

He marched quickly to the front entrance and spoke a brief command to his henchmen, who almost immediately came back inside and made their way toward the back entrance.

Bad move, I thought as Balor turned his attention back to me. He didn't even barricade the front entrance. Boy, is Whiskey gonna have a heyday!

Balor stood face-to-face with me, imposing his threatening presence onto me. I wasn't intimidated by it, nor was I threatened. Me surrendering and getting captured was all part of the plan. The genius plan that will eventually lead up to the final confrontation. I had to act like I was formally surrendering in order to distract Balor from what was coming up.

"You seem awfully cocky for a secret agent," Balor finally said, pacing around the chair. "They're typically secretive, shut-in…You're not like that."

"Are you trying to seduce me? Because it ain't gonna work on me. I'm a lot stronger than you think."

"Of course not, Agent. That's not how I'm going to extract information from you," he sneered, tying my hands behind my back with a strong rope.

I cocked my head up to him, staring through his dark, serious eyes. "Information? I ain't telling you a thing."

But Balor wasn't phased by my mouth. "You seem so sure of that."

He chuckled in a low, dark tone. Almost like an evil laugh. "I admire your confidence, Agent, but it isn't going to save you. Just like my tragic upbringing didn't save the world from being doomed to rot in hell forever."

"You're saying the world's going to rot in hell forever? I think you got that wrong," I said. "I know almost everything about you, Balor, and I can tell ya that you are definitely known for lyin' and gaslighting, among other things."

He laughed as if I had been joking. I hadn't. I was as serious as I could be.

"You? How could you know almost everything about me?"

"Remember, I'm an agent," I said, "and part of my work includes running background checks on assholes like you. So yeah. Naturally, I found pretty much your entire backstory on databases or through eyewitnesses."

"Who were the eyewitnesses?" Balor pestered.

"I can't say. I'm an agent. If I leak top-secret information to people that aren't the people I work with, I lose my job," I answered, "and there's no way in hell I'm gonna allow you to be the reason I lose this job."

Once again, Balor laughed, but it was in a sense of malice on top of bewilderment. Balor, like always, thought I was joking with him, even though I wasn't. Still, I kept my Stoic, emotionless face through Balor's fit of laughter. I couldn't break. Not when this plan was going so smoothly already.

Out of nowhere, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. A sudden sting overwhelmed my left cheek, but it didn't bother me. Like I said from earlier to Whiskey, I'd been through much worse pain. I could handle a slap to the face.

"Ouch," I yelped. "Motherfucker, you better be able to back up that slap before I kick your ass."

"You're cute, Agent. Thinking you're going to take me down," Balor sneered, "but guess what? That isn't going to happen. You're all tied up, and there's nothing that is going to come and save you from what I'm about to do next."

I knew what Balor's intentions were when he raised his clenched fist up in the air. He was going to punch the answers I had out of me, but that wasn't going to work. Instead, a familiar lasso appeared and wrapped around Balor's arm, stopping him from carrying his plans through. When I looked to see where this lasso came from, I smiled when I saw Whiskey standing at the front entrance, holding his lasso in one hand and a small pistol in the other. He gave a crooked smile as he and I locked eyes again.

I was saved.

"Not so fast there, jackass. That's not how you treat ladies, now is it?" Whiskey teased as he used his force on his lasso to whip Balor around to face him.

I could clearly see Balor's expression change drastically, going from a serious, monstrous look to a look of shock. It was like he thought his plan was foolproof when, in actuality, it wasn't. It wasn't at all. Sending his men to the back entrance was a bad idea because that leaves one entrance open. Either he could've hired more men to guard both entrances or send one to the front and one to the back.

God, such a rookie mistake. I'm a rookie and see these horrible mistakes, even.

"You—you're—you're with her?"

"You bet your ass I am," Whiskey answered coolly, giving me a wink and, once again, the crooked grin. "Now, get out of my way before you hurt my girl more."

He used his force on his lasso to whip Balor out of the way, causing Balor to hit the counter hard and be temporarily dazed. Whiskey took this time to bring back his lasso and rush to my side, making sure I wasn't hurt.

"You okay, sugar? Did he hurt you at all?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Only slapped me, but hey. I've been worse," I answered confidently. "Now, can you please untie my hands so I could help you beat this guy's ass?"

"Absolutely," he simply answered.

He quickly untied my hands and hoisted me up to my feet. After examining my wrists and getting the painful sting in them to go away, I cracked my knuckles and prepared for a fight. A fight for the ages.

