Chapter 32

[Third Person POV]

Just as he was about to move, the sound of system notification chimed in his ear.

[Side Mission Generated!]

Task: Escape the PursuitReward: 200 System Points, Mystery Box x1

[Do you accept the mission?][Y/N]

Hell yeah.

He clicked yes and began to move.

Without hesitation, he sprinted straight toward the wall.

His eyes locked onto the right-hand fence. Just before reaching it, he planted one foot firmly against a nearby trash bin and pushed off, using the momentum to launch himself upward. As he rose, he quickly pulled out the rug from his inventory he had previously used to kidnap Alan. He threw it over the barbed wire, creating a temporary barrier for a safer pass.

He cleared the top and dropped to the pavement on the other side.

The landing was brutal.

Pain surged through his leg the moment his foot struck the ground. His already sprained ankle screamed in protest, and he knew it was likely twisted.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself into a run, limping heavily but refusing to stop.

As he emerged from the alley into a street full of weekend noise. Pedestrians walked in small clusters. Neon signs buzzed overhead. A food cart stood near the corner with two customers chatting over gyros. A street performer played the saxophone beside an open guitar case filled with crumpled bills.

David slowed only slightly. He kept his head low. His pace became casual, but swift.

Behind him, the SHIELD agents dropped into the alley. He could hear footsteps echoing over the dumpsters. One of them cursed. Another radioed something back to their command.

David cut through the crowd. A mother wheeled a stroller beside him. A man laughed at something on his phone. A couple kissed near the curb.

He hated this.

He hated the idea of bringing violence near people who had nothing to do with it. No innocent should ever suffer because of what he was doing.

So he vanished sideways into a narrow brick path between buildings.

He broke into another sprint.

His ankle was now officially hurting, and the pain was sharp with every step he took. It protested with each movement, but he forced himself to ignore it. Over time, he had developed a high tolerance for pain, a trait he had acquired through character assimilation. He would deal with the injury later.

He reached the back of a Korean market and scaled the crates beside a steel stairwell. From there, he climbed the fire escape and returned to rooftop level.

Back in the open air, David emerged into the open rooftop.

The skyline stretched ahead, harsh with city light, towering concrete, and long, reaching shadows.

He kept moving, pushing forward with everything he had, but he could feel the drag in his limbs. He was slower now, and he knew it. Worse, they knew it too.

Agent 33 was the first to close the distance.

She vaulted over the last air vent and landed on the rooftop gravel about twenty feet behind him. Her gun was drawn, but she did not raise it. The space between them was too tight for a safe shot, and she knew it. Instead, she picked up speed.

David heard her gaining on him, her footsteps pounding against the rooftop just a few strides behind.

He veered to the left, narrowly avoiding the corner of a rusted ventilation shaft, and dropped into a slide across the rooftop. Loose stones tore into the fabric of his pants, scraping his knees. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright and vaulted the next wall with effort.

Pain shot through his ankle as he landed. It buckled slightly beneath him.

He stumbled.

Agent 33 was on him in seconds.

David did not wait.

As two more agents flanked him from either side, David burst into motion.

He pivoted toward Agent 33, ducking under her outstretched baton and slamming his shoulder into her ribs. She staggered back but recovered quickly, countering with a roundhouse kick that he barely ducked beneath.

The other two agents were almost on him.

David reacted fast. He caught the first agent's wrist mid-swing and twisted it sharply. The man cried out as his own momentum spun him sideways. David followed with a solid palm strike to the chest, sending him sprawling across the gravel. Before the agent could recover, David stepped forward and brought his foot down, knocking him unconscious with a clean, efficient blow.

The second agent came from behind. David sensed the shift in the air and turned just in time to block the baton strike with his forearm. The impact jolted him, but he absorbed it. In the same motion, he stepped inside the man's guard and drove his elbow into the agent's jaw. He struck again. The agent collapsed onto the rooftop.

Only Agent 33 remained.

She was already back on her feet. Her breathing was heavy, but her stance stayed firm. There was grit in her eyes and no hesitation in her movements.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked. Her voice was unsteady, but her baton stayed ready.

David said nothing.

They clashed again. The fight was fast and brutal. She was disciplined, trained, and relentless. But David was sharper. The combat calculations in his mind responded like reflexes. Every shift in her stance, every subtle feint, he recognized and countered.

He blocked her jab, rolled behind her, and swept her legs out from under her. She hit the rooftop hard. Her baton bounced away across the gravel.

She reached for it.

David stepped forward and kicked it farther out of reach.

She froze, breathing hard. Strands of hair clung to her sweat-dampened face. Her gaze locked onto his, eyes fixed on the glowing lenses of his mask.

David looked down at her in silence.

Again she asked, this time more quietly but with focused intensity, "Who are you?"

David tilted his head slightly and paused for a moment.

"Bond. James Bond," he replied flatly.

He turned away, spun on his heel, and sprinted across the rooftop.

Agent 33 pushed herself upright, frustration burning in her eyes. She was not giving up, but for now, he was ahead of her.

Clenching her teeth, she pressed her hand to her comms and said, "I have attached a tracker to him. Use it to follow his location."

