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"You guys! Them? What the hell is going on?" The girl's mom couldn't figure out why these people were trying to snatch her son's toy car. As a fellow sheriff, her instincts told her something was off.
But then she remembered—it was just a toy. So what if they took it? Her husband, son, and daughter were all with her. It didn't make sense to chase after them alone. Not worth it.
Even if she caught up, what good would it do? Those people seemed weird. What if they were lunatics who escaped from a hospital?
A man and a woman ran off in two directions. The girl's mom, the most capable person there, didn't go after them. Bella, who had a strong mindset, didn't chase either—this had nothing to do with her anyway.
The young girl, though, was pretty smart. She had already positioned herself on the outside and stuck out her leg just in time to trip the woman who grabbed the toy car.
The mom sighed. Since the woman had already fallen, she couldn't just ignore it. She quickly ran over, used a military-style takedown, and got the toy car back.
A glorious little victory.
Even though she felt like there might be something strange about the toy car, Bella was ready to leave. She was just a bystander—no point wasting time here.
Right then, she heard the boarding announcement for her flight and said goodbye to the family of five.
"My suggestion is you call the police immediately. These people are up to something."
She pulled out a sticky note and quickly scribbled:
"Nice meeting you all. I'm Isabella Swan. Here's my number—if the police need confirmation, feel free to contact me."
Almost like fate, she handed the note to the young girl.
She didn't know why—probably just because the girl was pretty.
The girl introduced herself after hearing Bella's name: "Natasha Romanoff."
What?! Bella's expression shifted instantly.
She told herself to stay calm. She looked Natasha up and down, then hesitantly asked, "What year were you born?"
If a guy asked that, it'd be weird—he'd get water thrown in his face or a kick to the shin. But since it was a woman, it was fine.
Natasha wasn't expecting the question and casually answered, "1984. You?"
"Uh… I was born in 1983. You can call me Bella."
"Natasha." She gave a short, confident reply—pretty cool, actually.
Their conversation ended just as quickly. Or maybe it'd be more accurate to say Bella ran off in a hurry.
With Natasha here… would Hawkeye or Tony Stark show up next? Whether she was a cute girl or a gorgeous woman, born in 1984 or 1884, Bella didn't want to get involved. As a regular person, it was better to stay far away.
She went into a store and bought a slick-looking pair of sunglasses for her cheap dad. As for Natasha—she didn't think about her again.
Bella found her boarding gate. Just as she was about to step forward, something stopped her in her tracks.
Suddenly, a flood of images hit her—disease, decay, disaster, death. Some were vivid, others flickered like a slideshow, appearing and vanishing in an instant.
Her palms were soaked with sweat, and her heart was pounding like crazy. It felt like her brain was receiving some kind of message, but she couldn't understand it because of the limits of human comprehension.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. It felt like an invisible hand had grabbed her soul. The fear was suffocating.
"Flight 180 passengers, please prepare for boarding."
The airport's announcement played as usual, but to Bella, it came through in broken electronic tones, mixed with faint static—like some powerful device was interfering.
"Why is she just standing there?"
"Is she having a seizure or something?"
The sudden voices snapped Bella out of her trance. She regained a bit of movement and turned her head stiffly. A group of young men and women walked past her, led by an older teacher.
A few girls who thought they were pretty looked at Bella with pity. Country bumpkin. Probably never flown before.
"Miss, do you need help?" The middle-aged female teacher couldn't help asking. Bella was standing at the gate, neither going in nor leaving.
"Huh? Oh—no, no, I'm fine!" Bella almost jumped. She looked at the plane, the light rain outside, and the clock on the wall. Her heart was in chaos.
She stepped aside. Her memory was fuzzy—she had seen a movie like this years ago, forgot the details, but her gut was screaming at her.
She couldn't get on that plane. She'd die if she did.
She watched over forty young people eagerly getting ready to board. After hesitating, she decided to speak up.
She stopped the female teacher: "The rain's getting heavier… and the flight was already delayed an hour… maybe, maybe…"
She didn't know how to finish.
"Psycho."
"Her outfit's so tacky. Looks like she's never been anywhere."
"Maybe she's got a point. It really is raining hard today."
The students were about her age, but now they saw her as entertainment. They started chatting about it enthusiastically.
The split was clear: the guys supported her and said caution was smart; the girls mocked her. But once the guys saw how the girls reacted, most of them switched sides.
"I'm serious. I'm not joking. Ma'am, I have a really bad feeling. This plane—"
Before she could finish, the teacher cut her off.
In a patronizing tone, the woman said, "Miss, I suggest you see a doctor. You're young. Some illnesses should be treated early. It's okay, everyone—keep moving!"
She waved the students forward. Bella's warning was ignored. The forty-something people were already talking about their upcoming trip.
Bella let out a long sigh. She was conflicted. Was her memory wrong? Would interfering cause her trouble? Could she even handle the consequences?
Did Americans dying have anything to do with her?
But then she made up her mind—it wasn't about nationality. It was about people.
She looked at the elderly, the baby in a mother's arms… Her tiny sense of justice won out. The odds of something going wrong with that plane were over ninety percent in her mind. She couldn't just watch them go die.
Bella kept trying to talk people out of boarding.