Sure enough, Whiskey and I had to prepare rather quickly. Balor rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me, beginning the final confrontation that I was anticipating all along.

So began the flurry of punches, whipping, and God knows what else goes on during a fight. I mainly stuck to grappling, wrestling, and any physical move that required only your body to be at risk, while Whiskey used his whip and high-tech lasso in hopes to cut off something of Balor. Mr. I'm-the-biggest-dickhead-in-the-world-but-won't-admit-it—the monster we've been trying to fight all along—tried his best to avoid everything Whiskey and I threw at him, but there were some points where he'd get knocked flat on his ass. He kept getting back to his feet and wanting more.

Like Balor, Whiskey and I were knocked off our feet a fair amount of times, but we kept getting back up as if nothing happened. If I happened to be on the ground and Balor was standing over top of me, either I'd try to kick him at the knees in hopes he'd be knocked down for longer or Whiskey would spring up and torture Balor some more.

Safe to say that Whiskey did NOT like seeing his girl getting hurt.

Things would only get a hell of a lot more complicated when Balor escaped out of the front entrance of the diner, getting into one of the black Lambos and zooming off to—what I assumed to be—his base.

"Shit!" I shouted.

"Fuck me," Whiskey said in an exasperated tone.

Not even hesitating, I dashed outside and commandeered the other black Lambo that Balor left behind. I hopped in the driver's side, while Whiskey hopped in the passenger seat, and right after he slammed the door shut, I slammed on the gas pedal and zoomed off after Balor, who had—to our luck—been stopped by a stoplight that was about five blocks away.

As Balor did everything he could to avoid us, I didn't give up and sped after him in a car that I did not know how to drive. I'd say I was doing fairly well considering I kept my ten-feet trail behind Balor's vehicle. Weaving through the normal vehicular traffic on major highways and putting the thought of the police pulling me over for speeding and breaking every road law known to man, I kept my eyes laser-focused on the road. Whiskey, however, was on the edge of his seat, choosing not to hold onto the "panic bar" on the passenger side.

"Come on, sugar. Ride his ass off the road," he shouted.

"I'm trying, Whiskey, but I'm operating a car I don't know how to drive!" I answered. "You're lucky we're this close to him, or else, we'd be toast."

"So why don't you try to run him off the road?"

"Because if we run him off the road, he can get out and escape, which makes it harder for us to corner him. If we nab him at his base, then we could possibly corner him and kill him in an easier way," I explained.

As we neared Balor's secret base, I told Whiskey to get one of my black glocks out of my right pant leg. I was driving, so I really couldn't get it out and loaded while driving. I'd easily lose sight of Balor, therefore fucking us up for good.

"Whiskey, get my glock and load it up," I said, keeping focused on the speeding Balor up ahead.

He looked all around the Lambo and couldn't find it. "Where is it?"

"In a holster on my right pant leg," I said. "I'd do it myself, but we're so close to him, I can almost smell the cologne on his neck."

Without asking any more questions, Whiskey unclipped the holster on my right leg and took out my glock, but he stopped once he realized that he couldn't find any ammunition.

"Where's the bullets?"

"Check the pouch on my left side here," I said.

Whiskey reached across the console and grabbed the ammunition I kept. He loaded up my glock rather quickly, snapping the cartridge in with enough authority and ease to impress me. Even though I was slightly turned on by Whiskey snapping the cartridge in with authority, I had to ignore it for now because we had just arrived at Balor's base.

Just as Balor was getting out of his Lambo, Whiskey and I followed suit, as we were about five feet behind him. Balor started dashing away, but I managed to raise my glock quickly and pull the trigger. The bullet hit Balor's leg, incapacitating him and making him fall to the ground. He got up rather quickly and continued to hobble toward his secret base. Whiskey and I continued to chase him, keeping our hands close to our weapons just in case Balor nipped back.

Luckily, he didn't. That is, until we got into the secret base. Balor tried taking several swings at me, but I managed to avoid them all and lay some good hits on him. Hits that were extremely detrimental to Balor. Everything turned, however, when Balor managed to kick me in my right shin, knocking me down for a good amount of time. This opened the door for Whiskey to unleash his anger on Balor, using it to lay severe hits and whips to every part of Balor's bruised body, especially his face. Oh God, Balor's face. It was so bloody and battered that I barely knew that it was Balor underneath all those scars.

