Chapter Text
***
“This is Architect, calling in. Big Dog, Fringe, do you copy? Over.”
Agent Ambrose rolls his eyes at the slightly nasally tone droning in his ear through his earpiece. First mission together and this Rollins guy is already acting like he’s the leader of everything. Ambrose presses the keys of the computer with a little more force than he needs to. He let’s out a hiss of joy when several camera feeds pop up onto the screen. “This is Fringe, in position. Over.” He says, just hardly tacking on the last word.
Agent Reigns’ voice rumbles into his ear not a moment later. “Big Dog, in position, over.”
Rollins’ voice crackles back at them. “Fringe, you need to get that faux camera feed up and operational in ninety seconds, starting now. Once the camera feed is up Big Dog, you will have another ninety seconds to apprehend the target and decommission him. Understood, over?”
Ambrose can’t resist. “We all read the debriefing, Sethie,” he teases, typing furiously away. He taps his booted foot against the floor as he types, easily breaking into the camera feed and supplicating his own taken from earlier footage. Child’s play, really.
The hardly restrained sigh makes Ambrose’s mouth split into the smile. “Fringe, you know as well as I do that while under operations we are to address each other-”
Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, by our Field Names, extra layer of protection, blah blah blah, don’t get your tac-vest in a bunch.” His hand hovers over the enter key and his mouth cracks another smile. “You ready, Big Dog?”
Agent Reigns just grunts his affirmative, and Ambrose nods, agreeing.
“You have one hundred and twenty seconds…starting…now!” Ambrose smiles, clicking the enter key after only sixty seconds. The camera feeds flicker for a moment, and he watches as Big Dog goes to do what he does best. He’s seen tons of videos of the big Samoan kicking ass and taking names before they were ever teamed up, and hell, he’s never gonna get tired of seeing it.
The singular guard in the hallway doesn’t stand a chance against Agent Reigns. For such a big guy, he sure as hell moves a lot quicker and quieter than you would think. Ambrose watches with a little sick sense of glee as Reigns takes down the guard from behind before he can even lift his gun up to defend himself. Too bad he has to get out of here and can’t watch the rest of the fighting. Maybe next mission, since this one seems to be going without a hitch. He types a few other keys before pressing enter, initializing a program that will reset the computer without a single trace of him being there. After ninety seconds anyway. He stands and removes his flash drive from the computer before carefully making his way out of the room. “Remind me again why Punk just wants us to decommission the guy instead of off him?” He asks idly, slipping a hand into the pocket of his tac pants and pressing a thumb against the cube inside.
Reigns sounds hardly out of breath when he murmurs an answer. “Make a point?”
Agent Rollins doesn’t sound nearly as calm. “Fringe, if you could have let Big Dog in earlier, why didn’t-”
“He’s not gonna need the whole hundred and twenty seconds anyway,” Ambrose argues back, pressing carefully into the stairwell and climbing up towards the roof. By his calculations, he should have another one hundred and eighty seconds to meet Reigns at the getaway vehicle. “Are ya, Big Dog?” He finishes his thought as he pushes through the rooftop door and flips the cube over in his pocket before removing his hand.
“No.” Reigns responds. “Heading out, over.”
Ambrose smiles, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet before jolting into a full sprint. As he reaches the edge of the rooftop he jumps, rolling as he lands against the next rooftop and popping up only to continue running. He likes escaping across rooftops better than on the ground, something about vaulting himself over buildings with the wind in his face really makes his heart pump and his brain clear. The crackling voice in his ear however, does not. “It’s not our job to question what Punk asks of us,” Rollins says. “He knows what’s right, we’re just here to do a job. Over.”
Ambrose vaults another building before shimming down a fire escape. “Boooring~” he says as he lands on the ground next to the getaway vehicle, a black Escalade. Not very inconspicuous, but at least it blends into the alleyway a little. He slips into the back of the car and nods at the driver who ignores him. Rude. He barely gets the chance to crack his neck all the way before Agent Reigns slips into the vehicle and it pulls out of the alleyway, as calmly as anything. Reigns is still panting a little, and Ambrose doesn’t blame him. Beating up two guys in like ninety seconds then running full tilt to get the hell out of dodge can take a lot out of a guy. Ambrose offers a gloved fist over to Reigns, blinking in expectation. Reigns just gives him a look and lifts his own fist, making Ambrose smile. “Good mission.” The messy haired blonde says, bumping his fist against Reigns’.
Reigns just makes this sort of snorting noise that sounds like a scoff, but he does respond. “Good mission.”
