The city did not welcome Lucy like a long-lost daughter, it swallowed her like a stray, with cold sidewalks, shattered windows, and people who looked at her as if she were already a ghost, and she quickly learned that freedom came with a new kind of cruelty, the kind that didn't wear uniforms or carry shock batons but still found ways to remind you that survival was a competition. She wrapped a stolen jacket tighter around herself and moved with purpose, because standing still in a broken city made you look like prey.
Her body buzzed with stolen strength, nerves still humming from the technician she had touched, and it made her skin feel too tight, like she was wearing someone else's life over her own. Lucy clenched her fists and muttered under her breath, "This is temporary, just borrowed, just enough to get me somewhere safe," even though she had no idea what safe looked like anymore, because Hydra had stolen even that definition from her.
A small group of civilians huddled near a half-collapsed storefront, arguing in hushed voices about food, water, and rumors of flying metal monsters, and Lucy slowed, not out of kindness at first, but out of instinct, because life pulsed there, warm and bright, and her chest responded like a starving animal. She swallowed hard and whispered, "Not them, not now, not ever," forcing her feet to keep moving before temptation turned into regret.
She ducked into a shadowed stairwell and slid down against the wall, breathing hard, hands shaking, because hunger was not just physical, it was emotional, it was a whisper in her head that said take, just a little, no one will notice. Lucy pressed her palms into her thighs and laughed once, sharp and humorless. "Great, Lucy, you escape a terrorist organization just to find out you're the real problem. Fantastic upgrade."
Footsteps echoed above her, heavy and fast, and she froze, muscles coiling, senses sharpening in a way that made her feel less human and more like a loaded weapon. A man's voice barked in Sokovian-accented English, "Clear the lower floors. Anyone moving is a potential threat." Another voice replied, nervous, "What about civilians?" The first man snorted. "Civilians don't hide in stairwells."
Lucy held her breath, heart hammering, and when the door creaked open, she reacted before thinking, lunging forward and grabbing the nearest arm, because fear overrode mercy and instinct overrode morality. The man gasped as color drained from his face, and Lucy felt the rush, warm and dizzying, power flooding her veins like liquid fire. "I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking, as she shoved him away and bolted past the second soldier who stared at her in shock.
She ran until her lungs screamed and her legs burned, bursting out into open streets where smoke curled into the sky and sirens wailed like grieving mothers. Lucy ducked behind a wrecked car and slid down, pressing her forehead to the metal, shaking. "I didn't mean to," she said to no one, tears finally spilling, "I didn't mean to, I just needed him to let go, just for a second." Her hands glowed faintly with residual energy before fading, like a cruel reminder of what she carried.
That was when a calm voice cut through the chaos, close and controlled, with an edge of authority that didn't need to shout. "You okay, kid?" Lucy looked up to see a red-haired woman crouched a few meters away, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but ready, wearing gear that screamed trained and dangerous without looking theatrical. The woman tilted her head slightly. "You look like you just ran through hell. Trust me, I've got a map."
Lucy's instincts screamed danger, not because the woman felt hostile, but because she felt competent, and competence was something Hydra had always worn before things got worse. "I'm fine," Lucy said quickly, standing too fast, swaying a little. "Just lost. Big city, bad timing." The woman studied her, eyes flicking to Lucy's shaking hands and then back to her face.
"Bad timing is kind of the city's brand right now," the woman replied, offering a small, disarming smile. "Name's Natasha. You got a name, or are we doing the mysterious stranger thing?" Lucy hesitated, heart pounding, because names had power and Hydra had taught her what happened when people wrote your name in red ink. "Lucy," she said finally, voice quiet. "Just Lucy."
Natasha nodded slowly, accepting it without pushing. "Alright, Just Lucy. You hurt?" Lucy almost laughed, because hurt was a funny word for someone who carried other people's life in her bloodstream. "Not on the outside," Lucy answered, trying for humor and failing halfway through. Natasha's expression softened, but her eyes stayed alert, cataloging everything, and Lucy had the uncomfortable realization that being seen like this felt more dangerous than being hunted.
A distant explosion rocked the street, and Lucy flinched, energy rippling through her reflexively, making the air around her feel charged for a split second. Natasha noticed, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "That wasn't normal," Natasha said carefully. Lucy forced a shrug. "Adrenaline. Happens to me." It was a bad lie, and they both knew it, but Natasha didn't call her out, which somehow made it worse.
"Look," Natasha said, standing and offering a hand, "I can get you somewhere safer. You don't have to tell me everything. You don't have to tell me anything. But standing here is a bad idea." Lucy stared at the offered hand, every warning Hydra had ever drilled into her screaming not to touch, not to connect, not to take what she couldn't give back.
Lucy shook her head slowly. "I can't," she said, voice low and tight. "I hurt people when I get close. Not on purpose. It just happens." Natasha's face didn't change much, but something in her eyes did, something that looked a lot like recognition. "Kid," Natasha replied quietly, "you'd be surprised how many of us have that problem."
For a moment, Lucy almost took her hand, almost let herself believe that maybe this world had room for someone like her, someone broken in a way that didn't show on the surface. Then sirens grew louder, and a Hydra insignia flashed in her memory like a brand on her soul. Lucy stepped back. "I can't stay," she said, voice shaking but firm. "If they find me, they won't stop. Not ever."
Natasha nodded once, sharp and understanding. "Then run smart," she said. "And if you ever get tired of running alone, there are people who know how to disappear better than anyone." Lucy gave a small, sad smile. "I'm already pretty good at disappearing," she replied, then turned and melted into the smoke and noise before Natasha could say anything else.
From a rooftop, Lucy watched the red-haired woman disappear into the chaos, heart heavy with something that felt dangerously close to hope. She wrapped her arms around herself and whispered, "Don't get used to it. Don't get soft," because softness got you caught and caught got you caged. But somewhere deep inside, beneath the hunger and fear and stolen power, a new thought took root, fragile and stubborn, that maybe being a ghost didn't have to mean being alone forever.
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Whenever you're ready, I can roll straight into Chapter 3 with her first real power encounter with a major hero, or we can deepen her abilities, combat style, and limits so every fight feels intense and earned.