ghost

“AND THE WINNER FOR this year’s robotics contest is,” the announcer smiled and purposefully slowed down the motion of opening the card. Silence rang throughout the AVR as almost everyone held their breath. 

This year’s contest was held differently, instead of the teams presenting their work in one single room and the judges walking around, they had been put in different empty classrooms and were tasked to do the challenges without seeing what the other had done. It seemed like they really wanted the suspense for this year.

Gwen resisted the urge to tap her fingers in nervousness and instead found her hands wrapped around Peter and Ned’s hands as the two sandwiched her in the bleachers. Ned was holding the lego-esque bot in the design of the millennium falcon, their work in the span of 6 weeks. It was hard to tell who was going to win when they didn't know how their opponents had performed. 

Not to mention, it was nation-wide and they were up against who knows how many teams here in Washington DC.  

Sweat built up on Ned’s forehead and Peter’s breath was hitched on his throat. 

The announcer’s smile wore down as he read through the card, Gwen could hazard a guess and say that the group that the man had been rooting for didn’t win. 

“The Skywalkers of Midtown Tech! Team members: Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy, Peter Benjamin Parker and Edward Leeds!” the man had almost sullenly said.

Cheers erupted in the room as the trio squealed and hugged each other. Wide smiles and bright eyes, “Oh my god, we did it!”

Their class had been the loudest in cheering them, Flash even screaming his throat dry, “Y’ALL HAD THIS ONE, WE NEVER DOUBTED YOU!”

They then walked towards the stage and with bright smiles that almost hurt their cheeks and aching their jaws, they received their trophy along with their certificates facing the humongous crowd of people from all over the country. 

There was a montage of their robot’s performance and some snippets on their faces as they were programming the robot through the challenges with the help of their laptop (that was barely surviving with the masking tape). All of it shown on the huge screen beside the stage as they walked back down, Gwen had to resist the urge to cover her face in embarrassment.

They were then drowned in their class’s huge group hug, a roar of congratulations and left the premises.

Their homeroom teacher had decided to let them roam in a science expo before they leave to go back to New York. Plus, it was at the edge of the school year, they basically had no more classes and their cards were to be sent by mail in response to this almost last-minute science expo. 

The contest had actually lasted for a long time, with schools first competing within their district, division level, regionals and then the nationals. 

The additional incentives (additional points for their grade) had been accumulated enough that it wouldn’t be impossible for one of them (or all of them) to get perfect marks in Physics and/or ICT. That would definitely make them skyrocket through the rankings. 

Gwen, truthfully, had ignored all of the displays in the Expo and quickly dialed her mother’s phone. It rang for a few moments before being finally picked up by the annoyed face of Audrey Delphine Bourgeois, “Ugh, what is it this time Catherine?”

Ignoring her mother calling her the wrong name, she excitedly told her, “Mom, we won the robotics contest! Nationals!”

“Mhm, yeah, okay.”

“We were given a trophy! And a certificate! Do you think I should get it framed?” she giddily said, floating in cloud 9 as the euphoria from their victory has yet to leave her.

“Sure,” was Audrey’s lackluster reply. The woman sighed and adjusted her sunglasses, “Look, I don’t care much about your.. nerdy things, Christine.”

Gwen’s face dropped as she slowed down in her steps, the corners of her mouth dropping as staring blankly at her phone where she could see Audrey’s uninterested face that’s not even facing or looking at the camera.

“The only thing I want you to get a trophy at is your ballet shows, your piano showcases and your violin and whatever things that makes me look good, okay? You’re better off learning to succeed in my company and finally act like the heir you are or even better, be as elegant and as pretty as I am to snatch a good husband.”

“But—”

“Oh! Pour l'amour de Dieu !” Audrey finally said and turned to look directly at the camera of her phone, “How many times do I have to repeat this, Clarisse? I only have two rules: stop wasting my time and do as I say.”

