DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own Red Eye. If I did there'd definitely be a sequel…even if I had to bind and gag the managers of both Rachel and Cillian to accomplish it. But no. I don't own Red Eye, Rachel McAdams, or (and most unfortunately of all) Cillian Murphy.

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A/N: Enjoy. :)

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Prologue

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Damn.

The room hadn't changed much since the last meeting. The second layer of steel dividers had been rolled down behind the bulletproof, floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking all sources of light coming in from the outside world. Soft blue light from the architecturally planned built-in light fixtures on the walls and pillars glowed eerily and bounced off the white marble floor. It was enough to see the dimly lit faces of the panel sitting before him, but not enough to discern detail. And it mildly irked him. If there was one thing he's good at, it was attention to detail. But that wasn't the concern today, so he brushed it to the back of his mind.

The panel had been silent as they observed him. They sat behind a raised desk similar to those in a courtroom. And that's exactly what this was; he was being judged. Neither party had spoken since he was ushered into the room. The men of the panel were silent. Silent, but angry. Oh, were they angry. How could they not be? His last mission was a theatrical, media-prone, royally fucked mess. Not only had he compromised his identity, but his organization's prestige, foundation, and name as well. Oh, yeah…they were pissed.

There was no getting out of this one. Even if he had used the best of his literary eloquence and his most charismatic persona, there was just no way of running around the heavy issue of his greatest failure. Besides…he was never one to run away. From anything. So he stood there in acquiesced silence, waiting for their judgment.

"Do you understand the repercussions of your failure, Agent LT?"

Icy blue eyes shifted slightly to the right, regarding the voice that had spoken. There were five men seated on that bench. It was built in a way that four of them sat so they were at eye-level with him. Only the middle seat was raised, reserved for the ultimate judge. But the man who questioned him sat at the far right end.

He simply nodded.

"Your bad judgment has led to not only the downfall of this contract, but also to the disgrace of our organization. The consequences are staggering!"

Another voice spoke up in agreement, this time to his left, where he easily shifted his gaze. "You should be thoroughly punished for this!"

It broke the gloom of the earlier silence, and suddenly, the room was filled with angry voices, outrages, and promises of death or excommunication. The icy-eyed agent just stood there silently, giving nothing away.

"ENOUGH," a deep, cool voice reverberated throughout the room. The calm command was more lethal and chilling than any angry shout could've sounded. All eyes turned toward the man seated in the middle chair. "We have more important points to discuss about the matter. What's done is done. Quit crying about spilt milk," he turned his focus from his executives to the agent in question. "Now, if we can get back to business, Agent LT. The Russians have dropped their contract with us and it has cost us millions. In these unfortunate turn of events, they have taken their money AND their contract to Crimson Op."

The panel awaited a response from their top agent. Stark realization finally dawned on him, the gravity of the situation almost tightening his chest. But after a beat, the spark that crossed his eyes faded just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by indifference.

When they figured their agent wasn't about to respond, the leader had spoken again, "Everything we feared about this mission is becoming reality. We had accepted the contract without preemptive because we knew it couldn't fall into the wrong hands. Crimson Op is our greatest competitor, not because of the money, but because of their work, as you already know. We wanted Keefe assassinated to install someone else into his position. But if Crimson executes this contract, they will purge the entire Homeland Security operation. This will hurt us. Big time. We need to get that contract back, and Crimson…needs to be stopped."

For the first time since his release from their organization hospital, Jackson finally spoke up. "And you want me to be the one to stop them." It was more a statement than a question. "After what happened to my last assignment?"

"Which is why you will be sure to succeed this time. We already have a senior assassin ready to take action in the event that you are unsuccessful."

"So why not just send him?" Jackson countered.

The boss did not raise his voice, but it grew in intensity. "Because it is the only chance you have to redeem yourself. Fail, and I'll have no choice but to execute strict disciplinary action," the leader said with solemn finality.

