Brandt raised her arm, hand white-hot. The guard flinched, arms going up to protect his face.
But the blow never came. He froze, then lowered his arms, squinting at his attacker.
Brandt had gone completely rigid, her eyes widening in shock. Heat dimming, her arm dropped. The rest of her body followed, crumpling to the door with a thump, limp as a ragdoll.
The guard stared at me, with the empty syringe in my hand. I stared back. Objective complete.
His radio crackled. Footsteps incoming. At least a dozen. Guards at the customs finally got all the civilians safely away. It had taken them less than a minute.
Now they were coming for me.
Escape.
Brandt lay prone at my feet. She was saying something, just barely conscious. I didn't wait to hear it.
Before the guard could think of how to react, I leapt over him, straight for the incoming customs agents. They faltered, reaching for their weapons — none had them drawn before I barreled right through them. All six of them knocked away like bowling pins, unprepared for my strength.
Charged through the empty stations. Vaulted easily over the belted gates. Bypassed alarms. Every eye and camera on me.
Exposed. Too exposed.
Face burned. I caught my reflection in passing glass. Skin reddened, blistering. Would heal without permanent damage. It didn't matter. Injuries were not my priority.
Cover blown. Get out. Regain anonymity before reaching next checkpoint.
Exit doors straight ahead. More civilians here. Staring at me, freezing in alarm. Lights flashed outside. Red and blue.
I spun around. Need another exit.
Down a walkway. Glass windows on either side. Passed other panicked civilians. They didn't seem scared of me. A pair of security guards came running down the other direction, directly towards me.
I skidded on my heels, ducking out of the way, shoulders back. Ready to engage.
But the guards passed without a second glance. They did not acknowledge me as a threat. They didn't know.
Breath hard. Sharp. Pain.
No. I didn't feel pain. It was irrelevant.
I watched the guards continue before disappearing behind more travelers. I turned around, and started to run.
A line of thought came crashing through my head.
What is the checkpoint?
No orders no orders no orders —
Not paying attention. Stumbled over civilian luggage. Woman shouted a complaint. Not fearful. I responded haltingly. Tongue heavy in mouth. Couldn't remember how to speak.
I came to a stop at the walkway intersection. Above me, signs, a map. Directions for exit. There was a camera, but no guards around. They were too busy gathering at the previous site. It wouldn't take them long to figure out what had happened to me.
Escape escape escape.
'Mia?'
A voice from nowhere.
A voice from deep inside my head.
A voice right next to me.
I spun around, alarmed. Mia. Who is Mia.
Him. The brown-eyed boy stood in front of me. Like from my dreams. Only he was real this time. He was here.
Who is he.
He was shorter than me, but perhaps the same age. Dark hair, pink cheeks recent from cold. There was a look in his eyes that I don't comprehend. But I thought I should, somehow.
The civilian shouldn't be distracting me. I should be moving. But my feet were cemented to the spot. I couldn't take my eyes off the boy. His voice still echoed in my head. The name. The name.
Why is that name so special to me. Who is Mia.
'Mia?' the boy said again. This time, he stepped closer. He raised a hand, as if to touch me. As if I were just as unbelievable to him as he was to me.
Who is he. Why does he look at me that way.
A thought tickled at the back of my head. I knew him.
No. Impossible. I had no past. He was never a part of it.
And yet, he remained. Far more solid than I had ever conceived. A fragment of a dream, given life. He was never just a dream.
I knew him. And the Crucible didn't.
The Crucible will kill him.
Blood trickled down my face. I had to leave. I had to go…
Home.
I had to go home.
The boy's hand inches away. My breath froze in my throat. He would tell me who Mia was. He had answers I wouldn't find elsewhere.
But it had to wait. My questions were irrelevant.
I had my next checkpoint.
Home.
So I turned my back to him and ran.
Home home home.
I was in a city. I knew its name, but I couldn't remember it. Names weren't important. All I knew were the streets. They held a strange familiarity to me. Like the brown-eyed boy. A dream of a dream, so solid at my feet.
I escaped the airport — John F. Kennedy International Airport — unharmed, unseen. Chaos is the friend of an assassin. And I learned from the best.
I had to go back. I had to get my orders. I wasn't allowed to be on my own for so long. Going AWOL would lead to punishment.
So would attacking a superior officer.
But I had no regrets for stopping Brandt. That went deeper than any sense of duty. I made the decision that she no longer held authority over me.
The Chairman wouldn't like that. But he wasn't here.
I knew I had to return to him. But I didn't want to. I tried to crush those rebellious thoughts. Disobedience would lead to punishment. But I didn't care.
