Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

47 raised the monocular, adjusting the focus as he scanned the windows of the building opposite his position. People milled around the ground floor, going to and from meetings and lunch breaks. The floor above looked like it held mostly offices, their blinds open to bring in some natural light throughout the workday.

“The data on Mr. Silva’s phone has turned out to be very useful,” Diana said conversationally after some time.

The third floor windows were few and mirrored, unable to be seen through without pressing one’s face right up to it. Probably the R&D area, protected from prying eyes.

“Silva’s contact at Novira Pharmaceuticals seems to be the head of their security force, a man named Jared Robinson. Robinson first contacted Silva last autumn, offering a large sum of money in exchange for information.” This last word she said with a note of distaste, as though offended by the mundanity of it all.

The fourth floor had no windows at all. Definite R&D, and any secure offices. Basement? How many sub-basements would a building like this have? More to the point, where would they have their security room?

“Robinson’s office is on an inner corridor on the second floor, no windows. However, his ID card is regularly swiped at the company gymnasium between 11:30 and noon on workdays. Perhaps he could use some fresh towels, or a bench spotter? I've sent the floor plans to your phone with points of interest marked.”

47 put down the monocular on the sill and unlocked his phone to examine the map. A pending text message caught his eye first.

Ava: I've run out of stuff to watch on Netflix and now I'm bored.

47: I'm sorry to hear that.

Ava: What are you up to? Entertain me.

47 looked at the message a moment, then opened the phone's camera and aimed it at the floor beside him. A screwdriver, a length of fiber wire, a scoped rifle, and a small, neat stack of coins. After another moment of hesitation - let her in, she's asking you to let her in  - he sent the image.

He set the phone face down beside the monocular and sorted through the equipment while he avoided waiting for a response. Going to the gym, then. He took the coins, screwdriver, wire. The 5mm would have to do for ballistic back up. Not his first choice, but easily concealed in case there were pat downs at the entrance. The rifle wouldn't have a prayer anyway, no matter how loose the security. Pick it up later.

The phone buzzed.

Ava: Is that a WA 2000?

47 began to type a response asking how she knew, deleted it. Began to ask if she'd fired one, and deleted that, too. The image it was summoning in his mind was too distracting.

47: Yes.

47: I'll try to entertain you once I'm done here.

Ava: Just come home in one piece. x

He muted the phone and put it away.

“Well?” Diana asked expectantly.

He considered playing dumb, then relented. “Ava's getting restless.”

“I'll see what I can do. In the meantime…” she trailed off encouragingly.

“Right.” 47 stowed the remaining equipment and made his way down to ground level as he ran through his approach. There would be a front desk, and a receptionist. Might wave him through without looking up, might be sharp enough to ask for a badge. Was it worth the risk?

No. Plenty of time to make it to the gym and prepare, no need to gamble. Besides, he noted as he surveyed the building's exterior, there was a balcony along the west wall. Two men stood with their backs against the railing, smoke curling up from the cigarettes they were gesturing with as they spoke heatedly with one another.

“Look, it's not for everyone, I'm just saying you should give it a shot.”

47 moved under the balcony, climbing a support pillar below the men to get as close as possible without entering their line of sight. His fingers gripped the edge of the balcony, feet braced on the pillar as he waited.

“I refuse to stand in my closet and ask myself if every goddamn tie brings me joy or not. That's the dumbest fucking thing I've heard in my life.”

“It's more than- okay, fine, you're the one who asked what I did last weekend.” The man crushed his cigarette out on the railing beside him, then flicked it into a trash can. “Keep your dirty ass apartment, then, see if I care.”

“I will,” the second man snapped, folding his arms across his chest. “Hey, you going to the brewery after work tonight, or are you going to be too busy folding up all the socks that love you?”

“I'll be there. Kick your ass at darts this time, too,” the first man said, voice fading as he retreated back into the building.

“Hmph. We'll see,” the remaining man said as he lifted his cigarette to his lips for another drag. This proved impossible, as before he could inhale an arm had clenched around his neck, cutting off his breath just long enough to knock him out.

47 pulled himself onto the balcony, and lifted the ID badge from around the man's neck. He swiped it at a card reader and pulled the door open, then scanned the hallway for any witnesses. Finding none, he pulled the unconscious man to a broom closet and dropped him inside. That would do for now.

“Diana,” he said softly as he checked the badge in his hand, “does Walter Grigori have security clearances?” He could hear the swift tapping of computer keys, then an affirmative sound.

“For the next hour, Walter Grigori has access to every door in this building. I can make no promises about how the people on the other side of said doors will react, however.”

“I’m sure they'll see reason.” He hung the lanyard around his neck and exited the closet. Illusion complete.

“Or the inside of a bin.”

“Reason takes many forms,” he said, consulting the map on his phone to consider his route. The gym facilities were on the ground floor, at the other end of the building. Would it be better or worse to cross public spaces, that was the question. Higher, more secure floors would have fewer employees to cross his path, but they were also more likely to recognize their colleagues. After a few moments of consideration, he took the staircase down to the ground floor.

