Chapter Text
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Dr. Poppy Li, a scientist at the Astrobotany Research Center, turned around in her chair to face Dr. Chan, who was sitting next to her and absentmindedly clicking his pen as he stared at his computer screen. “Can you stop clicking your pen? Some of us here are trying to do work.”
“Sorry, bad habit,” Chan apologized, placing his pen down on the desk next to his keyboard. He hardly even glanced at Poppy when he spoke, and Poppy frowned, wheeling her chair closer to Chan’s to get a better look at his screen.
“Are you looking at weird serial killer shit again? Is that a new case?” Poppy stuck her face near Chan’s screen, and Chan exited out of the tab he had opened of a news story detailing a new killing that had taken place last night. The latest killing hadn’t been confirmed to be the work of the Silent Killer. But then again, none of the Silent Killer’s killings had been confirmed to be firmly linked to them; for now, it was all speculation and winding threads of theories on Reddit. The Silent Killer was just that good.
“For the record, it isn’t ‘weird serial killer’ shit. I just like researching stuff about the Silent Killer. Whoever he is, he has the stealthiest way of killing people. Like his kill with the poison-infused tea bag? Only a genius could’ve thought of that,” Chan remarked with a tone of admiration as he took a sip out of his cup of coffee.
“More like a psychopath.” Poppy grimaced at the images Chan pulled up on his computer of the Silent Killer’s previous killings. She wheeled her chair back to her desk to look at some not-so-gory images of plant samples. “Remind me not to spend too much time around you.”
“Will do,” Chan half-heartedly promised as he continued to pull up old cases of murders suspected to be the work of the Silent Killer and compared them side-by-side with the most recent suspect killing. He’d gotten so caught up in his research that he’d forgotten about the actual research he needed to be doing.
In fact, Chan didn’t even notice that most people had left until Dr. Adrian Mallory, the head scientist of Chan’s unit, tapped him on the shoulder. At Mallory’s gesture, Chan quickly opened a spreadsheet with experimental data to cover up the pages of cases he was digging through. Mallory cast a suspicious glance at the computer screen but didn’t question it as he reminded, “Chan since you’re staying late, keep an eye out for Dr. Wolf, okay?”
“Mhm. Yeah, I will.” Chan nodded disinterestedly as he looked back at his computer screen, eager to return to working on his passion project.
“I’m serious.” Mallory lowered his voice and leaned closer to Chan as he added, “Grabaston told me that Dr. Wolf is doing research about military applications of astrobotany and this puts her in danger of being attacked by agents from other countries who don’t want her finding out information that could be used against them. He even put more security guards at the door to protect Dr. Wolf. See?”
Chan followed Mallory’s gaze and saw that there were, in fact, two new security guards positioned at the entrance of the lab in addition to the usual two. Mallory looked behind him to check that Dr. Wolf was still unsuspectingly typing at her computer before concluding, “If anything happens to Dr. Wolf, Grabaston’s gonna fire you and then me. As the person running this place, Grabaston’s going to look for somebody to blame the situation on and it'll probably be us since we’re in charge of this unit. So, look out for Dr. Wolf, got it?”
“Yep. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine,” Chan reassured, turning around to face his computer again. “Night, Dr. Mallory.”
“Night, Dr. Chan.” With that, Dr. Mallory walked out of the laboratory, leaving Chan and Dr. Wolf in the lab together. Out of the corner of his eye, Chan glanced at Dr. Wolf, who was furrowing her eyebrows together as she read the words on her computer screen. He couldn’t possibly imagine what someone would want with a boring scientist like her.
Maybe Grabaston was just exaggerating her value to make himself feel important. Grabaston constantly bragged about his family’s connections to the government, and even though the Astrobotany Research Center was only loosely tied to the government, Grabaston took every chance to mention it, most likely to make up for the fact that he was the only member of his family that didn’t hold an important role in the government.
Whatever Grabaston’s reason was, Chan couldn’t bring himself to care as he had more important matters at hand. More specifically, using the bathroom. The scientist was fully aware that he would be leaving Dr. Wolf alone in the lab as he stood up and walked out of the lab to use the bathroom down the hall near the other research rooms, but he figured that if shit really went down, the four buff security guards would be able to handle it.
