Agent 47
Reckless Driving || Yet another delay.
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It was a cold winter during one of 47’s international missions when he decided he’d had enough of his career. The agent’s hands were tightly clenched around the steering wheel as he drove to the highway leading to an Irish airport, snow falling from the sky in a mockingly calm spectacle. He’d had enough of the agency ever since he’d shot Diana and helped Victoria escape the fate that would’ve led her to a future akin to his. He’d not let anyone know about his disappearance, not let anyone face the same dangers as Father Vittorio back in Sicily. External ties would only hold him back and hurt those around him, like they always did.
Fate played a cruel joke, however, as ’s car skidded on the road’s thin ice and collided with his. Both crashed to the side of the highway, metal mangled together in what seemed an accident severe enough to render both cars useless. 47’s first instincts were to flee the scene, ensure no one saw who’d just been hit, yet he was rooted to the spot as soon as he spotted the other driver carrying another smaller person out of the opposite vehicle.
She was crying. Loud. The noise was enough to make 47 scan the tree line out of reflex; no movement, no figures, no indication this was anything other than what it appeared to be. An accident. He exhaled slowly and stepped out of his car, boots meeting the ice with practiced care, and crossed the short distance between the two vehicles without urgency. His gaze moved from the frightened passenger to briefly, taking in his condition with the same detached efficiency he'd apply to any variable in any situation, before settling back on the wreckage. Both cars were finished, that much was obvious. It seemed like no one was going anywhere that day.