Running up the stair case that led to the basement, his trained steps silent, Adam took a brief scout of the deserted environment.
"Good." he muttered to himself as he swiftly made his way to the restroom at the far end of the lobby.
Entering one of the stalls, the fixer, gently raised the ceramic lid of the water closet.
Stored within it was a small, black, water-proof pouch, no bigger than an adult’s clenched fist.
Carefully retrieving it, Adam fixed the lid quietly, his movements meticulous.
’Alright…’ he pulled open the strap of the pouch, retrieving its contents.
’… on to the next.’ he slipped on shadow-black synthetic gloves and pocketed a lighter, a needle, a thin wire coil, lock picks, and a tactical knife.
In the next second, Adam was out of the restroom stall, his goal in sight.
The cheers of everyone in the basement rang louder, prompting the fixer to inwardly comment as he briskly walked across the lobby;
’Minute and a half. Right on time…’
With a cool disposition despite the beads of sweat slowly forming atop his head, Adam gave another careful look over at the lobby, his senses slightly heightened.
Confirming that there was indeed no one around, his quick strides carried him past the cafeteria on the opposite end of the wide lobby as he proceeded to round another corner.
Walking down a short passage that led to the kitchen, the fixer arrived by its door.
Squatting to the level of its keyhole, pulling out his lock picks, Adam got down to work.
And with a soft, peculiar click a few seconds later, the door slightly opened.
’So far so good…’ he thought to himself as he walked in.
’Now for the last sprint…’ Adam looked around the dimly lit kitchen, not willing to switch on its lights.
With immediate alacrity, he moved towards the gas cylinders, lightly puncturing their tubes with the needle to let the gas out.
As the thick smell of the gas filled the kitchen, susceptible to engulfing in flames peradventure even the slightest single spark arose, the fixer meticulously fiddled with the flip-style lighter in his hands.
Hooking the wire coil to the lighter’s wheel, Adam was planning to stabilize it near the kitchen’s slab and close to the gas cooker, one he would then anchor and tightly secure to the knob of the kitchen’s door as a pull-trigger.
With the gas already saturating the room, all that would be needed was a light tug on the string to cause the tiniest of sparks to ignite the air and trigger a massive explosion, long after he was away.
Unfortunately, whatever unfortunate soul ended up opening the door, that was their luck.
It was a crude and effective, while also being a diabolical and heartless trap.
Yet, it was a staple in the fixer’s skill set. A classic invisible hand of destruction, one that left no trace of tampering once everything went up in a blazing inferno.
’Done!’ the fixer inwardly remarked, carefully turning around as he planned to hook the string to the door knob.
The lights in the kitchen suddenly came on, a familiar voice, evidently relaxed as it stated;
"Fancy little trick you got there, Adam."
Adam froze in his steps, his gaze slowly raising up with the same coolness he’d been working with.
And leaning on the beam of the slightly ajar door, a light smile of amusement in his sapphire irises, was Kyle.
He was still dressed in the exosuit yes, but the boots were off, leaving him barefooted.
As Adam noticed this, he figured out just why he hadn’t heard him arrive.
’No boots. No sound. Tiled floors. Shit!’
But more that that…
’Why is he here?!’ the thought slammed through Adam’s mind, yet outwardly, he remained impassive…
Almost.
A bead of sweat, trailed from his temple, pooled downwards and rolled towards his chin, a single dripping sound, filling up the ambience in the room.
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It betrayed his seemingly unfazed demeanor.
And Kyle noticed this.
So he smiled.
"Now, pray do tell…" he thoughtfully mused aloud, one brow arched in mock curiosity;
"…what exactly are you up to, Adam?"
Another wave of tense silence descended between the man caught in the act and the man who caught the fixer in the act.
About a few seconds of silence passed between both men, another drip of sweat, adding to the tension between the two.
And then Kyle’s demeanor switched up in an instant, the light of amusement in his eyes, fading in an instant as he spoke;
"Alright Vance,"
"Playtime’s over." the young man’s chilly cold voice, sent shivers up Vance’s spine as he realized that his cover must’ve long been blown if Kyle knew his real name.
Not the least bit perturbed, Kyle inquired further, his tone leaving no room for games;
"Lex sent you, didn’t he?"
Vance gritted his teeth, his unfazed demeanor cracking.
Kyle took notice.
"Good." he commented, pushing off the beam as he closed the door behind him.
"Now, we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way." the young man took a step closer, his voice cool but edged with something dangerous that set alarm bells off in the fixer’s head.
