Eyes on Fire

“....coming from Washington D.C. tonight, we find out what steps the government, and military, are taking to ensure our country’s safety. This is following up from the surprising and damaging leak of classified information from Hydra, a nazi-terrorist organization, and S.H.I.E.L.D., a counter-terrorism agency, earlier this year. We will keep you updated with live coverage, interviews, and any further activity‒”

The car switched off, killing the radio and silencing the news anchor.

She was tired of hearing about it.

The country sucks. The government lies. Humans are awful.

What else is new?

Her eyes flickered across the parking lot. The store seemed fairly empty, aside from the young, pimply teen behind the counter and a scruffy trucker scoping out the liquor aisle.

It was dark out; seven minutes past eleven. And it was cold. Much colder than it had been the past few nights. She curled her fingers into her palms and stuffed them in the pockets of her thick coat.

She needed soda and cigarettes.

Adjusting her beanie atop her head, she sniffed and stepped out of the car. The sharp, frosty air stung her face. Her breath clouded in front of her in short puffs.

Her boots scuffed against the asphalt as she started towards the small convenience store. The parking lot was illuminated with only one light; a yellow, eerie, flickering light that barely made it halfway across the lot and looked like it would die at any second. She smirked. Seemed like the beginning of a poorly made horror movie.

The door open with a small jingle. Her eyes snapped towards the clerk, who watched her with dull interest. Poor kid had probably been there since noon. She awarded him with a quick nod of her head.The trucker slipped past her, two 12-packs of Coors Light hanging from his unkempt fingers. He gave her a grizzly smirk. She ignored him and wandered towards the posterior of the store.

Three large, clear-framed refrigerators were pressed against the back wall, displaying rows of teas, juices, sodas, and energy drinks. She retched back the hatch of the third fridge, wrapping her clammy hands around the neck of a Dr. Pepper, pulling it from the row with a subtle clink.

The door to the store jingled again, and a new pair of footsteps thumped against the linoleum floors. The steps were heavy; deliberate. Whoever was walking knew what they were here for. She listened absently as the other customer made their way through the aisles, the scuffing of their shoes echoing in the small space.

Her fingers gripped the cap of her soda as she turned back towards the front of the store. She glanced up as she walked, not to bump into anything, but stopped so quickly it was almost comical.

The man in front of her stared. One hand was stuffed inside his pocket while the other - silver, mechanical, threatening - twitched at his side. His attire was dark and heavy. Stringy brown hair, shoulder-length, framed his angular face from beneath a ball cap. His expression was pensive and his eyes were dead.

He oozed intimidation.

And he was watching her.

“Veronika Volkova.”

His voice was coarse. Tires against a gravel road.

She blinked. A cold hand of dread reached through her and grasped onto her lungs. The soda bottle fell between her fingers and to the floor with a thunk.

“How do you know that name?”

“Гидра после вас,” He murmured, gauging her reaction with silent caution. Her eyes held those of a caged animal - wiry, cautious, uncontrolled. She was not to be underestimated. “У нас есть менее трех минут.”

Russian.

Fuck.

She shook her head. No, she wasn’t involved with them. She couldn’t be involved with them.

“We need to go, Veronika.”

“Stop fucking calling me that.”

A car door slammed shut outside. Multiple footsteps padded against the asphalt.

The man seized hold of her elbow, a look of frustration crossing his features. “They’re here. Мы должны идти,” He grunted. “Теперь.”

She almost didn’t hear him. Three large men, decked out in combat-like gear, stormed through the doors with devoted purpose. They were obviously Hydra - anyone who knew anything could tell you that - but why was there so few of them?

The agent leading the small troop raised a handgun to the clerk, who watched with fearful eyes as the man pulled the trigger.

Once.

Chest.

Twice.

Throat.

Blood.

She flinched, the man’s hand still wrapped around her elbow in a vice. They were obscured from view, behind the packed shelving, but they were seconds away from being found.

The man paid no mind to the gaining agents, but was still watching her with expectancy. She swallowed. He blinked. “We need to go.” A faint hint of urgency laced in his voice.

She paused. Swallowed. Glanced down at her forgotten soda. Nodded.

The man pulled her flush against him. Wrapping his bionic arm around her spine, he reached beneath his coat with his other and extracted a large, silencer-attached pistol. He pressed the handle against her lower stomach. “We are leaving through the emergency exit. I run, you shoot. Keep shooting until the door is closed behind us.”

“I don’t know how‒”

“Veronika,” He hissed. Their noses were nearly touching as he glowered at her with steely eyes. There was a silent message being sent: don’t be fucking stupid.

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hand, before meeting his gaze with a hostile one of her own. He’d regret ever making her pull this fucking trigger.

Holding the gun felt sickeningly natural. A mother holding a child.

She positioned the weapon above his right shoulder. The men were closing in.

He raised three fingers. They watched each other. There was a slight apology in his eyes. His first finger went down, leaving two more standing. The men were only feet away. He lifted her from the ground. Another finger. She wrapped her legs around his hips. He nodded and stepped out from behind the shelf.

She fired.

Head shot.

He moved swiftly down the aisle as the other two men realized their companion had fallen. “Hey! Fuck!” The one had shouted. The other seemed to be in a daze, watching as his friend bled out onto the floor. She fired again, piercing through the stunned man’s kneecap. He fell to the ground with a yelp. His comrade screamed into an earpiece for backup.

He was gaining closer to the exit. “снова,” He grunted. She pulled the trigger once more, sending a bullet into the final man’s abdomen. His body slumped over the first fallen agent.

He slammed his arm into the exit door. The cold wind nipped at the back of her neck. They were outside.

“My car is in front of the store,” She murmured against his ear. She watched the exit door. No one had followed them. Yet.

“We won’t be taking your car,” He responded, slowly his pace to a quick stride. She absently wondered if she was too heavy.

“Why?”

“Because we’re taking mine.”

“Can I walk now?”

“Will you keep up?”

“Yes.” Jackass. “Where are we going?”

He set her down. “Not now.”

“Look, I’m not‒”

“Мне жаль.”

Wait, what? “For what?”

His hand - his heavy, bionic, metal fucking hand - swung forward and clocked her in the side of the head.

She was out before she hit the ground.