"You people! Them? What is this?" The girl's mom couldn't figure out why these people were trying to steal her son's toy car. She was also a sheriff, and her instincts told her something was off.
But then she thought—it was just a toy. If they took it, fine. Her husband, son, and daughter were all safe beside her. It wasn't worth chasing after them alone.
Even if she did catch them, what would be the point? These weirdos didn't seem normal at all. What if they were escaped lunatics from a hospital?
A man and a woman split off in two directions and ran. The girl's mom, the most capable one there, didn't chase. Bella, who had nerves of steel, didn't either. This had nothing to do with her.
But the young girl had quick reflexes. She'd already stood at the outer edge. As the woman ran past, the girl stuck out her leg and tripped her hard.
The girl's mom looked a little helpless, but since the woman was already down, she couldn't ignore it. She ran over and used a standard military takedown move to subdue the woman and snatched back the kid's toy car.
A glorious victory, honestly.
Even though Bella suspected there was something strange about the toy car, she was ready to leave. She was just a passerby—no reason to waste more time here.
She also just got word about her flight, so she said goodbye to the family of five.
"My advice? You should probably call the cops. These people were clearly after something."
She pulled out a sticky note and scribbled something quickly:
"Nice to meet you. I'm Isabella Swan. Here's my number. If the police need anything, feel free to contact me."
Almost on impulse, she handed the note to the young girl.
Why? She didn't know. Maybe because she was pretty.
The girl introduced herself in return: "Natasha Romanoff."
Who?! Bella's expression shifted.
She told herself to stay calm. She looked the girl up and down and hesitated before asking, "What year were you born in?"
If a man had asked that, it would've been super weird. He'd either get water thrown in his face or a kick somewhere painful. But a woman asking? Not so bad.
Natasha was caught off guard by the question but answered casually: "1984. You?"
"Uh… 1983. You can call me Bella."
"Natasha." Short, sharp, and kind of cool.
Their chat ended quickly—or rather, Bella made a fast exit.
Now that Natasha had shown up, what's next? Hawkeye? Tony Stark? Whether she was a young hottie or born in 1884, none of it had anything to do with Bella. As a regular person, she decided she better get far, far away.
Bella went to a store and bought some cool-looking sunglasses for her cheap dad. Natasha? Already forgotten.
Then she found her boarding gate. Just as she was about to step forward, she suddenly froze.
A strange omen hit her.
Flashes appeared in her mind—disease, rot, disaster, slaughter. Some images felt vividly real. Others flickered like slides, gone in a blink.
Her palms were drenched in sweat. Her heart pounded like a drum. It felt like she was receiving some kind of message, but her human brain couldn't decode it.
Sweat soaked her forehead. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. It was like an invisible hand had gripped her soul. The fear was suffocating.
"Flight 180, now boarding." The airport announcement played as usual, but in Bella's ears, it sounded like choppy digital noise, with barely noticeable static mixed in—like some heavy-duty appliance nearby was jamming the signal.
"Why is she just standing there?"
"Is she having a seizure or something?"
The sudden voices snapped her out of that eerie state. She regained some control over her body and turned her stiff neck. A group of guys and girls were walking past her, led by an older teacher.
Some girls, who clearly thought they were hot stuff, glanced at Bella with pity. Country girl. Probably never flown before.
"Miss, do you need help?" the middle-aged teacher asked, seeing Bella standing frozen at the gate.
"Huh? Oh! No, no, I'm fine!" Bella almost jumped. She looked at the plane, then at the rain outside, then at the clock on the wall. Her gut was in turmoil.
She backed away. Her memory was fuzzy—she'd seen a movie like this years ago, couldn't remember the details. But her instincts were screaming.
She couldn't get on that plane. If she did, she'd die.
She watched forty or so young people happily lining up to board. She hesitated several times but finally made up her mind.
Bella called out to the teacher. "The rain's getting heavier. The flight was already delayed an hour. Maybe... maybe..." Her words trailed off. How was she supposed to say this?
"Psycho."
"Look at her outfit. Total hick, probably never been anywhere."
"Well… she's not wrong. The rain really is bad."
Most of the students were about Bella's age. They treated her like a funny sideshow and started chatting excitedly.
It was clear: the guys supported her, saying maybe they should be cautious. The girls mocked her and cracked jokes. After seeing how the girls reacted, even the guys who'd agreed with Bella quickly changed sides.
"I mean it, I'm not joking. Ma'am, I've got a really bad feeling. That plane—" she didn't finish before the teacher cut her off.
The teacher, using the tone you'd use with someone mentally challenged, said, "Miss, I think you should see a doctor. You're young. It's best to treat these conditions early. Alright everyone, let's go!"
She waved her students forward. Bella's warning was completely ignored. The forty-something students were already excitedly talking about the trip ahead.
Bella let out a long sigh. She was torn inside. Had she remembered it wrong? Was she overreacting? Could she really handle the fallout—whether legal trouble or supernatural crap?
Did it matter if some Americans died?
But then she made up her mind. It wasn't about nationality—it was about people.
She looked at the white-haired elderly folks, the baby in a mother's arms, and her small shred of conscience kicked in. She felt 90% sure this flight was doomed. She couldn't just watch them walk to their deaths.
Bella kept trying to talk passengers out of boarding that plane.