Badass in Disguise
<b>Chapter </b><b>131 </b>
Author’s POV:
“I told you not to make this difficult on yourself,” Jade said, watching the Shadow Organization operative writhe
beneath her knife. The metallic scent of blood filled the air between them.
Blood trickled from the shallow cuts she’d made across his abdomen. Nothing fatal–<b>just </b>enough to loosen his
tongue.
<b>92 </b>
“JOKER suspects you have a connection to Shadow,” he finally gasped, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Your fighting style, the way you move–it’s too simr. They think you might be one of their trained killers or… a replica<b>.</b>”
Jade pressed the knife deeper, her stomach visibly churning at his choice of words. The de broke skin again<b>, </b>drawing a thin line of crimson across his ribs. <i>“</i><i>Replica</i><i>?</i>” The word came out with unmistakable disgust.
“That’s the theory,” he continued, wincing as the de dug slightly deeper. Sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with blood. “You suddenly appeared and took over as the new head of Titan Defense Group after Nobody–after Shadow disappeared. Yourbat techniques match Shadow’s signature style. And then there’s your rtionship with Chris Jensen.”
“What about Chris<b>?</b><b>” </b>she asked, voice deliberately calm, though her grip on the knife tightened.
“He was Shadow’s closest confidant–practically joined at the hip for years. Now he’s suddenly best friends with you? It raised gs. JOKER thinks it’s too coincidental.”
“That’s disgusting,” Jade spat, genuinely repulsed. Something like bitter irony shed across her features. The Shadow Organization had tried to create replicas of her for years–harvesting DNA, studying movements, even attempting to copy neural patterns in undergroundbs. And now they suspected she was a copy of herself.
These people had imed to “raise” her<b>, </b>then attempted to dispose of her when she no longer served their purpose. They’d bound her with false loyalty, manufactured gratitude for “training” that was nothing more than systematic abuse designed to break and rebuild her into their perfect weapon.
“What does the Organization want?” Jade asked<b>, </b>twisting the knife slightly, just enough to send a fresh wave of pain through his body.
He gasped, his back arching involuntarily, “If you have no connection to Shadow, they want to recruit you. Your talents would be… valuable to the organization.” His eyes fluttered as he fought to remain conscious. “If you are connected to Shadow somehow-” he swallowed hard, “-then you’re to be eliminated. Immediately and permanently,”
Jadeughed, the sound sharp and humorless. It echoed off the walls of her apartment, cold and hollow, “How did
Shadow die?”
“Failed mission. Body lost at sea.”
<b>11:09 </b>Wed, <b>Sep </b><b>24 </b>
(92<b>) </b>
A cold smile spread across Jade’s face. A failed mission? Shadow, the world’s top assassin with a perfect record spanning years<b>, </b>supposedly died on a failed mission? Her expression revealed what she thought of that exnation -an insulting lie, a pathetic cover story. They couldn’t even honor her supposed death with something believable.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Her hand had already decided his fate, fingers adjusting their grip on the knife.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Jade shook her head slowly.
“Actually, don’t bother. A dead man doesn’t need to know so much.”
The top floor of New York Memorial Hospital hummed with quiet tension. Outside William Haxton’s private room, family members gathered in hushed clusters, their designer clothes and perfect hair at odds with the sterile hospital environment. Medical equipment beeped steadily from within, the only indication that the Haxton patriarch still clung to life.
Dr. Walter Morrison and his team of specialists huddled with Mrs. Haxton near the entrance to the room, their expressions grave as they discussed treatment options. Morrison’s thoughts briefly drifted to Jade Morgan, that peculiar young woman with surprising knowledge of pharmacology. Thepound she’d created for President Thornton’s migraines had been remarkable–elegant in its simplicity yet revolutionary in its effectiveness. But surely someone so young couldn’t have advanced research on antidotes for this type of poisoning.
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