A/U: This is my attempt at a Hitman fanfic, I have rated it T but there is some language occasionally and some violence now and again. Nature of the beast I'm afraid, enjoy and please review. :)

Part 1 – London

Chapter 1

My life used to be what anyone would call 'normal', I had a job, I rented a flat in central London (just about), and went out with my friends at the weekend. It was routine, hum-drum…bland. Of course I didn't know I was bored until everything changed.

This day started as usual at 6am, obviously no one knows the significance of a day until their whole life pivots on it. To be honest it would be a good few months after this point that I would really understand how much of an atom bomb had been dropped on my life.

I dragged myself out of bed after the third shrill, demanding call of my alarm. I was an early riser normally but it had been my best friend Helen's birthday last night, and being the social butterfly she was, she had dragged my grumpy butt into town with a few artfully executed guilt trips. I was now feeling the consequences of the night and internally scolding my past self.

Clutching my aching head I trudged zombie style into my tiny bathroom. My flat was so small I could see the entirety of it from my double bed, which was actually the largest piece of furniture I owned. I had been determined I was getting it in; everyone needs a double bed in their lives. It was shoved against one wall under the only window in my humble abode, the living/dining/kitchen/everything was the other side of my studio flat. I had cleverly made a screen with a bit of washing line strung the width of my flat with a large curtain hanging from it to separate my sleeping area from my eating area. My miniature bathroom was the only other real room in my flat coming off my bedroom. It had a toilet, a sink and a shower and a small square of floor space in the middle of all these things so I could rotate to get to each thing. It really wasn't much but it was mine for a very high, eye-watering price. This was Shepard's Bush after all.

I splashed my face with cold water and squinted at myself in the mirror above the sink. Yeah, I looked like I had a hangover. Cursing last night I quickly showered and pulled on my jeans and a checked shirt. I grabbed my rucksack with my camera in it and dashed out the door. It was already quarter to 7 and it would take me at least 45 minutes to get to London Bridge where my office was.

It was a bracing November morning, I took the steps down to the ground floor two at a time and burst out into the busy street. I was suddenly in a sea of bobble hats and scarves and I groaned out loud when I realised I had neither. Pushing forward I melted into the mass of people all moving towards the tube station.

I always felt trapped on the trains underground, there were two many people with only one exit. Holding onto the bar above to keep me stable I glanced around the cramped carriage. One of my weird joys was people watching, and to keep my brain occupied on the horrid commute I would often try to work out where everyone was going and what they did as a job. A well-dressed man opposite me swayed uneasily as the train rounded a corner. He looked unsure of himself, he wasn't used to the tube. A travelling businessman, I assessed, on the Jubliee line so likely heading to Canary Wharf to have an interview. His suit looked new and little too big for him, he noticed me looking and self-consciously straightened his tie. I smiled and lowered my gaze, hoping his interview goes well.

My job wasn't bad, from the perspective of a casual outsider it was quite an interesting job really. I worked for a newspaper as a photographer. None of your paparazzi nonsense I took stock shots, life photos and sometimes did portraits for the journalists for their columns. I got to see all walks of life in the role and was always the first out of my friends to know the latest news.

Of course with the reputation newspapers have nowadays there were some sucky things. My boss for instance, the Chief editor of the paper Dom Johnson, he was what the public saw as a stereotypical journalist; pushy, blunt and only interested if it sold papers. He was the sort of person who would happily stab you in the back and step over your corpse if it furthered his career. I really didn't trust the guy, which is unfortunate when they are the person in charge of whether you keep your job.

As I was a relatively low-level photographer, just starting out, I had a fairly regular routine. I went in to the office and waited for any of the news stories of the day. Obviously all of the big jobs like celebrities and big political scandals went to the high profile freelancers, but there was usually some stock photos we didn't have or Press Association couldn't provide for us that I would be sent out to get. I preferred being out of the office, putting that many egotistical people in a small open plan place could create a nasty atmosphere. Once I had my photos I would come back to the office and process my day's work, sending it on to whoever had requested it. Fun.