“Big Dog, Fringe, return to base. Over.” Rollins’ voice says over the commlink.
Ambrose rolls his eyes and shoves his hand into his pocket again to press against the little cube inside, flicking one of the buttons and flipping it over in his palm. He snickers at Reigns before answering. “Yes Moooom.”
Reigns actually lets out a chuckle at that.
Rollins doesn’t. He just growls. “Agents of Sierra, Hotel, India, Echo, Lima, Delta, returning to base, over.”
A voice responds in all their commlinks. “Roger. Agents of Shield returning to base.”
***
“Why is it so hard for you to follow protocol?” Rollins asks almost as soon as Ambrose and Reigns make it back into the World Wide Espionage’s main building. Looks like he was waiting for them.
“Why is it so hard for you not to?” Ambrose asks, unable to walk away from the confrontation. The operation had gone without a hitch, so what was the big deal?
For the guy who’s the smallest of the three of them, you wouldn’t think Rollins was by the way he gets up into Ambrose’s face. “Protocol keeps operatives safe and the mission successful.”
“And I repeat…boooring.” Ambrose replies, itching his right ear with a pinky finger. A smirk pulls at his lips as he watches Rollins physically trying not to burst a blood vessel.
A voice cuts them out of their ‘argument’. “Boys, I know you’re a new team and all but can we save the fighting for when an operation actually goes sour?”
If you saw Phil Brooks on the street, you wouldn't imagine him as the leader of an elite trio of highly trained covert operatives. With dark hair almost buzzed to his skull and a piercing in his lip that moves with his smirk, it's no wonder he has the codename, ‘Punk'. He struts towards the three men, hands stuffed into his pockets. “How’s it goin’, Boss?” Ambrose asks, completely abandoning his attention from Rollins just because he knows it’ll rile the guy up. He doesn’t miss the narrowing of Rollins’ eyes or how his hands tightening into fists at his sides. Ambrose only just resists the urge to smile; this is too damn easy.
Punk grins and gestures at them with open arms. “Job was successful boys, you’ve officially completed a mission for WWE.” He crosses his arms then, shifting his weight. His brows lower over his eyes as he levels a look at the three of them. “The higher ups are pretty impressed with how smoothly and quickly you all handled that operation. They’ve got their eyes on you now, so your teamwork and communication need to be in top form.”
Ambrose feels Rollins shoot him a look out of the corner of his eye, but the tawny haired man resolutely ignores it. He nods at Punk to continue.
Punk’s lips stretch into another grin. “I told them I knew what I was doing when I picked you three, but hey, you know higher ups, always gotta be ‘sure’ of stuff.” Punk gestures with his head for them to follow as he turns, and just like a good little boy scout, Rollins immediately follows after him, keeping pace as Punk continues to speak. Ambrose glances at Reigns, who meets his look before they both follow after the other two. “Since they were so impressed, they’re gonna put you three in a sort of-uh-trial period.” Punk sneers a little bit when he says it, looking as though he’s barely resisting rolling his eyes.
The World Wide Espionage building is bigger than it looks, with levels upon levels underground. Everything from arms rooms to barracks, to gyms and offices, their company has it all. Only the best for what the Espionage business has to offer. Despite the sheer size and layout of the building, Punk seems to have no trouble navigating through the hallways as he leads his boys to, God knows where. “What does the trial period entail?” Rollins asks quickly, hanging on Punk’s every word.
Punk sighs as they walk. “From what I understand, you’ll be placed on several operations of varying types over the course of a couple of months or so-again never know with the higher ups could be longer-” The four approach a door, and Punk easily pulls a badge out of his pocket and scans it underneath the light on the keypad. With a quick punch of a code and a scan of his thumbprint, the door opens with a hiss and the four continue walking. “And you’ll be evaluated on the success of those operations as a team, as well as an individual.”
Ambrose frowns. “This is bullshit. If they’re just gonna try to throw us out in the first months anyway, why the hell even bring us up to WWE?”
Punk finally stops walking, and Ambrose only just stops himself from running into the back of Rollins. He glances at the door they’ve stopped in front of, and the words ‘CM PUNK’ are etched into the glass. Said man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Trust me, I find it as annoying as you do. If you didn’t have any potential you wouldn’t have been brought up. Every operative goes through a trial period, especially those in a Stable.”
Rollins nods, “To ensure that they can work as a Stable or be better as a singular operative.”
