The fine line between good and bad is always blurred.
Living the life of a fugitive for over a decade, Adeline is approached about a job prospect. The mission is simple; recover the Tesseract.
Little did she know at the time, but that one decision...
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"Oh and what if someone wants an entire row of Hubba Bubba genius?"
"Nobody wants an entire row of gum."
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Stealing new clothes is my first priority. With all due respect towards the SHIELD outfit gurus, I can't be walking the streets of DC in a black jumpsuit with the words Prisoner 592 printed on the breast pocket and over the sparse of my back. That white stitch says it all, really. Cloaking myself I strolled into a boutique not far from the crash site. Taking a pair of ripped black jeans off the hander I snatch up a black singlet on the way. Changing quickly in the back corner, I run back out the store pinching a black leather jacket on the way. Don't judge me. It's not likely anyone could've seen me. Running down the marketplace open on a side street, I grab a pair of aviators off of a market stand. Sliding them over my eyes as the sun sets on Washington.
Shamefully stealing some money from a market stall I nab a cab to the apartment block Fury instructed me to meet him. Considering he hadn't been in the SUV I'm going to assume Fury made his getaway successfully. By the time I roll up to the curb night has fallen. Dark enough to high the blood and bruises gifted by today's events. Thanking the cab driver I provide him a large enough tip to remain silent and slam the door shut.
Peering around the neighborhood I run my eyes over the worn beige exterior of the apartment block. A grubby apartment building I'm not shocked Fury uses to hide out. Rubbing my hands together I hastily sprint up the wooden steps before darting inside of the complex eagerly. Noticing the elevators out of order I roll my eyes, "Of course it is." Silently I begin the jog upstairs, taking note of the signs telling me which floors hold which rooms. Spotting room twenty-eight on a sign I breathe a relieved sigh. Walking the long corridor down to the apartment I follow the directions. Rounding the corner on my right I spot it down the end of the hallway. Approaching the door I'm put on alert when I notice it's cracked ajar.
Glancing over my shoulder, I press my hand against the wooden exterior and slowly guide it open. When nobody jumps out at me I carefully step inside and silently close the door behind me. Encased in the eerie sound of swing music from... I don't even know. Who the fuck plays swing music anymore? Passing a hallway stand I notice a handful of worn war photos framed and immediately my heart sinks. Fury's safe house is an old war veterans home. Rolling my busted up lip, I try to think respectable thoughts as I inch further into this man's home. Thankful for the city light that's streaming inside the dull apartment to provide me some direction, I slowly creep my way down the hallway passing by the clean organised kitchen. Silently, I come across an artifact at the end of the hallway which informs exactly whose apartment I'm currently sneaking inside of.
