Chapter Text
The agent walked through the halls of headquarters, towards the room where Irene Kennedy and Stan Hurley were waiting. An all-black satchel slung over his shoulder, matching his slightly bloody clothing, made it clear he had just gotten back from a mission. Likely, it had been a long flight and an even longer mission if the dark circles under the agent's brown eyes were anything to go by. The stubble growing on his face did little to mask the gauntness as his jawline jutted out. His muscular body was mostly hidden by his clothing, but there were clear signs of cuts and bruises decorating his skin.
Yet the agent was happy. Or at least as happy as he felt he was capable of. He had another successful mission, and another crisis had been averted. The United States of America had been saved once again.
Now he was on his way to what Kennedy had promised would be a highly significant briefing. The agent was naturally curious. He had been for as long as he could remember. This new mission seemed important, in a way that the agent felt was different from his standard assignments. He had only felt this way about one other job, and well, that one had certainly ended... interestingly.
The assassin pushed the door open quickly and closed it silently, a force of habit from years of experience in the field. Yet Stan Hurley heard his footsteps easily with expert quickness, and turned his head towards the younger agent.
"Mitch. Took you long enough," Stan grumbled, although he nodded his head slightly in greeting. "What, you couldn't be bothered to fucking show up on time?"
Mitch Rapp was five minutes early. He was quite annoyed by that fact because it meant his mentor was correct. He was late.
"Enough," Irene Kennedy interrupted, knowing the banter that would ensure if she didn't shut the conversation down now. There was no time to waste with this assignment. "Your target's file has already been created and delivered." She held up a normal-looking flash drive in her hand.
"Then, with all due respect, why all the secrecy?" Mitch asked her. After all, it wasn't like they hadn't handled his briefings virtually before.
"Well, this mission could be one of the most influential points of your career," Stan shrugged. "So you tell me. Would you rather we go shouting to the rooftops for every nosy mother and their fucker to overhear?" So Mitch had been right. This was a mission like last time.
Irene took control of the conversation again. "As you are aware, the first lesson that every assassin learns is to never let their job get personal." Stan shook his head, crossing his arms. "But sometimes, there are circumstances where rules need to be... stretched."
"Excuse me?" Mitch asked, taken aback.
"Let me put it this way. Your next assignment will try with everything it has to become personal. You will most likely have to pretend that it is in order to get close to the target. But no matter what, you cannot let your target influence you. You will need to put your past behind you or there could be terrible consequences," Irene told him, in that forever unwavering and determined tone of hers.
Unease flooded Mitch's system, but he pushed it aside as usual. "Alright," he nodded. "So who is this mystery target?"
"I have reason to believe you know her," Irene said, holding out the flash drive.
Mitch took it from her with the barest hint of hesitance. Walking past his two superiors, he saw a computer waiting for him on the conference table. After plugging the drive, Mitch quickly found himself looking at the face of someone he thought he would never see again.
No. No, this couldn't be right.
"You'll be sent to Beacon Hills, California in the morning," Stan said as Mitch remained in silent shock. "We've already sent your little friend to scout ahead. You'll be in contact with her the entire time, and I recommend-"
"She's dead already. The target," Mitch blurted. Stan looked annoyed at the interruption but allowed him to speak. "She's been dead for years."
Irene sighed. "We know you used to live in Beacon Hills. As a former local, you of all people should know the inordinate amount of deaths and unsolved cases in that town. But never before have we seen a woman who's been dead for years... come back."
"The FBI already sent some grunts to check it out a few months ago. Didn't even get close before something made 'em sprint away, tails between their legs. It's like something or someone is out there protecting Zombie Bitch. No one's explained it. And we don't like it or trust it," Stan frowned. "Your job is to go to your old town and find your old friend. The higher-ups are thinking either you'll be familiar enough to get close to her or you'll be able to survive anything she throws at you. Find out how to make her stay dead. It seems our Angel of Death needs to recollect a soul."
Mitch nodded slowly, his face not giving away any of the panicked thoughts in his mind. He took the flash drives from Kennedy's computer and stuffed it into his jacket's pocket.
He'd contact Print when he got to his room, tell her what he needed. He wouldn't make this personal, if only for her sake. Neither of them could afford to make a mistake. He sighed, taking out the drive and staring at it.
"Welcome back, Stilinski."