Alchemy Sofia Jones was killed in 1951 during a reported mission on the attackers that killed her family on the 12th of May the same year. At least, that's what Agent Peggy Carter told everyone. It was a frigid rainy day when Peggy came into the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D. The sky was a sea of grey, not a single speck of blue could be seen. She carried an umbrella as she walked into the office, her hair partially wet from the pouring rain.

As everyone scurried around, Peggy had found her voice. "Alchemy Jones is dead."

Jovian Jones, Alchemy's older sister and last living relative, looked up from her files. Her usually bright face had suddenly been completely flushed away from the sudden news. "What did you say?"

"Jojo, you heard what I said," Peggy repeated, her voice hushed from the bitter words. "Ally Jones is dead."

Jojo faced the wall, her face creased and her fists closed so tight she could feel the sweat trapped inside them. Try as she might, she couldn't conceal the shaky breath that escaped her lips as Peggy came to comfort her. "How?"

"Don't worry about that now sweetie," she brought her old friend into a hug. "I wouldn't tell the children about the events right away either."

"No, I wouldn't," Jojo shook her head, a few stray tears staining her cheeks. "Not yet anyways."

Peggy handed her the report. "You'll find everything about the mission here. However, prepare yourself for the worst," she extended her hand and squeezed Jojo's shoulder. "We couldn't find the body."

Jojo bit her lips together, tilting her head to the sky as if she was swallowing her grief. "Does Howard and Phillips know?"

"Yes," Peggy confirmed. "I was just on my way to deliver the news to Peter Dunn."

"Of course," Jojo dragged her thumb under her eyes. "Would you excuse me? I'm going to find William."

Peggy stepped back, allowing her friend to leave the office and find her husband. Jojo was a mess as she left, trying her best to conceal her sobs, but they echoed in Peggy's head. There was a long silence before Peggy was able to breathe again. However, everything Peggy had just filed, reported and told everyone...was a lie. Although, she'd be the only one to know the truth.

Exactly one week ago, America's female face of the war, the Alchemist, better known as Ally Jones' family was murdered by a group of HYDRA followers who had set out to kill her. They killed her husband Quincy Taker and son, James Taker. Their lakeside house went up in flames in the middle of the night. After grieving another painful life that had been taken away from her, Ally decided it was time to move on. After being the victim of a super-soldier serum that enhanced her strength and gave her the power of the very thing she was named after, Ally was determined to find a new start.

Meeting in the darkness of the shadows, Ally persuaded her good friend into telling everyone she was killed. Ally pleaded that Peggy tell everyone that the Alchemist went after the attackers who murdered her sweet son and understanding husband, but failed as she tragically drowned while attacking one of the men in the water. No body, no questions asked. By the time Peggy would have told everyone, Ally would be on a plane as a different person.

Jojo was a mother of three at this time, Adam, Molly and Grace, and definitely did not want to tell them that their only extended family was killed in cold blood.

A darkness had flooded Ally's heart. She had lost so much, so very much. The darkness suffocated her body like a damp, musty, thick blanket, clinging to every inch of her skin.

She couldn't breathe.

Ally had gone on a total of 97 missions as the Alchemist. She was also an ingenious doctor who still had a big heart even after she lost everything in 1945. After rebuilding herself and having it destroyed once more, it was time for Ally to put away the Alchemist and put her immortality to good use. It was time to say goodbye to Alchemy Sofia Jones. She didn't want to leave behind Peggy or Howard or her sister but it was needed. While the Alchemist was running free, it made it impossible for Ally or anyone she loved to be completely safe.

—

The woman at the airport was dressed like any other female in the 50's. However, it was something about her oddly plain dress that made people stay clear of her. She wore pointed sunglasses to conceal her golden eyes. Strands of darkened hazel hair tumbled out of her scalp, held together with thick layers of hairspray. She had the signature cherry stained lips, the crystal white teeth– she truly was a beautiful sight to look at.

She walked so quickly, so swiftly, most people didn't even see her go by. Her face was emotionless as she weaved her way in and out of all the people. Her level of keeping herself on the down-low must of only been acquired from one place, the military.

"Can I see your passport please ma'am?"

The woman handed her passport over to the security officer, dropping her glasses to the bridge of her nose. She had little patience but remained calm as she tried to cross the border.

"Name?" He questioned in a low, grumpy tone.

"Anjelica DeLuca," she replied lamely, waiting for the man to hurry up. "I've got a plane to catch sir."

"Date of birth?"

"August 11th," she told him, her face staying calm and collected as she lied. "1916."

"Why are you crossing the border?"

"Idiota!" she groaned in Italian. "To see my family, what else?

He handed the woman back her passport before letting her through. "Thank you for being so..." he watched her go by. "Cooperative."

A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she continued to walk, rather quickly, to her plane. By now, she had hoped that their was a memorial in honour, she had heard that the president would be saying something on her behalf.

"How flattering!" she thought to herself, the usual feeling of guilt welling up inside her. "Maybe my sister will say the eulogy."

She looked over her shoulder every once or twice, fearful that someone had realized it was her. It became a second nature after awhile, but she remained serious about everything she did. Her plane to Cagliari, Italy was not first class service, but it'd be where she started her first new life of many. She still kept the burden of her son and husband's deaths as she walked down the terminal, wishing life had taken a different turn. She only had one bag, filled with fake passports, money, clothes and a few photos. As a partially trained agent, she knew she'd have to pack lightly if she wanted to really sell that she was dead.

Someone would always be after her, she wouldn't be able to stay hidden forever. A few mental scientists obsessed with the super-soldier serum, rogue HYDRA agents or even S.H.I.E.L.D agents getting a lead that she was indeed, not dead at all.

"Flight 12 from Brooklyn, New York to Cagliari, Italy will now be boarding."

She handed her ticket to the stewardess, smiling quickly at her before taking her seat. To her luck, newspapers had already been printed about the Alchemist's strange but tragic death. Not that it bothered her anyways, she was merely but another passenger named Anjelica DeLuca and not Ally Jones.

She tapped her foot impatiently and toyed with a pair of partially rusted dog tags with a golden ring threaded through the chains. She waited for the plane to take off, hoping it would soon. This wasn't the end however. She had many lives to live, false identities to cleverly come up with– if anything, she wasn't putting the Alchemist away.

No.

She was making the Alchemist even better than before.

—

She walked so quickly, so swiftly, most people didn't even see her go by. Her face was emotionless as she weaved her way in and out of all the people. Her level of keeping herself on the down-low must of only been acquired from one place, the military.