Before doing his business, Chan walked past the mirror and noticed that a strand of hair on the right side of his hair was dangling out of place. Chan stopped by the sink and pulled his hair into a bun with the rubber band he had wrapped around his wrist, unable to resist the urge to wait until later to take care of it. He made a face, uncertain of whether it looked better like that. Just as Chan was checking himself out in the mirror, a man in a lab coat walked out of a bathroom and began washing his hands as he observed Chan. He had pale skin and dark, luscious black hair perfectly arranged in a swoop.
Just as Chan was about to undo his bun and settle on his decision, and the man commented, “You should keep your hair like that. It looks nice.”
Stunned at the man’s unprovoked judgment, Chan stared at the man, watching him shake the water droplets off his hands before wiping them dry with a paper towel. The pesky loose strand of hair fell out of place, and the man nonchalantly brushed it back into place for Chan. Chan didn’t recognize the man at all; he must’ve been a scientist working at another part of the building, maybe in one of the rooms down the hall. Yet, there was something familiar about the man that Chan couldn’t identify as if they had met in a past life.
Chan remained frozen as the man walked past him and only regained awareness once the bathroom door slammed shut. Chan shook his head, brushing off the experience, and walked into a bathroom stall.
When he returned to the lab, Chan expected to find the four security guards standing by the door, completely unharmed. Instead, he was greeted with the gruesome sight of the security guard’s bodies lying on the floor, fresh, bright blood oozing out of their wounds. He grimaced as he stepped over the bodies and saw that Dr. Wolf was slumped on her desk with a knife stuck in her back. For a moment, Chan stared at the dead body of his co-worker. Then, he screamed.
~
Once all the bodies had been taken to the morgue, Grabaston called Chan and Mallory into a meeting, and by Grabaston’s side was Angela Ali, a representative from Secret Services. Chan refused to look up from the table, sensing the disapproval in Grabaston’s gaze, and he threaded his fingers together to keep them from shaking. As hard as he tried to forget them, the images of the dead bodies were fresh in his mind.
Nobody had made a move to comfort Chan. Even Mallory, who usually supported Chan, told the scientist that if they were both fired, Mallory called dibs on calling Grabaston a “dick-swab” because he’d been waiting to dunk on him for ages. So, Chan wasn’t very reassured that all would be well because he was most likely going to lose his job after walking in on five dead bodies.
“You had one job, and you were too distracted by your pretend-work of researching that ‘Silent Killer’ you’re always going on about to do your actual job. You know what this means,” Grabaston stated and Chan lifted his eyes to glare at his boss (or rather, soon-to-be ex-employer). Angela watched Chan carefully, a pensive expression on her face.
Chan bitterly demanded, “How is this my fault?”
Sighing, Grabaston leaned forward and argued, “Well, it’s someone’s fault and it certainly isn’t mine. So, I’m sorry, Chan but-”
“You’re a dick-swab,” Chan interrupted, unable to contain his fury.
Mallory raised his eyebrows and glanced over at his second-in-command as he protested “Hey, I said I was going to call him that.”
Grabaston glanced between the two scientists, completely stunned, and snarled as he slammed his hand against the table. “Both of you are fired. Get out. Now.”
Without a fight, Chan and Mallory both stood up and hurried out of the meeting room, and Chan reluctantly returned home, fixed himself a cup of coffee, and sat on the couch to watch a murder mystery TV show (and people were still surprised to learn that Chan was obsessed with the Silent Killer).
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. When Chan opened the door, prepared to find a person delivering a package. Instead, he opened the door to find Angela standing at his doorstep, her hands tucked inside the pockets of her tan coat. “You’re the guy who got fired from his job for not protecting Wolf, right? Dr. Chan Kaifang?”
“Actually, it’s Dr. Kaifang Chan, but yes, that’s me.” Chan awkwardly answered and cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I think you need some bread. Let’s go to the grocery store.”
Although Chan was about to protest, he stopped when he saw the steely look in Angela’s eyes and grabbed a coat before following Angela down the street. As Chan and Angela walked to the local grocery store, Angela made small talk by asking Chan some questions about his personal life. Obviously, Chan found this strange but answered her questions, wondering if this was some sort of test conducted by the Secret Services.
