"Broken Faucet"
Inventory Check. It was the one thing he loved most, as it afforded him the one slice of time in his otherwise busy schedule to think to himself. Holding up the clipboard in front of the middle shelf, he checked off one box, leisurely strolling to the next shelf. A door closed at the far end of the underground tunnel right beneath the palace floor, but he paid it no mind as he focused back on the wines. "Cab Sauv, gonna need more of that," he chuckled. "Guests up there are chugging it like it's a competition."
He wasn't much of a wine man anyhow. Gérard preferred mixed drinks, but on his first job as waitstaff at one of the most prodigious spots in Le Havre, the famed Palais de Augustine, the last thing he was going to confide to his strict superiors was that he thought it tasted like rubbing alcohol with rotten grape extract. Compared to his nametag at Leclerc, his current one was false gold inlaid with his name in Verdana font and a pristine red vest, white shirt, bowtie, and black dress pants to boot. All he'd wished to top it off was a bowler hat, he thought, but compared to working at a hypermarket, he was more than happy with his current arrangement.
"Think so, yeah." Gérard spoke out loud, his voice echoing through the tunnel. He glanced sideways, noting the stacked kegs that sat safely behind thick glass, the same glass between he and the wines he'd so rather throw for entertainment than think of consuming. "I think it's great." The ceiling pipes rattled with rushing water, prompting him to look up briefly. The squeak of a step fell on deaf ears as he chuckled to himself, entertaining for a moment the thought of what someone would think seeing him chatter away to himse-
...
Gérard's eyes gently peeled open. The only light visible was from a slit slightly above his head. Then, his eyelids shot up in fear and complete confusion. He rattled his body in the closed space, and as he felt his bare skin on the wood that surrounded him, he motioned his head down at his body as he laid on his side. He'd been wearing nothing but boxers, and it was now that the pain in the back of his head became apparent. "Aggh... hel-" he coughed. "HELP!" he yelled, his voice permeating through the box he had been locked in, causing him to grimace in pain at the sound.
"HELP ME!" he reached up, banging the box's lid desperately. From the outside, the tunnel was devoid of any other ears. "HELP ME! SOMEONE!" he continued to yell, his panicked tone echoing throughout as the box's lid rattled, locked shut and impervious to anything but a crowbar.
Some rooms over on the underground level was a brightly-lit locker room in which all of the palace employees' belongings were kept safe. Given the importance of the event above, which could be heard with all its hustle and bustle even from down here, it was devoid of people, all but one. Stepping out on to a towel placed haphazardly by the cubicle shower entrance, the man tugged at another towel wrapped around a bar on the wall to wrap it around his waist.
He brushed his feet up against the towel on the floor before heading out into the locker room area, casually strolling over to a neatly-folded uniform placed on the end of a long bench. Placed on top of the uniform was his phone. Wiping his hand on the towel around him, he reached for his phone and unlocked it. A set of text messages quickly zoomed on to the screen, and his brows furrowed with confusion. He sat down by his uniform, inching himself slightly away so as to not make it wet. Shit. The timing couldn't have been worse, he thought to himself. He and the girl were meant to meet at an apartment more than twenty blocks from the palace, but for her to suggest that they meet tonight, however urgent, was simply unacceptable.
20:36PM: Told you, not here. It's too risky.
20:38PM: Things have changed
20:38PM: Even for just five minutes, I'll make it quick but we have to meet now
He sighed, clenching his jaw. He tapped aggressively.
20:39:PM: We had an arrangement. We're supposed to stick to it. I'll see you tomorrow at the agreed upon time.
A small clang on the other end of the locker room briefly pulled his attention away from the three bouncing dots in the girl's incoming message.
...
20:40PM: The meet is compromised
20:40PM: Need to meet
20:40PM: NOW
"This fucking cunt..." He sighed, scoffing as he reached up to rub his forehead in frustration. For as short a time as he knew her, she was at the very least punctual enough to-
CLANG!
The sound of harsh metal struck the locker room floors from the far end, his body tensing up out of shock while darting his head toward the noise. "What the fuck?" He said under his breath, dropping his phone on the uniform and pulling himself up off the bench. Gripping his hand around the towel on his waist, he increased his pace toward the end of the lockers.
