The Unknown Enemy ∘ Marvel [3]

Chapter 4: Your Hair Is On Fire

Johan Filler was locking up his desk, rubbing his eyes from today's work. The crickets sung their song outside, the street lights the only illumination, casting shadows in the room.

The man whistled, putting the key to his desk in his pocket. He hummed a tune native to his country, smiling to himself as he was about to close the door to his office. He couldn't wait to get back to his nice, warm bed and take a nice, peaceful nap.

Filler was out to open the front door of the building, seeing his silver Chevrolet outside the window. He was about to step out the door, when he looked back at his car. Something was on the windshield.

As Filler stared out the window, his mind read the words for he, painted in black on his precious Chevrolet.

Miss Me?

Johan was panicking now. In his line of work, there were to many people out for revenge. He quickly made a mad dash for his office, needing to get back to his desk. He made it to the door, fiddling with the knob in fear.

A voice, much to familier, whispered to him," Peekaboo."

Clint Barton fell from the ceiling, kicking both Filler and the door to his office down. The agent pulled Johan up by the collar, throwing him into the chair, then proceeded to pull out his gun and shoot him in the knee.

The man howled in pain, Barton putting his pistol back on his hip. As Filler yelled, Clint rolled his eyes," Seriously, you've done worse things to me before and I wasn't screaming. You need to get your man card renewed."

Natasha walked through the threshold, stepping over the broken door as if nothing was out of place. She passed her partner a bottle of something, probably beer, and say atop the desk, legs crossed. She gave a small nod to Filler, sipping her drink.

Clint smiled, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. He pulled himself up a seat," I assume you remember my partner, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha gave a grin," You gave me the burn scar on my ankle. That was what? 'O9?"

"No no, it was two years before New York. Your thinking of the claw mark that Iranian gave you." Barton corrected.

"Oh, gotcha," She turned back to Filler," So, were looking for someone."

The man, now hugging his knee, still writhing in pain," I don't know anything. I got out of this line of work years ago."

"Yada yada," The archer droned, taking another swing of his beer," Please, we'd like the truth pretty fast. Let me tell you, it'll be a lot less hassle for us if you fess up now, and a lot less pain for you. Unless you start talking, your other leg will match."

Johan, teeth clattering and excessively sweating, realized this was not a good spot. He started randomly spitting out words," My real name is Johan Relleno, I'm an illegal immigrant from Mexico-"

Natasha rolled her eyes," We know that. Let us ask the questions."

Filler, or Relleno, immediately shut his mouth, his wound not bleeding profoundly anymore, but his jeans were badly stained. His lips were quivering, he remembered the two very well.

"Your now the CEO of this little surplus store......which sells C4. One of your trucks was stolen, 'bout.....three weeks ago?" Barton asked, leaning back in an old chair.

"Yes," Johan answered quickly," The driver was found in the ditch-"

"No no," Clint shakes his head," Let me finish."

Relleno sits back in his chair, shuddering. The archer goes on.

"So, the truck. It held a sizable order, pretty big. Big enough to blow up a building, correct?"