"Lay one more hand on her, and I swear to Christ that you'll be diggin' your own grave before you say your next word," Whiskey said as he gripped Balor's arm and twisted it to an unusual angle.

While Whiskey continued to lay the brutal beatdown on Balor, I glanced over to the giant chemical weapon that stood a couple feet away from where I laid. Next to it, I saw a couple of freed samples of "antidotes" that weren't snapped into the weapon.

Perfect, I thought. Maybe I could use one of these antidotes against Balor.

I quickly stumbled up to my feet, hobbling over to retrieve one of these antidotes. Why was I hobbling? Well, mainly because in the midst of the fight, I banged my bad ankle. You know, the broken one that's in the splint.

"Whiskey!" I shouted.

As he struggled against Balor, Whiskey glanced over at me and kept Balor's wrists twisted enough to make his hands completely useless.

"Catch!" I shouted, tossing one of the antidotes to Whiskey, who caught it with ease.

Whiskey caught the antidote with ease, as I was left leaning against the silver railing on the landing that laid close to the weapon. He snapped off the top of the capsule and immediately rammed the capsule into Balor's mouth, poisoning him with the gas. Even though Balor tried to fight back, it was no use. The chlorine gas slowly burnt his insides to a crisp, killing Balor slowly and painfully.

"That's what you get for messin' with my girl, asshole," Whiskey finally said, standing over Balor's dead, burnt corpse.

"I hate to ruin your little moment, Whiskey, but we have a chemical weapon here that's on a self-destruct timer, and it's set to go off in three minutes and forty-seven seconds!" I shouted in a panicked tone.

Whiskey hurried over to the weapon and immediately laid flat on the ground, trying to figure out how to dismantle it through a control panel near the weapon's base. He fondled the convoluted insides for a few minutes before stopping. He didn't know how to properly dismantle this weapon, nor did he know the mechanical makeup of said weapon.

"What's goin' on there, Whiskey?" I questioned, doing a quick scan around us with my loaded glock to make sure nobody else came to ambush us.

"There are a bunch of wires here, sugar. I don't know which ones to cut," he responded.

There was a brief silence, as I got on the ground with Whiskey to inspect the wires. There were five colored ones, all of which had different colors. The exact same colors Balor let slip on the night of the masquerade ball. I guess that was only one thing Balor did right—tell the truth.

"Whiskey! I know these colors," I exclaimed. "These are the color wires that Balor let slip the night of the masquerade ball. You know, when I seduced him and had him spill all of his secrets."

Whiskey quickly glanced over at me. "You know what color wires to cut in a specific order?"

"Hell yeah I do," I answered. "Balor rambled it off, and I somehow remembered it."

"Well, give it to me. We got damn near two minutes and fifty seconds left before the world turns to a crisp!"

I inhaled sharply before rambling off Balor's explanation he gave to me:

"First one to cut is green. Green symbolizes safety and positivity. Balor doesn't want to establish that sort of feeling for the people below when he hopes to unleash the weapon. That won't happen, now will it?"

Whiskey cut the green wire with a random scrap piece of metal, and I continued on:

"Next wire is blue. Blue symbolizes relaxation, calmness, stability…Balor doesn't condone it and definitely won't condone it when he unleashes chaos with this weapon. Next is red. Red symbolizes luck and prosperity, and Balor only wanted that for himself when he achieved his goal of world domination."

Whiskey cut the blue and red wires and awaited for the next wire to be cut, as the timer ticked down. My heart raced faster than a Formula One racer, but I had to ignore that feeling and continue the explanation:

"Next wire is gray. Gray symbolizes pessimism and control. It's an easy explanation, but Balor wants to have tyrannical control and live in a pessimistic light. He's the perfect villain in that way."

Whiskey cut the gray wire and briefly looked at the clock. "Hurry, sugar! We have a minute left!"

I explained the final wire that needed to be cut:

"The final one is black. Black represents darkness and evil. It resonated with Balor for ages. Despite what others think, Balor thinks he's a hero in his villainous acts. But we both know that he's a monster who deserved to die a painful death."

Whiskey cut the black wire in hopes the timer would stop. It didn't. Twenty-five…twenty-four…One by one, seconds went by, and I panicked. How could the countdown still be going? Wasn't it supposed to stop?

Twenty-three…twenty-two…

"Why is it still going?" Whiskey asked, also panicking.

"Fuck if I know!" I shouted back. "Here, let me get in there! Maybe the mainframe needs to be ripped out!

