(May 7th, 2004)
The man waits under cover of darkness, blending with the trees lining the edge of the road as though they are one. He has been waiting for long enough that a thin layer of moisture clings to his skin, and the fabric of his clothes thanks to the fine droplets of rain falling from the sky.
His eyes have long since adjusted to the relative lack of light, save for the small halo provided by the streetlamp resting a few feet away, but that hardly matters. Nothing matters, save for the successful completion of his mission.
That is all that has ever mattered. Or at the least, all that he can recall, the attempts he has made to think past all of that always resulting in confusion, and the familiar, white-hot pain beneath his skull that negates everything else.
Motionless, even in spite of the dull ache of muscles that have been forced to remain still for too long, the man continues to watch for his target. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and a bolt of lightning illuminates the sky before everything goes dark once more.
Other than the sound of rain still falling, the surroundings return to their almost eerie quiet in next to no time at all. And the man allows his fingers to flex at his sides while his ears remain locked on the eventual oncoming rush of tires against pavement.
The sound will come, soon enough. He knows it with a certainty that is unshakeable.
Confirm the presence of the target. Eliminate all possibility of escape. Take the girl, and eliminate anyone else as collateral damage. That is the mission.
He will wait as long as it takes to see it done.
As though the thought summons its arrival, the man registers the sound of an approaching vehicle. A flash of headlight beams reflects against the trees across from where he stands.
In seconds, he is crouching, taking a knee in the damp earth, and reaching for the weapon stowed securely at his feet. Picking it up, he takes aim as the vehicle rounds the corner and comes into view.
A voice in his earpiece confirms that the car holds the target. He takes aim at one of the tires not long after. And with the resultant sound of a tire blowing, the remainder squealing against the pavement as the vehicle veers out of control, he moves to stand once more, his footsteps carrying him out of the relative shelter of the trees, and into the open, instead.
Stalking towards the car, now overturned, with smoke and flame flaring beneath the hood, the man reaches forward, a swift tug pulling the driver's side door from its hinges so that he can cast the warped metal aside. He stoops to place two fingers against the unconscious driver's neck to feel for a pulse.
Faint, but present, there is a flutter against his fingertips, though flames are beginning to lick their way closer to the older man's frame. Satisfied that soon, that lingering pulse will no longer be a threat to the completion of his mission, the younger man begins moving to the other side of the car.
It isn't until he passes the conflagration still growing beneath the hood that he sees it. The girl that had been seated on the passenger side is trying to pull herself free of the wreckage. Her right arm hangs loosely at her side, and the scent of burning flesh tickles his nose. Dark hair hangs in disarray around her shoulders, and her face is twisted into an expression of unbearable pain.
She is the target. He recognizes that much from the photos studied before his departure. Still crawling away, despite her injuries, and disorientation, she is clearly determined to escape.
A reality that he knows he cannot allow.
Instinct soon has him stepping closer, fingers curling around her uninjured arm, the act provoking the target to almost immediately recoil, but his grip is stronger. It always has been. And in seconds he is beginning to haul her to her feet in spite of her screams, the task of tugging her in the direction of the checkpoint that rests a few miles away rendered more difficult by her immediate struggles to get away.
Her words fall on deaf ears, the blows delivered to his arm—his shoulder, and back—inconsequential. A petite frame renders her powerless to resist him pulling her along. Whatever she had been begging for, she now seems only capable of emitting a broken sob while turning back to look at the car, now fully engulfed in flame. Something that renders it all too simple for him to shift from pulling her along in his wake, to delivering a sharp blow to the base of her skull to prevent her struggles against him from going any further.
A soft grunt escapes as she sags against him, and he lifts her into his arms easily enough, her head lolling against his chest along the way. He walks away from the destruction he has caused as though it was never even there, leaving the man that had been driving her for dead.
The voice in his earpiece provides confirmation of their elimination of any cameras that may have been positioned around the scene, and he rests easy in the success of another completed mission.
Reasons and explanations hardly matter, when this is all he's ever known.
…
Hello there, my darlings! And welcome to yet another Top Gun story featuring my OC Casey Mitchell! This one will be a Marvel AU of sorts, specifically inspired by Captain America/The Winter Soldier. So if you're obsessed with Casey, as I seem to be, I really hope you join me for the ride?
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to give this small introductory chapter a chance! Future chapters will be longer, I promise! Either way, though, I truly do appreciate your time and support, so very much more than you know! I'll be seeing you all the next time around?
~permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88