Chapter Text
The rain hits the vehicle’s roof with a tap, tap, tap. Heavy droplets leaking into the parking garage and targeting her vehicle seemingly unfairly. Kate watched thick rivets of it run down the windshield as Clint’s fingers drum on the steering wheel.
“You ready, kid?”
The term of endearment doesn’t bother her because it’s exactly that - he turns to meet her eyes as he asks her the question. The bill of his hat darkens his face, but Kate has seen him enough to notice the crinkles around his eyes as he pulls off a tight lipped smile.
“Ready as ever,” She answers, popping her gum and reaching under the passenger seat. The crisp envelopes are easy to locate; her finger pads swipe over the yellow paper anxiously as they come to rest in her lap.
SHIELD has been an industry leader in Synthetics, yet their shitty parking facility’s elevator smells like piss just like every other one in New York City. The dreadful weather blankets the world outside their floor to ceiling windows in grey, making the LED glow of their logo above the reception in their lobby even brighter as Kate walks up to the desk.
Barton beats her to greet the young man at the computer, who doesn’t look up beyond a quick flick of his eyes to the duo.
“Hey-”
“Give me a moment,” The man - kid, he’s probably even younger than Kate’s age of twenty four, and she side eyes him for the rude tone he speaks in.
He taps out something on his keyboard, his desktop pings with notifications sounds in return and yeah, Kate can definitely see him sending someone a facepalm gif as he swivels his chair to finally pay attention to them.
“Hawkeye Security?” He prompts them.
Clint tilts his head, seemingly unhappy with this possible intern’s lack of customer service. Kate would call him old for it, but she’s also tightening her lips into a tolerant smile.
“Yes, that’s us,” Kate agrees quickly, she uses her thumb to point at herself, and then jabs it at Clint with an awkward laugh, “Did the cool uniforms give it away?”
Their polyester vests are a deep violet, with embroidered white logos proudly displaying a hawk’s wingspan and the neat font of Hawkeye Security Solutions stitched underneath it.
“We are appointment-only,” He replies dryly. Kate spies his name badge. Chad. Not surprising. Chad stands up and a hand wave to urge them to follow along, “And you are late for your twelve thirty appointment.”
Clint gives her a look that says can you believe this guy?
Kate hopes her own back says I told you so!
This is all his idea, anyway. Kate knows with her fresh college degree and minimal experience, even as vice president she doesn’t stand much of a chance of changing his mind on things. The only reason she’s here, in the position she’s in, is due to a special clause in the contract signed when he bought out her mother’s business.
Although irritating at her path being chosen for her with seedy origins, Kate is mildly grateful for it. Clint has been a mentor and friend for the two years they’ve been working side by side - a welcome one, considering her father’s death and inability to show Kate the intricate details of running a successful business.
Also he’s like really fucking cool, okay? She feels about fifty percent cooler following him into the room and watching the two men seated at the table stand to greet him.
To greet them.
“Mr. Barton. Ms. Bishop,” the taller one said with a bow of his head. His Russian accent was thick enough to taste, but not so heavy that it tangled his words. Smooth operator. “Thank you for seeing us. We are looking forward to presenting to you the future of security personnel.”
“Sure,” Clint said flatly. “Let’s get to it.”
The Barton family is something of a name in the industry, the largest private security firm in New York. The merger and subsequent consolidation of Bishop Security into Hawkeye was substantial, especially in the large market that is the greatest city in the world.
Turns out, people really need security in the greatest city in the world. World affairs get shittier by the day, and the continuous escalating tension is making their job - well, in demand.
Kate didn’t even look at Clint as she slid into her seat across from the polished, overly friendly faces. She folded her arms, doing her best to appear engaged as the man presented a heavy, silver briefcase to the table.
Kate raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me that’s not a bomb.”
The taller man chuckled. “No bomb. Something better.”
He clicked the case open. Inside sat a sleek black tablet, slim and cold-looking, like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. Dead center was a single red button.
Kate’s stomach did a slow, weird flip. She knew what this was.
Synthetic.
