London, deep within the MI6 Headquarters on the bank of the Thames River, lies an operation intelligence room filled with screens.
At the center of the screen, Duer's tear-streaked and despairing face is shown as he delivers his resignation speech with a hoarse, broken voice.
The room is deathly silent, except for the low buzzing of equipment. The air seems frozen, heavy enough to suffocate.
"Damn it! What the hell is going on?!"
A middle-aged man with impeccably combed hair slams his fist on the console, causing a nearby coffee cup to jump, spilling dark brown liquid onto the pristine white sleeve.
He is the head of intelligence, Richard Ames.
His usual British indifference and superiority have vanished, leaving only shock and wrath.
"Duer, that coward! How could he just... just kneel like that?!"
In front of the main intelligence console, a young analyst's fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up satellite maps and real-time signal analysis.