Jackson forced himself to remain impassive. He was not a man of many emotions, but of the few he carried, anger was certainly one of them. And at this moment, it was the most prominent emotion he felt. He was absolutely livid…and perhaps, although he didn't want to admit, he was somewhat humiliated. To have to "redeem himself". HA. What a bunch of bull. He wasn't so sure who he was more mad at - the panel, the situation, or himself. But there was one thing he was certain infuriated him more than anything else: HER.

"What say you, Agent LT? It's either you take on the assignment, or deal with the consequences now."

His blue gaze lazily accessed each man across the panel. "So, if I fail, I die. If I refuse, I also die. The only chance I have is to accept. Some ultimatum. It's a no brainer there," he mocked.

"How DARE you - !" one of the men on the left side screeched as pounded a fist on the table and abruptly stood up.

Jackson regarded him with practiced boredom.

Their leader held up a hand. "Leave."

The four executives turned up to their boss. "B…but sir…?"

"I must speak to Mr. Rippner alone." The lack of policy name spoke volumes to the rest of the panel, letting them know just how serious their boss was. In a huff, and then silence, the executives filed out the meeting room and the door shut with the softest click, leaving Jackson alone with the head of their organization.

"Finally," Jackson exaggerated and loosened the tie that was beginning to irritate his still-raw scar on his throat.

His boss merely sighed heavily and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure there, feeling a strong headache come on. "Jackson, it's not the time to act foolhardy and stupid. Just because I run this company doesn't mean I can save your ass every time you fuck up."

Jackson strode over to the panel bench. "But how many times have I 'fucked up', Nick?" he rasped, his voice still slightly strained from his injury. "One mission…ONE mission and they think I lost a step? Who the hell do they think they're dealing with?!"

Nicolai Savage was not one to be contested with. Yet Jackson challenged him every step of the way. Slowly, he got up from his seat at the bench and made his way down to the long, oval-shaped rose-wood conference table behind Jackson. "Sorry to burst your narcissistic bubble, but you did lose a step, kid," Nicolai responded without missing a beat. He walked over to the nearest seat, his back turned to Jackson. "To a girl, nonetheless." His tired tone took on a bit of humor as Jackson stomped over to the chair on his right.

Reaching the table, Jackson kicked the chair out of his way.

"Hey. Don't make me shoot you," Nicolai absently scolded as he calmly shifted through the file he was holding. Jackson was fuming beside him, obviously affected about that "to a girl" comment. "Enough, Jackson," was all Nicolai said before the furious manager calmed, picked up the seat he kicked, and sat down haughtily. "This is no time to fool around. Every second Crimson Op has working on this contract is a second closer to our destruction. All the details are in this paperwork. There's a profile waiting for you in your room as well. And…I think you'd be ecstatic to know that this mission will require the little 'heroine' from the Keefe assignment." Nicolai handed Jackson the file.

Jackson looked up in an instant, surprise apparent in his eyes. His gaze darted back to the papers he held in his hand, tensely flipping through the first few pages. Anger boiled in his veins. The muscle in his jaw twitched violently before an idea hit him and the anger on his face was replaced with a malicious smile. The clockwork in his head was spinning at such a dangerous pace, he hadn't realized Nicolai had been talking for the past half minute. Jackson could've punched himself for getting so distracted. He looked at her picture. I blame you…

"-there's no margin of error this time around. Don't mess up. I can't keep saving you, kid."

Jackson indignantly scoffed. "No offense, boss, but I don't need you to save me."

Nicolai leaned back on his seat. "Maybe not anymore. But there was a time."

Blue orbs flashed dangerously as Jackson glared at his superior. A moment passed, and his indifferent façade came back up to reside on his face, erasing all expression that was there just a second ago. Without a word, he stood up and turned to leave the office.

As soon as Jackson closed the door, Nicolai let a small, amused smile touch the corner of his mouth. "Good luck, kid."

….

As soon as he had reached his room, Jackson went through both files laid out for him. Paying tedious attention to detail, he noted that Nicolai hadn't been lying; he really will involve the bane of his existence. Miss Lisa Reisert.

