Snow danced in the grey skies, covering the small town in rolls of white. Mary shivered slightly, watching her breath steam up in front of her. She needed to get into the store, now. But there was a slight hitch: she didn't have much money. Shoot shoot shoot. She stamped her feet in an attempt to get warm, knowing just how stupid she looked staring at the shop while stomping like a buffalo.

A man walked past, eyeing her curiously. "Excuse me," he said in Russian, startling Mary. "Are you alright?"

She hesitated, crossing her legs over. "I need money," she whispered, "for products that I really really need."

The man seemed to understand and slipped her some cash. Mary gave him a grateful smile, stood there for a few more seconds, then bolted into the store, hoping that they at least had something. She scanned the aisles quickly as she walked past, darting into one and running her eyes across the shelves. There. She grabbed the small packet of pads and stuffed it under her arm. She was about to run back to the register when she spotted a box of brown hair dye. That could be useful. The man had given her more than enough, so she took that too, and a packet of underwear. She quickly paid and walked briskly to the nearest bathroom, trying not to bring attention to herself as she picked up a discarded book off the sidewalk.

The restroom was old and dingy, with a scratched mirror and graffitied walls, but Mary didn't mind. She sank down onto the seat, groaning at the cramps. No one had warned her about those. Then again, she wasn't even supposed to have them. The graduation ceremony was planned for the day after she escaped. Mary had been thrilled that she had made it before then, but now she was starting to regret it. 

She tidied herself up and opened the box dye, hoping that she didn't screw up her hair. She started applying the dye, accidentally dripping it on her black shirt, but she didn't mind. It was nice to be able to do something spontaneous without having to worry that she would be punished. While she waited for the dye to settle in, Mary pulled out the book and began to read. It was some biography on Dimitri Mendeleev that someone had thrown out, but she found it rather intriguing. Of course, she already knew half of it, but it was a good read.

By the time Mary had finished colouring her hair and cutting it with a discarded pair of scissors, night had fallen. From long, auburn hair to a dark bob with bangs, she looked like a whole new person. She gave herself a smile in the mirror and walked out, looking up at the now dark sky while she waited for the bus. Next stop: the USA.

><

It took Mary 2 years to attain all the money she needed and get to Moscow. She never stayed in one place for long, jumping from town to town, picking up odd jobs for money and shelter. She never looked the same with each stop, dying and trimming her hair to various lengths and colours. By the time Mary reached Russia's capital, she had three different coloured contacts, several pairs of glasses, and was sporting brown, curly hair to her waist.

Mary purchased a plane ticket under the guise of Kate Holland, packed what little belongings she owned and boarded the plane to the USA.

Never. Again.

Planes, for some odd reason, gave her serious anxiety. As one as she stepped over the threshold of the aircraft, a looking sense of dread washed over her.

This is how I die.

Despite Mary's over-active brain dramatizing every second of the flight, she didn't die. She survived just fine and even got a free bowl of chicken soup after a flight attendant spotted her panicked expression. "First time?" she had asked, giving the girl a warm smile as Mary nodded.

But now she was on solid ground, her eyes wide with shock. After spending years surrounded by Russian, her ears were full of the conversation around her. In English. Not RUssian. She was finally free, away from Dreykov, after 12 long years.

"Hooooooly cow," she breathed staring up at the buildings above her, scraping the sky with their roofs. New York was beautiful.

And now, it was time to start her new life.

><

"One iced americano for... Brittany."

The woman came & took her cup, mumbling a 'thank you' at Mary. The now 17-year-old blue-eyed blond bit back a perky goodbye as her co-worker tapped her on the shoulder. 

"Jess, we need you on floor."

Mary wiped her hands on her apron, readjusting her nametag with 'Jessica' inscribed across it. She grabbed a notepad and walked through the tables, jotting down orders and delivering drinks to the customers of the little café. It was a fairly decent day, with a few customers here and there. Sunlight streamed through the windows and across the streets outside, shedding light on the bustling city around them.

The bell on the door rang and Mary perked up, watching as the man sat down at a table and flagged her over. She took his order and handed it to the barista before going back around the room. That's when something odd caught her eye. She watched as the man dropped a slip of paper discretely in the nearby pot plant, keeping his eyes on his watch. He finished his coffee and paid, leaving the café abruptly. Mary's curiosity piqued. She walked past the mentioned pot plant and "accidentally" slipped on the tiled floor. Coffee and cream went everywhere, spilling across the floor. Mary blinked, keeping a shocked face as one of her co-workers helped her up. 

"You alright, Jess?" She asked, grabbing a handful of napkins.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She looked down at the mess she had made, the brown beverage trickling through the gaps in the floor and staining her converse. "I'll clean this up."

