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Carmen was running. She didn’t know exactly where she was running, nor why, but none of that seemed to matter in the moment. All she knew was that she needed to get out of here, wherever ‘here’ may be. Her breathe was coming in short, quick and strained gasps, her knees threatening to buckle under her at a moments notice. But still, she kept pushing herself onwards. Just a little further, she pleaded.
She could here quiet chatter in her ears, almost as if someone was trying to call out to her, but she paid it no mind. Eventually, her luck ran out and her foot caught on a ridge in the side walk, sending her crashing down. She releases a pained gasp, and clutches the fabric of her coat to ground herself, only to feel her panic rise drastically upon realizing she can barely feel them.
The tight squeezing of her chest, once a mere discomfort and annoyance moments ago, has grown to border on painful. Carmen claws at the brick wall of a nearby building, desperate to find some way to pull herself up. It takes more effort than she could have imagined, and if she were able to think clearly, she’d probably be embarrassed.
Using the wall as a crutch, she stumbles along her way, only stopping when she finds a dark alley way. Something in the back of her mind whispers to her, not a smart place to hide, could be dangerous, but she’s just so exhausted that she barely hesitates, and finds herself walking down it. The red clad woman finds a little nook between some trash cans, and slinks down to the ground. Her eyelids droop, heavy with sleep, and a cold chill passes through her body, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her mind feels like it’s trying to battle itself as thoughts race through her mind, none of which are coherent, but bits and pieces that she does manage to catch only make her chest squeeze tighter. Carmen can feel her whole body shake, but whether it’s from the coolness of the shadows, or her current state, she can’t tell. Bringing her knees to her chest, she lets her forehead drop down upon them, trying to curl into the tightest possible ball she can form; trying to hide more than she already is.
She ignores the tears burning her eyes and nose, and instead lets her eyes slip closed. A nap and it’ll all be better, something in her mind echoes. Just a small nap.
v•^•v•^•v•^•v•^•v•^•v•^•v•^•v•^•v
Chase Devineaux had only been to New England a handful of times. Perhaps only once or twice really, and that’s where he found himself that morning. Intel stated that a one Femme Rouge, would be en route here in Boston, no doubt in search for some new trinket to steal. Or so ACME thinks, a traitorous voice whispers. He ends that train of thought as quickly as he can.
The agent does his best to recall the briefing he and Zari had just a few hours prior. Something about a museum- a museum of ‘Fine Arts’ or something (the details are a bit murky). What he does know is that the museum holds a multitude of exhibits that feature ancient artifacts, artifacts that are probably worth millions, making them an ideal target for the Red Coated Thief. Or VILE...
The two agents arrived about an hour before closing, and with a flash of their key cards they found themselves wandering the halls filled with wondrous displays. Any item in the museum could truly be a target, so it was only a matter of waiting he supposed.
<•>=<•>=<•>
He could see her spiriting into the night, cloak flying in the wind behind her as she sprinted into the distance. He gave chase, and although he knew he was unlikely to be able to catch up to the Crimson Ghost, especially on foot, he gave it his all. He was trying his absolute best to silence the conflicting voices in his head, but they would not relent. Run faster, you need to catch her. ACME will only ever approve of you if you catch her, one sneered. Let her escape, Julia was right all along, the other tried to reason.
If Devineaux was trying to be honest, he had no idea which was right or wrong. He had been so sure that she was a criminal, a thief, your typical storybook villain- but then Venice happened, and the foundations of everything he had believed to know about the girl began to crumble. The strangest thing was that, he had been keeping as close a watch on the museum as physically possible, and he could’ve sworn nothing was taken- but the next thing he knew she was jumping out a window, and gliding off before finishing her escape on foot.
In the moment before he began his pursuit, she’d turned back and looked him in the eye. Perhaps it was his head messing with him (certainly wouldn’t be the first time his memory has failed him, especially after his capture from those VILE crooks), but he was so sure that he saw something he’d never seen before in her eyes. Fear.
Devineaux shook his head, wishing his head to clear itself, even if only temporarily. But his clouded thoughts were his downfall. Sandiego was no longer in his sights. He stopped running, pausing by some brick building, and hunched over, hands resting on his kneecaps as he caught his breath. He let out a sharp growl in frustration. He really didn’t want to have to call this in.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his communicator pen, thumb on the button when suddenly- clang! The agent’s eyebrow raised in confusion, and he swiftly replaced his pen with his knock-out-gas-gun (his own personal name for the device, pretty catchy if he did say so himself), the call now completely forgotten. He crept along the wall, peering cautiously into the nearby alleyway.
