Peyta stared wide-eyed into Tony Stark's garage. It was larger than anticipated with large fenced walls- clearly for flooding- that were in the eyeline of different agents. Only three designer cars were stored in the garage. The rest were evidently back at different residences. He frowned. This wouldn't do at all.
Perhaps poison would be a better option. Thallium was too risky, but slipping it into his food had been a good idea. Only the deadliest venom would do, and he knew just how to do it. Adult intestinal toxemia- also known as adult intestinal colonization- botulism is a very rare kind of botulism that can happen if the spores of the bacteria get into an adult's intestines, grow, and produce the toxin. Somehow, the source of this was still untraced and unfound. Perhaps that could be a good cover. After all, cyanide was easy to trace and detect, in his experience anway.
Away from his state-of-the-art lab with all the medical and mechanical wonders of the world available, Tony Stark was nearly a sitting duck. After being dosed, he would die within 36 hours without anti-toxin to relieve him. Botulism is a toxin that attacks the nerves, usually starting with weakness of the muscles that control the eyes, face, mouth, and throat. This weakness may spread to the neck, arms, torso, and legs. Botulism also can weaken the muscles involved in breathing, which can lead to difficulty breathing and even death in extreme cases.
In any rate, this would leave Tony weak enough for Peyta to strike if need be. By the time he was given a brain scan or his spinal fluid was examined, it would be too late. Peyta would make sure of it.
The next night, as he stayed in the garden pruning the roses, Peyta idly wondered if he was doing the right thing. What a strange thought. He couldn't remember the last time he had a conscience, if that was what they were called. Standing up, he smiled to the agent guarding him with wide eyes.
"Hey, man," Peyta said. "Listen, I'm just gonna drop the tools off in the garage. Do you mind if I use the bathroom? I have an hour drive and I really don't want to stop."
Disarmed, the agent nodded dumbly. Peyta gave an easy grin, his muscles tense. He was carrying the liquid in his pockets, which he would put into the mouthwash of the only bathroom in the place. The agent followed him in.
"I can do this part by myself. Don't worry about me." He casually joked, closing the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he used the toilet, then leaving the water running to disguise the noise. Using the hand towel, he opened the cap to the mouthwash. Strangely, his hands were shaking.
Peyta stared at his betrayers, those trembling cowards that would not turn. His mind urged him to upturn the bottle into the purple minty liquid, but his body would not allow it. With a grunt, he poured the poison into the mouthwash and capped it once more. A knock sounded at the door.
"Almost done!" He hurriedly said, shutting off the water after running his hands through it. Strengthening his resolve, Peyta opened the door.
"Thanks, man." He clapped the stiff agent on the shoulder. Jogging away, he entered his white rental SUV, driving away and taking shaky breaths. What was wrong with him? He had never been so hesitant before.
Peyta knew that the best assassins stayed distant emotionally. That was how he'd succeeded throughout his short career. Something was different about Tony Stark. Was this man going to ruin this for him? No. Peyta wouldn't let him. He would make sure of it.
A tingle ran up his spine, feeling almost like a spider's different legs. Pursing his lips, he turned on his blinker and pulled to the side of the road. Something was wrong. He wasn't sure what. Cursing wildly, he realised that he had forgot to canvass the car like he usually did. Peyta felt the heat turn up on his seat with no hand controlling it. Opening his door, he jumped the second before the car exploded.
Peyta heard a loud smack as he landed on the group haphazardly. A wave of heat and sound rushed over him, so he closed his eyes and curled up out of reflex. Shards of glass pierced his skin, but he resisted the primal urge to scream. Looking back, he saw that his rental car was aflame, the roof and glass completely blown out.
Staying low, Peyta began to army crawl to the nearby trees on the side of the hallway, praying quietly in Russian that no blood would be spilled that could identify him. He could come back later to clean it up if necessary. He leaned back against a pine, feeling the sharp bark against his fresh wounds. Peyta let out a hiss, grabbing his shoulder and rolling it back.
"Привет, предатель." A sinister voice greeted him as they dropped from the tree.