Once Chan and Angela walked into the grocery store and headed to the empty aisle of bread, Chan gestured to the loaves of bread. “So, um, do you want some bread or-?”
“We think he’s been operating for two years across ten countries. He’s highly skilled and untraceable. Lately, he’s starting to show off,” Angela remarked, catching Chan off-guard. Even though Angela didn’t directly reference what she was talking about, Chan knew exactly who she was referring to. Offering a small smile, Angela concluded, “When you’re feeling better, let’s get some breakfast together at the Purple Penguin restaurant near Charing Cross. Thursday. 9 am. I’ll wait for ten minutes.”
Chan blinked in shock but managed a nod to show that he understood. Angela stood up a little taller and gestured to the shelf. “Great. Buy some bread.”
Grabbing a loaf of bread off of the shelf, Chan thought to himself, Today is the weirdest fucking day.
~
“Bonjour,” came the greeting from the neighbor he’d never spoken to as he headed towards the building he was staying in at the moment.
“Salut,” Tony replied offhandedly, turning his face away slightly to hide the bruising lining his eye from the night before. Don’t be mistaken, Tony hadn’t had any particular difficulty with that job - he just got bored sometimes (most times), and fucked around a little too much.
The night before, the job had been done in an office building. It wasn’t extremely clean, but Tony got in and out easily, which was really all that mattered to him. He’d received the blow from a man that had been crawling away from him between the cubicles. He’d picked up a landline phone on the desk and chucked it at Tony’s head, apologizing immediately after (Tony had begun to reach into his jacket for his gun). Tony had finished the man off soon after, sighing as he watched the light drain from his eyes. Admittedly, Tony didn’t feel any sympathy for him - he had begged Tony to show him mercy, crying that he had children and such (it was the usual pleas, Tony heard them quite often from many of his victims), yet there was still this creeping feeling of downright dullness after the death. Tony had sat in a nearby office chair after he knew the man was dead and toyed with a pen he found on a desk, looking around, searching for something that would entertain him.
In the present, Tony was unsuccessful at hiding his face from his neighbor - she quickly asked him what happened in French - he asked if she spoke English, as that was the language he preferred to speak in at the moment. She said yes, but not well, so he continued the conversation in English.
“I’m fine,” he told her, speaking in his natural, Russian accent, not bothering to feign a different one. He looked the woman up and down, noting her mid-length blonde hair and plain style of dress. “I like your earrings,” Tony noted, before turning to walk up the steps.
“Thank you, I made them myself!” The woman called after him in a thick French accent. “My name is Britta!”
Tony continued up the steps without looking back. As soon as he entered his apartment, he was taken aback - Naird, the caretaker assigned to him, was standing in the middle of his kitchen. He nodded at Naird and moved around him to open the refrigerator, taking strawberries out and placing them in the blender. “You know, it’s not very endearing to break into my apartment. It’s rude, really,” Tony said to the other man, scoffing to himself.
“What happened to your eye?” was the response he received.
“Oh, well, I thought it looked nice with my ensemble,” Tony said, gesturing to his blazer, which was adorned with a floral pattern that, quite honestly, did match the color scheme of his black eye.
“So, you’re in my apartment because…?” Tony asked, looking over at Naird.
“I want you to get assessed,” Naird replied bluntly. Tony rolled his eyes, looking away from his caretaker.
“London was-” Tony cut Naird off, clamping down the top and turning on the blender. He stared at the other man for a few seconds while the blender whirred, smiling slightly. As soon as the blender stopped, Naird continued.
“-supposed to look like a suicide.”
“It was close enough,” Tony replied, pouring his smoothie into a glass.
“So she killed four other people, too?” Naird asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You never know!” Tony responded, smiling and bringing the glass to his lips.
“Why are you doing this, Tony?”
“Ah, don’t worry. I’m plenty excited for the next job,” Tony said, waving a hand.
“No. You’re not getting any more jobs until you’re assessed,” Naird told him firmly.
“Oh, come on!” Tony whined. Is it going to be the usual guy?”
“Yes,” Naird replied, still carrying an annoyed tone.
“I’ll wear my good suit, then,” Tony replied, winking.
—
Tony sat forward on the psychiatrist’s couch, elbows on his knees - he was wearing a bright pink suit with a white ascot tied around his neck. He huffed, boredly, as he waited for the questions to start. He lifted his head when the man in front of him started talking, leaning back and crossing his legs.
