Chapter Text
He'd been watching her for days. Keeping tabs on the nearly emotionless young woman. Documenting as well as learning her every move.
Surely she had noticed by now. After all, she was a genius. An IQ of her astounding level didn't allow carelessness or a gullible belief in absolute peace. But even so, she never made a move. Never even acknowledged their existence, quite frankly. But she knew they were there. She knew she was being watched. And eventually, she would snap.
At least, he hoped she would.
•••
Clarke Griffin didn't like a lot of things.
She didn't like flowers. She didn't like athletics. And she wasn't particularly fond of jazz music either. But if there was one thing in the entirety of the multi-dimensional universe in which she existed that pissed her off more than anything, it was idiots. And the asshole that had just fired her as his technician specialist was exactly that.
See, when she'd found the offer on Craig's List made by an owner of a local theater in need of a consistently available tech-person, she didn't feel as though there were any downsides to consider. The man promised to pay well, and all she really would have to do was repair the wireless and electricity every time the overly bright stage lights nixed the electrical circulation of every other existing device and/or unit inside of the building. Plus, Clarke was what some people might like to call, well, broke. She hadn’t had a job since she dropped out of med school, and ever since had been receiving money by fixing rowders owned by people who couldn't afford actual, licensed technicians.
But this job had seemed like a good one. Until she found out that her boss, Cage Wallace, was an absolute moron who was more prone to drama and spontaneous rants than the average teenaged girl.
He'd fired Clarke after she had demanded a higher pay, considering that she was constantly doing A-plus work (similar to that of an expert) for less than minimum wage. From a logical standpoint it was only fair that her salary be increased. But instead of complying, Cage didn't hesitate to send the twenty-six-year-old 174 IQ genius straight out the door. And that was the problem with normals: they always let petty emotions cloud their logical judgment. Terrible mistake. But never one made by her.
Frustrated and hungry, Clarke brusquely made her way down the street, away from that damned theatre, and towards the nearest bus stop. On the bus ride home Clarke fumed some more, but not in a typical way one might expect. She wasn't necessarily angry, but severely annoyed. Things like this set her off. Normals constantly feeling entitled to making her lack of emotional quotient very evident. This was how it had always been for Clarke. People treated her differently because of her mind as well as her somewhat emotionless persona.
It wasn't her fault. She didn't ask to be a genius, and she certainly did not beg God Almighty to be the dry kind of person everybody else always despised. But she was.
Sometimes Clarke thought she might be cursed. But then her brain reminded her instantaneously that curses weren't real and the idea that her dilemma was related to a cause of the supernatural was absolutely preposterous and illogical. This was just her life. Her reality.
I Yeah, she thought bitterly, reality sucks.
Clarke got off of the densely packed bus when the vehicle came to her stop, which was thankfully only a block from her unimpressive apartment complex. The building was a worn out old place run by an even older woman who Clarke had never even seen.
The genius had originally picked this place do to the efficient conveniency of how close it was to the bus stop. Also, because she was flat broke. But mostly for efficiency.
Clarke was tired. All she wanted to do was head straight to bed once she reached her apartment - anything else be damned. But once she came to the parking lot of her building, immediately an all too familiar feeling of being watched entered her system.
Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time this had happened. Many moments while either walking down the street or being at work, Clarke had felt the shadow of someone else keeping eyes on her. Logically, it made no sense. She wasn't a person of interest. Other than hacking the NYPD firewall when she was fifteen, Clarke hadn't engaged in any criminal activity, and that last time was almost eleven years ago. She wasn't even all that of an astonishing person either. Between work and being poor, she didn't do much else than behave like the unfeeling asshole that she was. There was no understandable answer as to why someone could be keeping tabs on her. However, Clarke was still unnerved.
Plus, there was a new arrangement to the regular creepy feeling: there were people in the lot.
Now, the building only housed about five occupants, tops. Although it had numerous apartments, not everyone wants to live in a dump.
But there were still people in the parking lot now, and Clarke had never seen them before.
There were about three altogether. All men, ranging from ages 25 to 30. At her 3:00 was a man leaning against a sleek, black Subaru - a car much to expensive to be parked at a cheap complex like this. He had his phone to his ear but wasn't saying anything, wasn't even pretending to nod his head as though he was listening to someone on the other line. He was just there. And every few seconds, his eyes would meet her own.
Clarke began to slowly walk forward towards the head of the building, pretending not to be aware. The other two were at the front door, both engaged in a hushed conversation, too quiet for Clarke to hear. Even so, they weren't inclined toward one another, in fact, if their voices weren't so quiet, it would look as though they were having a normal chat. But there was something off about the arrangement of it all. Clarke didn't like the way they kept looking at her, like she was a ready explosive about to go off.
She moved to the guys by door and stood directly in front of them.
" So, " she said tiredly. " How's this gonna go down? Are you going to get to know me first? Or just bring me in now? "
They hesitated for a moment. Clarke heard someone stepping up behind her, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she felt the cold, hard barrel against her leather jacket-clad spine.
" Hands up. Back away slowly and get on the ground. " came a steely voice behind her.
Clarke smirked. " You're not gonna shoot me. At least not fatally. If you wanted me dead I would be. And your whole undercover OP thing is a little too bureaucratic, don't you think? Let me guess: FBI? No CIA agent would be this sloppy. "
" Move. Away. " he replied. The barrel pressed harder, but Clarke only relaxed her stance a bit more.
" No thanks, " she antagonized. At this, the man grabbed her left arm and squeezed tightly.
" Step away! " he barked, and she could hear the anger in his voice.
" Now! "
But he'd already made a mistake by touching her.
Turning her body inward towards where his hand was, Clarke quickly grabbed his wrist and bent over in one swift motion, flipping the bastard over her back and onto the ground. Obviously, he was absolutely flabbergasted, because then Clarke was easily able to take his weapon, which she immediately trained on him.
The other two men halted from where they'd already begun to come forward but saw the gun in the young woman's hands.
" One more step and I shoot. " she hissed, channeling as much disdain and firmness into her voice as purely possible. The two backed up, their hands itching to grab firearms but not wanting to piss her off.
" Who sent you here, and what the hell are you trying to do? " Clarke inquired, eyes boring into the man on the ground. He said nothing, but instead lay there, unmoving and uncooperative.
Clarke clenched her jaw. " Alright, then. "
She quickly lifted the gun to the two men still by the door, and, without much hesitation, pulled the trigger. The first shot hit one of them in the leg, the other in his shoulder. Immediately they broth cried out and crumpled to the ground, and the one already down stared at her, horrified.
" Do I have your attention now? " she asked, a frantic edge beginning to creep into her voice. " Answer me! "
The man swallowed hard, and was about to slightly part his trembling lips when suddenly a staticky voice came from somewhere near his pants' pocket.
" Hello, Clarke. This is Agent Marcus Kane. Exceptional work. We'll talk soon. "
" What the- "
But then a sharp pang that felt like fire entered the skin of her spine and Clarke Griffin went to the ground and instantly fell unconscious.