"Gear up," she said, grabbing her jacket. "We don't bring him in. We shut him down."
Nikita didn’t look up. She was staring at the monitor where Alex’s face flickered. Her protege was half a world away, fighting a different kind of war in the sunlight of high-society galas, yet still drowning in the same shadows. The cycle was supposed to be broken when Percy died, but the power vacuum had only invited hungrier monsters. Nikita - Season 3
The air in the Division bunker was thick with the smell of ozone and burnt copper. Nikita stood over the console, her hands stained with the grit of a mission that wasn’t supposed to happen. Outside the reinforced glass, the "Dirty Thirty"—the rogue agents she had spent months hunting—were no longer just targets. They were ghosts of a life she tried to bury. "Gear up," she said, grabbing her jacket
As they moved toward the hangar, the weight of the Black Box—the digital ledger of every sin Division ever committed—sat in the server room like a ticking heart. Nikita knew that as long as it existed, she was just another warden in a prettier uniform. The third year of her freedom felt more like a sentence than the first two combined. She was staring at the monitor where Alex’s face flickered