UNKNOWN GUEST

#86 Distract The Wolves

The Harley purred beneath me, the engine vibrating through the sleek frame as I adjusted my grip on the handlebars.

The tight Black Widow suit clung to my skin, uncomfortable and restrictive, but it was part of the ruse, part of the plan. My mom needed to slip away unnoticed, and I had to draw the wolves away from her.

I glanced up as the garage door slid open with a soft whir. Beyond the threshold, the night had already settled, the last traces of sunlight swallowed by the distant hills.

Ross's men stood stationed at the entrance, like black-clad vultures, their rifles gleaming under the faint light. They hadn't seen me yet, but they would soon.

I slid the helmet over my head, ensuring the synthetic red hair from the wig spilled out for effect. A deep breath steadied my nerves before I twisted the throttle. The engine roared to life, echoing loudly in the enclosed garage, and I launched out onto the street.

The moment I shot out into the open, all eyes snapped toward me. Their comms crackled to life, and I heard the frantic orders as they sprang into action. Exactly what I wanted.

I gunned the throttle, the Harley's engine growling as I accelerated, darting between cars with precise movements. I risked a glance in the rearview mirror—three black vans were already on my tail, headlights glaring as they swerved to follow. My pulse quickened, but I couldn't afford to slip up.

I sped through the crowded street, weaving through the sea of moving vehicles. The vans stayed on me, relentless. I needed to shake them. Up ahead, two tunnels appeared, splitting off at a square—a perfect opportunity.

I chose the left tunnel, veering sharply as I leaned into the turn. The dimly lit passage swallowed me whole, the streetlights flickering behind me as I shot into the darkness. The roar of the engine echoed off the tunnel walls, my breath steady as I focused. Now, I had to lose the disguise.

With one hand, I ripped the red wig off my head, the synthetic hair tumbling away into the shadows behind me. The tight suit constricted my chest, but I managed to pull off the makeshift straps that held it in place, loosening the fabric bit by bit as I balanced the bike in the other hand. My movements were quick, methodical, as I peeled away the layers of the Black Widow identity, discarding the illusion as I raced through the tunnel.

The headlights still chased me, but I felt lighter, faster—free. The moment I emerged from the other side, the cold night air hit my face, and I was back to myself again. No more disguises. No more pretending.

The vans surged forward, still chasing, still determined. But now, it was just me, Jason Roberts, facing them head-on.

The sirens echoed off the walls as I brought the Harley to a stop, my heart racing but my face calm. The sound of screeching brakes filled the air as the four vans surrounding me came to a halt. Dozens of soldiers, dressed in black tactical gear and armed with rifles, spilled out of the vans.

Their presence was overwhelming, their weapons pointed directly at me, their sights trained on the figure they thought was Natasha Romanoff.

One of the soldiers, presumably the leader, barked an order, his voice cold and authoritative. "Ms. Romanoff! Get off the bike!"

I sighed deeply, knowing the ruse had played its course. Slowly, I reached up and removed my helmet. The sound of my breath was loud in the sudden silence, and as I pulled the helmet free, revealing my face beneath, a ripple of shock spread through the circle of men. The murmurs of confusion were unmistakable as they realized they had been chasing the wrong person.

The leader stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in disbelief as he assessed me. "You worked in Logistics with the Avengers, right?"

I nodded, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Yes, sir. I'm Jason Roberts. May I ask why you were following me?"