Several days had passed since the incident that took place in the heart of the Mojave Desert. Rumors were spreading like wildfire, and people were eager to know more about what had happened.

In the LAPD chief's office,

The walls were adorned with plaques and commendations, and the shelves were lined with thick case files.

A man's voice blared through the radio. "In the Mojave Desert, a few days ago, there had been sightings of a rocket being launched and an explosion occurring," the man announced with urgency. "The local police department is currently investigating it. If you have any information regarding the incident, please call the following number -432–"

The LAPD chief leaned back in his chair and switched off the radio. He then turned his gaze to Val, who was seated in front of him, and spoke in a firm but encouraging tone.

"Val, I have to commend you on the excellent job you did in closing this case," he said with a nod of approval. "Even though you had assistance from the SSR, you managed to solve a highly complex case in just a matter of weeks, which is truly impressive."

The chief continued to speak, recounting the twists and turns of the investigation that had led to the unraveling of a scandalous affair, a murder, and a tragic accident. Val had shown remarkable skill and determination in piecing together the puzzle and bringing the case to a close.

"It started as a simple body found in a lake case," the chief reflected, "but as you delved deeper, you uncovered a tangled web of deceit and betrayal. From the illicit affair between Calvin and the victim to Whitney's shocking act of killing her own husband, and finally, the unforeseen tragedy that claimed her life. It was one hell of a case, but you handled it with poise and professionalism."

Val listened to the LAPD chief's praise with a sense of gratitude and humility. "Thank you, sir," he replied politely.

The chief waved his hand dismissively as if to say that the praise was well-deserved. But then he let out a sigh, a sign that there was something more on his mind.

"Val, I wanted to keep you here for a few more years," he said, handing over a file. "You've shown that you have what it takes to solve even the most complicated cases. But unfortunately, I can't override my superior's decision and have you stay here."

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"I understand, sir," he said, "I'm grateful for the opportunities you've given me here."

The chief gave him a small smile of encouragement. "I do not doubt that you'll excel wherever you go next, Val. You have a bright future ahead of you."

The LAPD chief rose from his chair, and Val followed suit.

They shook hands firmly, and the chief's words rang out with a mix of appreciation and sadness. "Thank you for your hard work, Detective Griffith," he said, his voice carrying a tone of respect. "It's been a pleasure working with you."

"It's been an honor, sir," Val replied with a nod of his head. "I'll always be grateful for the experience and guidance you've given me."

Val reached for the file that the chief had given him. As he walked out of the office, he took a deep breath and let out a sigh.

While making his way through the station, he exchanged greetings with the other officers and the receptionist.

...

In a spacious hotel room in New York, Jack Thompson sat at a desk with a classified and redacted file in his hands. The file bore the letter 'M' in the top right corner, and as he gazed at it, a malevolent grin spread across his face.

"Peggy, Peggy, Peggy!," he muttered to himself, relishing the thought of exacting revenge. "You were responsible for the council's downfall, and now only two of the original nine remain. But remember, the council always pays its debts."

As he perused the file, Jack's mind raced with plans for retaliation against his colleague, Peggy Carter. He had long harbored resentment towards what he perceived as her role in the downfall of the Council Of Nine.

But now, armed with classified information, he was ready to strike back. The file in his hands contained details that could ruin Peggy's career and reputation, and he intended to use it to his advantage.

A sudden knocking at the door startled Jack out of his thoughts, causing him to jolt upright in his chair.

* KNOCK *

* KNOCK *

* KNOCK *

As the sound persisted, Jack quickly realized that he had been so absorbed in his plans for revenge that he had lost track of time. Hurriedly, he glanced around the room, searching for a place to hide the classified file that was still in his hands.

With a sense of urgency, he tucked the file behind his back and cautiously looked at the door, his mind racing with the possibilities of who could be on the other side.

Despite his initial caution, the knocking at the door persisted, growing louder and more insistent. With a deep sense of unease, Jack realized that he could no longer ignore it.

Setting the classified file down on the desk, he reached for the gun that he had stashed nearby. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he made his way toward the door, his senses on high alert.

The moment Jack opened the door, a deafening gunshot echoed through the room, shattering the silence.

* BANG *

* THUD *

In an instant, everything seemed to move in slow motion as he collapsed to the ground, blood spilling from a bullet wound in his forehead.

As he lay on the floor, his vision growing dim, Jack's mind raced with questions. 'Who pulled the trigger? Why did they come for me? Is this the end of my story, or would I somehow manage to survive?'

Despite his best efforts to cling to consciousness, the darkness crept in, swallowing him whole. The only sound that remained was the steady drip of blood as it pooled around his lifeless body.

When the lifeless body of Jack Thompson lay on the floor, a shadowy figure stepped into the room. He cast a quick, appraising glance at the gruesome scene before him, then strode towards the table, his eyes fixed on the redacted and classified file.

When he reached out and took hold of it, his fingers curling tightly around the edges, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. For years, he had waited for this, and now it was finally within his grasp.

His gaze fell upon the letter 'M' stamped on the file's cover, and a wicked grin spread across his face. He knew exactly what he needed to do next.