Woman of Tomorrow

[BeakerSqueedom]

I got so tense!
It's not even funny!
:0 -stiff-

I felt such a huge sympathy in this chapter.
It made me think alot about youth for some odd reason.
Really strange, but I guess I was just so absorbed.

o_o -Isafreak-

And just the interaction made me worry...
See? Too into it.

I...have...to...calm down.

Just a fic, Claudia.
Just a fic.

*Hyperventilates*

 

[muppetwriter]

Take deep breaths, sweetie! In and out, in and out...

Ha-ha!

So glad you're enjoying the story.

Okay. So here's how the list of siblings (and their characteristics) goes:

1) Sean Thomas - The cool, collective, straightforward one

2) Alissa Thomas - The crazy, sarcastic, tough one

3) Angelle Thomas - The intelligent, easygoing, free-spirited one

4) Larissa Thomas - The shy, quiet, speech-impaired one

5) Melanie Thomas - ?

And as far as cousins go, it's still to be determined, since we haven't been properly introduced to Terah yet.

There's more to come soon.

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

*Breathes*
ONE!
*Breathes*
TWO!
*Breathes*
THREE!



Can't wait for them chapters, dear!

 

[muppetwriter]

Just got this message from Larissa on MySpace about "Part Four" to the story:

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: ~ilovehim~ 6/30/07
Date: Feb 26, 2008 10:20 PM


Omg...i love it!
You capture me very nicely..."spot on actually", my mom said.
Lol =]
It actually sounds very much like me...you are very good at studying people. I've only talked to you twice on the phone and the first time was very brief. But somehow you managed to capture me perfectly. Lol ^_^

Finally I've done something right for a change!

 

[The Count]

Still.. Wanting to know what/why Larissa is there before Sean and Alissa arrive.
Update please?

 

[muppetwriter]

Part Five​

Pete’s isn’t that half bad of a place…that is, if you don’t mind the waiters there being rats. Believe me, I spent the night in a place covered with them, so I wouldn’t care less. As I walk in, I notice a lot of familiar faces from the past (literally), such as Rachel Bitterman. She must’ve been there to take notes of the place and find reasons for it to be torn down by 2006. It is in her nature as a banker to destroy things and take them over afterwards. But it was that nature of hers that led to her untimely death in 2007, when she was killed during the fight between Spider-Man and a bundle of other heroes against the Sandman and other villains.

As Larissa and I cross her path, I almost want for a moment to tell her not to waste her time, because destroying Pete’s will eventually destroy her. But I choose not to say a d**n thing, because not only would she consider that a threat, it would cause catastrophic consequences to the space-time continuum.

God! I hate Back to the Future!

Larissa and I sit down at a booth in the farthest corner of the room and wait for one of the waiters to show up and ask for our order. While we are waiting, there is nothing but silence between us, but I’m not sure if it is because Larissa is too shy to say anything or the fact that she now knows that I’m from the future. I wouldn’t blame her either way, because I’m too overwhelmed myself to say anything.

However, for some reason, I am able to bring myself to ask her, “So what are you doing in New York City?”

She looks at me for a brief moment and down towards her fidgety fingers while answering. “I-I came t-to f-find a r-room for S-Sean and A-Alissa. T-They’re g-gonna b-be staying h-here in M-Manhattan s-soon to s-start a n-new c-career in j-journalism.”

“At The Daily Bugle.” I say before she could have the chance to, knowing the rest of the story from the records that I read at S.H.I.E.L.D. “They’re coming to New York from San Francisco to begin their career at The Bugle, and they’re staying at the Happiness Hotel, because they couldn’t afford any better place.”

“I-If you k-knew, w-why ask m-me?”

Good question…I don’t have a good answer to it. Instead I just say, “For a variety of reasons. Number one being that I sometimes have a bad recollection of things, even though I’m the only member of S.H.I.E.L.D. with the marvelous ability of total recall. And number two…I have a thing for comfortable conversations.”

“I-I’m sorry I-I a-am so s-shy.” Larissa says. “I-I’m t-trying so h-hard to s-stop s-stuttering…e-especially w-when so m-many p-people make f-fun of m-me.”