Nothing. Or at least, nothing that he could see at first. As silently as possible, he tip toed into the dark passageway, eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary. The bright red coat was not hard to find. As soon as he caught sight of the woman, he raised his weapon, preparing as best as he could for a fight, except... she didn’t move. Not a single inch. It was as if she didn’t even know he was there.
Concern soon took him over, a frown dawning his face. Had she been injured and he hadn’t seen it? Was that why she escaped seemingly without a single item in hand? But his gut told him that something wasn’t right. He may know little about la Femme Rouge, but he’s encountered enough to know that she’s a determined one. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong by the looks of things.
He briefly glanced back down the alleyway, and upon making sure no one was around, he knelt down before her, checking for any immediate signs of injury. He was no doctor, but he at least had basic medical training. First thing he noted: her hands were clamped over her ears, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The second thing was the shaking. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, but it was bad enough to be worrying. What was more worrying, however, was her quick, shuddery breaths.
He extended a hand to reach out for her, only to drop it upon realizing that touching her whilst she was in such a state would probably illicit a negative reaction. He faltered momentarily, unsure of what to do. It would be so very easy to hand her over to ACME like this, it was the task he was assigned to do after all... so why did it feel so wrong?
For what must’ve been the hundredth time since Venice, he mourned the loss of Agent Argent. Surely she’d know what to do here, he muttered to himself bitterly. With a sigh, he decided he must make a split second decision. Hand her over, or help her escape? He didn’t have much time to lose, judging by the buzzing from his pen that must be a call from Chief.
He inspected the girl more closely, and was not pleased by what he saw. She looked so young, so young and vulnerable. The realization struck him like lightning: she was practically a child. She didn’t deserve to be trapped in a jail cell. Perhaps there was more to the story that he was unaware of as his old partner had been telling him all along. And so he made his decision.
”Ms. Sandiego?” He whispered, trying to catch her attention. The only response he received was in the form of groan, followed by her only curling in on herself more. Not good. He was about to speak again when he heard what sounded like a voice. Devineaux had to strain his ears in order to catch much of anything, and even then it sounded staticky at best. It must be coming from some sort of device, he deduced. He scrambled around in search of the source, when a glint of light stemming from her earrings caught his eye. He squinted his eyes, trying to catch a better look, but they just looked like, well- ordinary earrings. He could’ve sworn the voice was coming from there.
As gently and as carefully as he could, he rifled through her pockets, hoping to find a phone or something. Surely she had a way to contact others. Eventually his fingers brushed over a cool, smooth, screen-like, surface and he knew he struck gold. He cheered himself on internally when he pulled out the item, which was, in fact, a phone. His celebration was swiftly cut short when he realized that there was already a call going. Perhaps that’s why he heard a voice.
Player, the tag read. The agent scoffed at such a name, but carried on. He placed the phone to his ear, and called out. “Hello? Hello, hello?”
”About time. I was hoping you’d answer.” The voice on the other end was higher pitched, male sounding, and if Devineaux had to guess, he’d say it’s a child.
”Hello? Who is this?” The agent asked.
”The name’s player, now listen Devineaux-“
”How do you know my name?!
He heard a sigh. ”Dude, I’ve known your name since like, the beginning with the Eye Of Vishnu- but that’s not important right now, what is important-“
”So are you a spy?”
”Devineaux-“
“Or are you also a thief?”
”Devineaux.”
”Perhaps both? A spy and a thief like you partner in crime?”
”Devineaux! I think Carmen is having a panic attack, so if you could please help her while we wait for help to arrive, that would be great,” Player practically pleaded. The agent stopped his interrogation, hearing the fear leak into the kid’s voice. It’s clear that he cares for Sandiego.
“A panic attack?”
Though he couldn’t see it, Player nodded. “I think so at least, that seems to be what her symptoms are indicating. Then again, it’s hard to get a definitive reading through a screen. She had them every now and again, but this is the worse it has been in... a while.” The kid suddenly sounded so much older, as if he had aged a decade in a minute. It certainly through Devineaux for a loop.
”Right. And you said help was on the way?”
”Yeah, I’ve sent him your exact location, he should be there in about 10 minutes. Just try to get her to calm down at least a little bit before he gets there.”
The agent nods in determination. “Right. I can do that... er, how exactly would I do that?” He asks sheepishly, tugging at the collar of his shirt.
There’s a brief silence, one only broken after a few seconds by the click-clacking of a keyboard. “I usually just try to talk to her, get her to try and recognize where she is, do some breathing exercises. I’d start there.”
