I breathe as quietly as I can as I wait behind the corner for my target. The air is damp, the night is dark. My hand is on the silver 44 magnum revolver in the holster on my right hip. I call her Cassie. There's another one on my left hip, but we haven't been together too long; she hasn't told me her name yet. And, after all this firepower, I've got a dagger in a holster on my ankle, just for good measure. I hear footsteps. Panicked footsteps, running down the alley towards me. Sounds like someone found my little note. I step out from behind the corner.

"Hey." I say, simply. I don't have a good view of myself, but I must look pretty effing terrifying, 'cause the guy looks scared shitless. I smirk as I pull Cassie out and shoot him in the head, and he falls to the pavement in a bloody mess. I pull "The List" out from my pocket, and check off the box next to "Leroy Anderson". "One down." I mutter to myself as I holster Cassie and start meandering back home. "Millions to go."

My name's Wendy Trescott. I'm a mercenary. Or, I used to be. See, I got myself into a bit of trouble a while back, and… well, you'll see. It all started after I offed that Leroy guy. Some guy up in Reno had promised me 10k for this guy's head. I headed back to my ratty little San Francisco apartment and popped a bunch of instant ramen in the microwave. The whole place was a mess. The couch was full of holes. The walls still had stains from the last tenant, and I don't mean coffee stains. And don't get me started on the bathrooms. While the microwave was counting down the seconds to ramen, I pulled off my "Battle Outfit", which is a black shirt with a ripped-off collar, hem and sleeves, black cargo pants and black combat boots, and slipped into something more comfortable. And by that, I mean a t-shirt and some underpants. I slouched down on the couch and started cleaning Cassie out while I waited. That's when I heard a voice from the corner.

"You've got a lot of red on your ledger." The voice said, smooth and feminine. My eyes shot in the direction of the voice. There was a figure in the shadows, leaning against the wall. And not a bad figure, either, if you know what I mean. She stepped out into the light. It was a woman. A tall, shapely woman with red hair and gold eyes. And… holy shit. She was wearing a cat-suit. Cat-suit aside, there was an intruder in my house, and I don't take too kindly to intruders.

"Who're you and what're you doing in my house?" I asked sharply, my hand on Cassie.

"You're going to have to put that gun back together before you can shoot me with it." She said, and rightly so. "As for your question, I'm Natasha Romanov. And I've been sent to kill you."

"I see." I reached behind me for the revolver I had tucked into my waistband. I aimed square at her forehead and squeezed the trigger in one fluid motion. I would've had her, too, but she bent over backwards and snapped back up like some kind of rubber doll, leaving me with a bullet hole in my wall. I was obviously dealing with a pro. Good; I like a challenge. I jumped off the couch and stuck the gun against her head, point blank. "Sayonara." I said. She just smiled. My face fell as I noticed the sniper in the window of the apartment across from mine. My head snapped back just in time to avoid getting maimed by an arrow, which whizzed past me into the wall to my left, taking a chunk of my long black hair with it. "Alright, that's it." I growled. I tried to throw a punch at this "Natasha", but she grasped my arm, pulled me in close, and jabbed her thumb into my neck. Everything started to get dark and quiet, and the last thing I heard before I went out was the ding of the microwave. Damn… good ramen gone to waste.

"Are you sure she's alright?"

"She's fine. I don't know why you're so worried about her, she's nothing but a criminal."

"I understand, but Fury wants her alive, so- wait; she's waking up."

I opened my eyes, my head still fuzzy and hurting like hell. I was lying on some sort of palette in a room with metal walls. No… it was the inside of an airplane. Sitting across from me was some middle-aged guy with a receding hairline, and… Natasha Romanov. Still in the catsuit. I sat up fast, ready to grab my gun, and that's when I realized I was in a straitjacket. And that they had probably taken my guns.

"What the hell is going on?" I growled through my teeth. "I thought you guys were supposed to kill me, huh?"

"You're lucky we decided to be merciful." Natasha said icily. "You definitely don't deserve it."

"What she means is," The middle-aged guy interrupted. "Our director had a change of heart. My name is Phil Coulson. Agent Phil Coulson." He offered his hand for me to shake, and I looked at him sideways. He pulled his hand back. "Ah, yeah. Sorry."

"So, what are you going to do with me? Throw me in prison? An asylum, maybe?" Phil opened his mouth to talk, but shut it wisely. "Not talking, huh? Can you at least tell me what you did with my guns?" I was interrupted by Natasha.