Oh, how just looking at that name makes his blood boil. The muscle in his jaw worked overtime as he clenched his teeth with bone-crushing force. He could feel the adrenaline swell in his chest as he looked at her headshot next to her name. Jackson could taste the poison in his mouth.

He remembered the long days and the even longer nights in the organization hospital. He had woken up in a massive amount of pain, screaming and jolting upright and injuring a few of the orderlies instructed to attend to him. When he had settled and collected his wits, the head doctor debriefed him of where he was and what his situation looked like.

Apparently, the organization had intercepted Lisa's call to authorities about Jackson being in her house and had sent a crew out to do some damage control. They had arrived just before the police were able to find his bleeding body in the hallway of the Reisert residence. Scooping up their manager and the dead hitman took a matter of seconds before they headed straight back to headquarters. Jackson had then been comatose for several weeks. A little over two months, to be precise.

They were able to save his vocal chords and repair his trachea, but a small scar tissue would inevitability turn his voice into a harsh rasp if he overused it. The injury in his leg from Lisa's heel took them some time to close up, but they were able to sew the muscle there back together and with a little bit of exercise, Jackson would be able to get it back up to top shape. It was the bullet wounds that gave them a headache. The bullet Lisa had fired missed his ribs, but it had lodged itself deep enough to cause a little bit of internal bleeding and inflamed a few respiratory and digestive organ tissue linings. But the most complicated injury they had to deal with was the bullet he took to the chest. It was so close to his heart, the doctors almost gave up hope that he'd make it. But, ever the fighter, Jackson pulled through. It was still a meticulous operation, but as long as Jackson held on, they were able to save him.

But Jackson was PISSED. How she managed to injure him to the point of hospitalization was absolutely demoralizing. Every waking moment was dedicated to the plotting of Lisa Reisert's destruction. He had played numerous scenarios of their meeting again over and over in his mind, planned every detail meticulously that sometimes, his nose would bleed from the extreme concentration. He could NOT wait. The scenarios in his head nearly drove him to the brink of insanity, but it expedited his healing as he willed his body to get its act together more and more everyday. The doctors were awed at his progress. Of all the assassins they've treated, no one healed like Jackson Rippner, and they commended him. They gave him clearance to their rehabilitation rooms and when he wasn't recuperating or resting, he was working out in there everyday, getting stronger and faster as he strived toward lethal perfection with the picture of Lisa in his mind's eye.

He had to debrief them about all his injuries as soon as he could though, and he explained each one sufficiently…until they got up to the one on his throat. Jackson refused to say anything at all. It wasn't until Nicolai threatened him to gunpoint that he relayed, albeit very reluctantly, how that injury came to be. A pregnant pause had followed. Then Nicolai had laughed for days.

Jackson rolled his eyes at the memory.

Within hours of his release, the executive counsel had called him for a debriefing. But he was more than ready to rock and roll. All with one determination and burning goal to keep him moving forward.

And now, here he was, reading a profile on his next mission. Jackson smiled menacingly to himself. He absentmindedly brought his fingers up to scratch at the scar on the base of his throat. A demented chuckle escaped him. He wasn't about to give her an ultimatum like the panel had given him. Oh, no. She was going to do everything he wanted and there was absolutely nothing she would be able do about it.

Glancing at the clock, Jackson finished packing the necessities for his mission and put the files into the suitcase. Tomorrow was going to be the start of a VERY wild ride. Turning off the lights, Jackson allowed the evil smile to linger on his lips as he drifted into even darker dreams.

Get ready, Leese - Daddy's coming home…

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A/N: SO, what'd you guys think of that? I've read quite a few Red Eye fanfics here and a lot of them start off with Lisa's POV and timeline, so I wanted to deviate a bit and start off with our beloved villain. But that's only one of the many, many twists I've planned to put in here. Being that it's my first story, I'm entirely open to criticism. So if there's something I need to fix, let me have it! Haha. Thanks for reading! Until next time. :)