“Screw them, hun.” I tell her. “To them, you’re a stuttering gimp. To your own family, you’re the smartest, kindest woman alive who’d make sure to do anything to ensure that her loved ones are content with their own lives. So who’s right here?”

She smiles at me, but says nothing. And she doesn’t need to say anything at all. She knows that I am right about what I’m saying and no one should tell her differently. I am after all the most intelligent one of our family. So why wouldn’t I be right?

“So Sean and Alissa sent you here to scout out the place for them, so to speak?” I ask, and she nods in reply. “Wouldn’t they have wanted you to stay in San Fran to check out the baby a little longer? Or maybe wait a little while longer to leave together?”

“A-Alissa s-says, ‘T-The s-sooner, t-the b-better’.”

Again, that one word crosses my mind as soon after she says that: Figures.

“That’s Alissa for ya…always thinks of others before others.” Even though that makes absolutely no sense, it is the kindest way to say that Alissa still has a heart of gold at the same time she has a brain of bronze. “So you’re planning to start your own journalism career with them?”

She smiles, shaking her head negatively. “I h-have a d-different p-profession in m-mind. O-One that’s a-a little l-less o-out in t-the o-open.”

“Oh, come on. You’d seemed just right for it to me. You express yourself a lot better in literary form than you do in speech form.”

“Y-You r-really think s-so?”

“You bet your butt I do, sweetie.” I say with a smile. “Journalism is where you should be. Maybe you can work together with Sean and Alissa on interviews? They’ll handle the questions and you can take care of the answers, transferring them to the newspaper.”

Larissa takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment. “I-If I g-go into it, t-then I w-won’t b-be working w-with A-Alissa and S-Sean.”

“Why not?”

“W-Well, d-don’t g-get me w-wrong. S-Sean is p-perfect to w-work w-with, b-but A-Alissa…s-she is s-such a c-control f-freak.”

She got me on that one. I remember when we were all real young, Alissa would’ve done just about anything to make certain things were done right, even do someone’s job for them. She’s not the type to let something slip past her fingers or, for that matter, lose. I’ve always learned never to bet with Alissa, unless you’re certain you’re going to lose yourself.

“I d-dunno. M-Maybe I c-can s-start out s-small, like T-The D-Daily C-Chronicle.”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with, hun.”

She smiles at me again—I swear, I have never seen her smile more than I have these past few hours. She was always so down and lonely from when I last remember her. Have I made her feel a little more whole? A little more like a somebody? Maybe I was the thing missing in her life.

I didn’t want to tell her, but in the year 2003, Larissa eventually enters the world of journalism to horrible results. The only difference being that it is in San Francisco rather than New York, and neither The Bugle nor The Chronicle—but some independent tabloid (I forget the name). Larissa’s boss, some jerk without a soul, found Larissa incompetent for the job position due to her stuttering and shyness, but gave it to her anyways just to see her fail. I think his name is Russell…I can’t remember the last name…but I have heard that he is a Muppet; unlike most of the ones you would meet off the street.

Russell’s senseless tactics worked greatly, because by 2008, Larissa Thomas is considered “the worst reporter in the history of journalism.” Not a single tabloid would hire her after her failure at this particular one. If there is one thing that I find to be a “must needed” change in history, it is Larissa’s choice of newspapers. At The Chronicle, she’ll find a better boss (Mike Tarkanian) who will give her enough leverage within the company to ensure her a better, easier, and successful journalistic career.

Before our conversation could go any deeper, one of the rat waiters comes to our booth and begins to take our orders. “Okay, here. Whaddya want?” It is only after he talks do I recognize him from the other rats.

“Are you…Rizzo?” I ask.

He looks up at me for a moment and seems to recognize me himself. “Hey, you’re dat first human guest we got at da Hotel.”

“I didn’t know you work here.” I tell him.

“Yeah, it’s a part-time job ta da one dat I’m takin’ at da Hotel.” Rizzo says. “It’s rough, but it pays well, I’ll tell ya dat.”

