The Scarlet Witch

A full moon shines through thick, rolling clouds as the wind roars below them. The night is restless and unforgiving, sprawling everywhere below. The wind continues its pursuit, eventually pushing the clouds off into the distance, where they will continue to move through the night. As the clouds part, the light of a convenience store daintily presents itself from below. She lowers herself slowly, landing a few dozen feet away from the store as to not give herself away. A sudden red flash fills the area, kicking up dust and some snow from the ground. Cold, tired, and alone, she walks towards the station and peeks through the windows to see if anyone is there.

            A balding man in his early 60s sits atop a stool behind the counter, dozing off, a cigarette burning in his fingers dripping ash onto the floor. Apprehensively, she pushes the door open and makes her way inside, ringing a bell the startles the man awake.

            "H-hello, welcome in," he says, hoping she hadn't seen he was asleep. He quickly takes one last puff of his cigarette before putting it out below the counter, swatting feverishly at the smoke. She forces a quick, unconvincing smile at the man before meandering to the back of the store, searching for a restroom.

            To the right of the counter, in the overhead corner of the store, an outdated TV plays the nightly news. As she opens the door to the restroom, bombarded by the stench of a single-stall, unisex nightmare, she hears the store's clerk mumbling to himself as he turns up the TV, blasting the theatric voice of a newswoman through the store.

"And a resident of the once unassuming town of Westview, New Jersey came to comment on the atrocities she endured there last week. Let's take a look."

            Stopped in her tracks, she turns around and fixes her gaze on the clerk, whose eyes are glued to the television. Seeing that he's paying no attention to her, she subtly repositions herself behind a gondola of chips and dips, concealing herself from the man. She glances up at the television, tears welling up in her eyes.

            "Yes, it was... one of the worst feelings. Knowing who I am and what I want, but not being able to act on it. My body is- is still sore from trying to resist, but... there... there was nothing any of us could do. She wouldn't let us go."

            The man scoffs, mumbling interjections to himself over and over.

"You be careful out there, miss," the clerk says as he exhales. "There are some loony ass people in this world. They'll stop at nothin' to get what they want, 'cause they know they can take it from us easy."

            "Oh yeah," she says, affirming the clerk's warning.

"I'm always careful wherever I go," she continues, "You just never know these days."

"No, no ma'am, you certainly do not," he says, repositioning himself to do his job.

She lays a package of crackers on the counter along with a bottle of water, wiping the condensation from the bottle onto her pants. Her gaze is fixed downwards, unwilling to show her face to the man as she fumbles for money from her pockets, all while the television continues to play on.

"Wanda Maximoff, a wanted fugitive of the United States government after multiple direct violations of the Sokovia accords, is currently on the run. She was seen flying northwest out of New Jersey. Her current whereabouts are unknown, and any information regarding her location should be called into your local police station."

A picture of Wanda flashes across the screen, an intake photo from the Raft after the events of the feud between Tony and Steve; T'Challa and Bucky; her and Vision.

"That'll be $4.67, ma'am," he says, looking over from the register to her.

"Thanks," she says, laying a 5-dollar bill on the counter.