oblivion. ▷ captain america. [1] •••DISCONTINUED•••

xiv ▷ 16 December 1991.

F O U R T E E N

14. | 16 December 1991.
a possible familiar face

genevieve.

•

"READY TO comply." After screaming and screaming from the electric shock waves, it finally stops, and I'm ready to listen to my new and young commander.

"I have a mission for you," the Soviet replies. He fingers slam the red book with a black star of the cover shut, eyeing me closely. He sets it on a tray, picking up a heavy file instead. His expression sours as he shoves it towards me. "Sanction and extract. No witnesses."

I watch as he flips through the pages that are barely held inside the manila folder. I see a photo of a tan car and an older man with white hair. In another photograph, there is just light blue. It comes in forms of liquids in bottles to small slides. As long as it's blue, it's what I'm searching for.

I nod at the commander, waiting to be released from the chair and armed for the mission.

[•]

The roar of an engine hums in my ears. I cannot make out the shining headlights from behind the green brush that was concealed by the darkness of the night. The street's only sources of light were the headlights and the occasional street light on the side of the twisting road.

I rest on my motorbike, my foot steadying it on the dirt. I peer around the trees and down at the road for any sign of the car itself.

My partner is a mile or so out from where I am, further down the road, meaning that I'm closest to the car. I have to leave to follow the car first and then he follows. That is the plan, of course.

The headlights of the car shine bright on the road in front of me. The engine hums as a tan car flies by. I flick on the front light of my motorbike and kick my foot off the ground, zooming after the car. After a moment or two, I see another motorbike's front light flutter alive, and it roars by my side. I make eye contact with my partner, giving him a curt nod to attack.

He slides beside the car, driving up to the passenger door. He releases the handle of his motorbike with his metal hand, smashing in the side of the car with it. The driver seems to be shocked by it, jerking the wheel to the left; however, that wasn't exactly the brightest decision. The front of the car rams into a tree on the side of the road, resulting in the hood popping up and crushing the parts underneath.

I hit the brakes on my bike, riding up to the side of the left car. My partner has to swerve back around to be back towards the car, where he goes to the trunk. I hop off the black seat of my bike and make my way towards the driver's door. It was completely bashed in in the crash, leaving it just hanging off the side of the car.

There is a man sprawled out on his abdomen on the ground, panting heavily. "Help my wife," he begs in a low, desperate tone. "Please, help."

I ignore his pleas and grab him up by his thinning white hair to reveal his bloody and dirty face. His wide eyes stare up at me pitifully. The skin between them crinkles, like he is trying to place pieces of a puzzle together.

"Agent Doctor?" he whispers.

Agent Doctor. Where have I heard that before?

Agent Doctor, a sassy voice rings in my head, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late night fondue.

I knew a man who used to call me that. But why? Why would he call such a ridiculous thing?

Maybe it was because I used to be both — it was my title.