"God, are you sure those are robots?" May asked.
"They were made to look real. Right now, you are just inflating Peter's ego," Cortana replied.
"Dad is amazing," Itsy said.
"Amazing," Caesar agreed.
"Incredible," Selina added.
Everyone watched in amazement as their boyfriend and father moved through the training course.
They watched him eliminate opponents with knives, astonishing them with his accuracy.
They even saw him turn ordinary objects into weapons.
Cutlery.
Forks.
Knives.
Spoons.
Plates.
Glasses.
His tactics and movements left everyone wide-eyed.
When Caesar saw his father use a fork with terrifying efficiency, he made a very particular face.
They were all impressed by the man's versatility.
They watched him adapt to every environment almost instantly.
Not only that, but he constantly found new ways to use whatever happened to be in his hands.
None of them had ever imagined using a plate as a shield...
...or a spoon as a weapon.
Now they had.
But what astonished everyone most was one specific movement.
They watched the man they considered their boyfriend and father seemingly defy the laws of physics.
He fired a single shot...
...and instead of traveling in a straight line, the bullet curved at an angle, eliminating two opponents at once.
"Is that... is that even possible?" Missy asked.
"I no longer know what is possible or impossible with this man," Cortana admitted.
"I have to ask Peter to teach me that," Yuri said excitedly.
Itsy eagerly nodded in agreement.
"Cortana, what did Peter mutter before he recognized those people and eliminated them?" Susan asked.
Cortana quickly reviewed the recordings until she found the relevant moments.
After isolating the audio, she frowned.
"Peter repeated the names Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Mr. White, and Le Chiffre."
"I searched every available database, but there are no records of anyone with those names."
"If we want answers..."
"...we will have to ask Peter."
Back in the Room.
Peter advanced into the final sequence.
The music had changed.
He cleared the outdoor section methodically, improvising with whatever the environment provided.
At one point, he used a decorative object as both a shield and a distraction, eliminating two opponents simultaneously.
He adapted.
He moved.
He kept advancing.
When only one target remained, a tall, broad-shouldered blond man appeared.
For a brief instant, his face distorted into another.
One that stirred something beyond ordinary anger.
Without hesitation, Peter holstered his weapon and approached him empty-handed.
The two immediately exchanged blows.
Each fought with the unmistakable intent to finish the other as quickly as possible.
Peter caught the man's arm, pulled him forward, and drove several knees into his ribs.
The man broke free and retreated.
He countered with a hook.
Peter slipped beneath it and answered with a kick to the chest that knocked him to the floor.
The moment the man regained his footing, he charged.
Peter caught him.
Lifted him.
Then drove both of them into the ground.
Straddling his opponent, Peter unleashed a relentless barrage of punches until the man finally stopped moving.
Peter stood.
He began walking toward the exit.
"I admit you are persistent, Raoul Silva."
"But this ends now."
He turned slightly and looked at the man's bloodied face.
Silva threw one final desperate punch.
Peter intercepted it with a kick, forcing the man to double over.
One punch.
A second.
Then another to the chest.
A final strike ended the simulation.
"Gasp."
"Gasp."
"Gasp."
Slowly rising to his feet, Peter walked toward the exit.
Beyond the door lay a place unlike anything else in the simulation.
Standing alone at its center was a young man.
His face distorted once again.
It became that of someone much older.
Someone whose face appeared horribly burned.
Step by step...
...Peter approached.
The music changed again.
The man attacked with a rapid combination.
Peter avoided every strike effortlessly.
He redirected him without landing a single blow.
The man rushed him again, attempting a Superman punch.
Peter deflected it with his forearm.
He slipped past a kick.
Countered with a punch.
The man drew a knife.
Peter sighed.
Avoiding each slash, he grabbed both of the man's arms before driving his forehead into his opponent's face.
The headbutt left him dazed.
Peter had finally grown tired of looking at him.
One heavy punch sent him crashing to the floor.
Peter immediately mounted him.
Then...
He started punching.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The memories tied to that face overwhelmed him.
His self-control slipped.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
When he finally stopped and looked down...
...the training dummy had been reduced to a mangled wreck.
His hands were covered in simulated blood.
Slowly, he stood.
Ahead of him stood a single white door.
With a tired sigh, he blinked.
Standing before him was an incredibly beautiful woman.
She gently cupped his cheek.
Her fingers slowly caressed his face.
"Madeleine," he whispered.
Anyone looking at him now would have noticed the heterochromia in his eyes.
One hazel.
One blue.
"I always loved you."
"And I always will."
"But time..."
Without realizing it, tears began running down his right cheek.
A noise behind him drew his attention.
Instinctively, he drew the Walther.
He turned.
Standing there was a little girl, no older than five.
"Mommy."
She ran straight past him.
Peter slowly turned.
The little girl was now in the woman's arms.
Both of them looked at him.
The woman smiled warmly.
The little girl smiled too.
"She has your eyes."
"Daddy."
The Walther slipped from Peter's fingers.
He reached toward them.
Both vanished.
For several long seconds...
...his hands trembled.
There was only one thing he wanted to do.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His scream echoed throughout the room.
He slowly collapsed to his knees.
He remained there with his head lowered before finally standing again.
As he walked toward the exit, he removed the tactical harness.
The moment he stepped outside, every trace of simulated blood vanished.
He paid it no attention.
Crossing the room, he stopped before a seemingly ordinary wall.
He placed a hand against it.
A hidden minibar silently emerged.
He took out a glass.
Gin.
Vodka.
Vermouth.
He poured each ingredient before stirring the mixture.
Once satisfied, he strained it into a chilled glass and added a thin slice of lemon.
Taking a sip...
...he felt sadness.
Happiness.
Euphoria.
Bitterness.
Peace.
"A Vesper Martini."
He quietly savored the drink.
After finishing the glass, he removed the bracelets and immediately felt his connection to the network return.
A faint prickling sensation spread through his mind.
It guided his attention toward a specific location.
Looking at the security cameras, he sighed.
"Cortana."
"Stop watching me through the cameras."
A second later...
...the prickling sensation disappeared.
Before today, he had never had a proper reference for preparing a martini.
Now...
...he never wanted to see one stirred again.
Instead, he prepared himself a shaken vodka martini.
Not a stirred one.