Location: Director's Office, The Triskelion
Silence was a weapon.
Agent 47 knew this. He had used it to intimidate targets, to extract confessions, and to blend into the background of a hundred different nations.
Nick Fury also knew this. He used silence to unnerve subordinates, to dominate negotiations, and to remind the most powerful people on Earth that he was the one holding the secrets.
Currently, they were using it on each other.
Fury stood behind his desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his single eye fixed on the man standing in the center of the room.
47 stood motionless.
His breathing was so shallow it was imperceptible. He didn't blink. He didn't shift his weight. He simply existed in the space, a void in the room's atmosphere.
One minute passed.
Then two.
The air conditioning hummed.
A seagull flew past the window, oblivious to the tension inside.
A vein began to pulse rhythmically on Fury's temple. He prided himself on his patience—he had out-waited KGB interrogators and politicians alike—but there was something unnerving about staring at a man who looked back at you with the biological indifference of a fucking shark.
Fury exhaled through his nose, a sharp, irritated sound. He broke contact, walking to the window.
"Stark is asking about you," Fury said, conceding the silent duel.
47 didn't move. "He is a curious man. Curiosity is a byproduct of ego."
"He's not just curious. He's obsessed," Fury corrected, turning back. "Pepper Potts told him about the Expo. About the 'Guardian Angel' who was dropping Hammer Drones like flies while Stark was busy playing laser tag with Rhodey. She noticed the shots coming from where you were. Stark did the math on the ballistics. He knows S.H.I.E.L.D. had a sniper on site."
Fury leaned against the glass.
"He tried to pull rank. Used his 'Consultant' status to demand the personnel files for the operation. I told him it was classified. He tried to hack the server. I locked him out. Now he thinks I'm hiding a super-soldier."
"You are," 47 noted dryly.
"I'm hiding a super-assassin," Fury grunted. "If Stark finds out about you, he'll want to meet you. He'll want to dissect your past and present. And believe me, he has his ways of knowing the unknown... he's stubborn like that."
47 considered the billionaire. He had read the psych evaluations in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. Tony Stark: Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Narcissistic personality disorder. Volatile. Desperate for validation.
"I'm aware of his Artificial Intelligence," 47 said, his voice flat. "J.A.R.V.I.S. Just A Rather Very Intelligent System."
Fury paused, his eye narrowing. "Now why the hell do you know about that?."
"Let's just say that I've had my experience with such systems," 47 replied, his eyes betraying nothing. "And I am prepared to disappear from them."
"I have no interest in Mr. Stark," 47 added dismissively. "Unless he becomes a target."
Fury narrowed his eye. "He's not a target. He's an asset. A pain in my ass, but an asset. Stay away from him. Malibu is small, but keep your distance."
"Malibu," 47 repeated. He caught the location drop.
Fury walked back to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick, cream-colored dossier. He tossed it onto the desk.
"New job," Fury said.
47 stepped forward. He placed his hand on the file but didn't open it yet. He looked at Fury.
"I trust this one has been vetted?" 47 asked. "I do not waste travel time on targets that destabilize the region."
"It's vetted," Fury said, sitting down. "It's dirty work. The kind Captain America wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. The kind Romanoff would hesitate on."
47 opened the file.
The first photograph was of a man. Mid-50s. Tan skin that looked like cured leather. Bleached teeth. Wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel. He was standing on the deck of a massive beachfront mansion in Malibu, holding a martini.
Target: Dimitri Sokolov.
Occupation: Film Director (Adult Industry).
Location: The Sokolov Estate, Malibu, California.
"Dimitri Sokolov," Fury briefed. "Ex-Russian mob. He moved to the States in the 90s. Laundered his money into a production company. 'Exotic' films."
47 flipped the page. The next photos were disturbing. Surveillance shots of young women—some looking barely legal—entering the compound.
"He's branched out," Fury continued, his voice dropping an octave. "He's filming things that aren't just illegal; they're depraved. He deals in minors, 47. Runaways. Trafficked girls from Eastern Europe. He breaks them, films it, and sells it on the dark web to a very exclusive clientele."
47 looked at the photos. His expression didn't change. He felt a cold, sharp spike of disgust deep in his gut, but he filed it away under 'Motivation'.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. deals with global threats," 47 said, looking up. "This is a police matter. Or FBI. Why are you involved?"
"Because Sokolov is protected," Fury explained. "He has leverage. One of his regular 'clients' is General Ivan Karpov."