David kept running. Every movement came with a price now. His ankle throbbed and his side ached with every stride. But he had no other option.

Slowing down meant getting caught. And he was not ready to be unmasked.

The next jump looked nearly impossible.

But not entirely.

A four-story building stood ahead, its smooth siding rising ten feet higher than the rooftop David was on. A construction scaffold jutted out halfway up the wall, just far enough to serve as a potential stepping stone. The margin was tight. Very tight.

Behind him, Agent 33 shouted something, but he could not make out the words. The wind tore through the gap between buildings, and adrenaline roared louder in his ears than her voice.

He surged forward, lungs burning.

Five strides. Then six.

He planted his right foot on the edge of the rooftop and launched himself toward the scaffold.

His injured ankle screamed in protest.

David sailed through open air.

The tip of his boot struck the scaffold's lower rail. He stumbled, but his hands caught the edge. His gloves slipped on the rusted metal, but he held on, straining. With a burst of effort, he pulled himself up onto the narrow platform.

Behind him, the SHIELD agents halted. The angle was wrong for them and the gap was too wide. They would have to find another way around.

David allowed himself one shaky breath before he kept moving.

He used the brief break to pull away.

He resumed the climb.

Hand over hand, body pressed close to the scaffolding. Below, the agents were trying to get onto the construction site from the street level. Above, the building loomed like a wall. He scaled the last few feet and hauled himself onto the rooftop.

Only to find a sixth agent already waiting.

This one was lean and quick, not bulky like Blake. His sidearm was already drawn. He aimed, stepping cautiously forward.

"Do not move," the man said.

David did not stop moving. He threw a flashbang.

The agent reacted too late. The canister detonated with a sharp, thunderous pop. A burst of blinding light cut through the dim rooftop, catching him off guard. David charged forward and tackled him mid-stagger, slamming his shoulder into the man's ribs. Both of them tumbled across the gravel.

The agent tried to recover, but David was faster. He rolled to his knees, reached into his inventory, and pulled out the grapnel gun. Without wasting a second, he aimed at the adjacent building and fired.

The hook sailed through the air and caught onto a rooftop sign.

He triggered the winch.

The motor hissed as the cable tightened, yanking him upward.

It was another jump. Another rooftop.

Midway through, the hook slipped.

The angle had been too steep.

David crashed into a slanted roof covered in old shingles. He rolled violently and slammed into a metal water tank at the far end.

Pain erupted through his side.

It was sharp and searing, concentrated across his ribs.

His vision blurred. For a moment, the world spun.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright. He coughed, his chest tightening. Every part of his body throbbed in protest.

With enough distance between him and the pursuing agents, and pain flooding every nerve, David reached into his inventory and pulled out a full potion.

He uncorked it and downed the contents in one motion.

The change was immediate. Within five seconds, the searing pain in David's side dulled to a low hum and then vanished completely. Torn muscles regenerated. Hairline fractures sealed. Each breath became smoother and deeper. His stamina surged to full strength, and his body moved like a machine that had just been reset and fine-tuned.

David exhaled once, sharp and steady.

Then he moved.

There was no more limping. No more hesitation. His stride was powerful and precise as he tore through alleys and backstreets with the speed of someone completely uninjured. He slipped through gaps just wide enough for his shoulders, vaulted fences with practiced ease, and ducked under scaffolding without slowing down. The city became a blur of concrete and motion.

Several blocks behind, an agent stood on a rooftop. She squinted at the live feed on her wrist-mounted screen, tracking him in silence.

"He was barely standing five minutes ago. What the hell is this?"

"Still tracking him. He's fast, but he's not gone yet," another replied.

The signal pulsed bright red, steady on the agent's screen. But it was moving erratically now, and they were starting to fall behind.

Meanwhile, David made his way toward a quiet subway station tucked beneath a weathered overpass. There were no crowds, no cameras, just cracked concrete and old tiles stained by years of city decay. He descended the stairs two at a time, bypassing the ticket machines and slipping through a side gate without triggering any alarms.

Inside the station's bathroom, he locked himself in a stall and worked quickly. The tactical suit peeled off in layers. First the mask, then the boots, followed by the gloves. He packed everything into his system inventory.

At that exact moment, far above the streets, the signal from the tracker flatlined.

"Signal's gone," one of the agents muttered, tapping his screen. "What the hell? We lost him."

"He ditched the gear. That's how he did it."

"Keep looking. He's still down there somewhere."

But they were too late.

David stepped out of the restroom in a navy hoodie, dark jeans, and spotless sneakers. A gray beanie shadowed his face, subtle changes to his features making him look forgettable. Not disguised, just ordinary. The kind of man people looked through, not at. A commuter headed to a graveyard shift. A college kid catching the last train home.

Just as his shoes hit the platform, the train arrived with a gust of stale wind and the grind of brakes.

The doors slid open.

David boarded without a glance back, settling into a rear seat beside the window. He leaned against the glass and let his eyes drift half-closed, his breathing steady and unbothered.

The doors hissed shut behind him.

The train rumbled forward, fading into the dark tunnel.

Two minutes later, the agents reached the platform.

But the train was gone.

And so was he.

To Be Continued...