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"PLEASE, LET ME GO. I HAVE A FAMILY– WIFE! 2 KIDS!"
Him pleading on his knees fooled nobody, holding a scoff, I stabbed a syringe into his neck. Less than a minute later, the target, Michaelson arched backwards in pain. Egg-white foam poured out his mouth in constant waves. And the telltale sign of his rolling eyes meant one thing—the poison was working.
I sat patiently on his bathroom counter, watching him gasping for air and hands waving about for some leverage.
"2 minutes," I nodded to him. Only a thick oak bathroom door separated us and his bodyguards—armed with semi-automated rifles. I'd prefer this side of the door.
It was a ghastly sight to see blood running down someone's eyes. It dripped all over the marbled tiles. Frankly, this seemed a little inhumane for the clean-up crew.
"This serum is taking too long, I'll feedback. Don't worry." George took his final dramatic gasp before his knees buckled, making him flop like a rag doll.
"Heavier than you look." His loud fall certainty yield suspicions from his bodyguards, evident from the voices that now lingered around the door entrance. More sets of worried footsteps paced hesitantly outside.
3 inch. All that kept me safe.
By the second knock, the door burst open. They charged in, guns cocked, "Secure the building, nobody goes in or out!"
Where I stood, the noisy wind still allowed me to briefly hear them cuss. Yeah, unemployment sucks. Hopefully that was enough for them not notice the ajar window.
Even if they did, would a bunch of burly men dare balance on a ledge 80 floors high?
I don't think so.
"Just an hour ago, police have confirmed that presidential candidate, George Michaelson, has passed away in his en-suite in Burj Al Arab Jumeira. Officials confirmed the young candidate passed from a sudden heart attack. No stranger to controversy, Michaelson..."
Rumlow nodded, a hint of a smile peeking through, "Clean job, Tyson. Closer to earning your vacation."
"A girl can dream."
✧
Thunderous applause startled Olivia awake. "Great job, Koenig," Clint's voice boomed just right beside her. Since when did a SHIELD meeting call for claps?
Olivia realised that shefell asleep in Phil's briefing, again. Although Phil could be easily bribed with Chinese takeouts, he somehow mastered the art of multitasking to nag and eat concurrently, which defeated the entire purpose of a bribe.
Eyes still closed, she barely heard Natasha and Clint shuffling about. She fought to suppress a victory smile. Three seconds later, she jerked awake to join the clapping. When the inevitable bright camera flash blinded her vision, Olivia didn't look like a deer in headlights.
