Chapter Text
He was a stubborn one. That much she’d give him.
Malakai Merchant – scum of the Earth, barely comparable to the mud on the soles of her favorite work boots. But he’d led her on a damn good chase. From his decadent corner office at Jules & Co. to the back alleys of Brooklyn to the docks in Red Hook. Finally, the trail had brought her to a newly built warehouse overlooking the Upper Bay.
Still, all things had to come to a close eventually. And unluckily for Malakai, this was definitely the end of the line for him, no matter how many security personnel he’d try and throw up between the two of them.
She strode in – unremarkable in her black tank top and fitted slacks – and ghosted past the two front guards, barely breaking her pace to incapacitate them as she passed by. They fell, nothing more than dead weight. Amateurs, honestly. Malakai deserved everything coming to him if this was the kind of incompetence he employed.
Slow but precise work was made of the fringe detail, patrolling up and down in pairs. Though she’d neglected clean-up, the one and a half minutes in between the first casualty and the discovery of the bodies served as a pleasant surprise and good buffer for movement. The cheap oak staircase creaked with each step, grating on her nerves. Readying herself, she took a shallow breath full of sawdust. Firearm raised, she moved in on the office location where her target was no doubt barricaded in.
The lock broke under the unrelenting butt of her gun, and her boot smacked against the artificial surface of the door as she strong-armed her way in.
“Don’t move or-“ the threat was barely verbalized before she’d sent a slug deep into his shoulder, forcing him to drop the shotgun he’d been clutching like a lifeline.
“A little slow,” she said – almost a reprimand.
“Who hired you?” he demanded, cheeks splotchy with panic and anger. Wincing, he pressed a hand against his wound, blood staining his neatly pressed two piece suit and spreading quickly.
“Hired?”
“You’re a cleaner, aren’t you? So who paid you? I’ll triple it. Guaranteed.”
Bargaining; the desperate and corrupt always turned to it at the end.
“Sure, I am,” she said, timbre turning amused. “But you I’ll kill for free. Girl’s gotta do some pro bono work once in awhile.”
His eyes darted from side to side, and she enjoyed his realization of his inevitable demise at her hands. The cogs of his mind turned and turned, gaining no traction, frantic in its pursuit of pinpointing her desires and motivations. Instead of dark defeat clouding over, Malakai’s gaze sharpened, hardened.
Levelling her pistol, she fired once and marked his forehead.
Muscles slack, he slumped forward, heavy and final.
Objective completed, she reconnected her communications devices – drawing immediate notifications from her handler.
“What’s up, Cole?”
“Shaw, get out of there! Wilson sold us out.”
Though the information was surprising, Shaw would have to process that later. For now, Cole’s tone suggested a high level threat on her current position – and by extension, his.
“Where’s our rendezvous point?”
Cole coughed – indicating potential airborne toxins or smoke in his vicinity – and said, “I don’t think I’m gonna be meeting you anywhere soon.”
“Where are you? I’m on my way.”
“There’s no time. I’m just doing what I can for you now. Russians are closing in on your loc, and they’ve rigged the place to detonate in two. Building plans show that there are three back exits that’ll take you into an alley – but they’ve got three vans sandwiching your escape from those points. The only other exit leads straight into the harbor,” he said, every word precise and urgent.
“Water route it is,” Shaw said, holstering her gun. “And then I’m coming to get you.”
“I know,” he said, more quietly now. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”
“Always trying to be the damn hero,” she muttered under her breath. The lack of response on his end suggested that he’d gone dark for the time being.
Two minutes was cutting it close, especially if the Russians decided to intervene within the warehouse. Her suspicions were proven valid as bullets sprayed the wall several feet in front of her interrupting her descent to the ground floor. Throwing herself to the side, Shaw listened carefully to the pattern of fire – estimating a total of four or five long-range assailants. Their semi-automatic rifles continued rapidly, riddling the various surfaces and crates with holes.
