a prologue
Six months after the world shut down, Margarita Schuyler sat in a salon chair. Her esteemed stylist, Clint, was working on an original cut style just for her, because as she explained, Instagram fame was hard-earned. She wasn't willing to show partial nudity, so she needed a exceptional haircut.
"Who cares how many followers you have? You're a billionare," Clint questioned.
Peggy let out a petulant whine before complaining, "That's my father's money, I need to make something of myself. You did. You're the next Chris McMillan."
"Take a sip so we can post," Her assistant entered, phone in one hand and green bottle in the other. "Cold-pressed juice is trending super hard right now, you're gonna get, like, 10,000 likes in ten minutes."
Holding the bottle up to her mouth, Peggy took a sip until she heard the camera click, when she promptly spit it back in the bottle.
"Are you trying to fucking poison me?"
Clint made a 'what-the-fuck' face.
"This tastes like turtle shit. You're supposed to be my personal assistant, Steven. Do you even know me?" Peggy narrowed her eyes. "Can you just go and get me a macchiato so I can rinse this taste out of my mouth?"
She waved him off with a 'go away' motion of her hands. Clint mouthed 'get rid of him'. Tires squealed outside.
"Are the Kardashians filming out there?" Steve looked out, confused. Clint moved to the window to see what was going on. Suddenly, everyone's phones started blasting alarms. A notification popped up that read, 'BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO LOS ANGELES. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.'
"What the fuck?" Clint voiced out loud this time.
"No," Peggy declared, while brushing her fingers through her hair. "It's bullshit. It's a hoax. It's like that time in Hawaii. They're gonna text in, like, a minute with a retraction."
Her phone rings.
"Oh. Hi, daddy. How's Hong Kong?"
"Margie, listen to me." Philip Schuyler's voice filtered out, staticky, from her phone.
"You know what, we have a terrible connection. I'll call you after i'm done-"
"Just shut up and listen," he cut her off, "The missile alert is real. In less than an hour, Los Angeles is going to be an empty crater."
"Wait, daddy, you're scaring me."
"You can still be safe. There are five spots reserved for our family, but your mother and sisters are here with me, and we're not going to make it. A car is coming. It'll take you to Santa Monica Airport. A private jet is waiting, so go. So go."
"Wait, what are you talking about?"
"We all love you, very much. Wish we could be together again, but it's too late. Just try to be happy, baby. That's the only thing that matters."
The phone cuts out. Peggy gasps. Outside more cars are skidding. Clint says a quick 'oh my god' while looking scared.
"No! No, no, no! Wait, was that real?"
"We gotta go, Peggy. Come on. Come on!" Steve grabs her arm and leads her outside. They get in her car and the chauffer drives, haphazardly, to the airport.
At his office, Peggy's fiance notices a news report on the TV stating that widespread panic has arised as a result of the warning. The White House has not responded yet. People are running through the halls to the front door.
His phone rings in his pocket and he answers it. "Babe, are you seeing this?"
"Brock, where are you?"
"What do you mean? I'm at work. I just heard a fucking amazing pitch. Free Willy as a six-part limited series. It's kind of genius."
"Brock, I love you. I don't want to live without you. Get to Santa Monica Airport. There's a plane waiting for us."
"What?"
The car swerves and horns are going off outside. Peggy screams. Brock calls out her name and gets no response.
On the TV, the news anchor confirms that numerous cities, including Hong Kong, London, and the Baltics and Moscow have all been hit and destroyed. Brock turns his head as a woman trips, falls, and screams.
The anchorman gets a somber look on his face and his voice sounds panicked. "This is it, ladies and gentleman. I can't believe we actually did it. We have just been notified to evacuate." His breathing becomes shaky. "I'm not gonna make it home. So if my children are watching this, daddy loves you very much." The broadcast cuts out.
People are scrambling. An air raid siren blares, causing Brock to turn around.
-
A woman, with diamonds on her ears and wrists and fingers and belt, complains about freezer-burnt champagne to her housekeeper. The young maid gathers her stuff.
"Where are you going? You know I pay you for a ten-hour day."
"I have to go home, Ms. Romanoff. It's the end of the world!"
As she runs out, Clint runs in.
"Nat, I've been trying to call you."
"What are you doing," She demands.
"The government sent a warning. Missiles are coming."
"So is global warming. Well. It's probably fake news,"
"No this is real, Nat, people are going to die. Today."
"Let's have some burnt champagne."
-
"Look, I can't get a hold of anyone. My friend is going straight to voicemail. I got to go home, Peg."
"No, no no no no no. You need to stay here with me. Okay? You can take my brother's ticket. Steven, you know I'm helpless without you. I'm worse than Elton John. I don''t even know how to work a dishawasher or open a door. Besides, after the bomb drops, there won't be anything to go home to."
"Okay," Steve amends. "If, Bucky can use one of the tickets too."
"You and that street rat, I swear to god- Okay, fine! Tell him to meet us there. Why aren't we moving?!"
A body lands on the windshield. Peggy screams, "Oh my god!"
"People are committing suicide to avoid the blast," Steve realizes. The drive steps on the gas and throws the body off of the car.
-
As they arrive at the airport, Clint pulls up in his old-fashioned car. "Peggy!" He yells. "Wait!"
"What are you doing here?"
"I overheard your dad. There's five spots. Room for all of us!" Nat steps out of his car. "This is my life partner and very good friend, Nat."
"How do you do?" Natasha calls.
"No, I don't," Peggy responds. "What are you doing? Brock is gonna be here."
"He's not gonna make it, it's chaos out there. Jesus, what happened to your hair?"
"What are you talking about?" She asks while patting her hair. "Okay fine, just get on the plane."
Her phone rings. "Brock, where are you?"
"No, look, i'm coming. I am in the worst traffic nightmare ever. Give me ten minutes, i'll run there."
People in a crowd make their way to the plane.
"Oh my god, Brock, They're coming. People are coming for the plane."
A man pulls up on a motorcycle.
"What are you doing?" He calls, while walking towards her. "Get on the plane!"
Steve stands on the steps to the plane, "Bucky! Peggy! We have to go! It's now or never."
Peggy looks conflicted. "Brock, do you remember the contract we had with each other?"
"No, no, no. Don't go there, babe."
"Uh, at any time, we could unilaterally release each other from our monogamous obligations. You are now free to see other people."
"No, no, no, Peggy! Do not leave me in fucking Santa Monica!"
Bucky grabs her hand and pulls her onto the plane.
-
Brock looks up and sees a plane flying right over him.
"YOU BITCH!" He calls out.