“That’s the important thing, I guess.” I say, before directing his attention to my sister. “This is Larissa. She’s going to be staying at the Hotel, after I leave today.”

“Leave?” Rizzo exclaims.

“L-Leave?” Larissa does the same. “W-Where a-are you g-going?”

“Back ‘home’.” I tell her with a wink. “I only came to see someone who I haven’t seen in years and care about deeply.”

“Ya mean dat Sean and Alissa Thomas you were talkin’ about?” Rizzo asks me. “I dought dat dey didn’t show up.”

I smile at the rodent for a moment and then look towards Larissa again. “Someone else came that I wanted to see even more.” She smiles back at me again, her eyes connecting with mine for the first time we started talking.

At the corner of my eye, I notice Rizzo looking back and forth between us and shaking his head negatively. “Boy, do humans ever bug da heck outta me!”

After Rizzo took our orders, I look around the diner’s interior for a while. It feels so serene, even though it looks very homely. It is the type of place that you’d expect your grandmother’s house to feel like for some unusual reason. That’s just the vibe that I get while I’m here.

And in another seven years, it will be all gone. Destroyed by greed…the greed of one woman…Rachel Bitterman.

I watch her as she gets up from her table and walks over to the counter, where Pete (the kind owner of the place) cleans it with a fresh, wet rag. He looks up from his chore and notices Bitterman there, not looking as unhappy to see her there, as he will in another few years—possibly because she has yet to threaten them with foreclosure. But whatever she says next brings a frown to his face nevertheless, because both him and his daughter, Jenny, glare at Bitterman while she departs from the diner and enters her parked limousine outside. The vibrations from the loud roar of the limo’s engines nearly shatter the front window to pieces, as it drives away from the diner block.

Once Bitterman left, Jenny and Pete try their best to collect themselves and focus on their business by getting our orders ready. Just as soon as they are, Jenny comes over to our table, trying to muster the best smile she could to hide her frustrations, and places our meals on the table politely and gently.

“Two cheeseburgers with fries.” Jenny says. “Have fun eating, ladies.”

“Thanks, Jenny.” I say, again letting my knowledge of others show without realizing it.

Jenny looks back at me and frowns, wondering the same thing that everybody else has. “Do I know you, miss?”

However, this time I have some leverage of the situation, because I notice Jenny’s nametag on her shirt, which is good enough of a cover-up. “I just noticed your nametag. I have this thing about addressing employees by their names, once I see their nametag. Helps give the connection more meaning, as if we have been friends since college or something.”

She chuckles as she looks down at it and then back at me, with a big smile on her face (which looks more real than the one she put on before). “Oh! My mistake,” she says. “But I do get what you mean about the connection thing. I often do that myself.”

“It’s okay.” I say. “I understand that you’ve been through quite a bit.”

D**n it! I should’ve stopped on “It’s okay”!

The smile on her face quickly vanished. “What do you mean, ma’am?”

I look from her to Larissa, who is already starting to eat her burger, but stops momentarily to watch the interaction between Jenny and me. Turning back to Jenny, I say, “You just seem like you have a lot on your mind. Another thing about me that you can say is a little odd is how I can read folks. Their facial gestures are a big giveaway to me.”

That must’ve been the best cover-up that I’ve had all day, because she instantly fell for it after I said it. “I suppose it’s obvious. My father and I have been running into trouble with one of our customers, Rachel Bitterman. She’s starting to seem like our food critic, coming to eat our meals and then insulting them afterwards. Then she becomes like a health inspector, telling us how unsanitary it is to have rats cooking and serving the food. You’d expect a better attitude from someone who funds our restaurant.”

“Well, Rachel Bitterman is a woman who was born without a heart, which means you can’t expect anything nice to come from her.” I say. “Just do your best to hang in there, Jen. Everything will turn out alright in the end.”

I lie to make her feel more confident of the future, even though I already know what happens in it. If she knew the truth, it would only create chaos and disturb the balance. And who knows how she would react to it.

“That’s what Pop is always telling me.” Jenny says. “I just hope he’s right. I can’t imagine what I’d do if something were to happen to him or our diner. They both mean so much to me, next to my boyfriend Ronnie and my fashion career.”

