Outsider

Twenty-seven

Fleur, I'm gonna need you.

Two years after my encounter with Brock Rumlow, I received a message on my newly-bought phone.  I recognized the number, it was him.  The seemingly smart decision would be to ignore the deal Rumlow and I made, but I was paranoid that he'd send someone to hunt me down.  A man like him would have to have connections.

I texted back:

What do you want?

Your help.

I found myself at Central Park two days later.  I was not Sarah Callaughan today because Rumlow already knew who I was.  His face had healed somewhat, but the skin was still raw and raised.  He wore dark sunglasses and a baseball cap, looking almost ordinary.  On the other hand, I was a petite fourteen year-old.  My pale face was dotted with red pimples, which I tried to cover with concealer.  Perks of living with Trish were that I learned about fashion.  It was amazing to have the ability to choose anything I wanted to wear, not the dull and sweat-ridden uniforms of Hydra.  The only rule of Crimson Night was that I had to wear something red, a status symbol.  Today I wore red plaid jeans and a cream braided sweater with a black coat and black heeled boots.  My hair, which never stretched past my shoulders, was up in a French braid.  I carried my knife from the Hydra base, only I had carved the Crimson Night crest on its hilt.  It made me feel safer.

"Hello Elissa," Rumlow said to me 

"Hello.  You look well, all things considered."

Rumlow laughed, "I guess I don't look too bad."  He lifted his sunglasses, and I could make out more of his deformed face, that swelled eye.  But, my more pressing thought was finding out what he wanted.  We walked towards a black van, with its back windows blocked out.  When the back door was opened upon our arrival, I willingly went inside.  Two other men were already there, but their faces were covered with ski masks so I could only see their eyes.  They nodded at Rumlow, but stared at me.  "Who is she?" asked one man.

"She's good, Joseph.  She's gonna help us." Rumlow explained.

I could feel him scowling at me from behind his mask.  He muttered, "I don't like outsiders,"

There's a word I could not escape.  Everywhere I went since I escaped Hydra, I was told that I'd be an outsider.  The only time I felt excluded from a group was in Hydra- their beliefs did not match up with mine.  Or Ollie's.  Oliver and I were both outsiders at Hydra.  But, at Crimson Night part of me truly believed that I belonged.  As I've said before, Crimson Night became my family.  Anyway, when Joseph decided to use that derogatory word, anger quickly grew inside of me.  The word was so unfair because I wasn't an outsider!  

 "Fuck you!" I said sharply.

Joseph stepped toward me and questioned, "What did you say?  What did you say, bitch?"

"Rumlow asked me to help him!" I snapped, pulling out my knife out of my pocket for the hell of it.  Trying to look intimidating, I waved the blade around like a madman.  I said, "I've known him longer than you; if anyone's the outsider, it's-"

Rumlow shoved me away from Joseph, saying, "Both of you, calm the hell down!"

Silence overcame the van.

"Elissa's a girl of rage," Rumlow declared finally.  He sat down on one of the van's chairs and asked, "Now, can we get through this without murdering each other?"  I did not understand Brock Rumlow's motive behind his plan, and why he wanted all of a sudden to do it now.  I presumed that he had been stewing and plotting his retribution against Captain America and his posse for mutilating his (Rumlow's) face, and perhaps now he had enough back up.  The plan was to steal a bio-weapon, a deadly virus, from Lagos, Nigeria.  Then that would attract the attention of Captain America, and Rumlow could end his life for the whole world to see; a suicide bombing.  I was not to take part in that plan, Rumlow claimed he was being kind by letting me stay behind because Crimson Night would be furious if I chose to leave at random.  "When you kill yourself will any people be around?  Any innocent people?" I questioned Rumlow.