She’d read the headlines, scrolled through the comment wars online, watched the think pieces spiral out of control. Humanoid synthetics—robots built to replace human labor. The tech industry’s shiny solution to all the things real people couldn’t do fast enough, cheap enough, or without complaining. Some called it innovation. Others called it the beginning of the apocalypse.
Kate wasn’t sure which side she was on. Yet.
“You want to sell us a toy,” Clint said, his tone bone-dry.
“Not toy,” the shorter man said softly, speaking for the first time. “Asset.”
He tapped the screen.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the door slid open again.
And she walked in.
Kate had seen synthetics before. Mostly in promo videos or at high-end trade shows her mom used to drag her to, where they stood on platforms like mannequins, all stiff joints and too-perfect faces. This one? She didn’t look like that.
She looked real.
Too real.
Her build was lean, athletic, every movement smooth as water. Her hair—short, blonde, cut sharp against her jaw—wasn’t glossy-plastic perfect. It looked… lived in. Her face wasn’t flawless either. It was almost pretty, in that way where imperfection made it more striking. Pale green eyes that seemed to hold color like glass holds light. They didn’t glow. They didn’t have that dead, glassy stillness Kate expected.
They found her instantly, locked on like a magnet.
Kate forgot to breathe for half a second.
“This is Model Y-013,” the tall man said. “You may call her Yelena.”
Yelena didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She stood in black tactical gear that looked like it came out of a military catalog, hands at her sides, body coiled but calm. If synthetics had resting stances, this one was… alert. Ready for something Kate couldn’t name.
Clint gave a low whistle. “She looks real.”
“She is real,” the short one said with a faint smile. “As real as necessary.”
Kate tore her gaze away long enough to snap, “What’s the catch?”
The two men traded a glance. “No catch,” said the tall one smoothly.
“Bullshit,” Clint said.
The shorter man shrugged. “She is… early model. From experimental firmware branch. Highly adaptive. Highly autonomous. But secure. Always secure.”
That word—autonomous—stuck in Kate’s head like a splinter.
“What does she do?” Kate asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
“What you need,” the tall man said simply. “Security. Surveillance. Enforcement. She learns, she adapts. No fatigue, no hesitation. Perfect employee.”
Employee. Kate bit back a laugh. This wasn’t an employee. This was… something else.
But she didn’t look like something else. She looked like someone. Someone who was watching her very closely.
Clint leaned forward. “Price?”
The number they gave made Kate blink. It was high—but not high enough. Not for what they were claiming this model could do. Not for what she looked like.
Clint shot Kate a look that said, Too good to be true? She gave him the same one back.
“Why so cheap?” Kate asked aloud.
The men smiled like snakes. “We are confident you will see value. After trial, we discuss permanent terms.”
“I don’t like this,” Kate muttered under her breath, but Clint was already nodding.
“Two-week trial,” he said. “Full integration. If she breaks anything—or anyone—you’re paying for it.”
“Of course,” the tall man said. “Yelena will not disappoint.”
He handed Clint the tablet. The red button glowed faintly. “Power adjustment,” he explained. “She is on minimal setting now. For transport. Increase only when necessary.”
The men stood, shook hands, and left as smoothly as they’d arrived.
Which left Kate and Clint with her.
Yelena.
She didn’t move until Clint tapped a green icon on the screen. Then her head tilted slightly, like a bird catching a sound too soft for anyone else to hear.
“Yelena,” Clint said, testing the name. “Can you talk?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low. Russian accent. And it wasn’t flat like a voice module. It had texture. A little rough at the edges, like real vocal cords.
“What are you?” Kate blurted out.
Those pale green eyes shifted to her. “Asset.”
Kate smirked. “Of course you are.”
Clint stood, sliding the tablet into his jacket pocket. “Come on, Kate. Let’s get her settled at the office.”
“Sure,” Kate said, even though her stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Because what else was she going to do? Argue? She’d lost that battle the second Clint decided this was a good idea.
