Perseus was an immortal who had lived for far too long. He'd seen empires rise and fall, watched the world transform from swords to satellites, and somehow always found himself in the thick of humanity's conflicts. Currently, he was living in New York, enjoying the relative peace of modern life. That peace was about to be shattered—not by enemies, but by his own side. "What do you got?" Agent Afferty said, settling into his chair at FBI headquarters. He was relatively new to this division, hungry to make his mark. His briefing officer, a weathered analyst named Chen, pulled up the file on the screen. "Perseus Jackson. This guy's file reads like a fever dream. He's done missions in Iraq, Afghanistan, the Balkans. You name a conflict in the last forty years, he's been there. Served with distinction every single time." Afferty leaned forward, studying the photo. The man looked maybe thirty-five, fit, with an unsettling calm in his eyes. "Forty years? He doesn't look old enough." "I know. Good genes, I guess. But check out his awards." Chen scrolled through the list. "Silver Star, Bronze Star, Legion of Merit, Defense Superior Service Medal, Purple Heart— hell, he's got a Navy Cross. The guy has a list of military decorations longer than most career generals. Even our allies have recognized him. The Brits gave him the George Cross, which is their highest civilian award for gallantry." "Impressive. So why are we looking at him?" Chen's expression darkened. "The really interesting part is what happened in 1986. He was captured during a black ops mission near the Kirghiz border. Held captive by the KGB for two weeks. We're talking about the height of the Cold War here. Everyone at Langley wrote him off as dead—or worse, turned. You know what the KGB does to people." "But he survived." "He didn't just survive. He escaped. Walked out of that prison, made it across three borders, and showed up at a US embassy like he'd just taken a particularly long vacation. The debrief is still classified above my pay grade, but the rumors..." Chen shook his head. "Let's just say the interrogation techniques the KGB used back then would make Guantanamo look like a spa day." Afferty whistled low. "That's one tough son of a bitch." "It gets weirder. I did some deeper digging because parts of his file didn't make sense. According to records I found—and these are authenticated historical documents—he was knighted by Elizabeth I. Not Elizabeth II, the current queen. Elizabeth I. As in the Tudor queen who died in 1603." "That's got to be a clerical error. Same name, maybe an ancestor—" "That's what I thought. But then I found more. He was canonized by the Church of Rome in 1734. Saint Perseus of Constantinople. Recognized by both the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches for 'miraculous deeds in defense of the faithful.' There are paintings of him in the Vatican. The face matches." Afferty stared at the screen. "You're telling me we're investigating a four-hundred-year-old saint?" "I'm telling you the paperwork says that. Whether it's identity theft across centuries or something else, I don't know. But here's why you're really here." Chen pulled up another file. "You know about La Cebra?" Afferty's jaw tightened. La Cebra—The Zebra. The most elusive hitman in the world. "Of course. He's been a thorn in everyone's side for over a decade. The FBI's been after him, we've been after him, even the SVR and Mossad have tried to take him out. Nobody's even gotten close." "Right. Well, I've been running pattern analysis on La Cebra's hits and cross-referencing them with Perseus Jackson's known locations." Chen brought up a map covered in colored pins. "Look at this. Every single confirmed La Cebra assassination coincides with a time and place where Perseus was documented to be within a fifty-mile radius. Balkans, 2015 —Perseus was there on 'consulting work' for NATO. La Cebra took out a war criminal the same week. Syria, 2018—Perseus was advising Kurdish forces. La Cebra eliminated an ISIS commander. The pattern holds for every single hit." "That's... circumstantial, but compelling."  "There's more. Witnesses describe La Cebra as having 'an ancient quality' to his movements. Efficient, precise, like he's been doing this for lifetimes. One informant said watching him work was like 'seeing a master painter who'd had centuries to perfect his craft.' Those were his exact words. Centuries." Afferty studied the data, his mind racing. "So we think this war hero, this saint, is moonlighting as an international assassin?" "The similarities are uncanny. Same build, same age appearance despite impossible timeline, same operational zones. And get this—La Cebra has never killed anyone who wasn't objectively a bad actor. War criminals, terrorists, cartel leaders, corrupt officials. It's like he's got his own moral code." "A vigilante." "A very old, very skilled vigilante who's embedded in our own military-intelligence apparatus. If we're right, this is the biggest counterintelligence failure in CIA history. We've been giving this guy security clearances, operational support, and he's been using our resources to run his own private justice operation." Afferty sat back, processing. "Okay. So what's the play?" "We bring him in. Quietly. We interrogate him, get the truth, and figure out what the hell is really going on. The Director wants you to lead this because you're good at reading people, and this guy..." Chen paused. "This guy is going to be a hard read. He's an experienced veteran with decades—maybe centuries—of tradecraft. He's got a reputation for being a loose cannon. Unpredictable." "Why's that?" Chen pulled up a series of incident reports. "Multiple stories, some verified, some not. One time in Mosul, he single-handedly took out an entire squadron of ISIS fighters who had pinned down a Marine unit. Twenty-seven confirmed kills in under ten minutes. Another time in the Balkans, multiple witnesses reported seeing him fighting alongside a tiger. An actual tiger. Nobody knows where it came from or where it went afterward." "That's got to be bullshit." "Maybe. But the most verified story is from the Taiwan Strait incident in 2021. Chinese naval forces were conducting 'exercises' that were really a rehearsal for an invasion. Perseus was there as an observer. According to the after-action reports, when things went hot, he personally disabled three Chinese patrol boats and rescued a downed Taiwanese pilot under heavy fire. The Taiwanese government wanted to give him their highest military honor. We told them to bury the story." Afferty felt a chill run down his spine. "So we're arresting someone who could probably kill everyone in this building." "If he wanted to, yes. But we don't think he will. He's always played by the rules—or at least, his version of them. The issue is that his version might not align with ours anymore. If he's really La Cebra, he's crossed a line. We need to know why, and we need to bring him in." "Do we need SWAT backup?" "Already arranged. But here's the thing—this guy isn't the type to go for a gun. He doesn't need to. The reports from people who've trained with him say he's the most naturally gifted close-quarters combatant they've ever seen. Moves like he's been doing it for multiple lifetimes." Chen paused meaningfully on that last phrase. "But we're going to have overwhelming force on site. He'd have to be suicidal to resist, and nothing in his profile suggests that." "Alright. Let's do this.”