Footsteps. Killgrave melded into the wall at his back, the first signs of sweat glistening on his forehead and smooth-shaven face. Melvin Potter stood at the other side of an intersection in the facility, a T-junction connecting the outer corridors and a passage into the receiving bay for deliveries. Coincidence had been married to opportunity when the Shadow Conquerors were formulating this plan - Potter was stationed as a security guard for the side entrance on the west side of the facility, and beyond those doors was the position of the new guard - the late Sokovian that Potter had viciously murdered - and the hallways he was assigned to monitor. Killgrave was garbed in an identical copy of an official government uniform. It had been one of the foremost issues, as the man chosen for the new guard position was much smaller than Zebediah, and they had no other opportunity to acquire another official outfit. However, Potter had stepped up then, stating with an unperturbed hubris that he was '
pretty skilled at costume designing'.
The approaching footsteps belonged to, as far as Killgrave could guess, the supervisor of the new guard - and as it was among his first nights of duty there would be some routine inspections to undertake. Potter had mused upon this in one of the preparation lectures, and so each of the operatives were outfitted with silencers for their pistols. Killgrave now gripped the weapon firmly in his hands as the footsteps neared the turning point. He glanced over at Potter, whom indicated with some curt hand gestures that he would distract the oncoming guard. Killgrave nodded in response, just as the body of the government man moved into sight.
"Hey." Melvin rasped quietly and harshly, causing the guard to jump in shock and fumble for the sub machine gun strapped into a holster about his waist. Killgrave rapidly moved in behind him while the guard was focused on Potter, and he thrust his hand over the man's mouth to stop him from crying out for help. Zebediah precisely jolted the man in the underside of his knee, bringing him down to the rough, white-washed ground beneath them. Potter wasted no time, butting the end of the pistol in the middle of the guard's forehead. The man lay dazed, Killgrave's hand still preventing him from shouting. Melvin Potter shot Zebediah a quick, fairly disturbing look of enjoyment, and then sent a bullet tunnelling through the guard's skull. The two men watched as the corpse's eyes slowly rolled up into the back of his head.
Killgrave stood up and moved on without a word. He pondered to himself, however, why Melvin could not have simply explained himself being in the hallway to the guard and diverted him back towards the warehouse.
I suppose it's one less hostile to deal with, and it was the most efficient way. Government scum deserve to die anyway. The doubts faded as fast as they had come to him - though he obviously took less pleasure in the act than Potter did. The 'Gladiator' relished killing itself, whereas Killgrave relished only the killings of the ones who had pissed him off: the heads of the Government. Those that had subjected someone directly related to Zebediah to prostitution, the once acquaintances of Killgrave - when he was growing up - to endless labour and meagre reward.
At the end of the long hallway loomed a battered grey door. Melvin was to go no further than it, leaving Killgrave to pass into the expansive receiving bay alone. The experienced Shadow preferred it that way, as stealth only became harder when more bodies inhibited him. The shipment of weapons and the experimental gas were positioned fifty paces away from their entrance door, by a large blue collection of crates, according to Potter's recent intel. The two men stopped by the grey door, turning to each other.
"I won't have to degrade myself by doing this lackey work anymore, Gladiator." Killgrave stated, partially as a farewell, but also as a patronising insult.
"Good luck." Potter only chuckled in reply, fondling his silenced pistol as he began to stride back down the hallway, "You'll need it."
Zebediah narrowed his eyes at that, but he knew he didn't have a great deal of time in which to operate, so he dismissed it and deftly pushed open the door.
---
Three men and a woman stood conversing, twenty paces to Killgrave's right as he knelt beside a six-foot high stack of boxes. They were the only ones who would be able to see Zebediah in his journey from the cover that the boxes provided him to the small complex of crates and containers that was the weapons shipment. He scanned the warehouse for a few moments to try and ascertain if there were any other viable routes. He could move to the left thirty paces and progress along a shipping canister, but Killgrave had no idea who or what stood on the other side of the container or how much longer it would take him. Ivan Jankovic had instructed him profoundly that it was to be a fast job, in and out, with as little conflict as possible. The resulting explosions would be enough to kill the entire personnel of the facility, anyway, so neither Killgrave or Potter had too many gripes. He decided, with this in mind, to take a risk and to walk calmly and furtively towards the shipment and as far away from any staff as possible. He had an infallible disguise in the uniform, and the guard's face was surely not known by many of the workers yet. Also, not many in the warehouse would be armed guards, and there was only so much common workers could do to oppose a well-trained operative.
Taking a deep breath, Killgrave rose and strode out from behind the cover.