"We're here." The plane landed and the hatch opened. Phil and Natasha each gripped one of my arms tight as we walked out onto a huge expanse of tarmac, covered in aircrafts landing and taking off.

"Where's here?" I asked, genuinely curious but still trying my hardest to sound ticked. Phil gestured with his head behind us, and I looked back to see a view of the ocean. Below the tarmac. Below the hangars. "It's…" I trailed off.

"It's called a helicarrier." Phil said. I don't think anything I could've said at that point would have answered any of the questions I had. They marched me into the heart of the structure, down through some corridors and hallways and past some very official-looking rooms, and finally through some huge metal doors into a very, very big room full of people and computers. The wall across from the door was just one big window, and there was a great view of… well, of a bunch of clouds. They kept marching me forward until we stopped in front of a bald, black guy standing with his back to us, looking out the window.

"Director Fury, we brought the girl." Natasha said. Girl? Who's she calling girl? She couldn't have been more than four years older than me, five tops. The guy turned around, and I noticed an eyepatch over his left eye. Not to mention, the guy was dressed like he was straight out of "The Matrix".

"Wendy Trescott." The guy said. "My name is Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Shield?" I questioned.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. It stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division. But you're probably wondering why you're here."

"No shit I am." I said.

"Watch your mouth." Natasha said harshly, her grip still tight on my arm.

"You watch your hands, grabby!" I retorted quickly.

"Control yourself, Trescott!" Fury said. I looked him right in the eye.

"Is the straitjacket really necessary?" I asked.

"No. No it isn't. Coulson, please untie her." Phil reached around me and undid all the buckles and knots, and the jacket slipped off.

I smirked as I whirled around, poised to knock everyone in the room to oblivion with my bare hands and get the hell out of there. But something hit me mid-motion. My brain went out of focus, if that's possible, and all my muscles started to hurt like hell, and I dropped to the floor, kind of twitching a little. It only lasted a few moments. When I finally regained control of my limbs, I slowly lifted my hand to my neck, and felt a metal choker there. "A shock collar?" I said angrily, struggling to get to my feet.

"15,000 volts every time you perform a violent action, or try to leave S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters without permission." Fury said, smirking just a bit.

"For how long?"

"Until you learn how to be a functioning member of society." He replied. Oh, that's just great. I thought to myself. So, basically I'll be wearing this forever. I brought my hand up to the collar and felt it. It was metal, but thin. Maybe some bolt cutters…

"And don't even think about trying to get it off." Fury said, as if he'd been reading my mind. "It's rigged to explode at the slightest evidence of tampering."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to stay here?" I asked.

"That's right. We already have a room set up for you. Very fancy, the door even locks from the outside." I scowled.

"Isn't it illegal to keep someone against their will?" I said, not quite believing I was actually playing the legality card.

"The S.H.I.E.L.D is somewhat above the law. We caught wind of your antics, and decided to put a stop to them." I just glared at him. "Now." He continued unfazed. "There's someone we'd like you to meet. If all goes well, he's to be your mentor of sorts. Agent Coulson? Direct her to Banner's laboratory, would you?" Phil nodded. "Oh… and get her some clothes." I looked down and realized I was still in my underpants.

"Shit." I muttered under my breath.

I waited as Phil dug through a chest of drawers in his room, trying to find me clothes. He had covered me up with his coat, but it hadn't done much; I was still nearly naked, jut sweatier. He finally dug out a white dress shirt and some khakis, which I grudgingly put on. As an act of defiance I left the shirt untucked. Phil didn't say anything. We walked through the halls toward what I assumed was this "Banner" guy's lab.

"So, are you Fury's dog, or what?" I asked Phil. He turned to me, surprised.

"I'm his inferior officer, yes, but not his dog."

"You sure? He seems to have you on a pretty tight leash." I saw his eyes dart to the collar around my neck. "Fine. Yeah, whatever." I said. "I'm in no position to be making fun of you now, huh?" He smiled. At what, I don't know. Maybe he just thought I was so pathetic it was hilarious.

"You're a lot calmer now." He observed.

"Whaddyou mean?" I asked.

"Back on the plane, you nearly killed us all trying to hijack the craft. That's why you were in the straitjacket."

"I what?" I said. "But I don't…" I stopped myself. I must have blacked out; again. And judging from the lack of questions, Phil seemed to know exactly what had happened. "Just how much do you know about me?" I asked.

