Title: Assassains
Author: S-Man
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Time Frame: Sometime post-Season 3, but does not involve SAB47.
Author's note: Please enjoy, review if you like it, and leave a review if you don't stating why. This idea will develop into something different, with plenty of fluff and angst along the way. I'm fairly sure you'll be happy.
Sydney kept her composure as she approached the office of Robert D'agati. Despite her outward appearance, internally she was struggling with anticipation and nervousness. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, held together by two pencils. She was wearing a grey suit jacket over her white blouse, and a knee-length black skirt. She flashed a smile and a nod at the security guard, who smiled back.
"I'm here to see D'agati," she explained. "My name is Sydney Bristow, I just finished up some, uh ... business ... for him."
"Of course, Ms. Bristow. Just step in, I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you."
"Thanks," the spy said as the grand wooden door opened and permitted her access. Padding the inside of her jacket, she smiled as the man stood out of his gargantuan leather chair. The office spanned across 20 feet, with trophies of every kind across his walls. To the right showed his family spanning through 5 generations: The legacy of this company, ending in Robert himself.
"Ahh, Sydney Bristow. How are you?" His voice reverberated off the walls, with warmth and love in every syllable.
"I've been better."
Robert pushed a button on the inside of his desk, and the doors closed automatically.
"Forgive the literal action, but this discussion needs to be 'behind closed doors.'" He chuckled at his own humor, and then broke right down to business. "Is he dead."
"Dead as a doornail. You should trust me better by now, D'agati."
As she was saying these words, Sydney pulled out a folder of pictures showing an old man, dead and sprawled across the floor. Bullet wounds were in his mouth and stomach.
"Good..." D'agati murmured. "Good." Then, smiling, he added, "It's about time Sloane bit the dust. How exactly did you pull it off? By my understanding, Arvin Sloane is not an easy man to get ahold of."
"There's a reason you pay me more than the average freelancer," Sydney said smugly as she crossed the room, and stood behind the man's desk.
"Right, right..."
"This is a nice statue. I never knew that they ever made a bronze bust of Socrates back in Greece, though."
"They didn't. I had this one custom-made, just two years ago. Do you like?"
"Oh, very much so," Sydney replied, running a hand across the perfectly carved features. Then, she crossed around to the front of his desk, and put her hands down on it. "So, no more assignments for me today?"
"No, not yet. As promised, here is your pay." Robert ducked underneath his desk, and pulled out a briefcase. When he sat back up, she was gone. "Sydney?"
He never had the oppurtunity to say anything else, because two powerful hands grabbed him by the hair and the chin, and snapped his neck.
Sydney grabbed the briefcase, and stepped back. Reaching inside her jacket, she pushed a button, and the bronze bust of Socrates exploded, sending shards of metal, and plaster from the hole in the wall that exploded, everywhere. Waiting for her, 5 feet out, but 17 feet off the ground, was a helicopter. Just as Sydney was backing up to make her jump, D'agati's office doors slammed open, as three security guards entered the room, guns drawn. She pressed another button inside her jacket, and the doors exploded, sending the three guards to a fiery demise. Then, as according to her extraction plans, Sydney leaped out the window and into the open door of the helicopter.
"He fell for it," Sydney reported to operation leader Marcus Dixon.
"Of course he fell for it," said Sloane from the back seat. "If he didn't, you probably wouldn't have been able to escape so easily.
"You be quiet..." Sydney said, as the helicopter flew off.
Back in the office of D'agati, a team of private investigators were scanning the room and the building for evidence of his killer. It all pointed to one person : his most trusted hitman, or hitwoman as the case would have it, Sydney Bristow.
"You know protocol, sir," an investigator said.
"Yes, I know."
"You know you must employ all Robert's other assassains against Bristow," the investigator reminded his superior.
"I know ... and I will."