1
Solar Midnight
It's not easy to go by unnoticed when you look the way she looked, and everyone who worked with her was completely aware of that. Eyes followed her wherever she went, but her identity remained untouched. Only a few people knew who she was, what she did, and who she worked for – those were the people targeted, the people who she dedicated her life on terminating; and she was damn good at what she did.
Santana Lopez stood in a spacious, three star hotel room; a normal, beautiful woman to any passerby, a lethal threat to her enemies. She always chose concealed locations, hotels no one would look for her, hidden in the middle of nowhere, were only the most daring backpackers or tourists would meddle to. But regardless, she was always on watch, especially when she was on duty, ready to run at any second. Santana knew too much, possessed valuable information that, if it fell into the wrong hands, there would be terrible consequences to the world.
Santana's white, satin button down clung onto her, signs of the extreme heat of the Cancun weather. Her fingers find the buttons of the shirt and she exhales, enjoying the cool breeze that comes from the window and blows directly on her body. Santana picks up a tiny, black memory stick from her nightstand, twirling it around her fingers while she sits and settles on the single bed.
I wonder what's inside this thing. It wasn't customary of her to revise over any data she was requested to retrieve, but she had been traveling all over the world to steal the data chip. Santana sighs, pursing her lips and glancing at the lonely, wide open laptop on the edge of her bed. Couldn't really hurt to take a peak…
"009".
Santana curses inwardly and stands up, pressing the button on the Bluetooth device already placed on her ear.
"009 come in. Lopez, answer".
"God damn it, Berry. What do you want?"
"I hardly appreciate the insult, Santana, but I actually came bearing some news to you". Rachel Berry quickly explains on the other end of the line. Out of all the cons of working as an agent for the MIA, having Rachel Berry as her boss, was certainly one of the things Santana hated the most.
"Make it snappy, I got some work to do". Santana groans inwardly, irritated in the confines of her hotel room by the sound of her boss' voice.
"Well, I'm sure you'd appreciate it if I told you this". When Santana only exhales and sighs on the other end of the phone, Rachel continues. "Look outside your window".
Santana rolls her eyes, taking pity in the fact that her boss couldn't see her rolling her eyes. She did love something about Rachel though; it was her uncanny ability to take her insults one after the other, knowing that if she dared fire her, she would lose the best agent that ever strolled MIA. Santana opens the hotel room window, the squeaking sound of rust and rotten wood making her cringe. "Alright, what am I looking at?"
"On the beach – is there a man in a grey button down and white swim shorts?"
Santana wrinkles her nose at the description of the tacky outfit. "Yeah, black 50's glasses, sort of odd looking, really greasy hair?"
"Get out of there". Rachel urges on the other line.
"What?"
"You got one minute before they come to retrieve that chip, Lopez. One minute. Leave, now".
"Shit".
The line is disconnected and Santana is now more alert than ever. Whichever way they tracked her down was a puzzle to her at the moment, but regardless, she ignores the thought inside her head and quickly packs her stuff inside the black bag, the chip secured safely in between her bikini top. The surgery had its benefits.
Three bangs against the door. Santana is in deep trouble now; she flings her bag over her shoulders and grabs the gun inside the nightstand. She loads the gun, the four clicks of the bullet pack and her hands pulling the gun are not ignored by the three men now trying to bring down her door. For a three star hotel, that was a pretty darn sturdy door. Fortunately, Santana had retrieved everything she needed when the door is kicked down. Not wasting a second, Santana shoots, the bullet neatly coming in contact with the man's forehead and she jumps out of the window.
"Get her! She has the chip!" One of them orders. "Mr. Schuester requested the possession of that chip before noon!"
The claw from Santana's claw gun clings neatly to the palm tree in front of her window, allowing her to land easily on the ground, with nothing more than a thump from her feet on the soft, white sand of the Mexican beach.
"Over there!" The loud voice comes from behind her and Santana sets off, running across the sandy beach with difficulty, the heavy sand making it hard for her to take long strides, but Santana was in great shape, and she turned around to watch the men falling behind.
