Cherry || b.barnes

23 || Poppy

Trying to sneak from one master assassin is bad enough. Escaping from the hotel, breaking into a high security prison about five-hundred and fifty kilometers away, talking to one of the most wanted people in the world and coming back in one night when two of them were around, is worse. Especially, when only one of both is trusting you. Perhaps.

On the morning of Wednesday, the fifteenth of December, my twentieth birthday, I find myself in a conference room of some left, worn old building in the suburbs of Warsaw. I flew with Natasha, receiving next to a polite exchange of greetings nothing but the tension of total observation – which should have been impossible, I mean, she flew herself, but then again, we're talking about Natasha Romanoff. James has been here for a couple of days as I was informed, and he's late to this meeting – surprise.

The red-haired woman in my front shakes her head, waking out of her state of total stillness. Sighing, she slips pieces of papers out of the black bag resting next to her rusty seat, placing it onto the table. »I guess, we can just begin. Barnes knows it anyways and probably just has to grumpily stare holes into the walls, as always.«

I nod then, trying to suppress the urge of asking where exactly Barnes is lingering. Or worse, asking her to check on him, fearing he might be hurt. Savagely, so. Wouldn't be the first time. Lord knows what this man is up to.

Shaking my own hair out of my face, the long, dark brown strands fall along my slightly tanned skin on my upper arm, tickling me. »So, there's this organization, D.W.A.R.F.«

»D.W.A.R.F.?« I ask back immediately, tilting my head in question.

»Down With the Avengers for Real Freedom. I know, they aren't really creative with names these days.« She rolls her sky-blue eyes before she proceeds, sliding one of the papers across the table for me to catch. There's black ink imprinted onto its white surface, but I have no chance of reading before she continues. A soft breeze causes the bulb above us, the only light source we got in here, to sway gently, casting dancing shadows. Although it is bright day outside, the ruin has thick walls, and the only window - broken - isn't as big. »Tomorrow evening, there's a gala which you're about to attend. They know Bucky's and my face, but they don't know yours. That's an advantage. There're going to be a couple of D.W.A.R.F.'s members present, and I want you to find them and answer these questions.«

She breaks into a small pause, and I take it as my sign to start to skim through it. What kind of weapon will be used? When exactly? Where's your leader, and who is he? Looking up, she seems to get my narrowed expression before I even contorted a muscle. Her melodic voice turns a little more spicy, looking me up and down. »I know you probably won't get answers to all of the questions, but try as many as you can. In the end, there's responsibility to it. The day after tomorrow, there will be an attack of theirs in Vegas, and since we couldn't find out more any other way, this is our last chance. People's lives depend on you.«

»I'll do my best« I vow, and I really vow. 

I never wanted these powers. This serum running in my veins, making me faster, stronger, more impulsive but therefore clearer in mind. If I could give them away, I could. To the first raising their hand, for free. Get rid of them as soon as possible, have a chance of a normal life with normal issues.
But I can't. And before I cross a line nobody will ever forgive me for or follow me after, I can at least try my best to for once do something good, and something that's not solely to fulfill my mission, not egocentric.

But is it, though? Is it as altruistic as I want it to be, or do I just need to follow the orders I get to not be suspicious?

»Good. You find the dress and make-up in your room by tomorrow afternoon. There's also a hairstylist coming, by the way, so no one suspects you from mere looks. Here's your fake ID« and she hands me over another sheet and a small plastic card, »and your earpiece.«, followed by a tiny, black box. »Otherwise, not much more to say. The final meeting with further information is tomorrow at lunch.«