I crossed a bridge over a wide river. On foot, I was harder to catch. Fewer cameras here. No security. Just many civilians, many cars. I thought about taking one, before I remembered I couldn't drive.
Where was I going?
A building. Pictured clearly in my head. Red brick building, dark windows, ten stories high. Its location was imprinted in my mind. I knew this city, even though I never recalled being here before.
This building. I knew it without knowing it. Home.
I should not be going there. The Chairman wouldn't want me to. But I didn't care. I had to go. I had nowhere else. I had to see —
Her face in my head, too. Like mine, but older. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Wrinkles. A smile that I had to see again.
Mom.
She had to know I was still alive.
It took a little over two hours to reach it. Even on foot, I was fast. Underground metro helped. Skipped the turnstiles while the attendants weren't looking. It was busy at this hour. No one gave me a second look. They were too busy to notice the strange, bleeding girl with burns on her face, the intense look in her eye.
Then I was above-ground again. The day was overcast, gray. I didn't stop to drink or eat, even though I could feel my body asking for it. But this couldn't wait. I had to get home. I had to get home.
I had to find Mom.
I remembered the way, but not as it was now. Buildings in my memories were different. Some were cracked, damage in ways I didn't understand. The streets were in repair — I passed so many construction sites I lost count. In the distance, I saw Stark Tower amongst the skyline.
Only it was covered in scaffolding. The only part that remained of its original neon sign was a single 'A' hanging over the city.
I turned my eyes back to the ground. Irrelevant. Had to find Mom. Home was right around the corner. I was practically running now. I was so close. So close. Mom would be home. She would be home when I arrived, and she would see that I was still alive and she wouldn't be sad anymore she wouldn't have to remember me like I had been in the ambulance, bleeding and dying —
The address was right across the street. I looked up, expecting to see lights in the windows, smoke from the chimneys.
Only to find that it was gone.
No.
I came to an abrupt stop, in the middle of the street. I shook my head, unable to comprehend what I saw.
> In between two other complexes, where my home should be, was a just an empty, jagged black space. Like a tooth missing from the set of a jaw.
No no no no
This didn't make any sense. I had to have the wrong place. But the church with the green tower was at the end of the block, like it should be. The deli with the cat sign. The ice cream parlor with the striped canopy. It was all here.
Except home.
Except Mom.
My breath became sharp, ragged. Something pierced my eyes. My gaze dropped to the ground of the empty lot. At the bright yellow sawhorses marking off the hazardous area. The workmen tossing rubble into the back of trucks.
The ashes that remained.
What happened? Where did it go? How can it be gone?
I didn't understand. This didn't make any sense.
'Hey, miss, are you okay?' A voice interrupted my panicking thoughts. I jolted, blinked at the man approaching me. He wore a yellow hardhat, a thick vest with flashing tape. His hands were held up to me, thick work gloves covered in more dust. 'You shouldn't be standing in the road like that, its not safe.'
I saw the concern on his face, didn't know how to respond. I looked back at where my building was supposed to be. 'W-what happened…?'
My voice was hoarse. But the words easier. Somehow the protocol had broken. Most of it, at least. Broken by something. Broken by the brown-haired boy. The name he said.
'Don't you know?' the workman tilted his head at me, frowning. He scratched at the day-old stubble on his chin, glanced at the building. 'It collapsed during the Incident. One of those big monster alien things fell right on top of it. Poor folks inside didn't stand a chance...'
Collapse —
'No, no i-it can't —' my voice broke and I tried to step forward, but the man held up his arm, prevented me from getting closer. I could only shake my head, my hands rising uselessly, as if I could will everything back to the way it used to be. 'You don't understand, sh-she has to know. It can't be this one, it just can't…'
'Whoa, hey, take it easy, miss,' The man stood in front of me now, trying to hold me back. 'I'm sorry, you can't get too close. It's too dangerous. It was an old building. A lot of asbestos. Look, can I help you somehow? Were you looking for someone?'
'M-mom,' I whispered, throat raw. 'My mom. She...she lives here.'
'Oh.' The workman hands tightened around my shoulders, then went limp. A terrible look crossed his face. 'Oh no. Oh, god, I'm so sorry — '
'She has to know,' I pleaded with him, but my eyes were on the empty air above. I could still see it. I could still see the space where my bedroom was.
My knees buckled. The workman tried to catch me, but I hit the tarmac hard. It cut through my jeans. I didn't feel it. Just the cold in my hands. The vice around my throat.
I had to tell her. I had to see Mom. I had to see her smile.
'Hey, what's your name? Can I call someone for you? Do you have other family?' the workman tried to reason with me, his voice soft and urging. 'Maybe a friend of your mom's?'
