A Different Call

2. Sent to Kill Her

Straight back. Feet planted. Elbows high. Don't forget to breathe.

He inhaled as his arm pulled the bowstring back until his fingers anchored at the corner of his mouth. The muscles in his arms and shoulders built up from years of honing his craft locked. Aiming, he began to exhale. Before all of his breath had left his lungs, he eased his fingers off the string. In a blur, the arrow left his bow and struck the bullseye of the target.

The archer lowered his arms and examined his shot with a practiced eye. If it had been real and not just an outline of a person, he would have pierced the heart in a kill shot. Satisfied, he walked up to the targets to retrieve his arrows.

  Time to raise the stakes, he thought to himself with a smirk as he pressed a button on the wall. Immediately, torrents emerged from the ground with blue targets glowing in their vulnerable spots. Without missing a beat, the guns sent volleys of stun shots his way.

The archer rolled out of danger. On his knees, he drew an arrow, placed it on the string, pulled back, and fired all in a blink of an eye. Before the telltale crackle of electricity shorted out the guns, he was already moving.

The archer broke into a run as a torrent peppered the floor a fraction after his foot left it. Barely even looking at it, he released another arrow as he ran and the rain of shots ceased. His reprieve only lasted a quarter of a second as the third and fourth torrent swiveled in his direction, attacking him from both sides.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, the agent bent his knees like a coiled spring and waited for the crossing fire to come to him. At the last second, he vaulted over the lasers, somersaulted in mid-air and landed; knees bent to cushion the impact, feet apart, free hand touching the floor for support. Then he was running for cover as the mindless torrents shifted direction to take him out.

The spy slid behind a deactivated torrent, effectively protecting himself as the two remaining torrents pinned him down from both sides. Slinging his bow across his chest, the archer climbed the tower silently so as not to alert the guns of his movement. Reaching the top, he crouched behind the cannon, unslung his bow and nocked an arrow.

He breathed in. As he exhaled, the archer sprang from his hiding spot and immediately shot one of the guns, then turned–an arrow set in a fraction of a second–and fired at the last cannon. Both targets fizzled and died and everything was still.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent leaped down as the torrents sank beneath the floor for the next training session. One lowered to reveal a higher ranked agent in a smart navy blue suit and black tie standing with his hands casually in his pockets.

  "Impressive, Agent Barton," the man praised. "Record time and you didn't even break a sweat. Though I'm surprised you chose training level five. We both know you can complete level twelve just as fast."

  "Didn't feel like fighting training robots today, sir," Clint replied as he collected his arrows, checking the arrowheads for damage. "And I wanted to practice keeping calm under heavy fire. It's important for an archer."

  "It's important for any agent," Phil Coulson pointed out. He took his hands out of his pockets and gestured for him to follow. "We have a new assignment for you."

Clint halted. He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow in confusion. Usually, he received his missions directly from his handler or, on rare occasion, from Deputy Director Maria Hill herself.

  "'We', sir?"

  Without breaking his stride, Coulson called over his shoulder, "Yes. Myself and Director Fury."

The director's office was located on one of the top floors of H.Q. The tall windows exhibited a stunning view of New York City as far as the eye could see. Clint found it a tempting distraction from Fury's piercing, one eyed stare. But Barton wasn't trained to back down nor was he the type. He stood before his boss in a relaxed posture–feet apart, chin up, left hand clasped over his right wrist in front of him–yet with a tone of respect.