" hot town, summer in the city,

back of my neck getting dirt and gritty. "

It was one of those things you could watch in a sped up frame-by-frame shot. A time lapse, set to some cheery classic rock song. Something by The Lovin' Spoonful or the The Strokes. You could watch motion blurs dance about the screen, while the buildings that had originally laid in rubble were back built up, brand-spankin'-new.

New York was fixing itself to the tune of summer: screaming kids, barking dogs, and sirens. New York was a flurry of traffic, construction and human interaction.

And this was how it all began.

And I don't mean to be all ominous and creepy when I say that. I'm not talking about the end of the world. That happened three months ago with that little Loki mishap.

But, as I was saying, it quite literally all began with me walking through New York city in the middle of June, on this particular Monday morning. This was the start of the biggest journey since —if i do say so myself— Lewis and Clark.

...Okay, that analogy wasn't as cool as I thought it would be.

Forget I said that.

What I mean is that this particular trip to work was probably the most important thing to ever impact my life. After all, at the end of this story, I am very different. Hell, I've got more scars to show, more stories to tell, more people to hate.

Okay, okay— I'm getting ahead of myself.

My name is Elaine Hale. Average name for an average person living the average American life. I'm not 'hashtag model status' (as the kids say nowadays), nor I am 'hashtag swerve' material. Elaine Hale is a typical white American female. I couldn't stress that enough. I hide behind my job and I let my words paint a picture of my face. That's how I've always made it through life.

I'm a writer. Well, journalist. Kind of.

I started out as an awkward teen fangirl (technically I still am, but I like to ignore that fact). My career began when I realized when I didn't suck at writing as much as I did at drawing. So, y'know, I started doing the whole self-insert kinda thing, posted it on the internet... I seriously can't read any of my old Star Wars fanfiction. It's like I didn't understand the concept of spell check, or something. And, I mean, how can an original character be a dark jedi, like—

Wait. Why am I telling you this?

Back on track, Elaine, back on track. Focus.

So, I write for a newspaper called The Daily. I've been here for a while, jumping between pages and columns... Odds are that if you've read anything on the elections, I wrote it. I guess I was the only one who didn't get sick of two grown men bitching back and forth about social and economic issues.

Anyways, when the story begins, I had been promoted to field journalist. A not so welcome change. I liked my desk. I was safe at my desk. Hell, I didn't have to worry about being attacked by aliens at my desk.

But, there I was, on that particular Monday morning, waltzing in Stark Tower.

Now, listen up. I'll only be telling this story once.

This is the story of how I helped save the world.