He nods again and gets to work. “Me. Sandiego, can you hear me?”
She groans once more. “Devineaux?” The words are quiet and a little slurred, but a response is better than no response so he’ll take it.
“Yes Ms. Sandiego, it is I. I need you to try to calm your breathing, help is on the way.”
”Help?” She questioned, eyes beginning to crack open for the first time since he’d arrived.
”Yes, they should be arriving in approximately...”
”8 Minutes,” the line crackles.
”8 minutes.”
She nods ever so slightly, the movement being so small that it’s almost undetectable.
”Now, can you copy my breathing?”
She stares at him through half-lidded eyes, and he can tell that it’s taking most of her energy just to process what she’s saying. But after a minute or so, the heaving, labored, breaths she had been taking softened into a more normal pattern.
”Excellent! Now do you know where you are?”
Her face contorted with brief confusion, before evening out as it all came rushing back. “Boston, mass. Fine Arts Museum.”
He nods. “Very good! How are you feeling?”
She shifts in discomfort for a moment. “Tired. Chest hurts,” she mutters after a period of time.
“Player?”
“ETA 5 minutes. Just a little longer.”
Right. Just a little longer. “Now, Ms. Sandiego, what were you doing here in Boston?” Perhaps it wasn’t the best question to ask as of that moment, but as they say, curiosity killed the field agent.
Her eyes cloud over for a moment before she shrugs, clearly too dazed to remember.
”Very well. Do you at least remember what happened?”
Panic flashes over her face momentarily, but as soon as the look came, it was gone. Instead she shrugs. “Just came out of nowhere. Thought I saw... someone, but nobody was there,” her eyes glaze over with a look the agent can’t quite decipher.
“It’s alright Ms. Sandiego just try to keep calm.”
She nods, but whether or not she actually understood what he was saying, he couldn’t be sure. For the next few minutes, he continued to talk to her. He chatted about his favorite cheese, his favorite cafe, his lucky coat, all that he could think about while they waited. Eventually Player interrupted to let him know that ‘help’ should be arriving at any second. Devineaux hung up the call shortly after, giving the girl her phone back.
He heard footsteps approach, and then a low, accented voice. “I’ll take her from here.”
Devineaux turned to look towards the entrance of the alleyway and was left gaping like a fish. It was him! The man who had captured him all that time ago! The one with the sword!”
”Uh-“
Before he could say anything, the man walked down the path, and knelt before the girl, right where Devineaux had been moments before.
”Carmen?” He called softly.
She let out a soft groan once more before her eyes focused on the man standing before her. “Dad?” She asked, voice still slurred.
The man stumbled momentarily, seemingly unsure of what to say. “Come Carmen, let’s get you home,” was what he eventually settled on. As gently as the man (her father?) could, he scooped her up in his arms. He began to walk out, only turning around for a moment. “Thank you sir. Your help is greatly appreciated.” His eyes harden momentarily. “We were never here. Understood?” Devineaux, unsure of what to say just swallowed nervously, and nodded in return, and with that, the two were gone.
He was at a loss for words. Honestly, if someone were to tell him that that was a dream, he’d believe them in a heartbeat. Did I really do that? The soft beeping of his communicator pen brought him back down to reality. He swiftly dug the pen out of his pocket and clicked the button before tossing it to the floor. The hologram of Chief lit of the dark passageway, and illuminated his face.
”Agent Devineaux, report.”
”She er, she got away.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
”Er well, me and Agent Zari were able to chase her out of the museum before she was able to steal anything. I chased her, but I’m afraid she... got away.”
Chief hums in response. “Very well. I want you and Zari to stay for another day or two. If she didn’t manage to steal something the first time around, perhaps she’ll try again.” And with that, the call was over.
For some reason, Devineaux had a feeling that Ms. Sandiego wouldn’t be returning, but perhaps one of her crew members. The man sighs, pulling out his phone. He scrolls through it for bit, only stopping when he comes upon his contact list. His thumb hovers over a name. Julia. All he had to was call.
He shakes his head aggressively, and with a growl he shoved the phone back into his pocket. It was no use. With a sigh, he left the alley and began his trek back to the museum to meet up with his partner. Devineaux didn’t know many things. He didn’t know if the Crimson Ghost was ‘good’ or ‘bad’, nor did he know the motives of her and her teammates. But what he did know, was that thanks to his efforts, Ms. Sandiego would be just fine, ready to spring back into action and go on another, more daring caper. And that was enough for him for now.