UNKNOWN GUEST

#28 Rescue and Chaos

In the van with the twenty-member STRIKE unit, we rumbled towards the gala event in South New Jersey. The urgency was palpable, and the team was on high alert, ready for any directives. As we approached the location, I keyed into the comms, trying to establish contact with Uncle Clint.

"Agent Barton, do you copy?"

All I received was static. My heart raced—without intel, we were flying blind. I tried again, focusing on maintaining clarity.

"This is Channel 5. Agent Barton, do you copy?"

A crackle came through, and then, "This is Agent Romanoff."

I exhaled, relieved but immediately concerned. If Mom was in line, Dad must be in trouble. Natasha's voice was steady but urgent.

"I need you to keep the north gate of the club occupied. We'll meet you at the east gate."

I glanced at the STRIKE operatives. Their readiness was unwavering, eyes locked on me, anticipating orders.

"Listen up," I began, commanding their attention. "We need to create a distraction at the north gate of the club. Our objective is to keep the attention of any threats or security forces there. Meanwhile, Agents Barton, Romanoff, and Captain Rogers will use the east gate to escape.

"Clear?"

The team nodded in unison, a silent acknowledgment of the plan.

Author's POV-

Clint and Natasha worked in unison, their movements precise as they dispatched the last two guards. Natasha swiftly freed Steve from the restraints, her hands deftly untying the ropes binding his wrists and neck. She glanced at him, her concern palpable.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice tinged with urgency.

Steve nodded, though his voice was shaky. "I'm—I'm fine."

Clint moved to untie Steve's legs, his focus sharp. "Captain, we need to run through the east gate. We've got backup."

Steve quickly scanned the room, his eyes landing on his shield in the corner. He grabbed it, feeling the familiar weight, and joined Clint and Natasha. They were ready to make their escape.

Clint took a moment to assess the hallway from behind a doorframe. The coast appeared clear. He signaled to Natasha and Steve with a gesture to follow him. As they moved, a few guards caught sight of them. One of them fired a shot, the bullet slicing through the air toward them.

Steve reacted instinctively, raising his shield. The bullets ricocheted off, their impact absorbed by the vibranium. He surged forward, Clint and Natasha close behind. The corridor was chaotic, but Steve's shield cut through the commotion with precise efficiency. 

He hurled it towards the three guards chasing them. The shield slammed into them with a resounding clang, knocking them out of the fight. Steve caught the shield on its return, ready for the next threat.

They dashed towards the east gate, their escape route coming into view. As they emerged, the blaring alarm from the north gate pierced the night, signaling that their distraction had successfully drawn attention. Clint, breathing heavily, confirmed, "They're here."

Natasha nodded, her face set with determination as they ran, not pausing for even a moment. They burst into an open parking lot, the stark contrast of the empty space making the scene even more intense. A black van awaited them on the narrow road. Jason stood by the van, urgency in his posture as he called out, "Hurry!"

Just then, a shot rang out, followed by a blood-curdling scream. "Mom!!" Jason yelled, his voice cracking with panic. He turned to see Natasha collapsing to the ground, her body crumpling face-first.

Steve reacted immediately, rushing back toward her. With swift movements, he caught Natasha mid-air, his face etched with a mix of horror and urgency. He lowered her gently to the ground, positioning her in his lap.

"Natasha!" Steve's voice was raw, laced with desperation. He looked down at Natasha, his hands trembling as he tried to stabilize her. The warmth of her blood seeped through the fabric of her suit and onto Steve's lap, adding to the gravity of the situation. The pain was intense, but seeing Steve's anguish was even worse.

James' POV-

I came out of the van after the STRIKE team had created chaos at the north gate. I watched anxiously at the east gate, and my heart sank when I saw the three figures running toward me. I stepped out and urgently called, "Hurry!"

As they got closer, a gunshot rang out. My blood ran cold as I saw Mom's body go rigid. "Mom!!" I shouted, my voice breaking with panic. I sprinted toward her with all the speed I could muster.

Dad caught her in mid-air as she fell, cradling her in his lap. Clint was scanning the area, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. I ran up to them, grabbing Dad's shield and using it to cover us as more bullets slammed against the unbreakable surface.

"Let's get her into the van!" Clint urged. Dad nodded, carefully picking up Mom and rushing toward the van. I could see the blood dripping from her lower back, despite Dad's efforts to apply pressure.

 My hands trembled with a mix of fear and fury. I spotted two men with rifles aiming at us and acted swiftly. I hurled Dad's shield with intense force. It flew through the air, striking the men with precision and knocking them flat onto the dusty ground.

Without missing a beat, I caught the shield as it returned to me and dashed toward the van. Inside, I saw Dad still cradling Mom, her condition grave. Uncle Clint was across from them, his expression grim and focused.

I slid into the passenger seat of the van and turned to the driver. "We need to move, now!" I urged urgently. The driver nodded, already starting the engine, and the van lurched forward.

Dad's voice cut through the frantic noise of the van's engine. "She's losing so much blood. Hurry!" The urgency in his tone sent a wave of dread through me. I couldn't bear to look at Mom in her current state—limp and powerless, her face pale. Dad's voice was a desperate murmur, "Hang on, Natasha. Stay with us," as he held her close, his worry palpable.

Minutes felt like hours as the van hurtled towards the hospital. The screech of the brakes was almost a relief as the vehicle came to a halt. Dad bolted out, still cradling Mom in his arms. I saw Uncle Clint follow closely, both of them rushing through the hospital entrance.

I leaned heavily against the side of the van, the weight of the situation sinking in. Doubt gnawed at me. Had I been too late? Was I not quick enough to get to her in time? The thought of something happening to Mom was unbearable. I had to push it away, focusing on the hope that she would be okay.

Turning to the driver, I spoke with urgency. "STRIKE team. Go pick them up." 

The agent, calm despite the chaos, replied with a reassuring smile. "Another van is on its way to pick them up." Relief washed over me, a small comfort in the midst of my anxiety.

Agent Sheer, the driver, stood next to me, sensing my turmoil. "Ain't you going inside?" he asked, his voice soft.

I exhaled a long, shaky breath. "I can't. It feels like I failed." The words felt heavy, laden with the guilt and helplessness I couldn't shake. Sheer didn't respond, likely understanding the weight of my feelings.