I am Kara. And this is my story.

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I was born as a fragile baby. Weak and frail, like naught but a tiny, wrinkled leaf. My parents never knew what exactly I had, caught up in the heat of the moment. They told me years later that everything they felt in that moment was fear. They couldn't lose this, they couldn't lose me. Not after everything they had gone through. They were desperate, but as my tiny, silent body did not move, they saw no chance to save me. The Doctor stood there, deep in thought. He had looked reluctant, but seeing the tears in my Mothers' eyes, he made his choice. He consoled them, told them that there was hope.

Science saved me. I was a rhetorical guinea pig, the first human test subject. The experimental was new. It was dangerous. But there was a chance that it could save me. My parents took that chance. Readying a slim, thin needle, he slipped the dose into my failing bloodstream. You already know what happens, so I'll spare you the drama. By the smallest of miracles, I survived. I kept breathing, living, and walking. Just, well, a bit differently.

The chemical didn't seem to have any side effects at first, but as I grew older, something became evident.

Any one thing I focused on, I would become exceptional at. Math, Science, History, and so on. If I became curious about them, my brain would change and adapt, making it easier for me to understand it. My Mothers noticed something was off when I had started pointing out pictures to the dog, babbling as if reading to her at the age of three.

But it wasn't just academics. I loved sports, and started playing soccer at a young age. But over weeks, my muscles and body build would change, becoming strong and lean. In all, I was a scientific marvel. I didn't learn about this until I was ten, when I was already reading at a high school level. My parents told me to not tell anyone, out of fear that people would think differently, and therefore, badly of me. They wanted the to have friends that wouldn't judge me, a school that wouldn't see me as some freak. They just wanted me to have a normal life. As if.

I had two Mothers, both a bit overprotective. I used to joke that that was how they fell in love, they were so protective of each other. I loved 'em, along with my three sisters and two brothers, each of them looking out for me all the time. They were the best, and I was the youngest sibling. But the one thing that annoyed me about them all?

My family were complete and total geeks. Nerds, fangirls and fanboys, the whole plate. Not in the bad sense of course, but then again, was geek really even an insult anymore? Anyway, they were geeks about everything a geek could be about. Anime, Doctor Who, My Little Pony, Gravity Falls, everything! But the thing they loved most was Marvel. Spider-Man, Captain America, X-Men, they loved it all. So naturally, they freaked out when The Avengers came out in theaters. It was everything they had ever dreamed of.

I never went to see it. I just didtn't like it, I guess. I was never interested in it. They were just actors and CGI, costumes and scripts. Nothing special, totally fabricated. But of course, my family loved it. They kept talking on and on about how Robert Downey Jr. was the best Tony Stark, and how Tom Hiddleston was so dreamy, blah blah blah. On and on and on. Sometimes the Avengers would somehow spring up in the middle of a completely different conversation, leaving me lost and confused. They hammered it into my head enough that some information actually stuck, so I knew a few things about it. But still I refused to see it, much to their disappointment. Even with their hobby, or as I would say it, obsession, I loved my family.

I was a fit and active girl, always outside, usually with my soccer ball. But in the few years following my thirteenth birthday, I sorta grew bored with life. Whether it was my own desires or just stupid teenage rebellion parenting magazines seem obsessed with, I wanted something more. Yeah, sounds like a half-rate Disney princess, right? Of course. But be honest, doesn't everyone have a day where they wish for something more than the daily routine of work, school and sleep? There were just so many huge, exciting possibilities the world had to offer. I didn't want to read about adventures in my family's comic books, I wanted to live them.

Then, a once in a lifetime chance appeared when I was 15. A trip up a Mount Kilimanjaro, one of the highest mountains on land in the world. I jumped at the chance, of course, and with money saved up, soon I was flying off on MY adventure.

We started climbing the mountain, and let me tell you, it was excruciating. It was blazing during the day, practically setting my eyebrows on fire. Then, it dropped far down into the negatives at night, freezing the charred remains of them. My whole body was wrapped up, for if I carelessly left a finger out in the howling wind, it would freeze up and possibly snap off. The food was nothing near gourmet, but I managed to swallow. And whatever you do, do not look down. Unlike the cliche of doing the exact opposite, I followed the words of advice wisely. But even with the tough hiking and horrible heat and coldness, I was on top of the world. Pun intended. I was having the time of my life, the daily struggle always topped off with utter glee, seeing how far I had come. And it would all be worth it when we got to the top. Our guide said the weather was looking good as we were nearing the peak. But of course, as you should never say things like "oh I know that we'll be perfect-diddly fine, there's no way the weather will be bad!", it wasn't true. A huge blizzard descended on us, filling my sight with nothing but whipping, wild snow. And of course, with my luck, I was blown away by the howling winds. I tried to find, to hold on to something, to anything, but all I could see, hear, or touch was snow. And so, with arms lashing out in complete panic and desperation, I was blown away like a simple flake of snow, like the millions swirling around me.

Straight off a cliff.

I remembered falling.

I could hear the screams of the people calling my name. I was wrapped up so warmly, but my skin still felt like ice.

Then, everything was so silent. I had a good life. A short one, but still good.

The wind blowing past me sounded eerily like music, trying to make my horrible demise a peaceful one. I guess it succeeded.

I knew I was going to die. And in a way, I sorta accepted that.

It almost felt like flying.

I didn't realize that I had hit the ground at first.

Death was not what I expected.

There was a muffled crack, and I was dead. I knew I was, as there was no pain. If I was still alive, I'd be screaming in hurt, suffering every second.

Then everything went black. I just sat there in a void. I didn't have a body anymore, sort of. Like I couldn't look down and see my hands, but at the same time, I could feel them. Being dead was weird, I concluded.

I was in the void for a while. For minutes, for years, I don't know. But I was getting bored. Then, a gust of wind blew by me , coming from nowhere. I thought I might have imagined it, but I think I heard a voice. A soft, sharp whisper, so hard to hear.

"They need you."

Then the universe decided to give me a second chance.

Thanks a lot, universe.

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Looking back on it, I thought something or someone took me out of my world, out of my dimension... and put me in another, much like my own.

But with one big difference.

Of course, I didn't know this at the time. I was in a world of darkness one minute, then there was a stretching sensation in my gut, like someone was trying to pull me through a hole that I could never fit into.

Then, somehow, I went through, and there was a popping sound. Then my eyes were flooded with light.

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I am Kara. And this is my story.