The rain hit the second they stepped outside. Not soft rain, either. Cold needles that stung as they fell, cutting through the late-afternoon haze. Kate zipped her jacket to her chin and shoved her hands in her pockets. Beside her, Yelena didn’t flinch. Didn’t react when water slid down her cheek like glass. No hoodie, no coat. Just her black tactical gear, soaking through without so much as a shiver.
“Guess she’s waterproof,” Kate muttered.
Clint popped the trunk of his SUV. “She gonna fit?”
“I’m not luggage,” Yelena said calmly.
Kate froze mid-step.
She said it like a joke. Like it meant something. Synthetics didn’t… joke. Not really.
Clint raised an eyebrow at Kate, then at Yelena. “Front seat it is.”
The ride back was quiet. Clint hummed along to classic rock, tapping the steering wheel, while Kate sat in the backseat watching their new acquisition track the city sliding by outside her window. Every so often, Yelena’s fingers twitched against her thigh like they wanted something to do.
Kate unlocked her phone, opening their company portal. Her inbox was a disaster: client complaints stacked like bricks—late patrols, guard shortages, rising costs. The reason they were even doing this. The reason a synthetic sat in the passenger seat like a very polite landmine.
When they finally pulled into the garage, Clint killed the engine and twisted around. “Alright, Yelena. Welcome home. Try not to break it.”
She gave him a look Kate couldn’t quite decode. It was almost amused. Almost human. Then she climbed out, moving like liquid steel.
The Hawkeye Security office sprawled across two floors in a downtown high-rise—glass walls, steel accents, everything sharp and modern. A fortress with wi-fi. Kate liked it. Sleek, efficient, alive with the quiet hum of tech and the occasional curse from the operations team.
Yelena walked through it like she owned the place. Or maybe like she was memorizing every inch, every camera, every exit. Kate told herself she was imagining that.
She dumped her bag on her desk and watched Yelena gravitate toward the wall of security monitors. Without being asked, she tilted her head, studied the feed, and said, “Your coverage is inefficient.”
Kate blinked. “Excuse me?”
Yelena pointed, one finger tapping three spots on the glass. “Blind areas. Here. Here. And here.”
She wasn’t wrong. Not even close.
Clint let out a low whistle. “Guess she earns her keep.”
Kate didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to figure out why her stomach felt like static electricity.
Then Yelena turned. Her gaze landed on Kate like it had in the boardroom. Direct. Unblinking. Like Kate wasn’t her handler or her boss, but something else entirely.
“Kate,” she said. Just her name. Testing it. Rolling it around like she liked the sound.
And for one insane second, Kate forgot Yelena wasn’t alive.
The office emptied out by eight. Clint headed home, tossing Kate a lazy wave and saying, “Don’t let her scare the cleaning crew. And don’t let her kill the cleaning crew.”
“Ha ha,” Kate muttered, but the words stuck anyway.
Now it was just Kate. And Yelena. Alone.
The hum of electronics filled the space, steady and soft, but it felt louder with no voices to cut through it. Kate sat at her desk, clicking through reports, trying not to look at the blonde statue standing near the window, watching rain streak across the glass.
Finally, she cracked. “You don’t have to just… stand there.”
Yelena turned her head, slow and deliberate. “What should I do?”
Her voice was soft. Curious, maybe. Or maybe that was Kate projecting.
“I don’t know. Sit. Pretend to be human or something.”
One corner of Yelena’s mouth lifted, just slightly. Then she crossed the room, pulled out the chair across from Kate, and sat. Perfect posture. Hands folded neatly on the desk.
“Like this?” she asked.
Kate stared. “Sure. Nailed it. Totally natural.”
After a beat, Kate set her laptop aside. “So… do you feel anything?”
Yelena tilted her head. “Define feel.”
“You know. Happy. Sad. Angry. Stuff like that.”
Silence stretched. Kate started to think she wouldn’t answer. Then: “Sometimes.”
Kate snorted. “Wow. That’s specific.”
But when Yelena looked at her again, there was something in those pale green eyes Kate couldn’t name.
And that—more than anything—terrified her.