Through this panicking, Whiskey and I lost precious seconds in the countdown.

Ten…nine…

I found the mainframe and wiggled it loose from the framing.

Eight…seven…six…five…

I used all my might to yank the mainframe out of the machine. It broke free, and the countdown stopped. The machine gradually shut down as Whiskey and I slowly rose to our feet. After staring at the dead machine for a good ten seconds, we exchanged a glance and snapped back into reality. We excitedly embraced each other and cheered, knowing that we saved the world.

"We did it! We did it!" I exclaimed.

"I know we did, sugar. I'm so proud of ya," he responded.

"We saved the world! I can't believe it!"

Then, a familiar voice emerged through our earpieces.

"Well, not exactly, agents," she hesitated.

I was confused. "What are you talking about, Ginger? We destroyed the weapon. We killed Balor. What more can you possibly want?"

Ginger hesitated for a few minutes before speaking again. "Are you familiar with the phrase 'You may have won the battle, but you haven't won the war'?"

"What the hell are you saying?"

Ginger's next words frightened me. "The man you killed, agents, wasn't the real Balor."

"Real Balor?" Whiskey asked.

"The man you killed was a clone created by the actual Balor to distract other agencies while the real Balor continues doing God knows what behind-the-scenes. After you two destroyed the weapon, the real Balor abandoned his hopes of destroying the world and now is coming after you two," Ginger explained. "He's still out there somewhere, trying to hunt you two down, but from what I can gather, he's searching the entire northern part of Russia. You have time but not enough, so I suggest you two start going on the run once you come back to the states."

Even though those words sent a chill down my spine and made me more scared than ever, I knew that it all made sense. The clone, in an earlier time, mentioned 'the other one'. Connecting that to the news I heard, Whiskey and I realized that it made sense. But it still didn't stop us from being shocked by what we just heard.

The real Balor was pulling the strings all along. He used his clone to distract us from the continuous, heinous acts going on in private eye.

"I can't believe this," I said.

"I know, sugar," Whiskey said back, running his hand up and down my back for comfort.

"Everything we did, everything we've sacrificed just—just went to waste."

"No, it hasn't, sugar. Not yet, at least," Whiskey responded. "This is just a minor setback. There's always a way to come back from it. Trust me when I say this, sugar, but what we've sacrificed so far will definitely be of some use to us in the future when we take down this guy once and for all…and I don't plan on stopping until this jackass gets taken down once and for all."

Another voice then came through our earpieces, and it was a voice that I hadn't heard in a long time.

"Despite this news, agents, the United States government is beyond proud of you. You made it so the world could survive another day," the president of the United States congratulated. "That's the best you can do in times like these."

There was some positive light shed on the situation, which was definitely needed. We were duped into thinking that we killed the actual Balor, and…we didn't. It was like I was lied to. I was betrayed. It was almost the same feeling I had the night my twin brother died, but it wasn't exactly alike.

"Oh, and Agent Blackjack, I have some good news in light of this situation," the president said. "There's an opening in the Secret Service. I can definitely pull a few strings and get you that job if you're still interested."

I gave a shocked and desolate look to Whiskey, who shared that equally heavy-hearted look with me. I expected to be working with Whiskey for the rest of my life, and now, this bombshell—this unexpected bombshell—had possibly wrecked the bond we had together. I didn't want to leave him. It would hurt too much to leave him. I didn't want to give him up just because of a dream that I had for a long time now. I can't do that to him. I love him too goddamn much to do that to Whiskey.

No, I thought to myself. I can't do this to him. I can't leave him.

"Let me think this over, and I'll let you know once we get back to the states," I finally said.

I turned back to Whiskey, who still had that same desolate look on his face. It was like his heart was ripped out of his chest and shattered. He was broken. The most broken I'd seen him in all the time we'd been in each other's company. I placed my hand on the side of his face, showing him that I was there to comfort him and reassure him that I had not made a decision quite yet.

"I hadn't made a decision yet, Whiskey. This is a big opportunity for me, and I have to weigh all of my options first."

He inhaled sharply, fighting back the tears that were welling deep within his eyes. He was definitely heartbroken over the possibility of me leaving for D.C to be in the Secret Service. He knew that I had this dream for a while, but I had to put it aside because of what happened to Devin. Now, I slowly moved away from that dream after working alongside Whiskey.

And now, I'm not sure if I ever want to leave.