Agent 3: Execution

A gentle tremor shook the apartment room as a train passed by, an accompanying honk sounding as moonlight shined in through the window. It was late, but Grant Johnson was still up, sitting on his bed as he tended to the many bruises that remained on his body. Overall, he still hurt like hell.

A picture of his now deceased partner sat on his night stand right there by his legs, barely visible in the moonlight. It sat right next to a picture of his mom, who was also long deceased. Right next to that, was a picture of his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, at least. He found himself staring at these a lot, especially recently, but they rarely even helped when they did. They hurt to look at, actually. Shakily, he reached over and grabbed a whiskey bottle from the same night stand, and brought it to his mouth, chugging it a bit before he broke off and groaned.

With his shakiness only eased somewhat, he then reached to slowly put on his night shirt, not wanting to hurt his bruises more than they already hurt. He grunted a bit in pain as he did, before he eased himself down on the bed, snuggling up against his own pillows. He fully intended on relaxing and getting some shut-eye, but unfortunately for him, someone had other plans. Not long after he closed his eyes for the night, his phone went off, buzzing a little as a 'kaching' sound played.

He sighed as he slowly grabbed it, before he turned it on and held it away from his face to give himself a moment to adjust to the light. As soon as his eyes did focus, he tapped the text that was sent to him. It was from a private number.

PRIVATE NUMBER: Still want to stop to the Underdogs?

Johnson sat up, in anticipation of whatever this person was talking about. The person on the other end kept typing for a bit, before an address popped up on screen.

PRIVATE NUMBER: They're all here. Bring as much backup as you can.

PRIVATE NUMBER: And in case you think this is a trap

The number then sent a selfie, confirming her own identity. It was none other than Jessica, with her Executioner armor barely visible in the frame.

PRIVATE NUMBER: I'll be there too.

PRIVATE NUMBER: Don't be late.

Johnson stared at the screen as this unfolded, his breath getting heavy. He suddenly opened up the keyboard and desperately tried to send a text back, but at this point, Jessica had already blocked the number.

Just a week ago, Johnson would've thought this was a trap regardless, because he definitely thought Jessica was the enemy, possibly even allied with the Underdogs. But after what he saw in his last confrontation with her... he knew he didn't have all the answers yet. And this might've just been the opportunity to learn more. He shot up out of bed, going to get his work clothes.

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Several Minutes Later

Inkopolis Police Station

Johnson speedily opened the door and entered, now in his Detective outfit, as he raced inside, looking for the highest ranking officer there. The station was currently on night shift, so not everyone was there, but he quickly found who he was looking for regardless.

"Detective?" An older Inkling stopped as he passed by, turning to him.

Johnson turned to him. "Captain Hertz?"

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"What are you doing in the night shift?"

"Well, someone's had to work extra hours with all the insanity that's been upturning the city lately." He walked up to him. "You're supposed to be treating your injuries. You're not at your 100% right now, Johnson, I can tell just by looking at you."