Spirits

As I spin idly in the office chair, waiting for the files to download onto the flash drive, my gaze drifts to a cup of pens adorned with the company's logo. With a mischievous grin, I pluck a few pens from the cup and slide them into my pockets. "They won't miss a few pens," I mutter to myself, humming a tune under my breath.

Just as the files are nearing completion, the door creaks open, and I freeze mid-spin, caught red-handed by an unsuspecting office employee. I straighten up in my chair, attempting to appear innocent, though the assortment of stolen office supplies peeking out from my pockets probably gives me away.

"Hi," I offer nonchalantly, hoping to diffuse the tension with some casual banter.

The man's eyes widen in alarm. "You aren't supposed to be here," he stammers, his voice trembling with fear.

I sigh dramatically, pushing myself up from the chair and sauntering toward him. "And yet, here I am," I reply with a smirk, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Before he can make a run for it, I reach out and grab his shoulder, halting his escape. He whirls around, panic written all over his face, but before he can utter another word, I gently press my hand against his forehead, sending him slumping to the floor in a state of unconsciousness.

"Sorry," I mutter under my breath, glancing down at the now-prone office worker. I give him an apologetic pat on the shoulder before quickly retrieving the flash drive from the computer.

Just as I'm about to make my grand exit, I find myself face-to-face with a set of shoulders that I could recognize anywhere. With a smirk playing on my lips, I look up at the man whose expression remains stoic, devoid of any hint of amusement or exasperation.

"We meet again, Rogers," I remark, acknowledging the familiar encounter with a hint of irony dancing in my tone.

"Why don't you hand over the flash drive, Spirit?" he questions, his voice calm and authoritative as he extends his hand expectantly.

“Well, now that you mention it," I begin, adopting a contemplative tone and furrowing my brows as though grappling with profound existential questions. "I'm not even sure I want it anymore. It really makes me reflect and question why I do everything I do."

Taking a seat on a nearby bench, I stare down at the flash drive, my fingers tracing its edges as though it holds the key to some deep, hidden truth. "Why bother doing anything? Why do I bother risking my life every day to obtain these files that seem utterly meaningless?" I continue, my voice cracking with a manufactured sense of emotion, as if struggling under the weight of my own fabricated dilemmas.

“I don’t know why I even try anymore. How did I even get here?” a faux tear drips down my cheek. I look up at Captain America through my eyelashes, sadness and disparity filling my eyes.

Raising the flash drive, I allow a single tear to trickle down my cheek, meeting the hero's gaze with a mixture of defiance and faux vulnerability. “Here, just take it,” he stands there, uncertainty painted across his features, clearly unsure of how to respond to my sudden emotional outpouring.

As I extend the flash drive toward Captain America, my hand trembling ever so slightly, I watch as he cautiously approaches, his expression a mixture of concern and disbelief. With a hesitant hand, he reaches out to accept the device, his gaze never leaving mine.

"I... I didn't expect this," he murmurs, his voice filled with a hint of uncertainty as he takes the flash drive from my outstretched hand. I lower my gaze, feigning a sense of defeat, though inwardly, I can't help but feel a sense of triumph at the success of my ruse.

"I didn't either," I reply softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I continue to play my part in this elaborate charade. "But sometimes, it's just easier to let go."

As Captain America pockets the flash drive, his expression softens, a glimmer of sympathy evident in his eyes. "Spirit," he begins, his tone gentle yet firm, "I know things haven't been easy for you. But there's always a choice. You don't have to keep running."

I meet his gaze once more, my facade of vulnerability faltering slightly as I contemplate his words. "Maybe," I concede, my tone laced with uncertainty as I rise from the bench, a newfound sense of determination flickering within me.

Looking at the hero in front of me, I’m sort of frustrated I didn’t get a fight out of the encounter. I inwardly debate telling him I gave him an empty flash drive just so we can have our usual sparring.

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” I ask suddenly, throwing the man off guard.

He furrows his eyebrows, confused, “What?” I groan and begin walking away. Rogers trails behind me, defying his usual inclination to attack. I maintain my stride, anticipating his next move.

Reaching the parking lot, I abruptly face him. "Seriously, when are you going to make a move? We should have fought at least ten minutes ago. I'm growing tired of these interactions, Cap," I remark, a tinge of impatience in my voice.

"These interactions are not for your entertainment, Spirit. My team and I are trying to put an end to your attacks," his unwavering perfect posture and steady voice evoke an unsettling discomfort within me, an inexplicable sensation that urges me to escape the confines of my own skin.

"I would hardly call them attacks. I mean nobody's ever gotten hurt," he glares at me as I say this, so I quickly correct myself, "Except for you and your little band and you all are always the ones who start it."

“You are stealing information from companies,” Captain America dead eyes me. I click my tongue.

"Got me there, Cap." I sigh before checking my watch "Well, if we aren't going to fight, I guess I better get going. I have things to take care of."

I turn away to go but I feel a hand land on my shoulder. As Captain America's hand lands on my shoulder, I instinctively grin, anticipating the familiar dance that is about to unfold between us. With practiced ease, I swiftly twist away from his grasp, his hand falling harmlessly to his side. He responds in kind, using his foot to attempt to sweep one leg out from under me, but I manage to maintain my balance with a deft sidestep.

