A/N: Hey everyone! I've been planning this story for quite some time, and now I'm finally putting it into action! Just so you know, I WILL be having an update schedule eventually, but not yet, as I don't have many chapters actually written. I'll keep you updated on that.

Also, before anyone goes and has a hissy-fit on me, I am aware that this defies a lot of the comics. For the story to work, I had to ignore some things. For example, the original Ant-Man, Henry Pym, never passed on his identity to Scott Lang. So don't go telling me, "Rah, you don't know what you're talking about, you suck!" because yes, I do know what I'm talking about. I just choose to do things differently.

To show you guys that I really love and appreciate reviews of all kind, I will do my best to reply to all of the ones I receive. I have anonymous reviews enabled, so if you don't have an account but would still like an input, feel free to do so. I'll try to reply to you in an Author's Note.

With all that boring crap out of the way, here's the first chapter! A relative of one of my favorite Avengers is introduced in this chapter. See if you can guess who he is before his name is mentioned, though you probably won't. I don't really give away any information about him other than his eye color.

So here you go! Remember to review ;)

~ Connor

Fallen Angel

Wind tears across my face as my feet slip from the cloud and I go tumbling downwards. I flap my wings desperately, but to no avail. The drop came too suddenly for me to regain control of my own descent.

It was always forbidden for us to visit the Middle Land. It's too dangerous, too risky. The elders can't have us interfering with the lives of mortals. We were always supposed to remain on the Upper Land for all of eternity where nothing could trouble us.

Of course, the elders never expected someone as careless as me to fall off the edge of the Upper Land.

My sweaty palms grip the handle of my blade desperately to prevent it from flying out of my grasp. As I break through the lowest layer of clouds, I pick up speed and my wings are pinned to my back.

In a final desperate attempt, I pound every bit of energy I have left into my wings. The effort burns my back, but I grit my teeth and press on. Still, the ground is approaching far too quickly for my liking.

Slowly, much too slowly, my large wings begin to pump, decreasing my speed ever so slightly.

But it's not enough. I barely have time to blink before I swerve into a glide and drive myself into the ground. Stone shards buffet my face harshly before a considerably larger chunk of rock strikes home and I black out.

"Well, what do we do with him?"

"We can't just let him go. He's a hero."

"But we're medics. We're supposed to help him."

"So we're doctors, big deal. I'd rather get fired from the hospital than get on the wrong side of TIDE."

Gradually, my eyes blink open and reveal to me the source of the two voices, a man and a woman, both looking relatively young, maybe around their late twenties. The woman's eyes widen as she notices my awakening. She elbows the man in the chest, as if to get him to stop talking. "Shut up," she mumbles. "He might hear you."

Opening my dry mouth takes more effort than it should, but I manage to spit, "Hear what?"

"Nothing!" the two say in unison. Looking at each other nervously.

Staring at the pair questioningly, I decide it's best to leave them alone and figure out what's going on. I sit up and glance around, noticing quickly that I'm in an ambulance. The medical supplies surrounding the cot I lie on shuffle around at every small bump in the road we hit. I can hear the siren outside wailing, alerting other drivers to get out of the way.

Coughing slightly, I continue to question the medics. "What happened to me? I feel like hell…"

"You took a hard fall, that's all," the woman says. She reaches out and tries to push me back down. "You need your rest, sweetie. Why don't you just lean back-"

"I'm not tired," I butt in, shoving her hand away from my chest. "I want to know exactly what happened."

The woman's smile fades and she glares daggers at me. Forcefully, she pushes my head back down, banging it on something made of metal. The world begins to fade away again as she sprays a mysterious gas in my face. "Bert," she barks to the driver. "Turn this thing around. We're taking him to TIDE headquarters."

Waking up this time isn't nearly as smooth as before. My eyes jerk open and I sit up as fast as I can, ignoring the pain that spreads throughout my entire body. The bed I'm in now isn't even close to as cozy as the cot in the ambulance. I might as well be lying on a rock.

The rest of the room isn't exactly the nicest place either. The floor and walls are made of solid steel and there aren't even any windows, just a dim, flickering light overhead; the old, cheap kind with the single chain you pull to turn it on and off. There's a closet door in the corner, also made of metal. Beside that is a dingy looking toilet, a sink that's missing the left knob, and a cracked mirror caked with grime. In the very corner of the room is a very high-tech looking door that must be the way out. I get the feeling that this isn't a hospital.

That's when I recall what exactly went down in the ambulance. Those two freaky medics specifically said they weren't taking me to the hospital. They must have taken me to that other place. TIDE or something. I guess that explains the scenery, and the fact that I haven't been changed into a hospital gown. I'm still wearing my dark jeans, now torn from whatever happened to me, black T-shirt and gray hoodie, also ripped to shreds, and red Converse.

My head, along with the rest of my body, aches like crazy, but I still do my best to remember the conversation the medics had exchanged before I was fully conscious. It gives me a major migraine, but after a few moments of racking my brain, I come across a weird piece of information. They said something about a hero. They couldn't have been talking about me… could they?

