Pickup #23

May 30, 2018:

Agent Green goes to make a pickup from another SHIELD agent. It doesn't go so well.

Club Violet

A two-story dance club in Manhattan. Very loud, very neon.

Characters

NPCs: Agent Lancer

Mentions: Courtier

Plot:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

The club was loud, the lighting distracting, and the clientele a constant wash of motion. It was either a spy's wet dream or their nightmare, depending on whether they were on the hunt or wary hunters. The flashing lights over the exit door and the alarm ringing, however, that was less the sort of thing that a covert operative wanted anywhere near them. Anything that drew the attention of the authorities was usually the last, desperate choice.

Agent Green cursed the traffic to himself as he made a beeline from the front door toward the bathrooms in the back, where he was supposed to make the pick-up. As he moved, he murmured into his subvocal mic, "Alarms. Doubt it's a coincidence. What happened, Control."

The voice in his ear sounded apologetic, "No cameras anywhere near the restrooms, Agent Green. That's why we picked the place." Slipping past an Indian man speaking in Punjabi into his phone, Simon ducked past a distracted bouncer trying to keep people away from the hallway to the restrooms.

Pushing open the men's room door, he scanned the scene: broken mirror and a spray of blood between two sinks, more blood on the wall between a pair of urinals, the door to the handicapped stall hanging off its hinges, a drinks tray and a SHIELD-issue pistol on the floor, and Agent Lancer, unconscious beneath the urinals, with two club staff hovering over him. "Well shit. Control, we've got a problem."

Too bad, he thought, it's even the sort of place I might have enjoyed on a night off.

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