"I did dance as a kid," I taunt him with a smirk, relishing the banter that has become second nature to us. "Kind of," I add, furrowing my brows in mock contemplation.

"Then, let's dance," he declares, his eyes narrowing with determination as he readies himself for the confrontation ahead.

Without missing a beat, I spring into action, launching a flurry of swift kicks and punches, each movement calculated to test his defenses and keep him on his toes. But Captain America is no stranger to my tactics, and he counters with precision, deflecting my blows with practiced ease.

As the fight escalates, the air crackles with tension, each of us locked in a battle of wits and skill. Despite our familiarity with each other's fighting styles, neither of us gives an inch, each refusing to back down from the challenge at hand.

With every move and countermove, the fight becomes a dance of sorts, a choreography of punches and blocks that flows seamlessly between us. It's a testament to the countless encounters we've shared, the battles waged and the scars earned in our ongoing rivalry.\

As the fight reaches its climax, I find myself straddling Captain America, his shield wedged between us as we grapple for control. For a moment, there's a pause in our struggle, a brief lull in the chaos as we lock eyes, the intensity of our gaze mirroring the intensity of our conflict.

While having him pinned down, I take a moment to glance at the scratches and scars I've left on his face. A twinge of guilt briefly flits through me as I realize I've marred something so perfect. But then, a surge of pride fills me as I recognize that I'm the one who's made a mark on the symbol of heroism. It's a reminder of the intensity of our rivalry and the strength of my resolve. With a smirk, I commit the sight to memory.

But just as victory seems within my grasp, a distant wail of sirens breaks the silence, signaling the arrival of reinforcements. I can't help but chuckle at the timing, a small smirk playing on my lips as I glance down at Captain America beneath me.

"Well, it looks like our dance will have to wait for another day, Captain," I quip, my voice tinged with amusement despite the seriousness of our situation. With a swift movement, I disentangle myself from our entanglement, leaving Captain America momentarily stunned by my sudden departure.

I leave the hero in the company of Mr. Lina, a spirit only visible to Captain America, ensuring a dramatic confrontation when the cops arrive. The image of Cap struggling against an invisible force brings a smirk to my face.

In the dim shadows of the alleyway, I summon a portal back to my apartment. Its magical allure resonates with swirling black particles and enchanting traces of purple, beckoning me to step through and leave this chaotic scene behind.

Stepping into the familiar surroundings of my apartment, I find myself sighing as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. With a wave of my hand, I let the illusion fall away, revealing my natural self once again.

Observing my reflection, I take note of my long black hair in need of a trim, my once vibrant green eyes now dull with exhaustion, and my pale skin adorned with cuts and bruises from the night's escapade. But amidst the physical toll of my actions, there's a deeper sense of longing, an ache for something that remains just out of reach.

I'm unsure of what I'm missing, but it feels like home. A sense of belonging that eludes me in the midst of my endless pursuit of chaos and adventure. As I gaze into the mirror, I can't help but wonder if there's more to life than this endless cycle of conflict and evasion.

With a heavy sigh, I flicked off the lights, feeling the burdens of the day lift as I trudged to the kitchen, clad in comfortable sweats. The soft rustle of Miss Elizabeth's newspaper, which I had retrieved for her that morning, greeted me as I entered.

"Enjoying the newspaper?" I asked, mustering a smile as I began gathering the ingredients for Chicken Marsala. Miss Elizabeth, a spirit whose presence had become a steadfast companion over the years, glanced up from the pages with a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes, thank you, my dear," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. "Though I must admit, the crossword puzzle has proven quite the challenge this morning."

As I chopped mushrooms and minced garlic, the familiar routine of cooking provided a soothing balm for my restless mind. Miss Elizabeth regaled me with stories of her own culinary escapades, her laughter filling the kitchen with warmth and light.

Miss Elizabeth squinted her eyes at me as I sat across from her, preparing myself a plate. “I know my vision isn’t the best, but I swear you have new fresh cuts on your face.” The old woman leaned forward, causing me to chuckle, shaking my head.

“I just got into a little tussle with Captain America,” I shrugged, taking a bite of the food. “I’m fine. You should see him,” I quipped, making the woman chuckle.

“I’ve taught you well, young girl,” she stated with a hint of pride, her words carrying a sense of maternal wisdom that always brought me comfort.

We sat at the table, the soft glow of the kitchen light casting a warm ambiance as we discussed recent world events, our laughter mingling in the air like a familiar melody. With each passing moment, the weight of the day seemed to lift, replaced by the comforting presence of Miss Elizabeth and the simple joys of companionship.

I finished my dinner and cleaned up my plate, feeling a sense of contentment settle over me like a cozy blanket. “Well, Miss Elizabeth, I should probably head to bed,” I remarked, stifling a yawn as exhaustion crept in.

“Good night, darling,” Miss Elizabeth’s voice rang out, her words filled with a tenderness that lingered in the air even after she faded away, leaving me alone in my apartment. As I retreated to the solitude of my room, the soft hum of the city outside provided a soothing backdrop to my thoughts, guiding me into the embrace of sleep with a sense of peace and tranquility.