With that as her alibi, she bent down and began cleaning up the drink, keeping an eye on the paper barely visible between the leaves. Mary picked it up and opened it, her eyebrows furrowing at the jumble of letters.

XIV

NCCINHNARBHC GHNGRGN NZZR LRBHVHFR, HFN ZN DVMMRFVN R VZ ORBMVBNVC,

GDVEZQ

What the heck does that mean? It's a code, obviously, but what code? She spotted the Roman numerals in the corner, but that only caused her to frown harder. A noise startled her from her trace and she nearly dropped the piece of paper. She hurriedly scribbled it down and went back to cleaning the floor, her mind running in spirals as she thought about the code.

><

"What the Rachmaninoff and Rimsky-Korsakov does this mean?"

Dark had fallen, casting long shadows across the mismatched furniture. Mary flicked on an old lamp, tapping her pen against the scratched wood of the desk. She was good at codes, she always had been, but this one was taking some time. That was possibly due to the fact that she hadn't had a code to crack in years, but it shouldn't be this difficult. Okay, let's just start by isolating each bit.

In the corner of the paper was written 'XIV'. XIV were the Roman numerals for 14, so that was something. Something to do with 14. 
The next bit appeared to be some random groupings of letters. This was what seemed to stump her. 14 plus a group of random letters... OH- Mary slapped her forehead. It was so simple: move the alphabet forward 14 letters. She did some quick counting on her fingers and got to work.

A=N
B=O
C=P
D=Q
E=R
F=S
G=T
H=U
I=V
J=W
K=X
L=Y
M=Z
N=A
O=B
P=C
Q=D
R=E
S=F
T=G
U=H
V=I
W=J
X=K
Y=L
Z=M

Now that she had that down, it was time for work. She began writing out the new code, switching the letters. When she was done, she looked back at it.

APPVOUANEOUP TUATETA AMME YEOUISE, USA MA QIZZESIA E IM BEOZIOAIP

TQISMD

Mary growled, throwing her pen down. It was still gibberish. What the heck was this code? She sat their for a good ten minutes, looking over the code. If she replaced M with L then AMME would be ALLE, MA would become LA, IM to IL...
Wait... Those were all Italian words. And the thing about the Italian alphabet was that It didn't have J, K, W, X, or Y. Her green eyes widened and she wrote down the two alphabets together, this time missing those letters, then rewrote the code.

APPUNTAMENTO STASERA ALLE VENTITRE, TRA LA PIZZERIA IL BENZINAIO.

SPIRLD

"WHOO! FINALLY!" A thump from the wall beside her told her that she was being too loud for her neighbour's enjoyment. "Sorry," she whispered, turning back to the paper. It was in Italian, except the last word. APPOINTMENT TONIGHT AT TWENTY THREE, BETWEEN THE PIZZERIA THE GAS STATION. Twenty three meaning 23:00, so at 11pm. It was currently 9:14, so she had some time to kill. Now for the last word. It was an acronym, probably, so what would it mean? What kind of secret organisation with a 6 letter acronym for a name leave codes for their agents and is also based mainly in the US? Mary blinked. Well that answered her question. 

SPIRLD: Strategica Patria Intervento RInforzo e Logistica Divisione, A.K.A. SHIELD.

Code cracked. Now to wait.

* * * *

It was dark and damp in that alley, crouched down behind a stack of wet boxes next to the dumpster. Mary held her breath, breathing through her mouth as much as possible to avoid smelling stale donuts and rotten food. She watched as her watch slowly ticked to 10:58, then 10:59, then finally 11:00. 

The sound of footsteps made her freeze. Through a gap in the boxes, she could see a dark figure walking towards her, the dark trench coat swishing in the brisk air. Another one appeared, looking more dishevelled, as though they had been running.

"I'm here," the second one said, panting slightly. The first one gave a low scoff, clearly not impressed.

"11:01. You're a minute late."

"It's only a minute!"

"A minute could mean your life." Trench-coat guy (they were both males, judging by their voices,) was done with that conversation, and began to pull something out of his pocket. Mary took the chance to intervene.

"Yeah, from personal experience, a minute is valuable."

The two figures whirled on her. "Who are you?" Dishevelled asked, his fists raised.

Mary rested against the wall, looking at her nails. "Oh, just someone watching a super top-secret exchange between two SHIELD agents. Here's a tip: don't hide codes in a pot plant. It's dumb."

They both launched at her, fists flying. She blocked them easily, rolling out into the alley. Trench Coat was waiting for her with a baton in his hand. "You'll be sorry once you face Fury," he said, raising the baton high above his head. Mary hid a smirk. That was exactly who she wanted to see. The baton came cracking down and the world went sideways, then black.