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. Something about those medics wasn't normal. I need to get out of here.

Finally, it hits me. Those words spoken by the medics about someone being a hero… that's the last thing I can remember.

I lost my memory.

"Shit," is all I can think to mutter. What am I supposed to do? I don't know where I am or what happened to me or… holy crap, I don't even remember my own name.

Hastily, I spring out of the bed, landing on my feet. That doesn't last long. I grunt as a burning sensation erupts in my left leg and I'm sent to the floor, propping myself up with my hands. Yup, that's definitely broken. Great, how the hell am I supposed to escape with a broken leg?

Gritting my teeth, I crawl over to the first thing my eyes see; the closet. It takes a few minutes, but I'm getting used to maneuvering with my injury. Slowly but surely, I make it to the door and use the handle to pull myself up, putting all my weight on my right leg.

Struggling to maintain my balance, I pull open the door, revealing… not much. There's a bucket with a few drops of water in it, a mop, and an empty cardboard box resting on a shelf. I hope for a vent or something to crawl through, but there's nothing. Cursing under my breath, I grab the only thing that could serve as any use to me, that being the mop. I yank and pull at the end that has the rag attached until I hear a satisfying ripping sound. The cloth tears away and I drop it to the floor, successfully crafting a makeshift walking stick. I test it, only to find that it's not too sturdy, but it'll do.

Using my new tool, I hobble out of the small closet and start for the door, pausing only for a second to examine myself in the broken mirror. Through the cracks and dirt, I can make out the soft green color of my bloodshot eyes. My brown hair is shaggy and oily and I begin to wonder when the last time I had a shower was. My face is caked with dirt and blood, decorated with untreated cuts and scratches. As I turn to walk away, I notice, for the first time, two massive gashes on the back of my hoodie that expose my bare, pale skin. Unlike the other rips and tears, these are quite large, obviously caused by something different.

I'll admit, whatever caused the two considerably larger slashes in my clothes really makes me curious, but right now, I'm on a mission. I have to get out of here. Something tells me it's not safe.

But how? I try the main door, but obviously, it's locked. And judging by the various, intricate mechanisms covering the metal surface, this isn't something I could simply pick open, even if I could remember how to do that. I'm completely trapped.

Still, I proceed to investigate the door anyway, poking around at the wires until one releases a small burst of electricity, shocking my pointer finger.

"Ah!" I exclaim, backing up and shoving my finger in my mouth. "Son of a-"

There's footsteps coming from the hall on the other side of the door. Someone's approaching my room. Hastily, I ignore the stinging in my finger and take a shaky step backwards, waiting to see if whoever is coming is a friend or a foe.

The locks shudder for a second before allowing the door to slide open, revealing someone in a black jumpsuit with teal fabric sewn into circular designs. An emblem on the right sleeve reads, "TIDE". The man looks surprised to see me up and about and reaches for the gun strapped to his waist.

Which is when I make my move. The last thing he sees is the mop coming down on his face.

With the door open and the man down, I figure it's best if I run. I trip over the unconscious body on the floor, but manage to hold my ground as I emerge into a wide, vacant hallway. The floors and walls here are made of the same metal as my room's, but there's one thing that sets it apart. At the very end of the hall is a normal-looking set of double doors, not decked out with all the complicated locks, and two small windows. That must be my ticket out of here.

Running with a broken leg is even harder than it looks and proves to be a bigger challenge than I anticipated. I'm only about halfway to my freedom when an ear-piercing alarm goes off and red lights start flashing all over. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of a whole stampede of TIDE agents charging at me, guns being drawn. It's only a matter of time before they-

BANG!

Shit.

I cover my head, even though I know it won't do me any good. I'm almost to the door now, but they're faster than I am. They'll catch up. I know they will. I'm done for, good as dead.

What the hell is wrong with you? a voice inside my head questions. You don't give up that easily, you should know that! You're a fighter.

For some strange reason, I know that the voice, my mind, is right. I may not remember who I was, but one thing is for sure. I wasn't a quitter. I could do anything if I set my mind to it.

With a small burst of motivation, I sprint down the hallway, completely oblivious to the fire burning in my leg. A few of the guards stop pursuing me, probably shocked that I can manage to run. Putting in every last ounce of energy I possess, I slam into the doors, breaking free into the groggy air of what looks like a city. Luckily for me, the sun is already setting. That should give me plenty of dark areas to hide in. Assuming I escape, that is.

Whirling around, I shut the doors with a loud thud, sticking the mop between the two handles as a temporary barricade, though I know that won't last long. If anything, I've bought myself a few more minutes, tops.

The TIDE agents pound furiously at the doors, attempting to get out, but my makeshift latch holds true and keeps them inside. Grinning, I proceed to run down the street, mixing in with the crowd of people returning from their late work shifts.

After a minute or two of fleeing down the street, one of the TIDE agents gets the idea to shoot through the glass of the door and remove the mop. It doesn't take long for them to see my retreating form. "There!" someone shouts, and the sound of combat boots chasing after me resumes.

