Chapter 11: The Cyprus Agency
Rain lashed Peter's apartment windows, the city's pulse muffled by the storm's roar. His laptop cast a harsh glow, shadows dancing across his face as the System churned through General Ludd's financial data, unearthing a name: The Cyprus Agency. A human trafficking network cloaked as an adoption service, its roots tangled with Cabal funds. Peter's pulse hammered, the System revealing horrors before Reddington could brief the Task Force. Surface goal: expose the Agency. Emotional undertone: suspicion. Long-term arc: test moral limits.
In a neon-lit diner, the smell of burnt coffee thick in the air, Peter sat alone, the System flagging anomalies in shell company transactions. A new ability surged to life.
"You're burning the midnight oil, Wells."
Meera slid into the booth, her dark eyes sharp, her tone crisp.
"Found something big. Not ready to share yet."
Peter's voice was casual, but his chest tightened under her scrutiny.
"You're hiding something. I'll figure it out."
Her professional restraint masked a warning.
At the Post Office, Peter faced Cooper in his office, the air heavy with tension. Papers littered the desk, the hum of servers faint.
"The Cyprus Agency's trafficking kids, sir. We hit them now or lose them."
Cooper's eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl.
"You're off-book again, Wells. Where's this intel from?"
"Ludd's financials. I followed the money."
Peter held his gaze, his throat dry.
"You're on thin ice. No more rogue moves."
Cooper's tone cut like steel, but he nodded.
In the bullpen, Liz pored over case files, her face pale, her father's death a raw wound. Peter approached, his voice soft.
"This case hitting you hard?"
Her green eyes met his, brimming with grief.
"Kids being sold… it's like losing him all over again."
"We'll stop them, Liz. I swear."
His words were earnest, but the System's cold data clashed with her pain.
From Liz's POV, Peter's certainty was a lifeline, yet unsettling. He's always ahead, like he knows the future.
In a cramped surveillance van, Peter and Liz reviewed Agency records, her voice trembling.
"How do you stay so calm?"
"Focus keeps me grounded."
He lied, the System's overload throbbing in his skull.
Peter's stomach churned. They're forging soldiers from children. He used Predictive Trace to pinpoint a girl, Elena, trafficked through a D.C. orphanage.
At a tense briefing, Ressler challenged Peter, his voice gruff.
"Your intel better be solid, Wells."
"It's gold. Trust me."
Peter's tone was sharp, the System pulsing.
"Don't make me regret it."
Ressler's eyes softened, respect flickering.
The warehouse raid was chaos, dust choking the air, children's cries piercing the silence. Peter led, his Glock steady, the System guiding.
"Ressler, left flank!"
Peter barked, dropping a guard with a precise shot.
"On it!"
Ressler's Glock roared, his movements fluid.
Liz freed Elena, her voice breaking as she knelt.
"You're safe now, sweetheart."
From Cooper's POV, Peter's rogue intel delivered, but his methods grated. He's a wildcard, and I don't like wildcards.
In a safehouse, Peter and Liz debriefed, coffee cups steaming, her voice raw.
"Those kids… I can't unsee their faces."
"We saved them, Liz. That's the win."
Peter's tone was steady, but overload clawed his mind.
In a shadowed alley, Reddington met Peter, his fedora tilted, his voice a velvet purr.
"You've uncovered a nasty truth, Peter. But truth has a way of biting."
"Save the poetry, Red. You knew about the Cabal link."
Peter's tone was dry, the Agency's horrors lingering.
"Perhaps. But you're the one wielding the scalpel."
Reddington's smile was cryptic, his eyes glinting.
In his apartment, Peter collapsed on the couch, the System's glow casting eerie shadows. Is this power a gift or a trap?
The raid's success cemented Peter's role, but the truth—children groomed as operatives—fractured his moral compass. The System's cold data felt like a curse against human suffering.
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