Hello, everyone! So, There are lots of 'maybe's dotted around, and that's because I have this story relatively well planned out. This introduction is just kind of a teaser to see if people are interested in this kind of stuff. Please, review and send feedback! I live in constructive criticism! I hope you all enjoy, and maybe cry with me as I listen to 'How to Save a Life' because the song gets me balling my eyes out every time.

Day One

Subject #5

Gender: Female

Age: 2

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Green

Power: As expected

Affects: Will seem to get major headaches if power is used for an excessive amount of time

Chance: 50%

I hated it. I hated my family. I hated my power. I hated life.

For all my life, my parents have been like helicopters, always hovering over me, trying to protect their precious daughter from harm. Of course this led me to a very sheltered life; go home right after school, no spending the night, no guys, meet the girls first, can't drive, bed by ten-as a teenager, of course-, ext.. I hated it. I thought that when they found out about my power -making it known to my parents that I could protect myself- they would let up. That they would think my power would be able to keep me safe.

Nope. Nice dream, but they got even worse; keeping me in all the time, getting home schooled, no friends over, and no friends in general.

I was twenty years old, and my parents STILL couldn't get off my ass -my mother, especially. I still got calls from her every day -sometimes twice, if I was lucky.

And it was horrible. I hated it.

I wished they would just let me be.

I wrestled with my wavy locks, examining some of the strands of golden hair, trying to get it into some sort of manageable hairstyle. Looks like that wasn't happening, despite the fact that I was trying every possible way, so I gave up and ended by putting my chest-length hair into a messy bun, loose strands hanging curly by my temples, framing my heart-shaped face. I stuck a few bobby pins in my mouth, ready to retry taming my nest of hair as it sat on my head.

A ringing echoed throughout the empty bedroom and I groaned, dreading that noise. I knew who was calling, and was not looking forward to picking up my phone. I fought with myself on whether I should answer and then hang-up quickly or maybe feign sickness and claim I needed relaxation, but the good part of me took over and I reached over with my free hand to pick up the cell, my other hand preoccupied with holding a strand of hair I was about to pin back.

I hit the answer then speaker button, quickly putting my phone back down on my vanity.

"Hello?" I slurred, the bobby pins in my mouth affecting my speech.

"Sayla? What's wrong? Why are you talking like that?"

I flinched back a bit, not expecting my mother's voice to be that loud in the morning. I sighed, as well, and pulled out the last bobby pin, putting it into my hair.

"Nothing's wrong." I assured, checking my outfit in the mirror.

"What are you doing today?"

"I have a job interview." It wasn't a very 'mature' job, as some would say, considering what I was wearing:

I had a dark set of skinny jeans on, held up with a brown leather belt. On top of that was a loose, sleeveless shirt with two faded wolf faces on it, the whole shirt a faded black color. Three gold-colored metal studs were on the two-inch straps of the shirt. I slipped on a faded brown leather jacket, partially matching the belt. My shoes were cream colored, closed-toe pumps that were at least three inches, but bordering on four. To finish the outfit, I put on a sea-shell necklace, its base color cream. No makeup was needed.

"Oh, be carefully, Lala!" I cringed at the pet name, "Make sure to look both-"

After years of practice, I tactfully ignored my mother as she ranted about being safe. Nothing COULD happen to me, anyway.

My power is something I've hated. Ever sense I can remember, it's always been there; a safety net that catches me before I have the chance to fall and hurt myself. Hard to believe, but I've never been hurt in my entire life. No marks on my body from injuries, from mistakes, from bad decisions. The only thing that could even count as a mark of injury is a small line on the back of my neck, leading about two inches up the back of my head. I asked my parents what this was from and they told me every time that it was a birthmark.

Yeah, some birthmark.

This one time, when I was about ten, I was a little idiot and crossed the street without looking. Of course, I knew nothing could hurt me, so some would call me a dare devil. Anyway, I was crossing the street and this car was racing by and…the thing is, the person in the car, whose name I found out was Lillian George, SHE was the one that got seriously injured. I came out scratch-less. Thank God she had no recollection of what happened, because that would have caused a lot more trouble that what already looked like what happened.

What it looked like what had happened, was a very dangerous hit and run, except the person that got hit was the person that ran. It was a little hard to believe, considering there was a giant dent in the front of the minivan, almost a perfect round indent that went to about the dashboard. But, nothing else they came up with could explain what had happened.

What really happened is that I was in the middle on that dent, my…power protecting me. I remember standing there, tears running down my face, the barrier forming all around me, protecting me from the sharp metal and force of the car. I wasn't crying because I was scared, no, absolutely not. I knew nothing could happen to me.

I was crying because there was this lady in the car in front of me…and her head was bleeding, her face was busted, and her was life in danger, ALL because I was selfish and reckless.

I was that stupid, STUPID kid that felt like the world rotated around them, that my life was the only one that mattered. And because of me, this woman who had a family, a job, a LIFE, was about to get that taken away from her. I sure got a reality check that day.

Instead of listening to my mom, I preoccupied myself with answering my door, which someone had just knocked on.

"Is there something you need?" I answered, somewhat rudely. Not that I was rude on purpose; my personality just portrayed itself with it. Talking to close to no one when I was little never really helped me be a good person. A relatively short man was standing there, dressed in a black suit. Two men stood behind him, almost like body-guards, their hands grasped in front of themselves.

"Hello, Ms. Teagan," At least he said it right… "My name's Agent Phil Coulson. I'm a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I would like to have a talk with you."

"O…kay?" I was very confused about what this was about. It couldn't be my power, the only people who knew about that were my parents…I think. "Come on in." I invited them in to my humble abode. I then realized my phone was still on, my mother ranting away with her voice audible from the living room. "Excuse me for a minute."

I ran over to the phone, taking it off speaker.

"I have to go."

"Don't you dare ha-" *beep* The conversation was obviously too short for my mom, but it was more than long enough for me. Exactly ten minutes too long.

"Sorry about that." I amended, walking back into the room.

"It's fine, Ms. Teagan." The man said, already sitting on my small loveseat. I chose to sit on my coffee table, a little anxious by the two large men standing by my door.

"Call me Sayla." I felt like my mother when people called me 'Ms. Teagan'.

"Okay…Sayla. You're probably wondering why I came by today." He paused, expecting me to say something, but I kept my mouth shut. He coughed before he continued. "As I said earlier, I'm a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., and we would like to talk to you about your...unique trait."

So, what did you guys think? Let me know! Remember, I love you all, and I hope you all have a wonderful, amazing day/night (: