Walter Beckett has been in the spy agency in Washington working with his partner Lance Sterling for three years. They are now both older and have improved themselves over the tasks they faced and the lesson that they've learned.
(Y/N) is the enemy...
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The taste of smoke clung to her throat, swelling her burned arm as she neared the club again.
Her eyes widened at the flames; it dancing like mad wildfire, blending with the autumn colors. Everything the fire hugged, it claimed; turning them into ashes; an unchangeable black dust.
She stood in hiding, hot and filthy. The dirt stuck to her face from the sweat and her eyes burned red from the deadly grey perfume that filled the air around the sex club. She was used to heat, but the fire had grown so much, and so unbearably hot.
(Y/N) had no idea there had been a fire, it must have started from the smoke she created, or perhaps something was shot and created an explosion within the club.
The first thing she began to worry about was Brett, but he wasn't there when she last checked. She hoped he had gotten out safely; the fire must have melted most of the goo in the room. Another thing she was worried about was the bomb of course; if the flame catches it, there would be more than just a fire they would have to deal with, (If there even is a they).
A figure crawled through the flames into her blurry vision. Her mother. She seemed to be struggling. (Y/N) was mindless; she barrelled towards her mother while yelling for her, her voice raspy from the poison air.
“Mother!” (Y/N) yelled. “Are you alright!?”
The mother coughed and rubbed at her vision. Her breathing heavy and teeth bared with blood and anger. She shoved her daughter away and stumbled with her gun lazily. “I’m going to kill him!” She screamed, running forward towards the back doors. The women's hands and legs looked burned; flesh was hanging from some of the skin and her lip was cut open. (Y/N) also didn't know why, but she looked as if she couldn't see as well. ‘it must be from the smoke’ she thought.
She followed her mess of a mother until she stopped, her gun pointing at the man with the steel crate. He held it tightly against his chest.
“Relentless,” Lance uttered under his breath. It was only a second before (Y/N) saw Walter again, and along came the rest of her team. . . or what’s left of it; they were shot and wounded, very slow.
But she didn't see Brett.
“I thought you said you were bringing the car with you,” Lance said to Walter as he kicked off his hoverboard.
“It’s coming, I've gotten a bit of help from someone,” he replied. “Looks like you need a little help yourself.”
“Don’t move!” (Y/N)’s mother almost tripped.
(Y/N) turned her head towards the sound of sirens, looking worriedly back at her crew; they cocked their firearms towards the duo.
“Mom, please. Give up, we can’t win. They don’t want to-”
