Papercuts

Hope is a Heartache

Steve Rogers went with his gut at the end of the day. With several mission briefs scattered across the table, it was his turn to choose a side mission to fill the lull of free time for the week. The team getting antsy with the lengthy gap from the last recovery mission from a laboratory taken hostage.

Thumbing through a high-profile missing case of an Ambassador to beheading a drug cartel in the Andes, a purple sticky note caught his attention on a paper-thin file compared to the rest. Just a single page. The header with today's date and the words of O'Hare, 2 pm, Mara Rumlow. With two attached plane tickets with a fake alias.

Steve looked over at the rest of the files, trying to see any possible misplaced pieces of information. This file was personal, the chance to put away Rumlow for good from chasing down an old acquaintance. Steve remembered how close Rumlow was to his sister.

The plan in motion seemed too easy. Gaining the trust of an airline worker at the local watering hole took two Fridays and a dozen long island iced teas. Convincing Deandrea, a single mom, that I was fleeing from an abusive relationship seemed too easy. Tying in a few truths into the lie, I felt bad tricking the innocent woman who seemed to be on hard times. Giving her a ride to work, since her car was in the shop, she was grateful. Samantha helped book a flight to London and Tokyo a week out with what she thought was an alias with a fake passport. She agreed to make it look like online systems reflect that I checked in and boarded an earlier flight for Paris. Before heading to the airport, I stopped at the auto shop working on Deandrea's rusting car, paying her thousand dollars outstanding bills, and buying her the newest SUV model she had eyed when dropping off her car for urgent repairs to keep the car running.

For my cover, I was dressed head to toe in a goth façade with platform shoes and long black hair with purple streaks. The pair of glasses concealed the pair of brown contacts with chunky purple glasses. I glanced at the security guard posted outside the bus station. Paying in cash, I bought a ticket to Kansas City. I needed to lay low to plan my next move. Also, the idea of sending Brock on a frantic goose chase around Europe sounded fun having given my financials to a series of criminals more than willing to help me out and spend money on themselves. I turned to look up to scan the crowd to accidentally bump into someone continuing to bop my head to the loud music from my large over-the-ear headset ignoring them and not wanting to draw attention.

The man sneered remarking on kids these days.

I was getting better at this. Seeing a series of men scanning the crowds looming outside of security, I recognized Brock's back as he stood at the airline counter speaking with Deandrea. She was telling him that they wouldn't disclose anything, but because of the situation, I boarded earlier for a flight to Paris. Brock spun around grumbling before opening his phone and typing a message. He looked drained, eyes bloodshot. I could spot the outline of a gun in his pocket. Brock paused glancing around before he began reaching for his gun. Freezing, I began reaching for my water bottle before seeing him aiming it at Captain America disguised in a hat, glasses, and a hoodie over his head.

Fuck, why. This is not what I hoped for.

Brock fired a warning shot in the air causing chaos. A dozen goons emerged from outside training their guns on Captain America who lowered his hoodie and raised his hands. The woman next to him snapped her fingers revealing their true clothing in a wisp of red. Nothing good came from sticking around as gunfire rained. Rushing to their downstairs level, I rushed to board one of the buses people were rushing onto to escape.

Discarding my original plan, I waited as the shuttle evacuated to a nearby bus stop. I bought the first bus ticket in cash to Des Moines, Iowa that left in ten minutes.

Treating the elderly driver with a nod, I moved my backpack off my shoulder to hand him the ticket smiling. Taking a seat in the back corner by the window, I let out a breath of relief.