What martial arts did you learn? Ballet?

It seemed she possessed skills—or a part of her did—that were far beyond what anyone could have assumed.

— Cyrus

~~~

As Beatrice advanced, her mind raced with thoughts of fleeing and surviving. She understood the urgency of reaching the control room to take charge of the situation.

"Keep moving, Beatrice. We're almost there," Blade's voice resonated in her thoughts, a blend of support and cynicism.

"Easy for you to say," Beatrice muttered quietly, hastening her pace as she evaded another round of bullets.

Dodging behind overturned furniture, she heard Blade's mocking tone again, "Impressive body fluidity, Beatrice. Who knew you had such hidden talents? What martial arts did you learn? Ballet?"

"Shut up," Beatrice snapped back, her voice tinged with frustration as she focused on the task at hand.

Ignoring his jibes, Beatrice pressed on, using every available cover to shield herself from the rain of bullets. With determination in her eyes, she finally reached the entrance to the control room.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, taking a deep breath before pushing open the door and stepping inside, ready to take back control of her fate.

As Beatrice entered the control room, her heart pounded with anticipation. She scanned the room quickly, taking note of the consoles and monitors lining the walls.

Her eyes landed on the main control panel in the center of the room, and she wasted no time in making her way towards it.

Ignoring the alarms blaring around her, Beatrice focused on the task at hand.

She approached the control panel, her fingers flying over the buttons as she accessed the system. With each keystroke, she felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Beatrice's hands trembled slightly, but she refused to back down. She continued to work quickly.

With a final keystroke, Beatrice disabled the security protocols and unlocked the doors throughout the facility.

She knew she only had moments before Atlas's men would swarm the control room, but she had a plan.

As Beatrice faced off against the remaining henchmen of Atlas, Blade's voice echoed in her mind, offering guidance and snide commentary.

"You call that a punch, Beatrice? I've seen toddlers hit harder!" Blade's voice taunted.

Ignoring the jab, Beatrice focused on her opponents, "Shut up. My hand is hurt. I never fight like this all my life!"

With a swift kick, she disarmed the nearest henchman, sending his weapon clattering to the ground.

"Nice move, Princess, but watch your back!" Blade warned as another attacker lunged towards her.

"I've got this," Beatrice replied through gritted teeth, her movements fluid and precise as she dodged and countered each attack.

With Blade's instructions ringing in her head, Beatrice fought with a newfound strength, her resolve unwavering despite the odds stacked against her.

As the last henchman fell, defeated, Beatrice took a moment to catch her breath, her heart racing with adrenaline.

"You did it, Beatrice. Not bad for a damsel in distress," Blade remarked, his tone begrudgingly impressed.

Beatrice winced, feeling the ache in her muscles intensify with each step. "I don't think I can walk, let alone run. And fainting might be the least of my worries right now."

Blade chuckled, his voice echoing in Beatrice's mind. "Well, that's what happens when you dive headfirst into a brawl without training."

"I'm going to faint!"

"No. Keep your ass up, Princess! We need to get out of here before Atlas shows up. Find somewhere safe to collapse later."

…

…

…

As he observed the CCTV footage, he couldn't help but be astounded by Beatrice's prowess. Despite facing a horde of Atlas's henchmen, all towering over her in size, she executed her maneuvers with lethal precision.

Each strike seemed calculated, each move deliberate. It was a display of skill and determination that left him in awe, wondering just how she had acquired such expertise in combat.

"Blade…," he murmured to himself.

As Cyrus held her that night, a sudden flash of recognition struck him—a memory from an event that had never happened.

This jarring sensation, where fragments of a seemingly fabricated memory collided with the present reality, left him deeply unsettled.

The more he tried to place where he could have heard the name "Blade" or seen her face before, the more elusive the memory became, like trying to grasp a shadow.

The incongruence of these thoughts puzzled him greatly.

Cyrus was accustomed to the complexities of the underworld—double dealings, betrayals, and alliances formed in shadows.

Yet, this felt different, almost as if his mind were piecing together a puzzle that didn't belong to him.

The feeling was unnerving, pushing him to question not just the situation but his own perceptions and past interactions.

"Her movements are both ruthless and graceful," Cyrus marveled, his eyes fixed on the screen as he replayed the CCTV footage repeatedly.

"Is this the only remaining CCTV footage? Have the others been destroyed?" Cyrus inquired, his tone grave.

"Yes, sir. This is the only one left," the technician confirmed.

"Excellent," Cyrus nodded, his mind already racing with plans and strategies.

"Sir, isn't Beatrice Hawk's background that of a conglomerate's child who has never experienced hardship? She grew up learning multiple musical instruments and now works as a kindergarten teacher."

"Well, there you go. How did she become so skilled in combat? She's been sickly since childhood! Even Atlas despises dealing with his wife's weakness and illnesses. He married Beatrice only to acquire the Carter family empire."

"But that's impossible," Cyrus furrowed his brow, trying to connect the dots. "How can a woman whose life is comfortable and full of goodness be so proficient in battle?"

"I don't know, Sir. But it's real. And according to our records, she hasn't even been involved in combat before."

Cyrus nodded, digesting the information. "More intriguing by the moment."

Cyrus leaned forward, his eyes fixated on the monitors displaying various camera feeds throughout the sanatorium.

"I'm concerned, sir. Are we sure we have the right Beatrice?" Derek asked, his brow furrowing with uncertainty.

Ah, that... I've stopped caring, really... ahahaha…," Cyrus answered non-chalantly.

*