Gwen had been busy reeling in her emotions to notice a woman coming out of a stall holding a cloth-covered box. The two had bumped into each other and Gwen quickly said a vomit of apologies. The stranger just scowled and cursed quietly, quickly smoothened the cloth and walked away. 

Audrey Bourgeois sighed and handed her phone to a man waiting by her desk, “Jean, turn this off and get the car ready for my next appointment.”

Jean-Claude Beaufort, a long-time employee under Bourgeois’, received the phone and calmly walked out of the woman’s office. 

Once Jean was out of earshot, he looked down at the phone and his heart broke at the sight of the young madame’s forlorn face.

“Please don’t mind madam Audrey. Congratulations for your successful win, madam,” he genuinely said. 

“Thank you, Jean. So much,” she choked out. 

She then winced and the tears fell down, she looked at her hand and realized that a spider just suddenly bit her. She shrieked and smashed the spider with her phone and hurriedly wiped it off. She felt a shiver ran down her spine as she wiped the insect off.

“Madam? Is there something wrong?” Jean’s worried voice snapped her out of her stupor.

Gwen unconsciously wiped her eyes with the hand that was bitten and winced even more, “Nothing,” she sniffed, “just a bug.”

“Alright, madam. I’ll be ending the call now, please get home safely,” the man greeted and the screen went black. 

What a perfect time for her phone to die due to the empty battery. Gwen cursed lightly and sniffed even harder, running to catch up with the batch that was already about to leave the expo.

“Hey! Peter! Wait for me!”

SITWELL WAS HAVINGONE of the greatest days of his life. 

His coffee came on time, his suit was as crisp as it could get and all prior meetings have gone well without an agent busting in and hauling him out for a last-minute mission. His meeting with Senator Stern had even gone extremely well, now that Fury was dead, Pierce definitely had more helpful and useful shit for him to do. Well, aside from that mission to play victim to those pirates. 

He had to admit, an agent who’s easy to be seasick and not that great with heights was not really ideal and he was more than fine to be the one of the more higher-up mole that wasn’t exposed to the actual fights but rather in the bureaucratic side of S.H.I.E.L.D. but suddenly Pierce had usurped the seat and he’s thrown into the more important missions. Like that one for Blonsky. And now, he was to directly be the messenger regarding Project Insight.

And actually another little thing about Baron Strucker moving something from Washington to Sokovia.

It was weird. Usually Rumlow or some other STRIKE Agent was the one to act as the messenger bird. Seems like Pierce got confident due to Fury’s death.

“​​Listen, I gotta fly home tonight, cause uh… I got some constituency problems, and I gotta press the flesh,” Stern had commented for face’s sake as they walked out of the building. 

“Any constituent in particular, Mr. Senator?”

“Uh… no, not really. Twenty-three, kind of hot. Real hot. You know, wants to be a reporter, I think. I don't know, who listens at that point?” No matter how much they were surrounded by Stern’s disguised HYDRA Agents as well as some S.H.I.E.L.D. STRIKE Agents posed as bodyguards, he didn’t want his disgust to show. He might’ve been an agent for a fearsome terror-org, he has his boundaries. 

Jasper Sitwell is a simple man. He’s absolutely not some cold-blooded agent like Rumlow or Rollins, he’s in HYDRA because they pretty much hold great power and the other choice was being six feet under. Besides, nobody wants to be the one the Asset points their gun to. 

He forced a smile to appear, “Doesn't sound much of a problem to me.”

“Really? Cause she's killing my back,” judging by the glint in the old, ugly senator’s eyes, he definitely knew that he was uncomfortable, “Look, this isn't the place to talk about it.”

He even got into his space and stroked the pin (read: tracker) he had on, “This is a nice pin.”

As if to rub salt in the wound and put emphasis that Pierce hadn’t even trusted him that much, his tone had been ridiculously fake. He grunted out a ‘thank you’. 

“Come here,” Stern dragged him subtly down to his height and whispered to his ear, “Hail, HYDRA.”

That conniving wrinkly little shit. 

The older man stepped away and continued the charade as if nothing just happened, “See, it's right there...”