I may be out of whatever that building was, the headquarters I guess, but that doesn't mean anything if I can't find a place to hide.

My pace begins to slow as I get more and more tired, but I force myself to keep running. I turn a corner at the end of the street and-

BAM!

Suddenly, I'm on the ground, the wind completely knocked out of me. Another boy is lying on his back, but he quickly gets to his feet. He hastily gathers some money that he must have dropped and shoves it in a cloth sack. "Watch where you're going, jackass," he mutters. "Why are you in such a hurry anyway?"

Partially from running all the way here and partially from being tackled to the ground, I can barely speak, only being able to cough, "… fell… TIDE… memory…"

The boy's golden eyes widen. "TIDE?" he asks, a look of worry crossing over his face. "Oh God, that's not good. Get up, hurry!"

I do my best to comply, but with my lack of energy and aching leg, the boy ends up having to pull me back into the alley from which he emerged. He shoves me behind a dumpster and crouches down next to me. "Don't say a word, got it?" he whispers. I nod my head in agreement.

The TIDE agents, completely ignorant as to where I am, storm past, one of them complaining, "How can this kid run so freaking fast?"

"He's a hero," another answers. "Now get a move on before we lose him!"

The crowd of agents continues on. It's another few minutes before the boy finally decides it's safe to stand. "Follow me," he says. "And keep your voice low."

I nod again, picking my shaking body off the ground and limping after him down the alley. We walk for a short while, turning several times, before arriving at a small, camp-like setup. The maze of alleyways was so confusing that no one would stumble upon this area by accident. There's a crappy tent being supported by a large stick in the corner. Next to that is a stack of tires and a bucket. There's a few containers of dried food and bottles of water stuffed into a small cooler.

"Do you… live here?" I ask at the boy as he tosses his bag of money, which I'm now guessing was stolen, into the tent.

"More or less," he answers, plopping down into the stack of tires. I guess that's what he uses as a chair. "Alright, my turn to ask the questions," he continues. "You're a hero?"

I shake my head, still completely confused. Looking around, I find a clear area and sit down, doing my best to keep my weight off my left leg. "No! I mean… maybe. I don't know." I sigh. "Look, I lost my memory. I don't even know where I am or who I-"

"Liam Vane."

"I'm sorry?"

"That's your name," the boy says, reading off a small, plastic card. "Liam Vane. You were a junior at Cathedral High School, Los Angeles, California. You're seventeen." He looks up, raising an eyebrow. "You're a long way from home, aren't you? What're you doing in New York?"

I must look stunned, because he begins to chuckle. "Wait… what?" I stammer. "I told you, I'm clueless. How do you know all that stuff anyway?"

He holds up the card, turning it around so I can see a picture of me on the left side and writing on the right. "School ID card."

"How did you-"

"I took it from your pocket when you ran into me." The boy smirks and winks an eye at me before pulling out a small, golden tube that resembles a slim pipe segment. "Along with this, whatever 'this' is." He tosses it to me and I barely manage to catch it.

I turn the golden rod over in my palm several times. Frankly, I have no idea what it is. Some sort of fancy cigar maybe? Oh God, I'm not a drug addict, am I?

That's when the gold light bursts from the tips. I gasp in shock, but I don't drop the rod. I watch in awe as it extends into a pole, about half the length of my arm. The tips split open into curved, white blades, making it into a medium-sized staff with blades on both ends. The light dies down, leaving both me and the boy blinking in amazement.

"That was… impressive," admits the boy. "How did you do that?"

"I-"

"Right, you don't know. So, I guess that's your weapon? A double-sided sword? Nice. So you are a superhero."

I shake my head. "Really kid, I don't even know how that happened. I don't know who or what I am. I'm more clueless than you."

His eyes narrow, but he ends up smiling. "Alright, then I'm telling you now. You're a hero. TIDE wouldn't be interested in you if you weren't."

With my unoccupied hand, I rub my forehead. "Who are they anyway? These 'TIDE' people?"

"That's another story," he says, waving the question aside. "We'll leave that for another day. Let's just cover the basics, okay? We need to find out what happened to you and why you can't remember anything."

For once, I can agree. I nod and question, "Well, you know my name. What's yours?"

The boy opens his mouth to respond, but he never gets the chance. He is cut off by loud, helicopter-like noise. Both our eyes jerk upwards to the sky, staring as a massive airship appears out of nowhere, as if it were invisible just a few seconds ago. It gets dangerously close to the building rooftops before ladders spiral down from it, bringing with them armed soldiers in navy blue jumpsuits. More soldiers deploy on jetpacks, surrounding the boy and I from a distance, guns trained directly on us.

"Remy Pym!" booms a voice from the airship. "You are hereby under arrest. Anything you do or say will be held against you."

"TIDE?" I whisper.

The boy, Remy Pym I'm assuming, shakes his head. "Worse," he says. "S.H.I.E.L.D."