The reception desk was staffed by a bored-looking 20 year old who glanced up at the employees passing by with the signature tepid interest of one who is not being given enough money or oversight to care. 47 flashed Walter's badge at her as he passed, thumb partially obscuring the photo she made no effort to compare to its bearer.

He palmed the badge again, slowing his approach to the gym entrance to examine the surroundings. The door had a slot to swipe a badge, and beyond was a room stocked with free weights and treadmills. The room seemed vacant. Good.

47 swiped Walter's badge, then pushed the door open. The room smelled like lavender Fabuloso cleaner, with just a trace of sweat. Not a particularly active employee population, then. Less questions asked, less threat of interaction. He moved through the room, noting possibilities. A barbell bench. A set of kettlebells. A set of shower stalls with a large towel hamper outside them. The beep of the door lock drew his attention, and he stepped behind the curtain in the shower stall to assess the shift in the situation.

“Mr. Robinson’s personal trainer,” Diana supplied after a moment. “Not an employee, but has access to this room for lunchtime sessions, it seems.”

47 nodded slightly. An opportunity seemed to be revealing itself. He waited, pressing into the wall as he tracked the trainer’s progress through the room.

The man was whistling to himself as he picked out sets of free weights, loading them onto a barbell rack. Next, he wiped down the handles on the treadmill and set the incline for the belt. He glanced at his smartwatch, then turned to walk to the stalls to grab a few fresh towels. He pulled the privacy curtain aside and, before he could register what had happened, everything went dark.

---

Robinson swiped his badge and pushed through the door to the gym. He pulled off his Bluetooth headset and tossed it onto a ledge. “Okay, Thomas, ready to get my ass kicked again today. My legs only just recovered from Monday, so how’s about we do upper body to-” Robinson stopped, assessing the man before him. “You’re not Thomas.”

“Sorry, sir,” Thomas’s replacement said apologetically. Tall, bald, well built, shirt with the company logo. Badge lanyard around his neck, under the shirt. Familiar in a nonspecific way. “I told him to leave a message with your assistant but I guess he didn’t get a chance. Thomas is sick, no voice, some kind of upper respiratory virus. He called in a favor and asked me to lead your-”

“Badge,” Robinson interrupted, holding out a hand. Irritation crackled through him like static electricity. He didn’t have time for games and too-neat stories. He needed concrete facts and information, and to get back to work by one o’clock.

“Excuse me?” the other man asked, head tilting in apparent puzzlement.

“You got in here, didn't you? Thomas might not have mentioned, I put together the security program around here. Everyone has a badge.”

“Ah.” The stranger produced a badge from under his shirt, looking at it. “Thomas gave me his, said it would be too much trouble to get a new one printed and keyed for just one day.” He turned the badge toward Robinson as proof that it did indeed belong to Thomas. “I hope this won't get him in trouble.”

“We’ll see about that,” Robinson grunted. He would have to speak to his trainer about that. About what the fuck the point of a secure gym facility was if he was going to just hand his ID over to someone who hadn't been fully vetted and given clearance. He examined the badge, tilting it to catch the light off the holographic watermark. It was legit, at least. He tipped his head side to side, popping his neck as he looked back up at his opposite. “What’s your name?”

“Armin,” the other man said, deflated. He looked concerned, shoulders dropped and eyes lifted. Worried how much of an ass-chewing his buddy was going to get for staying home sick without notice? No. There was something in the stance that nagged at him. The look of a cat waiting for the mouse to come in swiping range.

Robinson shook himself, rubbing one wrist with the opposite hand as he swiped into a menu on his smartwatch. Systems normal, no sign of forced entry, no alarms raised or intruder alerts. He knew this security system inside and out, and a fly couldn’t fart on the conference room muffins without him knowing about it..

He was overworked, paranoid, that had to be it. He had been putting in twice as many hours as he was being paid for lately, trying to fix what that two-bit hit crew had fucked up. He’d been looking forward to his training session all day, and he was reticent to let it go - with or without Thomas.

“Fine,” he said finally, squaring up to the other man and holding his gaze. “But I’m calling the shots, got it? We’ll see if you can keep up with me. I want a damn good workout today, not some pansy-assed pilates class.”

Armin brightened, a strange smile crossing his face. “Yes sir. I think I can handle that.”

They worked the circuit in near silence, save for brief instructions and Robinson’s occasional grunts and panting. Treadmill sprints, Turkish get ups, box jumps. Armin watched with apparent approval, correcting form where necessary and preparing the next station.

Robinson hit the water fountain, sucking down mouthfuls of icy cold water. He splashed some onto his face as he came up for air, then wiped his face with a towel as he walked back to the trainer. “Shit. I’d like to know who trained you . I know it couldn’t have been Thomas, don’t tell him I said so though.”

