"There was a girl. A police officer who was present during my arrest," Ethan said the leader. "Do you know anything about her?"

His voice was strained, thick with a bitterness he couldn't quite hide. He remembered her face, her uniform, and the way she had leaned close to him, promising that she would testify in his favor. She had offered him a spark of hope, a promise of justice, and then she had vanished, leaving him to rot. To Ethan, a broken promise was a debt that could only be paid in blood or tears.

"I'm not sure, boss. There were dozens of officers involved in that sweep," said Thompson, pulling out his encrypted phone. "What was her name?"

"Agent Sparks," Ethan said the young man.

"One moment. If she's still on the force or in the system, I'll find her," said Thompson.

Thompson stepped away to make a call, his voice low and urgent as he spoke to one of his contacts in the Internal Affairs division. Ethan waited, his fingers drumming a rhythmic, predatory beat against the doorframe. He expected to hear that she had been promoted, or perhaps moved to another precinct as a reward for her silence. He was already imagining how he would drag her from her comfortable life.

After a few minutes, Thompson returned, his expression puzzled.

"That's... unexpected," said Thompson.

"What is it? Did she leave the city?" Ethan asked the leader.

"No, sir. It turns out Agent Sparks is currently serving time in the Blackwood Federal Women's Penitentiary," said Thompson. "She was convicted of evidence tampering, accepting bribes, and falsifying official documents shortly after your trial began. The department turned on her fast. She's been there for months."

Ethan froze, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. He had spent months nursing a grudge, picturing her as a traitor living high on the hog for betraying him. The reality that she was behind bars, just like he had been, didn't fit the narrative of his revenge.

"So she didn't testify because she was already being dismantled by the same people who put me away," Ethan said the young man, a dark, complex emotion swirling in his chest.

"It seems she wasn't as good at playing their game as she thought," said Thompson.

Ethan looked toward the window, the gears in his mind shifting. "Change of plans, Thompson. Get me a transport to Lexington for the men, but make sure I have a detour scheduled for Blackwood first. I want to see this 'corrupt' officer for myself."

Thompson nodded quickly, reaching for his desk phone to coordinate the logistics. "Consider it done, Ethan. I'll have a secure transport readied for your men to Lexington, and a separate, discreet detail will escort you to Blackwood. Everything will be cleared by the time you arrive."

A few hours later, the armored SUV pulled up to the gates of Blackwood Federal Women's Penitentiary. The warden, a stout man named Miller, hadn't known who Ethan Blake was until two hours ago. A single phone call from the governor's office had changed that; he had been told in no uncertain terms that if he so much as annoyed the man arriving, his own head would be the one on the chopping block to settle the debt.

As Ethan stepped out, he was met by a massive welcoming committee. Guards stood at attention, and the warden himself was bowing slightly, his forehead glistening with sweat.

"Mr. Blake! It is an absolute honor to have you here. We've prepared everything for your comfort. Please, if you'd like to step into my office for some refreshments..." said the Warden, his voice thick with desperate flattery.

Ethan didn't even look at him. His eyes were fixed on the grey, concrete walls of the facility. "I'm not here for tea, Warden. I want to see Officer Sparks. Now," Ethan said the leader.

The Warden's smile faltered, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face. "Ah, Sparks. Yes. She is currently in protective custody... in isolation. She's been a bit... difficult. If you'll just give us a moment to prepare the visiting room—"

"I said now," Ethan said the young man, his voice like a razor.

With no other choice, the Warden turned and began to lead the way through the heavy steel doors. As they walked through the sterile, dimly lit corridors, Ethan noticed the Warden making subtle hand signals to the guards stationed along the walls. The guards immediately peeled off, running toward the isolation wing with hushed urgency.

Nothing escaped Ethan's eyes. Not the frantic signals, nor the sudden movement of the staff.

"Why the rush, Warden? Are you trying to clean something up before I get there?" Ethan asked the leader.

"Not at all, sir! Just ensuring the path is clear. Standard procedure for high-profile visitors," said the Warden, though his hands were visibly shaking.

Ethan slowed his pace, his senses sharpening. He could hear the distant clanging of metal doors and the frantic whispers of the guards ahead. Whatever state Sparks was in, it wasn't what the Warden wanted him to see.

"Falcon 20, stay with the Warden. If he tries to leave my sight, break his legs," Ethan said the young man.

Ethan picked up his pace, following the sound of the scurrying guards. He was going to find out exactly what they were hiding in that isolation wing.

The Warden's face turned a deep shade of purple as his indignation got the better of his survival instinct. "Mr. Blake, wait! This is not appropriate! This is a Federal Penitentiary, and what you are doing is a clear violation of protocol—!"

But before he could finish the sentence, a blur of movement cut him off. He didn't even see the hand coming. In a flash, he felt a crushing grip tighten around his throat, and his feet left the polished floor.

Falcon 20 had him pinned against the concrete wall, holding him up by the neck with a single, steady arm. The young guard's expression hadn't changed, but his eyes were absolute darkness.

"One more word, and you're dead," said Falcon 20.

The sound of holsters unbuckling echoed through the hallway as the surrounding prison guards instinctively reached for their sidearms. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

"Stop! Don't move! Nobody move!" the Warden shrieked, his voice coming out in a desperate, strangled rasp as he frantically waved his hands at his men. He knew that if a single shot was fired, the monster holding him—and the man walking calmly toward the isolation wing—would ensure not a single soul in this corridor survived the minute.

Ethan didn't even turn around. He kept walking, the heavy thud of his boots the only sound in the now-terrified silence of the prison.

"Protocol died the moment I walked through those gates, Warden," Ethan said.

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