#facethepast 02

A light overhead flickered, menacingly, like they did in the movies and the Director stood frozen like any good protagonist would, framed between the falls of the narrow corridor that lead (eventually) to a single perspective point like a Stanley Kubrick screencap. Brief reprieve over, the agent moves slowly past the doorways. A cacophony of sound washes over her: crying children and flustered parents behind door one, the murmur of a couple behind door number three. Doors five and six are quiet, but the flicker of blue that slipped out into the hallway suggests that their owners are inside, stationed in front of their televisions. Maria slows to a stop in front of a door she deems familiar in some way and pivots to face it. Her actions are not suspicious if you’re not looking hard, but she’s careful. Calculated.

It takes her less than a minute to tumble the pins in the lock using a rudimentary method that’d likely be frowned upon by any good-for-something S.H.I.E.L.D. tech. Her mouth cants. So she was a little old fashioned. Nothing wrong with that. The chain comes next and that takes a little more effort and a touch more creativity (utilizing stolen office supplies makes for an ironic touch). 

The door swings inward and she steps inside, brushing it closed again with her fingertips and half-turning to lock it again, refasten the chain. 

It’s clear that the apartment isn’t hers (obviously) and when she creeps slowly inward she’s relieved to find that the occupant isn’t home. Good. She’d rather hoped to have the element of surprise, here. It seemed like the safest way. But he’ll return soon, if her intel is accurate. Hill works quickly, pulling the firearm from the waistband of her pants and dispelling the magazine. She sets it to the side, almost lovingly, before continuing and pulling back on the slide in a quick, automatic movement to ensure no bullets had been chambered. The trigger’s released, a button is depressed, and a lever pulled- the slide comes completely off and joins the magazine on the table. She pulls out the spring, the barrel and lines those up neatly along side the receiver. 

This all happens in less than sixty seconds, and then she slides into a chair.

Several minutes go by, maybe a half hour, but Hill can be patient. There are steps outside that stop outside the door and she stiffens. A key slides into the lock and she stands, moving to the center of the room, directly in front of the door. Hands are raised and then clasped, fingers interlacing behind her head, feet are placed well apart on the floor. When the door fully opens the Director waits a beat, allowing Barnes to see her before she speaks.