The new guard's hair was blonde and mine is a deep black.
He began to retrieve the compact timed explosives from his left outside pocket.
Nobody but the supervisors are permitted near the shipment.
He subtly increased his pace as he approached the outskirts of the containers.
They will undoubtedly notice me sooner or later.Zebediah reached the cover of a large crate and he instantly crouched down to the floor. He had three timed detonators to plant - silent, devastating variants of a common explosive that the Shadow Conquerors had developed. The expanse of the shipment was only ten metres wide, so Killgrave carefully lay down an explosive at an interval of two paces. His breath ran ragged like a devoted smoker's wheeze - this was one of the hardest jobs Zebediah had been assigned. Most were in larger groups with simpler tasks, however this was what he needed to receive the prominence he deserved. Reinforced suction devices attached themselves to the ground, and Zebediah's controlled fingers designated the countdown of two minutes to begin.
"Hey!" A woman's shout from close by in the warehouse rang out.
The woman from the quartet near the door. Shit. The Shadow clung to the floor, slowing his breathing and rapidly forming a plan in his head. He reached for his pistol. Before any confrontation could be made, alas, the muffled whizzing of a bullet cut short the woman's audible approach. Zebediah spun around to see the grey door wide open, Melvin Potter putting bullets into the staff's brains, Ivan Jankovic - Killgrave's superior - standing smugly by the opening, and several heavily armed Shadows filling the corridor behind him. The staff were dead or dying, and the men's attention turned to Killgrave. The young Sokovian knelt, frozen, completely bemused by the events unfolding before him.
He quickly puzzled it out as Potter raised the silenced pistol to him, a twisted smirk on his face.
"Guess I'll be the one getting the promotion, Killgrave." He snarled, his smirk growing into a grin. A bullet ripped towards Zebediah, and he barely had time to react. It was aimed directly at his heart, though he managed to twist and dive against the targeted point. The pelt tore through his leg, the middle of his left thigh, giving Killgrave the necessary pain to prompt a shriek of agony. Anger at Potter and the men behind him consumed Zebediah as he riled about by the containers. Melvin grunted, dissatisfied with his missed shot, and he took another step forward to aim again.
"No, Gladiator." It was Jankovic's voice that permeated the thin air. "Leave him to die." Zebediah's eyes darted to match the grizzled commander's. The same look of concern and fear that Killgrave had observed in the past few meetings dilated his pupils, revealing the truth to the master of stealth.
More concerned about me than I thought. He needed to dispose of me. Pain still racked his body, the blood oozing out of his thigh with surprising amounts.
"I'll... k-kill..." Zebediah hissed, though another shot from Potter's gun stopped him short. His right arm snapped back with the impact, bone and cartilage dying with the bullet now lodged in his elbow. His scream again filled the room. The sounds of oncoming guards echoed.
"
Gladiator! We're leaving!" Jankovic moved with curious speed for his age and bulk, dragging Potter back with him towards the door. The Shadows behind them aimed machine guns towards the south-east side of the warehouse, where a frantic susurration emanated. Potter turned a final time, however, a mad look filled with death in his eye. He broke from Jankovic's grip for a second and fired a shot blindly at the shipment. Killgrave did not know what he had done to earn such hate from the Gladiator, or perhaps it was just the thug's apparent obsession with murder. The careening bullet thankfully missed him, and Jankovic threw the large operative back down the hallway before he could cause any more destruction.
Zebediah groaned in agony and tried to drag himself along the ground, but he slipped in the puddle of his own blood.
Then a large canister fell from above and landed heavily onto his chest. A bullet-hole breached the outside of the container. There were so many warning and hazard signs on the outside that Killgrave could barely concentrate on one of them. A strange, preternatural - purple - gas was gushing out of the hole, and the substance was even dissolving the container's material now that it was on the outside. More and more of the gas emerged from the canister, like the tendrils of a demon coming out of it's lair. It did not raise into the air as it should have done. It seemed to locate and focus on Killgrave, with the throngs of purple gas suddenly converging and moving to cover Zebediah's entire body.
The pain of the gunshot wounds was nothing compared to the torment that now afflicted him.
It was if his skin was being ripped away, and replaced by new, foreign material.
It covered his face, his nose, his mouth. His eyes were blinded as the substance went inside his body, into his bloodstream, into his
brain.
He thrashed about wildly, tears and blood streaming down his face as his life pooled out from his wounds around him. He noticed his left arm through the corner of his vision. A deep, encompassing hue spreading across the muscled skin. Horrifying. Alien.
Purple.
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