Kyle Broflovski

Kyle had been handed a new assignment.

It was supposed to be simple: find out who was behind a series of drug operations that had been spreading through the city, identify the person in charge, and gather enough evidence to bring them down. His superiors hadn't given him much to work with—just a name that might have been an alias, a handful of suspicious transactions, and an address that was supposedly being used as a hiding spot.

So Kyle went to investigate.

The warehouse stood at the far end of an abandoned industrial district, surrounded by rusted fences and overgrown weeds. From the outside, it looked as though it hadn't been used in years. Several windows were shattered, the metal siding was badly corroded, and one side of the roof had partially collapsed.

If someone had told him the place had been condemned decades ago, he wouldn't have questioned it.

But appearances could be deceiving.

Kyle slipped through a gap in the fence and approached the warehouse, keeping to the shadows. He checked the area before making his way inside, one hand hovering near his weapon.

The moment he stepped through the entrance, the smell hit him.

Dust.

Mold.

Something older and far more unpleasant underneath it all.

The air was thick and stale enough to make his throat itch. He pulled the collar of his jacket over his nose for a moment before lowering it again.

"Disgusting," he muttered under his breath.

His footsteps echoed faintly across the concrete floor.

He moved carefully, making sure not to disturb anything unnecessarily. The warehouse was cluttered with broken furniture, discarded equipment, rotting wooden pallets, and piles of debris. Every few feet, he stopped to inspect anything that looked even remotely out of place.

Nothing.

No people.

No vehicles.

No obvious signs of recent activity.

But there were traces.

Fresh footprints in the dust.

A recently moved crate.

A cigarette butt that couldn't have been more than a few hours old.

Someone had been here.

Kyle continued deeper into the building, checking every corner, every loose board, every crevice that might conceal something. He searched the entire first floor thoroughly, opening cabinets and examining boxes while keeping his ears tuned to every sound around him.

The silence was unnerving.

Eventually, he found a narrow staircase leading upstairs.

He paused at the bottom.

The wooden steps creaked softly when he tested the first one.

Kyle sighed.

He climbed anyway.

At the top, he found a short hallway lined with several doors. Most of them were either locked or empty.

Then he reached the final room.

The door was slightly ajar.

Kyle pushed it open.

Inside were crates.

Several of them.

His attention immediately sharpened.

Unlike most of the warehouse, these crates were in relatively good condition. Some were stacked neatly against the wall, while others had been left in the middle of the room. A few even had labels partially scratched off, as though someone had deliberately tried to remove identifying information.

This had to be it.

Kyle crouched beside one of the crates and examined the lock.

Still intact.

He carefully opened it.

The contents were enough to make him pause.

There were packages inside, carefully wrapped and sealed. He inspected them, trying to determine exactly what he was looking at and whether they matched the information from his assignment.

He was so focused on the contents that he failed to notice the faint sound behind him.

A footstep.

Then another.

By the time he realized he wasn't alone, it was already too late.

An arm suddenly hooked tightly around his throat.

Kyle jerked backward with a startled grunt as his attacker pulled him away from the crate.

"Who are you?" the stranger demanded.

Kyle immediately grabbed at the arm around his neck, trying to create enough space to breathe.

"What's in there?" the stranger continued, their voice sharp and suspicious. "Preparing another crate to ship, huh?"

Kyle's eyes narrowed.

Another crate to ship?

That wasn't what he expected to hear.

Whoever this person was, they clearly knew about the operation.

But they were talking as if Kyle was part of it.

So they weren't the owner.

Or at least, they didn't think he was.

"I'm—" Kyle struggled against their grip, his voice coming out strained. "I'm not a dealer!"

The pressure around his throat tightened.

Kyle gritted his teeth.

He couldn't afford to panic.

He shifted his weight, braced himself, and suddenly drove his elbow backward.

The stranger loosened their hold just enough.

Kyle seized the opportunity.

With a sharp twist, he broke free and stumbled forward, immediately turning around.

He expected to see a drug runner.

Maybe a hired guard.

Instead, he froze.

The person standing in front of him wasn't dressed like a criminal.

They looked like an agent.

Not one from his organization, though.

Kyle's expression hardened.

The stranger stared back at him, equally suspicious.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The room seemed to fall completely silent again, save for Kyle's heavy breathing.

His hand instinctively moved closer to his weapon.

"So," he said coldly, straightening himself. "You're an agent."

The stranger didn't answer.

Kyle's eyes narrowed as he studied them.

Different equipment.

Different insignia.

Different agency.

He'd heard rumors about other organizations operating in the same field, but he'd never expected to run into one in the middle of an investigation.

Especially not one who had nearly strangled him.

"You nearly crushed my throat," Kyle said, rubbing his neck. "That's one hell of a way to introduce yourself."

The other agent remained tense, clearly unwilling to lower their guard.

"You broke into an active operation," they replied.

"I was investigating it."

"So was I."

Kyle glanced toward the crates.

Then back at them.

Something wasn't adding up.

If they were both investigating the same operation, then either someone had deliberately kept their agencies in the dark...

Or there was something much bigger going on.

Kyle slowly lowered his hand from his weapon, though he didn't relax completely.

"Looks like we've got the same problem," he said.

His gaze flicked toward the crates again.

"Now the question is..."

He looked directly at the other agent.

"Who the hell sent you?"