A/N: Here's my new story! Keep in mind, I'm not from the UK, so please forgive me if i get something wrong. This story will be a James Bond AU, except an AU James Bond. Does that make sense? Okay, what it is is a slightly modified version of the James Bond universe to keep with the PJO/HOO universe. I'll try my best to keep up with this one and Raising The Bar, but you know how it is.
Farm Road 3.141 had been abandoned for longer than anyone who lived nearby could remember. The building definitely looked the part, too. It was an ugly old brownstone, about 100 metres long and 30 metres high. The three-storey building was isolated from its neighbors, with all of its glass windows shattered and abundant graffiti disfiguring the walls. The interior was covered with a thick layer of dust, undisturbed but for a small patch in the corner where a sole squatter lay under a ratty baby blue blanket.
Try as they may, the locals just couldn't get the eyesore torn down. Of course, what they didn't know was that the building had already failed inspection and had been lined up for demolition for decades. But strangely, the building still hadn't been destroyed yet. Some that knew the building was on its death row thought perhaps there had been a clerical error of some sort, or the government didn't have enough space on its budget. But no one really spoke up. After all, it wasn't really their place to worry about those other than themselves.
But the citizens worried about themselves. They could all tell from its creaking and groaning that the building was going fall on its own soon, and nobody wanted to be there when it did. Thus, when the barista and a few customers in the Starbucks across the street happened to look up when they did, there were a few furrowed eyebrows and murmurs of concern. What was such a young, handsome, well-dressed man that surely had some influence doing, entering such an old, ugly, crumbling building that surely was a safety hazard? But no one really spoke up. After all, it wasn't really their place to worry about those other than themselves.
The young man in question confidently strolled into the building, the heels of his expensive leather shoes clacking on the dusty marble floor and throwing up plumes of dust. He held himself up in a manner that seemed that he was without a care in the world, but not even a trained observer that had been told what to look for would have seen the man's eyes flicking around in their sockets, taking in what had once been a foyer, looking for specific little things, noticing certain little details.
The old squatter jumped to his feet, throwing off his blanket to reveal threadbare rags stretched thin across his broad chest and thighs. He glared at the young gentleman, snarling ferally. "Whaddya think you're doing here?"
The young man stopped on the spot and smiled politely, as if the seemingly-senile tramp had bowed and offered a courteous formality. He sized up the older man. Copper hair, unnatural yellow irises, sharpened teeth shown through his scowl, and a large frame that was very strange for a man of his social status. Maintaining direct eye contact, he greeted, "Good morning, sir. Say, would you have the time to give me a tour around the building?"
The vagabond's shock was clearly written on his face. "A tour?" His face quickly assumed a bitter expression again. He growled menacingly, "Whaddya take me for, kiddo? You tryna stir up some trouble?"
The young man scratched the back of his neck and grinned. "No, sir. Just trying to shake things up a bit."
The old man's features softened as he registered a faint ding! in his ear. The cameras in the shadowy corners of the ceiling had captured the correct physical features. The pressure plate directly underneath the other man's feet had indicated the correct weight, foot size, and amount of pressure. The extremely advanced sensors hidden within the door frame had measured the correct posture and gait. The even more high tech retinal scanners concealed within the older man's contacts had verified the other's irises. Even the DNA tests had confirmed the identity of the man to whom the flakes of skin that had been scraped off belonged. The young man had been cleared.
The old man then cracked a smile, mirroring his junior's expression.
"Welcome back, Agent Jackson."