A lone figure stands on the edge of a yacht, clutching a bag in his hand. He looks over his shoulder, at the dark water below.
The armed guards point their guns at Cooper, waiting for an order from the black or blond haired man nearby.
“Listen, Jet.” The black-haired man steps forwards, raising his hands. “We’ve given you the choice here, you just picked the wrong one. And wrong decisions have consequences.”
“How could you,” Jet growls, tightening his hands into fists. “How could you fucking do this to me, Connor.”
“He did what he had to do,” the blond man pipes in, pulling Connor back. “Unlike you.”
“I did enough,” Jet grumbles as he slings the bag over his shoulder.
“And you chose enough.” The blond man shrugs. “Any last words, Cooper?”
“Hasta la vista, and I’ll be back.” Jet grins, leaning back and falling into the water. The two men rush up to the end as Jet hits the water and goes under, kicking away from the boat.
“Fire!” The blond orders, and the guards start shooting into the water.
Connor steps back from the edge, looking away. “Am I clear to go home, Bishop?”
Bishop turns around, pulling his pistol out from his jacket. “Well, let’s do some math here, Connor.”
Connor takes another step back, cautiously.
“First, you don’t complete your mission, lie to a superior, aid not only an enemy but a fugitive, and blow our cover. Does that sound like a good-to-go combination?”
Connor swallows slightly and crosses his arms.
“And now,” Bishop says, his voice rising dangerously, “Jet got away!”
“That was your fault as much as-“
Bishop shuts Connor up by shooting him in the foot. Connor lets out a scream and crumbles down.
“We had a good run, you and I.” Bishop clicks his tongue. “But alas.”
Bishop fires again.