Chapter 2: A Mission with No Manual

When the system dropped me in, the villain—whose existence threatened the stability of the whole world—was already 34 and had a son about ten.

The world looked like early December in Ohio: flat, gray, and totally unforgiving. Every branch was bare, and the smell of slush in the air stung my lungs every time I breathed in.

When I woke up, I knew nothing. My memories? Wiped clean.

All I knew was that my name was Natalie Carter, and I was 23.

That’s what the system told me, anyway.

Other than that, it just kept hammering home how dangerous the villain was, warning me not to end up like the last strategists—dead the minute they set foot here.

The system said the villain’s name was James Donovan, a guy sitting at the very top of the food chain, loaded and untouchable.

He was ruthless, cold, basically a beast barely held together by logic. The only thing human about him, maybe, was his kid.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for a long time before whispering, “I don’t see anything special about me that would make that villain look twice.”

The system paused, weirdly quiet, then said with forced optimism, “You’re the last shot. If even you can’t do it—”

It cut itself off, then insisted, “No, you definitely can.”

My breath fogged up the mirror, motel tile freezing under my feet. The words echoed in that tiny space, like even the system didn’t buy what it was selling. I gripped the sink, searching for a clue to the person I was supposed to be.