The abandoned warehouse reeked of salt and rust, its corroded metal walls groaning under the weight of the storm outside. Rain lashed against the broken windows as Anya and I took cover behind a stack of shipping containers, our breaths coming in ragged bursts. The ledger's final page—the one that revealed the Accountant's identity—burned a hole in my pocket.
"We're walking into a trap," Anya muttered, ejecting the magazine from her pistol to check the rounds. The dim light caught the scars on her knuckles, reminders of every battle we'd survived.
"It's the only way to end this." I activated the **[System]**, its holographic display flickering in the damp air. **▶ Last known location: Dock 17. Subject: Director Mu. Threat level: Maximum.**
Anya's jaw tightened. "If she's the Accountant, then every move we've made—"
"—was hers." The truth settled like a stone in my gut. The woman who'd trained Anya, the handler who'd overseen my missions, the architect behind every "coincidence" that led us here.
A shadow moved in the rafters.
We opened fire in unison, bullets chewing through the rotten wood. A figure dropped—not Mu, but a Black Sun enforcer, his throat slit post-mortem. A message.
Then the speakers crackled to life.
*"Chen."* Mu's voice, smooth as poisoned wine. *"You were always my favorite project."*
The warehouse doors slammed shut behind us.
**[System Alert: Thermal signatures detected. 12 hostiles. Trap confirmed.]**
Anya pressed her back to mine. "Plan?"
I gripped the ledger page tighter. "We rewrite the ending."