It was dark. Blackness cloaked him like a velvet blanket. Sam could barely see three feet around him. Shots rang out to his right, and he ran toward the sound. He smacked into a tree. Falling back, he rubbed his head, his fingers contacting something sticky, wet, and warm. He stood up, now moving carefully, making sure not to run into any more trees. In the distance he saw a faint patch of moonlight. Sam slunk up to the clearing it was coming from, and looked on the scene in front of him with fright. Miranda stood in the middle of the clearing, the bodies of black suited men around her, guns limp in their hands. Blood stained their clothes, and Miranda was staring at straight ahead, at something only she could see.
Sam saw the gun in her hands, the blood on her clothes, and he knew, she had killed these men. Why did she keep killing, everywhere she went and everywhere he followed, blood stained the ground and seeped into her skin. It was contaminating her, Sam could tell. The blood was also in her hair, and when she turned toward him, he saw it in her eyes, too. Miranda stared into his eyes, then turned away, and walked through the forest, fading into another shadow.
Sam opened his eyes. That was a few years ago. The Rockies if he remembered right. He had then followed her here, to New York. It was a long trip, with so much cloak and dagger that he had gotten a life time's worth. Now he was stuck here. Sam sat up in bed, glancing at the clock. He jumped up, lurching into some clothes and dashing through the hallways. He bumped into Luke on his way to the kitchen.
"Luke! We're so late we're going to get detention for a month!" Luke laughed, patting Sam on the back.
"There was a freak snow storm, no school today, Sam. Fury even let us have the day off from training there's so much."
"What? It's the middle of April."
"That's why it's a freak storm, Buckethead." Pete said, coming up behind him.
"Bugbrain?! Shouldn't you be with your Aunt June?"
"June? Her name's May, idiot."
"You're the only idiot here, Bugbrain! I need to go check out this storm." Sam yanked on his helmet, climbing out of the Helicarier. He was shocked at how much snow there was. It was a good five feet deep, and the river was frozen over. The snow was still falling, too, thick and fast. Déjà vu hit him with the force of a freight train, and he should know, after the Chicago incident.
Taking off, he flew through the storm, bits and pieces of memory flashing to him. Frowning, he shot above the clouds, looking down across them. There was a gap in the thick grey clouds. Sam flew toward it, diving through the small hole. He landed on the roof where he had run into Miranda for the first time in years. A circle of warmth surrounded her. She wasn't the only one there, either. A man in a black suit was fighting her, and it became apparent to Sam that the snow was a cover so no one could see this. Miranda was good, but outmatched. The man hit her over the head with a rock, and she dropped like a dead body. The man leaned over her, and Sam just caught the words,
"Silly girl, did you really think you could avenge your friend's mother. You know, I had a lot of fun killing her, but you're going to be even more fun to kill." The man pulled a gun from his jacket, and aimed it at her head.
"Get away from her!" Sam yelled, blasting the man to the side with a well aimed blow. His anger made his temperature rise, and all the energy he had absorbed blasted out, hitting the man in the chest. The man's eyes widened and he began to disintegrate. His flesh turned to ashes as Sam's blast hit him. Soon all that was left was the snow, the cold, and a girl Sam had thought killed his mother.
