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━━━━━━━━☆★☆━━━━━━━━
Racing through the streets of New York City, Heather has the Tracksuits hot on his tail.
"Merry Christmas, motherfuckers!" Heather exclaims, taking a sharp turn, avoiding the gunfire. He manages to make an escape, but his victory ends as he crashes and throws off from the motorbike into the dark alleyway.
"Sucks to suck." He grunts, getting on his feet and dusting the dirt off his clothes. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he lets out a deep sigh, searching for a shortcut to Moira Brandon's apartment from the map.
Once he finds one, he begins to move. But that's when he notes a shadow waiting in the darkness for him with a machine gun.
Heather feels it before he hears it, a sharp pain in the left shoulder, like someone hit it with a baseball bat. The echo of the shot follows.
He stumbles on his feet, clutching his shoulder until his back meets the wall. Something is not right. He feels weak and dizzy. He isn't supposed to react to a bullet like this.
The shadow steps into light with a maniac smirk. His face is full on display now. It's Charles Everton. "Don't sweat it. Bullet is poisoned with a sedative. It's not much, but enough to keep you in place."
"What do you want?"
"Let's go straight into the business, shall we?" Charles says. His sadistic smirk is yet to disappear off his face. "Where's Clint Barton?"
Heather clenches his jaw, sneering. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because I asked you politely, and I only do that once."
"Hmm. Okay, tough guy. You'll have to do better than put a bullet in my shoulder to scare me off." Heather remarks.
Charles cocks the gun revolver and smiles. "Maybe a bullet in the heart will work?"
Heather looks back up at the gun. For some reason, Charles distances himself from Heather and closes his left eye, lining the injured man up in the gun sights with the right.
It is the end, Heather knows it. So this is what the end of a life looks like. It is a strange thought, yet very clean and concise. Heather knows the man in front of him means to kill him, he can see it in the subtle features of his handsome face. A dizzying rush came over Heather. It is a combination of this realisation, blood loss, pain, fear, adrenaline, and finally anger. His vision flashes red as he begins to shout.
"Do it. Pull the trigger. Go on, pull it. I fucking dare you!" Heather spits the words at him.
Charles shakes his head slightly as an amused chuckle rumbles out of him. "Adding a supersoldier to my long list is nothing to me. But your life is more valuable than what you believe to be. They're watching you, son of Dreykov."
