A/N: I don't own NBC's The Blacklist or any of the characters, sadly.


Her Blacklist ~ Chapter One


She was crouching behind a burning car. The flames were licking hungry at the tires and seats, causing her to cough and squeeze her eyes shut. The smoke was frightening and it forced her to freeze. Too many bad memories layed within the smell.

Close by she heard gun fire and two explosions going off and she worried about losing her orientation. The ringing in her ears was getting louder and louder and her hands were shaking as they embraced her gun. It was smeared with blood that had dripped from her cheek.

She had fled and hid when the first half of her task force was blown away by a bomb, which had been placed under the floor in the first building they had stormed. She had barely made it out. Bullets had been penetrating the windows from above and the four agents flanking her had dropped dead beside her almost simultaneously. And if she was honest, she had difficulty believing she would survive herself, as less and less of her team members were responding over the headset to her.

She watched the scene around her with caution and saw two figures dressed in black on the roof of the warehouse. But it was hard to tell which side they fought for. She had never expected being outnumbered when she had given the command to attack the building. It was supposed to be easy once she had tracked him down. Because finding him was the hard part, it said in his files. And the trap had been perfect. At least at first.


Agent Keen, do you understand the importance of this operation?" The assistant director was not in a good mood. She could tell by the grim lines around his wrinkled eyebrows as he let his glance run over her papers.

Sir, I don't think there is anyone in the entire FBI who wants to capture him more than I do." She said as calm as she could. It was important he understood that she could separate her personal involvement from the opportunity to catch the number 4 on the list.

You believe he killed your father?" But he knew it wasn't just a belief. It was the reason she had joined the FBI; the reason she was so much better than other trainees. She had combed the planet for every piece of information regarding her family and the tragedy that occurred when she was just a child.

Isn't that why you chose me?"

The man in front of her was mulling over his next words. The matter was delicate after all. „You were not the first choice; believe me, given your young age. But having lost seven fine agents within the last five years of uncovering his crime ring, I don't have many options anymore." It was true. She was only 27 and far from ready to be leading a team. He sighed and framed absently his name sign on the desk with his finger. In black letters 'Cooper' was printed after the official title. He lifted his eyes towards her. "The truth is: the more trained and experienced our agents have been, the earlier they were killed or disappeared. Somehow Reddington is always a step ahead of us and anticipates our moves. I need someone who thinks outside of the box, someone who hasn't protocol down to a T yet." Someone who questioned official procedures like nobody else, she added in her mind.

You read that I'm applying to become a profiler?" It was not official yet.

He eyed her again, and then leaned back into his seat. „I know you have a personal goal and your resume is impressive so far. But chasing after Reddington comes with certain strings. One of them is not to know what to expect." She knew his words were a code for something else.

I was told that all Most Wanted hunts are basically suicide missions."

He squared his shoulders and looked intimidating somehow. „You go down deep into the rabbit hole. We have undercover agents working with you who will try to insert themselves into his business. But you have to be focused all the time. You will be the head of the operation."

She nodded once. „I understand Sir. And I won't let you down." She was nervous and excited and somehow proud of herself. It all seemed to fall into place somehow.

Very well." He said and got up from his chair. "Here are the files on his last whereabouts." She took the folder and shook his hand. "Congratulations Agent Keen on becoming Reddington's new case agent."


Her breathing was heavy now. She would be the eighth assigned agent dying right in front of the Concierge of Crime, if she didn't break loose from the rest of the task force and search for him to put a bullet between his eyes. The game had changed half an hour ago. Arresting was protocol; killing him a necessity, if she wanted to live.

"Unit 3, can you hear me? Unit 3, please report." She tried to get in contact with her team once more, speaking into the microphone attached to her ear. "Unit 3, can you hear me?"

There were crunching noises on the other end as she pressed the receiver closer to her eardrum. Then changed the channel. "Unit 4, what is your current position?", and heard nothing at first. Then three shots went off.

"Johnson, Morrison, are you there?" Appalled she called out. But the line was dead. No sound at all.

"Shit." Liz cursed and her voice was wavering; her pulse hammering restless away inside her neck. It was hard for her to stay focused when everything around her seemed to fall apart. And she knew there was no more back-up coming. In order to find Reddington they had gone invisible. And not just to him, to the FBI as well.

She swallowed as the bitter taste of bile filled her mouth. The whole mission was depending now on her alone. So she cleared the area and crawled away from the car, which started collapsing under the heavy flames and smoke. She needed to find a way to the airfield. Reddington would make sure to escape by his plane.

So she ran across the first lane, west from an old bunker that was still under attack. Nobody had seen her, she was sure. The battle was intense and she heard muffled bullets as they hit their target and screams filled the air. And she had to suppress the tears of failure stinging right behind her eyes, knowing that her team was lost. Nobody would survive, she knew; and if they did, they would be targets no less. With Raymond Reddington there were no loose ends. He kept his house clean and nothing ever traced back to him.

She braced herself for the next sprint and loaded her gun with a new magazine, just in case. The airplane was approximately a quarter mile away and it was likely she could be detected. So she looked to her left and looked to her right, carefully scanning all corners. Once more she closed her eyes very tight, her muscles flexing under her skin. Then she opened them, ready to pounce…and was met with a riffle pointed straight at her face.


tbc…