"Lopez, are you there?" Berry's voice invades her ears as her feet touch the marble floor of the drink shack just a few blocks away from the beach.
"Yes?"
"I am locating you with the satellite right now. They're still after you, so you must find a way to make it to the port".
Santana's steps slow down; she pushes past people, and ignores the smiles, grins, and whistles of men trying to grab her attention. The funny part was, even if she was not on the job, she would never be interested in them – something MIA was very glad about. It was a lot harder to find a woman who would make advances on her and get away with it.
"What do I do from the port on?" Santana ducks under an incoming tray of drinks, the waiter cursing at her in Spanish. Santana scowls at him, understanding his arrays of insults perfectly and opening the door that lead to the kitchen. Surely, there must be a backdoor somewhere.
"You need to go at least ten miles into the sea, there will be an MIA boat waiting for you. Do not be late. You have twenty minutes".
"What is inside this chip, Rachel?" Santana asks, ignoring the questioning yelps and looks from the kitchen staff.
"No time, 009. They will find you any second now?"
"So, I'm guessing- "
"Run"
Santana hears the kitchen door slam open against the wall, making some kitchen staff members drop their plates or utensils. She wastes no time and turns to shoot at target, the bullets missing the men's bodies by mere inches. Santana holds onto her backpack as tightly as possible, grabs the foot cart, and kicks it across the tiny kitchen. The wheels roll along the floor, tumbling over any men who dared cross its path. Santana uses the distraction to open the back door.
"She's escaping!"
A tall, dark skinned man holds the back door open before Santana has time to block it, the other men struggling with the trolley car still blocking their path. The only way out was fighting, and she was in no position to waste the last four bullets inside her gun. So instead Santana stops in her tracks and raises her arms above her head when the man calls after her.
"Stop right there!" The hoarse voice approaches her, watching her like a shark circling its prey. "Hand me the chip".
"What makes you think I have it?" Santana answers, throwing the man a death glare.
"There's no fooling me, doll face. Hand it in, it's over". The man stretches his hand.
Santana closes her eyes and sighs. "Alright, you win".
Santana throws the backpack on the floor. She squints her eyes when the sand is scattered from the contact of the bag with the floor. The man coughs and leans over. Are you really that much of an idiot?
With years of fight training, and knowledge in nearly every single martial art there is to exist, Santana smirks. The man barely has time to retrieve the gun as her registers her movements; he only watches her spin and feels the pain on his jaw once her foot comes in contact with it. Santana kicks again, this time the heel of her foot hitting him square on the chest. The man stumbles back and falls on the ground. Santana retrieves the bag immediately and runs.
"You know, there's a reason why we give you a gun, Santana".
"Shut up, Rachel. That was a piece of cake".
"Well, it seems like the other men have freed themselves from your little trolley-human trap. At least I'm glad no innocent lives were spared like last time. Can you see the port ahead of you?"
Santana nearly growls at her boss before responding. "Yes".
"You have ten minutes".
She had not even run for thirty seconds when she hears the pursuit behind her again. For once, she's glad they are not allowed to shoot in public territory – it would not only ruin Schuester's reputation, but it would cost him thousands of millions of dollars in damage, money he had but he didn't dare to spare. William Schuster valued few things in life: money, power, his billion dollar company, and his daughter – or adoptive daughter. Santana was very aware of that, and she knew that out of all the things he possessed, his daughter was his most prized and valued. If someone dared to touch her, they would surely face the wrath and capability of William Schuester and his money. Maybe he wouldn't be such a rotten, evil man if he didn't value power as his next best thing. Whatever he wanted to do with this chip was sure to damage thousands of oil companies across America, Europe, the Middle East, and Asia – but he never counted on Santana Lopez to be the one in charge of ending his mission.
She would have done so sooner if it weren't for one little problem that got in her way.
But for now, a getaway vehicle was Santana's priority; she needed to get away, and she needed to do so quickly. She had to go against MIA policy, therefore making herself a little more obvious to the pedestrians.