Approaching the last locker, a bald waiter emerged wielding a propane flask that struck the man in the face, breaking his nose in the process as he collapsed backwards, concussed by the contact between the back of his head and the hard floor. "U-uhgh..." He groaned weakly, the pain and shock overwhelming his senses. A weak attempt to raise his head above the floor was met with another blow to the center of his face by the flask, rendering him completely unconscious with blood trickling out of his lacerated nose down past his cheek.
The waiter carefully set the flask down next to the man's head, turning the valve and walking away.
A woman sat at a small circular table in her dimly-lit apartment overlooking the city streets of Le Havre. Rubbing her temples, she groaned with pain. Then, the phone below her lit up. She scooped it into her hand and entered the PIN.
20:48PM: Okay. Fine. Outside by the bird fountain by the Augustine.
She struck the table with her palms and pulled herself up. She had already prepared herself for the meet as evidenced by her hat, sunglasses, and brown raincoat. It was as incognito as one could get. Hurrying down the staircase, she shoved the door open and into the bustling street, keeping her head down all the while.
"Broken Faucet". Liselotte Fischer was high up on the totem pole of a clandestine operation that named itself after a ring of corporate fixers hellbent on pharmaceutical manipulation, and it was imperative for its operatives on the ground to be as secretive as possible for the sake of their own safety if anything. However, there was a complication. One of the board members responsible for Broken Faucet's creation went missing a few weeks ago, prompting them to put their plans on standby until the cause was discovered.
Ms. Fischer, a former agent for the BND, was entrusted by her superiors to sort out this mess. Her partner, a security head at the Palais de Augustine, was never as cunning as she was. Turning the corner of the street, the grand palace could be seen in the distance. The sun had just about set, and as she slipped her sunglasses into her coat pocket, a bolt of worry struck her stomach. She stopped in her heels as her breathing steadily increased, her left eye twitching. Then, she pulled out her phone, unlocking it to view the conversation. Her partner, André, was a man of routine. It was unlike him, she thought, for him to so suddenly change his mind.
It was a risk she wasn't going to take. Circling back to the apartment, she gripped her hand on the handle to let herself into the building lobby, looking up. "No," she muttered quietly, letting go. "It's not safe."
CONVERSATION STARTED WITH HB-11354
21:02: Safehouse compromised. Agent feared gone, need a ticket
She rubbed her face, standing at the corner of the closed café with her arms folded, eyes glued to the phone screen. The nerves worsened her headache, and by now it was pounding. She occasionally glanced up at the multitudes of people as they passed by, enjoying their night.
…
21:08: Tickets forwarded to your inbox.
She let out a slow exhale. She wasn't in the clear, but it was progress. She knew how to cover her tracks, make certain she wasn't followed. The tickets were to Berlin, and the flight was scheduled to leave that night. The last few minutes she spent between Le Havre and her arrival at the airport went by in an anxious blur. Standing at the gates, she presented her phone to the scanner.
Like her superiors, she had learned to make her impact in the world as inconspicuous as possible. Coach-class seats, no outfits that could make her stand out in a crowd… she was a ghost, or at least, she thought she was. This time round, it seemed as though a poltergeist had been following her; someone more elusive even than the organization she'd belonged to, hellbent on snuffing out their influence.
Her body couldn't relax. Sitting in her seat by the aisle, she was stiff. It wasn't her she was at all worried about. It was what her superiors might do to her family if she compromised herself. It hung over her neck like a guillotine that always followed. Flashes of her husband and child invaded her mind, keeping her eyes peeled open.
A direct flight was a mere hour and a half, but with thoughts of them with bullet holes in their heads, it felt like an eternity.
"Would you care for a refreshment?" the male attendant asked.
She kept her eyes glued forward. "No." She nodded. "Thank you."
BERLIN, GERMANY. 12:56 AM
A dead-drop at the Berlin Airport provided her with a trusty pistol packed with a suppressor, and no longer did she feel naked. The safety was off and as she stood at the corner of the street in the outskirts of center city, her finger hovered steadily over the trigger. The only person she was expecting was yet another agent sent to deliver a laptop for her to use to connect with the men above.