“I just saw that, yeah.” I want to stab you .

“Should I get it checked?”

“I think you should.” and get a mirror .

The man finally walked away and he took the moment to sigh. He’s not gonna let that old prune-personified of a senator ruin his day. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket to reveal Pierce calling him. That was weird. That man probably never even talked to anybody on the phone. 

But then again, he now had valuable information regarding Project INSIGHT’s targets. He couldn’t exactly blame the man for being his version of giddy, only a few hours left and it’ll be initiated. HYDRA’s new world order will finally be realized.

“I need a minute, bring the car around,” he said to his bodyguards and answered the phone. But what greeted him was definitely not Alexander Pierce’s voice.

“Agent Sitwell, how was lunch? I hear the crab cakes here are delicious.”

Sweat had begun to break out of his skin but he wanted to at least know who the hell this was. “Who is this?”

“The good looking guy in the sunglasses, your ten o'clock.”

He turned so fast, he almost had a whiplash and didn’t see any noteworthy person with sunglasses. “Your other ten o'clock.”

Sitwell was then greeted with a dark-skinned man sitting in the cafe he wanted to dine in before going back to the headquarters. He gritted out, “What do you want?”

The man hadn’t looked familiar. “You're gonna go around the corner, to your right. There's a grey car, two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride.”

How audacious, “And why would I do that?”

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I'd hate to mess it up.”

He looked down to see a red dot on his chest.

God fucking damn it.

After that was being thrown down a building and thrown back up to the rooftop again. His futile attempts at keeping information was definitely wasted, he definitely cannot even hope to get away unscathed when it’s the widow and the darn stubborn blonde captain. 

“Zola's algorithm is a program… for choosing Insight's targets!” God damn it, did he really have to choose between getting killed by a vibranium shield or a metal arm?

“What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city. Bruce Banner, Gwendolyne Stacy, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future.” 

The captain’s eyebrows furrowed and Sitwell would’ve admired the blueness of his eyes if it wasn’t for his current predicament, “The Future? How could it know?”

He couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, man was this man so naïve, “How could it not? The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it.”

The confused faces of the super-soldier and the widow had made this day even better despite being thrown down the building, he had felt so much like those TV villains monologuing, “Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future.”

“And what then?”

Damn it, Jasper, you just had to get carried away , “Oh, my God. Pierce is gonna kill me.”

“What then?!” the blonde had angrily said.

Jesus Christ, he hoped to god he still stays breathing by the end of this day, “Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list.”

“A few million at a time.”

THEY SPENT THE GOOD part of the noon in a fancy restaurant, courtesy of Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson. Everyone had first been embarrassed about it but when Gwen told them that it was just Flash’s form of friendship, they dug in, though with some hesitance. She had settled for a slice of plum tart and blueberry cheesecake. She was feeling really woozy and dizzy that she had barely even been able to stomach the small slices. 

She probably even was hallucinating because there were some giant planes shooting each other in the air.

She shouldered half the bill. Much to their advisor’s chagrin. 

The school bus was just a few steps more when her dizziness had shot up to another level. Her eyesight doubled and she had almost fallen if not for a hand holding her and putting her inside a car.

Wait.

Car ?

Immediately, she started thrashing and attempted to yell but the person who was sitting beside her had clamped a handkerchief on her mouth and their other arm wrapped around her to make her stay in place. The person—a guy with slicked back hair looking the part of a bodyguard—had walked to her teacher and was saying something before handing a paper and a business card that looked like an imitation of her mother’s business card.

Gwen felt the effects of the chloroform mixed with something that smelled like alcohol, really strong alcohol, since she was starting to lose strength, her nails proving useless against the guy’s fully covered arm and gloved hands. 

She tried her best to stay awake, especially since the man finally removed the handkerchief after 5 minutes. 

She feigned to be dizzier than she really is, quickly rolled down the window halfway and weakly shouted, “Peter! Help—”

But then the guy pulled her in so fast and knocked her out by the pressure point on her neck.