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AUGUST 1ST, 1981
CYNTHIA WAS GLAD her sources were right when they said he'd be here.
Cynthia loaded her gun as she sat down on a bench outside a firehouse, where Win was currently keeping hostages. Once her gun was loaded, she got up from the bench, and walked towards the firehouse.
The twisted part of her felt like screaming and running away from this kind of situation, but she managed to keep her lid on that can, and continued to look emotionless and calm as she walked into the firehouse. The amount of kids in the firehouse partially disturbed Cynthia.
Win's eyes flickered over to her, and Cynthia slowly and slyly at him, and raised her gun. "Alright, give me your kids, everyone!"
All of the parent's faces slackened, and their grips on their children tightened. "Come on, everyone, I'm not killing them." She sighed, putting her gun back in her gun holster. "Hand them over, right now."
Slowly, ever so slowly, children pulled themselves from their parents grips, or some parents pushed their children gently towards the stairs, where Cynthia was standing at the top of them. So many children, such small lives. "Do any of you know where a bus is?" Cynthia asked them as she led them out of the firehouse.
Many of the kids were silent as they walked, until a small girl piped up. "They keep some outside the schoolhouse," She quietly said.
"Good, because you're all leaving." Was all Cynthia replied. She heard many small whimpers from the children, a few quiet cries, and she tried to not pay attention to that. She was only nineteen, she wasn't going to let children die right now. The main reason why she was there was to save the children from Bucky.
When they finally found a bus, she led all the children aboard, and then went around the small town and it's one neighborhood, picking up any children, or babies, before leaving. So many parentless children. And all because of a job Win was doing. Cynthia had only ever admit this to herself and her main source in S.H.I.E.L.D., Peggy, that she liked Bucky better than Win. Bucky was kinder, he had been through a lot, and yet he still managed to act kinder. Win was . . . Harsh. Like smoking a cigar—harsh. Cynthia had noticed he was quite dedicated to HYDRA; throughout everything that they had done to him.
Cynthia kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel, along with her feet on the pedals as she drove. "I . . . I have to pee," A chubby boy's came from behind her, and Cynthia replied, "Hold it, we're almost there. Where I'm taking you, they'll make sure you can pee as much as you like."
She heard the boy's footsteps going back to his seat. Would Cynthia ever become a mother? And if she did, would she enjoy motherhood? God. This was not the time to be thinking like this.