She wondered why in hell she'd gotten herself involved. Being BND, she knew that such events like this could happen, and though she was adaptable and reliable, was any of that really worth it if the last thing she saw was her family in a ditch before joining them herself? At the very least she'd see them in the afterlife, but would they ever forgive her? If they let her live, would she ever forgive herself?
Down the street, a man dressed in all black steadily approached her position. She pulled the cigarette from between her lips, dropping it to the ground and snuffing it out with her foot. As he approached, he slipped out a laptop-sized box from his overcoat, handing it to her before passing by and disappearing into the night.
She clicked the safety back on her pistol, slipping it into her coat and leaving the scene, her heels the only clacking sound in the empty street.
…
She shook her head, flipping the lightswitch. It illuminated quite the high-class hotel room, six floors up. "Not bad…" she narrowed her eyes, looking around. She gently set the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside handle of her door, then slipped out her pistol. Safety off, as always.
Her intuition was off and she hadn't known it, as her sky-high anxiety had rattled her such that all she could think about was a future exit plan from her current line of work. This was the last thing she'd be doing. She had enough money to pay her kid's tuition a hundred times over. Nevertheless, she knew she had to keep her emotions in check. For the superiors to even catch one whiff of her inner turmoil would mean the end.
She took off her coat and draped it over her chair, scooting it in with the laptop in hand, laying it on the table before her. She placed her pistol on the right side of the laptop. Any phones and laptops were specially issued by them, encrypted with a program controlled remotely that either destroyed the electronics from within or detonated in a violent explosion. One false move meant that with the press of a button, she was dead.
Within the laptop box splayed out on the bed was a small written note, the username and password for this specific device. She reached over as it booted up, setting the note down beside the trackpad. Quickly typing in its details, she was in. The desktop was devoid of any programs except one: .
She slid her fingers along the trackpad and double-tapped the program. Then, a bolt of terror traveled down her spine as the closet some feet behind her creaked open, prompting her to grab at her weapon and turn around. Her eyes widened as the vein pulsed in her neck. Her heart raced as evidenced by her shaking grip at the man in the dark-gray overcoat and black suit underneath. Red tie.
She blinked a few times, the panic causing her vision to blur. The bald man's deadpan stare pierced through her soul as he trained his suppressed silver pistol directly at her head. "Do exactly as I say." he spoke up.
"Wh- whuh- what…?" she struggled to form words, gulping.
"Put down your gun and slide it to me."
She blinked a few times, her jaw tightening with pure, unadulterated fear. If she was prone to it, she might have even thought she would have a heart attack, saving her the swift, merciful end that she expected next. She clicked the safety off as her hand shook, leaving sweat on the grip as she lowered herself to place it on the carpet, kicking it toward him. Then, she instinctively raised her hands. "I kn- I know n-nothing," she shook her head, her left eye twitching out of stress. "Please."
47's expression remained solemn. His composure indicated to her that he was a professional of the highest kind. Someone you don't fuck with. "Sit down."
"Please, please, please…" she repeated softly to herself, clutching her eyes shut as she rested herself back in the chair.
Keeping his pistol aimed at her head, he took slow steps forward. She lowered her head, closing her eyes, knowing what was coming next. In her last moments, she saw them. Max and Bastian, playing outside in their backyard together. Her son had trouble communicating with others, and to see her loving husband help their child along was something she would never forget.
Tears formed under her eyelids, trickling down her cheek as her hands clenched on her legs. Please. End it.
"Tell them you've found me." 47 said.
Her brows furrowed. She looked up at him, his blue eyes contacting directly with hers. "W-what…?"
The suppressor hovered mere inches from her forehead. He motioned his left hand at the laptop screen. "Take a picture with the laptop. Send it to them, and tell them you've found me."
"Wha…?" she scoffed. He pressed the suppressor into her forehead now. "Ok-okay, okay… yes…" she cleared her throat. "I'll do it. I'll do… I'll do it…"
BERLIN, GERMANY. 1:34 AM
The high-class apartment screamed of old money, with the owner's wealth apparent in nearly every corner. His study, in particular, was lined with full bookshelves and a ceiling fan in the center, expensive decor among it. The suited man sat, smirking with scotch in hand, watching a comedy on his laptop as it illuminated his face.