If only she knew the truth…how different her life would turn out…no pain, no suffering, and no nightmares of death struggling within her subconscious late at night.

“It’s not fair,” I say out loud.

“What’s not?” She asks me.

I look towards my delicious food in front of me, which hasn’t been touched since it had been given to me. It’s getting cold, but it’s not the only thing that is.

“Nothing.” I say with a sigh. “Nothing at all.”

I pick up the cheeseburger and take one bite out of it. And from that one bite do I quickly realize just how great the food tasted there, despite the fact that it is made by rats—the creepiest crawlers in the world, right next to bugs and snakes. It is so hard to enjoy a nice meal when thoughts of hatred are running through your mind. Hatred of not being able to change everything in the past, without fearing of the consequences.

But if there is one thing I can be proud of today, it is that I made a difference in one woman’s life: my sister’s.

TO BE CONCLUDED....​

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

O___O

-claps enthusiastically-
WOW!
Speechless. <3

 

[muppetwriter]

One more thing I should mention in addition to my announcement on the "What's Next...?" thread:

No updates will be posted to this story, until the changes have been made by one of our most responsible moderators (and you know who you are).

 

[muppetwriter]

Okay. The changes have been made. Now it is time for the marvelously shocking conclusion to "Woman of Tomorrow", which will set the stage for the events of "The Invincible"!

Part Six​

It’s almost near sunset when Larissa and I arrive back at the Happiness Hotel from our dinner at Pete’s, the first thing Pops tells me is that the telephone has finally been fixed by a fella named George the Janitor, who just happen to be sweeping near us at the time of our arrival. I turn to Larissa, wondering if I should take this opportunity to call Sean or Alissa in San Francisco. Before I could even ask, she knows exactly what it is that I’m thinking and nods in agreement with the idea.

“Okay…I’ll do it.”

While I’m walking over to the telephone and dialing in the numbers to the Aunt Victoria’s house, I hear loud booming music coming from the next room, where all of the Muppets have joined together and begin singing a familiar, catchy song. After dialing the number on the telephone, I peek inside the next room and see the Electric Mayhem band formed in the center of the room, with all of the hotel residents around them and dancing along to the beat.

Dr. Teeth leads the song by singing, “People keep on learnin’…Soldiers keep on warrin’…World keep on turnin’…Cause it won’t be too long!” They play a few beats and then Dr. T continues on with, “Powers keep on lyin’…while your people keep on dyin’…World keep on turnin’…Cause it won’t be too long.”

And then the whole band comes together to sing the chorus. “I’m so darn glad he let me try it again, ‘cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin. I’m so glad that I know more than I knew then. Gonna keep on tryin’…‘til I reach the highest ground!”

Just as I am getting into the song, I hear a voice over the phone, but it is one of the two people that I hoped for it to be. Again, it is neither Alissa nor Sean, but my other sibling, Melanie Malavé Thomas—my 23-year-old (30 in 2008) archaeologist/biologist sister who has obviously taken a break from her expeditions around the world to see her new baby cousin.

“Hola, you have reached the Victoria Thomas residence. This is the M.M.T. of the S.F. in grand old C.A. How can I help a brotha out?”

I chuckle at her odd and yet humorous greeting before answering. “More like a sistah than a brotha, Melanie.”

“¡Ah mi calidad!” She exclaims in her Spanish tongue. “Mi querida hermana Angelle, is that you?”

“It sure is, Mel.” I say with a big smile.

“Wow. You sound so much older now.” Melanie says. “And I mean reaaaalllllyyyyyy old. I mean like older than Aunt Victoria. So old that it’s like ‘Past Your Prime’ old.”

And now my smile fades. “Gee…thanks, Mel.”

“So how’s colegio?”

“Um, yeah, college has been great.” I quickly get down to the main reason I called before the conversation strays too far away. “Uh…is Sean or Alissa there with you right now? It’s been so long since I’ve talked to them that I’m just dying to hear their voices again.”