47 recognized the name.
"The incoming Minister of Defense for the Russian Federation," 47 stated.
"The same," Fury nodded. "Karpov is a hardliner. A warmonger. He's been pushing for aggressive expansion into sovereignty zones in the Arctic and Eastern Europe. If he gets that seat on the Council, he's going to reignite the Cold War. He wants a conflict with the US to justify his military budget."
Fury pointed at the dossier.
"Sokolov has a video. Karpov, engaged in... acts... with one of the trafficked minors. It's Karpov's favorite tape. Sokolov keeps it as insurance. As long as he has that drive, Karpov protects him. The FBI can't touch him. Interpol can't touch him. And Karpov gets his Council seat because his record looks spotless."
"You want the video," 47 surmised.
"I want the leverage," Fury corrected. "We secure the drive. We leak it. Karpov's career ends in disgrace. The Russian people tear him apart. The Council seat goes to a moderate. War averted."
"And Sokolov?"
"Sokolov is a tumor," Fury said. "He's served his purpose. Once the drive is gone, he's just a man who hurts children."
Fury leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. He looked 47 in the eye, his expression shifting into something that simulated empathy.
"I know you have a code, 47. I know you don't like chaos. Men like Sokolov? They are chaos. They destroy lives for profit. And the victims... they're just kids. Innocent."
47 stared at him.
He analyzed the micro-expressions on Fury's face. The slight tilt of the head. The softening of the tone.
Attempted Emotional Manipulation: Detected.
Fury was trying to play him. He was using the moral repulsiveness of the target—the exploitation of children—to bait 47 into accepting the contract without question. He was trying to trigger a 'heroic' response.
It was clumsy. Almost insulting.
47 didn't care about heroism. He didn't care about justice in the abstract sense.
He cared about the contract.
"Your appeal to emotion is noted," 47 said coldly. "And inefficient."
Fury blinked, the empathetic mask slipping for a second.
"It is impossible to manipulate a man who has no strings, Director," 47 continued. "I do not require a sob story to eliminate a target. I require a reason."
47 closed the dossier.
"Politics," he muttered. "I despise politics."
"It's the world we live in," Fury retorted, leaning back, abandoning the emotional angle. "Karpov is a threat to global stability. Sokolov is the key. Are you taking the job or not?"
47 picked up the heavy file. He weighed it in his hand.
The target was a criminal. A predator. Eliminating him would clean the board.
The secondary objective—political assassination by proxy—was messy, but calculated. Removing Karpov prevented a war. Preventing war maintained order.
It fit the parameters.
But he wouldn't give Fury the satisfaction of an immediate yes. That wasn't how the partnership worked.
"I will look over it," 47 said.
"You'll look over it," Fury repeated, clearly annoyed. "The window is tight. Sokolov is hosting a 'party' this weekend. It's the perfect opportunity."
"I said I will look over it," 47 said firmly. "I will conduct my own reconnaissance. I will verify the intelligence regarding the drive's location and Karpov's involvement. If the data corroborates your narrative, I will execute."
47 turned toward the door.
"And if I find that you have omitted details," 47 added, pausing with his hand on the frame, "or that this is a cleanup operation for a S.H.I.E.L.D. mistake... the contract is void."
"It's straight, 47," Fury said. "Just get the damn drive."
47 opened the door.
"One more thing," Fury called out.
47 stopped.
"If you run into Stark..." Fury warned. "Don't shoot him."
"Someone doesn't just run into me," 47 replied.
He stepped out into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind him.
47 walked through the busy atrium of the Triskelion. He held the dossier against his side.
He thought about the "partnership."
S.H.I.E.L.D. believed they were the handlers. They believed they were pointing the weapon.
In his past life, Providence had thought the same. The Constant had thought the same.
They were all wrong.
He wasn't a weapon to be aimed. He was a force to be unleashed.
He would take the Malibu contract. Sokolov matched his criteria for removal. But he would do it his way.
And as for S.H.I.E.L.D....
He analyzed the security checkpoints as he passed them. He noted the shift changes. He noted the server room access codes he had skimmed from Coulson's badge during the tour.
They were useful.
For now.
But 47 had a very keen sense of smell.
He could smell rot before it broke the skin of a fruit.
If S.H.I.E.L.D. ever started to smell like Providence... if they ever crossed the line from protection to subjugation...
He wouldn't hesitate.
He would do what he was designed to do.
Eliminate.
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