The twenty seconds she’d used to take inventory of the situation were precious, she knew. Given that they weren’t letting up on their heavy firing any time soon, Shaw ducked her way along the hallway to the side exit, keeping as close to cover as possible. It seemed dubiously neglectful for the Russians to leave her this one escape route, but it was the only one at her disposal in that moment.
By the time she’d arrived at her destination, her watch counted fifteen remaining seconds. Careful to avoid incoming gunfire, Shaw ducked her head as she climbed out the window. Feet hitting the wooden planks of the riverside platform, she just managed to catch movement from the corner of her eye and attempted to dodge out of reach.
Too late and too slow, her attacker’s knife sank deeply into her abdomen in one forceful thrust. Shaw managed to fire one fatal shot, and the man’s body eclipsed her own, forcing them both to the floor. For the moment, the knife would have to stay embedded, she decided.
She pushed the motionless body aside and rolled off the platform and into the river.
Three seconds later the warehouse’s walls exploded, roof collapsing inwards. The force of the blast resonated into the water, sending strong shockwaves along the current, and Shaw’s head knocked violently into a post.
She struggled and was pulled under anyway.
Gaining consciousness, the first thing she picked up on was the strong smell of sewage. Grains of sand followed with that inhale, and Shaw reacted immediately, coughing weakly as her throat burned. She had just enough strength to flop onto her back, eyes cracking open.
A figure stood above her, blocking the sun with their head, and face shadowed.
“Do you mind?” Shaw rasped. “You’re blocking the view.”
The person – a woman, she assumed – moved marginally, and Shaw could make out their features more clearly now. Long nose, thin lips curved into a smirk, bright brown eyes, dark hair falling in waves.
“Pretty feisty for a dead woman,” the stranger noted, tone whimsical and wholly annoying.
“Hardly dead,” Shaw said.
Her obstinate statement drew a sharp laugh from the woman, breathless and surprised.
“You’re everything She said you would be, Sameen.”
Shaw squinted against the searing sunlight and asked, “Who’s ‘she’? And who the fuck are you?”
Maybe the Russians had sent in this nutcase to finish the job.
“You can call me Root.” The damn infuriating smile remained in place, overconfident and patronizing.
Shaw wanted to say as much, but the blood loss was finally getting to her – head spinning and vision blurring. She coughed again, one hand cupping around the knife handle.
“You’re dying.”
If only she could have managed an eye-roll, she would’ve let loose the most spectacular one. Instead Shaw snapped, “Can’t you let me die in peace then?”
“Sure, but I could also help you live instead,” Root said, extending a hand.
“Unless you’re offering a blood transfusion…”
The corners of Root’s eyes crinkled with bemusement at the statement, though the why was hopelessly beyond Shaw.
“Trust me,” Root said with an insistent tilt of her head.
“No thanks,” Shaw managed through the dizzying pain that lit every vein in her body on fire. “Trust issues.”
Root bent to one knee, sinking slightly in the sand, and rested her hand on the top of the knife handle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Shaw demanded, too weak to push Root’s hand away.
No answer was returned. An intense look of concentration graced Root’s features as she focused in on the knife beneath her palm.
“A little help would be appreciated,” Root said, though her attention was not directed specifically at Shaw.
“As I keep saying, just leave it.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Root said loftily.
This time Shaw rolled her eyes despite the enormous amount of effort it took.
Root’s hand glowed a royal purple, and before Shaw could give voice to her shock, Root gripped the handle tightly and ripped the blade out. Shaw’s throat closed around the dignified yelp, and she turned it into a quiet groan. Quickly, Shaw noted that her blood wasn’t rushing out of the wound as it should have.
“What did you do?” Shaw asked quietly, body tired but no longer aching agonizingly. “Please tell me you’re not some sort of God.” She honestly wasn’t in the mood for deity shenanigans.
“There’s only one true God, Sameen.”
“What, death?” Shaw asked, expression and tone flat. She braced herself on one elbow and pushed herself up into a sitting position.
“She prefers something a little less flashy,” Root said, eyes shining reverently. “She goes by The Machine.”