“Aww, well, I’m sorry to tell ya, mi hermana, but they just left for New York the moment you called.” She can’t see it, but a big look of disappointment appears on my face after she tells me that. Foiled again in my plans to make contact with my two favorite siblings.

For a minute, I consider…should I wait for them to come here? That way I can see them again and hope we can do something together, just like old times? Or should I just go back to 2008 and be glad that I had the chance to talk to Larissa and Melanie in 2001?

I’m betting that the latter choice would be the best one to make, because who knows what could happen if I choose to remain in 2008. There might not be enough vacancy left for them to check into the Hotel like they’re supposed to, or worse…they might not even recognize me like Larissa hadn’t. I’m thankful enough that Melanie was able to recognize my voice over the phone, which I should’ve known she would, since she is just as intelligent as I am—I’m the only one of my family who can understand what she says.

“Si tomo un mensaje para usted, sweetie?”

Another effect in the timeline I should consider is what would happen if they know I was here. Would they cancel their plans to apply for jobs at The Daily Bugle just to go out and visit me at my made-up college? And when they find out that it’s not real, what would happen then? Would they go out and search the ends of the world for me?

I can’t risk it. Too much could change because of it.

“No,” I tell my sister over the phone. “You don’t have to leave a message for me, Mel. Just tell them that I said ‘hey’ for me, will ya?”

“Ningún problema, mi hermana.” Melanie says. “I’ll call them as soon as they get to New York and mi extremo is in Australia with the aborigines.”

“Aborigines, eh?” I remark. “Well, be sure to them that I said ‘What up’, because S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn’t given me an assignment there yet.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Is that the name of your university?”

Aw, $*% There I go again! When I am gonna learn to keep my big mouth shut? It’s no wonder that I’m even not a full-fledged agent yet.

“Uh, yeah. That’s it.” I say with a frown.

“¡Mierda santa, mi hermana! That’s a long initial for one college!”

I let out a chuckle. “Yeah, and I don’t really see eye-to-eye with the dean all that much either.”

Although she has no clue who I am really referencing, Melanie lets out a big laugh over the phone that could be heard clear across the room. “Now that’s funny, mi hermana! I’m so glad that I was able to talk to you before I left. I need a good laugh to get me through my long trip.”

It sounds like our conversation is coming to a close, so I make sure to quickly ask her, “Melanie…the new baby…Stanley, is it? What is he like? I mean, did he cry when you held him? Was he a little feisty, just like a real Thomas?”

“Oh, Angelle…he was just the cutest little pequeño I have ever seen.” She tells me, which warms my heart so much that I nearly start to cry again. “I sure do wish you get to see him sometime, Angelle.”

I swallow hard before saying, “So do I.” Wiping the tears from my eyes, I finally close our conversation. “I’ll see you in the future, Melanie.”

“Same here, mi hermana.” She says. “Oh, and one other thing…if you ever see Alissa around in Manhattan, tell el vagabundo that I still think it’s a loco idea changing her legal name, okay? I mean she’s real paranoide to think that no one would distinguish Lori Thomas from Alissa Thomas, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, I do.” I say. “As if anybody in Manhattan would really come after her.” I hear laughing over the phone again, but it abruptly stops, and all I hear is silence over the phone. “Hello? Melanie, are you there?” I then hear the strangest dial tone ever, which leads me to believe that the telephone is acting weird again. I turn to Pops and angrily say, “I thought that this phone had been fixed!”

Pops look over at George, who is still sweeping near the front door. “Hey, George! I thought ya fixed the phone!”

“I did!” George remarks.

And then Pops turns back to me and says, “He did!”

Rolling my eyes in exasperation and despair, I place the receiver back down, hanging up the screwy telephone. God have mercy on the two young souls that will soon be checking into this d**n Hotel.

But despite my anger, I feel glad that I had the opportunity in talking with Melanie again. Neither she nor Larissa are perfect substitutes to Sean and Alissa, but they made good on this very day in time. I turn to Larissa, who has been standing behind me the whole time (possibly to listen in on the conversation), and I tell her, “Sean and Alissa are on their way here.”