Everything was blurry. All I saw was the black road, the grey snow. My voice was barely audible. 'She has to know I'm still alive. I-I came all this way —'
I choked.
'I'm sorry,' was all the workman could say. His hand on my shoulder was the only thing I had left to this reality. He looked utterly helpless. In the back of my mind, I didn't blame him. This wasn't fair. This wasn't his job. 'We all lost someone that day…'
I didn't hear him. I didn't hear the hum of car's engine approaching, the brakes screeching, rubber burning somewhere behind me. A car door slamming before it had come to a complete stop. Then —
'Mia!'
That name again.
I couldn't lift my gaze from the road. The empty hole. The ashes. Couldn't turn my head.
The workman stepped back, just as a new set of hands found me. He was fast, sudden, but I barely reacted. Didn't even recognize the face as he peered into my face. His words were so fast, so panicked, I could barely understand them. 'Mia, oh my god, I knew you'd come here, I thought — I don't know, I just — why did you run? I would've told you, before you — god, you shouldn't see this —'
It took me so long to remember his name.
'Peter.' I whispered, my face aching from the movement. The pain was returning as reality came crashing down. When I realized that this was the truth. That I could never come back home to Mom again.
'It's okay,' He said, switching tracks. Maybe he heard it in my voice. He was on his knees, too, right in front of me. The boy with the brown eyes. My cousin. My best friend. A face I'd never forget. A face that would never change. 'Whatever happens, you're safe now. Y-you don't have to run anymore.'
Sirens rang in the distance, getting closer.
I searched his eyes, one last hope that this wasn't real. But there were none. No relief. No assurance. Just regret, even as he pretended otherwise. 'You're home. It's going to be okay. I-I promise, Mia, i-it's not…'
But he saw it in my eyes. I already knew.
I was too late.My body and mind were numb when I finally shuffled out of that boardroom — the two agents who'd been inside with me (and whose names were just garbled sounds in my memory) followed me. The woman had a guiding, gentle hand on my shoulder that I immediately wanted to shake off, but lacked the energy. They'd finally taken off the handcuffs an hour ago.
Fluorescent lights gleamed off the black windows. I could spot yellow and green squares of offices of other buildings across the street. Late-night workers. What time was it? My internal clock was lost somewhere in the heaviness of my mind.
The hub of cubicles in the center of the floor were still alive with activity. Rushing agents, irritable suspects, phone calls, keyboards, not to mention clanging pipes.
Despite all that, I almost liked it here. At least it was warm, as opposed to the interrogating room I'd sat in for four hours. In here, the heat had fogged up the windows. The carpeted floor and dark wood furniture added to the strange sense of coziness. The scent of bad coffee and Chinese take-out was the most New York thing I smelled in ages.
And everyone was nice to me, or at least polite. Especially when they found out who I was. What happened to me.
I hugged myself, pulling at the lapels of my jacket. The only sensation I was aware of was the cavernous feeling in my chest, and the hunger gnawing at my stomach.
Now I just wanted to get out of here.
'Mia?'
My name, softly spoken, rang clear as a bell. I turned, startled, by a movement out of the corner of my eye.
But it was nothing to be afraid of.
It was Peter.
He rose slowly from the bench — as if sensing he had scared me. His hair was all mussed, curls hanging over his forehead, like he'd been running his hand through it all day. His shoes were still soaked from running in the snowy streets.
Next to him, a second slower, Aunt May rose up as well, adjusting her glasses, lips pressed tight together. Her knuckles were white around her purse. One of the agents stopped in front of her to talk quietly; she seemed reluctant to engage him, but complied nonetheless, watching us out of the corner of her eye.
How long had they been waiting there for me? I couldn't imagine what they were thinking at the sight of my bruised and bloody face. Or the rest of me.
For a long moment, we just stood there, five feet apart, staring at each other.
I had no control over the sudden lump in my throat, the burning in my eyes, the homesickness clutching my heart.
I wanted to say something. My mouth opened, but my tongue was flat and my chest tightened — my remained open helplessly, before I shut it again.
Under the warm precinct lights, Peter's eyes shone. He nodded slightly. He didn't need to hear me speak. He already knew what I was going to say.
The moment of stillness ended when Peter strode forward, his arms coming to wrap around my shoulders, so fast I
faltered back. I didn't anticipate his weight, his strength. I didn't try to fend him off, my body was completely open, almost limp. It took a moment for my mind to register what happened, for my arms to rise and return the embrace. Hesitant at first, then my fingers tightened, gripped his jacketed — and I didn't want to let go.
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