My life as a spy came to a halt after the fall. One moment, I was a high-flying mission commander, and the next, I was an embarrassed and shamed husk of a man – and to make matters worse, I lost my commander title too. It was my fault that the mission had failed, so there was nobody else to blame when the news appeared in the spy system. Nobody in my team had done anything wrong; they were simply following orders. No, the blame rested squarely on my shoulders. And so did the injury that I succumbed to during the fall. I’d gone to the best podiatrist clinics Cheltenham had to offer, but still, it seemed that nothing could be done to fix my foot. I had landed on it during the fall, and since it was from such a great height, my foot completely shattered underneath me. At one point it seemed like I would have to get a prosthetic, and I would have to deal with not only the loss of my career but also the loss of my foot. But despite my fall from grace, I was still part of the spy network and still had access to the best medical talent the world had to offer. Bit by bit, I was able to walk again. I started off in physical therapy to get my foot moving again. They would push and pull it so the muscle in my leg could reconnect and move properly alongside my foot. Once I could move it of my own accord, I started using crutches to walk through the hallways of the hospital. It took so long to get better that at one point I wondered what the side effects of wearing circulation socks were since I had been wearing them for so long. Surely there was some sort of side effect I was missing, and maybe in a decade, I’d grow a third arm. But the doctors and podiatrists insisted they were necessary, and slowly but surely I was beginning to walk again. However, my life as a spy was still up in the air.