“There are concerns about your state of mind,” the man began.
“I’m sure there are,” Tony replied, smirking slightly.
“Have you been feeling down at all? Any anxiety?”
“Oh, I don’t know - I have an anxiety inducer right here,” he said, gesturing to Naird. Naird rolled his eyes.
“When was the last time you worked?” The psychiatrist asked, unbothered by Tony’s behavior.
“Yesterday.”
“Was it successful?”
“Of course. I watched him die, it was the definition of success.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“A bit.” Tony shrugged. “He said he had a family.”
“How did you feel when he said that?”
“A bit annoyed, if I’m being honest,” Tony noted, scoffing. “Waste of my time.”
“What do you see in this picture?” the psychiatrist asked, pulling a paper off his desk and holding it up. Tony recognized the method - it was the Rorschach test, but instead of blots, the picture was of a dead man. Tony studied the photo for a few seconds before putting a hand over his mouth and widening his eyes. He shook his head a couple of times for good measure, pretending to have a panic attack.
“I’m sorry, I…” Tony trailed off and burst into laughter, pointing at the psychiatrist, who had a slightly concerned look that Tony could have been imagining plastered onto his features. “Your face!”
“He’s fine,” the psychiatrist said to Naird, putting the photo away. Tony stood up, grinning, and went to high five the psychiatrist, rolling his eyes and high-fiving his own hand when the man ignored him.
“Thank you!” he called as he walked out the door, giddy.
—
Tony’s next job was the following day. He found himself in a large, old building at a rather fancy event - he was posing as a server, so he was wearing a plain white long sleeve button up with a black tie along with black pants. He was also adorned with a dirty blonde wig, which he had vehemently opposed to wearing (“I’m a terrible blonde!”) but had put on anyway at Naird’s request.
He had been pouring various drinks and taking various meals to the event’s attendees before heading down the stairs to the basement where his target (a very rich man named Ian Grimm) was - another worker had tried to stop him, saying that no workers were allowed down there, but Tony had cut him off by telling him that he was bringing down a comb for Grimm, as he had requested, at which point the man had nodded and walked away.
Tony walked into the men’s bathroom and immediately saw his target fixing his hair in the mirror. He walked into the room Grimm was in, getting his attention in French.
“Pardon?” Tony asked.
“Yes?” Ian returned, turning to look at him in the doorway.
“So sorry to bother you, but if it’s alright, I’d like to tell you about my company,” he said, feigning innocence. “I’ve heard you invest in pharmaceuticals and beauty products. I have a perfume that I think-”
“No thank you,” Ian replied curtly, cutting him off and looking back to the mirror. He sighed, pulling a sample out of his pocket and walking over to him.
“Listen, I don’t have much money, and I don’t have any family connections. I just need to get my start in the business, that’s all. Just like you did.” Tony sat next to him, looking down at his hands. “I’m not sure where else to start, and I’m just so tight on money…” his voice broke as he trailed off. The assassin looked at his target and set the perfume bottle on the table. “I named the perfume after you. Grimm .” Ian smiled slightly at this, looking down at the bottle. He took the top off, and Tony stood, smiling excitedly while taking a step back.
“I don’t like the ‘walk into it’ method,” Ian commented before spraying some on his wrist.
“Oh, me neither,” Tony replied, putting a hand over his mouth discreetly.
“I don’t smell anything,” Ian commented after smelling his wrist, looking up at Tony. “But I do wish you good luck,” he said before looking down abruptly, as though he had been hit with a wave of sickness. Tony took another step back and grinned behind his palm.
Ian groaned and clutched at his chest, blinking as though dizzy. He began to cough repeatedly, all while Tony looked on. Ian signaled to Tony to get help while gasping for breath, but Tony simply tilted his head, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. He watched as the other man gave him a look of betrayal before collapsing to the ground, motionless.
Tony took the perfume off the table and knelt next to his target, smiling slightly as he checked the man’s pulse to ensure that the job was done. He waved the other man’s hand, laughing. “Bye-bye,” he mocked. Once the pulse slowed to stopping, Tony dropped Ian’s hand to the floor and stood back up, placing the bottle in his pocket and leaving.
