Ranko Lennox popped the collar of her bespoke trench coat against the damp chill. The biting wind sweeping across the Yorkshire Dales and the penetrating cold settling over the ruined Gothic estate were relentless, leaving the heavy gabardine as her only remaining armour.

Her dark lenses merged seamlessly with the shadows, her gaze as ruthless and clear as the moonlight filtering through the collapsed arched window. A shattered fireplace and a single, soot-stained antique Baroque lamp were all that remained of the hall’s former grandeur. This vast space, which had once boasted aristocratic opulence, was now a mirror image of her own existence: hunted by Whitehall intrigues, her past systematically erased.

In her hands, she held the Oracle No. 5—a gold-plated bio-decoder acquired through murky channels in Whitehall at a staggering cost. Black lead wires extended from its military-grade casing down to the defenceless chest of her mark, Nobuo Davis, who lay motionless on the debris-strewn floor.

Once a master strategist who had seized top-secret encryption keys and operated in the digital shadows, he was now reduced to a mere shell of a man. Staring at the electrodes on his chest, Ranko Lennox coldly measured the unnaturally calm rise and fall of his breath. To her, a target’s humanity was nothing more than a safe dial waiting to be cracked. Ever since the Agency had severed ties—stripping away her comfortable London drawing rooms and her honour—she had transformed into a ruthless, solitary operative.

She threw the main toggle switch on the Oracle No. 5.

A low hum tore through the silence. The hybrid device—a fusion of retro thermionic valves and cutting-edge circuitry—delivered a high-voltage pulse straight into Nobuo Davis’s nervous system. His body arched violently in pain, muscles locking rigid, but Ranko Lennox did not flinch. The crimson soles of her Louboutin heels crunched softly against the grit scattered across the flagstones.

“Two minutes.”

Behind her dark glasses, her thin lips curled into a razor-thin smile. Once the extraction was complete, she would possess the codename of the handler who had framed her and signed her termination order on that rain-slicked night.

Tucked beneath her left arm, secured in its shoulder holster, was her Walther PPK. Its heavy, dark steel remained her only dependable ally in the twilight ruins.

A Son Altesse Royale

Monseigneur Chretien Louis, Marggraf de Brandenbourg, &c. &c. &c.

Monseigneur,

Comme j’eus il y a une couple d’années, le bonheur de me faire entendre à Votre Altesse Royalle, en vertu de ses ordres, & que je remarquai alors, qu’Elle prennait quelque plaisir aux petits talents que le Ciel m’a donnés pour la Musique, & qu’en prennant Congé de Votre Altesse Royalle, Elle voulut bien me faire l’honneur de me commander de Lui envoyer quelques pieces de ma Composition: j’ai donc selon ses tres-gracieux ordres, pris la liberté de rendre mes tres-humbles devoirs à Votre Altesse Royalle, par les presents Concerts, que j’ai accommodés à plusieurs Instruments; La suppliant tres-humblement de ne vouloir pas juger leur imperfection selon la rigueur du gout fin et exquis, que tout le monde sait qu’Elle a pour les pieces de Musique; mais de tirer plutot de grand Cœur, qu’Elles contiennent, une tres-humble Soumission, & un hommage tres-respectueux.

Au reste, Monseigneur, je supplie tres-humblement Votre Altesse Royalle, d’avoir la bonté de continuer ses bonnes graces envers moi, & d’être persuadée, que je n’ai rien tant à cœur, que de pouvoir être employé en des occasions plus dignes d’Elle & de son service, moi qui suis avec un zele sans pareil,

Monseigneur,

De Votre Altesse Royalle,

Le tres-humble & tres-obeissant Serviteur

Jean Sebastien Bach, Coethen, d. 24. Mars 1721.

@mr.pirouettes

Day 1 🌪️ . . . #ballet #balletdancer #dancer #danceawesome #dancechallenge

♬ audio originale – Mr.Pirouettes