"Either you tell me everything you know about Lex— and I don’t mean the surface-level crap, I’m sure you understand." he took another step closer, his almost terrifying demeanor, alongside the still bloodied make-up on his face, forcing the fixer’s glare to sharpen.
"Or…" Kyle continued, his tone darkening;
"…I can hand you over to the authorities and let them squeeze the answers out of you in the most excruciating ways imaginable. With the shit you’ve done, I’m sure they’d love to have you in custody."
"Your choice, Vance." the young man concluded.
And no sooner had he said that, a low, chilling chuckle escaped his lips.
It was quiet, it was deliberate, but most of all, it was eerily reminiscent of something Alex Hunt would do.
Yet at the same time, it was all Kyle.
The young man, typically, wasn’t the resentful kind, especially because he’d never felt the need to reciprocate people’s ill will towards him.
After all, he was the type to believe karma would eventually do its thing to those deserving of it.
But it was another ball game entirely when his people were being targeted.
Atlas, or more specifically Lex, had pretty much been poking and prodding at Kyle for the longest while now and he purposely let them, hoping they’d back off when they got tired.
But it seemed like the CEO of the industry juggernaut had severely underestimated the cold fury of a patient man whom had now realized that he had to take drastic measures to keep his people safe.
That cold fury, manifested completely in Kyle’s current demeanor, one that had Vance, notably terrified as he quietly gulped.
Yet, despite being overwhelmed with fear, the fixer, in a skilled, professional manner, retrieved his tactical knife in a swift, practiced motion, the metal glinting in a semi-circular arc as he tried to slash Kyle.
But then it happened.
A resounding thwack echoed in the room!
Like a blur, Kyle’s slap, brutal and disgustingly powerful, sent the fixer swaying unconsciously and staggering sideways!
As Vance forcefully steadied himself with a bite to his tongue, his tactical knife at the ready as he pressed forward to attack again, all that he remembered before being knocked out, was the circular build of a frying pan, slamming right into his temple.
And as Kyle watched the fixer’s figure get knocked out, he let out a curious expression as he stared at the makeshift weapon in his right hand.
Prior to this moment, Oliver whom he had sent an SOS text just in case things went south between he and Vance, arrived at the scene.
And alongside Jeff, Owen and Xavier, they had all witnessed the moment Kyle whipped up the frying pan at an alarming speed and whacked it right into Adam’s temple in double quick time.
Noticing them, the young star, with a genuinely curious expression on his features, turned around and stated aloud;
"Frying pans! Trusty ol’ little thing, amirite?!"
…
…
…
Having rounded up filming for the day, the rest of Kyle’s team, alongside Cass, Sharon, Lily and Clint, took to visiting Kyle’s office (not at the studio) as he had requested for them via text.
In said text, he had also highlighted how he had apprehended Adam whom had been up to no-good on set and how he’d purposely decided to stay quiet to ensure filming went smoothly on set.
So, when the fixer had woken up a few hours later in the nice-looking office, complete with various eyes of disdain angled in his direction, he pretty much knew he was doubly screwed.
And so, repeating his words again, Kyle had asked of the fixer if he was willing to cooperate this time or if he preferred, rotting in a prison for the rest of his life.
Without resistance, Vance, fully agreed to the choice that was of the most benefit to him and that was how Kyle, got so much dirt on Lex than he could admit he’d know what to do with.
But first and foremost, he needed to send a warning.
One that would essentially, shake the very foundations of he and Lex’s interactions.
* * *
(A few days later…)
Lex had arrived back in L.A after an extended business meeting that ran for a fair few days.
And like the busy man he was, he had gotten straight to attending to his other business matters, specifically those that involved [Fables & Legends] post-production.
Unsurprisingly, he’d heard that Martin O. Ronan hadn’t been too happy with what they’d done after he’d watched an unrated cut of the movie but Lex couldn’t care less honestly.
They were, after all, planning to milk [Fables & Legend] as a seven-part franchise.
In any case, as the CEO kept sorting through the many documents which had piled up in his brief absence, Donna soon walked into the office to hand him a letter that she classified as ’urgent’.
And so, casually receiving the letter, glazing over the sender’s details, Lex’s eyes creased in victory, a smug smile curling on his lips.
But after unfurling the message in the envelope which had a flash drive encased within, his smile faltered when he read the singular large text that greeted him;
[Lawyer up, douchebag. You’re gonna need it.]
Swiftly, he plugged the flash drive into his laptop and the moment its contents were shown, the CEO of the industry juggernaut, still maintained an outwardly impassive expression…
… only to quietly suck in a sharp breath, a cold sweat breaking on his forehead as he thought to himself;
’Fuck.’