—
When Tony got home that night, he received a sudden shock in the form of Naird - just before he opened the door to his apartment, he felt rough hands turn him around and pin him against the wall, grasping his neck. Tony gasped and stared down at Naird, wildly confused.
“I’m cutting your allowance,” Naird told him, obviously angry.
“Oh, please don’t,” Tony replied sarcastically, his voice raspy from Naird’s chokehold.
A knock on the door interrupted their argument - Naird let go of Tony’s neck and turned just in time as Britta, the neighbor Tony had met the other day (and, admittedly, met again that night, although it was rather unsatisfying), came through the door.
“Hello?” she greeted.
“Hi,” Tony and Naird replied at the same time as Tony rubbed his neck.
“Uh, this is my brother,” Tony said quickly. “He has a condition. Terrible, really.”
“Oh! I-I’m sorry to hear that,” Britta responded. “I’m Britta,” she said, walking up to Naird to shake his hand. “I’m a friend of Ben,” he said (Ben was the false name Tony had given her on the night they spent together).
“Nice to meet you,” Naird replied. He put up a good facade, but Tony knew he wasn’t happy with him - and, truthfully, Tony didn't really care.
“Did he like the perfume?” Britta asked Tony, smiling.
“Yes, it went well,” Tony replied, smiling at the blonde.
”That’s incredible! Can I smell it?” Britta exclaimed, an excited look on her face.
”Uh-“
“Should I come back later?” Naird interrupted, looking pointedly at Britta.
“Oh - um, should I come back later?” Britta asked back, looking between the two of them.
“That’s a great idea!” Naird exclaimed, ushering Britta out the door as Tony sighed.
Naird, after closing the door, stared at Tony, with a look that Tony took as “What the fuck is wrong with you?”.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Tony told him, crossing his arms.
“You need to take care of her,” Naird replied bluntly.
“You have to start trusting me,” Tony said, eyeing Naird as he began walking towards the couch. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and put it against the older man’s throat - almost immediately, Naird took out his own and did the same to Tony. Tony raised his eyebrows, plastering a look of shock onto his face.
“I’m down to fight,” Tony told Naird. “But you’re old as hell, and you’ll get tired first. If you die, I’ll just get sent another one of you,” Tony whispered.
“I thought you worried about me,” Naird said, knife still pressed against his throat. Tony laughed. “You’re very dramatic, you know,” his handler continued. Tony tilted his head.
“You’re hiding something. Tell me.”
“A man is leading a department in London to find you,” Naird obliged, rolling his eyes at Tony’s grin. “This isn’t a good thing. It’s a closed operation - we don’t know what they know, but we know that they’re looking for you.” Tony lifted the knife off of the older man’s throat.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You need to be subtle,” Naird returned.
“I can be subtle!” Tony exclaimed. He walked away and went to the fridge, grabbing two beer bottles and pouring some into two cups before sitting on the couch.
“What’s his name?” Tony asked, curious.
“Kaifang Chan.”
“Kaifang Chan,” Tony repeated, opening the bottle and gasping as liquid went everywhere.
“Nothing will change, I just need you to be more aware,” Naird told him, ignoring the beer.
“Oh, please,” Tony scoffed. “I’m always aware.”
As if on cue, there was a thud in the hallway. Tony and Naird both hurried over to the door, opening it to see Britta motionless, lying on the ground with the perfume bottle from Tony’s discarded backpack next to her. Tony stared for a few seconds before shrugging.
“Taken care of.”
An hour or so later, Tony, freshly showered, was sitting in his bed, his laptop out on his lap. He typed “Kaifang Chan” into the search bar lazily, going to the images tab and running a hand through his hair. He scrolled through pictures, none of them resembling anyone who could be a detective (not in this century, anyway). Resorting to the “All” tab, Tony clicked on a link entitled “Chan Family Tree.” He sat up quickly as soon as he saw the image plastered on the first page - in the front, on the edge of the picture, was the same man he had seen in the bathroom just a few days before. The one whose hair he’d fixed. He zoomed in to be sure, and he smiled slightly, in disbelief more than anything else. That was definitely the same guy. He set his laptop aside, shocked, and laid back, staring at the ceiling.
“Well,” he said to himself. “This’ll be interesting.”