"We know that you're a troubled young woman, and that we want to help." Help; yeah. If I had a dollar for every time someone had said that… well, actually I'd have a dollar. We came up on a metal door with a glass window in the middle. "Here we are." Phil said. He opened the door onto a pristine, chrome-and-linoleum laboratory, with sleek, shiny computers everywhere and holograms floating through the air. One of the walls was basically a giant window, like the one in the earlier room, and through it I could see what looked to be basically the entire inner structure of the headquarters. As I took it all in my eye caught a glimmer of tousled brown hair through a cloud of holograms.

"Banner?" Phil called. I saw a hand make a sweeping motion through the holograms, and they all filed into one of the computers. I could see him clearly now. The guy had tousled brown hair and dark eyes. His face was well chiseled, and he wore a pair of big, wire-frame glasses. He smiled as he stepped toward us.

"Well who's this?" He said. His voice sounded kind and caring.

"Banner, this is Wendy Trescott, the newest resident." His expression turned to one of recognition.

"Oh, I heard about you. Well, welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm Bruce Banner." He offered his hand for me to shake, and I took it, shaking awkwardly. Something clicked in my head.

"Wait… you're the Bruce Banner? The big green scientist guy?"

"Well, at the moment I'm less 'big and green' and more 'scientist', but yeah, if it helps you remember." Phil cleared his throat. "Coulson?" Bruce said.

"Banner, I just thought I should tell you, you're supposed to be mentoring her. Fury's orders." Bruce took his glasses off and set them down on a table next to him.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be no problem at all." He looked to me. "Do you mind?" He asked. I looked away.

"Yeah, I guess I can stomach it. I mean, if I'm not in your way or anything."

"No, no, I'm not doing anything important right now. Just messing around with some scientific theories is all."

"Well, I guess I'll leave you two. I have business to take care of with Stark." Phil said.

"Good luck." Bruce said knowingly. Phil left the room, and Bruce and I were all alone.

"So. Any idea why they saddled you with me?" I asked, hopping up on one of the tables.

"Well, if I had to guess, it's probably because I know a thing or two about split personalities myself." He pulled up some of the holograms and started swishing them through the air, studying each one critically.

"That's another thing. How the hell do you guys know so much about me?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D has eyes everywhere." He said, picking his glasses back up. "And you're a very notable figure. You killed a lot of people, people who probably didn't-"

"What?" I said harshly, cutting him off. I stood up angrily, feeling the collar buzz like a warning. "They didn't deserve it?"

"No, they didn't." Bruce said calmly. "Most of them probably could have been rehabilitated, and a few may have deserved a lifetime in prison, but it's rare to come across an individual so evil," He paused to adjust his glasses. "That they actually deserve death." I backed away from him, staring intently at the floor. "So why'd you do it?" He asked. I looked up.

"What do you mean? Do what?"

"Become a mercenary. How'd you get the way you are?"

"I dunno. I just…" I sat back down on the table. "I like the way it feels." Bruce smiled.

"That's good."

"Good?" I said, tense. "It's good that I enjoy killing people?"

"No, it's good that you recognize that it's wrong." I saw his feet inches away from me on the ground. I looked up into his eyes. And heard the door in the corner bang open.

"I'm telling you, it's just for a coupla minutes." In walked Tony Stark, the multibillionaire/inventor/superhero I had seen in so many magazines and newspapers. Phil was walking worriedly after him.

"You can't just say 'I need to use your lab' and expect us to accommodate you!" He said. "Have you even asked Fury?"

"Ahh, I'm sure he's fine with it." Stark said. He breezed right past me and Bruce and stopped in front of a computer. "Computer," He said. "Scan files for all data on 'iridium'" The computer immediately spewed out a plethora of holograms, letters and numbers and pictures and 3D displays. He started sifting through them all.

"Um, and who told you you could just come in and use my lab?" Bruce said, standing beside Stark. Stark looked at him.

"Um, I told me. I gave myself explicit orders to get my ass down to this lab right now, so please excuse me or I might have to fire myself." He almost looked genuine. Almost. I gripped the table tightly. This "Stark" character was getting on my nerves. That's when he looked my way. "Oh, hey, if it isn't the little psychopath!" He said. "I heard about you, you're the one Natasha and Barton had to put in a straitjacket 'cause you nearly crashed their plane, huh?" I scowled. "Ooh, and I see why." He leaned in closer. "That's a nice bit of jewelry you got on there. Someone special give it to you?" I thought real hard about punching him in the face, but if I did, that "nice bit of jewelry" would send 15,000 volts of electricity coursing through my body. Again. Was it worth it? …Eh, what the hell. I threw myself at Stark, tackling him to the ground and shocking us both something fierce. The only thought that penetrated my mind those few seconds was this; SO worth it.