By now the CIA has processed the crime scene. Frank would have been taken to the hospital and treated. I shot him through and through. He won't die from it. Thank god he didn't move or make too much noise once he went down. Had he been shaking or choking, Peter and Zoya would have taken a second glance, realizing I didn't shoot in in the heart and the head like we're always supposed to. But they didn't notice.

By now he's being questioned on what happened. He would have given me up. We were already on rocky terms and he was distrusting me even before I woke up. Frank would have told them I was the one that shot him and now the CIA knows I'm compromised. However, Peter and Zoya believe there are no witnesses. So they believe I am on the record only as a missing agent. It was a stupid decision but I couldn't kill him. At least not then. But I won't have to see him anymore so I won't be faced with this dilemma again. And he won't have to see me again, which he'll probably be better off without me interfering in his life.

We enter a building and take the stairs up to the third floor. We're somewhere in Maryland, north of D.C. We walk down a few doors, others pass us. Peter takes us down to the third room on the left and holds the door open.

"Oh, what gentleman," Zoya says as she steps through. Peter looks at her unamused. We walk in and see there's a group of people at a desk with whiteboards speaking. There's a woman who stands with her back to us, listening to the plans the others present her.

One of the guys talking trails off when he sees us enter. The woman turns around and her grey eyes lock on me. I freeze, flashing back to when I was a little kid. "Mother?" I whisper.

Her hair is still blonde, not as vibrant as it used to be, a washed out honey color. Her grey eyes are darker than I remember, her face aged 20 years. And she doesn't have black coat she always wore. It is warmer here and we aren't in Russia anymore. She walks to me with a welcoming smile and open arms. I take a step forward and fall into her embrace. "Oh, Dmitry, it has been too long," she says. I hold her tightly as I did when I was younger. She's the closest person I ever had to a real mother. Gerard's grandmother was only a caretaker, provided the house and food. And I don't know who my real parents are, if they're alive and gave me up or if they're dead. But I do have Irina. She pulls away and holds my face, turning my head side to side to examine. "You grew well." She forcibly pulls me close, kissing each side of my cheek. She then steps back. "You have done well. Made it all way to CIA."

"We were supposed to," I say to her.

"Ah, yes. But many of your siblings failed. Some even completely defected," she says distastefully. The others in the room scoff at the mention. "But those are without honor and will learn their lesson. They want to be American citizens, they will die like them." Mother looks at Zoya and Peter. "I see you both made it back soundly without injury."

"Was easy," Zoya says.

"Dmitry made personal connections," Peter adds on. Thanks.

Mother shifts her jaw and turns back to me. "What did you do?" she asks.

"He was in affair. With Frank Iero," Zoya says nonchalantly. Mother stares at me in shock and I bite my lip. "However, he killed him when he woke up."

Mother looks at me. "Those meetings you two had in Austria were dates?" she asks.

"You knew?" I ask surprised.

Zoya chuckles. "Of course she knew," she says. "Last 6 months we had tabs on you before we woke you up." I look at her a bit surprised. I figured they were getting intel on me before they woke me up but I didn't think they started that long ago. "Why do you think he got job at D.C.? Because he was good?"

She tampered with the files. Whatever she did as an NSA hacker, she got Frank that job. I don't feel as bad about him possibly losing it. "I had suspicions about that," I say.

"And do you have other input?" Mother asks.

I look back at her. "I did it to look weak," I say.

Her eyes are still wide and she looks confounded. "Bold of you," she finally says, unsure how to feel. "Personal connections are prohibited because they are weaknesses, but if you disguised this as weakness to make it strength, I...applaud you."

"Dmitry still broke rules," Peter says. "He also was lead investigator on stopping our mission."

"He was following orders," Mother snaps. "And it only gives him more value. He knows what Americans know. It seems you do not trust him."

I glance at Peter. I don't think it's personal. He just doesn't like others easily. Peter glares at me. "He hesitated when we asked him to shoot Frank."

"Really," Mother notes. I start getting worried. "But he still did it." Peter looks at her. I know I'm flawed. I'm only human. But he's acting like he's made no mistake before. I know I'm a favorite but he doesn't want that for some reason. In my memory, he was a favorite too. Mother notices Peter's bitterness. "Will it humor you if I make deal?" she asks. Neither of us says anything. "If you are right and he is compromised by weakness, you win. But if he is right and uses it as strength, he wins. Sound good?"

"Win what?" Peter asks her confused.

Mother walks over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Dmitry, this is Peter Mikhailov," she says, suddenly in English. Why are we talking in English?

"I...know," I say confused, also in English. She smiles warmly at me for following in suit.

