Boss this is Hawkeye. Hostiles eliminated. Over. The archer’s cocky tone came through Phil’s comm device just as the older man cleared the city limits of Bogota. Their safe house was only a mile or so inside the city, in the busy market district, making it easy to get lost in the crowds, even at the late hour.

“Barton. You were to return to the safe house, not engage the targets. Are you headed back now?” He wasn’t able to disguise the concern for his agent in his voice, the kid may have ended this mission before it really even began, as everything in this assignment had hinged on the fact that Barton’s presence was supposed to be undetected in order to keep the hit clean. There was a sharp crack and Phil could make out Clint’s low groan. Something wasn’t right, and Phil’s sense of foreboding returned full force.

“Barton? What was that?.............Barton? Goddamn it answer me! Clint?” Phil quickened his pace trying to avoid suspicion in the crowd, if someone had ambushed Barton there was a chance they were completely compromised and they could have eyes anywhere to track him down.

He needed to get to the safe house and activate the missing agent’s tracker, Phil contemplated making a call to Fury, but decided against it until he had more info on what was happening. He readjusted his pack and kept moving quickly, his head down to avoid unnecessary attention, the safe house was only a mile away.

The SHIELD agent pulled up his hood and with the help of years of training and field work easily melted into the crowd, the pit in his stomach spurring him on. He needed to get to the safe house now in order to help his young agent, Phil knew the kid was tough, but this whole scenario felt like a set up, one that Clint was not meant to survive.
..............................

A sharp stinging slap broke through the darkness in Clint’s mind, clearing the shadows and forcing his eyes open quickly. He immediately regretted the action as the bright lights pierced through his aching skull, a sure sign of a concussion. The coppery tang of blood on his tongue from the slap brought everything rushing back. The three men he had killed and the fourth he hadn’t sensed until it was too late.

He remembered the sound of Coulson’s worried voice as he collapsed and nearly breathed a sigh of relief, Coulson would be able to find him thanks to the tracker that had been injected into his arm courtesy of Dr. Graley the day before. Clint’s thoughts were interrupted when someone grabbed his chin and wrenched his head up, through his squinted glare Clint could make out a face, and his blood ran cold at
the sight.

A long thin scar ran down the length of the left side of his face and cruel dark brown eyes stared down at him, a dark gleam of malice within. Suddenly it all came rushing back, he had been barely 18 years old and still getting the hang of contract killing, it had been a relatively easy assignment as the drug lord was rather carefree, believing himself safe within his own town.

But Clint had been able to get in close and was lined up for the hit, he had ignored the warning bells going off in his head all day and nocked the arrow anyway. Sighting down the shaft at the arrogant drug lord in his office, he was already planning on how he was going to spend his contract money after this hit. The sound of footsteps behind him spooked the archer right as he let the arrow fly and time seemed to stand still as the unthinkable happened.

For the first time in his life Clint had missed his target. The arrow sliced through Campos’ cheek and buried itself in the chest of his 16 year old son. Clint had whirled around, barely avoiding the fist hurtling towards his face. With the easy grace borne from years of acrobatic training he was able to tuck and roll into a neat crouch behind the large and bulky form of the man. Before he was able to turn Clint struck, a long black knife easily cutting through the man’s brainstem, killing him instantly.

The young assassin was already scurrying down the fire escape as the body hit the rooftop, panic blooming, he had never missed a target before and he wasn’t sure the man holding the contract was going to be very forgiving for the botched hit. He was surprised when the contract holder praised him for killing the son instead of Campos, the man insisted that losing his only son was a better punishment than killing him, and paid Clint nearly double for his quick thinking, praising the ruthless Hawkeye for another perfect hit.

Clint had taken the money and left Colombia as quickly as he could, his dwindling sense of conscious still uneasy with taking money for killing a young man only a little over a year younger than himself. The contract assassin known as Hawkeye had gone to ground for a short time after that before remerging more dangerous and ruthless than ever.

This time a hard punch to Clint’s jaw brought his wandering mind back to the present, he spat the mouthful of blood at the feet of his captor, allowing a blank mask to fall over his face, schooling his features into a sneer of disgust.

“So you do recognize me maggot?” Campos’ deep grating voice sent chills down the archer’s back but he only arched an eyebrow in response, managing to keep an air of nonchalance about him even though he was handcuffed and tied to a sturdy metal chair. Campos stood in front of him blocking the door and only way out of the cell, while twirling Clint’s black knife in his hands.

“Well, since I know who you are and I’m sure you know who I am I guess we can skip the pleasantries and get right down to business.” Campos tucked the knife into Clint’s holster he had wrapped around his chest and pulled a single long black arrow from behind his back and held it up. The man’s fingers traced over the fletching and Clint’s stomach clenched, he recognized that arrow, they were one of a kind, purchased from a weapons dealer in Turkey, that was one of his arrows.

“The bow and arrow is such an outdated weapon, and yet you have become one of the most dangerous and deadly assassins in the world with this simple piece of weaponry.” He brandished the tip of the arrow towards Clint the sick gleam in his eyes growing by the second as he stepped closer.

