Chapter 47 : Confusion
As evening approached, Annie was finally getting ready to head home. The day had been packed with meetings, photo shoots, and enough Vought-approved smiling to leave her completely exhausted.
All she wanted was to get out of the building and spend the rest of the night doing absolutely nothing.
Walking through one of the corridors, she passed a television mounted on the wall playing coverage of the Flight 37 rescue. Annie barely glanced at it and kept walking. Three steps later she stopped.
She turned around and walked back toward the television.
A white-haired man with glowing blue eyes flew ahead of a passenger jet while blue energy surrounded the aircraft.
Annie stared as the reporter kept talking and the footage switched to a closer angle. The hair was different, the eyes were different, but the face wasn’t.
Realization hit her slowly. "Mark?"
She stepped closer to the screen. The footage replayed, showing the mysterious hero guiding Flight 37 safely onto the runway.
"No. No way." Another close-up appeared, and it was definitely him. "What the hell?"
Questions immediately started flooding her mind. Since when was Mark a supe? Why was his hair white? Why hadn’t he told her?.
And how did somebody go from casually talking about weekend plans to carrying an entire passenger aircraft across the Atlantic Ocean?
Annie pulled out her phone and called him. The call connected after the second ring.
"Hello, Annie..."
He sounded distracted. Before she could respond, something crashed loudly in the background.
"Bad time. Really bad time. Hey, stop struggling."
"Mark, what are you—"
"Annie, I’m busy. Call you later."
The line disconnected. Annie lowered the phone and stared at it, then looked at the television, then back at the phone.
On the screen, Mark was landing a passenger jet in front of half the country. On the phone, he had sounded like he was wrestling somebody in an alley. She wasn’t sure which part concerned her more.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket. A few hours ago she thought Mark was just a slightly weird guy she enjoyed talking to.
Now national news channels were replaying footage of him saving a plane.
Their next conversation was going to be very interesting.
One hour earlier, Mark had found Kimiko waiting on a subway platform.
The woman who had sold her out was already dead.
Judging by the bloodstains on her clothes and the news reports spreading across the city, she had wasted no time tracking down one of the people responsible.
Now she stood near the edge of the platform holding a subway ticket, watching the tracks while commuters moved around her without paying attention.
New York was full of strange people, and most residents had learned that minding their own business was the safest option.
Mark approached from behind with his hood pulled low. She looked calmer than she had in the warehouse. Not calm enough, but calmer.
He tapped her shoulder.
Kimiko turned, and the moment she saw those familiar blue eyes her entire body tensed.
Her fist shot toward his chest without a second of hesitation. Mark caught it, the impact traveling through his arm without moving him an inch.
"Why don’t you calm down? I’m here to help."
She tried punching him again.
"Right. Should’ve expected that." He stepped forward, spun her around, and locked both arms against her sides before she could follow through.
Kimiko struggled. Unfortunately, it was meaningless.
"Can you stop trying to murder me for five minutes?"
A few commuters glanced over — a man and woman arguing, one trying to walk away — then went back to their phones and music. Nobody wanted to get involved.
"See? Nobody’s panicking. Good sign."
Kimiko stomped on his foot.
Mark winced. "Okay. Slightly less good sign."
He loosened his grip slightly. "But think for a moment. I genuinely want to help you. I let you go in the warehouse, and I’m here talking instead of turning you in. Even if you run, you won’t make it out of America — they’ll catch you. So let me help."
As a show of good faith, he released her entirely.
The moment he did, Kimiko spun and drove her leg straight toward his groin.
Mark stepped back just far enough that it missed by an inch. He stared at her, genuinely horrified. If that had landed it would have hurt like hell regardless of his healing factor.
"Can’t you understand English?"
Kimiko tilted her head.
The realization arrived slowly, then all at once. Every emotional argument, every attempt at reassurance, every carefully chosen word had been completely pointless.
Kimiko didn’t speak English.
"Then I can only use physical force," Mark muttered with a sigh.
Physical force had turned out to be just as ineffective for building trust.
Back in the present, he was still struggling to keep hold of her through a narrow alleyway. From the outside it looked terrible.
He preferred to think of it as an emergency protective relocation. A less charitable observer would probably call it kidnapping.
Kimiko clearly favored the second interpretation.
She twisted constantly in his grip, throwing elbows and kicks whenever an opening appeared. Mark had already been punched, kicked, scratched, and nearly headbutted during the trip.
"I am literally trying to keep you alive," he complained, ducking another kick. "Do you know how much easier this would be if you cooperated?"
She struggled harder.
He wasn’t surprised. As far as she was concerned, a strange man with glowing blue eyes had grabbed her at a subway station and refused to let go. Her reaction was probably the reasonable one.
Then his phone rang.
Mark froze. Kimiko did not. The moment his attention shifted she immediately tried to take advantage, and he barely avoided the elbow while fumbling for his phone with his free hand.
After considerably more swearing than he cared to admit, he finally got it out and glanced at the screen.
Annie.
He looked at the phone. Then at Kimiko, still trying to escape. Then back at the phone.
"Shit."
*****
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👉 /Mark841
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