“I trained overseas with some very brutal instructors,” Armin said as he screwed the barbell collars into place. “No rest, no water breaks, no talking.”

“Shit,” Robinson said, shaking his head in awe. He’d have to figure out a way to let Thomas down easy, and find out this guy’s contact information. Sorry, Tommy, time for a new trainer. “Coulda used them in basic, they sound like my kind of guys.”

“I have no doubt,” Armin murmured, and gestured to the bench. “Now, shall we continue?”

The men moved to the weight bench, and Robinson lay down below the barbell. Weights were added, and he removed the bar from the rack to begin his set. The bar sank to his chest, and he grunted as he strained against the bar to lift it again to the rack. “Hey, too much. Not gonna make it through the set with-” he stopped as he watched Armin’s hand wrap around the middle of the barbell, pushing down just enough to prevent him from hooking it into place.

“I thought you wanted a killer workout,” the man above him said, voice changing to cold steel.

Robinson lifted his gaze to what was no longer the helpful, compliant gaze of Armin, but the hard eyes of a killer.

Shit.

“I’m paying you to spot me here, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snapped. Buy some time, find your escape route.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the false trainer said, tipping his head slightly like an entomologist gazing into his killing jar.

“You’re about to lose your job, that’s what’s obvious,” Robinson said, face reddening as he pushed back against the bar. Fatigue had been setting in before he lay down, and it was coming up fast now. Find your escape route.

The bar pushed suddenly down on his chest, knocking the air from him. “Don’t try my patience. You recognize me, I can tell, and that is strange. There’s only one class of person who knows I exist at all.”

Robinson wheezed as the weight was lifted just enough - with one hand, he only used one hand - to let him respond. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“My clients,” Agent 47 said coldly.

Game over. Robinson threw his weight against the left side of the bar to off-balance it to the right, gritting his teeth with the strain as his shoulder was pushed back to the bench. 47’s steady hand held the bar over the other man’s chest, pressing it down.

“Fuck,” Robinson hissed, his eyes squeezing shut as he weighed his options. He was going to have to buy some time. He was certain he couldn’t talk his way out of this one, but eventually someone would come in, right? “Yeah,” he said, voice as even as he could manage, “I hired you.”

“Good. Let’s start there… why hire me?”

Robinson added this to the scale of options. There didn’t seem to be an obvious disadvantage in answering a few questions. Keep him talking. “I had to draw you out. How do you find a ghost? Word on the street was, you fulfill a contract and vanish into thin air. We had to know where you were going to be next.”

“Why Chicago?” Agent 47’s hard gaze never wavered from Robinson’s, nor did his grip on the barbell.

“Chicago jobs got filled faster than others. International or domestic, Chicago was the place to get shit done quick. Once we knew where you denned, it was easy enough to hire guys to wait near the targets and shadow you out. Gotta give you credit, you didn’t make it easy,” a chuckle hissed between his clenched teeth. “Took a lot of money and a lot of jobs to narrow it down first.”

“Yes, I’d imagine.” A thought seemed to occur to 47. “Whose money? Surely not yours. You wouldn’t go to all the trouble to pay out all of those contracts if it was your own money you were playing with.”

“Got handed a blank check to write for whatever amount you asked, as long as I found you. Whatever makes you special, the boss wants it and he ain’t fucking around waiting.”

“Boss?” 47 asked, rolling his wrist side to side to rock the barbell in Robinson’s hands. “You’re getting tired, we should speed this up.”

“Fuck you.” Robinson snarled. “Boss. Big boss. Guy upstairs who holds the pursestrings. He cooked up something with that chick in R&D, needed a human subject. A specific human subject.”

47’s eyes narrowed at that. “And how did they know?”

“Dunno.” He gave a half shrug, working his shoulders side to side a bit. “She had a stack of research notes, something about a medical breakthrough. Not my area, don’t care. I heard ‘get the guy’ and that’s what I did.”

“Not quite. You'll notice you're the one fighting gravity for 600 pounds of steel.” A pause. “And losing, it seems.”

“What, you think killing me will stop anything?” Robinson hissed out a laugh. “You think I didn't plan ahead? I'm a man of some principles, sure, but I'm not above dispensing some…” and here he paused, considering his next words as carefully as he was watching the other man's expression, “collateral damage.”

If he hadn't been watching for it, or if he has blinked, he wouldn't have seen it. But Jared Robinson had not worked his way up to the top of the corporate heap by missing cues. For just a moment, the assassin wondered just how safe a safehouse could actually be.

Jared Robinson was not a man to pass up an opportunity like that.

He grunted as he released the barbell, rolling out of the way as 47 let it drop from his grip. He stumbled to the exit, grabbing his phone and keys as he passed. He fumbled for the little silver fob on the keyring, and mashed the silent alarm button with his thumb.

He is not leaving this building alive, Robinson promised himself as he turned down the hallway that led him to the security control room. Or maybe not even dead.