"Excuse me boys". Santana calls in her sultry, seductive voice, truly belonging in the mouth of a vixen. "I will borrow this for just a second". The three teenagers look at each other like they just won the lottery but don't even have time to protest before Santana hops on the read, four wheel bear tracker, and shoots off towards the port.
"Hey, we need that!"
The four wheeler's engine cuts dead when Santana hops off, instantly twisting and taking out the key from the ignition. She knows it won't be long before the men are after her again, so she doesn't think twice before she runs off to the deck and jumps to the closest Jet Ski. The engine purrs to life and Santana kicks off into the sea with unknown expertise. Handling and driving any vehicle was also part of the job description.
"Did that woman just steal our Jet Ski, Frank?"
"I think so".
-0-0-9-
-Meanwhile in the MIA headquarters-
"This is outrageous. How were they able to track her down?" Rachel Berry yells over the computer, slamming her fists down and looking at Quinn Fabray's expression of panic over the visual communicator. Sometimes, she questions her sanity on how she signed up for such a stressing job.
"I don't know, Rachel. Nobody knows. We all have our suspicions but, we doubt it has anything to do with how Schuester found her". Quinn Fabray rolls her eyes, sitting back in the chair of her office and letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Where's Sam?" Rachel asks.
"He's taking a shower, Rachel. Now calm down before the vein in your head explodes. She got away safe and with the chip!"
Rachel sinks back into her chair and rests her head against the back. "I swear, I would've fired her ages ago".
"She's your best agent". Quinn states matter-of-factly.
"And that's exactly why I haven't kicked her ass to the curb".
"You wouldn't dare, even if she made a whole town explode".
"She gets the job done".
Quinn smiles. "Recklessly".
"But thoroughly". Rachel admits. "How has she managed to not get shot is beyond me".
"She knows her way around, Rachel. You have a safe bet when she's on the job". Quinn sips the mug of tea that rested beside her computer and cocks an eyebrow.
"I'm just glad she hasn't run off with some guy. Or well, won't". Rachel chuckles knowingly.
Quinn though, clears her throat and almost spits her coffee out – she wouldn't dare tell Rachel what she knew, what Santana confided her. As long as she saw no threat to the MIA, she was in no position to reveal Santana's secret, especially one that was so cherished by Santana herself. Not even Sam knew, and Sam had been Quinn's partner ever since she started on the job. "Yeah, you're right". Quinn coughs.
"Something wrong?"
Quinn shakes her head. "I gotta go, Sam just got out of the shower and I need to fill him in".
The line disconnects, revealing nothing but the green, digitalized world map with red dots localizing every single one of MIA's agents. Santana's red dot was on the move, and fast – she must have found the boat.
"That was strange". A male voice echoes across the intercom.
"It's not normal people I hire, Noah". Rachel states, waiting for Santana to communicate with her once more.
"I am aware of that, yes. Which reminds me, you still up for Saturday night?"
Rachel curses and hits the mute button on the loudspeaker, bringing the phone to her ear. "We don't talk about our personal lives during work, Puckerman. However that reminds you of our dinner plans is beyond me".
Puck chuckles. "You up for it or not?"
Rachel sighs, rubbing her temples. "Pick me up at eight".
-0-0-9-
On the sandy beaches of Cancun, a beautiful woman watches the Jet Ski run smoothly across the ocean. She lets out a relieved sigh as she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, raising her glasses over her head. Brittany rests her elbows on the balcony.
"How was tanning, sweetheart?"
Brittany flinches at her father's voice. "It was fine. Any luck?"
"No, she ran away".
"It's a she now, then?" Brittany raises an eyebrow.
"Indeed so". William Schuester smiles at his adoptive daughter before handing her a Mimosa and walking off the balcony into the hotel room.
Brittany runs her fingertips across the top of her champagne glass, retrieving the cherry hanging from the side and taking a bite. Brittany made a mental note on telling Santana that she really needed to be more careful from now on – there was just so much she could do to protect her from her father.