"In his life, he became U.S. marine sharpshooter," she continues. "Sniper to be specific." I narrow my eyes and I see Peter tense up. He looks guilty. "When he woke up, his first task was to shoot American." Mother glances at Peter, looking down at him like a child. "Peter, what was his name?" I stare at him. No. Peter stares at me worried. Mother digs her nails into his should and it regains his attention. "Peter, I asked you something," she says in a disappointed voice. "What was his name?"

Peter looks at me and I stare at him. No. He opens his mouth. "Brendon Urie." I lunge at him. Mother steps to the side out of the way as I tackle Peter to the ground. He braces his arms over his face as we collide on the ground. The other people in the room spread out, eventually making a circle around us. They stand unified with their arms around their back. Like the Discipline Room. Only one can live.

Even if it wasn't Dmitry, Sarah was promised revenge. Even if I didn't make that promised, it is still a vow I plan to commit to.

Peter grabs my wrists and pulls them down. He then slams his head into mine to get me off him. I flail back, rolling off and twisting my wrists out of his grasp. I stand up, repositioning myself. My vision is blurring from getting hit in the head but I fight through the disorientation. Peter scurries off the ground and comes at me. I dodge out of the way and kick at him. He grabs my leg but I throw myself back, bringing him down with me.

He killed Brendon. He and Zoya were at the house. Zoya said she didn't kill Hannah because her gun was too small. Peter killed Brendon and Hannah. Both my partners are gone because of him. Brendon and Sarah never got married. Peter stole their future from them. Hannah died at 20. He stole the rest of her life. And he threatened to kill Frank. I've killed a lot of people but this is different. Whether it's personal for me or Gerard, I don't know. But whoever I am, I'm going to kill him.

Peter slams his fist into my temple, my vision jarring and doubling. I can't see or focus. But I'm in close quarters with him to still fight. I close my eyes and feel his movement. He hits the side of my head again but I catch his wrist and throw all my weight to the side. The two of us roll over and I'm on top. I knee him the torso and he loosens his grip. I slither over him and place him in a headlock. As a last attempt, he tries to grab my face. For a moment, he hits my eyes but I quickly switch my arms in front of his shoulders then interlocking my fingers together behind his neck, holding him in place. He writhes around in my grasp, groaning but I hold him. His shoulders are stuck forward so he can't reach me. My hands are shaking violently and I can barely see straight still but I hold him still. I lower myself down to his ear. "You think you feel power miles away safe and sound?" I spit. He grunts, still unable to move under my weight. "You think control is lining crosshairs on someone unexpected and deciding which second to end their life with flick of your finger? You are not in power or in control." I start squeezing my hands down. "You are coward with telescope."

"No weakness." I look up at Mother. "No mercy," she says. I lock eyes with her as I snap his neck. He lets go of his breath and I release his body to the ground. I blink a few times, standing up and folding my hands behind me. "Well done," she says with a smile. "In week, we will initiate attack. I am sure you do not need update on mission."

"No," I say. All the files and data the CIA had on the case is their mission.

The others break from the circle and head back to the tables and whiteboards. I stare down at Peter's body. A flash of Marie comes to my head and I shake the thought out. I look up and see Zoya, the only one still by me. "His mouth cost him his life."

"So be it," I mutter.

Zoya smirks, stepping closer to me. I look at her uneasy. She reaches down, taking hold of my sleeve. She pulls it toward her, taking my hand in both of hers. "Hmm," she says.

"What?" I ask.

She flicks her eyes up at me. "You shake," she points out.

I slowly take a breath. "With anger," I dismiss.

Zoya looks at me warily. "And your eyes do not focus," she says. "He did not hit you hard enough to jar your vision. Unless there is problem with you." My heart starts beating faster. She noticed. I can't control the condition. She lets go of my hands and smiles. "I am not Peter," she says. "I will not tell on you." I give her a small nod of gratitude. "But if anyone else notices, even Mother would not hesitate to dispose of you. You know she does not waste time with broken." I look at her softly and she smiles. "I missed you, Dmitry. You were my first friend."

I look down, biting my lip. We never were allowed to have friends with anyone. Mother called us siblings but she did not raise us to bond like siblings. We fought and sometimes killed each other to filter out the weakness and remove the broken. But that didn't stop some of us from keeping secrets. "I missed you, too, Zoya," I whisper.

She leans over and gently kisses my cheek. "Whatever it takes, fix yourself. I would hate for you to die after all this time." She walks away and rejoins the others.

Zoya is only keen due to all her punishments. She was trained to notice the smallest of details and nuances. I haven't taken my meds since I was in my apartment in D.C. It's been 24 hours without them and Zoya already noticed. The longer I go without them, it will progress and get worse and then others will notices. I need those meds.