She smiles proudly, while Pops says near us, “Two more guests? I don’t know if ya been noticin’ here lately, missy, but we’re runnin’ out of room as it is.”

“Have no fear, Pops.” I say. “After this night, I’ll no longer be a resident of this Hotel. I’m going to move out tonight.”

“Ya are?” Pops remarks. “Well…ya wouldn’t be the first one we drove outta here on account of our insanity.”

I laugh at the old Muppet’s comment. “Relax, Pops. I’m not leaving because of you guys. I love it here at the Happiness Hotel.”

“Ya wouldn’t be sayin’ that after two months.”

Again, I laugh, just as hard as before. “Trust me. My feelings would be the same two months later.” I turn my gaze away from Pops and focus it back on Larissa, whose smile is starting to fade (due to my repeated announcement of my departure). “Promise me one thing, sis: don’t tell them that I was here.”

“W-Why n-not?”

“Let’s just say it’s got a lot to do with the rules of time travel. If you tell them I was here, then it might have a problematic effect on the future.” She looks at me puzzlingly for a moment—not quite understanding the concept of time travel—but I am able to get a nod of affirmation from her. I smile as I give her a big hug, which would be the last one she would get from me until another seven years. “I love you so much, Larissa.”

She then remarks slowly and carefully, “I…l-love…you…too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

So I leave the Happiness Hotel, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody else there. I am so horrible at saying goodbye to more than one person without crying. I could barely compose myself as I even said it to Larissa. It is important that she stays strong. I might not be until another seven years when I see her again, so I couldn’t let her confidence lower by seeing me cry. Leaving an “I love you” was perfect enough, even though she already knows that I do.

I head back to where it all started: the junkyard. I went there on foot, because I’d much rather not go through another bumpy ride in Beauregard’s taxicab and having him say goodbye to my butt (much like he did before as he welcomed it to the Happiness Hotel). But after running so many miles to my destination, it probably would’ve been a better idea.

No sense complaining now, Angelle. You’re already here.

Panting and spitting, I run past the entrance to the junkyard and head to the exact area that I’d arrived in on the previous night. It is important that I leave in the same spot that I came, otherwise the vortex might take me to a completely different timeline—and if that were to happen, I’d be bouncing back and forth between timelines forever, with no hope of getting back home.

Luckily, I have something to guide me to the spot: Oscar the Grouch’s footprints, which are still fresh. I follow them to the area that I’d arrived in, and as soon as I get there, I stop walking and start standing. What I do next is dial in “01/31/08” on the controller and then press “Enter”, opening the time vortex. Now that I know what happens once I go through it, I don’t hesitate to jump straight into it, allowing both my body and the controller to atomize and swirl around and around inside the tunnel.

Going through the tunnel again is like a reverse of what happened before…literally. I feel like I’m riding on a backwards-moving roller coaster. And the voices that I heard before are now speaking out of sync, as if they were meshed together to develop new dialogue that makes absolutely no sense at all. It is such a creepy experience that I almost feel my skin crawl and makes my head feel dizzy.

And I thought all of the swirling was bad.

Soon I am completely through the vortex and thrown back into my dump of an apartment, the controller flying out of my hands as I hit the floor with a loud thud that the superintendent could’ve possibly heard. Just as before, everything in the room begins to suck and atomize into the vortex, leaving no much left of my apartment. Immediately I crawl to the controller, which is lying on a couple of feet away from me. But just as I attempt to grab for it…

“OUCH!”

…something lands right on my arm, keeping me from reaching any further.

I stop squinting my eyes long enough to see what it is, and it turns out to be a black, heavy combat boot. The hand of a Caucasian woman reaches down at the controller and picks it up. And in just a few seconds, the swirling vortex behind me instantly shuts down, as soon as the stranger in my apartment presses the “Enter” key. Needless to say I am baffled over how well this person knows how to operate my invention.

She moves her boot away from my aching arm, allowing me to get to my feet and face her. “Alright! Just who in the h*ll do you think you are, coming up in here and…” I immediately stop as soon as I see the face. It is the face of death…the face of murder…the face of fear…the face of my 35-year-old S.H.I.E.L.D. cousin, Terah “The Terrible” Thomas.

