Meanwhile, back in Canada, at the training grounds, the vast space was empty save for two men.
Steve and Victor stood face-to-face. Both were shirtless, their bodies bruised and battered from hours of brutal sparring.
"Fighting you is always fun," Steve panted, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Likewise," Victor replied, cracking his knuckles. "Gives me a place to channel my anger."
The two lunged at each other, but the sudden groan of the heavy doors opening cut their momentum short. They froze, turning their heads toward the newcomer.
"Nice. You've both gotten a lot stronger," Jake said, stepping into the dim light, his both hands in his pockets.
"What are you doing here this late?" Victor asked, lowering his guard.
"Just offering a compliment."
"Well, what do you want to hear in response?" Steve asked, crossing his arms.
Jake walked over, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you're equals now. You two push each other and grow more and more stronger."
"What about you?" Victor countered, locking eyes with him. "You can always join us if you ever want to train."
Jake's expression shifted, his gaze becoming distant and unreadable. "What do you mean?" He sat on the fourth stair.
"We can train you, if you're up for it," Steve added.
A faint, knowing smile touched Jake's lips. "I'm good." He paused for a moment, looking past them. "Besides... I already know someone who is truly strong."
Steve and Victor exchanged a look.
Jake kept his smile, his voice dropping slightly. "The son of a legend."
"Who is he?" Victor demanded. "We can test him ourselves, see just how strong he really is."
Steve nodded, "We will find our limits."
Jake took a deep, heavy breath. "You two aren't a match for him."
The words hung in the air. Steve and Victor tensed up, genuinely caught off guard. It was the first time anyone had ever told them they weren't strong enough.
"That guy... he even surprised me," Jake muttered, staring into the empty air.
"Is he as strong as you?" Steve pressed. "Or even stronger?"
Jake didn't answer.
After a tense silence, Victor spoke up. "Where is he?"
Jake looked back at him. "Who knows."
"You and him... you always talk in riddles," Steve muttered, shaking his head.
"I'm older than you, Steve. I know what I'm doing," Jake replied calmly.
"Right. Well, I don't see that other boy with you tonight," Steve noted, looking toward the exit.
Jake chose not to reply. He turned on his heel and began walking away, his voice echoing back over his shoulder. "You can continue your sparring if you want. Just don't kill each other. Mr. Murphy won't like it."
On a rooftop overlooking the facility, a scout crouched near the ledge, peering through a pair of binoculars focused squarely on the exit. The moment Jake stepped out into the night, the man pressed his earpiece.
"Boss, we found him," the scout whispered.
The voice on the other end gave a brief command.
The scout nodded. "On it."
Setting the binoculars aside, he notched a letter-bound arrow into his bow, drew the string taut, and aimed right for the back of Jake's skull. He released. The arrow hissed through the dark, tracing a lethal line straight for its target.
An instant before impact, Jake spun on his heel and caught the arrow out of the air.
Up on the roof, the scout blinked in disbelief. He hadn't even seen Jake swing his arm; one second the arrow was flying, the next it was caught.
Then, Jake looked up.
His eyes locked directly onto the scout's position. Panic surged through the spy—there was no way Jake should have been able to spot him from that distance. Horrified, the scout dropped below the ledge, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Is he coming after me? This guy... even the Boss respects him. Who is he?
Scrambling across the gravel, the scout rushed to the fire escape ladder. He peered down into the alleyway to ensure the coast was clear. Reassured by the silence, he hurriedly climbed down.
The moment his boots touched the pavement, a voice drifted from the shadows.
"You know, spying isn't a very good habit."
The scout froze, a cold sweat breaking out across his neck. He whipped around to find a man standing mere inches away from him.
In a desperate panic, the scout whipped out a tactical knife and drove it straight toward the man's throat. But in the blink of an eye, his hand was empty. The weapon was gone.
"Attacking someone double your age?" the man said, casually flipping the stolen knife in his hand. "This generation has absolutely no respect for their elders."
"Who the hell are you?" the spy gasped, backing into the wall.
The man only smiled, reaching a hand out toward the spy's face.
Meanwhile, across the world in America.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Asher asked, pulling his jacket tighter against the chill.
"The GPS points right here," Liam replied, checking his device.
Liam looked around the desolate landscape. Before them stood an abandoned hotel, a decaying supermarket. And a small house, the house was at a small distance—all swallowed by overgrowth and shadows, Asher, Liam and Ethan connected each other on a walkie-talkie type device.
"Asher and I will breach the main building," Liam commanded, drawing the baseball bat. "Ethan, you sweep the house and the store."
Ethan gave a firm nod.
"Be careful out there," Liam added.
With a final nod, Ethan slipped into the darkness toward the abandoned house. Liam turned back to the hotel, raised his boot, and kicked the front door off its hinges.