Turn

12- Andra Matar

I wriggled with discomfort as I pulled the last bullet out of my side using a pair of tweezers I had found in the quinjet. The pain from my other wounds had disappeared-- along with any other trace of my injuries.

With the quiet plink of metal on metal, the small sphere dropped to the floor. I sighed in relief and let the tweezers follow the bullet.

Slumping in the pilot's seat of the quinjet, I moaned, running my hands through my hair.

Digging metal out of your own flesh?

Ouch.

That was just the easy part.

I wiped the tears from my face and searched the tiny plane for supplies.

The airplane was meant for transportation of several people-- not for comfort or storage.

So, it was basically empty. All I found was a gun hidden underneath the cold metal bench and some spare parts.

Which left me with a bloody and bullet-ridden hospital gown, a gun and a medical kit.

What you need to run away?

Clothes. Money. Car.

None of which I had.

Though, if I was lucky, those things would soon be mine in a matter of hours.

This is not where I saw myself in ten years, mandatory homework assignment.

Running from S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Never in my lifetime.

How do you even run from something that's everywhere?

In hindsight?

You don't.

I felt like throwing up. It was high school all over again. Something happens and I absolutely flip out and make a bad snap decision.

But I refused to become a suicide mission specialist. They could easily replicate the serum-- I mean, come on. S.H.I.E.L.D.. And most people probably wouldn't mind immortality. So they could volunteer.

S.H.I.E.L.D. can't force people to fight. But they wouldn't bother to cure me, so I would find someone else who could.

I wasn't running away. I was taking an extended vacation.

I could think things through without a deadly organization looming over me. Decide what I wanted to do.

First I had to shake S.H.I.E.L.D. off my tail.

Quickly, I sprung into action. I opened the back hatch of the plane. The wind whipped my hair as I stood, paused, looking out at the city below me.

It was beautiful, in a strange way. Humanity and its evolutions at best. We grew so much. We, as a race, came so far.

But there was no time to waste. I tied a heavy storage bin filled with mission equipment to a spare parachute, and with the string already pulled, threw it out the back of the plane. The box floated down to the city below, but I couldn't spare time to watch. I took control of the plane, and began to descend low over the city, dangerously low, especially if you're an inexperienced pilot, much like me.

With the plane still barely above the skyscrapers, I reset autopilot to the quinjet. I stashed the gun in the hard plastic box marked "First Aid", made sure it was tight in my grip, and without hesitation, ran out the door of a moving plane with only a building 30 feet below.

Undoubtedly, I had broken some bones, but the tuck and roll helped. It was still agony for a few moments as I lay on my back and tried not to scream aloud.