"You were missing for two years . . . . .Nobody could find you. . ." Sydney
didn't stay to hear Vaughn finish the sentence.
Millions of thoughts flashed through her head.
Will dead. Her father, mother, where were they?
and
There was a ring on his finger.
He wouldn't touch her.
Two years. . . .
Everything would have changed, she wouldn't have kept up. There would be nothing for her.
Nothing.
She could not accept it.
Vaughn was climbing out of the shattered window after her. His fingers just barely brushed hers as she leaned forward off the fire escape rail and headfirst towards the ground.
The dumpster below provided a safe enough landing place, and then Sydney was off again. In only a dingy white T-shirt, and grey cotton pants she ran, and sought the sanctuary from reality in Hong Kong's neon painted streets. Broken beer bottles from a hundred drowned spirits were scattered across the street, waiting to add another cut to the growing number on Sydney's bare feet.
A thin silver band encircled Sydney's ring finger. Very small, but very pretty, she thought. It was the only defining mark she could find on her person besides the white rags that clung to the wetness on her body.
Looking back once at Vaughn, Sydney could see him frantically talking on his cell phone, probably calling in the renegade agent's escape. That was her. No longer Sydney. A number of a machine that had gone awry. Sydney's face twisted in pure resentment.
The old Vaughn would have called out to her, not called in to a cell phone. He would have chased after her. But he wasn't the same.
Which meant. . . . she wasn't the same.
There was no longer a Sydney Bristow.
With this revelation, a new artificial calm swept over her. She no longer existed. She would make sure of it. That way things could somehow could return to normal, if her logic was correct.
She would forget instead of forgive. Forget the betrayal, the seeming lack of effort in locating her, and the lack of support she now found in her situation. Forget everything.
Ducking into another alley, the woman who used to be Sydney took many sidestreets before arriving at her destination: The United Bank of China: Hong Kong Branch.
If she made this transaction quick enough, she could get it done before the CIA would be watching the banks. She estimated that it had been approximately 3 minutes since her escape from herself, enough time for Vaughn to make the call, but not enough for the CIA to have started monitoring her interests. She would just take the bare minimum from her account to avoid suspicion.
A long time ago she remembered Noah Hicks giving her some sound advice in the espionage business. Have one private account that remains secret and untouched, specifically for emergencies, and for the extremely rare agent, retirement.
There goes my retirement fund, she thought as she handed the teller her slip. The teller looked at it a moment, then went to the back. The woman who used to be Sydney exited the bank with $2,000 American dollars in tow. It ought to be enough to get me started, she thought.
____________________________________
A woman wearing all black with her hair wedge-cutted in a violent shade of purple approached the port at the Bay of Bengal. On a fine silver chain holding a small silver ring disappeared underneath her black shirt collar. Intelligent brown eyes glinted behind the dark sunglasses as she gave her forged ticket to the cruise manager. A cruise to Singapore should be enjoyable, she would have to take things from there. Possible find some passage to Europe.
A distinguished gentleman with dark curly hair spoke in spurts to the cabin director onboard the cruise.
"Scusilo, dove รจ il mio bagaglio?" The large hand gesticulations stopped momentarily as the man noticed her staring. He gave her a wink and a dirty smile, as if to say, "we'll talk later."
She had found her transportation and living quarters with one hit.
Next stop, Italy, she thought.
Millions of thoughts flashed through her head.
Will dead. Her father, mother, where were they?
and
There was a ring on his finger.
He wouldn't touch her.
Two years. . . .
Everything would have changed, she wouldn't have kept up. There would be nothing for her.
Nothing.
She could not accept it.
Vaughn was climbing out of the shattered window after her. His fingers just barely brushed hers as she leaned forward off the fire escape rail and headfirst towards the ground.
The dumpster below provided a safe enough landing place, and then Sydney was off again. In only a dingy white T-shirt, and grey cotton pants she ran, and sought the sanctuary from reality in Hong Kong's neon painted streets. Broken beer bottles from a hundred drowned spirits were scattered across the street, waiting to add another cut to the growing number on Sydney's bare feet.
A thin silver band encircled Sydney's ring finger. Very small, but very pretty, she thought. It was the only defining mark she could find on her person besides the white rags that clung to the wetness on her body.
Looking back once at Vaughn, Sydney could see him frantically talking on his cell phone, probably calling in the renegade agent's escape. That was her. No longer Sydney. A number of a machine that had gone awry. Sydney's face twisted in pure resentment.
The old Vaughn would have called out to her, not called in to a cell phone. He would have chased after her. But he wasn't the same.
Which meant. . . . she wasn't the same.
There was no longer a Sydney Bristow.
With this revelation, a new artificial calm swept over her. She no longer existed. She would make sure of it. That way things could somehow could return to normal, if her logic was correct.
She would forget instead of forgive. Forget the betrayal, the seeming lack of effort in locating her, and the lack of support she now found in her situation. Forget everything.
Ducking into another alley, the woman who used to be Sydney took many sidestreets before arriving at her destination: The United Bank of China: Hong Kong Branch.
If she made this transaction quick enough, she could get it done before the CIA would be watching the banks. She estimated that it had been approximately 3 minutes since her escape from herself, enough time for Vaughn to make the call, but not enough for the CIA to have started monitoring her interests. She would just take the bare minimum from her account to avoid suspicion.
A long time ago she remembered Noah Hicks giving her some sound advice in the espionage business. Have one private account that remains secret and untouched, specifically for emergencies, and for the extremely rare agent, retirement.
There goes my retirement fund, she thought as she handed the teller her slip. The teller looked at it a moment, then went to the back. The woman who used to be Sydney exited the bank with $2,000 American dollars in tow. It ought to be enough to get me started, she thought.
____________________________________
A woman wearing all black with her hair wedge-cutted in a violent shade of purple approached the port at the Bay of Bengal. On a fine silver chain holding a small silver ring disappeared underneath her black shirt collar. Intelligent brown eyes glinted behind the dark sunglasses as she gave her forged ticket to the cruise manager. A cruise to Singapore should be enjoyable, she would have to take things from there. Possible find some passage to Europe.
A distinguished gentleman with dark curly hair spoke in spurts to the cabin director onboard the cruise.
"Scusilo, dove รจ il mio bagaglio?" The large hand gesticulations stopped momentarily as the man noticed her staring. He gave her a wink and a dirty smile, as if to say, "we'll talk later."
She had found her transportation and living quarters with one hit.
Next stop, Italy, she thought.