Rosalie Kasten is out of luck and out of time. For the last two years, she's been living on borrowed time. After her involvement with the death of Edwin Pierce - Alexander Pierce's son - it's only a matter of time before Hydra comes for her.
James...
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝛐𝐧, I suppose. One that often finds me, or maybe I am the one finding it. It is one of the things I can never be sure of. The question. How do I feel about the people that chase me? The question comes in other forms, of course. How should I feel about the people who chase me?
Much like with most of the world, they often come in shades. As I said, I do try to enjoy every colour, but I can never seem to stop myself from being saddened by the darker ones. They are the slow-moving ones who calmly wave me over to them. They have me lean down close and in the most murmuring dulcet tones they whisper a "Have me."
They are unrelenting. The edge of fear is still in them, but they are never frightened of me. It is a fear of messing up, of having to face themselves or the people they care about, facing their own actions. Facing life.
I can do nothing.
I am not nice, and neither is the world.
I simply watch as they tie their nooses, unscrew the lids on their bottles, or load the bullets into their guns. They became too resourceful, and when they're no longer afraid of me, when they do it so well, who am I to refuse them?
Often, it is with these dark colours that I find the leftovers. For the sake of transparency, I will tell you this. Rosalie Kasten was far from fearless, and that fear is what kept her alive, the fear of me. She never wanted to die but do not mistake that for wanting to live.
« ⌑⌑⌑ »
Her heart is pounding in her chest. All she hears is her pulse and bullets, mixing together into a thumping sound, and she finds herself in a place where she's no longer sure if she's alive, if this is even real. It doesn't feel like it. They're shooting to kill. Pierce could have killed her a long time ago if that was what he wanted.
Suddenly, she feels an arm land over her body, and her eyes shoot up. James is hauling her closer. He's saying something, but it's like she can't hear it. Everything is bullets and a pulse. Rosalie doesn't even know if they're still shooting. The splinters are still flying, so they must be. His bleeding flesh arm rears back and slaps her. The pain stings, but she comes to the conclusion that this is in fact reality and not one of her many nightmares.
"Kasten! We need to get the fuck out of here!" He yells to drown out the sound of bullets as he clutches her face between his hands.
Rosalie gulps, nodding. Out of here. Right. She glances around the ruined space that used to be her home. All her weapons are in the direction the bullets are coming from. That won't work. Her snow-bike. That's their way out.