Before I could say another word, a fist comes flying directly at my own face and connects right with my nose. The incredible force of the punch knocks me right off my feet and sends me falling right back on the floor, where I’m left sitting on my butt with a bloody nose. This is Terah’s way of saying “hello.”

Just as I am about to scream my lungs out at her, she puts her left index finger against her lips and shushes me. “My partner’s outside. I told him this’d be a ‘pleasant’ conversation.”

“And you don’t think he heard my butt slamming on the floor just now?” I retort, right before she grabs me by the shirt and lifts me off the floor, then slaps me from the left and then from the right.

“Where did you go?” She asks me, and I don’t say a word. Another slap in the face, and then she asks me again (a little louder than before), “Where did you go?”

I could stand there and get you-know-what-slapped for hours, but I don’t…only for the sake of Scooter, who doesn’t realize how insane his fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is. “Alright, alright. I went to 2001.”

“To change the events of 9/11?” She asks with a grin.

“To see my brother and sister.” I say. “You remember them, don’t ya? One of them looks almost like you.”

She forcibly lets go of me as she says, “I don’t look anything like that freak.” She calls us that all of the time…freaks…only because we were born differently from her and our other S.H.I.E.L.D. cousin, Katrina.

“You’ve never even bothered to get to know them, Terah.” I say. “You call them ‘freaks’, but the only other freak around here is you!”

She smacks me across my face again, and this time it is so hard that I nearly blacked out. This girl is so strong. All of those excruciating missions that General Fury assigned her over the past eighteen years have turned into more of a killing machine than John Rambo. It would be smart on my part not to p*** her off anymore than she already is, if I still want to live to see tomorrow.

After smacking me again, she looks down at the controller and says, “So this thing sends people back and forth through time?”

“Yeah.” I say with a bloody lip.

“And you thought it’d be smart to use it for…What? Going to see some half-breeds?”

“DON’T YOU CALL THEM THAT!”

“Does that make you mad, Agent? Does that strike a nerve in ya? Are you mad because I said it about them? Or are you mad because you are one?”

I don’t say a word. Instead I just clench my fist so hard that I feel my nails digging deep into my skin, drawing blood from them.

“This is against regulation, Angelle. And you know how much I hate it when agents go against regulation!”

She starts to advance on me like she’s going to hit me again. But the one thing that saves me from another smack down is my front door, which is suddenly opened by Terah’s partner, Scooter. “Is everything okay in here? I heard a lot of shouting,” Scooter says from behind the door.

Terah’s hand immediately shoots up and covers my mouth, keeping me from saying anything to the gofer. But it was never in my intention to tell him anything in the first place.

“Everything’s okay, partner. I’ll be out in a minute. Just keep watch for the superintendent, okay?”

“Sure thing.” He happily says, before closing the door again.

Terah turns back to me and removes her hand from my mouth. She makes a disgusted expression as she looks down at my blood on her hands and wipes it off, using my shirt. It is such an insult to my humanity that I almost bring myself to punch her right in the face myself. But I don’t, just because I wish to spare myself the pain from hitting something that’s harder than a block of cement.

“I just want you to know that I’m gonna report this to Fury.” She tells me. “But don’t be so sad, Agent. You’re gonna get exactly what you always wanted, once Fury gets your badge.”

And with that said, she leaves my apartment with my time-traveling invention, slamming the door behind her. The impact of the slam causes the newspaper from January 28th to fall from the ceiling fan, where it has been hanging since Terah had shut down the time vortex. It lands right on my face, and I quickly move it away to avoid getting blood all over it. Unfortunately, blood does get it on it…right on the obituaries.

How ironic.

As I stare at the bloodstain, one particular article catches my eye. I look closely at it, reading all of the information on there. And then, I get the greatest shocker of my whole life, as three words catch my attention the most from the article:

“Thomas”…“shot”…“KILLED”? Oh, God! NO! PLEASE GOD DON’T TELL ME THIS HAS HAPPENED!

THE MARVELOUS MINI's​

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

o_o -shakes-
-trembles-