Project: NIGHTWAVE

III

Exactly half an hour later I stood in front of the bed, wrapped in my towel, trying to choose a decent outfit. All I managed to salvage from Serbia was my uniform and some plain, boring civilian clothes. The encrypted email from S.H.I.E.L.D. said that they'd be providing all the gear for the tryouts, so I put on a simple black skater skirt and a plain white t-shirt.

As soon as I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack, sat on the floor and poured all of its content on the rug clad floor. There wasn't much, only a small pile of various items: my passport, an empty water bottle, my worn out earphones, bunch of candy wrappers, and some crumpled up receipts. I took my passport out of the pile, gathered all the other trash, and stood up. I streched and made my way to the trashcan which was under the splintery birch desk.

As much as I tried to clear my mind, my thoughts were all scrambled and loose. Walking back to my bed I couldn't help but think, what if they didn't want me? What if the only place I could be used for good would deny me and my skills? That made my palms sweat and my legs shaky and unstable. Despite being trained for destruction, I still had some issues with my mental health. The best of us are crazy, right? At least that was what I had been telling myself all my life.

Snapping out of my thoughts I fished out my phone from under the pile of clothes that were situated on the bed. I checked the clock to see if it was time to leave, and the gleaming screen let me know it was exactly 6:30AM. I sighed in frustration and threw my phone across the room. My stress levels were off the charts because the single most important trial was two and a half hours away, just out of reach. As soon as it had hit the ground with a loud thump, I crawled quickly to see if it was okay. It was my only phone, and I most certainly couldn't afford a new one. While silently cursing the Serbian maffia in my head, I started searching gyms in New York, because I knew working out would take my mind off things and help me concentrate.

I found a 24 hour gym just 400 metres away. I quickly grabbed my backpack, my wallet, a clean shirt, and went to the bathroom to refill the empty bottle from the airport. I returned to the bed and shoved all the things in my backpack. I then changed into my blue gym shorts and a Harry Potter tee I'd got for my 16th birthday. Seeing that shirt resurfaced a lot of different memories of my family and friends. Unfortunately they weren't all that happy, and made my blood boil in my veins. Although I never loved my family, seeing my friends laughing in my head made my heart ache and hands shake; the thought I could never see them again was unbearable. To escape from the claws of my memories and the cascade of bitter tears, I grabbed my bag, hurriedly put on my sneakers and ran as fast as I could out of the hostel.

The streets of New York were almost empty, only a few joggers and business men. I ran past them all until I saw the inviting gleam of the gym, slowing down just before reaching the door. A few metres from the door I took a deep breath before entering, preparing for unpleasant human interaction. Taking quick strides, I reached the door in to time, but before I could grab the handle, someone pushed it open. I fell on my bottom and sent a death glare in his way. He was tall and very muscular, he had on a cap, that covered his dark brown, medium length hair that was messy and damp, probably from his workout. The cap would, in normal circumstances hide his face, but being on the concrete I could see his icy blue eyes that pierced right through me, and a few days scruff. He seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I was desperately trying to figure out where I had seen him, when he suddenly grabbed my hand to pull me up. Startled by the sudden physical contact I jumped up and took a defensive stand, clenching my fists and moving them near my face. When I realised he wasn't a possible threat, I lowered my stance, but it was too late. I saw something in his eyes, but it wasn't fear as usual. It was something more, like... understanding and sorrow.

I awkwardly thanked him, pushed him to the side and quickly walked into the gym. When I had paid and made my way into the hall, I saw him still standing outside through the large windows covering the wall. I dropped my bag onto the grey concrete floor, and looked for something to punch. He was making me feel emotions I hadn't felt in years, and I most certainly didn't like that. I found a punching bag in the far corner of the stuffy room, right next to the giant window. As I started assaulting the bag, I could feel his eyes on my back, watching my every move. Trying to ignore him, I just beat the bag harder, trying to perfect my every punch and kick. After a while I stopped, took the bottle and took a large sip, checking behind me only to find him gone. I grabbed my things, exited the gym and strolled back to the hostel.
When I was in my claustrophobically small room again, I stripped off my sweaty clothes and took a quick shower. The shower relaxed my sore muscles and took my mind off that quaint stranger. After showering I put on the same white blouse and black skirt, and sat on my bed. I checked the clock for the thousandth time, only to find that I had only 10 minutes to spare. I emptied out my bag again, putting in some spare clothes, my water bottle, my phone and my wallet along with my passport containing my new identity as Faith Jones. The passport was a professional job, made by real customs. The pros of working for a notorious maffia. There was no way I could let S.H.I.E.L.D. know who I really was, what happened in my past. That's why my identity had to be perfect and water tight.

I took a deep breath, slowing my heartbeat, looked at my room before closing the door, hoping I could leave all my worries and horrors in the past. As I walked out, I stumbled on something metal.