The train finally screeched into London Bridge station, I squeezed between the many bodies blocking my exit and nearly fell on to the platform as my human wall gave way. Gathering myself after the usually traumatic experience of travelling to work, I walked briskly towards the exit. The air was frigid cold, and my breath billowed in front of my face as I negotiated the street. The tall concrete building that housed my office loomed over me. It was half 7, I had just about made it.

I sighed in relief as I entered the familiar reception area of the building. Frank the security guard looked up from his paper; ironically not ours.

"Alright darling? You look rough this morning." His rough cockney accent made me grin.

"Thank you very much you cheeky man, you don't look so hot yourself."

Frank laughed heartily as I swiped my security card and pushed through the turnstile. The heated lift was empty and I welcomed the moment of quiet as it whisked me up to my floor. The tranquility was shattered when the doors slide open letting the chaos and noise of the newsroom wash over me. It was an open plan office setting; journalists talked excitedly to each other, phones were ringing insistently and people walked with a purpose in every direction.

I made my way cautiously into the foray holding a hand to my aching head. Walking the perimeter of the office I made a bee line for my desk, it was in a relatively quiet corner of the office thankfully. I dumped my rucksack next to my chair and started up the PC. Andy, the junior researcher who sat opposite me, looked over the divider between our two desks.

"You ok? Look like you've been run over."

I gave him an icy stare still holding my throbbing head.

"That's the second comment I've had today about my appearance. Is it that obvious?"

Andy snorted. "Yeah, you look horrendous. Heavy night last night?"

I nodded and instantly regretted it. My brain felt like it was rattling around my skull.

"Helen's 29th wasn't it. She made me." He rolled his eyes at me, he was attractive in a young, boyish way. He had a cheeky smile and was always quick to make me laugh. I had instantly liked him when he had been placed opposite me, he was definitely an improvement from the last researcher they had put there. He had been a leery, middle aged man with a nasty case of the wandering eye. Andy had become my firm friend and ally in this crazy place, and was always the person I went to for a chat.

"Oh yeah, the big 2-9. No wonder you look like a half deflated balloon."

I slowly raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned back at me.

"I need a coffee, didn't have time for one this morning. You want anything?"

"A tea please." Andy smirked as I sighed and walked towards the kitchen. "Two sugars!" He shouted after me.

"Yeah, yeah, I got your two sugars." I heard his guffaw from across the office. A few people looked over at us, I ignored them. There weren't many people I got on with in this place, Andy was one and Mark the IT guy was the other. He was a quiet but sincere man who was always under appreciated, as IT support usually are. I could usually find him in the kitchen by the coffee machine, he lived off the stuff, and that's where I expected to see him today.

I rounded the corner separating the kitchen from office, there were a few journos in there but no Mark. I frowned but went about my coffee-making task anyway. I had just finished when an older man walked into the kitchen. He was one of the more senior journalists, he had a regular column talking about politics. He noticed me and made his way over, I watched him my expression careful, you never knew if he would try and trip you up with a conversation so I was cautious whenever he tried to talk to me.

"Morning Morgan." He said amiably. Something was up.

"Morning George." He paused a few feet from me and looked around trying to decide who was listening. Something was definitely up.

"Have you heard about Mark?" My stomach dropped, oh no, what had happened.

"No, I noticed he wasn't in his usual caffeine refueling spot. Is he ill?" I asked hopefully.

George smiled a knowing smile, god I hated these guys. "No, he's left." I must have looked taken aback as a triumphant look crossed George's face. Yeah, yeah you know more than me I get it, I thought bitterly.

"Apparently some unknown relative went and died leaving him a fortune. He quit yesterday evening."

I froze, all of that smelt of fish and I didn't like it one bit. I suspected our illustrious leader Dom Johnson had something to do with it.

"Wow, that's lucky." I said carefully, trying to pry more information out of George.

"Lucky? Or weird?" He shrugged, obviously satisfied with the bomb shell he had dropped on me. "Anyway there's a new guy already. Bit quick if you ask me, but I guess these agencies are ready with replacements."