On the bottom corner, a notification appeared. Bearing the PIXLCHAT logo, he tapped his spacebar, pausing the video and sliding his fingers along the trackpad to tap the notification.
His face stared at the screen. "What the f…?" he said, placing the glass of scotch on the coaster adjacent, pulling his leather office chair in as he leaned forward. It was a photograph of a man in a full-black suit and red tie, seemingly tied up in a chair. Underneath was a chat message:
00:34: got him. want me to take him out?
"Got…?" he shook his head, motioning in to type.
00:35: Who?
He rested his elbows on his desk, fingers intertwined.
…
00:35: the assassin. the one who's been doing all of this. i let him follow me back here and caught him in a trap. he's done.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no…" he cleared his throat, typing once more. "Don't fucking eliminate…" he said quietly.
00:35: Do NOT eliminate. Wait there.
BERLIN, GERMANY. 2:11 AM
"Alright, I'm going to go up there with four of you," the man said, suited with a brown camel coat over him. "Four of you are going to flank the room as needed. Got it?"
The men stood before him, nodding. They were all dressed in casual-wear, but underneath, wore bulletproof vests with the insides of their jackets lined with automatic pistols and ammunition.
"Okay, then. Eyes peeled. Let's go."
The men circled round the corner to the hotel entrance. The suited man gestured for the first four to enter before him, after which they'd let him know when the coast was clear. When told, he entered as well, giving the receptionist a warm smile before walking to the elevator, the four other men joining him.
He let out a deep sigh as the elevator doors closed. Though confident, he knew what might await the group could be a bloodbath. When the elevator reached the sixth floor, the four armed enforcers slipped out their pistols, poking their heads out to inspect the hallway. No one. Not a body in sight. One of them looked back at him with a nod.
He stepped out into the hallway, looking both ways before heading right. Room 601, 602, 603… 604. He motioned for one of his men to knock on the door, pistols at the ready. Go time.
A few seconds passed. The enforcer knocked the door again, after which it slowly peeled open. He trained his pistol at Liselotte, whose makeup had been ruined by the crying earlier. Then, the enforcer looked to their superior. "It's her."
He sighed, chuckling. "Shit…" he stepped over to look at her as she stood behind the door. "Ms. Fischer."
She cleared her throat, nodding weakly. "Mr. Allers…"
He blinked. "Is he in there with you now?"
She nodded. "Yes. Yes, he's… he's in the chair in the corner of the room, by the window."
He shrugged, rubbing his hand across his suit. "Good. That's good."
She pulled open the door. The men entered, and finally, so did Allers. She then shut the door carefully, locking it as she looked back at them.
"Ms. Fischer…?" he asked, looking toward her at the end of the small hallway.
"Yes…?" she said, maintaining almost no eye contact.
"Where the fuck is he?" he snarled, voice raised as an enforcer emerged from the side with his pistol trained at her.
"H-he-" her face contorted with pain. "He left, he said-"
"He LEFT?!" he approached her, his wide frame and height contrasted with her's. She backed up against the door in fear, the enforcer's pistol only inches from her cheek.
"He said he'd kill my FAMILY!" she shouted, looking directly into Allers' eyes. His remained unmoved by the stress and terror exuded by her. "Buh- but he l- he left a note, over on the windowsill! He wanted you to know where he was going to be!"
He gritted his teeth, looking at the enforcer adjacent to him. "Don't let her move a muscle." He approached the living room, then looked to the windowsill. The laptop had been turned on its side with a yellow stickynote attached to it. He approached, leaning in. "What…?"
The stickynote read, "GOODBYE."
From a vantage point across the hotel, 47's scope remained still on the blinded window. He rested his finger on the trigger, then exerted pressure on it, firing a shot. As it struck the laptop inside, the room's windows shattered with a blaze of fire, engulfing it in smoke and flames. He pulled himself away from his scope, fixating his eyes on the destruction with an impassive gaze.