“What I don’t understand is why one of the most successful assassins would join up with the cowardly Americans. SHIELD, an organization with more shadows and hidden secrets than you might think.” He reached out and gripped Clint’s right forearm tight, blood welling up from the cut he had received earlier. Campos held the arrow tighter and brought it down towards the archer’s exposed forearm.

“Now, I can’t have you calling for more backup, that would just ruin our little get together. Because you see, the only way you are leaving this house is by body bag, just like my son did three years ago.” With the last whispered words Campos dug the arrow’s tip into the soft flesh of Clint’s forearm.

The young agent clenched his teeth tightly, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of a response. Campos used the wickedly sharp point of the arrow to slice deeper into the muscle of Clint’s arm, making a delighted noise as he yanked out the tiny transmitter and dropped it on the floor, crushing it beneath his boot.

“There, now we will have no interruptions and SHIELD will presume you are dead, and dead or compromised agents don’t get extraction teams. Looks like you’re alone, again.” Alarm bells were going off in the archer’s head, how did Campos know so much about SHIELD protocol, and how did he know about the transmitter in his arm? There had to be a mole inside SHIELD. Before he could really follow that train of thought he was interrupted by Campos’ fist driving into his ribs.

“As I was saying earlier, it’s just going to be you and I, and I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.” Campos turned and headed towards the door of the cell, he opened the door and had a whispered conversation in Spanish with the man stationed outside. He stepped aside and two large men moved into the room headed straight towards Clint.

The first man held a length of rope in his hands as he stepped behind the chair and stood silently, the other man knelt down and began to untie Clint’s legs from the chair. The second his both of his legs were free Clint moved and wrapped them around the neck of the man kneeling in front of him, twisting deftly, the snap of his neck audible in the small room.

The stunned and slightly frightened look on Campos’ face made the pain from the man behind him decking him in the back of his already concussed head worth it. Clint didn’t take his eyes from the Campos, the challenge clear in his gaze as the hired muscle yanked his cuffed hands up above his head, securing them to a length of chain hanging from the ceiling. Campos stepped closer to Clint again, but stayed just out of the reach of his limbs.

“I must be going, I have a very important negotiation to attend to, but don’t worry I will be back and I will break you.” With that he turned and marched out of the room, the other man pausing to drag the dead man out of the room as well. The door slammed shut and everything was silent.
.................................

Phil had made it to the safe house without any further issues, he circled carefully around the outside of the house, checking for any signs of tampering or someone lying in wait. Seeing nothing he moved to the back door and let himself in via the hand scanner concealed in the doorknob.

The door swung in slowly, Phil had the Glock out of its holster and raised, assessing the room for any possible threats. After a thorough search of all the rooms in the small house he finally lowered his weapon and let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He reactivated the security features using his phone not allowing himself to think too much about his missing agent.

Coulson made his way into the kitchen and keyed a number in on a small security pad under the kitchen table, with a quiet click one of the cabinets opened, revealing several computers and other devices. Grabbing one and making his way to the table Coulson sat down and booted the laptop up, entering his clearance code when necessary.

The first thing he did was pull up the tracking program and enter all of Barton’s information into the database. The program took several minutes attempting to locate the agent’s tracking device before flashing an error message, the tracking device was no longer emitting a trackable frequency. Phil dropped his head in his hands, that error message could mean only two things, the device was malfunctioning or Clint was dead.
...................................

Blood trickled sluggishly down Clint’s right arm as he began to lose feeling in his fingers. The archer had no way to track how much time had passed since Campos had left his cell, or more importantly how long it had been since he had last contacted Phil. He needed to find a way to let Phil know that SHIELD had been compromised and had a mole inside feeding Campos information.

Which led to the even more terrifying thought that if someone was leaking info to a drug lord such as Campos, how many other, even more dangerous people were aware of SHIELD’s inner workings. Clint needed to get out of this cell and warn Coulson that this entire assignment was a set up.

He knew he deserved to die for everything he had done in his short life, but Phil needed to be saved, the man was the most caring person Clint had ever met in his life. His thoughts were interrupted by the door creaking open to reveal the face of Campos, who was grinning evilly at him.

“Well then Hawkeye, I have a little surprise for you.” He held up a syringe with a long needle attached. “I have an experiment in mind. Are you ready?” Campos moved in closer and disappeared behind Clint. “Let’s see if you can survive this.” There was a small pinch then Clint felt the needle slide into his spinal column, whatever Campos was injecting him with was cold.

Campos returned to stand in front of the archer, a maniacal grin on his face. Clint was about to tell him where else he could shove that needle when pain like white hot fire shot up his spine, his mouth dropped open as his body helplessly convulsed, spurred on by whatever he had been drugged with.

The pain spread quickly throughout his entire body as he was racked constantly by severe convulsions, his muscles locked up tightly. Still Clint managed to suffer in silence, not allowing himself to give Campos the satisfaction of knowing how much pain he was in. It was pure agony, grey dots began to swim in his vision, and the young agent gratefully allowed the darkness to swallow him.

Notes