Ianto Jones, in short, became a tailor. With his keen sense of depth and length perception, it wasn't hard for him to master his trade. It was just him and a few other people in the small shop, sandwiched between a tattoo parlour and a dry cleaner (convenient). Down the street was their biggest seller- a mysterious building that looked more like a parking garage, with a helicopter landing pad on the very top of the stout skyscraper. Ianto took most of the orders from the people who represented the building, making many uniform suits in varying sizes, much to his perplexity. When he gained the courage to ask his manager about the company, his manager just brushed him off. This only spiked Ianto's interest in the place, which led him to starting a search.
Ianto began to track their balances and spending more frequently, trying to figure out how they had so much money for tailoring in the first place. He kept a close eye on which people came in to place orders, finding that six people rotated out. Ianto began to wonder why people went in shifts, and why everything was kept secret, before it dawned on him that he could possibly be sticking his nose in the government's business. But there was only one way he could be sure.
So Ianto Jones kind of broke the law, in a way. He hooked up a Bluetooth to his phone and sewed the tiny device into one of the suits, eventually handing the suit to one of the representatives of the company. Then, he played the waiting game. He would occasionally turn on the Bluetooth and listen closely, but eventually turn it off, after hearing nothing but eerie silence on the other end of the line. For days he waited, before he heard his miracle-or curse. He didn't know which.
Ianto had left the tailoring shop and turned on the Bluetooth when he heard it: the rustling of fabric, the whipping of wind, and just faintly, a person speaking.
"-is on the move. Is the pre-phase secure?"
"Yes sir," came a louder voice, which Ianto figured was the male wearing the suit, "Need I take the man in?"
"Hill is already on it; I debriefed her this morning. Keep an eye on everyone undercover and get as many details on the possible new recruits."
"Yes sir," Said the louder man, "Safe travels Director Fury, sir."
There came the rustling of fabric before the sound of descending of footsteps down stairs. Ianto continued to listen for a bit longer, when the man wearing the Bluetooth spoke again.
"Agent Hill."
"Coulson," came the faint female voice, "Has Fury informed you about the-"
Suddenly the woman fell quiet, before speaking again. "Coulson, what is glowing in your pocket?"
"My pocket? I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't put anything in my pocket..."
Ianto felt his heart rate incline as he heard loud rustling. He shut off the Bluetooth and found himself heading to his car at a brisk pace, shaking with nervousness. He figured that they would trace the Bluetooth signal and find him before the next morning. Since Ianto assumed such was the case, he might as well be waiting for them. He started his car and headed to his flat that he had since recently moved into, which still had yet to be unpacked boxes waiting for him. Of course, Ianto couldn't be bothered by unpacking his belongings now, for he had to prepare for the government to come busting down his door as late as nine hours from now.
At five the next morning, Ianto was surprised to find himself not being held hostage for interrogation. Instead, he was greeted by the darkness and silence of his lonesome flat. He made tea and began his morning routine, tucking one of the guns from his mother's house in his belt loop beneath his suit. He then proceeded to work after attempting to calm his jumpy nerves.
Of course that morning was one of the ones in which Ianto opened the shop, which meant unlocking and flipping on lights, as well as checking for any orders that might have been placed while the shop had been closed. Ianto found no orders had been placed, and thus settled in to the eerie silence of the store, watching the sun break over the city skyline, bathing the earth in its magnificent spectrum of radiant colours. Eventually, Ianto heard a rustling, and figured it was one of his co-workers that had finally come in, but when he heard the footsteps, he knew it was a stranger. Their shoes sounded like they had synthetic soles, and the shoe size was the average man's, but the stride and weight placed on each step indicated that this was no ordinary man. This was a man of skill and precision, with a body that had quite a bit of muscle...
Ianto heard the person grow closer and slid the hand gun from his belt loop. The moment the person rounded the corner, Ianto already had his gun aimed and cocked at the intruder. The intruder had his gun up as well, and Ianto examined him. Indeed, the other man was rather well built for whatever age he might have been- Ianto could see creases of experience on the man's face, along with brownish hair that had a few grey strands of hair mixed in. The man's grey-blue eyes were emotionless, but Ianto could see that behind them, the man seemed to be rather kind.
"Put the gun down, before you hurt yourself." Said the man in a demanding tone. Ianto pulled the trigger, firing a warning shot that grazed just an inch over the other man's shoulder, before cocking the gun again.
"I stand corrected." The man raised his brows briefly in surprise, before his face fell rigid and authoritative once more. "Put the gun down before I hurt you."
"Why would you have the need to hurt me?"
"And why would you carry a gun on you, Mr. Jones?"
"How do you know my name?"
"I'm asking the questions, Mr. Jones."
"Like hell you are, sir." Ianto moved suddenly to pull the red tie he had been wearing off. He attempted to grab the man in a chokehold, using the tie as a gag, but the man had seen his plan and avoided his attack. The man folded Ianto's arms behind his back and pinned him against the wall, eliminating any chance of escape.
"Mr. Ianto Jones, you're coming with me."
Ianto felt the cool metal of the gun press against his head, before he felt darkness overcome him.