A new guy? Already? Yeah, there was definitely something off here.

"He's in with Dom at the moment, getting the low down. Anyway, have a good one" I watched as George looked around clearly bored now he had done what he came to do, he spotted some more journos in the corner and sidled off to tell them.

I stood there with my coffee and tea for what seemed like an age. What the hell was going on? Who had wanted Mark gone and why? It didn't make any sense, but I was about to find out. I wanted to make sure Mark was okay first. I handed Andy his tea absent mindedly as I sat back down at my desk. He looked at me worriedly.

"You alright Morgs? Now you look like you've seen a ghost." I nodded without looking at him properly.

"I'm fine, tell you in a sec." My PC had warmed up now and I fired up my encrypted messenger app. Mark had loaded it on my PC when we became friends, trust no one that was my motto, I didn't want the company keeping tabs on my personal messages. Mark was online, I opened a chat window and checked no one important was watching me.

Morg: Hey, what's going on? Why are you not here?

Mark89: Sorry I didn't tell you Morgan, it all happened very suddenly.

Morg: No one threatened you? You really did leave because you wanted to?

Mark89: Yes and no, I was paid a lot of money to leave…and not say anything. In fact I probably shouldn't be telling you.

Morg: I won't tell, it's okay. As long you are okay Mark that's all that matters.

Mark89: …I'm fine, honest Morg. We can meet up tomorrow night if you want. I am leaving the country after that. World trip and all.

Morg: Okay Mark, stay safe.

I stopped typing; something was going on. I shut the app down and looked at Andy.

"Mark's gone." I whispered, Andy's eyes widen. What he mouthed.

It was at that point that I heard Dom's foghorn voice call me from across the newsroom.

"Morgan!"

I turned to look at him, he was standing outside his office with the new 'Mark'. Dom saw me staring at him, he beckoned impatiently with his hand.

"Come here, I need you." I swiveled my seat back to Andy and rolled my eyes. He grinned and nodded towards the boss.

"Go on, he's calling."

I breathed out slowly and reluctantly made my way over to Dom Johnson. He was a short man with a large mid-drift, that was probably why he was such an arse. He wore a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up and his blue tie was loosened at the collar. In contrast the man next to him towered over my squat boss, he looked lean and muscular under his light blue shirt. He was bald and had a stern face; it looked like he didn't smile much. His eyes were a really intense blue and they locked onto me as I approached.

"Morgan, I guess you've heard by now, because nothing remains a secret in this place for long, that Mark has left us." His smile reminded me of a crocodile, I stifled the shiver running through me. He had something to do with this I knew it, whether directly or indirectly I could feel it in my bones that Dom was the reason Mark wasn't here.

"Yes Mr Johnson," I answered evenly, not giving anything away. My eyes flicked back to the man stood next to him, he was still watching me standing unnaturally still.

"Well, luckily the agency had a replacement already lined up." Dom gestured at the man, "This is him. Now, I am very busy and I understand you and the previous IT guy were friends, so give our new recruit a tour round our cosy little office will you. Show him the ropes." He slapped my arm jovially, I resisted the strong urge to pull my arm away like it had been burned.

"Yes, Mr Johnson." I said through gritted teeth as he turned away and waddled back into his office. I glared at his retreating back. I caught the new guy watching me, there was a slight hint of amusement on his previously impassive face. I arranged my features to appear neutral again, I didn't know this guy he might rat on me.

"So, you're the new Mark. Hope you're good with computers cause none of these idiots are." I gestured at the oblivious journalists. His gaze followed my hand, and he scanned the office. Scanning was the best word; it was like he was taking in every little detail of the room.

I cleared my throat to get his attention back to me, his eyes came back to rest on my face. I swallowed a little nervously, it felt like he was scanning me now. After what felt like an age of awkward silence I spoke again, "So…you have a name?"

The new guy waited a moment as if assessing his response. Eventually his face softened a little and I got the feeling that it was like he was putting on a mask. Before I could think too much about it though he spoke in a deep, quiet voice.

"My name is Tobias Rieper."