Punk points with a nod of his own. “Exactly. If the trial period goes on without a hitch, then the Shield will be the best Stable in WWE.”
“Damn straight.” Reigns finally speaks.
With another badge, code and thumbprint, the door to Punk’s office opens, and he gestures for the other men inside.
The three operatives had been in Punk’s office several times before, and it hasn’t changed much after any of the times. The pristine white walls with equally pristine furniture looks far too sterile for a man like Punk.
Dean watches his superior closely, and while the sure and confident stride tips him off that the man knows his way around his office, the lack of anything too personal decorating the room shows his nature. He’s a field operative through and through. Too personal and you can give yourself away to strangers, which in this business, is quite a big no-no.
“A lot of people are in the sphere of thinking where being teammates stops outside of operations and training.” Punk says, tracing a finger lightly across his desk as he steps around it. “I, however am of a different realm of thought than others. I believe the most successful stables, are those that fight together, train together, travel together, live together.” The man then leans against his desk, his arms crossed. “Do you understand where I'm heading?”
Surprisingly Reigns is the first to answer. “You want us to live together.” He says flatly, quirking a brow just a hair. Ambrose figures it's the most emotive he's been all day. The blonde frowns, with how controlling and annoying Rollins had been just during their first mission, he can't imagine what it must be like to live with the guy. Sure, the three of them work together well and they were the most compatible when it came to their varying strengths, but working together and living together are two entirely different beings. Then again, that was Punk’s point, wasn’t it?
“What about keeping personal and professional lives separate?” Ambrose asks. “I thought that was another layer of protection for the agency and ourselves.”
Punk’s brows raise and his lips twitch in a smirk. “I want you guys to be more than just another Stable. I want you to be brothers, in arms or otherwise. You wanna get far in WWE? I've found no better way than this.”
Rollins’ clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Nexus―”
“The reason Nexus didn't end up working out is due to the fact that we stopped thinking of each other as family, and more like they were my lackeys.” Punk sharply interrupts, his gaze snapping to him. Rollins’ mouth audibly clicks shut. Ambrose chuckles, he looks like a kid who just got scolded for interrupting when it wasn't his turn to speak. Punk sighs and runs a hand through his hair again. “Look, I learned my lesson with Nexus, and I'm passing that knowledge onto you boys. I've seen this work, and if it doesn't…well…I hope to see you all become great singular operatives.”
Ambrose has to admit, in it's prime, Nexus―with Punk at the lead―was nigh unstoppable. There was nothing anyone could throw at them that they couldn't overcome. They seemed like the perfect stable…until they weren't. Ambrose had heard all the stories, the rumors about why Nexus had disbanded, but it was all speculation, information above his pay grade and all that. Never bothered him overmuch however. He didn't get involved in Espionage for the money.
“So the trial period never gets mentioned in Developmental so that no one chickens out,” Rollins mutters, frowning. Why the hell should he even care? He was at the very top of their group of Developmental operatives, he wasn’t going to chicken out for shit. Ambrose grumbles, shifting his weight back and forth. He wasn’t quitting over something idiotic like this. “What happens if we fail the trial period as a team?”
Punk chuckles. “I figured you’d ask that. Another trial period as a singular operative.” He answers easily, his lips pulled tightly into a smile.
“And what if we fail that?” Reigns asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Ambrose sees the flex in his biceps, the stiffness in his shoulders. Big Dog is starting to lose his cool.
Punk’s smile only pulls tighter. “You know what happens.”
No one dares say it aloud, but they all know what’s being said here.
You fail, and you disappear.
No one ever asks how.
Punk’s face lifts however, and he pushes himself out of his lean and strides towards the three. “I wouldn’t let that worry you boys.” He says, and gestures with open arms, as if offering a hug. None of the operatives move. “If you three don't want to do this my way fine, we’ll walk out of here and continue on the trial period and see where we go, no questions asked.” Punk levels a stare at the three men before him. “There is just so much potential in all of you, Stable or not, and I would hate for it to go to waste.”
Reigns, Ambrose and Rollins all trade glances with one another from their respective places in the room. Ambrose’s stare lingers on Rollins and vice versa. In the intense stares, they seem to come to an understanding. The three of them all came here―albeit for different reasons―to achieve something. Whether they like it or not, for the time being, they're teammates, and they're gonna be the best damn Stable in the entirety of WWE.
“Let’s do it.” Reigns says, leveling Punk with the same intense stare.
Punk smiles with his teeth now.
“Dean, Seth, Roman. Pack your bags, you're officially roommates.”