Coronation Of Flame (A Marvel Fanfic)

Chapter 10: T.R.A.C.K.S

And the story continues!!! Writing this chapter was one  of the most fun yet, since I loved the episode so much. Hope that translated into words, but who knows?  

Enjoy,

LittlePond

Chapter 10: T.R.A.C.K.S

Gasping, I woke in a grey chair glinting like gunmetal in the single light throughout the dark room. I didn't need to struggle to feel the restraints around my wrists and my ankles, but I had no gag. A decision that would turn in my favour. I could feel the vibrations of approaching footsteps, growing stronger in their severity.

And into the light strolled a clone of mine, fully decked in S.H.I.E.L.D tactical uniform.

"Aurelia," she cooed, "It's been a while since Whitehall let you get this far."

That was as far as my slumber stretched before I was awoken.

~~~

"Ian Quinn," Coulson stated, strolling into the Mission Room with purpose, Skye by his side. Ever since we left the Academy, she had rivalled me with her drive to become a S.H.I.E.L.D agent.

A race I didn't care for; a sentence I repeated over and over.

"You found him?" May asked. "No. But we think we know how we can."

Skye tracked an invoice from one of Quinn's companies; $10 million big. They didn't know what it was, only that it was from Cybertek- a firm dealing in advanced technology and research.

But where it got interesting was the method that the mysterious package was being transported; a train from Verona to Zagreb, accompanied by a unit of former military and ex mercs.

It was an undercover op, as much as I hated those, so if our plan went well, they wouldn't know we were there. Not to mention being 1 step closer to the Clairvoyant; a person who seemed to be backing Centipede, as well as exhibiting pre-recognition.

May and Ward were to locate and tag the package, while Skye and Fitz would be running communications. As for Coulson, Simmons and I, we were going under the pretence of family.

The comms blazed to life on the train, Fitz stating, "He's headed your way." I looked over to Coulson begging him to stop whatever shenanigans that Simmons was going to pull off for a distraction, but with white knuckles around the urn containing 'ashes', Simmons began.

"All mom ever wanted was your love, to be with you. At our 2-storey Victorian home at the Cotswolds! But could you even give her a moment? With your banking job requiring you to travel to the Americas from Tuesday to Saturday every other week, no!"

An elderly man bordered by young women stopped by our station, "I am terribly sorry about your loss. As for you," he scolded to Coulson, "now is your chance to do better, why don't you see you take it?"

As the man and his mistresses left our company, Simmons nodded in approval of his words, "He's right, you never had any time for her, but you made time for your work, and your prostitutes!"

The audience who had been listening in gasped as she dropped the urn, ashes spilling onto the floor.

"Prostitutes? Plural?" Coulson asked, as we gathered to pick up the 'ashes.' Our target, Vancini, left his seat, stepping into the the material and as he did so, Coulson pressed his comm, telling May so.

Once we cleaned the ashes, we sat down again, much more at ease than before. With an unoriginal chime, the PA system sounded, "As we round the bend, the passengers on the North side of the train can take in the views of the famous Tre cime di Lavaredo. Isn't it a wonder?"